Vistna, Okla. The mobile UCTMW unit was packed, loaded and on the road yesterday at about 9:15 am Mountain time. the teems were packed into the backseat, with the boyfriend adding a little testosterone to the mix. The computers were powered up, and our mobile wifi hub was humming.
We proceeded via the southern route, through parts of New Mexico, across the "Top of Texas" (scenic Amarillo may have more fast food franchises than any place west of Indianapolis) and then clear across Oklahoma, which was all a hush as the Sooners stomped the pitiful pretenders from Connecticut in the Fiesta Bowl.
Sometime around midnight, we staggered into a small town just shy of the Missouri Border, running on fumes. The first gas station we discovered drew knowing snickers from our oh so urbane teens: "Kum and Go", which gave us all a shot of adrenaline as they posed for photos in the cold and dark in front of the sign.
Back in the car, they googled this regional chain, only to discover that it has become a bit of a cult classic, after one of the stars of that cinema classic, "Jack Ass II", was filmed in it's branded shirt.
Now the girls want to look for another one so they can get their own T-Shirts.
And all Slave wants to do is get back to my own bed, with the lovely Mistress at my side.
As I type, I am sitting topless and in some racy black panties (that Mick gave me a few year's back) with a Tequila on the rocks in hand (here's to you my WC) in our mountain hide-a-way. It is -4 outside and we have just returned from taking three teens to a vapid (yet enjoyable) movie. We are preparing to bed down for the night -- and yes, after a pre-midnight sex time. We do spend lots of time in bed and (tho I know many of you don't believe it) much of it is actually sleeping.
Thanks to all of you for being in our lives. Like many of you, we turned to this blog world at a time when our path was a bit rocky. As far as I am concerned, it has been better therapy and counseling than we could have gotten in the vanilla world. While we have followed your own stories with vigor, you have also helped us with our own.
Mick and I do have lots of sex. Certainly often (yes, really at least twice most days), but our acts don't have the duration or athleticism of WC's with his wife. Nilla and WC like to say "more than any couple in America." My retort is certainly more than most of our vanilla friends. Once, I let our frequency slip with a friend and horrified does not begin to describe her expression.
Mick likely won't post in the morning as we get to drive back across at least five states and return to our working lives...wish you all great intimacy, sex, love and anything else that you are after in 2011.
Winter arrived with a vengeance on our remote UCTMW outpost in the last 24 hours. A fresh blanket of snow covers our yard, and our “neighbors”, a motley collection of plump heifers had their own snow blanket coating yesterday morning as they tore away at the bales of hay left for them in the field they call home.
On the ski mountain, snow was blowing, wind was whipping. and the Texans were taking shelter in the bars. which no doubt were doing a brisk business in Irish coffee and spiked apple cider.
Molly and Mick took their obligatory runs in the thick snow. It was a powder day, and not to be missed. But by around 1 pm, our legs were shot, our gloves were soaked through. and we proclaimed “no mas”, skedaddling back to the warmth of our cabin.
But one extra reason for our early exit was that we were bone tired from our prior night’s “activity”.
Things had started blandly enough. Mistress met an old friend from these parts for a drink (or two) at a local cantina, with plans to hook up with me and the teens for dinner at a nearby joint, where a local musician we have come to know would be playing.
But it’s Christmas week here, and the joint was packed, with a long line of hungry skiers and locals waiting for tables. When Mistress arrived, Slave was in a bit of a huff, with teens demanding their culinary due in quick order, but me still hoping we could enjoy the music.
The problem was solved with a bit of parental malpractice: the keys and a credit card were surrendered to the teens, who were told to head to a local pizza place for their long overdue repast. Of course, I knew there would be a line to eat there too, but at least I would not have to look at their glowering faces as they waited.
Soon Mistress and Slave had glommed a spot at a table with some friends, and we ate, drank, and were merry with an assortment of older and newer compadres through the evening.
When we arrived home, both of us were a little tipsy, and since Mistress had gotten a head start, it may have been that she was a little farther gone than her devoted Slave.
In any event, Mistress, lying across our bed as I undressed, mentioned that she thought her Slave had been too familiar with a woman ( or was it 2?) that had joined us at our table during the course of the evening. She was very displeased and insecure.
And Slave reacted poorly. Rather than acknowledge that Mistress is always correct on such matters, I defended myself. I really thought I had behaved in an exemplary and wholly fashion.
Words were exchanged that I regretted. And we went to a fitful sleep in a bit of a huff. Not something that we usually do here in the Collins household.
It was around 2:30 am or so when Mistress woke me.
“Slave…. I can’t sleep and it’s your fault. I don’t like that sort of talk…. You need to be punished.”
I was groggy, half awake. But knew that the proper response was acceptance and apology. I should have held my tongue last night, knowing that Mistress was a bit under the influence, and would likely wake in the morning with a different perspective.
I tried to express my regret, as I woke, a bit befuddled, at Mistress’s surprise urgings.
But Mistress would have none of it.
“Roll over on your stomach, Slave.”
I did. What else could I do? And I could feel her cool hand on my ass. But it was not a loving hand. It was simply calibrating space and distance in the dark of our room.
A sort of manual range finder.
Then my ass was lit upon with the firm, hard blow of the riding crop…. How the hell did she find that damn thing in the dark?
“You know you deserve this, don’t you, Slave?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
And I did, I had spoken harshly and injudiciously to the woman that I love with all my heart.
And I knew, despite the temporary pain, that it was good that Mistress had this outlet to express her hurt and insecurity, rather than brooding over it through the night, or into the next day.
But man, as she continued to crop me, it hurt like hell. I worried that all this thwacking might wake the slumbering teens.
