Setting the Stage

I got a bit carried away yesterday --- no not with my attentions to Mistress - but with the length of my description of our switch day activities.

Even M commented on it during a call with Mistress:

“M says it was a Great blog, Slave…. But it took him a long time to read.”

Frankly, I think M mostly stops by for the illustrations, which can be …. inspirational  to him in those private moments of longing.

Maybe our next business plan for UCTMW, Enterprises, LLC should include a “classic comics” version of this tome …. Fewer words, more pictures. I always need to consider ways to enhance the (non)revenue stream

So today I will tighten things up, to get to the part I promised ‘Nilla on our flight out here last Friday.

Mistress and Slave were up relatively early …. There was blog reading, enthusiastic sex, a little after-nap for me.

Then I made breakfast for Mistress and we headed up the mountain.

There had been snow falling overnight, and snow clouds were still shrouding our little hideaway when we pulled out of the drive. But as we progressed up the canyon – climbing from about 7500 ft. to 9000 feet, we emerged from the clouds into a turquiose sky and a  winter wonderland of glistening, new fallen snow, clotting  tree branches and  shrouding the rocks that clog the Arroyo rushing down hill along the road side.

This week is a slow one for the local ski area. No real crowds show up until Christmas, so we had the place almost to ourselves.

Which may explain why Mistress let her guard down a bit. We had dropped our skis off for some tuning the night before, and as we walked into the little shop to collect them, Mistress got a text from M.

“Slave… I’m going to talk to the Western Correspondent a few minutes while you get the skis. Is that OK?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

She stepped outside as I signed papers promising that whatever they had done to the skis, any injury would be our fault alone --- same as it ever was. Then the burly bearded ski maintenance guy offered to help me tote the skis and boots outside.

Sure enough, as we came through the door, there was Mistress, pacing, chatting up M, all perky and squirmy, as she becomes when talking to him. She sees me – and presumably the ski fixer guy – and blurts out all cheerily, “Oh M …. Here’s the Slave now, toting our skis….”

I was left wondering what the Ski fixer guy thought when he handed me the boots, glancing at Mistress in her shapely black ski wear. “Slave… hmmmm.”

Ah well. I’m proud to be Mistress’s Slave… whether in the bed or toting her skis Sherpa style.  So what if the guy who I can’t sue knows it.

Though there was fresh snow, the terrain open on our little mountain is still limited, so we had no tredipation about calling it a day after about seven runs – maybe two hours- in the cold blustery air.

That left plenty of time for the real luxury of the day – an extended reading, napping, sex session in our bed, that took us through sunset. After that we took dinner at a nearly deserted local road house. Then rushed back to bed….

A perfect way for Mistress and Slave to spend a day….

Which gets me back to the notion of a kinky bloggers conference out here in the shadows of these timeless mountains.

Though it clearly would  be a challenge for some of you to attend, the notion sure is fun, isn’t it?  And I suggested via email to ‘Nilla that she might want to create a fictional account  describing what kinky zaniness might ensue if the sub-sisters and their domly consorts could join us out here some summer weekend. Maybe the Western Correspondent could join us to provide a little “local color”.

But I figured that ‘Nilla might need some illustrations to get her considerable imagination perking.  Here goes:

The house has two bedrooms, an extra office/ bedroom, and a common room with kitchen, dining area, and living room.  But if things get crowded, there is a local place that can rent tipis (I’, not making that up)…. Or some charming B & B’s nearby.

The ceilings are relatively low, with hand carved “vigas” (beams) above, that easily take a load bearing eye screw, as demonstrated in Monday’s illustration.  Here is a different view.

There are two fireplaces:

Outside there is a “portal” that surrounds the house, providing shade, held up by sturdy wooden beams:

Can’t you imagine Sir D, Aisha’s fave, demonstrating his rope skills with these as props?  Why settle for one bound sub-sister  when there could be a collection for  a rope workshop. There is plenty of privacy for such displays, unless you worry about the prying eyes of a neighbor's ornamental horses.

Oh, and there is a low adobe wall surrounding our patio (not sure I have a picture of that), that could certainly handle a slave bent over for spanking or …. Whatever.

And let’s not forget the trusty picnic table:

 It has so many potential uses:

So go for it ‘Nilla.  Can’t wait to read what you might come up with.

We are now accepting conference reservations for July 4^th weekend, 2011.

The Case of the Missing Riding Crop

Slave was up early again Sunday – trying to stay on East Coast time – so I had time to plot and prepare for a suitable switch scenario for my sleeping Mistress.

Well she wasn’t sleeping that deeply …. At one point, about 4:30 am Mtn. time, she called for me ….

“Slave…. Why are you up and out of this bed so early…..”

I came back in, slid into bed next to her, held her close and explained I had my fair allotment of sleep and was up working on my “homework”…. That seemed to mollify her, so I continued to coo and cuddle her until she was back in a sleepy comfort zone, allowing me to slide out of bed, finish the blog, and prepare….

Taking the lead from SFP’s recipes for home made spreader bars, I commandered one of our daughter’s older, disused ski poles. With some black leather ankle cuffs from our toy collection, a cable tie and a ski pass lanyard, I improvised a very efficient device for Mistress’s restraint…. The preview photo from yesterday show’s the end result.

