Heading "Home"

It’s our last morning here in our undisclosed mountain retreat. And although the trip has been way too short, we packed a great deal of fun, sex, skiiing and re-connecting time into these five days.

We found this special place back in 2002. After several years of coming here with our children, settling into the quirky scene, making friends and enjoying the steep and challenging slopes, we picked our little house, on the edge of the mountains.

It’s furnished with furniture left behind by prior owners, or recycled from thrift shops, and objects de arte that reached out to us. And of course there are the family photos that show how our children have grown from the cute little ski munchkins of 10 or more years ago, to the foxy, if surly beauties of these last few years.

As Molly and Mick struggled through some darker times, and moved the family from the Midwest to Florida and back again, this house   has become in many ways our oldest and dearest home.

When we have lost a bit of our karma, or the spring in our steps, ( or my cock) we know they can be found here, just waiting inside the door, or out on our sun drenched patio.

Yesterday was a lovely day on our Mountain. The storm of the evening before had left about 5 inches of fresh and fluffy snow, but now the sky was that majestic blue, not a cloud in sight. And the slopes seemed all but deserted, with  kids and families back in school or to work. Sure, the powder hounds had come up, but most had migrated to the steeper back country stuff, opened at last,  for the folks who want to climb a bit higher to lay fresh tracks.

While we were both being hounded by demands from work on our PDAs, it was easy to get lost in the glory and solitude of a run down a sun splattered trail, bobbing through patches of untracked snow.

At home, we handled some nagging calls and emails, then settled into bed for a long and steamy session, with out any equipment other than our naked parts. I do recall how nicely Mistress bucked and moaned as I worshipped her sumptuous  shaven folds, all clean and fresh from our shower. When  it was my turn, she used that lovely mouth and the devious touch of her fingers to get me begging for the opportunity to fuck her.

And of course, she ultimately relented. 

Mick is a lucky man.

Afterwards, I slapped together an apple crisp that we took over to some friends’ house for a little dinner party. He is a local musician (we heard him play Saturday and Sunday evenings at different venues), and she works at a local gallery. They both moved here from more urban environs, but now live to ski and for his music. They raised two wild and crazy sons here, in a simple house with drop dead views, next to the estate of a very famous movie queen. 

We shared funny stories, and a few bottles of wine, and they cooked us a great meal.

They recently celebrated their 27^th Anniversary. And Molly shared that we had been “together” for 24 years. We talked about what it takes to stay married for so long when so many other couples lose their way. Both Molly and I agreed it may be a lot easier sticking with it as a couple when you have a simpler and more grounded life in a place like this to fall back on.

As Molly said, “other than having our kids, getting this place is the best decision we ever made.”

True. But now it’s time to head back to our alternative reality.  Fortunately, we will be back here with the teens on about 3 weeks for their spring break.

So its time to pack up the lap-top, and surrender ourselves to the mercy of the air travel “system”. With any luck I will be reporting from our World HQ in River City tomorrow morning.

I hope Donna and Bill remembered to leave us a key for the new high security fence they recently installed for our CEO’s protection.

When a Treat Comes Before a Trick.

Before I tell the tale of our switch day adventures here at our undisclosed location, I want to point you to two particularly amusing blogs that popped up this morning.

First,  Mystress has gotten into the spirit of boot week, with some lovely selections that will surely make our Senior Correspondent Donna very happy to see.

And 'Nilla well, she was a very bad girl again today. She has a story entitled “Mistress” that seems inspired by Mick’s steel cock cage and Molly’s peek-a-boo tights. If only my office door locked the way the one in her story does…. And they must also have much better sound proofing in that office tower than in mine!

Now, where were we….

Mistress was a bit on edge about what our Switch Day might entail. After all, with no kids around, and a whole little hideaway to exploit, the sky (or at least the vigas) was / were the limits.

And the night before, as she and the WC had a rambling nighty night conversation, the subject of Mistress’s tender nipples, came up.

“We do have some clothes pins here M, but I’m never going to tell him where they are!”

I slid out of bed, opened a desk drawer and pulled out some fierce nipple clamps acquired several months back (I think SFP suggested them) and did some “brandishing”, which seemed to send shivers through my brave little Molly.

So, flash forward now to Sunday morning.

We had read the blogs. We had agreed not to rush up the mountain at our normal time, giving us plenty of time for our switch-uals.

Mistress was at her wheedling best though. She began kissing and fondling. And, well, Slave is weak…. I guess that’s why I am the slave.

“Suck it Mistress.”

“My, aren’t you getting all bossy.”

“It is switch day, Mistress…. Would you prefer the ropes and nipple clamps?”

