Ski Patrol (Part I)

(A little fiction, dedicated to and inspired by M, one of our regular readers)


Molly clicked her boots into her bindings, sliding on snow softened by the warm southwestern sun. She was enjoying her rare day of solo skiing, already looking forward to an hour or so after lunch, when she would monopolize one of those lounge chairs in front of a chalet restaurant at mid mountain.

It was a mid-week, with a small crowd day on the mountain. As she entered the lift line, Molly was planning to sit back and let the sun bronze her upturned face on the ride up, but as she arrived a the front of the lift line she heard a voice on her left:

“Mind if I join you?”

Molly gave an automatic nod, paying little attention as she positioned herself on the chair, hoping that this one would not be a “chatter”.

As Molly settled in for the ride, he pulled the restraining bar down.

“Not with your usual entourage today?”

She looked over, took him in for the first time. A semi-familiar face, part of the local scene, all kitted out in his Ski Patrol outfit, red jacket labeled with a white cross, a long loop of rope tied to a tool belt of some type. He flipped up his goggles, uncovering blue eyes and a rugged face that had not been shaved in a day or two.

“Mike”, he said, extending a gloved hand. “I’ve seen you with your family up here over the years”.

“”I’m Molly”, she said, taking his hand. “Kids are back east. Husband is working today. But I was not going to pass up a day like this.”

They chatted on a bit as the lift made it’s slow climb, made a bit slower by a few of those annoying stops as a boarder took a tumble at the top. But Molly realized that the delays were not so annoying. Was he flirting a bit? And was she flirting back? Seemed so. And since Molly had certain “rights” why not? If Mick was too busy to ski, she could certainly finding other “diversions”. And he would get all hot and bothered when she told him about it “après ski” over a glass of wine.

Molly decided to push the edge of the envelope a bit …

“So what’s all the rope for?”, she asked, nodding at the loop at his waist.

“Oh, all sorts of things. Marking off a closed trail. A rescue on steep terrain. And sometimes there is the recalcitarant ski bunny that needs to be taken in hand.”

With that comment, Mike raised his eyebrow with a bit of a smile. Molly’s snicker acknowledged the ‘joke”, but she refused to break eye contact, pushing a little farther.

“Oh…are you good with your knots, Mike?”

“Haven’t gotten any complaints, m’aam." His laugh was disarming. But his frank appraisal of her, a bit unnerving to Molly. Had she pushed a bit too far?

"Here let me show you a little trick.”

He took her ski poles in his hand, handing them to her.

“Hold them this way”.

Molly was amused, and compliant. They were only a few moments from the top of the lift. Not much harm could be done, right?

He positioned her gloved hands so they were holding the poles at mid point, in front of her. Then he extracted a relatively short length of cord from his pocket. A few twists and one knot later, Molly’s wrists were tied together, and tightly lashed to the poles she held in front of her.

“Funny”, she said, deadpan. Suppressing the flush of arousal that caught her by surprise. Hmmm….this guy was ….good. She squirmed a bit in her seat, as Mike raised the restraining bar. They were almost at the top of the lift.

Molly wiggled her wrists. “Cute. Now, aren’t you going to untie these?”

“You’re a very good skier. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that cute little ass on the mountain these last few years. You can just follow me….”

With that the chair arrived at the top. She had to get off. She had to follow.

Mile (and a half) High Sex

Mick and Molly have been on the move, and are now at our undisclosed location in the shadow of the Sangre De Christo Mountains.

So here is an update on our travels.

Wednesday was Mick’s abstinence day. After giving Mistress the benefit of my hard, steel ringed cock before heading off to work, I was required to stew for the day, in a state of denial.  I can almost hear your moans of sympathy!

When we arrived home there was some fresh snow to shovel, but finally we were able to relax in bed before preparing some dinner for the teens.

Mistress asked if I had forgotten something….and I probably do try to bury my sexual impulses on abstinence day….

“Sorry, Mistress. Would you like me to worship you?”

“It’s About time, Slave.”

Just as I was helping her pull down those sheer black tights, to get access to her tasty parts, the phone rang. It was her Mother, a figure of somewhat intimidating authority in her own right.

I answered, made some obligatory small talk, then handed the phone to Mistress, who wanted to discuss some career developments with her mother.

But Mistress was still interested in worship, spreading her legs and indicating where I should kneel.

She laid back on the bed, chatting through developments, getting her Mother’s advice, and covering plans for the teens over the weekend.

Meanwhile I was on my assigned task, using lips and tongue to distract Mistress as best as I could.

Fortunately, Mistress is an accomplished multi-tasker. She was able to maintain her focus with her Mother, while I worked her through a series of little quaking, shuddering orgasms. Ultimately, she patted me on the head, like a little puppy being rewarded for retrieving the morning paper from the driveway. Sadly, that was the only reward I was to receive for some time.