When the sun was beginning to color a sky that had begun to cloud up to the West over night, I calculated Mistress had enough of  her “beauty rest”, and came back into our bedroom. Slipping into bed next to her, I spooned against her, waking her with some soft caresses along her hip and thighs, my mouth pressed against the back of her neck.

Soon she was fully awake, and I handed her the laptop to read the morning’s entry while I assembled the other supplies I would need.

“It’s that time, Mistress….”

After a trip to the bathroom, she surrendered her lush, naked body to my custody for the duration.  The red cuffs were locked on her wrists, linked close together in front.  And then I pulled out the spreader bar….

“What’s that, Slave…. “

“Isn’t it obvious Mistress….”

No doubt intrigued, she lay back on our bed, and meekly allowed me to tighten the black leather cuffs around her ankles, assuring that her legs could not be pulled closed to deny me access.

But there was one further surprise in store.

“OK, Mistress, slide your legs around the side of the bed and prepare to stand up….”

“Huhhh?  I can’t stand up with this contraption on me….”

“Oh yes you can …. Here, let me help you….”

I leaned down, helped pull her upright …. She was playing possum a bit now…. And took her weight on me, before guiding her a few feet away from the bed. We stopped under the eye hook that had been screwed  into the over head viga (wooden beam) in the center of our bedroom.

(One wonders what my visiting Mother in Law thought about that accessory when she used the cabin earlier in the fall).

Before Mistress had time to lodge her protest, her bound wrists was connected with some colorful climbing rope to that eye screw, and Mistress was upright, standing on those splayed legs, held up by the rope linking her wrists to that solid beam.

“Not fair Slave….. “

“Oh really…. “

I came around in front of her, one arms around her my tongue forcing its way between her protesting lips, my other hand sliding down between her spread legs.

“But I can smell your arousal already Mistress…. And feel it….”

Surprise: Her lips were already plump, damp, ready to be fucked. I swirled a finger there for a while, making her wriggle and wimper, her head thrown back.

I could have made her come in an instant.

But I retracted that damp digit, holding it to her nose, pressing it against her lips.

“Taste yourself, slut….”

She did.

“You, don’t like, Slave….”

“Oh but I do, Mistress…. I’m addicted.  But first things first.”

I stepped back, walked over to retrieve the riding cop she had used on me Saturday afternoon…. It had been next to our “toy bag.” But … no longer.

“Damn.  I swear that riding crop was right here, Mistress….”

She expressed indifference with a shrug. No loss to her, after all.

But….that gesture seemed to convey something more sinister.

“Did you hide it from me, Mistress …. Tuck it away somewhere so it would be MIA on switch day?”

She laughed.

“Why would I do that Slave?”

What a tease.

I stepped back to her.  A sudden hard slap from my palm greeted her bottom. She lurched, tugging at her restraint.

“Ouch….. , that hurt Slave…”

I added a few more spanks. She jerked against my palm, squirming to avoid it.

“I’m sure M would handle this hidden crop scam much more firmly than I will, Mistress.”

“He might, Slave….”

That gave her something to contemplate, as I let her languish as I did a more thorough search of our room and the adjoining closet.

But still no crop.

“Well, Mistress… hiding the crop only ratchets up your punishment….maybe that’s what you intended?

“But I did not hide it Slave….”

Another slap to her ass.

“Silence…. Unless you want to confess and tell me where you put it….”

That silenced her, at least for a few seconds. Enough time for me to step into the kitchen and retrieve a substitute implement. Taking Aisha’s lead, a grabbed slim wooden spoon, no hole in the middle to make those lovely marks, but it would do in a pinch.

I did some evil brandishing of the spoon to show Mistress what was in store.

“Oh no…Slave… that might hurt.”

I had gotten her attention.

And apparently it did hurt . As the spoon landed solidly on Mistress’s helpless bottom I was rewarded with all sorts of whining, moaning and complaints. And her butt was taking on a nice rosy glow.

Maybe I was getting  into the M zone…. No easy feat.

But I stopped when it seemed I had taught her the proper lesson, letting my hand linger on that warm bottom, and dip between her ass cheeks….  confirming that she was every bit as sodden and wanton as I expected. Within seconds those moans of pain were replaced with a different sort of moan.

Then I retreated, to her apparent displeasure, to snap a few photos to share with you and M.

I put down the camera and reached for the Hitachi.

“You’ve been a good girl, Mistress… despite hiding the crop… I think you’ve paid your debt for that crime, so maybe you are entitled to some “early release””.

I shed the dark blue robe I’d been wearing until now, approached her from the rear, naked, my firming cock pressing between her cheeks. She wriggled a bit to greet it. 

My left hand reached around her, toying with a nipple, as my right hand thumbed on the power tool and pressed it gently between those splayed thighs.

Mistress’s response was electric. Her hips thrusting forward to catch the vibrations, her legs straining against the spreader bar, frustrated in their inability to grip it closer….

But, too soon, I felt those familiar vibrations from her core….

I swiftly pulled the Hitachi away, clicking it off….

Still clinging to her, I scolded… “were you just coming Mistress….without asking permission?”

“Almost Slave…..but  not quite”.

I wasn’t so sure that she had not slipped one in, but I took her at her word.

“Shame on you,,,, Let’s start again… but you need to beg….”

This time I thrust the Hitachi between her legs from behind… pressing it up against her sensitive and needy parts….gently at first, then with more purpose. It had a quick impact….

