Down By the River

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.

Well, almost all.

The Discerning Dom has a thoughtful post today on how to maintain a D/s relationship while balancing the demands of kids, work and life that’s worth reading for those of you that share that challenge.http://discerningdom.blogspot.com/2010/07/question-no-3.html?zx=1296b472d8d4c2ca

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.

Change of Venue

Mistress and her Slave made love twice yesterday, but there was a long trip in between.

The morning began in River City. I did my little blog for her (and you), illustrated by Mistress’s “sweet” ass, as characterized by a comment from Weave. And I devoured her slick juicy parts as she read and chuckled at my observations.

“These references to E and then J, Slave. Are you trying to taunt M?”

“Who me, Mistress?”

Once the computer was set aside I was allowed to use my rigid cock to our mutual delight.

Then is was “wakey wakey” for the surly teens and the boyfriend. We were headed to the airport for our family vacation out here at our Mountain hideaway.

Along the way, first on one of those little mini-planes to Dallas , and then on a real plane to our destination, Slave was busy tending to some work projects. So was Mistress , at least part of the time.

But Mistress was also texting with M. Keeping up their cute and sexy cyber chatter.

As we were waiting for our rental car, Mistress gave me a taste of their repartee:

“I told him you ignored me too much on the plane, Slave.”

“Well….I guess I did. But in my defense, the kids were in the next aisle.”

“Not on that first flight, Slave.   He says he should have sent me to the bathroom to take care of myself.”

“Oops.  He’s right….I deserve a punishment, don’t I.”

“”Definitely”.

It was several hours later when we arrived at our cabin, all stocked up on groceries. We settled in. I instructed the boyfriend on how to use the BB gun to shoot at those pesky prairie dogs.

Then Mistress and Slave were off for a sunset bike ride.

The air was fresh and cool.  Clouds were high in the sky. Lightning flashed far across the high desert landscape. The smell of fresh sage still damp from some afternoon rain teased our senses.

.What a change from the sodden, grimy atmosphere the prior night in River City.

By 9 pm Mountain time, we were ready for bed.

“Are you too tired to fuck me, Slave?”

“Of course not Mistress. But Don’t I deserve a punishment first?”

What a pathetic, needy Slave.

“You do, but I’m too tired for that sort of thing.”

We proceeded slowly, Mistress responding like the slutty little minx she can be to the attentions of my fingers between her legs. She came with a shudder and moan, head buried against my shoulder.

“Why don’t you fuck me now Slave” she sighed rolling onto her back. You could tell she was still a little tired and stiff from the long trip west.

“Of course, Mistress.”

I fucked her. And fucked her some more. And some more.

Was it the altitude? The fatigue? The fact that we had plenty of sex these last few days?

Whatever….I seemed so close so many times, but could not make it over the edge.

Mistress had no apparent complaints. She seemed to have a cornucopia of cums as I dragged the session on and on. I used my cock and my fingers to make sure of that. Would not want my Mistress to get bored.

But in the meantime, I had become the fucking machine who could not close the deal.

At one point she laughed.

“Frustrated, Slave?”

“Uhhh…yeah.”

“Good, I like it when you are frustrated.”

Maybe this was her punishment. To Drive me crazy with frustration. T was working.

But of course, I was not prepared to throw in the towel. What sort of Slave would say, “Maybe we should finish this project in the morning, Mistress.”?

At one point Mistress gave me (and  her well fucked cunt) a respite.

“I think I want to suck my cock now, Slave.”

And she did. Her mouth and fingers simply confirmed the point. I was very, very hard for her. But….

Her mouth and fingers were driving me crazy. I was overly sensitized by now. Her attentions, however well intended, were almost painful. I really could not take it anymore.

But the “rest” had done me good.

“May I fuck you some more now, Mistress?”

“If that’s your wish, Slave.”

And within a few minutes, after driving myself into her, con mucho gusto, and generating some more of those lovely  moans from her, I was finally there.

“May I come now, Mistress.”

“Of course, Slave. I thought you would never ask.”

HNT / Think Cool

This photo is a visual antidote to the hot, dirty, sodden air hovering over our quaint, post-industrial river valley.

I took it of Molly’s lovely bottom last fall, just before Thanksgiving, when we were out in our Mountain hideaway, on our way to Southern Colorado to make the first tracks of the new ski year.

You can thumb back to that eventful weekend in late November on this blog if you are interested in the first hand account.

