Mistress and her devoted slave spent the day yesterday at a nearby hot springs resort, perched beneath a ridge once populated by hundreds of native people, who have only left behind thousands of shards of their colorful pottery.
It seems Mistress will never outgrow her desire to bask in the sun, something her Mediterranean complexion accepts with tolerance. Me, not so much. But I am happy to indulge her desires in this and so many other ways.
The hot springs excludes kids, but always has a robust crowd of mostly middle age to older customers, many covered in exotic tattoos. I had to smile as a few heavily inked guys in the their 30's and 40's wandered past Mistress, their eyes unsubtly lingering on Mistress's delicious legs and bottom. Not bad for someone getting closer to her Medicare years!
It reminded me of a story Mistress told me from a trip to the Springs last summer, with her Mom (the Dowager Domme) and her sister. They spent the night in a cozy cottage, and She got up early for some lap swimming. At pool side she was chatted up by a younger man - cute she reported - who seemed interested in learning more about her "situation". Sparks were beginning to fly, she said. Then . . . her mother and sister arrived, impatient, wanting to get their breakfast. Sadly, contact info was not exchanged and she never spotted him there before they departed.
Mistress and a friend are spending two days (and nights) this week at a nearby Hot Springs / Spa with an old high school classmate. It's really just a short drive from here, but in an exotic SW setting. Nice restaurant. Cozy Bar. Plenty of sunshine. Lots of guys with bodies covered in exotic tatoos.
Last year she went there with her mom and sister. I recall her telling me that she got up early one morning to go swimming and ending up being chatted up by a hunky younger guy, only to be interrupted by her impatient family members, who were anxious to go to breakfast.
"It might have gone somewhere if they hadn't been so rude, Slave."
So back here at home, minding our cat, I can't help but speculate about whether she might end up flirting with one of those guys hanging around the hot tubs this week.
Somehow, I don't think her friend would be too judgmental. What' the point of a hall pass if you don't get to use it every now and then.
Our late summer getaway is getting away from us. With all that music, sex and cycling time has flown and we are looking into the dark abyss of the long drive back to the heartland on Monday morning.
There have been some lovely sunsets, chances to catch up on our reading, a little too much nagging from clients and colleagues back in the real world, and, of course, some hearty sex.
Yesterday we headed over to a rustic hot springs for a day in the sun and soaking in the bubbling brew running down from the mountains. It was a spot discovered by the natives who first settled in these parts centuries ago, and now is almost a little too plush. The springs were surprisingly crowded for a week day post labor day. I guess there are lots of retired folks (like I will be at the end of the year) or those with "flexible" work hours who have a Thursday free for soaking and sunning.
As always, and despite her 50 years, Mistress was at the top of the heap when it came to catching the eye of her fellow soakers. But unlike one earlier mission there, we did not book a private nook for nude sunbathing. Instead Mistress was burdened with her black two piece, that probably brought back some of those receding tan lines. The horror!
Back at our house, we enjoyed some sunset reading and an al fresco dinner.
Not a bad life, even if Mistress has been forced to get by with slave's work-a-day cock these last two weeks without a side-dish.
With the sullen teens off to the Windy city, Mistress and Slave made sure they took the opportunity for some open door sex yesterday, along with some socializing last night.
When I woke her (and after worship of course) Mistress once again enjoyed the extra heft and desperation that comes when my cock and balls have that hard steel ring of my cage in place.
And then, after our playtime was done, and I had slid the cage over her cock, she closed the lock and sent me on my way to work.
At the end of the workday, before we headed off to a birthday party for one of her close friends, there was more time to simply rest in bed, catch up on the blogs, and worship. It was then she remembered that she would have to unlock me if she wanted another dose of her work-a-day cock.
Fortunately for me, she did.
The birthday party was for a woman prominent in the local GLBT community. Her partner was a woman I once described as “ravishing”, earning me a rather severe punishment here at the World HQ.. But you can’t argue with the truth. She’s just ravishing in a different way than Mistress.
The event was out on a veranda of a local botanical garden. It was hot and very humid, but the sweet Prosecco being served let us wet our respective whistles.
Not surprisingly, we were among the few hetero sexual couples there. But the crowd was about equal men and women.
