Mistress Simone on Pulling the Trigger

I am currently reading  Joe McGinnis’s bio of Sarah Palin. Makes me needy for home – I am told that it will be safe to leave our remote locale soon. If Alaska’s ½ term Governor is even 1/8^th as bad as written, this nation dodged a big bullet. Bullets, weaponry and pulling the trigger are a consistent theme in Palin’s life. She threatens folks that she will pull that trigger daily.

Back here in the land of “Simone” and “sam”, I only hope that a few brave men actually fire. Or I had hoped by now they would…. but now …. who knows.

Let me take you back to the early days of the origins of  the notorious Molly and Mick Contract, and this blog (and its predecessor).

Over two year’s ago I was contacted by an old college lover who claimed that he had spent over 20 years looking for me. He is a cyber sleuth and it turns out I was pretty well hidden. “E” told me that I had been that elusive one who had impacted him. One thing led to another, we flirted, talked about hard-core sex and about hooking up.

Only problem: his wife said he could sleep with anyone in the world, BUT me. I guess decades of pining made her nervous. SO … I became personae non grata. We are not yet at the end of the story. Earlier this week he was on the phone to me again. Yes…even 2 years later (but what is two years on the top of my recent calculation that says really 28 years total?).. He still says he wants to get it on. Of course, my contract with “Sam” gives me carte blanche. But I still don’t believe that he will ever pull the trigger.

Then there is the WC.

We have been engaged with one another for close to two years also. I have a library of his beautiful “special occasion” cock shots. We’ve had some hard core phone sex. And he has stayed in touch with me consistently. By and large, he is a guy who does exactly what he says he will, except meet me. Now he claims that we actually will. But I still don’t believe that he will pull the trigger.

And then there is real life. Francois. A man of action. We have an arrangement that is easy and seems to work for Sam, F and myself. Is it heavy? No. Angst? No. Fun, yes. Threatening to anyone? No. I dig it.

So my big mystery is will man #1 or #2 actually take action (like Sarah P.  would) And how much do I want that to happen? Fuck, after all of this trumped up sex talk…I am curious. But then there is this other part. I am thought of by some as  some mystery sex queen. The truth is that I am a 48-year-old woman with an active sex life, good imagination and a husband/slave who gets off on it. I am not counting on either man coming through. But am curious as hell.

I guess that I could wish that they were more like Sarah, but then maybe I wouldn’t like them as much.  Who knows.... maybe they're just shooting rubber bullets .... or bands.

 Frankly, I am a lucky woman with the two that I have in my own arsenal right now…

Happy Thursday

Love

Simone

Playing Through

Despite his oath never to return to our Yak infested  adopted homeland here in Hot-Damn-It-Stan, the WC apparently had a change of heart when he learned that the greens fees at the "course" not far from our Yurt were deeply discounted after the first fall snows. So on a day when Mistress was buried in work, and Slave was doing his best to introduce the locals to a crude form of Democracy, who shows up at our door but our former Mountain West employee and his brother, the guy with the finger that finds its way into the strangest places.

Of course, they felt compelled to go "native" when it came to suiting up for the course.  I was a little too busy to hit the course myself, but I handed the WC my digital camera, and after a day out on the links he shared a few photos with me before he and his brother caught the next SBPP shuttle back to the states.

Here is a photo of the caddy shack, near the first green.

 Rather than golf carts, golfers traverse the course using these four hooved transportation devices. God forbid aging duffers like WC and his Bro. actually walk the course.

The best feature about a good old American golf outing are the "beer carts" often driven by hot babes in skimpy outfits, pouring drinks and serving up snacks. But out here in the wild, the refreshments are....well.... fresher.

One advantage of golfing the course hear is the highly skilled (and armed) group of caddies available to coach newbies like the WC through the ups and downs of the native terrain.

But once out on the course, our fearless adventurers had lots of open fairway available to slice and dice to their hearts content.

And while the environment skews to the dry side, eliminating the ability of course designers to incorporate water hazards, there are other hazards that have been added, to keep the match lively.

 Finally,  after a long fruitless battle to achieve par, the two itinerant "players" were able to adjourn to the local version of the 19th hole:

BTW, we promise to get back to what used to be a sex blog soon!

