On the Road Again

Molly, Mick and the surly teens are on the road today, heading back to River City from our undisclosed location. The skiing was nice, and of course there were long afternoon "naps" that made our children think we are old, washed up fogies. If only they knew....

Hope to get back on a regular schedule of reporting our adventures early this week, once we get back to River City reality.

I can report that the other day, Mistress required me to take and forward some provocative photos of her, so she could share them with Sir M, in advance of their date on Wednesday night. I suspect he enjoyed them and is looking forward to being reunited with her clean shaven parts.

The Head Waters of My Addiction

Mick and Molly’s spring break with the surly teens is coming to its end. One more day of skiing and then we head back to River City on Sunday. We have spent a good bit of our time with our kids, skiing, and sampling the music at some local honkytonks. But those long afternoon après ski siestas have also given us plenty of time for our favorite form of recreation.

 

As a daughter said last night:

“How can you spend so much time ‘napping’?”

“Well, dear….”  (How to explain?)

The photo above shows how Mistress gets herself all gussied up for a night on the town here, once that long siesta is over. Like the cowboy boots?

This week, which began with a theme of devotions to my favorite Mistress parts. So before week’s end, I would be remiss not to mention those delicious morsels at the apex of Mistress’s firm thighs.

Their taste and scent have long been a primary source of my addiction to her. I suspect I have spent at least a hundred hours over the 20 some years of my relationship with my face planted between those legs exploring, lapping, munching, sucking, probing with tongue and fingers. I see myself as some ancient Conquistador looking for the headwaters of the Rio Grande, our local tributary out here. It will take a while, but sooner or later I may solve the mystery. Or die trying.

Sometimes I have gotten an assist from our collection of toys, in particular that subtly colored crystal cock we acquired in Soho about 2 years ago. Using it to probe as my tongue works Mistress’s clit always produces an interesting and delightful response.

Of course, my cock has a particular affection for these parts. Nothing feels better than her tight grip on it when I get the chance to take her the traditional way.

Since Mistress and I signed our contract, my relationship with her cunt has become more formalized and hierarchical. It has become “worship” and often occurs with me on my knees, her thighs pressed against my head, holding me close, or maybe draped over my shoulders clinging tight to the head that is stimulating her. When my hands are tied behind my back for this exercise, it’s all the more fun.

And of course, now I need an express invitation to fuck here, which often does not come until Mistress has toyed with my cock enough to assure that it is very hard to meet her exacting standards, and I am very, very desperate.

And before I am allowed to come inside those precious parts, I must ask permission. I need to be careful not to get too close before I make that request. That’s not as easy as it sounds.

Now that Mistress’s Dom, the enigmatic Sir M, has required her to keep her parts all clean shaven and tidy, my addiction seems to be even more intense.

It’s just a whole lot more fun to taste and toy with her in this hairless mode. My view is unimpeded, and what a view it is. Pink, fleshy bud protruding between somewhat darker fleshy lips.

The feel of it is now slick and soft, particularly when those juicies begin to leak. It’s hard for me to keep my hands off.

And the taste is all the sweeter without the fur to impair its flow to my taste buds.

Last night, after some time at a local bar, we sidled into bed against one another, with no plans for sexual engagement until morning. We had been pretty busy during that earlier siesta, after all.

But my hand had trouble staying to itself. It slid under her gauzy, pale green panties to remind myself of the treat that awaiting this morning.

“What are you up to, Slave?”

“Oh…nothing Mistress …. Just touching your smoothness.  Do you want me to moisturize?”

I was being impertinent, I know. But sometimes it’s just hard to resist.

“I’m sleepy, Slave. You can touch, but no stimulation.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

After a few soft and non-stimulating strokes, I withdrew my hand, in “good Slave” mode.

But now the moon is setting here, and the sun is beginning to light the eastern horizon, still hiding behind the sacred mountain.

Soon it will be time for my morning devotions.

Mistress was an early riser today....

So her command that I come to attend to her needs came before I could compose a proper blog entry. Fortunately, I was able to deliver on the "needs attending" front, and received a generous reward.

I could be in for some punishment later for my failure to deliver on the blogging front though, I suppose.

