It was our last full day here on vacation. The stress of returning to work and prepping the sullen teens for the start of school looms dark and ugly before us.
We had planned a final outing to the Hot Springs, deep in the River Gorge near here. But as I was typing away on a work project, determined to Email it off to clients and colleagues before noon – our designated departure time – Sullen teen 1 came out onto the patio :
“Dad….do we really need to go today…we’ve done this before.”
I lost my cool.
“You mean you really want to spend your last day here parked in front of the TV watching movies you’ve seen about a dozen times? “
“That’s better than going on another stupid hike”.
Changing tactics, I appealed to her “good hostess” side.
“Does P (the boyfriend) really want to be cooped up in side all day?”
“ Yes. he got a sunburn yesterday….”
I guess it was the Arayan complexion that did him in. Or some latent ignoramous gene that resists the application of sunscreen.
Naturally I capitulated, but with a certain belligerence.
“Fine….stay home. Get bored.”
Then the light went off in my head……FREEDOM….on our last day. What was to resent. Huzzah!
To Molly, who was lying nearby, lounging in the sun, and listening to me being snappish to my 18 year old darling:
“Quick let’s get our asses out of here before they change their minds.”
We speedily assembled our two person picnic lunch. In moments, we were churning gravel as we peeled out of our drive. Our last words to them were “we will be back for dinner….”
Molly was texting with M as we headed down the dirt road that rimmed the deep river gorge, a gorgeous view of our verdant mountains stretching almost 360 degrees across the horizon.
“I told him we were kid-less and heading to the nude hot springs, Slave.”
“And what did he say?”
“He says he wants the photographer to take and send him a photo of his nude cunt.”
“Happily, Mistress.”
We scrambled down the ½ mile “hike” over a boulder strewn path that, 150 years ago, had accommodated a stage coach line connecting our little town to the “Chili Line” rails that once ran along the West side of the gorge, all the way north toward Denver.
As we made our way to the bottom, where Dennis and Peter once cavorted with two naked lovelies in a scene from “Easy Rider”, we spotted two naked fellows, cavorting with one another in the cool river water, riding the current down stream.
On the tiny sandy beach where Mistress and Slave planned to spend their afternoon, Mistress chatted up the two guys, who’s substantial endowments were on display for her to admire, about the water temperature and depth. They were charming and charmed, but seemed far more interested in one another than us (seemingly) vanilla types.
Soon, Mistress had her bathing suit off, and was stretched across the beach, engrossed in her book. Though she took some time to pose for a few choice photos to share with M, as he required.
But when the two gentlemen dressed and began their hike back up the trail, we saw our opportunity and took it. The hot springs were now our little private domain.
We scrambled over the rocks and slid into a pool formed by a ring of stacked rocks, about 10 feet long and 6 feet wide. Perfect for the two of us.
No surly teens. No nakey guys. Just a Mistress and her devoted Slave.
The water seemed just two degrees below the temperature of our bodies. Warm and cooling at the same time. Perfect for wallowing while the high desert sun beat down on our little private paradise.
On our backs in the toasty pool, about 4 feet deep, we could peer up along the rocky face of the gorge, the rim a steep 500 feet above us.
We imagined Butch and Sundance taking their crazy jump, a scene filmed some where along this River all those years ago.
But we were not going to waste this brief opportunity reminiscing about old movies or pointing out fluffy clouds that looked like bunnies or sheep.
Soon my naked Mistress was floating next to me, back up, my fingers sliding between her legs in the warm, transparent waters.
As we kissed, deep and long, I tickled and coaxed her naughty parts to at least two shivering, shuddering orgasms.
Then she turned her attention to me, which I accommodated by sliding my black bathing suit to my knees. (Yes dear readers, I am a wimp when it comes to public displays of my aging ass and cock).
Soon her fingers had me hard and longing. But that led to a little ethical “debate”.
“Ummm, Mistress…would it be weird for me to discharge my fluids into this warm, natural tub…. I mean, what if some naked, fertile woman climbed in later today….is there a chance that 20 years from now I get a call from some 19 year old girl, named Hortensa, asking if I spent some time in a hot springs in August 2010, and looking for some financial support to attend Harvard?”
But as I was calculating the remote odds, Mistress was ahead of me. This was an opportunity not to be missed. (Or blogged about.)
Somehow, despite the odd physical dynamics created by the warm water, she had wriggled her cunt onto my hard cock and was riding it with an enthusiasm that was contagious.
And despite the odd posture I needed to maintain to keep myself parked inside of her, a combination of balancing and floating to keep our bodies tightly engaged despite our natural buoyancy, I was close.
Oh so close.
Oh so very close.
Damn. Was that some old fart on the trail above us, wearing a floral shirt that seemed to match the one on his wife, who following about 5 yards behind.
Not wanting to scandalize, Mistress promptly detached herself from my pole, and scrambled back to the beach, with her Slave in hot pursuit.
With this new company, Mistress modestly slid on her bottoms. But this was a nude beach after all. So her breasts remained on display. I even smeared on some additional sunscreen.
And so we spent the rest of our afternoon, enjoying our books, the sound of the flowing water, the cool breeze it generated, the warming sun, and one another’s company. With no one nagging “Can’t we go home now.”
It was a perfect “last day of vacation” day.
But as the sun began to hide behind the western rim, we realized it was probably time to head back to our (by now) hungry little family unit, if only for fear that they would be calling “Mountain Rescue”, and calculating how long their Mastercards would work if we were not around to mail in the monthly checks.
When we returned, their bodies seemed not to have moved from the couch in front of the DVD player. Though the dirty dishes piled in the sink provided some evidence to the contrary.
“God….how could you stay down there so long?”, one of them asked at dinner.
“Oh, We kept ourselves busy….”
“That sounds really boring.”