SBPP Logistics Coordinator Vets Supply List for Bloggers on Lam

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Mistress Gets a Pass On Switch Day

For those of you who tune in here on Monday morning for one of those tawdry photos of Mistress in some form of bondage, and a tale of her succumbing to the compelling vibrations of her favorite power tool..... you can move on now.  With the cute co-ed back from campus briefly on an I-phone repair mission, it seemed a little "awkward" (as our teens now say), to force too many plaintive cries from Mistress. 

So our morning sex - after I prepared Mistress a coffee and we read the morning papers huddled under the Yak furs - was more of the vanilla variety.

Not that I can complain. Mistress rewarded my worship with an extended period of teasing my cock with those lush lips, until I was quite literally begging for the privilege of fucking her.

After that, we took an early morning ride on our mountain bikes, exchanging greetings some of our neighbors along the trail.

Later, Mistress went on the expedition to the Black market, finding the Apple stall, where some genius popped open the little Co-ed's I-phone.  Mistress sent me a text photo back, accompanied by the dreaded message "water damage".  Oops. Say goodbye to this one, and the fantasy that the warranty would cover another I-phone breakdown.
But I must say the "genius" sure looked like he knew what he was doing.

With the little princess's problem finally resolved, it was time for her to head back to campus. Mistress rode her via Yak to the local airstrip where D, our Director of Logistics had a private jet waiting, courtesy of the SBPP.  Love those deep pockets.

Once she was off, Mistress called me via satellite phone and said she was stopping by Francois's Yurt, sort of on the way home, for a cup of his special Tea.  I told her to enjoy, and decided to take a few more photos to share with our readers.

You've heard me talk a little too much about the useful Yak, and particularly how we heat our Yurt by burning dried Yak dung in the open fire. Well here's a photos of how the locals dry this bountiful substance: by smearing it on walls until it's .... well ..... done. The next time the WC shows up, I have an idea how he can earn his keep.

And here is the finished product, all stacked and ready for a long cold winter ahead. The only trouble is that the distinct aroma of the smoke does have a tendency to blot out Mistress's sultry perfume.

Not long after I came back from my little stroll, Mistress's Yak pulled up in front of the Yurt.

"How was Francois, Mistress?"

"He was fine, Slave.... I had some Tea... he fed me a few chocolates.... but no hanky panky...."

"Poor Mistress.... are you in need of a little more sex this evening...."

Actually, it turned out we were both more in the mood for hunkering down on a Sunday evening.... our empty nest restored .... nice to see our beloved daughter.... nice to settle back into a very comforting routine too.

Not So Empty Nest

I'm a lucky Slave that we  made time for some robust early morning sex yesterday, because our Saturday turned out a little busier than we normally plan, particularly out here in On-the-Lam-I-Stan. I had woken earlier than normal, so spent some time on the blog and catching up on the week's news from back in the States. By the time Mistress called for her Slave, I was more than ready to worship at my personal altar. Fortunately, I was rewarded for my efforts.

After Mistress was suitably fucked, I drifted back to sleep for  a while. Then we were off to various errands and tasks we had put off during a busy work week.

The unexpected development was a brief overnight visit to the Yurt by our sullen teen. She had the ultimate sullen teen emergency; her I-phone crashed!  The horror. It must be like flying blind in the world of a college freshman. And of course, this is a problem only Mommy can resolve.

Fortunately, D, our SBPP logistics coordinator was up to the task of organizing  last minute travel arrangements to our very remote hideout. I won't go into all of the details. But they did involve mid-air refueling and a double humped ground delivery system.

So there the little cutie was, at our Yurt flap  step by midday. I will confess it was good to see her. And I think Mistress misses her girls more than she likes to let on.  They spent a good part of the day doing girl type things, enjoying some local confections, tending to beauty processes (not that they are really needed) and making an appointment with a local black market "genius" to get her I-phone crisis resolved later this morning, before she heads back to campus.

Last evening the two girls settled into watch back-to-back "chick flicks" in one corner of the Yurt. But Slave had other plans. Both of my alma maters were on TV, playing in different cities. But with the benefits of satellite TV,  the extra plasma screen and other necessary furnishings that D had air dropped to us just in case of this type of "crisis", and some handy local sherpas with time available now that climbing season is over, I was able to construct a "man cave" of my own in a remote subterranean area of the Yurt.

