Slave's Comeuppance

It had been a stressful week for Molly and Mick. So with the kids gone for two days, we had made sure to have a very unscheduled Saturday.

Of course, there was time for some morning sex, then Mistress had an appointment for hair maintenance, while I did some yard work. By 11::30 or so, we were back at home together, getting on our bikes and doing a good hill climb before some time at our local swim club.

Mistress swam about 40 laps, as her dutiful Slave read the Times. Then we hopped back on our bikes for the ride home.

That left a good bit of the afternoon for us to loll in bed, before heading to an evening party at some friends’ home.

“I do like the kids being away, Slave…. it almost makes me feel like we are newly weds.”

I agreed, and look forward to their more permanent departures in just two weeks.

I stopped in the kitchen to prepare a snack, and when I got upstairs, Mistress was already in bed, in the buff, chatting with the WC.

He was curious about whether it was one of those Saturday’s when Slave gets a good ass fucking.

“We’re both pretty tired right now, M. But there’s plenty of time.”

She gave me a look as I was stripping off my bathing suit and t-shirt … one of those knowing smiles, laughing with M about my likely “plight”.

Once she signed off, we settled into some books, but were soon snoozing. About an hour or so later we were woken by some text messages from Molly’s sister, and a phone call from our second sullen teen.

The “drama” was about the teen’s apparent unhappiness that her slightly older sister was going on a college wardrobe shopping spree on Michigan Ave., while the younger one was shut out because she had already spent too much on “stuff” during her recent NYC trip.

This provoked the Slave into a bit of a huffy rant about spoiled kids not appreciating what they’ve got…. Yadda … yadda….

Apparently Mistress filed this away for later.

When it came time for is to shift our attention to more carnal pursuits, Mistress asked me to get her “equipment”, her harness,  her faux cock, and the container of lube.

Once I obtained what she was looking for, and placed it on the little table at her side of the bed, I noticed something I’d not gotten out, laying on the sheet next to me.

Her riding crop.

“Uhhhh…. What’s this doing out, Mistress?”

Actually, I thought I’d been a pretty worthy slave this week, not that any particular excuses are required if Mistress chooses to discipline her Slave.

Se told me to get on my stomach on the bed, she picked up her crop, and I could feel it slowly tracing little patterns on my ass.

“save, you were very helpful and supportive this week …. But that rant this afternoon …. You know I don’t like all that complaining and whining, it suggests maybe I’ve been a bad role model for our girls….”

I considered trying  to explain that they are virtual adults, and that when I complain about their behavior it is not intended to criticize their hard working Mom…. But that train had already left the station.

So I simply took my medicine.

Mistress lit into me with a flurry of slaps from that nasty crop. Hard ones, in quick succession. She had me squirming on the bed, my mouth biting into a pillow to squelch my “yeowwls” of discomfort.

She clearly was determined to instruct me on the error of my ways.

And she definitely succeeded.

After a brief pause she said, “Hmmm…. I think those really hurt, don’t they slave….”

“Uhhh….. yeah…. They really do…..”

“Well then just one or two more then.”

They were two particularly hard ones. Mistress is wielding a mean crop these days.

When she finally put down her weapon, I moaned in relief. Her hands rubbed the little stripes she had left behind.

That felt nice.

“Ohhh, my…. Your ass really is  pretty red, Slave. I think I’ll take a picture and send it to M, since he was so curious about what we might be up to today.”

She took up her I-phone and texted it off to M.   And she sent it via email to me.

“Make sure you post this tomorrow, Slave….”

"Of, course, Mistress."

I’m sure M enjoyed seeing the sometimes arrogant Executive Editor get his comeuppance.

By then she was cinching up her harness, applying  some lube and telling me to assume my position.

My ass now just had a warm glow to it, which seemed to warm up the work-a-day cock too. The combination of a firm cropping followed by Mistress’s deployment of her strap-on certainly pushes my buttons, it seems.

And Mistress certainly seemed to relish the moment as well. She seemed to come more than once in little jerks and enthused moans as she pumped into her Slave from behind.

When she had her fill of me, tossing her harness aside for me to clean and tuck away later, she took another look at my ass.

“You know, I think it’s even redder now, Slave.”

