Mistress Multi-Tasks with Her Riding Crop

Molly and Mick had some aching muscles Saturday morning after that long climb up and retreat down from the Peak.

But there were things to do in preparation for a gathering here Sunday as a prelude to our local Fourth of July Parade.

After some pleasing morning sex – fueled in part by Vanilla Mom’s clever fictionalized speculations about the adventures of Molly, Slave Mick and Master M (http://vanillamom.wordpress.com/2010/07/03/the-mountain-pt-3/), I had to trundle some bags of trash off to a local dumpster (trash collection is not one of the limited public services here in hideaway land).

I was only gone 15 minutes or so, but when I walked into the house I discovered Mistress in bed, a sheet wrapped over her lush and naked body, the perspiration barely dry from our recent romp, chatting with animated bliss to M.

The site of her on her belly, phone to her ear, ear to ear grin, and pelvis all squirmy against our sheets, was a tribute to how skillfully he has trained her to respond to his masterful voice.

Impressive.

“M is on the phone, Slave. I hope you don’t mind.”

Of course I didn’t.

“Slave’s already up and busy today”, she said into the phone with a little giggle.

She does like referring to me as her Slave. And M is really the only one she can do that to these days.

I explained that I would have some breakfast, then head off to the grocery store to collect some beverages and vittles for our 4th of July brunch. Then I left Mistress to her Master.

Could hear them talking about the days activities in the background as I downed some corn flakes and strawberries. But before I headed off , Mistress came out into the kitchen to kiss me goodbye, still naked, phone still in hand.

“Don’t be gone long, Slave.”

“I won’t ….and have fun, you lovebirds.”

I knew they were waiting for the “good stuff” until I was off. They are considerate that way.

“Did you hear that M? I think he’s being a little sarcastic.”

I kissed Mistress again.

“We may have to deal with that sarcasm when you get home, Slave.”

I kind of liked that idea.

I did our shopping and stopped briefly at a local farmer’s market for some freshly baked delights from a booth called “Z-Best Scones”. (You can’t make this stuff up). I figured Mistress might be a little hungry when I got back. And not just for my cock.

As I drove up the valley toward our home, my cell phone rang.

‘Slave….when will you be home?”

She seemed a little impatient.

“In about 5 minutes, Mistress.”

“Good….I have plans for you. “

“Oh really…what sort of plans, Mistress?”

I suspected that M had been coaching her. He does like to urge her to take a firmer hand with me.

“You’ll see….I want you to put away the groceries, and then come into the bedroom and strip.”

Why does that sort of talk make my cock twitch?

Naturally, I hit the gas and got home pronto. The provisions were stored away. And Mistress was waited for me in the bedroom, as naked as when I left her about 90 minutes earlier.

“How was your chat with M, Mistress?”

“Very nice, Slave.”

“How many times, Mistress?”

“Twice, Slave….”

I imagined all the moaning and writhing to the tune of M’s voice and the bizz of the Hitachi. Naughty Mistress.

All the while I was stripping off shorts and t-shirt. Then she indicated that I should lie across the bed, bottom up.

I noticed the riding crop leaning against the desk. Gulp.

“Slave….I need to call our friend Bunny to remind her to come over tomorrow…lay there quietly while I get her number.”

I heard Mistress walking about, retrieving our little local phone directory, then punching the numbers into our portable phone.

As she talked to Bunny, filling her in on our climb to the Peak and plans for the 4th, Mistress walked back into the bedroom.

I was just laying there face down, bottom exposed. Then I felt the tip of the crop, sliding across my ass. Mistress was talking to Bunny, and teasing me with the crop at the same time.

Anticipation.

The soft touch of the crop was giving me goose bumps, and making my cock twitch against the bedspread. Argh. “Get on with it Mistress”, is what I wanted to say. But I stifled my impertinence.

Mistress was in no hurry to finish her talk . She was enjoying the tease.

But finally she rang off, and turned her attention to me.

Ouch. The first blow was a stinging surprise.

“To what do I owe the honor of this punishment, Mistress?”

