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…. “