Happy New Year from Mick and Molly

As I type, I am sitting topless and in some racy black panties (that Mick gave me a few year's back) with a Tequila on the rocks in hand (here's to you my WC) in our mountain hide-a-way. It is -4 outside and we have just returned from taking three teens to a vapid (yet enjoyable) movie. We are preparing to bed down for the night -- and yes, after a pre-midnight sex time. We do spend lots of time in bed and (tho I know many of you don't believe it) much of it is actually sleeping.

Thanks to all of you for being in our lives. Like many of you, we turned to this blog world at a time when our path was a bit rocky. As far as I am concerned, it has been better therapy and counseling than we could have gotten in the vanilla world. While we have followed your own stories with vigor, you have also helped us with our own.

Mick and I do have lots of sex. Certainly often (yes, really at least twice most days), but our acts don't have the duration or athleticism of WC's with his wife. Nilla and WC like to say "more than any couple in America." My retort is certainly more than most of our vanilla friends. Once, I let our frequency slip with a friend and horrified does not begin to describe her expression.

Mick likely won't post in the morning as we get to drive back across at least five states and return to our working lives...wish you all great intimacy, sex, love and anything else that you are after in 2011.

Love,
Molly

Slave gets a Middle of the Night Cropping

Winter arrived with a vengeance on our remote UCTMW outpost in the last 24 hours. A fresh blanket of snow covers our yard, and our “neighbors”, a motley collection of plump heifers had their own snow blanket coating yesterday morning as they tore away at the bales of hay left for them in the field they call home.

On the ski mountain, snow was blowing, wind was whipping. and the Texans were taking shelter in the bars. which no doubt were  doing a brisk business in Irish coffee and spiked apple cider.

Molly and Mick took their obligatory runs in the thick snow. It was a powder day, and not to be missed. But by around 1 pm, our legs were shot, our gloves were soaked through. and we proclaimed “no mas”, skedaddling back to the warmth of our cabin.

But one extra  reason for our early exit was that we were bone tired from our prior night’s “activity”.

Things had started blandly enough. Mistress met an old friend from these parts for a drink (or two) at a local cantina, with plans to hook up with me and the teens for dinner at a nearby joint, where a local musician we have come to know would be playing.

But it’s Christmas week here, and the joint was packed, with a long line of hungry skiers and locals waiting for  tables. When Mistress arrived, Slave was in a bit of a huff, with teens demanding their culinary due in quick order, but me still hoping we could enjoy the  music.

The problem was solved with a bit of parental malpractice: the keys and a credit card were surrendered to the teens, who were told to head to a local pizza place for their long overdue repast. Of course, I knew there would be a line to eat there too, but at least I would not have to look at their glowering faces as they waited.

Soon Mistress and Slave had glommed a spot at a table with some friends, and we ate, drank, and were merry with an assortment of older and newer compadres through the evening.

When we arrived home, both of us were a little tipsy, and since Mistress had gotten a head start, it may have been that she was a little farther gone than her devoted Slave.

In any event, Mistress, lying across our bed as I undressed, mentioned that she thought her Slave had been too familiar with a woman ( or was it 2?) that had joined us at our table during the course of the evening. She was very displeased and insecure.

And Slave reacted poorly. Rather than acknowledge that Mistress is always correct on such matters, I defended myself. I really thought I had behaved in an exemplary and wholly fashion.

Words were exchanged that I regretted. And we went to a fitful sleep in a bit of a huff. Not something that we usually do here in the Collins household.

It was around 2:30 am or so when Mistress woke me.

“Slave…. I can’t sleep and it’s your fault.  I don’t like that sort of talk…. You need to be punished.”

I was groggy, half awake. But knew that the proper response was acceptance and apology.  I should have held my tongue last night, knowing that Mistress was a bit under the influence, and would likely wake in the morning with a different perspective.

I tried to express my regret, as I woke, a bit befuddled, at Mistress’s surprise urgings.

But Mistress would have none of it.

“Roll over on your stomach, Slave.”

I did. What else could I do?  And I could feel her cool hand on my ass. But it was not a loving hand. It was simply calibrating space and distance in the dark of our room.

A sort of manual range finder.

Then my ass was lit upon with the firm, hard blow of the riding crop…. How the hell did she find that damn thing in the dark?

“You know you deserve this, don’t you, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

And I did, I had spoken harshly and injudiciously to the woman that I love with all my heart.

And I knew, despite the temporary pain, that it was good that Mistress had this outlet to express her hurt and insecurity, rather than brooding over it through the night, or into the next day.

But man, as she continued to crop me, it hurt like hell.  I worried that all this thwacking might wake the slumbering teens.

I squirmed and wiggled, and chewed on my pillow to stifle my cries of pain. But she kept whacking me until she had spent her angst on my bottom.

Then she had me roll over, stroking me gently now with her hands.

“You did deserve that, Slave….”

“I know, Mistress. …  can I worship you now?”

“Yes, you may….”

