Bear Necessities

Yesterday was another perfect one here in the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

There was some robust wake-up sex in Mistress's home office away from home. She seemed to particularly enjoy the devotion of my lips and tongue to those clean shaven folds.

Then there was a day on the slopes, with some early morning cloud cover melting away on our very first chair ride to perfectly clear and azure skies.

Mistress even got in some flirtation time.  WE had agreed to meet at the end of a run at a small espresso shack at the base of a lift. Mistress took the direct route, and I must have meandered, so when I was arrived, she was sitting at an out door picnic table, helmet off, and the arm of a bearded man, about my age over her shoulder.

I stepped up to the coffee shack, only a few feet away, and casually asked what her order would be.

The fellow, with a neatly trimmed beard seemed a little surprised when Mistress said, "oh that's my husband....".

Then she said to me "he asked if he could pose for a picture with me . . . you don't mind do you?"

"Of course not...."

The man added, a little defensively, "It's not like we're making out or something...."

"Well that would be OK too.... it's up to her.... she's got permission....."

The man, a handsome chap who turned out to be here from San Diego for some type of bachelor party weekend, seems a little startled, but settled for his photo.

Mistress later explained that he told her they were on some sort of "scavenger hunt", and a photo with a
"young wife" was on the list.

"I expressed doubt about that Slave....I mean, I'm not all that young...."

Maybe it was the MILF category, Mistress...."

After that we took a few more runs, and then, legs getting sore, we retreated down the mountain at around 2 pm. Slave had an errand to run.

On Saturday afternoon, on the way down the canyon, a front tire had blown out. Slave did some "field slave" duty and changed the tire on the muddy shoulder, impressing Mistress with the fact that I had at least a few useful skills.

But that left us driving on one of those wimpy little spare tires, which the rental company helpfully explained that I should use for no more than 50 miles, at no more than 50 mph. Well that's helpful!
And, BTW,  when they learned how far  we were from "civilization", their initial offer to bring a new car and haul this gimpy one away was unceremoniously withdrawn.

"Just take it to a local tire store... maybe customer service will reimburse you...."

I look forward to that conversation.

So that brought Slave to the nearest tire store yesterday afternoon. And it was very "local".  Something that seemed the combination of auto parts and taxidermy shop, with a little seating area furnished with 40 year old couches and barca-loungers. And of course a full sized stuffed brown bear off to the side, where a flat screen might be at your local Goodyear store back in River City.

I toted my dead tire to the front desk where a rather grimy hispanic fellow took it off my hands and out the back door for a quick diagnosis. Someone on a cell phone asked if I wanted to wait or come back, since "treatment" might take half an hour. I elected to stay and soak in the atmosphere, which began to take on the dimensions of a sit-com set, sort of an Hispanic, Southwest version fo "Taxi."

But I got the bad news only a few minutes later. A sad shake of the head. "This one's dead, Senor."
I didn't spend much time in mourning, instead asking if they had a reasonable facsimile. It turned out they had something that might work, and would only put me out $120. Though Mr. cell phone warned that the rent-a-car company might argue if it wasn't an exact duplicate when I asked for my money back.

No doubt.

Of course, when they tried to mount the new tire the news got worse. They pointed to a bent rim, and the leak it produced.

"That's why it went flat in the first place...."

"Can't you just bang it back...."

"But it's aluminum.... banging might make it crack...."

They seemed impressed with  my cajones when I said "but what do we got to lose....."

Sure enough, a few wacks with a mean looking chunk of metal, and the rim seemed restored to something close to it's original shape. And the tire wasn't leaking. Will it hold for the week and the ride back to Denver?  Who knows.

 After I settled my tab, Mr. Cell Phone had no problem with me taking a photo of their bear.

"My Dad shot it up near Eagle Lake. When it was legal. They say that bear tore up a whole lot of kitchens."

I'm glad I never had to grab my corn flakes back from that bad boy.

Back at home, Mistress was laying out in the last of the day's sun, wrapped in a blanket, taking some work calls.  But soon I persuaded her to share some of her bodily warmth back under the covers.  While she claimed her folds had gotten a little stubbly from neglect, I was more than happy to abandon my field slave duties for more intimate tasks.

Honey Trap?

After Mistress read the morning entry, I think she was a little surprised that I proceeded to some vanilla, but muy caliente wake up sex here in our remote UCTMW southwestern HQ.

"No switch today, Slave?", she asked, after she had given me permission to cum.

"I thought I'd save it until this afternoon, Mistress."

"Just don't interfere with my sun bathing, Slave."

"Would I do that?", I teased.

After a bike ride, we did spend most of the afternoon out in the patio, with Mistress completely naked, stretched out on her chair, ber trusty kindle in hand.

Slave was reading to, in between forays in our yard in my on going campaign to encourage a pesky colony of prairie dogs to "move on".  I will not share the inhospitable details of my effort, but it did involve shredding an old bath towel into strips. And I set aside 4 of them for later that afternoon.

Around 3:45 pm Mistress was making sounds suggesting she was "done" for the day's sunbathing.

"Not quite yet, Mistress."

I reappeared a few minutes later with my terry cloth strips, and proceeded to tie her wrists and ankles to the chair.

"I thought you had forgotten about switch day, Slave!"

And then, once I had her secured, I went in for some other tools: Her hitachi magic wand and an extension cord.

First I used my lips and tongue to savor her clean shaven folds, which had been marinating all day in the warm high altitude sun. The flavors of salt, sunscreen and her natural musky juices intermingled in a heady cocktail.

Then as I gently applied the hitachi as she squirmed against her bonds, I teased a bit.

"You know we do have some organic honey inside.  I'd love to get a photo of a bear in our yard after yesterday's run in.  What if I smeared some on your breasts and folds, then sat quietly a few yards away with my camera, waiting for events to unfold?  That might make for a great photo op."

"What, you want me to get mauled?"

"These aren't grizzlies, Mistress.... they'd probably just lick the honey off with those rough tongues...."

Of course, Slave would never do that, would he?

It all became a little moot, as the hitachi was having it's inevitable impact on Mistress's wanton body. Soon she was squirming harder, forcing herself against it's churning head, and begging for permission to cum.

And Slave was indulgent.

I do enjoy watching her go over the edge, bound securely to her chair, eyes scrunched shut in ecstasy.

Soon she was unbound (at least her ankles) and we proceeded back to our bedroom, allowing Slave to take his well earned reward to polish off our switch day sex.

I just feel sorry for the bears' lost opportunity.