The Smoke Clears for Independence Day

Hopefully our readers excused our paucity of words here in exchange for all those lovely photos of Mistress, “languishing” in he switch day “discomfort”. Rest assured that the events of the day left her with a distinct advantage on the Orgasm count, which ended at:

Mistress – 10

Slave – 2

It was all made possible with the help of her handy power tool. While I did not have a chain saw to help with my pruning of trees and bushes, at least in my breaks I had that Hitachi to spell the work of tongue and fingers and make it far more efficient to push that O count higher.

Meanwhile, the WC was only a short drive north of us, and the tone of his text messages to Molly were a little whiney. She had a feeling he was a bit resentful of all the fun he was missing. Either that or his round of golf was sub-par.

AS the day progressed we both read this interesting Article ("Infidelity will keep us together") in the Sunday Times’ magazine, on the subject of fidelity, with both of us reading aloud and commenting  on some of the more thought provoking parts.  For those of you, like us, who have moved onto some more unconventional choices in this area, it is definitely worth reading, and maybe discussing here or elsewhere .  So check it out.

We spent our Sunday evening at home dining with some friends, who left relatively early, giving us some time to rest up for our big July 4^th festivities.

It was about our 7^th annual hosting of a pre-parade party here on our patio, with its stunning views. Fortunately, the wind had shifted some, blowing away the pall of Los Alamos smoke, so we had a clear beautiful day to celebrate, as well as our nation’s birthday.

And I was up early, preparing my apple crisp to go with the Billini’s, cheese, chips and salsa we were serving.

When Mistress woke, I served her a latte, and we settled into some luxurious morning sex, with Mistress riding my cock to several emphatic cums before we flipped the table and Slave earned his own permission to come.

That was followed by a nice exhilarating bike ride, with the mountains and valleys along the way finally clear of the shroud of smoke.

At home set up was relatively simple, and we found we had an hour before our guests arrived.. Mistress settled out on the patio, her kindle in hand, completely naked but for a necklace and sandals.

I picked up some pruning shears.

But Mistress had another task in mind.

“Slave, in this light I can see a few stray hairs down there. Could you get me my razor?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

I found it in the shower and carried it to her. So while I trimmed some of our bushes, Mistress trimmed her own.

“Do you know how much work it is to keep things so tidy for you Slave?”

“I am very appreciative, Mistress….”

Our little reception was enjoyable, an interesting mix of friends in both the local and tourista categories. Around noon we walked the short stroll to the parade, with it’s traditional mix of kitsch and unbridled patriotism.  Here are a few photos.

 ( a float by a local company that works on faces. Divas on parade, and their attendant Slave?).

Afterwards, there was a barbeque on the grounds of a local restaurant, with music by a local band, and a big pig on the spit. A great way to let a lovely afternoon pass, and we were lucky to find seats in the shade.

By 4 or so the band finished their last set, and Mistress and Slave passed on an invite to take the party to another house, then yet another restaurant and band. We’d had enough of company, and strolled home, back through our little town, now abandoned by the revelers who had come from far and wide for the celebration.

So instead of more partying, there was nap time, sex time, and time to read as the sun set over our little chunk of heaven.

When the sun had completely disappeared, the milky way was out in all it’s glory. But to the south, barely noticeable at first, was a red glow stretching out for what must have been 15 miles along the very edge of our horizon. From our vantage the Los Alamos fire was a series of crimson commas and parentheses adorning the distant ridge.

The winds from the north must have cleared the smoke to the south, giving us an amazing view from 60 miles away of the still ferocious blaze that 2000 hearty souls were still fighting to contain.

It put our lazy and indulgent holiday in perspective.

We are two lucky Americans.

HNT/ Kinky Krisp

It’s the Holidays, and even our strange little kinky Blogger community has to take a break from egging each other on to new sexual exploits, and take notice.

It wouldn’t be the Holidays in the Collins household without decadent tempting sweets lying about the house, to help us all lower our centers of gravity as we get ready for a ski vacation with our surly teens at our secret mountain hideaway. What’s the difference between bending your knees and just letting them buckle?

Earlier this week, SFP recruited good old Mick for the cookie-palooza promoted by a variety of our sub sisters.

My guess is that I’m just affirmative action window dressing – but I’m game. Hopefully, I  am a  credit to my gender when it comes to larding up family and friends for the holidays.

There’s just one problem:  While Mistress has a profound sweet tooth, she also has a wheat allergy. So when Mick is called on to make a desert it has to be wheat-less.

I’ve perfected in my own haphazard way an Apple Crisp that gets Mistress salivating even as it warms in the oven. And I’m sharing it with you here with a few illustrations from the one I prepared Sunday evening for our Christmas dinner with extended family here in River City.

First, grease a pan or glass dish and fill it with apple chunks: a pan that’s about 15” x 8” will take about 4 to 6 apples, depending on size. I like to have a variety of apple categories available to make the taste a little more complex. Sort of like one of Aisha’s and D’s munches with that strange mix of kinksters coming in various ages, dimensions and preferences, all ogling one another.  Pears can go into the mix too.

Here is a picture of what the apples should look like once cored and chunked. I’m way to lazy to skin the apples. I must have gotten that from our WC.

Once the apples are arrayed in the dish or pan, pore about ½ cup of water over them. 

Now would be a good time to pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees. (Higher if at altitude of 6500 feet or more.)

Of course you could just bake the apples. They would be tasty and healthy. But then you’d miss the sugar and butter.

That’s coming next.

Get out a mixing bowl, and fill it with one cup of brown sugar, one cup of refined white sugar, and two cups of thick cut oats.

To the mix add a cup of nuts: walnuts or peanuts or cashews will do,  but not too salty, unless you are into that. 

Then add a teaspoon of nutmeg and two teaspoons of cinnamon.

Take one stick of butter and soften it up. 30 seconds in the microwave does it for me. But you can melt it in a sauce pan too.

Pour the butter into the bowl with all the other stuff, and mix it roughly together with a wooden spoon --- you know the kind that can also double for an implement to redden a sub’s bottom. (D’s risotto spoon would do).

Once the goop is all blended together, and you have most of the lumps out of the brown sugar, it looks sort of like this:

The final step is to spread your oaty, sugary mix over the apples, trying your best to get it evenly distributed, corner to corner.  It will look like this:

Cover the pan with a sheet of aluminum foil, and stick it in the oven for about 30 minutes.  Then remove the aluminum foil and let it cook for another 30 minutes, crisping the top.

It can sit in the oven for a while after that, cooling a bit.  The final product will look like this:

Dish your crisp onto a plate. Serve it with Ice Cream if this is not sweet enough for you.

Of course, now I’m hungry, and there are leftovers from Sunday sitting in the fridge. I wonder if Mistress will let me smear it on her lovely tummy and suck it off?


______________________________

Amazingly, Mistress fell for this little stunt.

"Anything for blog material, Slave."


Of course, I warmed a plate of the leftover concoction a bit in the microwave first. Cold crisp on Mistress's warm tummy would have gotten Slave into big trouble. 

"Maybe I should tie your hands behind your back and make you eat it that way, Slave."


I suppose that would have made it all the more delicious.


And when I had lapped up the last delicious morsel, and my lips and tongues moved lower to pleasure Mistress for being such a good sport,  the sugary, cinnamon taste of the crisp belended Oh so wonderfully with the taste of Mistress's delectable secretions.


"What tastes better Slave, me or the crisp?"


"Well it's a close call, but you, of course, Mistress."


I may want to have a little more before heading to work this morning.

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