She lay back on the bed, arms stretched overhead, and spread those delightful thighs.

Mistress’s cleanly shaven folds were a delight to lavish with attention, even as my ass smoldered in the cool air of our room. And it did not take long for Mistress to shudder with release.

But she was not satisfied.

“You need to fuck me now, Slave.”

She reached for my cock which was flaccid, still drowsy I suppose at this very late / early hour.

“Get it hard for me….now, Slave”

She was not in the mood for importuning, but needed my hard cock, probably to prove to herself my continued loyalty and devotion to her.

So I resorted to my hand, and sidling up against her warm, lush body  to provide her the proof she needed. And, once her standards had been met, what followed was a long crazed fucking that hopefully resolved those latent insecurities about my devotion to her.

When I was finally granted permission to come, we both collapsed into a sodden, exhausted sleep.

After our return early yesterday afternoon from battling the fresh powder, Mistress and I collapsed in bed for a 40 minute nap. Later, as we showered before dinner, Mistress took a look at my bottom.

“Oh my, Slave….. there’s still a nice welt there”.

Her hand gently caressed it, tracing it with her fingers.

“Are you glad you left your mark, Mistress?”

“I’m very glad. The Western Correspondent tells me I need to be tougher on you to avoid the sort of disagreement we had last night.”

“He may be right, Mistress…. “

Slave gets a Middle of the Night Cropping

Winter arrived with a vengeance on our remote UCTMW outpost in the last 24 hours. A fresh blanket of snow covers our yard, and our “neighbors”, a motley collection of plump heifers had their own snow blanket coating yesterday morning as they tore away at the bales of hay left for them in the field they call home.

On the ski mountain, snow was blowing, wind was whipping. and the Texans were taking shelter in the bars. which no doubt were  doing a brisk business in Irish coffee and spiked apple cider.

Molly and Mick took their obligatory runs in the thick snow. It was a powder day, and not to be missed. But by around 1 pm, our legs were shot, our gloves were soaked through. and we proclaimed “no mas”, skedaddling back to the warmth of our cabin.

But one extra  reason for our early exit was that we were bone tired from our prior night’s “activity”.

Things had started blandly enough. Mistress met an old friend from these parts for a drink (or two) at a local cantina, with plans to hook up with me and the teens for dinner at a nearby joint, where a local musician we have come to know would be playing.

But it’s Christmas week here, and the joint was packed, with a long line of hungry skiers and locals waiting for  tables. When Mistress arrived, Slave was in a bit of a huff, with teens demanding their culinary due in quick order, but me still hoping we could enjoy the  music.

The problem was solved with a bit of parental malpractice: the keys and a credit card were surrendered to the teens, who were told to head to a local pizza place for their long overdue repast. Of course, I knew there would be a line to eat there too, but at least I would not have to look at their glowering faces as they waited.

Soon Mistress and Slave had glommed a spot at a table with some friends, and we ate, drank, and were merry with an assortment of older and newer compadres through the evening.

When we arrived home, both of us were a little tipsy, and since Mistress had gotten a head start, it may have been that she was a little farther gone than her devoted Slave.

In any event, Mistress, lying across our bed as I undressed, mentioned that she thought her Slave had been too familiar with a woman ( or was it 2?) that had joined us at our table during the course of the evening. She was very displeased and insecure.

And Slave reacted poorly. Rather than acknowledge that Mistress is always correct on such matters, I defended myself. I really thought I had behaved in an exemplary and wholly fashion.

Words were exchanged that I regretted. And we went to a fitful sleep in a bit of a huff. Not something that we usually do here in the Collins household.

It was around 2:30 am or so when Mistress woke me.

“Slave…. I can’t sleep and it’s your fault.  I don’t like that sort of talk…. You need to be punished.”

I was groggy, half awake. But knew that the proper response was acceptance and apology.  I should have held my tongue last night, knowing that Mistress was a bit under the influence, and would likely wake in the morning with a different perspective.

I tried to express my regret, as I woke, a bit befuddled, at Mistress’s surprise urgings.

But Mistress would have none of it.

“Roll over on your stomach, Slave.”

I did. What else could I do?  And I could feel her cool hand on my ass. But it was not a loving hand. It was simply calibrating space and distance in the dark of our room.

A sort of manual range finder.

Then my ass was lit upon with the firm, hard blow of the riding crop…. How the hell did she find that damn thing in the dark?

“You know you deserve this, don’t you, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

And I did, I had spoken harshly and injudiciously to the woman that I love with all my heart.

And I knew, despite the temporary pain, that it was good that Mistress had this outlet to express her hurt and insecurity, rather than brooding over it through the night, or into the next day.

But man, as she continued to crop me, it hurt like hell.  I worried that all this thwacking might wake the slumbering teens.

I squirmed and wiggled, and chewed on my pillow to stifle my cries of pain. But she kept whacking me until she had spent her angst on my bottom.

Then she had me roll over, stroking me gently now with her hands.

