Ouch.

We were settled into a lovely meal last night.  Just the two of us on a "date night". The scene featured a  “contemporary Spanish” menu in an old charming Hacienda built in the early 1800’s, long before these parts were under the flag of the USA.

Mistress was glorious as always, black dress highlighting her newly recharged tan, and some sparkling southwestern jewelry providing some flash.

As we waited for our entrees, she asked:

“How’s the ass, Slave?”

“Still a little tender, Mistress….”

So maybe we need to back up a bit here…..

Our day started with some robust morning sex, not untypical, but still quite satisfying. I devoured, while she read Donna’s comic review of the alleged G-spot vibrator.

Donna and Bill definitely did their best to bring the most out of the little guy, didn’t they? And as Aisha commented, UCTMW probably has to be conscious of potential worker’s comp claims of she keeps launching the products she is putting through their paces.

At the least, we may need to get Bill a facemask and helmet.

And after the computer was put aside, my work-a-day cock needed no further encouragement than Mistress’s question, “would you like to fuck me now, Slave?”

Our legs were rather dead after pushing around all that spring skiing slush in recent days, so we opted to pack up our towels and swim suits and head to a hot springs spa across the gorge from our little hideaway. It’s a place we’ve described in earlier entries. Quiet and contemplative, where you can see a woman braiding her husband’s long flowing hair,  and a man walks around with a little white card reading “whisper, please.”

Last summer, without the kids, we even acquired a little private space with a pool for some semi-public sex. But we were in close quarters on this trip, simply relishing the bright sunshine and soothing waters, while nagging one another about sunscreen.

Of course, Mistress and I love the tranquility of this place, where the ancient ones came for the soothing natural springs long before we anglos showed our avaricious heads in these parts.

On the other hand, the teens thought it could be much improved if there were waiters going chair to chair offering  Pina Coladas and nachos.

We headed back in the late afternoon as some high clouds moved in, and decided on a late afternoon bike ride – just the two of us. It was in the 70’s here, the sun was back out, and we plied our normal rolling hills route, much of it into a brisk wind.

It was a beautiful way to get some exercise after a day on our backs lolling in the sun.

But somewhere a long the way, Slave screwed up. Mistress was seeking reassurance about my continued fervor and devotion to her, which I suppose in my thickheaded way should seem rather obvious.

“You seem a little distracted lately, Slave….” was her concern.

And maybe I have been – focused on some work and extended family issues a bit too much these last few days .

But, stupidly, Slave got a little defensive, rather than reassuring, and said some things that disturbed Mistress.

She was upset, throwing a blanket on what had been a very lovely day.

But, give her credit, she knew exactly how to work us both out of this temporary funk.

When we got home, I was a bit sweaty from our day in the sun and vigorous ride.

“I’m going to take a shower, Mistress.”

“No, first you are going to close the door, take off your cloths, and lie on the bed.”

Oops.  I had a feeling I knew where this was headed.

When she could not find the crop, it was my job to “quickly” retrieve it and hand it to her.

She switched on the radio, to cover the sounds she knew we would be making.

The sharp thwacks against my ass.

My howls of pain, which I did my best to muffle into a pillow.

“This is for acting like an asshole, Slave.”

She laid into me harder and longer than I can remember.

I did my very best to avoid twisting and turning my ass in response to her vigorous assault.  But I probably earned a few more hard strokes, simply for failing to be still and take my medicine like a man.

When she was finally done with me, my ass was on fire. And she seemed to enjoy running her fingers along the red marks she had made.

“Wow…. This must have hurt Slave…”

“It did, Mistress.”

By now I had rolled over, and she was toying with my cock with the tip of the crock, slowly bringing it to life.

Things developed from there as you might expect…. Me, using my fingers to rub her juicy little cunt to one preliminary cum. She, riding my cock for two more moaning climaxes, until, exhausted, she rolled over and let me finish the job of restoring the proper balance in our relationship.

The lesson to be taken: what could have been a sad and simmering feud that would put a damper on an otherwise lovely day was extinguished by Mistress taking out her anxiety on my ass.