We had an early flight in the morning, and Mistress seemed sated, so no more sexual hi-jinks that evening. Instead it was a little more of “Damages, Season One” then lights out.

Nor was there time for any release from my abstinence in the morning. Just off to the airport. Without an upgrade, we were confined to steerage, and  an annoying woman I know from civic life plopped down next to us. An inconvenient coincidence. So Mistress and Slave had to be in relatively good behavior for the long flight west. Bummer.

By the time we rolled our rent-a-car into our little town’s organic grocery’s lot to stock up on provisions, both Mistress and Slave were a bit spacey, and, well, randy.  We climbed out of the car, me dawdling a bit to lock up.

As I walked around the car toward Mistress, I noticed her clutching the arm of another man, blonde, rugged looking, closer to her age than mine, then, suddenly, she backed away.

She turned to me, blushing. The man made a comment, then walked on.

I raised a quizical eyebrow…

“Oh God. I thought it was you. I grabbed his arm  and called him “Slave”!

I laughed.

“And what did he say, Mistress?”

“I think you have the wrong guy”.

Naturally, we kept seeing this hunk-ster as we worked our way through the grocery store. Eye contact was scrupulously avoided. It was fun to see Mistress a bit humiliated for a change!

Once we were safely locked away in our adobe retreat, Mistress imposed a new rule for this weekend: I am to wear no pants or underwear while we are in the cabin alone.

“My cock needs to be accessible, Slave.”

And not long after our arrival, I adapted to her new rules.

Finally, the draught (all 48 hours of it) was coming to an end.

Mistress wanted my cock particularly hard, and instructed me to insert my little white probe. It had the desired impact, and I was thickening before I even slid into bed next to her.

I had the privilege of bringing Mistress to her first orgasm with my mouth, tasting her musky juices  through some skimpy black undies she acquired for Christmas.  Her randiness showed as she bucked enthusiastically across the bed in her final throws, unable to shake my clinging lips.

Then it was my turn to take her head on, stoking our fires a bit with talk about some folks we have introduced ourselves to  over Fetlife, and will meet “live” when we return back to River City. Pictures they posted earlier this week were food for some incendiary fantasy muttered between us. The result was a very, very hot explosion for both Mistress and Slave. A dramatic way to end my fast.

We spent the evening relaxing in bed, sipping some Jamieson, reading, watching a DVD, and were asleep early. It had been a long travel day.

But Slave and his cock seem to stay on East Coast for these brief trips. I found myself awake early, long before the sun rises over the Mountains. And Mistress was awake too.

“Is that a hard cock pressed against my ass, Slave?”

“Seems that way, Mistress.”

My hand snaked down between her legs, from behind. I began to gently stroke her there with greedy fingers, my lips against her neck. Changes in her breathing patterns told the tale of her arousal. And within moments, her firm bottom was bucking against me as she sailed over the edge.

I rose over her, pressing her facedown into the bed, and her fingers helped position  me to slide inside the passage that was so wet and welcoming.

I reminded her of the photo we had seen the night before. A naked woman on all fours, seen from behind. Her master standing over her, flogger ready to caress her, then force her to beg for the hard cock that was sure to come after some firm punishment.

All this talk had the desired effect. Mistress was soon shuddering, admitting how she would like to beg that very same way.

When we were done, Mistress was soon back to sleep. And she still is. It’s still a dark, moonless night here at 7800 feet.

But we have a busy Ski day ahead.

A Different Sort of Casting Call

A few months back, Molly put out a casting call for a part time Dom. She has had several expressions of interest, and, who knows, maybe things will develop on that front.

But today we received the email below from someone who appears to be a producer for the CW (the network that brought us the surly teens' favorite show of the moment, Gossip Girls) asking us to help them find some candidates for a new "reality" show called Secrets.

Of course, Mick and Molly guard their own privacy....while Molly is more than "smart, sophisticated and supremely glamorous", we would never consider coming out of our blog closet to preen on a show like this....We will leave that sort of narcissism to John Edwards and Reille Hunter.

But if any of you out who read this blog have an interest, instructions are below on who to contact. Just don't blame us if you are asked to appear before a Congressional Committee to explain why and how you crashed a White House dinner for a foreign potentate.


Dear Mick and Molly,

I am a tv producer that developing a new CW tv series called "Secrets." The CW, as you probably know, is best known for series like The Vampire Diaries, Melrose Place, 90210, Gossip Girl, etc. Wondering if you might be able to help further broadcast our casting search to your fans through your blog?

We’re looking for truly sophisticated, smart and supremely glamorous women who feel that they are living a double life.

Best and thanks!



– Chloe Steele





The CW television network is CASTING NOW!



The CW television network is looking for successful, professional American women who feel they’re leading a double-life – polished on the outside, out of control on the inside. Women who are keeping a secret from their friends, family and colleagues.

We’re looking for women who manage highly successful careers with a VERY active sex life.

Do you race from the boardroom to the dance floor of the trendiest, hippest night clubs every weekend?