“You did deserve that, Slave….”

“I know, Mistress. …  can I worship you now?”

“Yes, you may….”

She lay back on the bed, arms stretched overhead, and spread those delightful thighs.

Mistress’s cleanly shaven folds were a delight to lavish with attention, even as my ass smoldered in the cool air of our room. And it did not take long for Mistress to shudder with release.

But she was not satisfied.

“You need to fuck me now, Slave.”

She reached for my cock which was flaccid, still drowsy I suppose at this very late / early hour.

“Get it hard for me….now, Slave”

She was not in the mood for importuning, but needed my hard cock, probably to prove to herself my continued loyalty and devotion to her.

So I resorted to my hand, and sidling up against her warm, lush body  to provide her the proof she needed. And, once her standards had been met, what followed was a long crazed fucking that hopefully resolved those latent insecurities about my devotion to her.

When I was finally granted permission to come, we both collapsed into a sodden, exhausted sleep.

After our return early yesterday afternoon from battling the fresh powder, Mistress and I collapsed in bed for a 40 minute nap. Later, as we showered before dinner, Mistress took a look at my bottom.

“Oh my, Slave….. there’s still a nice welt there”.

Her hand gently caressed it, tracing it with her fingers.

“Are you glad you left your mark, Mistress?”

“I’m very glad. The Western Correspondent tells me I need to be tougher on you to avoid the sort of disagreement we had last night.”

“He may be right, Mistress…. “

HNT/ Dom-ing While Driving

It was decidedly more wintry on the slopes yesterday. Snow was falling in a fine powder, as the wind picked up and temperature fell.

So it came as no surprise to me that our sullen teens began to make noises about calling it a day by lunchtime. We’ve been skiing a lot on this trip, and I am hardly the one to veto a quick retreat down the mountain, particularly when the alternative is some quiet time between the sheets with my Mistress.

So, by around 1:30 or so, we were safely back at our toasty cabin, the teens preparing Spaghetti-O’s, (yes, the still eat that stuff), and me heating up some chili for a belated lunch.

Mistress was in our room, tending to some work emails, when I wandered in as the chili warmed.

She was casting an eye at her I-phone.

“Slave…. M wants to give me a call, and I suspect he has something more than a talk in mind… would you get out my supplies?”

She had that little light of desire in her eyes, and I was happy to have M stoke it.

“Of course, Mistress.”

I opened the drawer, pulled out the Hitachi and it’s extension cord, plugged it in for her and set it on the bed.

“Have fun, Mistress….”

She gave me a little kiss, and shut the door behind me. I switched on some music, the sort that makes the teens groan, but I figured that was better than them hearing their mother’s groans of sexual release, which might otherwise be clear but for the “white noise” of Laura Nyro and the Boss.

I had barely finished my chili, garnished with some corn chips and shredded cheese, when Mistress emerged from her little electronic rendezvous.

She had a soft cotton robe wrapped around her, seemingly naked underneath, and was now anxious for team member two of her little sexual tag team.

She seemed to veritably grab me by the collar of my shirt and haul me back into our room. So I suppose clean up the luncheon mess could wait.

Once I was suitably stripped, and reclining with her on the bed, I ran through my typical questions.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Oh, two Slave….”

Her hand was wrapped around my cock now and my fingers were sliding through the sodden folds that had already been so thoroughly exercised, yet still seemed in need of more.

“And did M get off too?”

“No… he was driving some where.”

“Wow. It was nice of him to fit you in, he must really like the sounds of your need, even when negotiating big city traffic.”

I was sliding down under the sheets now, parting her legs for some extended worship.

“Yes, Slave I think it turns him on…. Even when he can’t do it himself.”

Taking a brief break for air, I asked Mistress about his theme of the day.

“Did he have a story for you, Mistress?”

“It was based on Aisha’s Training School story slave …. I was naked and tied face to face to a male slave. His cock was very hard, and rubbing against me, but neither of us were allowed to come….”

“I’ll bet that was frustrating, Mistress….. and so cruel.”

“Yes, it was Slave.”

By now Mistress had one more little climax by way of my tongue, and I was asking permission to fuck her.

She checked to assure that my work-a-day cock met her standards, then generously granted admission.

“Thank you, Mistress….”

I’d been longing for her since she closed me out of the room an hour or so earlier, so this deferred gratification was most satisfying.

And as I fucked her, we went back to the story that M had spun for her.

“So was M the sub tied to you, or was he in charge, Mistress.”

M was in charge, of course, Slave. He was directing the action, teasing us. I’m not sure who the male sub was.”

With those thoughts, things spun a bit out of control. Mistress was coming again as my fingers worked over her clit even as my cock plunged into her. and then it was me begging for permission to come.

Which Mistress was quick and kind to grant.

I think we drifted off a bit then, with the snow still swirling down outside our window, masking the huge mountain in clouds and mist.

At some point the chime on Mistress’s phone went off again.

She groggily reached for it. Then I could hear her giggle.

