HNT / Apres Ski "Switch"

Monday was Mick and Molly’s last ski day on our little “mini-break”. Most of the weekend crowd had headed home, and we made sure to exploit the bright sun and softened snow on wide open slopes.

Early in our day, Mistress taunted her Slave about a particular tall and buff skier dressed in black who had scoped her out in the locker as she slid on her boots.

“There’s a nice one, Slave.” She had that lascivious little grin, and  eyes that sparkled with lust. She likes the rugged “mountain man” types.

I took note of Mistress’s roving eye. She feels enabled by her contractual rights. That seems to get her imagination (and juices) flowing. And I like it too.

As the sun settled lower in the sky, we headed back down the mountain to our little adobe cabin.  This is the time of a ski day that both of us treasure: a little wine, a nap, some activity between the sheets, appreciating yet another big sky sunset. In no particular order.

I stoked our Kiva fireplace. Poured some wine. We read a bit. 

After about an hour of R & R time, I pulled out the red leather cuffs with their little locks.

“Remember my rain check, Mistress.”

She grumbled a bit, but surrendered as agreed. The cuffs were locked on in front of her, clipped together.

I positioned one of our Mexican chairs and a hassock in front of the fire, and placed two pillows on the floor.  Then I yanked the black long underwear Mistress was lounging in down around her muscular calves.

“Kneel, slut.”

Mistress’s eyes sparked in defiance for a moment, but she was in no position to defy me.

She assumed her position, her arms stretched in front of her, head resting on the seat of the chair. The warmth and flickering light from the fire only a few feet away made the flesh of her warm, firm bottom glow.

I kneeled next to her, using my hand to gently stroke that lovely ass. He little undulations against my hand suggested she enjoyed my attention.

“You liked that tall, rugged skier in the locker room today, didn’t you, slut.”

“Ummm, Huh”.

“I bet you would like to be presenting your lovely ass to him just like this, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe”.

I kept stroking, then dipped a finger between her legs. Wet. Very.

“It turns you on just to think about him, and what he would do to you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re turning me on, Slave.”

“But his strong , strange hands exploring your body would make you even hotter, wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe.”

“No doubt.”

I began to spank her, a lighter touch at first, then harder.

She took it for a while like a good little slut, but then began to whimper and complain.

“That hurts.”

“That’s the idea. Do you think your big buff skier would stop spanking you at your first complaint.”

I slapped her reddening bottom again. The hardest yet. She squirmed, her bottom bouncing high off the hassock.

“No.”  

Not in her dark and dirty imagination he wouldn’t.

“he’d spank you even harder if you complained, wouldn’t he, slut?”

“Yes.”

She was moaning now, her ass squirming between my strokes. The scent of her arousal mixed with the aroma of burning pinon. (An interesting concept for a musky new perfume, no?)

I let up for a moment, holding her firmly in place with one hand while I reached for the little V shape vibrator I had parked close at hand on the floor.

My fingers discovered just how wet she had become during this little ritual. One end of the vibe slid easily into her, with the other end nestling between her folds, against her thickening clit. The device  was already churning away, and my strong Mistress was turned into a squirming little slut as I resumed her “punishment”.

My left hand administered just a few more spanks, as my right hand pressed the vibrator into her, making sure that her desperate gyrations would not dislodge it.

Mistress buried her head in the cushion of her chair, as her body surrendered to confusing mixture of pleasure and pain.  I had to press my hand down hard as she bucked against me.

She thought she was done. Wrong. After letting her come down a bit, I resumed the spanking, harder still, with that little vibrator still buried in her.

She came again, moaning all the more. Her muscles relaxing as I slowly slide the vibrator from her dripping opening, then switched it off.

I let Mistress catch her breath, then pulled down my own black long johns.

We had talked earlier in the day about the common D/s scenario of a Slave kneeling to suck her Master’s cock. It’s something Mistress had contemplating doing for the lucky Master who might pop up someday with the chops to make her submit. It’s a particularly  compelling fantasy for her.

I suggested she might want to get some practice.

So I pulled Mistress from the chair, and had her kneel in front of me as I stood over her.

Maybe she is too tall (5’6”). Or I am too short (5’11’). But the kneeling / standing position did not align well. Mistress had to slide onto her ass to take me into her warm, luscious mouth. But that worked nicely. Mistress knows how to use her lips and tongue to get what she wants.

I was soon more than ready for the next course.

“He’d make you beg to fuck him, wouldn’t he, Mistress?”

“Maybe”.

“And you would, wouldn’t you, like a good little slut.”

“Of course.”

I pulled her to her feet, toward our bed.

“Well Let’s practice that next.”

Snow Day

Mick and Molly got home to River City late last night. And of course the surly teens had not followed their instructions to clear the sidewalks and driveway of all the snow that fell during our brief absence. So what should have been Slave's homework time was spent shoveling....argh.

But the accompanying photo is a  tease for tomorrow's entry....

In the meantime, If any of our more imaginative readers want to supply the narrative....go for it.

Mistress Knows the Ropes

It was Valentine’s Day. Slave thought better of subjecting his Mistress to their weekly “switch”. A red bottom would not be the sort of cuddly, romantic sex that the savvy marketers behind the whole V Day thing probably had in mind. So our morning and afternoon encounters between the sheets were satisfyingly vanilla. Very delightful, but not what our reader(s) might expect from Mick and Molly.