Hunkered down with some exotic local brew that had the faint aroma of mangy Yak to give it an unusual kick, I was able to click back and forth through the evening, and watch both of my teams come from behind in the 2nd half to maintain their trajectory to one 2nd tier bowl or another.

And I was even able to catch the end of the "Redneck Riviera Super Bowl" from Tuscaloosa, where two groups of over paid under the table teens battered one another to a 6-6 tie. At that point, it seemed more appropriate to go into extra innings than OT. Fortunately, the team from Bayou country put a swift end to this mediocre misery, with a walk-off field goal. After that sad display, both teams should sink in the polls. 

Sadly, by the time my total college football immersion was done,  and I climbed out of my cave, Mistress was already settled into bed under her Yak furs. It was a little too late to expect a victory lap within those clean shaven folds. In fact, I may deserve a well earned punishment due to my negligence.  I just hope I don't lose my Man Cave privileges until after today's big  NFL showdown!

As you can see, there isn't much sex to report on today, but Slave can't complain! And somehow I think we will make up for lost time, after the camel comes to collect our sweet little co-ed this afternoon.

Friday Night At the Movies

It was a rather busy work week for both Mistress and Slave.  In particular, Mistress is hunkering down with a new job, and all the challenges of absorbing the new work place culture, while at the same time shaking some things up, which she was brought on board to do.

A part of the process, it's been harder for Simone to break away from work duties to do some of the things that we had gotten sued to over the last year or two.

"I'm sorry I've not been able to stop by for worship this week, Slave...."

"Not a problem, Mistress....I know how busy you are.... this will pass."

Slave had a busy work week too. My job here required be to ride out to some neighboring village to make some house calls in my budding alternative dispute resolution practice. You'd be surprised how open the locals are to an approach that does not involve sharp pointed objects, and the loss of limbs for one party or both. And D has been very accommodating with the equipment required to get things up and running..  First, she provided this mobile office, which has been particularly useful when I need a conference room to meet with the contending parties on site.

Then, when I whined a bit about the pain that arises when you combine a hard steel cock cage with several hours a day traveling via Yak, she found me this new saddle, with a strategically placed aperture  for my increasingly tender parts.

Believe me, that is a big relief.  I was afraid that the combination of these bumpy trails and lumpy Yaks might do permanent damage to Mistress's special equipment.

But I digress.

By the time we got back to our Yurt, with just a little sun left out here on the Steppes, we were both pretty fried. But Mistress thrives on her exercise, so we took a spin on our mountain bikes across the valley here, the early fall snow having melted into clumps here and there to accommodate our wheels.

Back home, we stripped off the exercise clothes and quickly slid into bed. After catching up on our email traffic, we turned off the lights and folded ourselves into one another's arms. Were we nodding off?  Could be.  But my antsy fingers somehow found my way between Mistress's thighs as I spooned against her. For whatever reason I could not resist sliding my fingers between those clean shaven folds. And then.... well, one thing led to another as they tend to do here in our humble Yurt, Afterwards we did settle into a short nap and refreshing nap.

When we awoke, we heated up some Yak Chili leftover from Sunday's football watching, and settled down in front of the TV to watch a movie in our Netflix Q. It was "Page One", a documentary about the New York Times and how its coping with the revolution on media. (Check out the trailer, here.)  Hard to believe, but they;ve been slicing bodies and have been lingering at death's door just like so many of the less worthy daily papers, some of which have gone quietly into the night these last few years. Indeed, some of our pals in River City are laid off or "early retired" ink soaked wretches  who have had to re-invent themselves late in life to keep paying the bills. The movie is well worth watching if you are either a fan of the Times, or curious about where all this "Journalism" thing is going.

The narrative movie raises the question of  whether there is a future for the traditional newspaper, with its high overhead roster of salaried and credentialed "journalists", when so many folks are out there doing "reporting" or developing content on their home computers. The pie of media product keeps getting larger, the sources more varied, but also much less "reliable" and "objective".