“It’s from M, Slave. He says he’s going home to jerk off.”

Ummm. I suppose he deserved it. And I am glad he took it home, rather than resorting to self-help on the highway.

While Doming while driving can pose some risks of distraction, jerking off while driving could be much more perilous.

And I know the folks at the insurance desk of UCTMW would not be happy to handle a claim arising from our Western Correspondent rear ending some innocent driver, because his hand and brain were otherwise engaged.

M, if there is any rear-ending while on the UCTMW clock, please follow your protocol.

Branding?

Molly and Mick had one of those kink worlds / vanilla worlds collide experiences on Monday night. We were out at a local road house style restaurant, listening to some local musicians, watching the boot scooters on the dance floor. We had a big table for 15 – our teens, the friends from Florida, and some other folks from Texas who we have come to know in our travels here over the years.

Nice folks, but a bit dull compared to our friends out there in the bog-o-verse.

When I was served my hamburger, the guy next to me, a Houstonian stockbroker who poses as a cowboy out here in the Mountain Zone, but just can’t pull it off, points out that my bun was “branded” with the logo of the restaurant.

I looked to Molly, sitting on the other side of me, across the table from our friend Joe.

“Look,  dear,  they branded my bun… I bet you’d like to do that to me?”

Without missing a beat, Mistress knew the punch line….

“You’re right….. you deserve to be branded…. Right on your Ass.”

It was one of those rare moments when our friend Joe was left speechless.

(By the way, this is the same Joe who got all flustered by Mistress's lovely feet during our last Holiday season here. The link is here:Mistress's feet get special attention.

And Molly was probably already wondering about the practicalities of getting a branding iron with her name on it.

On the other hand, Molly and Mick do have some vanilla days of their own, particularly when our quaint cabin is filled with our surly teens and a boyfriend.

But that’s not to say that vanilla can’t have it’s rewards.

We had some warm and tender sex yesterday morning, after  Mistress read our blog and several others. But on the ski lift, Mistress had a question. Apparently she was reviewing her mental notes.

“Slave”, she whispered, assuming that the teen’s I-Pod would dampen all but the loudest conversation, “did you ask permission this morning?”

I thought a moment. And had a very specific recollection.

“Yes,  I am sure I did…. You have me well programmed.”

“As you should be….”

After another day of skiing in unusually bright and warm sunshine, we retreated back to our cabin with a blessed night without visitors to entertain or social engagements to make.

That meant a long “nap” time for the parents. Of course, the teens think we are beyond boring.  And we did nap.  For a while.

I remember waking with Mistress cuddled next to me, one leg over mine. The last light of the sun was turning the mountain outside our window a blazing red, and illuminating a stand of willows just beyond our patio.

Of course, we should have stumbled out of bed and into the yard to get the full gorgeous sunset effect.

But the warmth and attraction of Mistress’s lush and opulent body was just too compelling.

As wecame awake, it seemed our limbs began to instinctively intertwine, and I took one of her firm nipples in my mouth for some prolonged suckling.

“Mmmmm…. Nice, Slave”.

We muttered endearments, my hand ultimately sliding between her legs. She was already ripe there, her desire ready to be plucked. And my fingers soon had their way, making her gasp and pump against them.

“I want you to fuck me now, Slave.”

“Glad you asked, Mistress.”

And be assured, I did ask permission.

Branding?

Molly and Mick had one of those kink worlds / vanilla worlds collide experiences on Monday night. We were out at a local road house style restaurant, listening to some local musicians, watching the boot scooters on the dance floor. We had a big table for 15 – our teens, the friends from Florida, and some other folks from Texas who we have come to know in our travels here over the years.

Nice folks, but a bit dull compared to our friends out there in the bog-o-verse.

When I was served my hamburger, the guy next to me, a Houstonian stockbroker who poses as a cowboy out here in the Mountain Zone, but just can’t pull it off, points out that my bun was “branded” with the logo of the restaurant.

I looked to Molly, sitting on the other side of me, across the table from our friend Joe.

“Look,  dear,  they branded my bun… I bet you’d like to do that to me?”

Without missing a beat, Mistress knew the punch line….

“You’re right….. you deserve to be branded…. Right on your Ass.”

It was one of those rare moments when our friend Joe was left speechless.

(By the way, this is the same Joe who got all flustered by Mistress's lovely feet during our last Holiday season here. The link is here:Mistress's feet get special attention.

And Molly was probably already wondering about the practicalities of getting a branding iron with her name on it.

On the other hand, Molly and Mick do have some vanilla days of their own, particularly when our quaint cabin is filled with our surly teens and a boyfriend.

But that’s not to say that vanilla can’t have it’s rewards.

We had some warm and tender sex yesterday morning, after  Mistress read our blog and several others. But on the ski lift, Mistress had a question. Apparently she was reviewing her mental notes.

“Slave”, she whispered, assuming that the teen’s I-Pod would dampen all but the loudest conversation, “did you ask permission this morning?”