I squirmed and wiggled, and chewed on my pillow to stifle my cries of pain. But she kept whacking me until she had spent her angst on my bottom.
Then she had me roll over, stroking me gently now with her hands.
“You did deserve that, Slave….”
“I know, Mistress. … can I worship you now?”
“Yes, you may….”
She lay back on the bed, arms stretched overhead, and spread those delightful thighs.
Mistress’s cleanly shaven folds were a delight to lavish with attention, even as my ass smoldered in the cool air of our room. And it did not take long for Mistress to shudder with release.
But she was not satisfied.
“You need to fuck me now, Slave.”
She reached for my cock which was flaccid, still drowsy I suppose at this very late / early hour.
“Get it hard for me….now, Slave”
She was not in the mood for importuning, but needed my hard cock, probably to prove to herself my continued loyalty and devotion to her.
So I resorted to my hand, and sidling up against her warm, lush body to provide her the proof she needed. And, once her standards had been met, what followed was a long crazed fucking that hopefully resolved those latent insecurities about my devotion to her.
When I was finally granted permission to come, we both collapsed into a sodden, exhausted sleep.
After our return early yesterday afternoon from battling the fresh powder, Mistress and I collapsed in bed for a 40 minute nap. Later, as we showered before dinner, Mistress took a look at my bottom.
“Oh my, Slave….. there’s still a nice welt there”.
Her hand gently caressed it, tracing it with her fingers.
“Are you glad you left your mark, Mistress?”
“I’m very glad. The Western Correspondent tells me I need to be tougher on you to avoid the sort of disagreement we had last night.”
It was decidedly more wintry on the slopes yesterday. Snow was falling in a fine powder, as the wind picked up and temperature fell.
So it came as no surprise to me that our sullen teens began to make noises about calling it a day by lunchtime. We’ve been skiing a lot on this trip, and I am hardly the one to veto a quick retreat down the mountain, particularly when the alternative is some quiet time between the sheets with my Mistress.
So, by around 1:30 or so, we were safely back at our toasty cabin, the teens preparing Spaghetti-O’s, (yes, the still eat that stuff), and me heating up some chili for a belated lunch.
Mistress was in our room, tending to some work emails, when I wandered in as the chili warmed.
She was casting an eye at her I-phone.
“Slave…. M wants to give me a call, and I suspect he has something more than a talk in mind… would you get out my supplies?”
She had that little light of desire in her eyes, and I was happy to have M stoke it.
“Of course, Mistress.”
I opened the drawer, pulled out the Hitachi and it’s extension cord, plugged it in for her and set it on the bed.
“Have fun, Mistress….”
She gave me a little kiss, and shut the door behind me. I switched on some music, the sort that makes the teens groan, but I figured that was better than them hearing their mother’s groans of sexual release, which might otherwise be clear but for the “white noise” of Laura Nyro and the Boss.
I had barely finished my chili, garnished with some corn chips and shredded cheese, when Mistress emerged from her little electronic rendezvous.
She had a soft cotton robe wrapped around her, seemingly naked underneath, and was now anxious for team member two of her little sexual tag team.
She seemed to veritably grab me by the collar of my shirt and haul me back into our room. So I suppose clean up the luncheon mess could wait.
Once I was suitably stripped, and reclining with her on the bed, I ran through my typical questions.
“How many, Mistress?”
“Oh, two Slave….”
Her hand was wrapped around my cock now and my fingers were sliding through the sodden folds that had already been so thoroughly exercised, yet still seemed in need of more.
“And did M get off too?”
“No… he was driving some where.”
“Wow. It was nice of him to fit you in, he must really like the sounds of your need, even when negotiating big city traffic.”
I was sliding down under the sheets now, parting her legs for some extended worship.
“Yes, Slave I think it turns him on…. Even when he can’t do it himself.”
Taking a brief break for air, I asked Mistress about his theme of the day.
“Did he have a story for you, Mistress?”
“It was based on Aisha’s Training School story slave …. I was naked and tied face to face to a male slave. His cock was very hard, and rubbing against me, but neither of us were allowed to come….”
“I’ll bet that was frustrating, Mistress….. and so cruel.”
“Yes, it was Slave.”
By now Mistress had one more little climax by way of my tongue, and I was asking permission to fuck her.
She checked to assure that my work-a-day cock met her standards, then generously granted admission.
“Thank you, Mistress….”
I’d been longing for her since she closed me out of the room an hour or so earlier, so this deferred gratification was most satisfying.
And as I fucked her, we went back to the story that M had spun for her.
“So was M the sub tied to you, or was he in charge, Mistress.”
M was in charge, of course, Slave. He was directing the action, teasing us. I’m not sure who the male sub was.”
With those thoughts, things spun a bit out of control. Mistress was coming again as my fingers worked over her clit even as my cock plunged into her. and then it was me begging for permission to come.
Which Mistress was quick and kind to grant.
I think we drifted off a bit then, with the snow still swirling down outside our window, masking the huge mountain in clouds and mist.
At some point the chime on Mistress’s phone went off again.
She groggily reached for it. Then I could hear her giggle.
“It’s from M, Slave. He says he’s going home to jerk off.”
Ummm. I suppose he deserved it. And I am glad he took it home, rather than resorting to self-help on the highway.
While Doming while driving can pose some risks of distraction, jerking off while driving could be much more perilous.
And I know the folks at the insurance desk of UCTMW would not be happy to handle a claim arising from our Western Correspondent rear ending some innocent driver, because his hand and brain were otherwise engaged.
M, if there is any rear-ending while on the UCTMW clock, please follow your protocol.