“Ohh … please may I come Slave.”

Her head was thrown back against my shoulder, her fragrant hair thick and wild, against my face.

I was in a merciful mood….

“Yes, Mistress…. Feel free…”

And of course, within seconds, she was pitching over the edge, hanging from her bonds, squeezing her thighs as best she could against the churning tool. Her cries of delight were a symphony to her humble Slave.

But it seemed a shame to end things there, and I had certain needs that were calling to be filled… or in this case be the filling.

I unhooked Mistress from the overhead viga, helped her to the bed, then took the rope and lashed her still bound wrists over her head to another  eye screw mounted at the corner of her bead.

Now she was on her back, her knees bent, ankles still connected to that converted ski pole. 

Very vulnerable.

So vulnerable that after some soft caresses designed to renew Mistress’s energy level, the Hitachi was redeployed, to the usual devastating effect.

She begged some more, and then, after I had given permission, she begged for me to turn the tool off, ovepowered by all that stimulation.

As she settled back into the bed, spent, I freed her ankles.

“It might be hard for me to fuck you with this pole down there, Mistress.”

“Yes, Slave…. And now I need that cock….”

She got it, all right. First, with me straddling her mouth, feeding it to her, allowing  her to lavish it with attention.

She does that so very well, her velvety tongue and soft lips gliding and swirling along that growing shaft ….

Ahhh.

But I  hear Mistress waking now. She’s probably wondering why I’m not in bed next to her …. Keeping her warm. Ready to worship. 

So I will leave the rest to your imagination.

(Oh, BTW…. The riding crop turned up later in the afternoon. Somehow I had not noticed it pressed up against a door jam, a curtain hovering over it.

Oops.)

Switch Day Preview

Taking a hint from SFP, Slave improvises a useful tool with a handy ski pole.

Managing the Clock

One of those well worn football clichés is that a coach “manages the clock” well. Or not so well, depending on the final score.

Yesterday was one of those days when Mistress and her Slave managed their clock pretty dang well:

I was up pre-dawn, to do my “homework”.

Then, as the sun was rising over “our” mountain (the one in the photo yesterday), we read in bed for a bit, before Slave dove into Mistress’s fragrant folds with hungry lips and tongue, to be rewarded – once she was satisfied -with the opportunity to take Mistress with my firm “work-a-day” cock.

“It was particularly hard this morning, Slave”, Mistress told me afterwards.

That’s something a Slave always likes to hear.

After breakfast, we headed up to the Ski Mountain under a bright, cloudless ski, for our first runs of the season. Not much of the mountain is open yet, but it was nice to get in those first turns, stretch out those muscles and enjoy the sunshine.

But after about 6 runs, the trail was getting a bit crowded with other people’s surly teens (even worse than one’s own), so we decided to retreat back to our hideaway for lunch.

There was lunch at that infamous picnic table…. Fresh mozzarella and tomatoes for me; some Spanish goat cheese on spelt bread for Mistress.

Mistress had already laid out a Mexican Blanket on a lounge chair… she was stripped down to her (surprise) black long undies, and after lunch settled into a luxurious nap under that amazing sun – it was up to 50 degrees by now.

I raked up some late fall leaves, then planned to read as Mistress rested, but soon found my self snoring on an adjoining chair.

But by around 2 pm, Mistress was awake.

“Time for our bike ride, Slave…. Then I’m going to fuck you in the ass.”

What else could I say, but “Yes, Mistress.”

My cardio system handled the ride better than the evening before. We are already re-adjusted to the altitude.

We returned about an hour later, a bit sweaty, justifying a shower before our planned activities. As I was drying off, Mistress took charge.

“Get out my supplies Slave….and the riding crop too.”

I hopped to, and soon Mistress had her harness on, riding crop in hand.

“Roll over, Slave. I want to see that bottom.”

She had a little trouble coming up with a good excuse for my discipline…. Quite frankly it was so lame I can’t remember it now… but it was enough to justify a firm and steady flurry of blows to my bottom.

By the time she was done, I was squirming, chewing on a pillow to stifle my exclamations.

Ouch.

Mistress is taking this up a notch. Which is probably good for her Slave.

Tossing the crop aside, she climbed into bed next to me, and we clung and cuddled a while, as her hands roamed over my reddened butt and my straining cock.

And then she was positioning me to be taken with her “tool”. Mistress took her time - thrusting home, filling me, until she was moaning with her own climax, before collapsing onto me, her work done.

After catching her breath, Mistress extracted herself, removed her harness, and returned to bed. Now it was my turn to do the penetrating. And I was happy to oblige.

After we were both spent, I fell asleep, spooned against Mistress, as she read a novel. About 30 minutes later, I was woken by the sound of her I-phone’s ring.

“Hmmmm….. it’s the Western Correspondent, Slave ….”

“Go ahead and talk, Mistress,,,, I’ll get up and start dinner preparation.”

I slid out of bed, still a bit groggy, and pulled my jeans …. Commando …. But there was no biking planned, so the odds of M style cock chafe were slight ….

Then I closed the door behind me to give the “little lovebirds” some privacy. They’d not spoken much in the last two days. My sense was that they both were a little needy on that front…. And a good Slave tries to accommodate his Mistress’s needs.

When Mistress emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, she was dressed, and announced she was heading down the street to do a little Christmas shopping for our teens.