I thought a moment. And had a very specific recollection.

“Yes,  I am sure I did…. You have me well programmed.”

“As you should be….”

After another day of skiing in unusually bright and warm sunshine, we retreated back to our cabin with a blessed night without visitors to entertain or social engagements to make.

That meant a long “nap” time for the parents. Of course, the teens think we are beyond boring.  And we did nap.  For a while.

I remember waking with Mistress cuddled next to me, one leg over mine. The last light of the sun was turning the mountain outside our window a blazing red, and illuminating a stand of willows just beyond our patio.

Of course, we should have stumbled out of bed and into the yard to get the full gorgeous sunset effect.

But the warmth and attraction of Mistress’s lush and opulent body was just too compelling.

As wecame awake, it seemed our limbs began to instinctively intertwine, and I took one of her firm nipples in my mouth for some prolonged suckling.

“Mmmmm…. Nice, Slave”.

We muttered endearments, my hand ultimately sliding between her legs. She was already ripe there, her desire ready to be plucked. And my fingers soon had their way, making her gasp and pump against them.

“I want you to fuck me now, Slave.”

“Glad you asked, Mistress.”

And be assured, I did ask permission.

Mistress Gets a Homework Assignment

We are settling into a comfy routine here at our remote UCTMW location in these last few days before the long slog back to River City.

I wake early, still dark out. Peruse my emails and several of your blogs, then do my own posting for Mistress.

She calls for me at around 7 am, and we share some coffee, before she reads the blog as I worship her, stringing things out a bit with several of her other favorites. If she is “pleased” (as she routinely is) her devoted executive editor is rewarded with the opportunity to fuck her.

By then it’s time to rouse the teens, and head up the mountain for some skiing. The sun has been out, keeping spirits light and minimizing the complaints about cold toes and faces – though that seems about to change as winter begins to squeeze its way back into our beautiful valley.

We return around 3:30 pm or so, for some R & R before dinner, last night with a large group of friend at a local honky tonk where the music was rousing and the wine and margaritas flowed.

But yesterday afternoon there was a little twist to the routine before our afternoon “nap”.

“Slave… I think M wants to talk again this afternoon … maybe at around 4 pm…”

“Of course, Mistress….”

We showered together, and we had some time before Mistress’ date, so settled onto our bed. Mistress made sure her power tool was on hand.

Then Mistress picked up her laptop.

“He gave me some homework too…. Before we talk….”

“And what’s that, Mistress?”

“I’m supposed to read Aisha’s story about the Training School….’to get me in the proper frame of mind’, he says.”

Ahhh. It is an amazingly well written and very hot story…. I’d been meaning to encourage her to read it…. Glad M is on top of this one.

(here is the link, in case you’ve missed it. ….Aisha- Back in the Training School )

I helped Mistress find the beginning, and as she read I perused a few blogs myself…. Suzanne at ALL MINE had an interesting story about disciplining her husband that caught my attention. (Funny, I have no problem if Mistress asks me to carry her purse for her.)

I was lying there nude, next to Mistress, as she would require. And I was curious about the effect Aisha’s tale of submission (with a cameo by ‘Nilla as the person with the “killer” ass that undoes the Headmaster), was having on her. So I casually reached under the sheets covering her to slide my fingers between her firm thighs.

“What are you doing, Slave….”

She wriggled a bit at my touch.

“Just checking to see if you like the story, Mistress…. And I see you do….”

She was sopping, as one might expect, reading smut, as assigned by her cyber Master, anticipating her “date”, and the command performance with her power tool.

“Be careful, Slave…. M says I’m not allowed to come until I talk to him.”

Hmmmm…..

“Oh, sorry…. Did’t know you were on embargo, Mistress …. I bet that turns you on even more,,,,”

Can you hear a touch of sarcasm? I guess that’s not a proper Slave demeanor.

My finger was twirling and probing a bit…. but I had no intention of spoiling M’s fun, or causing Mistress to break his explicit instructions.

“It does turn me on, Slave…. But what about you…How does it feel …. Knowing that he’s in charge here, at least for now…. Because if I can’t come, neither can you.”

She must have looked down at my cock, which seemed to have decided to join the conversation with a little twitch and a nod.

Now it was her reaching for me….

“I think it does turn you on, doesn’t it Slave.”

“I can’t argue with the physical evidence, Mistress.”

She enhanced my frustration a bit with some gentle applications of her lips to my shaft. But then the little chime went off on her phone.

“Guess it’s time for my call, Slave….”

I slid into some jeans and a T shirt, grabbed my lap top, and went off to our living room, leaving Mistress to her demanding Master.

Some music helped distract me, and mask the kids from the wanton sounds that surely were to be heard by a discerning ear.

And not long after that, Mistress beckoned me back into her bed.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Oh…. I think two Slave….”

I suspect they were good ones by that dreamy look on her face.

“But now, get out of those cloths,,,, I want my cock, Slave….”

