No Mercy.

True to our high falutin' literary ambitions here, the title of today's blog has a double meaning.

Here in our Mountain Hideaway, it was Mistress showing no mercy to her devoted Slave.

After another beautiful day on our sun drenched ski mountain, we came back down to our home, on the edge of the mountains where the sun had warmed things to spring like conditions. Of course, that meant Mistress was soon out onto the patio, snow from the last big storm be damned.  Here she is, still in her ski undies, soaking up some late afternoon rays.

When the sun sank a bit more, Mistress declared it time for a short nap, and beckoned her Slave in to bed to keep her warm. That's an assignment that I was happy to perform.

But first, there was an assignment. 

"Put my supplies by the side of the bed, Slave.... so, they're easy to reach when nap time is over."

I assembled her strap on kit, and of course the lubricant.

"Now don't forget the riding crop, Slave.... you know you have that punishment coming."

I found her crop  too, but I must admit I was hoping that Mistress had forgotten my little transgression --- the embarrassing incident where I asked the ski patrol dude how Mistress could find Dave -------, the object of her smutty fantasies, up on the mountain this weekend.

We napped huddled close together, and then, just as the sun was setting, we both woke.  Mistress had business on her mind.

"Hand me the crop, Slave....."

To stave off what seemed to be the inevitible, I tried a little distraction ploy, suggesting we first take in the sunset. The  dying sun was blazing in front of our house, a tiny bright wedge  was all that was left on the Western horizon.

But those  last intense rays sliced through our  living room window and, as if by conscious design,  illuminated in bright bold red light  a folk art painting of the Virgin Mother and her Son, hanging on our wall. (Out here they call such things "Santos" or "Retalbos"). I thought the timing of this little "miracle" could be useful.

"Look at that Mistress, .... that has to be a sign that the baby Jesus wants you to spare my aging ass!  After all, you may have to spank it again tomorrow if the Broncos can't cover the spread!"

"That has to be the most pathetic scam to avoid a well deserved punishment I've heard yet, Slave."

You can't blame a Slave for trying, can you?

No, Mistress had no mercy.

Not unlike the alpenglow that setting sun left on the mountains behind our adobe cottage, I can still feel the 'afterglow" of the blows that rained down on my tender tush at sunset last night. Fortunately,  after she had taken my not so virgin ass with her strap on, I was allowed to take my own satisfaction from those welcoming clean shaven folds. Maybe that was the Mercy I was looking for from Mistress, who always seems to know what's good for her Slave.

Of course, the other example of  "No Mercy" came last night in Foxboro, Mass.,  where  All Mine's Team put a big hurt on Tim Tebow and his over-matched apostles.  As the ESPN headline put it this morning, "Brady's  6 TD's, Pats, Bury Tebow." And with Tebow's cold  crucified corpse  went  the collective asses of the UCTMW management team -- well at least the WC, Slave and Mistress.  Bill, feel free to add Donna into the mix if she wants to "feel our pain" in a team building exercise.

We've all had fun with Tim Tebow attributing his victories to his devotion to Jesus. I was even hoping that the sunset illumination of Jesus and his Mom here last evening,  just before game time, was an encouraging portent.

But apparently Jesus took the sabbath off last night. Either that, or Mitt Romney got the Angel Moroni to intervene and balance divine influences on behalf of his local team. Combine last night's "burial" with the Saints loss to the team from "Sodom  on the Bay", and the Christian right will have a few more talking points to add to their "War on Religion" whine.

But with Tebow sent to the grave, at least until the Broncos roll away his stone in the fall, maybe we need to find another story line for the balance of the NFL payoffs. (One thing I won't do is hype another bet with Suzanne. She drives a very hard bargain, not unlike her utilization of Big Blackie on Tammy).

And after taking a look at the Pats Coach on the sideline last night it came to me: Bill Bellichek is one of two evil geniuses separated at birth.  See what I mean:

So will this year's Super Bowl be an NFL remake of "The Empire Strikes Back"?

Dave?

First off, I want to acknowledge the efforts of the WC yesterday in finalizing lengthy negotiations with the Queen (errr.... team) over at All Mine to conclude our wager for tonight's game between Tebow's Disciples and Brady's Bandits.  It was difficult, and I see from her posting summarizing the bet that Suzanne tossed in a few wrinkles near the end that those of us at UCTMW had to swallow a little harder than normal to accept.

(In particular, I thought my own ass was out of this wager.... but I can handle it in the spirit of sportsmanship).

I won't even try to summarize the terms, which are particularly complex and seem to exempt Suzanne alone from the lofty 13 1/2 point spread. Very crafty! Check them out here: All Mine - wager terms.