“M says he might call me while you watch your football game tonight, Slave.”

“That’s fine, Mistress….”

Ah … football. Back to that….

My alma mater had it’s big rivalry game last night. Fortunately I was able to jerry rig our tiny TV to get it here. I knew I would be poor company for Mistress as I suffered through their travails … could they end that long ignominious losing streak to these notorious cheaters? It could be a long evening.

So as I settled into the game…. getting dinner ready too, I had no qualms that Mistress got her call from M near the end of the first quarter.

“Do you mind, Slave….”

She is a considerate Mistress, even though she has no need to ask my permission.

I told her where her Hitachi could be found, in case it’s use was required on her “date” with M. And as I watched my team manage their clock well at the end of the first half --- two TD’s in the final 2 minutes – I could hear Mistress’s soft, murmuring voice through the wall to our bedroom.

We were both in our own form of heaven.

At the half, Mistress emerged, a contented look on her face.

She inquired about the score. And after I told her the good guys were clinging to a precarious lead, I asked if she had scored too.

“Yes Slave…. But he had me use my fingers this time….”

You’ll me happy to know that my alma mater won….. at last. Mistress spent the rest of the game curled on the couch, in front of the fire, snoozing in contentment.

And we were both in bed by around 10 pm or so….my arm wrapped around her.

All told, I think we get an A for our own Saturday clock management. But that does not make us Bowl Eligible. Unless there is a bowl for sexual excess.

Managing the Clock

One of those well worn football clichés is that a coach “manages the clock” well. Or not so well, depending on the final score.

Yesterday was one of those days when Mistress and her Slave managed their clock pretty dang well:

I was up pre-dawn, to do my “homework”.

Then, as the sun was rising over “our” mountain (the one in the photo yesterday), we read in bed for a bit, before Slave dove into Mistress’s fragrant folds with hungry lips and tongue, to be rewarded – once she was satisfied -with the opportunity to take Mistress with my firm “work-a-day” cock.

“It was particularly hard this morning, Slave”, Mistress told me afterwards.

That’s something a Slave always likes to hear.

After breakfast, we headed up to the Ski Mountain under a bright, cloudless ski, for our first runs of the season. Not much of the mountain is open yet, but it was nice to get in those first turns, stretch out those muscles and enjoy the sunshine.

But after about 6 runs, the trail was getting a bit crowded with other people’s surly teens (even worse than one’s own), so we decided to retreat back to our hideaway for lunch.

There was lunch at that infamous picnic table…. Fresh mozzarella and tomatoes for me; some Spanish goat cheese on spelt bread for Mistress.

Mistress had already laid out a Mexican Blanket on a lounge chair… she was stripped down to her (surprise) black long undies, and after lunch settled into a luxurious nap under that amazing sun – it was up to 50 degrees by now.

I raked up some late fall leaves, then planned to read as Mistress rested, but soon found my self snoring on an adjoining chair.

But by around 2 pm, Mistress was awake.

“Time for our bike ride, Slave…. Then I’m going to fuck you in the ass.”

What else could I say, but “Yes, Mistress.”

My cardio system handled the ride better than the evening before. We are already re-adjusted to the altitude.

We returned about an hour later, a bit sweaty, justifying a shower before our planned activities. As I was drying off, Mistress took charge.

“Get out my supplies Slave….and the riding crop too.”

I hopped to, and soon Mistress had her harness on, riding crop in hand.

“Roll over, Slave. I want to see that bottom.”

She had a little trouble coming up with a good excuse for my discipline…. Quite frankly it was so lame I can’t remember it now… but it was enough to justify a firm and steady flurry of blows to my bottom.

By the time she was done, I was squirming, chewing on a pillow to stifle my exclamations.

Ouch.

Mistress is taking this up a notch. Which is probably good for her Slave.

Tossing the crop aside, she climbed into bed next to me, and we clung and cuddled a while, as her hands roamed over my reddened butt and my straining cock.

And then she was positioning me to be taken with her “tool”. Mistress took her time - thrusting home, filling me, until she was moaning with her own climax, before collapsing onto me, her work done.

After catching her breath, Mistress extracted herself, removed her harness, and returned to bed. Now it was my turn to do the penetrating. And I was happy to oblige.

After we were both spent, I fell asleep, spooned against Mistress, as she read a novel. About 30 minutes later, I was woken by the sound of her I-phone’s ring.

“Hmmmm….. it’s the Western Correspondent, Slave ….”

“Go ahead and talk, Mistress,,,, I’ll get up and start dinner preparation.”

I slid out of bed, still a bit groggy, and pulled my jeans …. Commando …. But there was no biking planned, so the odds of M style cock chafe were slight ….

Then I closed the door behind me to give the “little lovebirds” some privacy. They’d not spoken much in the last two days. My sense was that they both were a little needy on that front…. And a good Slave tries to accommodate his Mistress’s needs.

When Mistress emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, she was dressed, and announced she was heading down the street to do a little Christmas shopping for our teens.

“M says he might call me while you watch your football game tonight, Slave.”

“That’s fine, Mistress….”

Ah … football. Back to that….

My alma mater had it’s big rivalry game last night. Fortunately I was able to jerry rig our tiny TV to get it here. I knew I would be poor company for Mistress as I suffered through their travails … could they end that long ignominious losing streak to these notorious cheaters? It could be a long evening.