One thing I note when with a group of gay men is that…. Well… Mick can sure lose a few pounds. Not meaning to stereotype, but these guys were almost all in slim trim shape. On the other hand, this Slave is a little too thick in the middle. If there’s an explanation in science, please advise me. (not why I’m paunchy ---it’s because of my Irish penchant for potatoes, you never know when the next famine might start – I want to know why those guys are all so svelte).
The other thing I noticed, and pointed out to Mistress, was that almost every guy in the room other than old Mick had their toes showing. You know, sandals …. The expensive leather kinds, not flip flops.
Slave used to wear sandals back in the 60’s. They went well with Jefferson Airplane and the Dead. And I suppose I do still have a pair of Tevas, for when we go done to the Rio Grande and slip into that rocky river to cool off.
But Mistress has very strict rules about men and sandals at social events.
“Men’s feet just are not attractive, Slave….”
I can’t disagree with her, and it would never be my place to try.
We did get talking to a cute female couple. Mistress knew one of them – a red headed Colleen – from years ago. But we had not met her other half. And the story of how they got together resonated. Like us, one of them was married (to a guy) when they met on a local campus.
But here’s the strange karma part…. While they clearly had the dark, yet to be acknowledged attraction … nothing happened until they found themselves in the funky, mystical community where Mistress and Slave have their mountain hideaway.
They told us about camping at a local hot springs we’ve described on this page and ….. zap.
“It was that Arsenic tub…. We went back to the tent and…. “
Blushes abound.
That was years ago, and we described how the hot springs have now been fancified a bit. We described our own adventures there a year or so ago, when we reserved an intimate private pool with its own tub and keva fireplace….
Remember this picture, of Mistress taking the waters….
I told them how Georgia O’Keefe found her own karma in that little town all those years ago, and recited a line from a local songwriter…. “Where the four winds dance on the mesa, and the spirits come out to play.”
Clearly, those spirits played their part in breaking down those walls of inhibition for this charming couple, despite their old school, catholic backgrounds.
It’s those spirits that keep drawing us back there, year after year.
After the party, Mistress and Slave headed to a downtown jazz club. It was a little late by now, and maybe hot Friday nights in the summer don’t bring out the jazz aficionados. But it turned out we got a private concert from River City’s finest jazz singers (and another one of our close friends) and her small combo of piano and clarinet.
I persuaded Mistress to dance with me to “Moonlight in Vermont”, before we closed the place down.
Muy romantico.
But I did take a photo of the clarinet player for you…. As it turns out he and the piano player both were making a fashion faux pas under Mistress’s rules.
Was I the only guy in River City last night not showing off my toes?
Yesterday, Mick and Molly spent a good bit of the day down at our local “beach”.
After our morning sexual engagements, and a long and demanding bike ride, we packed up some beverages, books and beach towels and climbed into our rental jeep.
You find our local beach by driving down a long dirt road, then hiking about 2/3’s of a mile into the deep gorge of the Rio Grande River as it winds it’s way from Colorado to the Gulf of Mexico.
The rocky, winding path is an old road, long since abandoned, created by some 19th Century entrepreneur who constructed a “toll bridge” here at the bottom of the gorge to accommodate horse men and stage coaches traveling for business and maybe a little pleasure toward Arizona or the rail route that connected Colorado with Albuquerque.
And he picked this particular transit point because of some ancient hot springs on the banks of the river here. The springs were discovered and exploited by ancient Indian tribes long before the Spanish Conquistadors came to these parts in search of gold, slave labor and potential Catholics.
More recently, you may have seen the springs in Easy Rider, the late 1960’s movie, with Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda cavorting in the nude with some local hippie chicks. No way they got their choppers down that trail though.
In the past, it’s been a scene of some naked sunbathing and a little sexual activity in the warm natural pools for Molly and Mick. But this time we were a bit stifled by some other touristas, and a few local aging hippie types, plastered with tatoos, and accompanied by a pack of friendly but loud dogs.
We did enjoy some quiet time away from cell phones and computers to read our books and soak up the high desert sun.
Later, after dealing with the email traffic that had accumulated back at the ranch, we finally got some quiet time before heading out to our evening engagement with a group of local friends.
After her shower, Mistress did get a chance to chat with our WC, who is back at work, not far to the north. She was out on the patio, letting her hair dry in the sun, when she asked me to retrieve the phone to accommodate their call.
You will be happy to know that I offered to worship as she talked, but she suggested it would be “not that kind of talk”.
On the other hand, She did let me worship her once she had signed off with M and came inside. It gave us both a little time to relax before our rendezvous with friends for dinner and some music at a local restaurant.