I snapped to it, appreciative that M had taken care of the foreplay duties and that I was destined to move on quickly to the main event.

Apres Ski with the WC.

I know that some of you may pop over to UCTMW this morning, expecting one of our elaborate Switch Day scenarios to unfold for your greedy little eyes.

Well…. sorry to disappoint.

When Mistress woke, she was feeling a little under the weather, and her Slave still had a glowing bottom, which probably put him in the “less inclined to be a hard ass Dom” frame of mind. So instead of binding her to the bed, or suspending her from a ceiling beam, for a turning of cruel tables, I chose the path of least resistance.

I brewed her a latte.

Then Mistress read the blog, as I slid my tongue across and through her moist folds. But she was feeling her oats with the reprieve she was awarded.

“Stay down there Slave…. I’m going to see what our friends are up to. She even read me a few passages from SFP’s blog about her new “bilingual” D, and typed off a sweet reply, which she read to me as I tended to her.

Only then did she put down the laptop.

I had decided she was in need of some power tool therapy, so popped out of bed long enough to retrieve her Hitachi from its drawer and plug in the extension cord.

But before I could click it into gear, Mistress had a suggestion….

“I’m sure you’re rather horny this morning Slave… but for extra fun, why don’t you put in your little device.”

Ahhh. The Aneros. Who could resist when Mistress put it that way. I happily obeyed, abandoning all pretense of taking charge. Once the device was lubed up and slid home I returned to her, my cock already aching for release.

I slid into bed with her, the Hitachi in hand, sliding it up the inside of her thigh to it’s natural resting place.

Soon Mistress was vibrating in tune with its powerful touch, and coming with those lovely bucks and moans that please me so, until she pushed it away.

“Enough, Slave…. Now I want my cock.”


We cuddled a bit as she toyed with my un-powered tool, until it met her high expectations. Indeed, it was soon me begging for the privilege to fuck her. To prove my devotion, I fingered her to another sweet explosion before permission was finally granted.

Ahhhh. Sweet release.

It had been a whole day, what with my “harsh” punishment of the evening before. I was very grateful for that long period of denial to come to an end.

We lingered in bed a while, me reading the Times on line, Mistress posting some family photos to facebook. Then we were off in different directions. I dropped Mistress and surly teen #2 at the Ski Mountain, then headed south to pick up Surly #1’s boyfriend who was arriving via plane to join us for this last week of our vacation.

After the three hour drive – with me acting as chauffeur as the two teen lovebirds sat in back on the drive home – I took a long bike ride in this unusually mild and sunny weather. (Suzanne, we should be the ones getting the big snow storm, not you and Tammy!)

Mistress got a ride back down the mountain from friends, and I was looking forward to a hot shower with her and a possible “round two” in our chambers, when she returned at around 3:45.

But she had other plans.

She took me aside, after greeting the visiting boyfriend.

“Slave…. our WC wants me to call him …. You don’t mind, do you?”

Well of course, who was I to object.

It had been a long holiday weekend without much chat between them. I settled down in front of the TV to watch some football and read a book. Mistress closeted herself in our room. I could here the sound of her voice from time to time, but not their intimate dialog.

After about 30 minutes of watching M’s home football team engineer a comeback with the help of a rookie Quarterback who’s name conveniently rhymes with a cut of beef, the door opened.

Mistress motioned for me to come hither, and whispered in my ear.

“Slave, it turns out M is home alone…. And well …. He wants to have a ‘date’… could you please get out my equipment.”

Of course, I could. Retrieving it again from its drawer, plugging it in and handing it to my sweet Molly, who would now be at the controls, responding to M’s directions.

I left the room, resumed watching the game, which soon ended. Then their were NFL highlights brought to us via the cliché bound former jocks and coaches rounded up for such occasions.

I marveled at M’s focus at having foregone his home team’s big come from behind victory in order to direct Mistress to a few wanton cum from the power tool climaxes.

Unless he is good at multi-tasking.

About 45 minutes later the door opened. Mistress had a towel wrapped around her lower half, looking a bit dazed, but happy.

I shut down the TV, and went to her, and the door closed again. Not that the two teens reclining on the guest room couch, doing their own “catching up”, paid the old fart parents any mind.

“How many, Mistress….”

“Oh, I lose track, Slave…. Maybe 2 or 3.”

I’ll count that as 3 or 4. But then, who’s counting.

“And did M get to partake as well?”

“He did Slave… his family was at the movies…so…”

“I suspect you liked all those sounds he made.”

“I did Slave… I did….”

(And I was not referring to the sound after the interception that clinched victory for his local team.)

But there was a happy ending for Slave too.

Mistress seemed determined to make sure my “lonely” cock was in the game too.

Soon we were both stripped and on our bed… our belated trip to the shower delayed one more time. And after mistress used her skilled lips to make my work-a-day wonder firm and ready for her, she rode me hard for two more robust orgasms before flipping over and allowing me to finish the job.