“Nothing particular Slave. I just think I need to remind you more frequently who is in charge around here.”

Ouch. A few more blows rained down on my ass. I was squirming. Bouncing on the bed. Biting the bedspread to keep from crying out.

But after no more than ten or so swipes of the crop, Mistress was done. She really is pretty gentle with me.

“Roll over, Slave,”

I did. She used the crop to tease, then torment my cock into a state suitable for her use. Clever multitasking with the tool, Mistress.

Then she mounted me. By then my cock was desperate for her. And her fingers reaching back to tease my balls had me almost in the verge within seconds. But, of course, Mistress’s pleasure would come first. And it did.

“I needed this cock when M was done with me Slave”, she said in her best mock scold voice. “What took you so long?”



“

MIstress Joins the 13.000 Ft. Club

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Molly and Mick have a self-flagellation ritual we perform each year out here at our mountain hideaway. We rise at 6 am to climb a 13,500 ft. peak with a trailhead not far from our front porch. This is a 7 hour “jaunt” which, though amply painful, provides some reassurance that we have not grown too old for such adventures.

The trail is steep. The air is thin. You count your steps in clumps of 10 or 20. Along the way we courteously step aside for a band of bighorn sheep in search of some lush grazing above the tree line.  I am told they are not carnivores, but don’t want to get too close to find out.

But when, after about 3 hours, lungs and limbs stretched to the max, you scramble onto a saddle that links two rock strewn summits, and see the 360 degree, million dollar view  stretches out before you, well, suddenly, you forget the pain.

Our slow but steady climb had been shrouded by some low hanging clouds, but when we hit the summit the clouds cleared for a brilliant and warming sun. We settled in against a primitive hand built rock wind shelter at the top, ate our lunch, snapped some photos, and marveled at the view.

But it seemed we had to do something for our readers too.

Unlike on other occasions at this summit, we were all alone. Three women we had talked with at the top were already scrambling down, hoping to avoid some wet weather blowing our way.

We saw no one approaching from below.

“Would Mistress like some worship?”

She giggled at the thought.

“I suppose it would be wrong to say no, Slave.”

Mistress found a rock to perch on, then slid off her shorts and panties, letting them dangle on a single foot.  I groveled a bit, finding something soft to kneel on, and went to work.  Then I took the photo above to share with M and the rest of you.

Fortunately, Mistress came after only a few moments of my experienced ministrations, bucking against my mouth as her fingers wound themselves tightly into my graying hair.

As the saying goes, summiting is optional; coming down is mandatory.

So, as the wind picked up, we packed up out things, took a few final photos to evidence our accomplishment, and began the long and painful scramble down the loose rock and steep muddy ruts that passes for a trail.

Believe it or not, the down part is harder on legs and ankles, than the climb. It was a battle with gravity for the next 2 miles that had us cursing our poor judgment in doing this yet again. (We annually resolve to try the easier route next year, only to forget our resolution in our need to prove we have not lost a step in the preceding year).

At the halfway mark, the trail eases to something more routine, opening up to a lovely alpine lake. I reminded Mistress that last year I had worshipped her as she lay across a large, flat rock overlooking the lake.

I was surprised when she said, “Time for a rest, Slave….maybe we do that again right now.”

It was reassuring to hear Mistress show her interest in my tongue, despite what were certainly aching feet and legs.

So Mistress lay back on her perch, legs spread, panties dangling from an ankle. And I had some soft grass to kneel on as I worshipped her once more. In fact the position was so relaxing that I carried her off to two nifty orgasms, as her thighs embraced my head, and she lay back resting her sore body on that flat rock.

But as she finally pushed me away, I heard Mistress mutter.

“Oh, Shit.  There is someone up there.”

I turned and spotted a male hiker, higher up on the trail, as it emerged from a pine forest. Hopefully his camera was snapping shots of the lake, not of the foxy hiker splayed out on the rock in between him and the lake.

Mistress quickly slid her panties and shorts back into place, and we finished the Bataan Death March portion of our hike. 2 more miles to our car on shuffling, aching tootsies.

