Back in (Semi) Cilvilization

There may be no garbage pick-up here at our undisclosed location, but the sullen teens are happy again: they are back to their laptops, cell signals and DVD players after out “let’s rough it” venture into Southern Colorado.

And Mick and Molly are happy to have a little more privacy.

Not that we didn’t have fun.

There was our chance to “ooh” and “ah” at the great sand dunes national park, about a three hour drive away. The hike to the top of the highest dune, at about 9500 ft. above River City level, is taxing on aging ankles and lungs. But the view is gorgeous and the swells and curves of the wind blown landscape are downright voluptuous.

Of course, in the spirit of one of those bad Chevy Chase vacation movies, we were just a few minutes late to cop the last camp site in the national park.

That had us (momentarily) all tented up with nowhere to pitch. And of course the teens were quickly on their I-phones in search of the nearest Ritz Carlton.

But Molly was too quick for them. We ended up at the “Dunes Recreation Pool”, campground, in nearby Hooper (Pop. 23), a novel enterprise parked in a sea of sagebrush with a full size pool and assorted soaking tubs filled from a toasty geothermal spring. At a big hydroponic green house next door, they claimed to grow tomatoes, and sure enough there were some fresh ones on sale. But I did wonder what else was on the vines inside those massive structures.

So after the tents were assembled, and burgers were grilled, and the evening cooled, we were able to plop into a 100 degree pool, and watch the local teen cowboys and cowgirls cavort.

Thankfully, there were no prissy lifeguards enforcing prohibitions on PDA’s like at our own neighborhood pool back in River City. In fact, there were no damn lifeguards at all. Not the cowboy way!

What about Sex, you might ask? (Well you wouldn’t be here for pedestrian travel blogging would you?)

Things were a little lean in that department.

By the time we slipped into our sleeping bags on Friday night, both Mistress and Slave were a tad tuckered. And the kids were still chatting in the next tent. I offered my tongue in comfort, but Mistress demurred.

“I’m good, Slave.”

The morning was different though. The teens were still sleeping (though later they protested that they barely got a wink).

So Mistress graciously accepted the ministrations of her Slave’s fingers, and then my cock. Though we accomplished our mission without the usual bells and whistles. The ground was hard and I did not want to hurt Mistress’s back.

After some more pool lolling, we headed up to the Crestone Music Festival, a hippie flash back extravaganza in the shadow of some impressive 14, 000 footers. The festival was long on vegan treats and short on electricity to fuel the bands’ sound systems. The generator looked like a recycled lawn mower engine. The most interesting event was the ladies’ log splitting contest. The winner surely could have kicked this Slave’s ass.

But the event had its benefits.

“There are some nice mountain men types here, Slave.”

Mistress has spent some time in the back country, and several western states over her years. And she does have an unquenchable hankering for the type of men who are short on words and long on rugged.

One from Durango chatted her up a bit, as I stood by. Though his boasting about the peaks he had bagged this summer grew a bit tedious.

By the time we moseyed on back to the Hooper Pool, and had our evening soak, storm clouds were gathering. I had a sense this storm could cramp our style once we climbed into our sack.

Sure enough, as the wind picked up, thunder rumbled and lightening flashed, sullen teen 2 was suddenly climbing into our tent, seeking parental protection. (the other one was safely in the arms of her boyfriend in an adjoining tent, apparently no longer in need of her parents’ solace)

She was lobbying for a quick exit: “The weather channel says its going to storm all night, and tomorrow too.” (Yes, the place had wifi and her I-phone was all over it).

We told her to chill, and she lay there next to us as the wind rattled the tent, and (only) a few drops penetrated to dampen, but not soak us.

By the time the storm had passed, Mistress was sleeping like a baby.

In the morning, I was hoping to at least enjoy a quickie, but the teens were skulking about and the dogs of neighboring campers were yapping, making the privacy issue come to the fore.

But as Mistress read a book, I did slide my fingers into her shorts, making her squirm a bit until she came with a little, gratifying gasp.