My athletic and well conditioned Mistress had a full workout for the day – on the slopes and between the thighs.

AS you can see, Après Ski in the Collins household can get a lot more complicated that some spiked warm cider and a dip in the hot tub.

A Tale of Two Bottoms

We had a lovely Christmas here at the Collins’ undisclosed location out here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo mountains.  Aptly named for the holidays, come to think of it.

There was some satisfying wake up Sex, before the teens woke demanding tribute.

There was gift giving: the teens, still anxious after all these years to tear open the little treasures placed with care beneath our little tree. And a few gifts were Molly and Mick too.

There were the obligatory phone calls to far flung relatives. (The teens always roll their eyes when passed the phone).

There was a lovely day up on our sundrenched mountain: Not too stuffed with Texans on holiday, as it soon will be.

We came home from skiing at about 3:30, took a power nap, then had to begin preparations for our dinner with visiting friends. The girls had asked for a beef brisket, something alien to me, but which I had dutifully prepared that morning, between presents and phone calls.  It smelled lovely in the stove.

As I was dressing,  Mistress was wriggling into the new undies I had gifted her for the holiday. 

“Can I take a picture for our followers tomorrow Mistress …. I think they are due some delectable body parts?”

“Yes, Slave…. But I want you to get the riding crop too, when you get the camera.”

Gulp.

Earlier on the Mountain, Mistress had suggested that maybe she was not strict enough with me. Our WC has been pointing her to blogs describing the regimens of much “firmer” Dominant Wives, from Suzanne to Ms. Marie, and she’s been doing her homework.….

Gee, thanks, M.

After I took some lovely photos of Mistress in repose, modeling her new skimpy undies, sans the top that goes with it, She instructed me to drop my jeans.

I felt the soft caress of the tip of the crop. Then the first hard thwack.

“Ouch.” 

Yes it did hurt.

“I think you know what this is for, Slave….”

“Yes, Mistress….”

You see we have this couple visiting us with their son. Not staying in our house, but spending time with us in the evenings. We showed them the big celebration at the local Pueblo on Christmas Eve.

The sun had set over the mystical mountain. Fires were blazing. Billowing smoke and flying ash filled the air, obscuring the night. The exotic procession from the centuries old Church had begun. Our friends were concerned they might miss the action.

I guided them, pushing them forward to get a good view.

But Mistress had seen it differently, and was not happy.

“I saw you with your arm around Lisa…. It lingered longer than it needed, Slave…”

Well Mistress had nothing to fear. I am completely devoted to her, forsaking all others. But our history gives her reason for paranoia. I understand that. 

And, of course, Mistress is always right on such matters. If she saw those events as her Slave being too affectionate towards another woman, then, punishment was surely due.

The blows rained down on my ass. They hurt like hell. My hands instinctively flew to my sore and aching backside.

“Move those hands, Slave….that earns you a few more.”

Naturally, I complied, putting my hands on my head.  My bottom was on fire, but I was determined to be a good Slave.

Somehow I ended up on the bed, my ass exposed for a few additional thwacks, before she was done.

“There Slave…. I hope that reminds you how to behave when Lisa is around this evening….”

Then she asked for the camera and took a few shots of her own.

“I want one of these photos on the blog tomorrow morning, Slave…. Your pick.”

“And, by the way. This was not simply a prelude for you getting to fuck me…. No sex for you until tomorrow morning… at the earliest.”

Yikes.   

Mistress turns hard ass for Christmas. 

A Tale of Two Bottoms

We had a lovely Christmas here at the Collins’ undisclosed location out here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo mountains.  Aptly named for the holidays, come to think of it.

There was some satisfying wake up Sex, before the teens woke demanding tribute.

There was gift giving: the teens, still anxious after all these years to tear open the little treasures placed with care beneath our little tree. And a few gifts were Molly and Mick too.

There were the obligatory phone calls to far flung relatives. (The teens always roll their eyes when passed the phone).

There was a lovely day up on our sundrenched mountain: Not too stuffed with Texans on holiday, as it soon will be.

We came home from skiing at about 3:30, took a power nap, then had to begin preparations for our dinner with visiting friends. The girls had asked for a beef brisket, something alien to me, but which I had dutifully prepared that morning, between presents and phone calls.  It smelled lovely in the stove.

As I was dressing,  Mistress was wriggling into the new undies I had gifted her for the holiday. 

“Can I take a picture for our followers tomorrow Mistress …. I think they are due some delectable body parts?”

“Yes, Slave…. But I want you to get the riding crop too, when you get the camera.”

Gulp.

Earlier on the Mountain, Mistress had suggested that maybe she was not strict enough with me. Our WC has been pointing her to blogs describing the regimens of much “firmer” Dominant Wives, from Suzanne to Ms. Marie, and she’s been doing her homework.….

Gee, thanks, M.

After I took some lovely photos of Mistress in repose, modeling her new skimpy undies, sans the top that goes with it, She instructed me to drop my jeans.