Then I thought of my own media consumption -- and production -- habits.  I  spend much less time buried on the newspaper (though we still get two dailies, even here in the Yurt) or watching TV news than in the past. But I am almost continuously connected to other media outlets -- my laptop or handheld, both of which spew content in the buckets full at me through all my waking hours. (Of course, these days a lot of that content is the smutty time, from our blogger pals).

At the same time, I'm spewing content of my own: facebook, twitter, and of course this rather silly but 45 minutes or so a day consuming blog.

Does that make us part of the problem?  An I really competing with the NY Times?  Putting real reporters out of work?

Sorry guys.

Shift Change at the Yurt

I suppose I was a little whiny yesterday about Mistress's 24 hour absence. We woke after sleeping in a little later than normal, and I made sure to enjoy my wake up sex privileges after the deferred gratification of the prior 36 hours or so. Plus I knew we'd be getting home a little later than normal from work on Thursday.

"Francois's invited me to go with him to some sort of social gathering for European Ex-Pats over in the adjoining village, Slave.... do you mind?"

"Well,  there's no need to ask permission.... but I certainly don't mind Mistress....we could be here a while so why pass up a good networking opportunity?"

"That's true Slave...."

"Plus it might be fun to go out on a 'date' with Francois.... I'm sure he'll be good company."

After work I had dinner with an Ex-Pat myself, at  a local dive just down the street from our "Court house". He's an Irishman who seemed to be on the lam himself, with some mysterious explanation related to "The Troubles". He was good company and we shared some "Red Breast" Irish Whiskey and talked about old times and departed friends.

At around 7:30 or so, as  we were wrapping up,  I got a call on my satellite phone from Mistress.  "We're heading back to the Yurt now, Slave.... Francois is going to stop by for a while.... so don't be long."

Well, I suspected that Mistress might get a little action in our Chef and IT Specialists hands, so lingered a bit, giving them some space, before I hopped on my Yak to cross the pass to our little valley. As I crested a hill, there was our little home away from home, all lit up, with Francois's Yak grazing in the "driveway".  So it seemed Mistress's "date" wasn't over just yet.

So how do you enter your own home, knowing that your Mistress / Wife might be "in the arms of another man"?

Gingerly. 

I mean you don't want to be loud and rude in a "honey, I'm home" sort of way and disturb them at an important moment.  But you don't want to sneak up on them either. 

I elected to quietly slide into the door and make just enough getting home late from the office sounds so as to not be accused of being a creepy voyeur. 

The plan worked. Mistress called out within a few seconds....

"Slave.... is that you?  Come on in...."

I stuck my head into our sleeping alcove to find Mistress lying, naked in our bed, a small fur pulled  strategically over some of her clean shaven folds, the glow of candle light bathing her smiling if a little stuporous face.  Francois was out of the bed, pulling on his rather colorful boxers.

"It's about time. We were just about to text you Slave.... it's time for you to take over and finish things up here...." he said with that sly Euro-Trash smile.

"I think I can handle clean up duties...."

I showed Francois to the tent flap, exchanging pleasantries, then returned to my Mistress.

"So how was that, Mistress?"

"Good Slave.....it WAS sort of like a date."

She talked about some of the folks she had met.  "He kept saying I was his Mistress.... and I kept looking at him like he was crazy." 

"That's probably how Herman Cain got in trouble."

By now, Slave had stripped away his work cloths.

"Have you had enough, Mistress?"

"No Slave, now I need my cock.... but go put in your device first (my aneros).... I want it particularly hard."

"Of course, Mistress."

She proceeded to fullfill that promise, using those recently manicured fingers and her warm mouth to sculpt it to her liking, then elected to ride it to a few of those nice moaning cums I enjoy so much.

"So how many with Francois, Mistress?"

"I'd say four, Slave...."

"And did he make you beg?"

"Of course..... that's the rule...."

By then Mistress was all tuckered out.... I mean she'd had to endure so many orgasms over the course of an hour or so.  But she did let me finish off on top of her, if only to balance the fun.

"It looks like I got back just in time, Mistress.... other wise who would have been able to fill in at the shift change."

"I agree, Slave.... just in time delivery is a very efficient way to operate."