So make that 1.5 on the weekend sex scale.

AS we were driving home, Mistress briefly found a signal and texted M with the Weekend update.

His “LOL” response to our paltry activity level was well received.

But by early afternoon we were back to our more comfortable digs here in the shadows of another set of kinder, gentler mountains. Mistress caught up on sleep out on our patio, and added to her lovely tan. We shook the cricks out of our muscles with a late afternoon bike ride. And then it was to bed for our afternoon “nap”..

The teens just happy to be back to what teens do.

Nothing.

But back to our chambers.

The door was open, accommodating a cooling breeze off the mountains.

Mistress had stripped off her charming tie dye two piece bathing suit.

Slave was naked too, as he should be.

“What about switch Day, Slave.”

“I think we’ve missed that Mistress. Plus I may be too desperate for some long drawn out scene. I need you. Now. ASAP.”

She stood there, a hand cupping my balls, a finger straying to the underside of my quickly enlarging cock.

“That’s what I like to hear, Slave. Desperation. You may have to get used to it. Remember, Abstinence Day starts up again on Wednesday.”

Ah yes. The firmer hand she had talked about. Something M has been coaching her on during their morning phone calls. My cock lurches up one more notch at the thought of it all.

“Go put in your device, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Dispatch from Hooper, Col.

It's was a wet but dry weekend for Mick and Molly. Wet, as in soaking in a toasty swimming pool here in Hooper Colorado, fed by some geothermal springs, or getting our tents baptized in a very vigorous 8000 ft. high in the rockies wind and thunder storm.

But dry in the sense that Mostres and Slave had very little privacy to do what they like to do most. Well....there was a chance early Saturday morning in our tent, before the kids woke up. And then again this morning, though surly teen number 2 had already woken, I used some "reading" time in our tent to give Mistress a quicky.

Hopefully I will be able to redeem the favor later this afternoon, back in our cabin, with the teens plugged into their electronica and oblivious to all that moves and breaths around them.

So check in tomorrow and find out.

Reading Mistress's Cues

One morning this week, Mistress gave me a not so subtle hint about how she wanted me to fuck her.

After she read the blog, my face buried between her legs as she cooed about parts she liked and laughed at a one liner, she instructed me to go insert my “device”- the little while aneros that makes me particularly hard and needy.

“Yes, Mistress.”

As I came back into our bedroom, I saw that Mistress had rolled over onto her tummy. It was her sign to me that she wanted to be taken from behind, something we do on occasion, though it can sometimes make Mistress’s back a little tender. All things moderation, right?

Her arms were folded under her head, long hair flowing back over her shoulders. Her bottom was wriggling just a bit, still catching some of the left over ripples from the orgasm my tongue had slavishly provided her moments ago.

So, being a Slave well tuned to Mistress’s desires, I followed her cue and settled onto her back, first allowing my legs to straddle her smooth, athletic thigh. That gave my cock the additional pleasure of humping against her, making it all the more firm and ready.

“Can I fuck you now, Mistress….”

“Of course, Slave…”

Mistress spread her legs a bit wider, and I shifted my weight, allowing my cock to slide between those lovely globes, pressing between them, wiggling a bit, guiding with fingers until I found my mark. (Not her tight ass, of course. She is saving that one for M).

Mistress gasped a bit as I slid slowly into her, inch by inch.

My arms took a good bit of my eight, but my face was buried against her strong shoulders, inhaling the rich aroma of her thick hair, and the salty taste of her neck.

And as I pressed further into her, using a rocking motion with my hips to help her grind her cunt against the bed, Mistress’s breathing accelerated, then became more ragged.

What makes taking her this way so different is that I can’t read the cues in her face, or hear her breathing directly in my ear. In a way it’s like driving in the dark, no headlights or moon to light your path.

So, I can only tell when Mistress comes - and when it’s permissible to focus on my own crude objectives - from the raspy sounds she makes into the pillow, and the frantic motions of her hips as she grinds it out against the bed as I drive into her.