I just hope that in the spirit of religious liberty, the NFL has waived the "12 Men in the Huddle" rule for tonight's game, because the Broncos are going to need their 12th Man, or, in the alternative, Tim "The 2nd Coming" Tebow will need a full complement of apostles.

Now that WC has polished his negotiating skills with Suzanne, he's more than ready to take on the smoldering peace talks with the Taliban to end the War on Afghanistan. Or maybe that dicey bit about Iran's nuclear arms program? I'll be passing your name onto Hillary, WC.

Out here in our little hideaway, Mistress and Slave had a nearly perfect day: Morning Sex, Skiing in brilliant sunshine, an apres ski nap, topped off with a little more sex, reading books, and then off to dinner at Mistress's favorite Pizza joint in the World. Mistress's preferred delicacy there is the Spelt Pizza crust, which she ordered with goat cheese and mushrooms. (Mitt Romney, no doubt, would have ordered it with Chevre).

But there was a slight blemish in our day:  On one of our many chair rides we joined a rugged Ski Patrol dude. After he gave us some in depth analysis on the threat of avalanche on a particular pitch, I asked about the whereabouts of certain famous mountain climber who winters here on the ski patrol. He's a guy  Mistress has on the top of her "bucket list" (or should that be "cock list").

His first name is Dave, and he's climbed Everest more than any other American. That and plenty of the other highest peaks too.  Mistress has a long smoldering fantasy about meeting him, and then.... well who knows.

So, I thought I just was being helpful.....

"My wife has always wanted to meet Dave ....., she's a big fan. Is he on the  Mountain this weekend?"

Mistress gave me a nudge and a dirty look.

"He should be on tomorrow.... just stop by the ski partrol hut and see if he's around...."

"Great idea...."

The Ski Patrol guy and  Mistress finished the ride talking about Dave's exploits and her own past experiences in climbing.

Afterwords Mistress was unhappy, to say the least,  with her "only trying to be helpful" Slave.

"That was embarrassing, Slave.... you deserve a punishment for that...."

"I just told him you were a fan, not that you want to perfom a full body inspection while he's tied helplessly to your bed with an assortment of climbing gear."

That drew a very nasty look from Mistress.

So, even before the outcome of tonight's game, I may have a bruised ass to show for my attempted good deed.

But there is a little post script to this sad tale of Slave's impending punishment.

Lat night, after we had stuffed ourselves with spelt pizza and Utica greens, we were heading home in the dark, the brilliant fog of the milky way overhead, the 2/3's moon yet to rise.

Mistress was stretched back in her seat,  a little tipsy from the wine that helped wash down that pizza, and tired from a day on the slopes. But not too tired, apparently....

"Dave, do we have the Hitachi back at the house."

"Uhhhh..... yes Mistress.... it's there in our drawer..... but did you just call me 'Dave'?

"Oooops...... I guess I meant to say, Slave......"

"Sounds like you still have your climber hero on your mind, Mistress....."

"Oh, Slave...."

Regardless, once we were settled into bed, Slave deployed "Mr. H." to make sure Mistress had a little moaning and groaning night cap to top off a lovely day out here on the Lam.

And whether in the deep recesses of that dirty little mind it was her trusty Slave or that macho climber wielding her favorite power tool, who was I to judge.

In Exile In the High Dessert

Mistress and Slave are on the lam again, if only for a week or so, taking some time off at our high desert hideaway here in the Southwest.  We plan to get in plenty of skiing, relaxation, and, of course, connubial bliss.  And this time we did not need help from the Sex Blogger Protection Program.

While originally we intended to go completely dark for a week, that seemed to make things a little ..... off..... yesterday morning. Though Mistress got the attention she deserved, with Slave's lips and tingue buried in those clean shaven folds.... something was missing.

"It's strange not to have the blog to read when you worship, Slave.... it's like going to a great restaurant and not trying an appetizer before the main course."

It's nice to think of my daily prattle as sauteed fois gras,  or an artisan roasted beet salad

So while this week I may be abbreviated in my discourse, I get the message.... my prime directive is to please Mistress, and whether  she is the only one who reads this, or it filters out to but a few of our more devoted readers, it really makes no difference.

Mistress shall get her morning appetizer!