Are you proud of how well you juggle your job and the five+ people that you’re dating?

Are you empowered enough to not even bother dating anyone?

Do you crave sex? Is it all you can think about?

If this sounds like your story please get in touch with our casting team and apply to be a part of this cutting-edge new television series:

www.cwsecrets.com

or shoot us an email at casting@cwsecrets.com and tell them Chloe Steele sent you!

Snow Day

When the phone rings here in the heartland at 5:30 am you know its going to be a robo call from the smarmy local school superintendent, letting us know that something is amiss. Yesterday, she let me know in her best insider’s voice that it was a snow day for the sullen teens. They could sleep in. That gave me a little extra time to finish up my faux expose on Mick and Molly’s Super Bowl adventures. Maybe next year, football fans!

I had forgotten to bring the little steel ring downstairs when I crept out of the bedroom, laptop under my arm, trying not to disturb Mistress. So when I came back p to bed to crawl in next to Mistress, her groping fingers discovered something was amiss.

“No ring, Slave?”

I gave my excuses. She snorted in disapproval at my forgetfulness.

“Lame, Slave. Very lame. I like what that ring does to my cock in the morning.”

But I was allowed to worship nonetheless, buried under the covers as she giggled over my work product – though I am not sure she got the part about our side bet on the Who’s play list.

Then Mistress indulged me by letting me take her with my hard, but un-ringed cock. Truth be told, while it makes it ever so harder to come when the tight steel ring grips my swollen balls, the extra effort is rewarded with a very devastating explosion when I cross into no man’s land and obtain Mistress’s permission.

After my shower, I put on my back-up cage, the CB3000 for those of you looking for product placements. Mistress seemed happy as always to close the little padlock, securing her cock away for the day.

Mistress’s business meeting was canceled due to the “white death” falling from the sky, so she worked from home, while her Slave slogged down the snow covered interstate. She did send me a sultry photo of her in bed, taken with her laptop camera, just to remind me of what I was missing.

When I returned home around 5 pm, she allowed me to kneel and worship her. I was happy to slide her tightly fitting exercise pants down those muscular legs, then bury my face between her legs. She lay back to enjoy my attention. And after she came with some soft little moans as I sucked her clit through my teeth, we relaxed on the bed, shuffling through the Times and Journal like a contented married couple.

But there was snow to shovel. Wet heavy snow. I suited and booted up, and took my time. This would be my exercise for the day, and it provided plenty of cardio – effort. When I came back upstairs, Mistress and I both napped a bit before throwing together a late dinner for the teens.

After adjourning to bed, we lazed about some more, watching yet another episode of Damages on our little screen. No sex but compelling characters.

When our show ended, the lights went out. Slave was a bit tired and lazy, but certainly wanted to take his pleasure from Mistress with Abstinence Day on the horizon.

We turned off the lights, and clung to one another, kissing deeply, my thigh pressed between Mistress’s leg, my hand drifting back over her ass to poke into her little brown hole, teasing her a bit in a way that made her hump against me all the harder.

I could sense her breathing tempo accelerate. A good tell that Mistress is getting hotter and hotter. To take her to that first orgasm, I slid my other hand between her legs. With fingers working her from front and back I soon had Mistress sliding over the edge, burying her head in Slave’s chest with little gasps of pleasure.

Mistress worked my cock a bit more, and then gave me permission to climb on board. It turned out to be a long, slow pleasurable session, with Slave getting more and more frustrated as I came so close, only to be held back a bit by diminished energy. I guess it’s what happens when a 59 year old has as much sex as I am allowed. And shovels snow too.

Of course, Mistress was amused. By now she had enjoyed several orgasms, while I was doing all the work.

“Frustrated, Slave?”

Yes, Mistress.”

I stopped for a moment, to take off my T-shirt.

Mistress took a brief break too, climbing from the bed.

“Keep it hard, Slave.”

I used my hand to follow her directive.

When she lay back down next to me, she cupped my balls with her soft, knowing fingers, and told me to keep going.

“Maybe I will have you come this way, Slave.”

I kept working with my hand on a desperate cock. Close.

“Or maybe I will make you watch me masturbate myself. Yes, that’s what I will do…”

Sadly, she moved her hands away from my aching balls, and to herself, laying back, working her hands between her spread legs.

The sight of Mistress pleasuring herself that way has always been a turn on for me….she knows what she’s doing and there are lessons to be learned.

She worked at herself hard, insistently, throwing her head back against the pillow, eyes scrunched tightly closed.

After a few moments, Mistress had one of those shattering explosions that bring sobs from her chest, tears streaming down her face.

I wanted to hold and comfort her. To kiss those tears away.

But I wanted to fuck her even more.

She gave me permission. My energy restored, my imagination inspired, I was soon begging for permission to come.

Now it’s morning, another snow day according to my private robo – caller. I did remember my ring this morning. Mistress will be pleased.