She picked up our camera and took another shot --- so you now have another shot, for comparison’s sake. 

And even this morning, I can still feel that glow. An extra motivation, no doubt, for Switch Day…. Kids away edition.

Mick Gets What Was Coming to Him

Saturday night....

Mistress is off at her big high school re-union tonight.

Now I’m sure several of you are asking yourselves: Mick, what sort of husband / slave doesn’t accompany his Wife / Mistress to her high school reunion?

Well, first, I did, once, about 10 years ago. And I suspect that Mistress spent more time that night making sure I was not bored than actually interacting with those long lost male and female friends.

So I offered to let her go solo this time. She had friends, a  female and a male, offering to be her “date”, and she seemed content to let me spend the evening with surly teen #2. (I happily rejected the offer of her friends’ spouses for an evening drinking elsewhere with them).

The teen and I  went to see the Green Lantern movie (my childhood fave when it comes to super heroes), while Mistress cavorts with her old high school chums.

And of course she had license to flirt and do whatever she wants should any of those guys, who no doubt had the hots for her back in the day, decide to take one last shot at the lovely Molly.

It’s in our contract.

But don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a review of Green Lantern… let’s just say the studio did not get it’s money’s worth. But the chick from Gossip Girl (that’s why the sullen teen picked it over “X-Men” or “Super 8”) is relatively hot, though not much of an actress.

So lets skip over “Mick and his daughter go to the movies…”

In fact there was plenty of sex at the UCTMW World HQ to report on since my last full dispatch.

I’ll skip over the action here Friday night, after our bike ride, when Mistress rode my cock to a rather stunning cum.  Non-reverse cowgirl.

I’ll also breeze past Saturday morning, when Slave was allowed to fuck Mistress before I headed to a political meeting.

No, let’s pick up the action later in the day, around 4 pm, after a nap and bike ride, before Mistress started primping for her reunion.

Previously, while we were riding, Mistress said we would probably not have much time for afternoon “action”. But, as it turned out, some time opened up on her schedule.

We were barely out of the shower.

“Slave, go get my supplies… I think you need some attitude adjustment.”

“Uhh… OK….”

I scrambled to assemble her strap on equipment – dildo, harness, lube.

“You’ve been a little too full of yourself lately, Slave…cocky, arrogant, … too much swagger….”

“I won’t disagree with you Mistress….”

“Of course you won’t….”

She was in her harness now, lubed up. But there was something else to take care of first.

“ down on your stomach, Slave….”

“No cuddle and kiss first, Mistress….”

She just laughed.

“Not today, Slave…”

That’s when I heard the swish of the riding crop, firmly hitting her hand.

Oops.  Mistress wasn’t fooling around.

I assumed the position she required.

Smack.

Ouch.

I squirmed.

My ass was on fire.

“I didn’t like your tone on the phone yesterday, Slave…. when we were talking about (our sullen teen’s) checking account… you clearly had an attitude.”

Smack..

Ouch again.  Very ouch.

I’m squirming as a series of blows hit my ass in quick succession. My mouth attaches itself to a pillow to stifle any exclamations. It’s the best I can do to resist the temptation of twisting away or covering my ass with my hands. But I knew that would only earn me more punishment.

“You’re right…Mistress… I know I was being an asshole.”

“Let this be a reminder to mind your tone, slave.”

I had a feeling it would be. And fortunately, after about 10 strokes Mistress was done. 

Then she  slid onto the bed next to me, warming me with some affection strokes on the ass, and passionate kisses, before straddling me, guiding her ‘cock” into place.

Her aim was true… her strokes were slow and deliberate. I suspect I was moaning as she worked into a quicker rhythm. And soon she was coming hard, with some impassioned thrusts, gasping her release.

After a bit more of the old “in and out”, she had her fill, and slid out of me, standing to toss her harness aside for me to put away later.

“Why don’t you go put in your device now Slave (my aneros)”

So I stood too, walking the few feet to our bathroom to follow her directions.  That’s when she noticed my ass….

“Oh my, slave…. I don’t remember ever getting it quite that….  red… I need a photo of that…”

She had me stand in position. Then she texted off an image of her handy work to the WC, for his amusement. And copied me too.

“Put it on the blog Slave… our readers should know what happens when you get surly with me….”