It was only then that Mistress – well satisfied –rolled over and allowed me to take my pleasure in a more conventional position.
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Yesterday evening, we let the teens go to dinner on their own, and used that as an excuse to go to our favorite local restaurant, a cross between fine dining and hippie haven, featuring locally grown organic food with Southwest spicing. It’s a place where you might see refugees from a local commune one night, and an A-list movie star with her extended family another night.

The restaurant is in an old, long abandoned Morada (a tiny, adobe Catholic Church), with its rough plastered walls and viga ceiling. The candle lit tables and simple decorations are muy romantico.

Mistress wore a black top, a colorful skirt, and some of her vivid silver and turquoise jewelry. You may be tired of hearing this, but, once again, she was the most strikingly beautiful woman in the room.

We had been talking about some of the comments we had received about yesterday’s blog, on the subject of jealousy and insecurity, and mourning the demise of the intriguing relationship between our compadras in blogging, ‘Nilla and Sin and “D2”.

Mistress had spoken with M earlier in the day on the subject of our blog, too.

“He asked me about that guy in the Bar, Slave…. Of course he has no problem with what you and I are up to, but he gets a little antsy when you mention any other guys…past or present.”

I smiled.

“The thought of a little competition is good for him, Mistress, just like his role in your life has been good for you and me.”

“I am glad you feel that way, Slave.”

That got me thinking….

“How would you feel if both of us were here tonight, wining and dining you, Mistress? You between us, both of our hands roving up your thighs under the table, or leaning over to kiss you, or taking your hand as we sipped our wine.”

“What woman would complain about that, Slave?”

(For those of you paying attention, don’t panic if you hear naught from Mick and Molly this weekend. We are taking the teens camping and leaving our laptops behind. Absent a confrontation with an angry and lethal bear, you will hear from us again come Monday morning. Hope all of you have delightful weekends.)

HNT / Does Slave Get Jealous or Insecure?

Earlier this week, in some back and forth at her blog site, “Finding My Submission”, Sin asked if I ever got jealous or insecure, now that Mistress has (and has exercised) the right to take other lovers.http://findingmysubmission.blogspot.com/

“It’s complicated”, is one way I can put it.

But the answer is, no, I don’t get either jealous or insecure.

At my age, approaching 60, I am pretty secure in who I am, what I have done with my life, and my relationship with Molly. If anything, maybe I am too secure.

I also have a great deal of faith in Molly. She and I have been together for more than 20 years. We have raised two girls now on the brink of adulthood (though you wouldn’t know it a good bit of the time). We have faced down challenges along the way. Maybe I’m crazy, but I don’t think a dalliance here or there by my beloved will threaten the life we have built together, so long as we are open and honest about it.

Nor do I get jealous. I am still the one that Molly comes home to (when she was seeing her starter Dom), and who she ends up sleeping with at night. As compared to most “old married couples” we know, we spend far more time together, whether we are having sex or just enjoying one another’s company.

If Mistress chooses to spend some of her time submitting to the charming voice of M, or flirting with a man she encounters at work, who am I to complain.

For me, our contract, and my willingness  to “allow”, or even facilitate, her current cyber tryst ,or any other sexual adventures she might venture into, is about making Molly happy. I seem to have been wired that way.

So when I see Mistress all cheerful, perky and flirtatious as she chats with M over the phone, or notice how turned on she is after one of their little sessions with the power tool, well, I feel in my own way I have “shot and scored” too.

And I always seem to get paid back in full when Mistress turns her attention back to me and my cock.

Now I recognize that not everyone is wired this way.

M seems much more possessive and jealous when it comes to his own wife. And of course Mistress would never tolerate my involvement with another woman, as is her right, contract or no.

But there is an additional  response I notice when Mistress is engaged in her extracurricular activities.

 I do get a little competitive when I know Mistress is in the thrall of another man, or fancies one that catches her eye. I get that edge that says, “let her have her fling. Let her flirt away, but make sure you step up your own game a notch.”