Our friends out here are a mixed blessing. It’s great to spend time with them in small doses. But two of the couples have a need to do social “gang bangs”, where either we have to have 8 or more people together, or someone has to feel dissed and left out.
Very high school.
Mistress and I, on the other hand, are happy to be by ourselves, or spend an evening with one other couple at a time.
We were settled into a lovely meal last night. Just the two of us on a "date night". The scene featured a “contemporary Spanish” menu in an old charming Hacienda built in the early 1800’s, long before these parts were under the flag of the USA.
Mistress was glorious as always, black dress highlighting her newly recharged tan, and some sparkling southwestern jewelry providing some flash.
As we waited for our entrees, she asked:
“How’s the ass, Slave?”
“Still a little tender, Mistress….”
So maybe we need to back up a bit here…..
Our day started with some robust morning sex, not untypical, but still quite satisfying. I devoured, while she read Donna’s comic review of the alleged G-spot vibrator.
Donna and Bill definitely did their best to bring the most out of the little guy, didn’t they? And as Aisha commented, UCTMW probably has to be conscious of potential worker’s comp claims of she keeps launching the products she is putting through their paces.
At the least, we may need to get Bill a facemask and helmet.
And after the computer was put aside, my work-a-day cock needed no further encouragement than Mistress’s question, “would you like to fuck me now, Slave?”
Our legs were rather dead after pushing around all that spring skiing slush in recent days, so we opted to pack up our towels and swim suits and head to a hot springs spa across the gorge from our little hideaway. It’s a place we’ve described in earlier entries. Quiet and contemplative, where you can see a woman braiding her husband’s long flowing hair, and a man walks around with a little white card reading “whisper, please.”
Last summer, without the kids, we even acquired a little private space with a pool for some semi-public sex. But we were in close quarters on this trip, simply relishing the bright sunshine and soothing waters, while nagging one another about sunscreen.
Of course, Mistress and I love the tranquility of this place, where the ancient ones came for the soothing natural springs long before we anglos showed our avaricious heads in these parts.
On the other hand, the teens thought it could be much improved if there were waiters going chair to chair offering Pina Coladas and nachos.
We headed back in the late afternoon as some high clouds moved in, and decided on a late afternoon bike ride – just the two of us. It was in the 70’s here, the sun was back out, and we plied our normal rolling hills route, much of it into a brisk wind.
It was a beautiful way to get some exercise after a day on our backs lolling in the sun.
But somewhere a long the way, Slave screwed up. Mistress was seeking reassurance about my continued fervor and devotion to her, which I suppose in my thickheaded way should seem rather obvious.
“You seem a little distracted lately, Slave….” was her concern.
And maybe I have been – focused on some work and extended family issues a bit too much these last few days .
But, stupidly, Slave got a little defensive, rather than reassuring, and said some things that disturbed Mistress.
She was upset, throwing a blanket on what had been a very lovely day.
But, give her credit, she knew exactly how to work us both out of this temporary funk.
When we got home, I was a bit sweaty from our day in the sun and vigorous ride.
“I’m going to take a shower, Mistress.”
“No, first you are going to close the door, take off your cloths, and lie on the bed.”
Oops. I had a feeling I knew where this was headed.
When she could not find the crop, it was my job to “quickly” retrieve it and hand it to her.
She switched on the radio, to cover the sounds she knew we would be making.
The sharp thwacks against my ass.
My howls of pain, which I did my best to muffle into a pillow.
“This is for acting like an asshole, Slave.”
She laid into me harder and longer than I can remember.
I did my very best to avoid twisting and turning my ass in response to her vigorous assault. But I probably earned a few more hard strokes, simply for failing to be still and take my medicine like a man.
When she was finally done with me, my ass was on fire. And she seemed to enjoy running her fingers along the red marks she had made.
“Wow…. This must have hurt Slave…”
“It did, Mistress.”
By now I had rolled over, and she was toying with my cock with the tip of the crock, slowly bringing it to life.
Things developed from there as you might expect…. Me, using my fingers to rub her juicy little cunt to one preliminary cum. She, riding my cock for two more moaning climaxes, until, exhausted, she rolled over and let me finish the job of restoring the proper balance in our relationship.
The lesson to be taken: what could have been a sad and simmering feud that would put a damper on an otherwise lovely day was extinguished by Mistress taking out her anxiety on my ass.
