We had a lovely Christmas here at the Collins’ undisclosed location out here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo mountains. Aptly named for the holidays, come to think of it.
There was some satisfying wake up Sex, before the teens woke demanding tribute.
There was gift giving: the teens, still anxious after all these years to tear open the little treasures placed with care beneath our little tree. And a few gifts were Molly and Mick too.
There were the obligatory phone calls to far flung relatives. (The teens always roll their eyes when passed the phone).
There was a lovely day up on our sundrenched mountain: Not too stuffed with Texans on holiday, as it soon will be.
We came home from skiing at about 3:30, took a power nap, then had to begin preparations for our dinner with visiting friends. The girls had asked for a beef brisket, something alien to me, but which I had dutifully prepared that morning, between presents and phone calls. It smelled lovely in the stove.
As I was dressing, Mistress was wriggling into the new undies I had gifted her for the holiday.
“Can I take a picture for our followers tomorrow Mistress …. I think they are due some delectable body parts?”
“Yes, Slave…. But I want you to get the riding crop too, when you get the camera.”
Gulp.
Earlier on the Mountain, Mistress had suggested that maybe she was not strict enough with me. Our WC has been pointing her to blogs describing the regimens of much “firmer” Dominant Wives, from Suzanne to Ms. Marie, and she’s been doing her homework.….
Gee, thanks, M.
After I took some lovely photos of Mistress in repose, modeling her new skimpy undies, sans the top that goes with it, She instructed me to drop my jeans.
I felt the soft caress of the tip of the crop. Then the first hard thwack.
“Ouch.”
Yes it did hurt.
“I think you know what this is for, Slave….”
“Yes, Mistress….”
You see we have this couple visiting us with their son. Not staying in our house, but spending time with us in the evenings. We showed them the big celebration at the local Pueblo on Christmas Eve.
The sun had set over the mystical mountain. Fires were blazing. Billowing smoke and flying ash filled the air, obscuring the night. The exotic procession from the centuries old Church had begun. Our friends were concerned they might miss the action.
I guided them, pushing them forward to get a good view.
But Mistress had seen it differently, and was not happy.
“I saw you with your arm around Lisa…. It lingered longer than it needed, Slave…”
Well Mistress had nothing to fear. I am completely devoted to her, forsaking all others. But our history gives her reason for paranoia. I understand that.
And, of course, Mistress is always right on such matters. If she saw those events as her Slave being too affectionate towards another woman, then, punishment was surely due.
The blows rained down on my ass. They hurt like hell. My hands instinctively flew to my sore and aching backside.
“Move those hands, Slave….that earns you a few more.”
Naturally, I complied, putting my hands on my head. My bottom was on fire, but I was determined to be a good Slave.
Somehow I ended up on the bed, my ass exposed for a few additional thwacks, before she was done.
“There Slave…. I hope that reminds you how to behave when Lisa is around this evening….”
Then she asked for the camera and took a few shots of her own.
“I want one of these photos on the blog tomorrow morning, Slave…. Your pick.”
“And, by the way. This was not simply a prelude for you getting to fuck me…. No sex for you until tomorrow morning… at the earliest.”
Yikes.
Mistress turns hard ass for Christmas.
