Life On the Mesa

Mistress and slave have been enjoying our kids free time out here in the high desert. There has been plenty of skiing, beautiful sunsets, lots of wake up sex and evening worship, some afternoon sunning on our patio, and even a few opportunities for Mistress to receive the flirtatious attention of some locals.

Take Wednesday morning.  We were waiting in the ski valley parking lot for the "cattle car" to haul us ip the hill to the base area, when a short wiry fellow in a ski helmet walked by and said "good morning" to Mistress.

I heard the voice and spoke up.

"Is that Gary Johnson?"

He turned and confirmed that he indeed was the 3rd party Presidential candidate who had a brain cramp when asked about "Aleppo" back in the fall, a faux paux that probably helped put a certain orange hued pussy grabber in the White House. We chatted a bit with Gary - a low key guy who has climbed the Seven Summits and was an early advocate of legal pot.

"You have such white and shiny teeth", Gary told Mistress, clearly dazzled.

Then last night we went to a local "Hoedown" to benefit the Ski Patrol, those rugged guys who come to the rescue of stricken skiers or otherwise distressed damsels. While Mistress has never required "rescue" I suspect she wouldn't mind being strapped down to one of those sleds by some rugged ski patroller and hauled away to some mountain hut for a more detailed examination of her "injuries".

As we drove up to the high mesa brewery where the party was held, I asked Mistress if she wanted to enter on her own and have me watch from afar was she flirted with the assembled crowd of rugged mountain men.

"Oh slave.... that would be so slutty......"

So we entered together, and I offered to fetch us drinks ... as a good slave would do.  Mistress had on some flashy turquoise jewelry, a sexy black dress with tights, and boots. She was already turning heads as I left her to her own devices and headed to the bar.

  It took maybe 10 minutes for me to wade up to the bar and grab a beer for me and a glass of chardonnay for Mistress.  Glasses in hand, I turned back into the crowd to track down Mistress. Ultimately, I found her leaning against the sound board stand, being chatted up by --- you guessed it ---- a rugged looking bearded fellow in a ski patrol hat.  As I approached with her drink, the guy (sadly) took the message and backed away, joining some friends at a nearby table.  He was clearly disappointed, thinking Mistress was solo, and not tied down by some boring older gent.

As I stood next to Mistress, I raised an eyebrow.

"So what was that about Mistress...."

"Oh he was just making conversation slave.... said he'd never been to this event before....."

"I think he was bummed when I showed up....."

She just giggled.

"You may be right, slave....."

So dear readers, what's the proper cuckold protocol in that situation..... Should I not have interfered? Or would it have been rude to withhold Mistress's drink and leave her to her conversation with Mr. Ski Patrol?

Mountain Man Sighting

Mistress and slave have been enjoying some plentiful early snow up on our ski mountain this week. The holiday crowds have yet to arrive, giving us the feeling of having our own private ski resort with open trails for getting our legs back in shape for the season.

And with the much missed privacy, we have also had the chance for more raucous and sustained encounters betwixt the sheets.

Of course, one thing missing is that Mistress does not have a side-dish lover in these parts (yet) in order to fully exploit all this privacy.

As if to highlight that one missing piece of the puzzle, she spotted HIM.  It was a post lunch lift ride that traverses a steep double black downhill run, not open yet for need of a few more feet of snow. Below us was a tall, rangy ski patrolman, side stepping down the steep pitch, compacting the first layer of snow with his skis.

"I think that's HIM, slave, Mistress whispered to me."

Sure enough, it was Mistress's "fantasy date", the mountain man of her dreams, who has climbed Mt. Everest more than any other American climber (which guy in this photo do you think HE is?).  Mistress's mountain man  lives somewhere in  our neighborhood here and when he's not leading climbers up Denali or Everest, he spends his winters working the ski patrol to keep in shape and acclimated to high altitudes. Mistress has been drooling over him ever since we saw one of his lectures/slide shows of his adventures. And all week she's been speculating aloud about whether HE is in town rather than climbing some mountain in Antarctica as he is wont to do at this time of year.  Mistress was able to confirm from HIS facebook and instagram posts that he was, indeed, on our mountain this week. She's been craning her neck every time a red jacketed skier passes by.

I yelled an hello to HIM as we passed overhead, and he yelled a jaunty hi back.  But Mistress, blushing a bit, remained silent. No doubt she was distracted by her quickening pulse and the sudden slickening of those clean shaven folds induced by the sudden appearance of her mythic crush.

Of course, Mistress has talked to HIM before. And they are even facebook friends, exchanging a few flippant comments from time to time. But Mistress has never had any extended opportunity to work her lethal charms on HIM.

Alas.   Maybe someday.  Until then, slave will have to do his best to keep Mistress's engines running.