Yesterday, over at All Mine, Suzanne described a rather intense spanking she bestowed on Tammy, and she speculated whether our prospective bet between the competing sex blog universes over the outcome of the Broncos v. Patriots play-off game should include a spanking as part of the stakes. And while Mistress greedily was thinking of something more carnal, involving the legendary trophy cock, we do realize that considering our distance it might be hard to "collect" on such a bet.  Or that Suzanne might consider the TC something she wants to keep a tighter grip on (at least until the Super Bowl!). So what about this as an alternative:

If the Pats beat the spread (whatever it is right now), then there will be a spanking:  The WC (who's team will be carrying the UCTMW banner), will persuade his wife B to administer  a good old fashioned paddling, with the implement of her choice, with a photo to be taken and posted as proof that the debt was properly paid!

On the other hand, if the Broncos beat the spread, then the tables will turn at All Mine, and Tammy. as agent for the UCTMW winners, will administer an appropriate spanking to Suzanne, with a picture to be posted to prove that the debt has been paid!  (Of course, if Jay wants to be chivalrous, he can always step in and "take it for the team".)

Naturally, we are open to any alternative you may want to propose, Suzanne.

But wouldn't it be nice to have a little personal skin in the game tomorrow night?  I am sure the WC won't mind, and I am sure Mistress would be willing to make it worth his while if he agrees to put his own ass on the line. But let's hear from him too.

Bets aside.... we made it here last night at around 10:30 or so Mountain time, not particularly exhausted. A nearly full moon lit up the mountains behind our home, and there were  patches of snow around from the storms that came through here in late December. We hear that there is a nice base up on the ski mountain, and we will be heading up there later this morning.

Once we had stowed away our things (we travel light since our home here has lots of climate suitable clothing), Mistress and Slave prepared for bed.

But she did have a question.

"Did you bring your device, Slave....."

She's referring to my aneros, a little surrogate to remind me that my ass, like the rest of me, belongs to Mistress.

"I did....."

"Well then go insert it now, Slave.... we've had a long day and I want to make sure I have a suitably hard cock...."

As you can imagine that was not a problem.

Back in River City, Hiding in Plain Sight

"Sam and Simone" have abandoned deep cover in On-the-Lam-It-Stan and have resumed their shallower "Molly and Mick" cover back in River City. Mistress was all tighted up and headed to work this morning, though she did have some time for worship!

be sure to catch up with us at Under Contract to My Wife.

Mistress and Slave In Transit

While the sherpas ordered up by D from the SBPP did our packing, Mistress and her Slave lingered in bed Saturday morning, huddled under the Yak furs for the last time, and frolicked a bit. Slave lavished attention on those succulent clean shaven folds, and Mistress seemed pleased with the results.... it had been nearly 24 hours since she'd had a suitable cum. After my work was done, Mistress turned her attention (and lips) to my thickening cock, driving me to distraction until she finally consented to my increasingly urgent pleas to allow me to fuck her.

We were in that post orgasm zone, drifting back to sleep, when the lead sherpa knocked on the bed frame.

"The Yaks are packed, Mistress...."

(Note that he had been instructed to use proper terminology. D takes care of all the important details.)

We tossed on some traveling togs, took one last look around the Yurt and began our journey. It was all a little dizzying after that, but D had a staff photographer record  some of the highlights of our long day.

Here are some of the locals, bidding adieu to Mistress and her slave as our party heads the the local airstrip:

Of course, there were deep river canyons to cross:

And once at higher altitude, some brilliant snow fields:

D had a transport plane waiting for us when we finally arrived at the airstrip, and the yaks were loaded on board:

Of course the air plane crew was a little surprised at the cargo, but worked dilligently into the evening to load up all our accumulated detritus:

Finally, we were off:

Fortunately, for Slave.... back here in River City just in time for today's big showdown with that evil NFL team from up river.

We look forward to resuming our original secret identities and reporting to you Monday morning from UCTMW World HQ on Monday morning....

Last Night In On-the-Lam-It-Stan

It was good to hear from the SBPP program that it appears safe for us to return to River City, after about 30 days on the lam, fearful that our secret identities had been blown.  Bill's report that the UCTMW HQ was secure was reassuring. But let's hope he's swept for bugs, and has arranged for a cleaning service to get in there and handle any accumulated  cob webs and dust bunnies. I know Mistress likes things spic and span, and it would likely fall on her pampered Slave to take care of those details when we return.

We've certainly enjoyed our time here in these exotic climes. And D and the other staff members at the SBPP have done everything in their considerable powers to make life comfy for us here. (Somehow I'm going to have to replicate that Man Cave back at the World HQ).  Sin asked yesterday whether we were getting tired of the Yurt.... Well the Yurt's very cozy, but a full winter of the smell of smoldering Yak dung in our cloths and hair, or scrambling out to the privy in a few feet of snow could certainly test anyone's endurance.