When we finally were back at our cabin, stiff, high hiking boots parked away until next summer, Mistress found some texts from M waiting for her. Her Master was worried, and wanted to know if we had made it back.

“Do you mind if I call him, Slave.”

Of course, I had no right to object.

They chatted a while as my stiff and aching body rested next to her in our bed. Near the end of their conversation, Mistress raised a scheduling issue with me.

“Slave, M asked if we can have a date later tonight….”

“Of course, Mistress….”

We had some local friends coming over for drinks at around 7:30, so Mistress was planning something  with M for after their visit. And when our guests  left at around 9 (our bodies were way too sore to join them for dinner at a local sushi joint), you could see Mistress’s attention quickly shifted to her potential engagement with M.

The image I remember is her holding her I-phone in one hand, texting him her availability, while sliding off skirt and panties with the other hand, to be ready for him.

“Where’s the Hitachi, Slave?”

What a cute and horny, Mistress.

With a certain wry amusement, I showed her that her tool of choice was safely sitting at our bedside, all plugged in and ready for her.

Yes, readers, it IS lots of fun for me to see Mistress in such a concupiscent state, anxious for the incendiary words that her Master uses to fuel her desire . She’s got it bad, and in this case it’s good. And I always seem to cash in at the end.

“I will step out now, Mistress”:, I said, picking up my computer.

“You can stay Slave….or, you can leave the door open.”

I do think Mistress is concerned about not hurting my feelings about her relationship with M. She loves me deeply, as I do her.  But I also think this development has been very good for her at a number of levels, not just the primo orgasms. And I believe that Molly and M need a privacy zone to maintain  and nurture what they have going.

“No. that’s Ok, Mistress, you two lovebirds need your privacy.”

I think she was grateful, though she certainly had the authority to lock me away somewhere out of earshot had she chosen to use it.

I worked on a few things on my computer, including this blog. I could not hear what was going on behind our closed door, though I recall catching a bit of moaning at one point.

Then, after about 45 minutes, Mistress opened the door.

“What are you up to Slave?…..we are done with the sex part, why don’t you come back in.”

I was happy to climb into bed, after stripping away my cloths. Mistress was still chatting with M, her top and charming necklace still on. But that was all.

Unsurprisingly, and despite my body’s exhaustion, once I slid into bed next to Mistress, something quickly drew me to her. I found my mouth planted between her legs, sucking on the tender parts that were already quite damp and swollen from an orgasm or two with the assistance of the Power tool and M’s instructions.

Mistress chatted on with M, recounting our exploits on the mountain, but all the while her cunt was squirming against my lips.  Finally, she shared what was going on.

“M, so you know, his face is between my legs again….”

“He says you are reclaiming me, Slave.”

I suppose that was part of it. But I knew that M would understand.

And at that point, he must have launched into another little fantasy scenario, involving how he would take her, because Mistress’s chatty voice turned into her deeper, slutty voice, with murmurs like,

“Yes…”

“Of course I would…”

“Oh, yes, I would like that, M….”

And then she was writhing against my mouth, her thighs squeezing tight, her pelvis rising up off the bed, moaning her release to both her Master and her Slave.

And after Mistress bid a loving good night to M, she found that the hard cock she needs after those sessions was ready and waiting for her.

Molly and Mick Misbehave at the Hot Springs

After our morning bike ride, the plan for Thursday was to head to a hot springs resort about 40 miles from our mountain hideaway. A day of soaking, sun and massage as the result of a nice gift certificate left by one of our house guests.

But as Mistress was eating breakfast, her devoted Slave went to visit our local Post Mistress, who was indulgent enough to accept some postage payment for books we were sending to relatives. Phew. I was afraid my gringo, Midwestern money would not be good enough for her.

When I arrived home I found mistress, naked on our patio, phone in hand, her legs spread oh so wantonly on her favorite chaise, phone in hand. And she had that silly “you caught me” grin on her face.

