HNT / Think Cool

This photo is a visual antidote to the hot, dirty, sodden air hovering over our quaint, post-industrial river valley.

I took it of Molly’s lovely bottom last fall, just before Thanksgiving, when we were out in our Mountain hideaway, on our way to Southern Colorado to make the first tracks of the new ski year.

You can thumb back to that eventful weekend in late November on this blog if you are interested in the first hand account.

Suffice it to say that Mistress was in the full throws of her subbie little crush on E, and Mick was exploiting her lust for all it was worth.

Yes, I know. Bad Slave.

We had about a three hour drive. Our skis were wedged into the back seat. Ur route took us over a 10,000 foot pass that was freshly coated with the first snow of the season.

The sun was high and brilliant in the ski. The temperatures were in the 40’s, but the warm southwestern sun created an illusion of warmth.

At the top of that pass there is a picnic area. I pulled over. I had told Mistress to expect a surprise.

As you can see, it involved Mistress wading through knee deep snow, jeans at her ankles, spanked, then fucked from behind.

Indeed, I believe we set a personal 24 hour record for fucking that day (was it really 7?) that I will never even attempt to eclipse.

As some steroid befuddled former St. Louis Cardinal slugger might say: “some records are just not meant to be broken”.

That snowy scene was the opposite of our day here in River City on Wednesday.

Mistress and Slave were on somewhat different schedules.

We performed our morning rituals. Blog writing. Mistress reads blog while I lave her clean shaven parts with devoted tongue, then, a nice roll in the moist sheets.

Mistress lolled in bed a bit then, emailing away.

As I emerged from the shower she reminded me that my cage was to be worn. So I smushed my balls through the tight ring, fit the steel covering over my cock, then offered her the lock to squeeze shut.

“Do you feel more secure with me locked away, Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave …. “

She follows the old Reagan mantra : “Trust, but verify.”

We were both home around 6:30 pm. The surly teens were avoiding us.

Bummer. Dinner alone. (Yippee!)

But first a bike ride. And mistress. in her mercy, removed my cage. The feeling of a steel cage negotiating a bike seat is not comforting, though it’s been done on occasion.

The air here last night was the polar opposite of the pristine, chilled wonder of that snow covered pass.

Thick. Grimy. Super-heated.

Storm clouds were gathering but it seemed like the heat sapped away their ability to discharge any rain.

We made it up a long hill, sucking all that filthy detritus into our lungs when it finally started to sprinkle and thunder. That was our excuse to cut the ride short and head back to the empty, air conditioned house.

I was going to shower off the grime, but first things first.

“Can I worship, Mistress?”

“Do you want me to shower first, Slave?”

She was very considerate, but I demurred.

“No, I like it when you are a little … gamey, Mistress.”

“Fine by me, then.”

She slid off those tight black riding shorts.

I sank to my knees.

I slowly deployed my tongue, like a wine geek swirling and sipping that first taste to collect the proper pretentious adjectives.

But there was no hint of melon or faint aroma of cloves here.

No, it was a salty, musky stew that needed to be lapped up in a frenzy of greed and desire, rather than allowed to breath.

So I did.

After Mistress was fully consumed, she considered allowing me to fuck her. But deferred that until after dinner. Oh well, at least it was not an Abstinence Day.

After dinner we found ourselves back in the bedroom, and Mistress was talking about a conversation she had with M that day.

“I told him about my upcoming lunch with J.”

J is a local captain of industry. Mistress would like to hit him up for business. But she suspects J would like to hit her up for something else.

And since I have seen the way J looks at and talks to Molly at various civic functions, she’s probably right. Who could blame him.

“I bet M got a little antsy, Mistress. For a guy who seems reluctant to advance this relationship beyond the cyber, he gets a little possessive, doesn’t he?”

“I told him that I might be better off as a kinky, high priced courtesan…”

“How did he react to that idea, Mistress?”

“He said that you and he might be willing to give you permission for that, if I filled you in on all the sordid details.”

By now we were both in bed, all naked and comfy. And Mistress did something that was a little beyond the norm. Rather than allowing me to give her that warm up orgasm she has been accustomed to, she attacked – devouring her cock.

The best I could do was lie back and enjoy it, though I was able to worm a hand between her legs to work on those lovely folds with a damp finger.

I wondered – as she sucked and fondled my cock and balls – if she was fantasizing about how it would be to assume that role “professionally”, to use her considerable erotic skills to seduce and then control J and other comparable plutocrats in our staid town to dance to her tune.

But soon my thoughts were dragged back to earth by the need she had stoked so efficiently. Mistress had already succumbed to one starter cum as a result of my digital efforts. I was begging to fuck her.

As Sam sung, “It’s just the same old story….”

Now she was riding my cock. The lights were unusually bright, and I could see her eyes, seemingly far away. If she was imagining that someone else was filling her, who cared.

It was just nice to be along for her ride.