We had arranged an evening out here in Dag-Nab-It-Stan with some work associates that Mistress has become close with. The plan was to attend a social event out in the "suburbs" with them. But the event turned out to be so strange, so awkward, so .... just plain disturbing, that even in my most cynical and snarky mode can't lower myself to do it justice. Let's just say it was a fundraiser, wrapped around a memorial service for a sadly departed daugther, where they served her favorite drink: a pink cosmopolitan.

So we figured a way to excuse ourselves early (while folks were dancing to "hang on sloopy", and making those dorky arm signals), and hopped aboard our Yaks to stop by a local restaurant we had not tried during our stay. The place was charming, but the noise from a local electronically enhanced band, playing covers of Jethro Tull, Kenny G and Steely Dan in a rather dissonant but native key had us a little on edge, and ready to head home by around 11 pm.

We approached the Yurt a little warily, wondering if Mistress had any more unexpected suitors lurking about. The coast seemed clear as I tucked the Yaks away for the evening in their shed.  (We've grown accustomed to these useful beasts, and hope the next bloggers on the lam enjoy them too).  But just as I was about to open the Yurt flap, I saw a strange, tall figure striding across the ridge line. The nearly full moon lit him, casting a broad shadow across the steppe. Was he looking for our Yurt, and for the legendary Mistress Simone? 

Let's hope not.... but it seemed like it was a good time to start packing....

Cover Blown Again?

Things had settled down to a nice comfy routine here in our not so humble Yurt after the election day dust cleared.  On Tuesday I had been called on to monitor balloting by the locals who were up in arms (and I don't use that term loosely) over some oppressive legislation that would have taken away the rights of local Yak herders employed by land barrons and war lords, to the 2nd Yak of any litter for their personal use and/or consumption.

You can imagine how the Yak herders felt about that!  They've come to rely on that extra Yak (and its progeny) for small comforts: like warmth in the winter, and food on the table. and also transportation and shipping. It's as if FedEx, Greyhound, McDonald's and the local energy company were all consolidated onto 4 hooves.

So somehow they ginned up a referendum to restore their traditional rights. The balloting was a little more primitive than we've come to expect. Instead of burdensome ID requirements, the poll workers would stamp a voter's thumb with indelible purple ink. Of course, just like money in American politics, those who want to game the system find a way. and when the War Lords determined to stuff the ballot boxes learned of this "ballot security" measure, they simply sharpened their knives and removed a few thumbs. Naturally, this led to protests to disqualify bloody ballots, and the whole thing is still undecided. They're thinking about calling in Katherine Harris as a consultant to sort the whole mess out.

Fortunately, my job was done late on election night, and though Mistress and Slave had a dry spell that day, we got back into the swing of things as the week progressed. There's nothing like the ritual of getting home from work, getting some exercise, then climbing into bed for some warm and comfy sex, before even thinking about "what's for dinner".



But here's the rub.  After Mistress published her little story yesterday about her frustration with E and WC giving her the fancy cock tease, but not pulling the trigger..... somehow the word got out that she is ... shall we say.... available.  The next thing you know our Yurt is a busier place that the SBPP contemplated.


First, this crew from NASA  sends a little solicitation....fresh from a mission and ready for action:

Mistress was not sure exactly what they had in mind - maybe weightless sex - but was certainly tempted by the variety. But it sure would take a while to get them disrobed.

The next thing you know, word about Mistress's proximity got out to the locals, and we had a virtual riot on our hands, responding to what was perceived to me another "casting call":

But at least for these guys, what you saw was what you got.  But the numbers seemed a little overwhelming.



Actually, Mistress considers herself much more selective. She seems content with occassional visits from Francois, but remains open to other, more discrete entreaties.


As for her Slave, well remain committed to my contract with her, that gives her carte blanche in this realm. And truth be told, the thought (and reality) of Mistress's involvement with other guys is still a pretty potent  accelerant for our sex lives.  And apparently we are not the only ones turned on by the whole "cuckold" thing, as shown by this article in Salon just the other day. It talks about how the fantasy of the "cheating Wife" seems to be the second most search engined sex topic these days, and sorts through the usual list of theories why that might be. "Sperm competition" seems a little too clinical for me. I just consider it something that makes my wife a lot hotter.... whether we are simply speculating about it, or acting out on those speculations.

But D, now that Mistress's cover in Hot-Damn-It- Stan seems to have been blown, maybe it's time to consider whether we can safely come in from the cold, particularly with a big NFL rivalry game in River City this weekend.