So there you have it, my boney old ass, all red from Mistress’s crop.

Before we climbed back into bed, where Mistress allowed me to fuck her, the chime on her I-phone went off.

M says “ha ha”.

Funny.

Oh, and there was one more picture Mistress wanted me to share.

“Here’s one to send to Tammy, Slave….”

It was this photo that Mistress took at Saks the other day. No doubt M got a copy.  But since Tammy and Carol (his weekend babysitter) were going panty shopping this weekend, Mistress wanted him to get a little example of what’s out there….

 I like the yellow ones... not for me mind you. I've been spared the panty training.

BTW, tomorrow is Switch Day. You can bet Mistress will be closely interrogated about her evening out. I’ll make sure some of those clothespins are handy, in case she is reluctant to clear her conscience.

P.S. … Just as I was finishing this, Mistress arrived home. It was only around 11:45 or so. No late night partying with the class of 1981.

When I asked if there had been any flirting, her response was “not really.” We may have to get a little more to the bottom of that one this morning. And she also showed me something on her I-phone. The photo of a pink, rigid cock head.

“It came from the WC… just after I got to the re-union…”

“Can you believe it. It looks like Anthony Weiner’s at it again, and hacked into M’s account.”

Ouch.

We were settled into a lovely meal last night.  Just the two of us on a "date night". The scene featured a  “contemporary Spanish” menu in an old charming Hacienda built in the early 1800’s, long before these parts were under the flag of the USA.

Mistress was glorious as always, black dress highlighting her newly recharged tan, and some sparkling southwestern jewelry providing some flash.

As we waited for our entrees, she asked:

“How’s the ass, Slave?”

“Still a little tender, Mistress….”

So maybe we need to back up a bit here…..

Our day started with some robust morning sex, not untypical, but still quite satisfying. I devoured, while she read Donna’s comic review of the alleged G-spot vibrator.

Donna and Bill definitely did their best to bring the most out of the little guy, didn’t they? And as Aisha commented, UCTMW probably has to be conscious of potential worker’s comp claims of she keeps launching the products she is putting through their paces.

At the least, we may need to get Bill a facemask and helmet.

And after the computer was put aside, my work-a-day cock needed no further encouragement than Mistress’s question, “would you like to fuck me now, Slave?”

Our legs were rather dead after pushing around all that spring skiing slush in recent days, so we opted to pack up our towels and swim suits and head to a hot springs spa across the gorge from our little hideaway. It’s a place we’ve described in earlier entries. Quiet and contemplative, where you can see a woman braiding her husband’s long flowing hair,  and a man walks around with a little white card reading “whisper, please.”

Last summer, without the kids, we even acquired a little private space with a pool for some semi-public sex. But we were in close quarters on this trip, simply relishing the bright sunshine and soothing waters, while nagging one another about sunscreen.

Of course, Mistress and I love the tranquility of this place, where the ancient ones came for the soothing natural springs long before we anglos showed our avaricious heads in these parts.

On the other hand, the teens thought it could be much improved if there were waiters going chair to chair offering  Pina Coladas and nachos.

We headed back in the late afternoon as some high clouds moved in, and decided on a late afternoon bike ride – just the two of us. It was in the 70’s here, the sun was back out, and we plied our normal rolling hills route, much of it into a brisk wind.

It was a beautiful way to get some exercise after a day on our backs lolling in the sun.

But somewhere a long the way, Slave screwed up. Mistress was seeking reassurance about my continued fervor and devotion to her, which I suppose in my thickheaded way should seem rather obvious.

“You seem a little distracted lately, Slave….” was her concern.

And maybe I have been – focused on some work and extended family issues a bit too much these last few days .

But, stupidly, Slave got a little defensive, rather than reassuring, and said some things that disturbed Mistress.

She was upset, throwing a blanket on what had been a very lovely day.

But, give her credit, she knew exactly how to work us both out of this temporary funk.

When we got home, I was a bit sweaty from our day in the sun and vigorous ride.

“I’m going to take a shower, Mistress.”

“No, first you are going to close the door, take off your cloths, and lie on the bed.”

Oops.  I had a feeling I knew where this was headed.

When she could not find the crop, it was my job to “quickly” retrieve it and hand it to her.