Suffice it to say that Mistress was in the full throws of her subbie little crush on E, and Mick was exploiting her lust for all it was worth.

Yes, I know. Bad Slave.

We had about a three hour drive. Our skis were wedged into the back seat. Ur route took us over a 10,000 foot pass that was freshly coated with the first snow of the season.

The sun was high and brilliant in the ski. The temperatures were in the 40’s, but the warm southwestern sun created an illusion of warmth.

At the top of that pass there is a picnic area. I pulled over. I had told Mistress to expect a surprise.

As you can see, it involved Mistress wading through knee deep snow, jeans at her ankles, spanked, then fucked from behind.

Indeed, I believe we set a personal 24 hour record for fucking that day (was it really 7?) that I will never even attempt to eclipse.

As some steroid befuddled former St. Louis Cardinal slugger might say: “some records are just not meant to be broken”.

That snowy scene was the opposite of our day here in River City on Wednesday.

Mistress and Slave were on somewhat different schedules.

We performed our morning rituals. Blog writing. Mistress reads blog while I lave her clean shaven parts with devoted tongue, then, a nice roll in the moist sheets.

Mistress lolled in bed a bit then, emailing away.

As I emerged from the shower she reminded me that my cage was to be worn. So I smushed my balls through the tight ring, fit the steel covering over my cock, then offered her the lock to squeeze shut.

“Do you feel more secure with me locked away, Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave …. “

She follows the old Reagan mantra : “Trust, but verify.”

We were both home around 6:30 pm. The surly teens were avoiding us.

Bummer. Dinner alone. (Yippee!)

But first a bike ride. And mistress. in her mercy, removed my cage. The feeling of a steel cage negotiating a bike seat is not comforting, though it’s been done on occasion.

The air here last night was the polar opposite of the pristine, chilled wonder of that snow covered pass.

Thick. Grimy. Super-heated.

Storm clouds were gathering but it seemed like the heat sapped away their ability to discharge any rain.

We made it up a long hill, sucking all that filthy detritus into our lungs when it finally started to sprinkle and thunder. That was our excuse to cut the ride short and head back to the empty, air conditioned house.

I was going to shower off the grime, but first things first.

“Can I worship, Mistress?”

“Do you want me to shower first, Slave?”

She was very considerate, but I demurred.

“No, I like it when you are a little … gamey, Mistress.”

“Fine by me, then.”

She slid off those tight black riding shorts.

I sank to my knees.

I slowly deployed my tongue, like a wine geek swirling and sipping that first taste to collect the proper pretentious adjectives.

But there was no hint of melon or faint aroma of cloves here.

No, it was a salty, musky stew that needed to be lapped up in a frenzy of greed and desire, rather than allowed to breath.

So I did.

After Mistress was fully consumed, she considered allowing me to fuck her. But deferred that until after dinner. Oh well, at least it was not an Abstinence Day.

After dinner we found ourselves back in the bedroom, and Mistress was talking about a conversation she had with M that day.

“I told him about my upcoming lunch with J.”

J is a local captain of industry. Mistress would like to hit him up for business. But she suspects J would like to hit her up for something else.

And since I have seen the way J looks at and talks to Molly at various civic functions, she’s probably right. Who could blame him.

“I bet M got a little antsy, Mistress. For a guy who seems reluctant to advance this relationship beyond the cyber, he gets a little possessive, doesn’t he?”

“I told him that I might be better off as a kinky, high priced courtesan…”

“How did he react to that idea, Mistress?”

“He said that you and he might be willing to give you permission for that, if I filled you in on all the sordid details.”

By now we were both in bed, all naked and comfy. And Mistress did something that was a little beyond the norm. Rather than allowing me to give her that warm up orgasm she has been accustomed to, she attacked – devouring her cock.

The best I could do was lie back and enjoy it, though I was able to worm a hand between her legs to work on those lovely folds with a damp finger.

I wondered – as she sucked and fondled my cock and balls – if she was fantasizing about how it would be to assume that role “professionally”, to use her considerable erotic skills to seduce and then control J and other comparable plutocrats in our staid town to dance to her tune.

But soon my thoughts were dragged back to earth by the need she had stoked so efficiently. Mistress had already succumbed to one starter cum as a result of my digital efforts. I was begging to fuck her.

As Sam sung, “It’s just the same old story….”

Now she was riding my cock. The lights were unusually bright, and I could see her eyes, seemingly far away. If she was imagining that someone else was filling her, who cared.

It was just nice to be along for her ride.