Not surprisingly, she was soon doing some mighty fine sucking. And ball cupping, and stroking with those lovely fingers until my cock was a very demanding rod that now had its own agenda for the morning.

I pulled her up, positioned her over me.

She was more than amply ready to slide down onto me, and moaned with a certain satisfaction as I filled her.

Mistress knows how to ride cock.

And I enjoy the opportunity to observe her face, eyes scrunched tight as she focuses on her own pleasure… seemingly far away.

She came once, then again, and I think a third time as she rode me, her fingers reaching back to fondle my balls, getting me oh so close.

But I knew that her body had reached a limit when she collapsed onto me, exhausted from all that riding. I rolled her over and took her then, knowing that I might shortchange our readers expecting something more extravagant from our Switch Day.

But sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

When we were both sated, there was still time for some R & R before our ski day began. We lay in bed for a while reading. I even stepped outside in my long navy robe to see what pre-spring attention our little garden might need.

And when I realized that the sun was full out, making the 40 degree temperature quite tolerable, well….the little light bulb went off in Slave’s dim brain.

Who said Switch Day was over just because Slave and Mistress had some AM cums under their belt?

But I will concede I was a little devious as the story line unfolded.

I stuck my head back into our bedroom (there is a door that opens onto our patio from the bedroom), where Mistress was lolling in bed, thinking smugly that she had dodged a bullet, and gotten 3 or 4 orgasms in the bargain.

“Hey…. Why don’t you put on a pair of boots and come out here. It’s nice and I’m sure our readers will expect some hot photo in the am.”

She gave me that funny, quizical look, but elected to indulge me.

“What should I wear, Slave?”

“Just the boots, Mistress….”

“Ohh?”

But she did not question my request, and soon was stepping out into the sun, all pink and nakers but for the black boots she selected.

That’s when I showed her the white rope I had pulled out.

“They’ll be expecting something kinky, Mistress.”

She did not resist as I pulled her hands in front of her, bound her wrists, leaving a lengthy “tail” to lead her by over to our picnic table.

“What are you doing, Slave….”

“Just a nice pose, Mistress….”

She ended up pulled over the table, pressed against a blue bath towel ( didn’t want those nipples to acquire a splinter from our rustic table…. That would have been a punishable offense). I tied the rope off so she was going nowhere.

And then Mistress began to squirm and bitch a bit.

“But Slave…. What if someone sees me?”

You see our little adobe house is set back from a road…. Maybe about 30 yards or so. And there is a low adobe wall that contains our patio, blocking most of the view. But at this time of day, the road is fairly busy as skiers head up the mountain.

“Oh, why would anyone look this way, Mistress…. And the cars aren’t really high enough for a passenger to get an eyeful”.

We were both looking toward the road. And just at that very moment, the bus that hauls skiers from town to the mountain passed by. A bus with windows elevated much higher than a car’s passenger compartment.

Oops.

“Let’s hope they were checking our the mountains, Mistress, and not us.”

I could imagine the potential entry in our little weekly paper’s semi-comic “police blotter”: “report by bus passenger of naked woman tied to picnic table along Ski Valley Rd. Uncertain of address.”

This sighting made Mistress squirm a bit, testing her bonds, so to speak. But she was still going nowhere.

“Can we get on with this Slave….”

I retrieved my camera from inside, letting her languish a bit.

“It’s getting cold out here Slave….”, is how I was greeted. That’s when I realized that this could be a whole lot more fun than a photo op.

I snapped my shots, and of course, Mistress had the right of approval. This one passed her discerning muster.


But then I excused myself again.

“Where are you going….. just untie me, please.”

Huffy. Very huffy.

“In a moment, Mistress.”

I crept back inside the house, and retrieved the power tool, where it still was lying next to the bed, following her date with the WC on Saturday afternoon.

Luckily the extension cord was ample once it was plugged into an outdoor outlet. And Mistress could not turn around well enough to see her surprise.

I pressed it against her lovely fragrant parts.

“What is that Slave?”

She was clearly confused. But I answered her question when I thumbed the switch on.

“Ohhhh….. my……”

I was standing behind her, and she clearly was enjoying the powerful vibrations, spreading her legs as best she could to give it more space to press home. And her ass had a wanton squirm that was priceless.

But it would be wrong to spoil her, wouldn’t it?

So, as my left hand pressed the Hitachi home, my right hand began a nice firm spanking of her so helplessly exposed ass. It took on a nice rosy glow almost immediately.

“That hurts slave…. The cold…. Makes it really sting.”