She switched on the radio, to cover the sounds she knew we would be making.

The sharp thwacks against my ass.

My howls of pain, which I did my best to muffle into a pillow.

“This is for acting like an asshole, Slave.”

She laid into me harder and longer than I can remember.

I did my very best to avoid twisting and turning my ass in response to her vigorous assault.  But I probably earned a few more hard strokes, simply for failing to be still and take my medicine like a man.

When she was finally done with me, my ass was on fire. And she seemed to enjoy running her fingers along the red marks she had made.

“Wow…. This must have hurt Slave…”

“It did, Mistress.”

By now I had rolled over, and she was toying with my cock with the tip of the crock, slowly bringing it to life.

Things developed from there as you might expect…. Me, using my fingers to rub her juicy little cunt to one preliminary cum. She, riding my cock for two more moaning climaxes, until, exhausted, she rolled over and let me finish the job of restoring the proper balance in our relationship.

The lesson to be taken: what could have been a sad and simmering feud that would put a damper on an otherwise lovely day was extinguished by Mistress taking out her anxiety on my ass.

It definitely cleared both of our heads, and we clung to one another for a long time afterwards in our bed, the late afternoon sun illuminating the mountain outside our window.

So while my ass was still a little tender as we sat through that excellent dinner together last night, the temporary pain was well worth the sacrifice.

At Last.... (with musical accompaniement).

Some of you gave old Mick some serious shit yesterday for whining about our “horrid”  56 hour draught here at UCTMW World HQ.

It had been since Thursday morning …. And Mistress was not scheduled to return until 1 pm or so Saturday from her trip to visit her very old but still feisty grandmother.

Yeah... I know. I'm spoiled. But could be that just makes it worse, when Mistress and I are apart? Even if just briefly?

I dutifully kept my vow of “no touching” without Mistress’s consent, passing the time with some yard work, tax document preparation, and visiting my own cranky whiner of a mother. I tried to avoid being  the sad, lonely guy in this song.

(Hmmm…. Maybe my whining is hereditary…. Though her whining seems more to do with ambient noise in her condo, whereas mine focuses on missing my beloved CEO).

While I had a chance for a couple of brief conversations with her, Mistress was always in close proximity to her mother or grandmother while she was away, even at bedtime, so there was no opportunity for any naughty or intimate chat. I just didn't know what to do with myself.

During the course of my Saturday morning, I did receive a textual taunt:

“It’s ass fucking day. Slave….”

But finally, Mistress pulled into our drive, dropped off by her mother. I was in our backyard, gave her a wave, and briefly finished up filling a  trash bin with some of last fall’s leaves before helping her carry her overnight bag up to our room.

  

At Last…. Mistress was home.

Of course, I offered to take her to bed and lavish her with some physical attention immediately.  But it was a gorgeous, warm and sunny day here in River City.

“They’ll be time enough for that Slave…. First, a bike ride to get the kinks out after that long drive….”

“Sure… but save a few kinks for me, Mistress.”

The bike ride was glorious, but after about an hour we were back and…. Thanks to the gods… the two sulky and bored teens had decided on an outing to the outlet mall.

Amazingly the house was empty now..

We relaxed a bit…. lying in bed. I had showered to make sure I was “spanking” clean for Mistress.

“Get out my equipment, Slave…. And bring a riding crop too…”

Gulp.

I collected her harness, the accompanying dildo, and lubricant. AS she slid into it, tightening it to fit her lush body, I found the crop in the corner of our closet and handed it to her.

“Get in position, Slave….”

“But why the crop, Mistress….”

“You know why…. You were certainly less than enthused to see me this afternoon Slave….”

“But….”

“I would have expected you to rush over and greet me when I pulled in…. instead…you kept raking those leaves….”

Thwack….

“Ouch….”

I tried to minimize my offense… “I was just finishing the task so we could go upstairs together…” or some such. She would have none of it. And it turned out she also thought I was less than sweet and charming when we talked on the phone while she was gone.

"It reminded me how distant you were sometimes when we were commuting."

No, that was not good. Not at all. No wonder she was itching to apply some good punishment. Best to leech those bad vibes out of her system pronto, even at the expense of my temporary discomfort.