I felt the soft caress of the tip of the crop. Then the first hard thwack.

“Ouch.” 

Yes it did hurt.

“I think you know what this is for, Slave….”

“Yes, Mistress….”

You see we have this couple visiting us with their son. Not staying in our house, but spending time with us in the evenings. We showed them the big celebration at the local Pueblo on Christmas Eve.

The sun had set over the mystical mountain. Fires were blazing. Billowing smoke and flying ash filled the air, obscuring the night. The exotic procession from the centuries old Church had begun. Our friends were concerned they might miss the action.

I guided them, pushing them forward to get a good view.

But Mistress had seen it differently, and was not happy.

“I saw you with your arm around Lisa…. It lingered longer than it needed, Slave…”

Well Mistress had nothing to fear. I am completely devoted to her, forsaking all others. But our history gives her reason for paranoia. I understand that. 

And, of course, Mistress is always right on such matters. If she saw those events as her Slave being too affectionate towards another woman, then, punishment was surely due.

The blows rained down on my ass. They hurt like hell. My hands instinctively flew to my sore and aching backside.

“Move those hands, Slave….that earns you a few more.”

Naturally, I complied, putting my hands on my head.  My bottom was on fire, but I was determined to be a good Slave.

Somehow I ended up on the bed, my ass exposed for a few additional thwacks, before she was done.

“There Slave…. I hope that reminds you how to behave when Lisa is around this evening….”

Then she asked for the camera and took a few shots of her own.

“I want one of these photos on the blog tomorrow morning, Slave…. Your pick.”

“And, by the way. This was not simply a prelude for you getting to fuck me…. No sex for you until tomorrow morning… at the earliest.”

Yikes.   

Mistress turns hard ass for Christmas. 

A Tale of Two Bottoms

We had a lovely Christmas here at the Collins’ undisclosed location out here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo mountains.  Aptly named for the holidays, come to think of it.

There was some satisfying wake up Sex, before the teens woke demanding tribute.

There was gift giving: the teens, still anxious after all these years to tear open the little treasures placed with care beneath our little tree. And a few gifts were Molly and Mick too.

There were the obligatory phone calls to far flung relatives. (The teens always roll their eyes when passed the phone).

There was a lovely day up on our sundrenched mountain: Not too stuffed with Texans on holiday, as it soon will be.

We came home from skiing at about 3:30, took a power nap, then had to begin preparations for our dinner with visiting friends. The girls had asked for a beef brisket, something alien to me, but which I had dutifully prepared that morning, between presents and phone calls.  It smelled lovely in the stove.

As I was dressing,  Mistress was wriggling into the new undies I had gifted her for the holiday. 

“Can I take a picture for our followers tomorrow Mistress …. I think they are due some delectable body parts?”

“Yes, Slave…. But I want you to get the riding crop too, when you get the camera.”

Gulp.

Earlier on the Mountain, Mistress had suggested that maybe she was not strict enough with me. Our WC has been pointing her to blogs describing the regimens of much “firmer” Dominant Wives, from Suzanne to Ms. Marie, and she’s been doing her homework.….

Gee, thanks, M.

After I took some lovely photos of Mistress in repose, modeling her new skimpy undies, sans the top that goes with it, She instructed me to drop my jeans.

I felt the soft caress of the tip of the crop. Then the first hard thwack.

“Ouch.” 

Yes it did hurt.

“I think you know what this is for, Slave….”

“Yes, Mistress….”

You see we have this couple visiting us with their son. Not staying in our house, but spending time with us in the evenings. We showed them the big celebration at the local Pueblo on Christmas Eve.

The sun had set over the mystical mountain. Fires were blazing. Billowing smoke and flying ash filled the air, obscuring the night. The exotic procession from the centuries old Church had begun. Our friends were concerned they might miss the action.

I guided them, pushing them forward to get a good view.

But Mistress had seen it differently, and was not happy.

“I saw you with your arm around Lisa…. It lingered longer than it needed, Slave…”

Well Mistress had nothing to fear. I am completely devoted to her, forsaking all others. But our history gives her reason for paranoia. I understand that. 

And, of course, Mistress is always right on such matters. If she saw those events as her Slave being too affectionate towards another woman, then, punishment was surely due.

The blows rained down on my ass. They hurt like hell. My hands instinctively flew to my sore and aching backside.

“Move those hands, Slave….that earns you a few more.”

Naturally, I complied, putting my hands on my head.  My bottom was on fire, but I was determined to be a good Slave.

Somehow I ended up on the bed, my ass exposed for a few additional thwacks, before she was done.

“There Slave…. I hope that reminds you how to behave when Lisa is around this evening….”

Then she asked for the camera and took a few shots of her own.

“I want one of these photos on the blog tomorrow morning, Slave…. Your pick.”

“And, by the way. This was not simply a prelude for you getting to fuck me…. No sex for you until tomorrow morning… at the earliest.”

Yikes.   

Mistress turns hard ass for Christmas.