But I did ask Mistress for a rain check, which she generously granted, to be collected on Monday, our last full day here at our Mountain hideaway.

But it was Mistress who was feeling frisky when Monday dawned. After I prepared her coffee and she read yesterday’s rather lame (but nicely illustrated) “erotic art” entry , she asked for directions in finding our stash of ropes.

Mistress poured the contents of our little mobile bag-o-submission onto the bed, and marveled about how we keep getting it through airport security.

“No sharp edges or explosives, Mistress.”

It would be embarrassing though, to explain the purpose of the harness, dildo, cuffs, locks, collar, vibrator, etc. to a diligent crew of TSA staff members sorting through them. Would love to hear any comments on how to cope with that scenario, dear readers.

Mistress selected two lengths of rope, and instructed me to position myself in the center of the bed, face-up. She tied one hand and then the other to the little eyebolts I had installed at the corners of the head of the bed. Mistress knows her knots. When she was done, I was going nowhere.

Twitch.

She then found the riding crop on the floor next to her side of the bed.

“Roll over, Slave”.

I did the best I could with wrists restrained at opposite sides of the bed, twisting my trunk so that she had access to a good expanse of my bottom. She applied the crop vigorously, all the while demanding my oath of permanent loyalty and faithfulness. It’s a pledge I am happy to give, even without the sting of the crop. But the pain does remind me that it is a solemn obligation with very unpleasant consequences if breached.

With hand securely tied, I had little room the squirm as Mistress struck me a dozen or so times with an intensity that had me crying out. Ouch.

But Mistress actually is merciful to her Slave, and soon relented.

“Roll over Slave. Let me see that cock.”

I was happy to obey. She poked and prodded me a bit with the crop and her gentle fingers. Soon I had attained dimensions that pleased Mistress.


“That’s very inviting, Slave,” she said, sipping her coffee as one hand continued to toy with me. By now, Mistress’s fingers were driving me crazy.

“I’d like to fuck you now, Mistress.”

“Yes, I am sure you would.”

She took a little more time with her coffee though before setting her cup down at the bedside table.

Then she was sliding onto and over me, positioning herself to plunge my cock effortlessly into her very wet and warm passage. Her restraint, punishment and stimulation of me seemed to work as ample foreplay for both of us.

When she rides me like this, Mistress, gets an interesting look on her face. Focus. Eyes scrunched close. Her energy directed at finding just the right contact at the place where Mistress and Slave come together. As the pace of her sliding and pounding against me increases, her breathing becomes more ragged, until she surrenders to her desire and throws herself over the edge. With hands bound to the bed, I am just a passive, though very “happy to be here” participant.

That morning as she reached that place I arched up to meet her as best I could, as she plunged over the top. Then she slowed the pace, her hands reaching back to toy with my balls as she rode me gently, driving me just a little more crazy.

She knows it’s hard for me to come this way, but she enjoys taking me oh so close.

“You’re frustrated, aren’t you Slave,” she says with a “cruel” smile. Looking at me now, as she builds herself to another orgasm.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Excellent.”

Then she was going for it again, gasping, then collapsing onto me, exhausted from her second in the expanse of a few minutes.

Mistress caught her breath as she settled onto me, her cheek pressed against my chest, my cock still at attention inside her.

Moving slowly, she reached out and released one of my hands, then allowing me to untie my other hand. Freed, I rolled her onto her back, and slid inside, pressing her arms over her head. She was like a rag doll by then, but those little sounds she makes suggested that she was enjoying my robust thrusts into her.

By the time I was given permission to come, my explosion was one of those multi-staged affairs that brings to mind Walter Cronkite narrating the Apollo moon launch.

When we recovered, we suited up for a sunny day on the slopes.

And, when we returned, with tanned faces and aching legs, I redeemed that rain check.

But we will save that part of the story for tomorrow’s entry.

An Evening with Eros, SW style

Saturday night, Mistress and Slave had an early and romantic V Day dinner followed by a trip to what seemed might be an interesting event for locals in this quaint little Southwestern Ski Town.

Titled “An Evening with Eros”, promoters invited participants to “liberate your alter ego for an evening of sensual indulgence”. The event was said to be “adults only, no children”, and was staged at a funky contemporary furniture store peddling new age goodies on the side.

We did not know quite what to expect, and declined the option of coming in “masquarade”. 

Not surprisingly, the first thing we saw as we peered through the windows was a gaggle of kids under the age of 5. Maybe “no children” is locals’ code for “no kids over 5”.  But they seemed to be having fun, and took little note of the oddities on display.

Our eyes quickly wandered to the bevy of youngish and oddly dressed folk on a makeshift dance floor writhing to some sort of euro-trash techno beat music. (I guess I am showing my age here).

The event did draw some odd costumes, including lots of stocking tops showing, and a few guys with shirts off and black collars locked to their necks. There was a rather large woman with some leather chaps over fishnets that drew some attention. And some rather skinny fellow clad in a leather body suit whos dance stylings consisted of repeatedly contorting his foot up to his arm pit.

Mistress should have brought my collar along. I never get a chance to wear it in public.

There was some interesting art on the wall. This post contains a couple, including one cleverly titled “giving skull” which hijacks a local folks art style to a more prurient end.

Mistress and Slave were a bit on the “oldster” side of the demographics, and did not stay much longer than necessary to peruse the art and scope out the under-clad bodies. As those who follow this blog know, we tend to the private side.