MIstress Going Green?

Mistress had an early morning meeting yesterday. And it came with a bit of angst.

She knew there was a chance she might encounter someone we were both anxious to avoid: the person that Mick stupidly became involved with during our years of commuter marriage. It was the big mistake that ultimately required Mick to submit completely to Molly’s control and dominance, and sign our contract.

And that – as it turns out – was a very rewarding thing.

But still, that grievous error in judgment remains a painful part of our history for Mistress. And, since River City is a small town, there have been these inevitable run-ins. (check out one of our earliest blogs, titled “Election Night”).

I was proud that Mistress was not inclined to back down from this potential confrontation. My guess is that that other person would be intimidated if Molly showed up and stared her down. But when I left her off at the door yesterday morning, both of us were a bit on edge.

Not long after I settled behind my desk, I texted Molly: “sorry we did not get to fuck this am, Mistress.”

Soon I got her response: “Me too, Slave.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, surmising from that response that the “evil one” as she has become known, had chosen not to attend the early gathering.

And I was happy when Mistress elected to stop by my office afterwards. She was due some worship, and I was happy to sink to my knees and provide it. It was particularly gratifying that for the rest of the day I could detect the scent of her luscious juices on my hands and mouth and hovering in my corner office.

Yum.

Of course, that did nothing but stoke my own desires for Mistress.

At home at the end of the day we went for a bike ride in the muggy river valley air. It has been a hot summer here in the heartland. Maybe AL Gore was right after all.

Afterwards, I prepared some grilled chicken, corn on the cob acquired at a road side farm on Monday’s college visit, to go with some fresh ‘maters plucked from an adjoining field. The flavorful type that make putting up with this sultry climate worth it.

After we watched the latest episode of Hung , and I helped edit Mistress’s Vanilla blog, it was time for Mistress and Slave to do what they do best.

Better yet, the surly teens were both out.

“I think I should use the power tool on you tonight, Mistress.”

“Hmmm…. I won’t object to that ….but why don’t you insert your device, first.”

Of course, Slave has no standing to make any objections.

So we settled into bed, my cock already firming up from the influence (mental and physical) of being required to slide that white projectile into my ass.

“M laughed at the part where you wouldn’t let me use the Hitachi on myself, Slave (referring to our Sunday adventure) ….he says B took away his right to use it on her months ago.”

“Well it was switch day, Mistress… Any other day you are at the controls whenever you want.”

“Of course, I am, Slave.”

My warm up act involved some kissing, cooing, nipple sucking, with fingers sliding along Mistress naked and aromatic folds.

It got her all squirmy, just as I had become.

Then I reached for the Hitachi.

“You don’t have to use that Slave…we’re doing fine without it.”

“Of course we are….but you seemed to like the idea a few minutes ago…”

Hearing no further objection, the switch went on. The tool was properly engaged between Mistress’s spread legs.

Then – literally within 10 seconds – KABOOM.

Mistress was shaking, moaning, coming.

“Whoa….what was that about?”

She laughed. I laughed. Instant orgasm.

“Are you trying to save energy Mistress ….going green on me?”

“I can see a blog coming on, Slave.”

“You have my number, Mistress.”

But it seemed silly to put away the power tool after only a few seconds of use. Electric rates are lower at night, after all.

I quickly reengaged it, sliding it once more against her dripping parts, while latching my mouth onto her sprightly right nipple. Within seconds, her snappy patter was replaced by the ragged breathing, and quaking thighs that led to another quick but seemingly potent cum for her.

What an efficient Mistress / machine combo. Maybe she should be the next Secretary of Energy.

At that point she pushed the Wand away.

“Oh God, enough Slave….now I want to taste my cock.”

I was happy to comply, shutting the machine off, and rolling back to give Mistress free access to what was hers alone.

AS my ass gripped the probe, driving it deeper into me, Mistress deployed her devious attention on my cock and balls with mouth and fingers. Soon I was the one on the brink, fidgeting, begging, cajoling for the right to fuck her.

“Maybe I should make you come in my mouth, Slave…”

“But wouldn’t you miss having me inside you, Mistress.”

“I suppose I would. …. Beg some more then. Convince me that you really need to fuck me.”

I did. And after a few more minutes of her “cruel torment”, she relented.

“OK, Slave. I believe you.”

She rolled back, her fingers still gripping me, guiding me into her.

Ahhh.

After that, I did my best to persuade Mistress that she had made the right decision.