Hunkered Down in Our Hideaway

After a long day of traveling, and some “in-air antics” inspired by Aisha’s dare, Mistress and her Slave made it to our little hideaway here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

It was a beautiful, cloud free day for that 3 hour drive, though the temperature was dropping in inverse proportion to the altitude’s increase.  And as her Slave drove through beautiful vistas, Mistress read a book and kept in touch with M via text message. He was skiing with family a  hundred miles or so to the north, where there has been considerably more snow. 

So they traded photos – he and his kids on skis, and Mistress’s shot of the fresh guacamole at a charming restaurant we stopped for lunch along the way.

We stopped for provisions at a local organic grocery store, and quickly jumped back in the car as the sun sank precariously low – Mistress was determined to get a bike ride in before we lost the “magic hour” light  that made Georgia O’Keefe give up the Big City all those decades ago.

As we pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, Mistress’s text chime went off. It was M, back from skiing and eager to talk. Mistress had sent him a little teaser text about her in-flight O, and he wanted the details.

Soon they were chatting.

“I had this big sweater with me, so it just went over my lap…. And then I slid off my pants underneath.  It was actually pretty easy….”

“He says he’s proud of us, Slave….”

“I offered to get the Slave off on the plane…. But he said it might be too messy.”

“Plus I was on the aisle, Mistress….”

It’s hard for me not to toss in a line or two when my name comes up. Impertinent, I know.

“True, Slave… I think he’s kind of horny now, M….. “

Her hand reached over, running a finger down the fly of my jeans.  She was right.  The scent of her musky juices had clung to my fingers through the afternoon and my Pavlovian reflexes were pathetically true to form.

“But first, a bike ride…. It’s been a long day of sitting on our asses, and it’s so beautiful out.”

“Of course, Mistress….”

M and Molly chatted a bit longer, until the cell reception faded, and we were pulling into our driveway.

We had no more than 30 minutes of a sinking sun left, so scrambled to unlock the bikes, round up some gloves and hats, and head out.  By now it was in the low 30’s and darn chilly, particularly in the brisk wind coming down off the mountains.

And Slave was huffing and puffing as we hit that first hill…. Feeling my age and the altitude. I had forgotten the value of acclimatization, but Mistress was right. We needed the exercise.

And we made it back in one piece, in the dark by the time we finished our circuit, stars popping out in the high dessert sky.

Beautiful.

Now we had time to unpack our provisions, make sure things were in good order.

I poured Mistress a Tequilla,  and myself an Jamieson.

Now the time had come…..

“Why don’t you take off your cloths and get in bed, Slave….”

“Excellent idea, Mistress….”

Soon we were warming ourselves under the covers, Slave naked, Mistress still in those lacy black panties, and nothing else.

“Wow…. Your bottom is still cold, Mistress….”

It was still warming up after those 45 minutes  in the saddle. I used my hands to warm her chilly cheeks, occasionally dipping between them to confirm that she was already moist and juicy for me.

And her fingers were busy too…. Fondling my cold cock until the blood began to flow back and remind me how very long it had been. 

(Yeah, Sin, I know 36 hours is hardly a big deal….but still.)

Mistress was rewarded with a few more digitally induced orgasms as we clung to one another to spread the warmth. And soon I was begging for the privilege of fucking Mistress. 

“Yes you may, Slave… I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Indeed, it sure seemed I had…. And I began robustly, sliding hard into her, working to make sure she had an orgasm or too before I was begging for the privilege.

But I had forgotten the cunning logic of high altitude sex…. Pace yourself. No matter how horny a male slave might be…. When you come from the flatlands to 7500 feet or higher, it’s easy to lose your breath.

So Slave had to back off a bit, slow, then vary the pace.  And WTF, there was no rush… No kids to drive or nag us…. No schedule at all.

So Mistress got her money’s worth…. And hopefully a premium, as Slave took his time to get her over the top a few more times, with those languorous shudders and precious moans.

And soon enough, Slave was begging too: Desperate for release, and then, after permission was granted, coming for her in a series of eruptions that seemed like it had been a week, not a day….

Ahhhh….

Mistress is very kind.

I slept for a bit then, while Mistress read.  I think I woke to the chime of her text message.

She reached for it, laughed.

“It’s the Western Correspondent, Slave… eh wants to know what the two lunatics are up to….”

“Aren’t you glad he’s keeping you on a short leash, Mistress?”

“Why yes, Slave…. I am.”

In-Air Antics

The Crazy Collins couple were up early this morning, to catch a 7:15 am flight.  So no morning sex for us. Just a quick shower and a dash to the airport. Which was amazingly deserted.

M had speculated about the type of security screening we might encounter.

"He said he hopes I get the full body cavity search, Slave....he thinks that would be funny."

But, alas, M.... the TSA "gestapo" was sleeping in after indulging themselves on turkey and schnapps . There were no humiliating full  body scans to whet the prurient appetites of sinister "Big Government" storm-troopers, like Rush Limbaugh had promised we would encounter. There was not  even an invasive pat down for the shapely Molly. As it turns out, I didn't even have to avoid wearing my cage....There was just  the same old conveyer belts and a friendly 'bon voyage'.