And, just beneath the surface of that macho competitive thing is a strange excitement I get at the thought of her using or being used by another lover. A psychologist I spoke with once on the subject suggested that seeing another man attracted to your wife is a validation that you’ve chosen a winner. I get that.

But there must be something deeper to it . Why does my cock gets hard as Mistress describes how she would willingly fall to her knees and suck M’s cock, if only he’d allow it? Or says she is saving her virgin bottom only for him?

If anyone can give me a persuasive psychological profile explaining this whole, hot cuckold thing, please send me a link.

But I know our readers don’t come her for psycho-babble, so why don’t I share some examples:

Monday night, after feeding the teens, Mistress and Slave headed to a local roadhouse to hear a favorite  troubadour.  The place was packed with its usual combination of locals and tourists, many of them two stepping on the dance floor.

Molly was in a sexy, but understated short black dress, accented by some of her vivid southwestern jewelry. As we sat and watched the commotion on the dance floor, sipping a tequila and  a Jamieson, I noticed that, as usual, Mistress was the hottest babe in the room.

And of course, a few of the cowboys, real or faux, were noticing that too.

At one point, Mistress excused herself from the table, presumably to “freshen up”.  But as I scanned the room shortly after she left, I noticed her standing at the bar, engaging in conversation with the Manager, a handsome, athletic charmer, about her age, who has chatted her up on more than one occasion. His name is Mike (what’s with all these M guys).

Molly had talked – favorably – about Mike before. He is one of those guys who catches her eye.

Their body language was telling. Leaning into one another. His arm resting on her shoulder. Mistress touching his forearm as they chatted. Or maybe her hand running  seductively though her own hair.

Since Mistress acquired her contractual right to take other lovers, she seems to exude a certain chemical / physical aura that ignites these types of encounters.

I did not want it to seem I was staring, so I went back to watching the spinning dancers a bit. But when I turned back to find Molly, she and Mike were gone.

That’s where my imagination took off.

I had them in  some dark office in back, or maybe out in the parking lot, Mistress crouching to take his cock in her mouth, or maybe leaning across the hood of a car in the shadows out back, legs spread for him, showing off her clean shaven, dripping  folds.

And of course, my cock was twitching in my jeans.

When Mistress came back a few minutes later, I shared my little fantasy with her. She just laughed. “Hmmm, not a bad idea Slave. Maybe someday.”

Or yesterday afternoon.

Work had caught up with us here at our undisclosed location. So we were sitting out on our patio, typing and conference calling away on some projects, as the teens made tie dye T-Shirts. (“Crafts Day” at Camp Collins!)

But through the morning, after our bike ride, I noticed Mistress shifting her attention from time to time to her I-phone.

When I raised an eyebrow, she laughed.

“He must be horny. He’s sending me little salacious messages, Slave.”

“Like what, Mistress?”

“Oh, the usual, I am spread across his desk. He’s spanking me, then he’s taking me from behind.”

But I could detect that Mistress was getting a little agitated in reaction to his messaging. She liked the attention. M was not the only horny one.

So I decided to act as a co-conspirator

“What if I get take the kids on a little outing, Mistress? Would that allow you to have a “date” with your friend”..

Her eyes lit up.

She tapped away.

“He says yes, but the sooner the better.”

Even Cyber Dom’s have to work sometimes.

So I hustled the kids out the door for a tour of some local Indian ruins, chased by an ice cream cone. I suspect that they did not know the urgency of leaving quickly. But they co-operated.

And Slave made sure the Hitachi was out and available, tucked under a pillow on our bed.

Mistress gave me a grateful kiss goodbye.

And as I was lapping my “Holstein Sunset”  ice cream cone – organic of course – while thinking of Mistress writhing on our bed, power tool in hand, M ‘s seductive voice in her ear – well, you can imagine my physical response.

And when I got the text from Mistress – “Mission accomplished, Slave” – I knew all was clear for me to return the kids to their craft project, and collect my own reward.

Sin, does that answer your question?