“It’s M on the phone, Slave. ….You missed the show.”

Mistress’s grin and the way her thighs slid so suggestively together told me exactly what type of show I had missed.

She does have a needy and naughty little cunt. Apparently, she could not resist his importuning to play with herself, though we had our morning session only a few hours earlier.

But soon she was done with her remote Master, and we were off to the Springs.

Mistress was delighted to learn that part of our package included some time in a private area, behind closed doors, with our own private pool fed by the ancient and very warm springs.

I suspect our regular readers know what was sure to happen.

This was a private outdoor space, backed up against a rocky cliff face, shielded by rustic wooden fences from other bathers. It had its own Kiva fireplace, which would have been of comfort for an evening session, but hardly necessary in the blazing mid-afternoon sun.

Decadent.

First, Mistress shed her bathing suit, and instructed me to do the same.

Then there was the scoping out of our options. There were no soft flat surfaces available.

Mistress did look fetching, spread nude across a lounge chair in front of the fireplace. I took a photo with her I-Phone which she texted off to M, so he could get a taste of our fun.

Then we returned to our scheming.

The tub itself was too hot for the type of sex we engage in. Plus, there was the yuck factor. Not very nice to leave all those natural juices in the pool for the next visitors.

So we settled for some initial worship with Mistress perched on the edge of the pool, her legs draped over her Slave’s shoulders, who worshipped and wallowed at the same time. Mistress ultimately succumbed to my lips and tongue, with a lovely gasp and moan of ecstasy.

Then we scoped out options for the proper position for Slave to claim his reward.


I suppose we could have waited until we got home, but then what would we have to blog about?

The lounge chairs had those unfortunate armrests. Not enough space for Mistress to comfortably ride my cock in that position.

Mistress did kneel to suck me into the proper configuration for fucking, though.

And then we settled for the hard concrete, me on top, Mistress below, a fluffy towel beneath her. I certainly enjoyed the experience, though we wondered whether some hikers on the ridge above us might get a show of their own.


Afterwards, as we rested, read, and soaked in our private pool. Mistress snapped the attached photo of me which she has asked me to post with today’s blog.

At some point, Mistress received another text message from M.

“He’s impatient Slave. He wants to know what we are up to in here.”

I guess he did not want to wait to read it on the blog. Then again, being her Master has its privileges.

Mistress tapped away on her phone.

“I told him I am going to need that upcoming massage after being fucked on that hard floor, Slave.”

I was glad we sequenced the proceedings properly. I would hate for Mistress to have a tender back.

HNT/ Another Day in Our High Desert Paradise

By now some of you may be thinking this is getting a little tedious…..Molly and Mick, no surly teens to deal with, figuring different ways to have sex and/or consume intoxicating substances.

Are you thinking, maybe they should go back to work, like the rest of you hard working bloggers  (and blog lurkers) out there. Or at least spare us their fun.

It could be that even our Western Correspondent might be getting a little tired of our routine of non-stop debauchery. After all he has a job and kids to attend to this week back in the big City.

Not that he wasn’t invited to join in and expand the fun.

Maybe the polite thing to do would be to post a notice that Mick and Molly are on vacation and will report back on their return to River City. But we do feel a need to keep on slogging with the blog, and to find new things to report to you about.

Here is the compromise: in the interest of not boring you with the routine sexual couplings of an almost 60 professional and his younger and very sexy wife,  I will just skip to some highlights of our day that did not involve the normal worshipping, fucking, moaning and writhing.

8 am – Morning sex behind us, Mistress is already out on our secluded patio, giving the decorative horses next door their daily show, writing her vanilla blog naked (bt for sun glasses) typing away at our picnic table. I snap a photo and hope she will not acquire a splinter on her tender tush.

10:00 am- after a hearty bike ride through our rolling, high altitude terrain, Mistress is lounging on her chaise, naked once again, working on tan line elimination. Her text message chime goes off.

“It’s M, Slave, do you mind if I call him.”

It’s polite of her to ask, but she is entitled to call anyone she wishes, whenever she wishes.