Now the sun is out. bright blue skies. 4 inches of fresh snow overnight.

So this blogger and his firm but fair Mistress are goin' skiing.  Update you on our adventures tomorrow!

HNT/ Mistress Likes a Good Adventure

This week I have been talking about Mistress’s many desirable attributes. And a lot of them are the physical components that make up the very sexy whole.

But there is a more abstract quality that ties it all together: a sense of adventure, her willingness to press the edge of the sexual envelope in a way that always seems to inure to my benefit, too.

Molly does like an adventure. When she was a wee lass she was the type who signed up for summer programs that involved scaling the Grand Teton in Wyoming, and Mt. Ranier in Washington, or traipsing through the wilds of Alaska keeping her eyes pealed for Grizzlies.

But Mistress’s need for a good adventure is not limited to what she does in hiking boots.

What made her connect with this older guy back in the spring of 1988? I was 38 and she was just 23 when she called my bluff. I had been flirting in my dopey way, finding excuses to see her or be seen by her. She was the one who showed up in my office one day to frankly ask me, “So Mick, when are we going to do something about all this flirty stuff?” And from that first encounter, Mick was lost. But she was the one willing to take the risk.

Not long afterwards, when Mick suggested that it might be fun to tie up the little vixen as a prelude to a good fuck, Molly was all in.

I can remember one particularly choice scene in the Smokies in Tennessee, actually involving both sex and hiking boots: Molly tied, back to a tree, her jeans around her ankles, my face buried in her moist cunt.

And she was more than happy to lend me a firm wooden hairbrush to turn her bottom cherry red one day in a hotel room in our nation’s capitol.

Now that the tables are turned, and I am on the “s” side of a more formal D/s relationship, Mistress’s sense of adventure is every bit as sharp.

When I included in our contract a right for Mistress to take other slaves, or even submit to a “Master” of her choosing, it was only a matter of weeks before Mistress was testing the waters, and sharing the sordid and slutty details to drive me bonkers.

Just yesterday, after I brought Mistress her wake up coffee in our rustic bedroom here on the edge of the Sangre de Christo Mountains, Mistress shared with me an email she had received from Sir M. He was confirming their “date” next week, and soliciting another explicit photo as tribute before her return to town.

As we slid into bed together, I reached a hand between Mistress’s legs to discover that her cleanly shaven cunt was already wet and ready.

“Hmmm, Mistress. Already wet? I guess you like those emails, don’t you?”

“I am?” (mock coyness in her voice).

“Yeah…..very wet, Mistress. That email turned you on, admit it?”

“I suppose it did, Slave.”

Soon we were too focused on driving each other crazy with fingers and mouths to continue the conversation.

Later that day, we were up at the top of the mountain, with the surly teens, skis and boards at the ready. The older teen asked to shop for a T-Shirt on sale in the small, snow covered building used by the Ski Patrol as their Mountain Top HQ. We popped off the skis and stepped into the small, well used shack, filled with the detritus of gnarly guys who ski all day and (no doubt) part hard at night. These are guys who buy sunscreen by the gallon, and rope in 100 yard hanks.

Three or four Ski Patrol dudes, unshaven, bronzed and wearing their red and black jackets, chatted us up as my daughter made her selection. One, a guy with a ragged beard, seemed particularly interested in Molly, noting that he had seen her often on the mountain in recent years.

I just stood back and watched Molly deploy her considerable charm.

Back on the ski lift later that Day, Mistress was frank in her assessment:

“If you ever dump me (like that would happen), I’m coming out here for one of those guys.”

“You liked them, Mistress?”

“Oh, yes. That guy with the beard. Definitely.”

“He seemed a little scrawny to me, Mistress?”

“But in VERY good shape.”

“Well you don’t need to get rid of me first to sample his ‘stamina’, Mistress,”

“Of course I don’t, Slave.”





“Do you think he knew you wanted him, Mistress?”

“Hah. They probably see me as some suburban Mom with very vanilla tastes.”

“Wonder what they would think if they saw that shaved cunt of yours. Mistress?”

Not much of a reply. Just a little, “Hmmmm,” from Mistress.

I could tell that she was already contemplating her next adventure.