It definitely cleared both of our heads, and we clung to one another for a long time afterwards in our bed, the late afternoon sun illuminating the mountain outside our window.
So while my ass was still a little tender as we sat through that excellent dinner together last night, the temporary pain was well worth the sacrifice.
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.
Unlike Molly and Mick’s last trip to our mountain hideaway, we have the surly teens (and one un-surly boyfriend) in tow this week. So all the naked sunbathing, outdoor bondage and loud and ostentatious kinkiness had to stifled and shut away in our bedroom.
Of course, it’s helpful to have teens that like to sleep in.
Yesterday, Mistress had a nice chat with her “friend” M out on our patio, as I ran the weed whacker over some overgrown alfalfa that had crowded the house during what has been a wet July here in the high desert. She was perched on a little adobe wall out back, as the kids snoozed on, or at least pretended to snooze, in order to avoid being drafted into yard maintenance duties.
And those sense dulling ear buds surly teen 2 never seems to shed provide cover when the words “Mistress” and “slave” inadvertently pop out during an otherwise vanilla conversation.
But yesterday, in an expedition into a local gorge to wallow in some natural hot springs, Mistress and Slave pressed the edge of the envelope a bit.
It’s about a ½ mile hike down a narrow trail, studded with boulders and gnarled sage brush . Our girls were leading the way. Though they hesitated a bit when they noted Mr. Nakey Guy, lounging on the small sandy beach we had planned to stake out for lunch and lounging.
“Don’t worry, girls,” I soothed. “you can park where you don’t need to see this dude.”
Sure enough, we found a nice, if rockier, spot for the teens to park. It was right next to one of the pools made from rocks hand arranged over the centuries to capture the hot bubbling water tricking from the steep hillside before it flows into the river.
Soon the teens were lounging in the warm pool, then cavorting in the fast flowing river, now shallow after the spring run-off.
Mistress and I spread our towels on the beach, about 20 feet to Nakey Guy. (You can catch a glimpse in the photo).
“Gee, I wonder if that’s M, Slave”, she giggled, discretely eyeing him, his large relaxed cock catching some rays, “he does have a beard like M’s.”.
“In your dreams, Mistress.”
Then I noted a critical distinction.
“Oops. Can’t be M. He doesn’t have his pubes trimmed off.”
(M is a waxing afficianado).
“Ahhh…. I guess you are right , Slave.”
We lay reading for a while and joined the kids for some lunch. Then they congregated in a more tepid pool, leaving empty and inviting the hottest pool, concealed from the teens by a crumbling rock wall, built 100 years ago by a mad “developer”.
The would be developer, Arthur Mamby, had dreamed early in the 20th Century of a resort that would draw tourists seeking its curing waters from far and wide, hauled down the trail by stage coach, or by some primitive elevator from the rim of the gorge, 400 feet above.
Of course it was a pipe dream, leaving the springs as a little known, off the tourist map attraction for the locals, and occasional flatlanders like us.
“Let’s hop in the pool, Mistress, while we can get it to ourselves.”
We picked our ways through the rocks and slid into the clear, shallow and impressively hot waters. We could hear the kids chattering, but, miracle of miracles, they were out of sight.
As the water soothed us, and we realized that a brief moment of privacy was at hand, thoughts quickly turned to mischief.
“If you want to arrange a date with M this week, Mistress, I will happily try to distract the kids with a little expedition, Mistress.”
I had even packed the power tool for her.
“Of course you will, Slave….we will see what develops this week.”
She rolled over toward me, offering her lips to kiss. And soon, my fingers, always eager to please, were sliding into the waist band of her bikini.
“Mmmmmm….Slave. What are you doing?”
“Taking liberties, Mistress. Do you mind?”
She didn’t give me a verbal response. But she did begin writhing against my fingers, before quickly succumbing to my ministrations with a shudder and a discrete moan.
It was nice to slip a quick one by our snoopy and judgmental teens.
Not long after than, Mistress stood in the pool, the heat having gotten a little too intense for her countenance.
I was still lolling in the water, and the juncture of her , only inches away, was too tempting. I nuzzled. She co-operated by sliding the fabric of her bottoms aside to give me a view and then a quick taste of her clean shaven folds.
“Yum….” .
Freshly exuded Mistress juices mingled with some iron and other minerals plumbed from the depts. of the mysterious mountains. If only Arthur Mamby had thought of that marketing angle.