But that did not distract her from having one nice moaning climax as she writhed against the picnic table, and another one quickly after that, despite my continued spanking.

That surely is an efficient tool.

By now it seemed I had wrung Mistress dry of her naughty attitude, her haughty smugness having been reduced to whimpering little slut, who was getting cold.

So I released her. She stood quickly, glancing at the cars passing on the highway and hustling back into the house.

Later, we clicked into our skis up on the mountain, and Mistress was looking particularly fetching in her tight black pants and Turquoise helmet and jacket.

‘Do you think some little girl will say, ‘mommy is that the lady we saw naked and tied up on the ride up the mountain.”

She seemed to blush just a tad.

“I don’t think they’d recognize me in this get-up, Slave.”

No, probably not.

Mistress's grooming Tutorial.... and our final "Boot Week" edition

On Saturday morning, we were lounging in bed, sipping the lattes I had whipped up, and mustering the strength for some muy caliente morning sex before sliding into our ski wear. Mistress noted that several of our readers had recently posted descriptions of their personal “down under” grooming techniques.

“Maybe I should give my perspective on this Slave.”

“You should, Mistress.”

I’m always looking for additional content here at UCTMW. So, before I began my ritual morning worship, Mistress asked me to pass the laptop, and this is what she wrote for you:

“So, it has been one-year since I have gone to the hairless pussy thing. Frankly, I had never thought about it much. Except for the fact that I have a very full head of hair, I am not a hairy person.

You may recall that a little over a year ago I briefly saw a guy (aka, the Starter Dom). He requested that I go hairless. Mick endeavored to shave me and kind of did a marginal job. WC recommended a wax…so I went for it…full wax …. and have not looked back.

Have noted that both SFP and Aisha have written about their techniques for  hair removal. Sp in their spirit, I am throwing in my now “expert” experiences after one year. Understand that when I do something, I do it all the way. So for Molly Collins, I like it smooth daily without one hair to view.

Molly’s tips:

1)    Waxing once for starters is great. I have no patience for partial regrowth to then go wax again. Those short stubby hairs are ugly and itch.

2)    I shave each day. This involves all parts every day.

3)    SFP, I do not use a mirror. I feel my way.

4)    I do know that I have to catch the strays while moisturizing out of the shower.

5)    Mick LOVES me bare. He is a happy man.

Hard to understand why I kept hair there for so long. 

Love

Molly

Yes, this Slave is a happy man. And I think I do a better job with my worship duties when I have a “clean slate” to work on.

Yesterday the sun was out for our endeavors on the slopes. We were up and out early, and enjoyed our time alone on the mountain. I shouldn’t whine about our surly teens, but there is something exhilarating about a day on the trails without hearing the endless litany of complaints, as in, “this is boring”, “I’m cold”, “my feet are sore”, yadda yadda.

For a change it was just Molly and Mick, under bright skies, with relatively empty trails winding before us. 

Marvelous.

And when we hit our quota of runs for the day, there is nothing better than returning to a quiet little hideaway, with no one to raise a surly eyebrow as we retreat to our Chambers, for a little “rest”.

The difference yesterday was that Mistress had an opportunity to reconnect with our WC for a little de-briefing.

It had been about two weeks since they had a chance for more than a short conversation.  So there was plenty of pent up demand at both ends of this particular conference call.

And when, after our nap, the text message chime went off, and Mistress mentioned that M wanted her to call, like a good Slave, I found an excuse to make myself scarce.

“Maybe I will go check the post office box, Mistress.”

Mistress protested that I need not slide out of the warm bed, but I had a sense that she was grateful for the privacy.

And sure enough, not long after I climbed into the car for the short drive to our little post office, I got a text from Mistress.  “date with WC, Slave. Then sex with you afterward.”

I smiled to myself. I was happy to be her closing act of the afternoon.

When I got home about 15 minutes later, I brewed another coffee, and sat down at my laptop to take care of some work emails. But I would be less than truthful if I did not note my amusement over the little wanton moans and whimpers that were emerging from the closed door of our bedroom.

This is a cozy house.  But like a good slave, I turned on the radio to give Mistress a bit more privacy. 

A bit later, I was paged.

“Ready for you now, Slave.”

And she was, all warm and toasty, and certainly very damp from her exertions.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Just two, Slave….”

 She had that smug little contented smile on her face. If there had only been two, they certainly ahd been good ones.

And I’m pretty sure she had a couple more before I was done with her.  And I was grateful to M for providing the foreplay on this particular afternoon.  It’s nice to have him back in the rotation. And I kind of enjoy my role as the “Closer”.

