Night On the Mountain

Mistress and slave had a stressful day yesterday, commencing with  a 3 am phone call from a daughter "studying" in Brussels. In a shaky voice she reported to her half asleep father that  1) bad shit was going on; and 2) she was safe and secure. We admire her tenacity and "it's not about me" attitude. But it was a sleepless, scary night, which will no doubt lead to several more months of nagging fears about an off-spring far away in a dangerous part of the world. Luckily, she is safe, and now out of town for a few days as the dust settles.

So yesterday was a rather "fun-free" day for Mick and Molly (believe it or not, we didn't get around to sex until late afternoon). But we hate to let our readers down,  so let me roll back the clock to our Monday night here.

We had skipped skiing for the day, to take care of some annoying client service matters. But we made plans for dinner and music up on the mountain with some friends. Of course, our dinner companions know nothing about our kinkier proclivities, which allow for the occasional tease.

Example: The lady of the couple notices a bruise on Mistress's wrist.  Mistress explained that sometimes the silver native american bracelets she wears will cause these sorts of tell tale bruises.  But slave interjected:

"Are you sure those aren't handcuff marks?"

Sadly,  my snarky comment went over the heads of our dinner companions.

Later we adjourned to the rathskeller of a charming mountain lodge, where one of our favorite musicians was playing.  It was his last weekly gig there this winter, with the ski season winding down. The crowd was varied and festive - locals and ski-weekers from out of town. 

For some of the guys there, Mistress was compelling bait.  But because I was not sitting next to Mistress but next to our male dinner companion, I apparently missed all of the attention Mistress was attracting.

I did notice the guy who sat next to Mistress, chatting her up as the music played. Later, Mistress informed me that he was an electrician who spends winters here, with a wife back in Chicago. he was a handsome guy, maybe in his late 40's.

"B ( a female friend who knew this guy) said he wanted to know who I was. I think he was disappointed when I finally introduced you as my husband, slave...."

"No doubt, Mistress."

As the hour approached 11, we knew it was probably about time to leave. We stood by the door, listening to one final Bruce Springsteen cover. I guess I was more focused on the music and the whirling dancers to notice Mistress's next come on. She reported it to me as we walked down the hill, back to our car, the trail lit by the full moon.

"Did you notice the big guy in the flannel shirt, slave? The guy standing by the door".

"No Mistress, did I miss something..."

"He said he was disappointed I was leaving, and had wanted to get me to dance with him...."

"Bummer. Another missed opportunity."

As my friends who share the "cuckold" gene can confirm, the sort of flirtatious behavior that might annoy the crap out of some husbands just seems to fuel the imagination here at the UCTMW World HQ.