By now the blows were raining down. My ass was getting increasingly tenderized, and I was squirming on the bed.

“Hold still, Slave… you’re just making things worse for yourself….”

I tried. Believe me I did. But man, that crop was hurting my bony old white ass.

“My, that is getting pretty red, Slave… maybe I should take a picture….”

“Feel free, Mistress.”

I figured that she could not snap a photo and clobber me with the crop at the same time.

But, At LAst (yet again), she  was done with the crop, admiring her handywork, her hands sliding over the welts that she had created.

“Nice…. Slave…. But now, get in position for the good part….”

I settled back onto the bed, my hips under a pillow.

She straddled me, then slid her tool home….

“”How’s that, Slave…. “

“Ummmm…. Nice Mistress.”

Soon she was picking up the pace, filling me quite effectively… and working herself into that lovely frenzy that delivers a lunging, moaning climax for her.  I remember her nails digging into my back, her hot breath on my neck when she collapsed onto me, spent.

When she extracted herself, rolling off to remove her harness and deposit on the floor for me to tuck away later, she gave me some additional instructions.

“Go put in your device, Slave…”

I made sure I hopped to…. I was not going to cross her again today, and I had some business of my own to tend to….finally.

Mistress Gets Feisty

It was a busy Saturday here  at the UCTMW World HQ.

Carrying forth with yesterday’s Sit-Com analogy, this could be one of those back to back episode extravaganzas …. And yet, well, I have some Switch Day planning to do this morning.  Need to save some creative energy for that, don’t I?

So, roll the cutsey pooh credits, and let her rip……

Episode One:

Mistress was a horny little slut yesterday morning, if I may be so bold.

As she read the blog, and some of the comments that had already filtered in, I was buried between her muscular thighs under the sheet, lavishing her sodden folds with plenty of attention. And once the lap-top was set aside, she had a little amuse- bouche of an orgasm, complements of my tongue, sort of getting her appetite revved up for what would be served up next.

She pulled me up and next to her, grappling for my cock. It was already beginning to rise to the occasion, but with Mistress subtle (well, really not so subtle) grip, I was soon begging for permission to fuck her….and it took her a while to agree. She was amused by my pitiful pleas, it seemed.

But when she finally did agree to my entreaties, much to my desperate gratification, she threw a change up.

“Do me from behind, Slave….”

Hmmm… something that had been left off the menu for a few weeks. I was wondering what made Mistress want to go in this direction – some smutty little fantasy about our Western Correspondent I suspected – but I was happy to play my supporting role in it.

With some help from Mistress’s fingers I found my way in from behind, and made sure I pumped her with the type of fervid rhythm that seems to press the buttons for her in this position. And since it’s not a position that Slave readily comes in, well, all the better for Mistress, right? She knew I would not be annoying her with a request to come any time soon.

It was hard to tell if Mistress came that way, as I pressed her body hard against the mattress, sliding in and out with a good pace from behind….but after a while, it was another change-up from her.

“I want to be on top now, Slave….”

“Of course, Mistress….”

Hmmm….. more high energy from Mistress. 

I slid off and over, rolling onto my back…. Mistress commented on my rather prominent cock, pointing up at her at a right angle from my tummy, like an old Atlas rocket about to chase down Sputnik and put it in its place (or was it Spud-Nut? … DM Sarah P., she would know….)

Quickly Mistress mounted me, and it was not long before she was squeezing those sultry green eyes shut, moaning and quaking with one of those seismic cums that seem to visit her in this position…. She was reaching back now, fondling my balls, and I was so close, but not …just …. there.  

Arghhhh.

And I could tell Mistress was getting tired riding my cock, so I suggested we roll over…

She seemed grateful, sliding off me, then onto her back….and I was on top of her lickity split. Not long thereafter, it was Slave begging for permission, and Mistress generously saying “Yes, my Slave…”

That was my cue to go for it. It seemed I came in a long series of spasms, before collapsing back onto her soft, warm body.

At this point Slave could have gone back to sleep, cuddled next to her…. Brain and body dead like a piece of fully depreciated livestock.

But Mistress was  not quite done.

“Hand me the Hitachi, Slave…..”

Wow. Some guys might feel that their services had come up short under such circumstances. But, call me cocky, I knew I had left it all on the field….