So as I settled into the game…. getting dinner ready too, I had no qualms that Mistress got her call from M near the end of the first quarter.

“Do you mind, Slave….”

She is a considerate Mistress, even though she has no need to ask my permission.

I told her where her Hitachi could be found, in case it’s use was required on her “date” with M. And as I watched my team manage their clock well at the end of the first half --- two TD’s in the final 2 minutes – I could hear Mistress’s soft, murmuring voice through the wall to our bedroom.

We were both in our own form of heaven.

At the half, Mistress emerged, a contented look on her face.

She inquired about the score. And after I told her the good guys were clinging to a precarious lead, I asked if she had scored too.

“Yes Slave…. But he had me use my fingers this time….”

You’ll me happy to know that my alma mater won….. at last. Mistress spent the rest of the game curled on the couch, in front of the fire, snoozing in contentment.

And we were both in bed by around 10 pm or so….my arm wrapped around her.

All told, I think we get an A for our own Saturday clock management. But that does not make us Bowl Eligible. Unless there is a bowl for sexual excess.

Hunkered Down in Our Hideaway

After a long day of traveling, and some “in-air antics” inspired by Aisha’s dare, Mistress and her Slave made it to our little hideaway here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

It was a beautiful, cloud free day for that 3 hour drive, though the temperature was dropping in inverse proportion to the altitude’s increase.  And as her Slave drove through beautiful vistas, Mistress read a book and kept in touch with M via text message. He was skiing with family a  hundred miles or so to the north, where there has been considerably more snow. 

So they traded photos – he and his kids on skis, and Mistress’s shot of the fresh guacamole at a charming restaurant we stopped for lunch along the way.

We stopped for provisions at a local organic grocery store, and quickly jumped back in the car as the sun sank precariously low – Mistress was determined to get a bike ride in before we lost the “magic hour” light  that made Georgia O’Keefe give up the Big City all those decades ago.

As we pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, Mistress’s text chime went off. It was M, back from skiing and eager to talk. Mistress had sent him a little teaser text about her in-flight O, and he wanted the details.

Soon they were chatting.

“I had this big sweater with me, so it just went over my lap…. And then I slid off my pants underneath.  It was actually pretty easy….”

“He says he’s proud of us, Slave….”

“I offered to get the Slave off on the plane…. But he said it might be too messy.”

“Plus I was on the aisle, Mistress….”

It’s hard for me not to toss in a line or two when my name comes up. Impertinent, I know.

“True, Slave… I think he’s kind of horny now, M….. “

Her hand reached over, running a finger down the fly of my jeans.  She was right.  The scent of her musky juices had clung to my fingers through the afternoon and my Pavlovian reflexes were pathetically true to form.

“But first, a bike ride…. It’s been a long day of sitting on our asses, and it’s so beautiful out.”

“Of course, Mistress….”

M and Molly chatted a bit longer, until the cell reception faded, and we were pulling into our driveway.

We had no more than 30 minutes of a sinking sun left, so scrambled to unlock the bikes, round up some gloves and hats, and head out.  By now it was in the low 30’s and darn chilly, particularly in the brisk wind coming down off the mountains.

And Slave was huffing and puffing as we hit that first hill…. Feeling my age and the altitude. I had forgotten the value of acclimatization, but Mistress was right. We needed the exercise.

And we made it back in one piece, in the dark by the time we finished our circuit, stars popping out in the high dessert sky.

Beautiful.

Now we had time to unpack our provisions, make sure things were in good order.

I poured Mistress a Tequilla,  and myself an Jamieson.

Now the time had come…..

“Why don’t you take off your cloths and get in bed, Slave….”

“Excellent idea, Mistress….”

Soon we were warming ourselves under the covers, Slave naked, Mistress still in those lacy black panties, and nothing else.

“Wow…. Your bottom is still cold, Mistress….”

It was still warming up after those 45 minutes  in the saddle. I used my hands to warm her chilly cheeks, occasionally dipping between them to confirm that she was already moist and juicy for me.

And her fingers were busy too…. Fondling my cold cock until the blood began to flow back and remind me how very long it had been. 

(Yeah, Sin, I know 36 hours is hardly a big deal….but still.)

Mistress was rewarded with a few more digitally induced orgasms as we clung to one another to spread the warmth. And soon I was begging for the privilege of fucking Mistress. 

“Yes you may, Slave… I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Indeed, it sure seemed I had…. And I began robustly, sliding hard into her, working to make sure she had an orgasm or too before I was begging for the privilege.

But I had forgotten the cunning logic of high altitude sex…. Pace yourself. No matter how horny a male slave might be…. When you come from the flatlands to 7500 feet or higher, it’s easy to lose your breath.

So Slave had to back off a bit, slow, then vary the pace.  And WTF, there was no rush… No kids to drive or nag us…. No schedule at all.

So Mistress got her money’s worth…. And hopefully a premium, as Slave took his time to get her over the top a few more times, with those languorous shudders and precious moans.

And soon enough, Slave was begging too: Desperate for release, and then, after permission was granted, coming for her in a series of eruptions that seemed like it had been a week, not a day….

Ahhhh….

Mistress is very kind.

I slept for a bit then, while Mistress read.  I think I woke to the chime of her text message.

