"Keep it Hard for me Slave."

 "Hmmm. What have we here."

Mistress raised her eyebrows. Poked with a curious finger through my boringly white briefs.

She had just discovered that my cock was firmer than one might expect after a long day of bike rides, entertaining the kids, and then  pizza  at a local joint, known for its east coast cuisine and big western views.

I thought I was tired. And full. It was not long ago that I was thinking about how to say “can this wait until morning”. 

I know: Bad slave.

But somehow our conversation had gotten those blood vessels doing what they do when the imagination is provoked.

It started with Mistress sharing tid bits of a story that M had sent her. A fantasy in which  she flew to Las Vegas to meet him. Was told to strip and wait in his room, watching porn. She was to toy with her parts, but no, absolutely no, coming.

At some point M would pay a fetching bellman to come to her room, and tie her to the bed. Tightly spreadeagled. Then Mistress would have to suffer quietly in her bonds, all desperate and frustrated, until M made his grand entrance.

No doubt some serious fucking would ensue. 

My reaction?

“Hmmm. That’s a good one Mistress….why don’t you ask M for permission to post it tomorrow….nice to know I have material to work with, and it’s been a while since our Western Correspondent earned his generous retainer and expense check.”

(Right).

Mistress got M’s consent (he must have been on-line), but then had a little trouble forwarding his tale.

“It’s kind of embarrassing , Slave….Below his email to me is some thing I sent him…..a little fantasy, but I feel funny about you seeing it…”

“Hmmm….You know I don’t mind Mistress. It’s hard for me to think that you’ve said things to him that I have not already imagined….After all….you do have the right, and my permission to fuck M and anyone else who catches your eye…..”

“still….you’re my husband and, I am kind of embarassed….You’ve talked about giving us a privacy zone …it just feels weird”

We talked a bit about the subject.

I do think, and have told Mistress,  that any relationship needs a zone of privacy to prosper and grow.  A place for those mushy words, exchanged fantasies, honest confessions of ….whatever.  And while Mistress had shared the power point highlights of her developing relationship with M, I have never insisted on all the details. (Not that I have a right to them, mind you).

What I do know about their interactions is more than hot enough to add a good deal of spice to our own sexual endeavors, as you devoted readers know. And there have been those moments when Slave has been invited to participate in their action.

So if Mistress wants to share her dark and sexy fantasies with M, and feels she should keep them a private matter, that is between the two of them. (though I am sure some of our readers would enjoy reading   a sanitized version of them now and again).

And the fact that all that talk about the parameters of the Mistress/M privacy zone led to my stiffening cock seemed to be an endorsement of our approach.

So where were we?

“Keep it hard for me as I get ready for bed, Slave.”

So there I was, book in one hand, my other hand filled with my stiffening cock, as Mistress did her nighttime rituals and donned  a sexy  combo of soft green top and panties  I had given her some Chrsitmas past..

Every now and then she glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was following orders.

“It should be harder, Slave.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Then she was asking me for the location of the riding crop.

Yikes. Suddenly my cock was even harder. What a pavlovian doofus I’ve become.

When she was finally ready for me, crop in hand, she inspected my work.

“Nice, Slave. Very nice.” 

The tip of the crop caressed the length of me, inducing a twitch of longing.  But first things first.

“Roll over, Slave….”

I followed her direction, willingly presenting my ass to her, like a lamb walking to slaughter.

“”This is for forgetting to pack my harness, Slave.”

Mistress was annoyed that she would not be able to fuck me in the ass on this trip, because I failed to pack her equipment.

Definitely punishment worthy behavior.

Thwack, Thwack.

Man, that stung.  In quick succession, my ass got 8 or 9 sharp blows.

I  was squirming and bouncing off the bed. But I stifled my verbal feed back, to shelter the teens who were on the other side of our closed door, playing Monopoly.

“And these are for that thing that I don’t even want to talk about.”

Yes, Mick’s big screw up of two years ago. It’s better for her to punish me for it than keep it bottled up.

Three more sharp blows landed on my ass.

Painful, but it was glad to get that out of our systems..

Then she prodded me at my side.

“Rollover now, Slave. I want to see my cock.”

There it was for her, harder than ever.

She tossed the crop aside, and sat next to me on the bed, her hands softly caressing my balls and shaft.

And though my ass was still stinging,  the attention she was giving me made that sting fade quickly to deep background.

And soon I was squirming for a different reason.

“Would you like me to fuck you now, Mistress?”

But I suspect it sounded more like a plea than a question.

“You’re so impatient, Slave.”

The torment continued, with her soft lips added to the mix.

She does like to tease. But within a minute or two she must have grown tired of my pitiful desperation.

She slid off those sheer green panties, all the while eyeing my cock.

“I’m going to ride it now, Slave.”

And she did.

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.