While my “pitch count” maybe somewhat little limited, it should help keep me preserve my “cock strength” and lengthen my career. I could become the Mariano Rivera of sex bloggers this way.

(My apologies to readers not into silly baseball clichés, but the season is almost upon us.)

As we rested a bit afterwards, I had to ask another question.

“Did M get off too, Mistress….”

“Yes, Slave. He said it’s only the second time since he got out of the hospital.”

Wow. This from Mr. Three-a-day. If not more.

“Wow…. He really was in a bad way. But it’s good to hear he is on the mend.”

“He did say that one nurse was always interested in helping him when it was time to pee….”

“See… I knew  the special occasion cock would get some special attention when he was laid up.”

After we went out to a charming historic inn for some live music, performed by a musician with whom we have become close over the years. And mistress was required to fend off some 20 something skier who apparently was out looking for cougar action.

Once again, as I was getting us drinks, Mistress found herself with this “stallion” plopping down next to her, wanting to know if a man was sharing the love seat with her. And if, not, well, why not him?

She shooed this one away.  Not nearly as interesting as Phillipe.

“Too young and too boring, Slave.”

The WC and Mistress were in touch my text through the evening, and had another chance to talk as I lay in bed next to her, reading a book. But when I offered her a little more worship, she demurred.

“I’m good, Slave….”

Yes I do think she had her not inconsiderable appetites  sated yesterday.

Sooo…. Boot week is over today, but I thought we would share a few more shots… call this the "Men of UCTMW" Boot Special.

First, a shot of Bill, our Director of Security, International.  I’m wondering if there is a place in those boots to hide a small but deadly knife.

And  then there is your humble Executive Editor, fresh from yellowing the lingering snow.

As for this last shot, I apologize for the blurry resolution. Of course, we had asked our Western Correspondent to submit  an appropriate image for this week’s theme, but, surprise, surprise, he missed his deadline.

Fortunately, we did receive an updated report this week from the PI we had deployed out west to debunk the WC’s bogus Worker’s Comp claim arising from the infamous “frozen cock” incident.

As you may recall, he claimed a lengthy period of recuperation was required. As you can see from this photo, taken surreptitiously, from our investigator’s belt buckle cam, M’s alleged “recuperation” must have included some time at a ski resort. But at least he kept his boots on.

Boot Scooting to a Latin Beat

Today’s title was going to be “Shaking off the Rust” – in reference not only to our day on the mountain, enjoying the snow that had fallen since our last ski day here on New Year’s Eve, but also to our getting back in a lovely and frisky sexual groove after a few hectic weeks back in River City.

But just like in the real world of big boy journalism, events some times get in the way. No, there were not regime change riots here in this cute little town on the edge of the Sangre de Christo mountains. But we did have a fun evening and met a philosopher / construction worker / grandfather called Phillipe ( we can call him Phil) who we need to share with you.

But before we get to him, how about a brief summary of our day.

Still adjusting to the time shift, I was up very early, working on my homework, and Mistress was up surprisingly early too. So as the sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains I found myself under the sheets, sliding Mistress’s lovely black undies aside to lavish her with attention as she read the blog.

But when she put the computer aside, she was no longer interested in my work-a-day mouth.

“I need the power tool this morning, Slave….”

“You mean you don’t just want me to fuck you?”

I was standing up as I said this, and it quickly became apparent that I was more than ready to provide that service too.

“Oh my, Slave…. I see you are prepared to deliver, but my cock will just have to wait.”

And wait it did, as I pulled our power tool out for her, untangled the extension cord as she waited impatiently, and then put it to good use.

She seemed very pleased with my efforts in guiding it home, having one of those moaning and writhing cums it induces so efficiently.

Only then was I allowed to deploy my less powerful but very needy personal tool. The wait was definitely worth it.

Soon we were up, I fixed Mistress some scrambled eggs to go with one of those chocolate muffins, and we headed up the mountain.

The snow was firm and fun, and I had a chance to loosen (or is it tighten?) up those mogul muscles by the end of the day. And of course there was some time for sitting by a fire to warm the toes and fingers, providing yet another boot shot.

Back home by mid-afternoon there was what we now think of as the best time of a ski day – Mistress took a warm bath, I joined her in the shower, then we both slid into bed for a nap with plans for the evening but no schedule set.

We snoozed a while, woke around 5:30, and then Mistress got a text from our WC. He had some time to talk on his drive home, and Mistress was eager to catch up with him.

Since his trip to the hospital last week, they’ve not been in their normal communications groove. I know she misses that voice, so I excused myself to the other room and watched the evening news as they chatted a while.

But about 20 minutes later, I got my page.