She reached for it, laughed.

“It’s the Western Correspondent, Slave… eh wants to know what the two lunatics are up to….”

“Aren’t you glad he’s keeping you on a short leash, Mistress?”

“Why yes, Slave…. I am.”

Hunkered Down in Our Hideaway

After a long day of traveling, and some “in-air antics” inspired by Aisha’s dare, Mistress and her Slave made it to our little hideaway here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

It was a beautiful, cloud free day for that 3 hour drive, though the temperature was dropping in inverse proportion to the altitude’s increase.  And as her Slave drove through beautiful vistas, Mistress read a book and kept in touch with M via text message. He was skiing with family a  hundred miles or so to the north, where there has been considerably more snow. 

So they traded photos – he and his kids on skis, and Mistress’s shot of the fresh guacamole at a charming restaurant we stopped for lunch along the way.

We stopped for provisions at a local organic grocery store, and quickly jumped back in the car as the sun sank precariously low – Mistress was determined to get a bike ride in before we lost the “magic hour” light  that made Georgia O’Keefe give up the Big City all those decades ago.

As we pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, Mistress’s text chime went off. It was M, back from skiing and eager to talk. Mistress had sent him a little teaser text about her in-flight O, and he wanted the details.

Soon they were chatting.

“I had this big sweater with me, so it just went over my lap…. And then I slid off my pants underneath.  It was actually pretty easy….”

“He says he’s proud of us, Slave….”

“I offered to get the Slave off on the plane…. But he said it might be too messy.”

“Plus I was on the aisle, Mistress….”

It’s hard for me not to toss in a line or two when my name comes up. Impertinent, I know.

“True, Slave… I think he’s kind of horny now, M….. “

Her hand reached over, running a finger down the fly of my jeans.  She was right.  The scent of her musky juices had clung to my fingers through the afternoon and my Pavlovian reflexes were pathetically true to form.

“But first, a bike ride…. It’s been a long day of sitting on our asses, and it’s so beautiful out.”

“Of course, Mistress….”

M and Molly chatted a bit longer, until the cell reception faded, and we were pulling into our driveway.

We had no more than 30 minutes of a sinking sun left, so scrambled to unlock the bikes, round up some gloves and hats, and head out.  By now it was in the low 30’s and darn chilly, particularly in the brisk wind coming down off the mountains.

And Slave was huffing and puffing as we hit that first hill…. Feeling my age and the altitude. I had forgotten the value of acclimatization, but Mistress was right. We needed the exercise.

And we made it back in one piece, in the dark by the time we finished our circuit, stars popping out in the high dessert sky.

Beautiful.

Now we had time to unpack our provisions, make sure things were in good order.

I poured Mistress a Tequilla,  and myself an Jamieson.

Now the time had come…..

“Why don’t you take off your cloths and get in bed, Slave….”

“Excellent idea, Mistress….”

Soon we were warming ourselves under the covers, Slave naked, Mistress still in those lacy black panties, and nothing else.

“Wow…. Your bottom is still cold, Mistress….”

It was still warming up after those 45 minutes  in the saddle. I used my hands to warm her chilly cheeks, occasionally dipping between them to confirm that she was already moist and juicy for me.

And her fingers were busy too…. Fondling my cold cock until the blood began to flow back and remind me how very long it had been. 

(Yeah, Sin, I know 36 hours is hardly a big deal….but still.)

Mistress was rewarded with a few more digitally induced orgasms as we clung to one another to spread the warmth. And soon I was begging for the privilege of fucking Mistress. 

“Yes you may, Slave… I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Indeed, it sure seemed I had…. And I began robustly, sliding hard into her, working to make sure she had an orgasm or too before I was begging for the privilege.

But I had forgotten the cunning logic of high altitude sex…. Pace yourself. No matter how horny a male slave might be…. When you come from the flatlands to 7500 feet or higher, it’s easy to lose your breath.

So Slave had to back off a bit, slow, then vary the pace.  And WTF, there was no rush… No kids to drive or nag us…. No schedule at all.

So Mistress got her money’s worth…. And hopefully a premium, as Slave took his time to get her over the top a few more times, with those languorous shudders and precious moans.

And soon enough, Slave was begging too: Desperate for release, and then, after permission was granted, coming for her in a series of eruptions that seemed like it had been a week, not a day….

Ahhhh….

Mistress is very kind.

I slept for a bit then, while Mistress read.  I think I woke to the chime of her text message.

She reached for it, laughed.

“It’s the Western Correspondent, Slave… eh wants to know what the two lunatics are up to….”

“Aren’t you glad he’s keeping you on a short leash, Mistress?”

“Why yes, Slave…. I am.”

Hunkered Down in Our Hideaway

After a long day of traveling, and some “in-air antics” inspired by Aisha’s dare, Mistress and her Slave made it to our little hideaway here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

It was a beautiful, cloud free day for that 3 hour drive, though the temperature was dropping in inverse proportion to the altitude’s increase.  And as her Slave drove through beautiful vistas, Mistress read a book and kept in touch with M via text message. He was skiing with family a  hundred miles or so to the north, where there has been considerably more snow. 

So they traded photos – he and his kids on skis, and Mistress’s shot of the fresh guacamole at a charming restaurant we stopped for lunch along the way.