I am reading my book. She is chatting away about our day’s plans and her naked state.

But, undisciplined Slave that I can be, I could not help by chime in at a point a few minutes into their conversation.

“Mistress, you may want to tell him where your hand is placed right now.”

I don’t think she was conscious that her hand was parked between her legs, oh so gently moving back and forth.

“Slave is pointing out to me that my hand is between my legs, M. I guess I hadn’t noticed.”

“And you get very squirmy when you talk to him too, Mistress. In case he is interested.”

“He says I get squirmy too….”

That’s when their conversation went in a different direction.

“Really ….now …..right here?”

Mistress body arches a bit, her legs spread a little more wantonly.

“He wants me to play with myself, Slave….,,” she says, almost apologetically.

But there was nothing to apologize for.

“Would you two lovebirds like me to excuse myself?”

“He wants to know if he should watch, M.    …….

He says you should stay, Slave.”

That when Mistress’s fingers began to do their work, slowly rubbing away at her clit, a nice vertical motion, gentle, but apparently effective.

She was listening intently, and while I had no clue as to the words M was using to suck her deeper into her erotic trance, I could hear her responses to him

Phrases like….”Yes….”

“I would……”

“Ummmm….”

“I would like that…..”

“Yes, you could.”

And then, Mistress’s head was thrown back, and she was using the muscles in pelvis and arm to press her churning fingers and writhing cunt more closely together, moaning into the phone…coming at his command.

As she came down, Mistress looked to me for my reaction. She couldn’t see that my cock was twitching a bit on my shorts.

“He has you very well trained, Mistress.”

“Slave says you are training me well, M.  And it’s true….”

2 pm- Molly and Mick went to a lunch to hear a favorite author in a nearby town. After getting a collection of books signed, we were heading home.

“M just sent me a text, Slave. He says I should do something kinky to my Slave…maybe a spanking. Or a good ass fucking. What do you think about that?”

“Well I guess he’s looking out for my best interests, Mistress.”

“I wouldn’t want to disobey orders, Slave.. So when we get home be prepared.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

We took advantage of the late afternoon sun a bit, then as the sun was trending lower in the sky, Mistress told me it was time. We adjourned to our bedroom.

“Get out my harness, Slave.”

I was happy to comply. And its always interesting to see how enthusiastically Mistress comes as she pumps into me.

After we were done, Mistress was solicitous.

“Did you like that, Slave?”

“Of course, Mistress?”

“Why, Slave?”

“It reminds me that I am your Slave….get’s me in a better, more submissive frame of mind.”

“That’s good, Slave.”

I suppose M knew that when he sent this “suggestion” to Mistress.

10 pm- Mistress and Slave stagger in from an evening with friends at a local restaurant. We sat out on this charming patio, heard music, and consumed a variety of intoxicants, along with some crispy sweet potato fries.

We seemed to be way too loopy for sex, and I had certainly had my day’s quota. But as we did some web surfing, I pointed Mistress to a post by Remittance Girl, on the potential for addiction and desensitization from too much vibrator use.

So far, this does not seem to be a problem for Mistress, but she does like that Power Tool.

Mistress read through the thoughtful and well written article, laughing at parts. Then handed me the computer.

“What do you think, Mistress.”

“I think I want you to plug it in and use it on me right now, Slave.”

Mistress is the scrappy type who embraces FDR’s warning that “we have nothing to fear but fear itself.” Apparently fear of Hitachi addiction is not high on her list.

The light was out as I applied the tool, which made for an interesting and somewhat frustrating experience. I had a little difficulty finding the optimal target in the dark, so Mistress’s hand helped guide me. With no light ,I could sense and feel, but not see, the wanton writhing of Mistress’s legs and pelvis as she sought out the one additional orgasms of the day that  Remittance Girl had reminded her she needed.

Bottom line: Mistress went crazy. Then came with the type of needy desperation that suggested it had been weeks, not a few hours since her last one.

So, credit an assist to Remittance Girl.

And maybe I should invest in some night vision goggles.