Tough Duty

Mistress and Slave are in our own version of a very pampered "boot camp" this week at our SW hideaway. With no cute Co-Eds or  overstaying house guests to dictate the schedule, we get to march to our own drums this week. That turns into a "two-a-day" sex regime, a late morning trip up the mountain, 10 or so robust runs, then our afternoon back here, sunning, napping, and getting a little work in so our clients don't think we've completely abandoned them.

Of course, it's not summer. Temps have bounced between the teens to the upper 50's. But that does not prevent Mistress from going au natural to restore that healthy glow. I think it was no higher than 40 degrees when I took this photo on Sunday:

It's the last week of the ski season here, so the ski patrol is out, polishing the mountain for the spring and summer season. Unfortunately, Mistress's favorite mountain man, Dave, is already off to Nepal for the Everest climbing season. But I do think her heart skips a beat when she sees one of these rugged guys with a few dozen yards of rope in hand:

Think of the possibilities!  'Nilla, maybe you can do one of those custom stories for her.

HNT/ Mistress Likes a Good Adventure

This week I have been talking about Mistress’s many desirable attributes. And a lot of them are the physical components that make up the very sexy whole.

But there is a more abstract quality that ties it all together: a sense of adventure, her willingness to press the edge of the sexual envelope in a way that always seems to inure to my benefit, too.

Molly does like an adventure. When she was a wee lass she was the type who signed up for summer programs that involved scaling the Grand Teton in Wyoming, and Mt. Ranier in Washington, or traipsing through the wilds of Alaska keeping her eyes pealed for Grizzlies.

But Mistress’s need for a good adventure is not limited to what she does in hiking boots.

What made her connect with this older guy back in the spring of 1988? I was 38 and she was just 23 when she called my bluff. I had been flirting in my dopey way, finding excuses to see her or be seen by her. She was the one who showed up in my office one day to frankly ask me, “So Mick, when are we going to do something about all this flirty stuff?” And from that first encounter, Mick was lost. But she was the one willing to take the risk.

Not long afterwards, when Mick suggested that it might be fun to tie up the little vixen as a prelude to a good fuck, Molly was all in.

I can remember one particularly choice scene in the Smokies in Tennessee, actually involving both sex and hiking boots: Molly tied, back to a tree, her jeans around her ankles, my face buried in her moist cunt.

And she was more than happy to lend me a firm wooden hairbrush to turn her bottom cherry red one day in a hotel room in our nation’s capitol.

Now that the tables are turned, and I am on the “s” side of a more formal D/s relationship, Mistress’s sense of adventure is every bit as sharp.

When I included in our contract a right for Mistress to take other slaves, or even submit to a “Master” of her choosing, it was only a matter of weeks before Mistress was testing the waters, and sharing the sordid and slutty details to drive me bonkers.

Just yesterday, after I brought Mistress her wake up coffee in our rustic bedroom here on the edge of the Sangre de Christo Mountains, Mistress shared with me an email she had received from Sir M. He was confirming their “date” next week, and soliciting another explicit photo as tribute before her return to town.

As we slid into bed together, I reached a hand between Mistress’s legs to discover that her cleanly shaven cunt was already wet and ready.

“Hmmm, Mistress. Already wet? I guess you like those emails, don’t you?”

“I am?” (mock coyness in her voice).

“Yeah…..very wet, Mistress. That email turned you on, admit it?”

“I suppose it did, Slave.”

Soon we were too focused on driving each other crazy with fingers and mouths to continue the conversation.

Later that day, we were up at the top of the mountain, with the surly teens, skis and boards at the ready. The older teen asked to shop for a T-Shirt on sale in the small, snow covered building used by the Ski Patrol as their Mountain Top HQ. We popped off the skis and stepped into the small, well used shack, filled with the detritus of gnarly guys who ski all day and (no doubt) part hard at night. These are guys who buy sunscreen by the gallon, and rope in 100 yard hanks.

Three or four Ski Patrol dudes, unshaven, bronzed and wearing their red and black jackets, chatted us up as my daughter made her selection. One, a guy with a ragged beard, seemed particularly interested in Molly, noting that he had seen her often on the mountain in recent years.

I just stood back and watched Molly deploy her considerable charm.

Back on the ski lift later that Day, Mistress was frank in her assessment:

“If you ever dump me (like that would happen), I’m coming out here for one of those guys.”

“You liked them, Mistress?”

“Oh, yes. That guy with the beard. Definitely.”

“He seemed a little scrawny to me, Mistress?”

“But in VERY good shape.”

“Well you don’t need to get rid of me first to sample his ‘stamina’, Mistress,”

“Of course I don’t, Slave.”





“Do you think he knew you wanted him, Mistress?”

“Hah. They probably see me as some suburban Mom with very vanilla tastes.”

“Wonder what they would think if they saw that shaved cunt of yours. Mistress?”

Not much of a reply. Just a little, “Hmmmm,” from Mistress.

I could tell that she was already contemplating her next adventure.