On this particular morning, Mistress’s needs were just a little more than something a mere cock could handle, and I had no shame in reaching under the bed and thumbing her power tool on for her.

I sidled next to her as the churning device slid under the sheets. I happily took on the role of supporting actor, gnawing on a nipple, then probing her mouth with my tongue, as she took matters into her own hands.

And soon she was bucking up against the machine’s soft churning bulb, her head thrown back, moaning with the final release of a well earned climax to our morning’s adventures.

At that point we both drifted off, spent….

Episode Two

So I was down in the bowels of the UCTMW World HQ, painting a door to our garage. (Yes, your humble Executive Editor / General Counsel / Risk Management Analyst also acts as weekend maintenance technician here in River City).

Mistress wandered downstairs, calling for me. I looked up. She had a phone pressed to her ear.

“I have the WC on the phone, Slave…. And he reminds me that you are due a punishment.”

Huh?

Apparently, our Western Correspondent was buttonholing our Boss, playing some office politics, whilst I am tending to mundane company business. He had been taking the CEO aside and throwing me under the bus. No doubt he’s angling for a fancier title and my corner office. 

But I stifled my complaints….biding my time.  There will be payback … maybe I will send the IRS a bogus 1099 from “UCTMW Enterprises” in M’s name. Let the WC explain that one to his accountant.

“No doubt he’s right, Mistress.”

 “Why don’t you finish up soon down here Slave, and meet me in our bedroom.”

She went back upstairs, still chatting with flirtatious animation to M….

I soon had one coat of dark green paint on the door, and put my supplies away. After washing up, I headed upstairs, where Mistress, done with her talk, soon joined me.

“Get out my supplies, Slave.”

I knew exactly what she meant. The strap-on and its faux cock. The lube.

“And make sure you get me the riding crop too….”

I laid her supplies on the bed. She snapped a photo of the crop, and texted it off to M, letting him in on what was to come.  No doubt he would be amused that the seed he had planted would soon be sprouting.

I did not have to ask whether to strip off my pants and underwear, as Mistress slid into her harness. Soon she was ready for action, riding crop in hand.

”On your stomach Slave…. And be still….”

Of course, I complied, but asked, “and why am I  being punished, Mistress….”

“You know why….”

The first blow landed with a stinging surprise.

Yow.

“I am not sure, Mistress….”

Dumb move.

Two more had me squirming, trying to suppress my verbal complaints by chomping on a pillow.

“You were a real ass-hole twice this week, Slave….”

Yes. True. Two drives to work where Mistress had to tell me to “stifle”.

Are we sounding like Archie and Edith here? But with the roles reversed? Could be.

After the fourth blow, I was more than ready to admit my sins. But the blows kept raining down, and they sure hurt. 

Damn they hurt.

Unrestrained, I could not avoid rolling over and away at one point, to avoid the crop that Mistress was wielding so effectively. But her stern look made me realize that would only extend the punishment. So I sucked it up and submitted….

It’s at moments like these that I wish I had more padding back there.

But, at last, Mistress relented.

Sitting next to me and running her warm, now merciful hands along my ass. The fire was already receding, but she oohed and ahhed a bit.

“Oh my…. What nice red welts you have, Slave….”

She reached for her I-phone, snapped a photo, fiddled with her keyboard. I’m not sure if one went to M, but one went to my email account. I was instructed to show it to you all today….

Then she handed me the lube after applying a generous amount to her “cock”. 

“Are you ready for the next part, Slave.”

I was. This would be a picnic, compared to that crop.

She found her little target with no difficulty, then began pumping home.

I have a feeling that her warm up act -the process of making me writhe in pain for her, all my exclamations of agony - actually may have enhanced her own … arousal.

Because it was really only a matter of about 90 seconds… at least so it seemed …. Before she was coming hard and long with against my ass with those tell-tale spasms of ecstasy.

“Wow, Mistress…. I think you liked that….”

“Yes…. I did Slave…. Very satisfying….”

She was sliding out of me now, dropping her harness onto the floor for me to clean up and pack away afterwards….

“Why don’t you go insert your little device, and get back here and fuck me….”

I did not have to think twice about toeing that particular line.

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…. “

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.