Down By the River

Unlike Molly and Mick’s last trip to our mountain hideaway, we have the surly teens (and one un-surly boyfriend) in tow this week. So all the naked sunbathing, outdoor bondage and loud and ostentatious kinkiness had to stifled and shut away in our bedroom.

Well, almost all.

The Discerning Dom has a thoughtful post today on how to maintain a D/s relationship while balancing the demands of kids, work and life that’s worth reading for those of you that share that challenge.http://discerningdom.blogspot.com/2010/07/question-no-3.html?zx=1296b472d8d4c2ca

Of course, it’s helpful to have teens that like to sleep in.

Yesterday, Mistress had a nice chat with her “friend” M out on our patio, as I ran the weed whacker over some overgrown alfalfa that had crowded the house during what has been a wet July here in the high desert. She was perched on a little adobe wall out back, as the kids snoozed on, or at least pretended to snooze, in order to avoid being drafted into yard maintenance duties.

And those sense dulling ear buds surly teen 2 never seems to shed provide cover when the words “Mistress” and “slave” inadvertently pop out during an otherwise vanilla conversation.

But yesterday, in an expedition into a local gorge to wallow in some natural hot springs, Mistress and Slave pressed the edge of the envelope a bit.

It’s about a ½ mile hike down a narrow trail, studded with boulders and gnarled sage brush . Our girls were leading the way. Though they hesitated a bit when they noted Mr. Nakey Guy, lounging on the small sandy beach we had planned to stake out for lunch and lounging.

“Don’t worry, girls,” I soothed. “you can park where you don’t need to see this dude.”

Sure enough, we found a nice, if rockier, spot for the teens to park. It was right next to one of the pools made from rocks hand arranged over the centuries to capture the hot bubbling water tricking from the steep hillside before it flows into the river.

Soon the teens were lounging in the warm pool, then cavorting in the fast flowing river, now shallow after the spring run-off.

Mistress and I spread our towels on the beach, about 20 feet to Nakey Guy. (You can catch a glimpse in the photo).

“Gee, I wonder if that’s M, Slave”, she giggled, discretely eyeing him, his large relaxed cock catching some rays, “he does have a beard like M’s.”.

“In your dreams, Mistress.”

Then I noted a critical distinction.

“Oops. Can’t be M. He doesn’t have his pubes trimmed off.”

(M is a waxing afficianado).

“Ahhh…. I guess you are right , Slave.”

We lay reading for a while and joined the kids for some lunch. Then they congregated in a more tepid pool, leaving empty and inviting the hottest pool, concealed from the teens by a crumbling rock wall, built 100 years ago by a mad “developer”.

The would be developer, Arthur Mamby, had dreamed early in the 20th Century of a resort that would draw tourists seeking its curing waters from far and wide, hauled down the trail by stage coach, or by some primitive elevator from the rim of the gorge, 400 feet above.

Of course it was a pipe dream, leaving the springs as a little known, off the tourist map attraction for the locals, and occasional flatlanders like us.

“Let’s hop in the pool, Mistress, while we can get it to ourselves.”

We picked our ways through the rocks and slid into the clear, shallow and impressively hot waters. We could hear the kids chattering, but, miracle of miracles, they were out of sight.

As the water soothed us, and we realized that a brief moment of privacy was at hand, thoughts quickly turned to mischief.

“If you want to arrange a date with M this week, Mistress, I will happily try to distract the kids with a little expedition, Mistress.”

I had even packed the power tool for her.

“Of course you will, Slave….we will see what develops this week.”

She rolled over toward me, offering her lips to kiss. And soon, my fingers, always eager to please, were sliding into the waist band of her bikini.

“Mmmmmm….Slave. What are you doing?”

“Taking liberties, Mistress. Do you mind?”

She didn’t give me a verbal response. But she did begin writhing against my fingers, before quickly succumbing to my ministrations with a shudder and a discrete moan.

It was nice to slip a quick one by our snoopy and judgmental teens.

Not long after than, Mistress stood in the pool, the heat having gotten a little too intense for her countenance.

I was still lolling in the water, and the juncture of her , only inches away, was too tempting. I nuzzled. She co-operated by sliding the fabric of her bottoms aside to give me a view and then a quick taste of her clean shaven folds.

“Yum….” .

Freshly exuded Mistress juices mingled with some iron and other minerals plumbed from the depts. of the mysterious mountains. If only Arthur Mamby had thought of that marketing angle.