So now we are safely on board our flight out west, after making our connection in Atlanta

Google is providing free wifi on Delta for the Holidays... inspiring.... well.....

We were paging through our fellow bloggers entries.... Some hot ones this morning, particularly to a guy who has not "done it" since Thursday morning. More than 24 hours now and counting. (Of course, Mistress got off yesterday afternoon while talking with M, but who's keeping track?)

And there comes Aisha, with a comment, wondering if there will be any in-air antics to report on.

It was sort of like throwing down the gauntlet to Molly and Mick.

Fortunately, Mick was shrewd enough to book us seats on the side of the plane with only two seats. Though there is the disadvantage of that un-moveable arm rest between us....not to worry.

Mistress has a black wrap type sweater (it was cold this morning in River City)... and it spreads nicely across her lap.

"Why don't you slide off those pants, Mistress."

"Ummm .... OK Slave."

She spread the sweater over her lap. Then wriggled out of her tight jeans. There are some nice, lacey black undies underneath.

I hand her my computer....

"You may want to read Aisha nice little fantasy about submitting to a certain Dom, Mistress...."

"Sure, Slave... let me see."

As she's scrolling down through that fantasy about Aisha's frustrating wait for her Dom's attention, my fingers are under the sweater, doing what they have been well and thoroughly trained to do.

"Ummm.... this is hot Slave...."

I wasn't sure if the reference was to Aisha's elegant prose, or my massaging fingers.

But the inevitable consequence was soon upon her.... a little shuddering quake from Mistress, as she buried her mouth in my shoulder.

"Nice.... Slave."

Unfortunately, I think Slave is expected to wait patiently for his own reward until we reach our little mountain hideaway...

I think we may have to defer appreciating the view once we get there, at least for a while.

Heading West

 We made it through the obligatory ritual family feast.

What a relief to have it over with.

In the morning, Molly and Mick are up early, and headed out to our little Southwestern hideaway. Yeah, this is the view from our backyard.  Don't you think it would be a great venue for that kinky blogger's conference we've been speculating about?

Here's a song about our little chunk of paradise....

Beautiful Valley

.... we will be back with you Saturday morning.

HNT / WC claim by the WC?

It was very cold here in River City yesterday morning …. The warmth of our bed won the debate over whether to take that early morning bike ride. So that gave Molly and Mick a little more time than normal to explore bodies and plumb the depths of our desire for one another.

Nice. Very Nice.

But duty called, and our day got away from us after that.

We did get to talk briefly with Aisha on our drive downtown. Glad she seems to have gotten over her early morning blues and heard from D. Wish she was coming to River City for today. We really do need a buffer guest to help us work our way through an afternoon with our extended family B list.

Then there was Work. Lunch with the surly teens downtown at an Italian joint. (They were surprisingly un-surly, probably happy to have a long weekend ahead with minimal parental supervision). And Mistress headed home with them, while I stayed at the office to finish some work before our little trip out West.

Of course, missing from this scenario was the sort of attention that Mistress has come to expect: no opportunity for that mid-day release that she gets sitting on her little throne in my office.

Not to worry.

That’s where our Western Correspondent came in to pick up the slack.

Actually, he’s been earning his keep lately. Writer’s block seems to have cleared for him, and we’ve appreciated his comments and contributions of late. I just hope he doesn’t  decide to free lance once he discovers we are cranking up the employee contribution and deductible on the UCTMW Enterprises Health Care Plan.

Actually, one big concern I have is a potential WC claim by our WC. As in Worker’s Comp.  Mistress read me an email from him yesterday morning describing some damage done to the special occasion cock  Turns out that M had run out of briefs (or is it boxers?). So he wore jeans “commando” for his bike ride. In that cold mountain air.

Youch. 

Been there, burned that.

Nothing like a little  cock abrasion to cramp your style.

M, that sounds like a classic off-duty “frolic and detour”. I don’t want to see a letter from the WC Office in my email inbox with any bogus claim.

But M was not being selfish, yesterday afternoon, despite his disability. M made time for Mistress, who was home. And horny.

Around 3 or so I got a text from Mistress:

“Date with M at 4 pm, Slave….”

“Excellent, Mistress.”

She even called to make sure her Slave was cool with her extracurricular plans.

Of course, I was. Mistress has her needs, and when I am neglectful or other wise preoccupied, it’s only fair that she fill them at her discretion. Don’t you agree?

When I got home, Mistress was on our room, primping for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner at her Mother’s house. (We needed to exercise those stomach muscles to get them more supple and elastic for this afternoon’s feast).

And she seemed…. Satisfied.  I could tell that her lovely folds and the Hitachi had gotten a good work out.

She had that well fucked and content look in her eye.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave….”

“And Mike, was he able to handle his injured ‘junk’.”

“No… he was in his office and expecting some type of delivery…”

I suppose it is a little embarrassing to sign for a FedEx delivery with your pants around your ankles.

In any event, we hope that our Western Correspondent enjoys a well deserved holiday with his family and that his recovery from that abrasion is prompt and complete.

We’d hate to have to put him on the Injured Reserve list.  Then he’d be out for the season.

And we hope all of our stateside readers have a great Thanksgiving too!