“Why don’t you get in here and fuck me now, Slave.”

I was happy to follow her orders.

Now, let’s flash forward to our evening. We did dinner at a local pizza joint. I shared Mistress’s spelt crust pie with goat cheese and mushrooms. (Yeah, I know, not very macho, but we all know who wears the pants in this family).

Then we headed just down the road to the local radio station, that has now tricked out it’s studio with a full bar, restaurant, and performance space.

Very clever. Very cool, with a crowd that was diverse in any which way you can think, setting aside former defense secretaries. Oldsters, kids, same sex couples, etc.

The live music was by a Cuban band from the state’s big city. Acoustic instruments, seductive latin beat. I’m putting a link here to the band’s web site so you can hear for yourself. In the upper left hand corner are some audio links.Savor

We found a small table in the back, with a half empty bud light sitting on it. It seemed abandoned, so Mistress sat as I sauntered over to the bar for drinks. White wine for Mistress. Bushmill’s on the rocks for her devoted Slave.

When I got back to “our” table, I found Mistress chatting animatedly with a guy who turned out to be Phillipe.

(Later Mistress said that when he came back from the dance floor for his beer, she said “I hope you don’t mind if we sat here, he responded ‘We? I only see one very sexy lady here.”)

He seemed about my age (turned out to be a bit younger), full head of white hair, robust build, un-tucked turquoise shirt, opened to just navel north, brown leather “village people” vest completing the look.

Phil was here to dance with the lovely ladies who come to such places in this town. There’s a local song that goes with that too.The Girl Just Loves to Dance.

And in between his trips to the dance floor as the night progressed he shared a bit of his history and wisdom, as well as some music from his harp – oh yeah, Phil plays a mean blues harp too, has played with Loggins and Messina before they were… errr…. Loggins and Messina. But that’s another story.

Phil’s a single dad. Son is 27. Grew up in East LA. The son is in the music business. Just signed his band with a big label.

"I raised him on Brian Adams".

Now there's a name I hadn't heard in some time. But maybe it took.

The son’s mom died of a drug OD when the kid was 2. That’s when Phil took over.

And the son has returned the favor, sort of, by giving Phil 6 grandkids.

“Six…. Wow…. He’s a busy man,” I say.

“Yeah, with six different mothers. He hasn’t married any of them. I keep telling him…. Wear the helmet…. But does he listen to me?”

Apparently not.  Phil is concerned that if the son does make it big, there will be a whole lot of women looking for child support.

Phil has had a busy life. Has run restaurants, sold insurance, but he’s settled here in this magical town for the last 5 years, working construction.

With his unsubtle prompting, (“get with the program white boy”), Phil soon had Molly and Mick out on the dance floor too, swaying to “Besame Mucho”. But we certainly did not have Phil’s liquid moves as he took the hand of several woman, most much younger than him, and wepet them off their feet.

Between dances, we adjourned to our table and listened to Phil’s life story.

I wish I had a court reporter to share some of Phil’s wit and wisdom. But at the core of it all had something to do with the four keys to making a woman happy, which, as they flowed out in his colorful vernacular, had the ring of truth earned through a life of experience.

I’m not sure I can remember them all, so Molly may have to add some detail:

1. Hostess with the Most-iss. When your woman says she wants to entertain, let her do it the way she wants, and only ask “how can I help”.
2. Disciplinarian- when your wife tells the kids “just wait until your father comes home”, you better back her up, and be the enforcer she needs you to be. Otherwise she will be out looking for a real man to help her.
3. Holding time – sometimes your woman just needs to be held, comforted, cozied. Don’t ask questions, just do it.
4. Lady / Whore. Your woman wants to be treated like a lady in front of others, but like a whore in the bedroom. If she gets dressed up for a night on the town, the last thing you want to do is berate her by asking “who the hell are you dressing up to impress?” It’s you, idiot.

Of course, this Slave had no problem saying, “Molly would never get that cross-examination from me”, on this last point.

Simple rules, but maybe we all make our lives way too complicated.

Phil kept saying he had to go. He was planning on playing his harp with a local rock band at another bar up the street. But he lingered longer than he had planned, clearly charmed by the lovely Molly.

I gave him my card, in case he wanted to get in touch. Told him we were in the local phone book. He’s the type of guy you don’t meet in River City.

Or in the blog-o-sphere.

And he did a nice job of taking Molly’s hand and kissing it ever so softly before he finally took his leave.

Mistress admitted she was charmed too.

"He's a very intriguing man, Slave."

And we took one more spin around the dance floor before taking our own leave, into a night filled with beautiful stars.

Can you tell we like it here?