We stopped for provisions at a local organic grocery store, and quickly jumped back in the car as the sun sank precariously low – Mistress was determined to get a bike ride in before we lost the “magic hour” light  that made Georgia O’Keefe give up the Big City all those decades ago.

As we pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, Mistress’s text chime went off. It was M, back from skiing and eager to talk. Mistress had sent him a little teaser text about her in-flight O, and he wanted the details.

Soon they were chatting.

“I had this big sweater with me, so it just went over my lap…. And then I slid off my pants underneath.  It was actually pretty easy….”

“He says he’s proud of us, Slave….”

“I offered to get the Slave off on the plane…. But he said it might be too messy.”

“Plus I was on the aisle, Mistress….”

It’s hard for me not to toss in a line or two when my name comes up. Impertinent, I know.

“True, Slave… I think he’s kind of horny now, M….. “

Her hand reached over, running a finger down the fly of my jeans.  She was right.  The scent of her musky juices had clung to my fingers through the afternoon and my Pavlovian reflexes were pathetically true to form.

“But first, a bike ride…. It’s been a long day of sitting on our asses, and it’s so beautiful out.”

“Of course, Mistress….”

M and Molly chatted a bit longer, until the cell reception faded, and we were pulling into our driveway.

We had no more than 30 minutes of a sinking sun left, so scrambled to unlock the bikes, round up some gloves and hats, and head out.  By now it was in the low 30’s and darn chilly, particularly in the brisk wind coming down off the mountains.

And Slave was huffing and puffing as we hit that first hill…. Feeling my age and the altitude. I had forgotten the value of acclimatization, but Mistress was right. We needed the exercise.

And we made it back in one piece, in the dark by the time we finished our circuit, stars popping out in the high dessert sky.

Beautiful.

Now we had time to unpack our provisions, make sure things were in good order.

I poured Mistress a Tequilla,  and myself an Jamieson.

Now the time had come…..

“Why don’t you take off your cloths and get in bed, Slave….”

“Excellent idea, Mistress….”

Soon we were warming ourselves under the covers, Slave naked, Mistress still in those lacy black panties, and nothing else.

“Wow…. Your bottom is still cold, Mistress….”

It was still warming up after those 45 minutes  in the saddle. I used my hands to warm her chilly cheeks, occasionally dipping between them to confirm that she was already moist and juicy for me.

And her fingers were busy too…. Fondling my cold cock until the blood began to flow back and remind me how very long it had been. 

(Yeah, Sin, I know 36 hours is hardly a big deal….but still.)

Mistress was rewarded with a few more digitally induced orgasms as we clung to one another to spread the warmth. And soon I was begging for the privilege of fucking Mistress. 

“Yes you may, Slave… I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Indeed, it sure seemed I had…. And I began robustly, sliding hard into her, working to make sure she had an orgasm or too before I was begging for the privilege.

But I had forgotten the cunning logic of high altitude sex…. Pace yourself. No matter how horny a male slave might be…. When you come from the flatlands to 7500 feet or higher, it’s easy to lose your breath.

So Slave had to back off a bit, slow, then vary the pace.  And WTF, there was no rush… No kids to drive or nag us…. No schedule at all.

So Mistress got her money’s worth…. And hopefully a premium, as Slave took his time to get her over the top a few more times, with those languorous shudders and precious moans.

And soon enough, Slave was begging too: Desperate for release, and then, after permission was granted, coming for her in a series of eruptions that seemed like it had been a week, not a day….

Ahhhh….

Mistress is very kind.

I slept for a bit then, while Mistress read.  I think I woke to the chime of her text message.

She reached for it, laughed.

“It’s the Western Correspondent, Slave… eh wants to know what the two lunatics are up to….”

“Aren’t you glad he’s keeping you on a short leash, Mistress?”

“Why yes, Slave…. I am.”

Hunkered Down in Our Hideaway

After a long day of traveling, and some “in-air antics” inspired by Aisha’s dare, Mistress and her Slave made it to our little hideaway here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

It was a beautiful, cloud free day for that 3 hour drive, though the temperature was dropping in inverse proportion to the altitude’s increase.  And as her Slave drove through beautiful vistas, Mistress read a book and kept in touch with M via text message. He was skiing with family a  hundred miles or so to the north, where there has been considerably more snow. 

So they traded photos – he and his kids on skis, and Mistress’s shot of the fresh guacamole at a charming restaurant we stopped for lunch along the way.

We stopped for provisions at a local organic grocery store, and quickly jumped back in the car as the sun sank precariously low – Mistress was determined to get a bike ride in before we lost the “magic hour” light  that made Georgia O’Keefe give up the Big City all those decades ago.

As we pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, Mistress’s text chime went off. It was M, back from skiing and eager to talk. Mistress had sent him a little teaser text about her in-flight O, and he wanted the details.

Soon they were chatting.

“I had this big sweater with me, so it just went over my lap…. And then I slid off my pants underneath.  It was actually pretty easy….”

“He says he’s proud of us, Slave….”

“I offered to get the Slave off on the plane…. But he said it might be too messy.”

“Plus I was on the aisle, Mistress….”

It’s hard for me not to toss in a line or two when my name comes up. Impertinent, I know.

“True, Slave… I think he’s kind of horny now, M….. “

Her hand reached over, running a finger down the fly of my jeans.  She was right.  The scent of her musky juices had clung to my fingers through the afternoon and my Pavlovian reflexes were pathetically true to form.

“But first, a bike ride…. It’s been a long day of sitting on our asses, and it’s so beautiful out.”

“Of course, Mistress….”

M and Molly chatted a bit longer, until the cell reception faded, and we were pulling into our driveway.

We had no more than 30 minutes of a sinking sun left, so scrambled to unlock the bikes, round up some gloves and hats, and head out.  By now it was in the low 30’s and darn chilly, particularly in the brisk wind coming down off the mountains.

And Slave was huffing and puffing as we hit that first hill…. Feeling my age and the altitude. I had forgotten the value of acclimatization, but Mistress was right. We needed the exercise.

And we made it back in one piece, in the dark by the time we finished our circuit, stars popping out in the high dessert sky.

Beautiful.

Now we had time to unpack our provisions, make sure things were in good order.

I poured Mistress a Tequilla,  and myself an Jamieson.

Now the time had come…..

“Why don’t you take off your cloths and get in bed, Slave….”

“Excellent idea, Mistress….”

Soon we were warming ourselves under the covers, Slave naked, Mistress still in those lacy black panties, and nothing else.

“Wow…. Your bottom is still cold, Mistress….”

It was still warming up after those 45 minutes  in the saddle. I used my hands to warm her chilly cheeks, occasionally dipping between them to confirm that she was already moist and juicy for me.

And her fingers were busy too…. Fondling my cold cock until the blood began to flow back and remind me how very long it had been. 

(Yeah, Sin, I know 36 hours is hardly a big deal….but still.)

Mistress was rewarded with a few more digitally induced orgasms as we clung to one another to spread the warmth. And soon I was begging for the privilege of fucking Mistress. 

“Yes you may, Slave… I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Indeed, it sure seemed I had…. And I began robustly, sliding hard into her, working to make sure she had an orgasm or too before I was begging for the privilege.

But I had forgotten the cunning logic of high altitude sex…. Pace yourself. No matter how horny a male slave might be…. When you come from the flatlands to 7500 feet or higher, it’s easy to lose your breath.

So Slave had to back off a bit, slow, then vary the pace.  And WTF, there was no rush… No kids to drive or nag us…. No schedule at all.

So Mistress got her money’s worth…. And hopefully a premium, as Slave took his time to get her over the top a few more times, with those languorous shudders and precious moans.

And soon enough, Slave was begging too: Desperate for release, and then, after permission was granted, coming for her in a series of eruptions that seemed like it had been a week, not a day….

Ahhhh….

Mistress is very kind.

I slept for a bit then, while Mistress read.  I think I woke to the chime of her text message.

She reached for it, laughed.

“It’s the Western Correspondent, Slave… eh wants to know what the two lunatics are up to….”

“Aren’t you glad he’s keeping you on a short leash, Mistress?”

“Why yes, Slave…. I am.”

In-Air Antics

The Crazy Collins couple were up early this morning, to catch a 7:15 am flight.  So no morning sex for us. Just a quick shower and a dash to the airport. Which was amazingly deserted.

M had speculated about the type of security screening we might encounter.

"He said he hopes I get the full body cavity search, Slave....he thinks that would be funny."

But, alas, M.... the TSA "gestapo" was sleeping in after indulging themselves on turkey and schnapps . There were no humiliating full  body scans to whet the prurient appetites of sinister "Big Government" storm-troopers, like Rush Limbaugh had promised we would encounter. There was not  even an invasive pat down for the shapely Molly. As it turns out, I didn't even have to avoid wearing my cage....There was just  the same old conveyer belts and a friendly 'bon voyage'.

So now we are safely on board our flight out west, after making our connection in Atlanta

Google is providing free wifi on Delta for the Holidays... inspiring.... well.....

We were paging through our fellow bloggers entries.... Some hot ones this morning, particularly to a guy who has not "done it" since Thursday morning. More than 24 hours now and counting. (Of course, Mistress got off yesterday afternoon while talking with M, but who's keeping track?)

And there comes Aisha, with a comment, wondering if there will be any in-air antics to report on.

It was sort of like throwing down the gauntlet to Molly and Mick.

Fortunately, Mick was shrewd enough to book us seats on the side of the plane with only two seats. Though there is the disadvantage of that un-moveable arm rest between us....not to worry.

Mistress has a black wrap type sweater (it was cold this morning in River City)... and it spreads nicely across her lap.

"Why don't you slide off those pants, Mistress."

"Ummm .... OK Slave."

She spread the sweater over her lap. Then wriggled out of her tight jeans. There are some nice, lacey black undies underneath.

I hand her my computer....

"You may want to read Aisha nice little fantasy about submitting to a certain Dom, Mistress...."

"Sure, Slave... let me see."

As she's scrolling down through that fantasy about Aisha's frustrating wait for her Dom's attention, my fingers are under the sweater, doing what they have been well and thoroughly trained to do.

"Ummm.... this is hot Slave...."

I wasn't sure if the reference was to Aisha's elegant prose, or my massaging fingers.

But the inevitable consequence was soon upon her.... a little shuddering quake from Mistress, as she buried her mouth in my shoulder.

"Nice.... Slave."

Unfortunately, I think Slave is expected to wait patiently for his own reward until we reach our little mountain hideaway...

I think we may have to defer appreciating the view once we get there, at least for a while.