It definitely cleared both of our heads, and we clung to one another for a long time afterwards in our bed, the late afternoon sun illuminating the mountain outside our window.

So while my ass was still a little tender as we sat through that excellent dinner together last night, the temporary pain was well worth the sacrifice.

Donna and Bill Take A New Toy for a Spin

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Birthday Greetings to Our Western Correspondent

Tomorrow is the birthday of our first staff member here at UCTMW.

It’s been about a year since M first got into phone contact with Mistress – he’d been commenting and emailing since December of 2009. And while we give him lots of shit from time to time, I know Mistress has enjoyed having him as part of the “team” that keeps her amused and satisfied.

Just yesterday, not long after I provided my own humble efforts to fulfill her needs – you know, the oral pleasuring, followed by some therapy with Mick’s work-a-day cock – M texted Mistress to let her know it was time for one of her personal training sessions with him directing the action via phone.

It was only around 8 am here in our Hideaway. I offered to make myself scarce by heading down to our little neighborhood organic bakery and ice cream purveyor.

“Could you get out the power tool and plug it in for me, Slave before you go.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

I pulled out the Hitachi, untangled the extension cord (we wouldn’t want the littler sucker to come unplugged at the very wrong moment), and then kissed Mistress goodbye. I even turned the radio on in our lining room to make sure the teens could not hear any sounds that might be a little too unsettling.

“Enjoy, Mistress…. And give my regards to M.”

“I will Slave….”

Her text chime went off.  She slid seductively into bed, still in a skimpy nightie I had purchased her some time ago, ready for her therapeutic “session” to begin.

When I returned home the door was still shut, so I settled at the dining room table, tending to some work emails. Soon she emerged, wrapped in a terry robe, looking quite flushed and certainly refreshed.

She leaned over, gave me a little kiss.

“How many, Mistress….”

“Oh… at least two Slave….”

(If you're keeping score, that was at least 4 before 9 am.)

“And what little tale did he provoke you with this morning, Mistress?”

“Ohh …. It involved him fucking me in the ass while I was in some sort of chastity device….”

“I’ll bet that was pretty hot Mistress…. Making you all frustrated….”

“It was Slave…..very…..”

Clearly M was adding value on our trip, even if we’ve not seen much from him in the column inches category of late.  Maybe this “personal trainer” role is more up his alley.

So in our plans to recognize his contribution to our burgeoning media “empire” I wanted to do a little tribute to M.  Maybe delve into his past and give him a little surprise.

We only have a few details from M’s colorful history.

We know he was a competitive ski racer in his teens and early 20’s. 

We also know that he spent some time as a highly desired ski instructor in Summit County, Colorado, who did whatever it took to please his “students” – particularly those of the female persuasion.  Sometimes that even meant long nights of toil spent off “piste”. The story goes that he qould sometimes forget which hotel room was his next scheduled destination.

Using all the tools at the disposal of a vast media empire, I  was able to strike some gold (or at least tarnished bronze). With a few well placed gratuities, I was able to plunder from the “morgue” of the Vail Eagle, circa 1978,  the following photo of M from his salad days, back when he taught skiing by day, and developed a variety of uses for his special occasion tool by night.

AS you can see, M had a certain magnetic charisma even then. I’m not sure whether his lovely companions were fellow ski instructors admiring his special equipment, or sorority girls on spring break who were working on their tans. M could you fill in the blanks for us?

And do have a happy birthday tomorrow.

(BTW, that really is a picture of the WC.... who could make that up?)

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To the Peak and Back

Well, of course there was some gratifying morning sex here at our little Mountain Hideaway on Wednesday. I recall Mistress grappling for my cock after I had feasted on her, the laptop set aside now, and her compliment.

“Oh goody. The morning cock.”

You may know the type, hard and eager without much encouragement. Mistress shouldn’t have to work to hard for that effect should she?

But the real story today is a little travelogue about Mistress and our 2nd sullen teen – almost 18 now – who had an excellent adventure worth documenting here.

At our Ski Mountain, the most dramatic run is not “lift served”. No, you need to hike there, toting skis, or board. It’s a long and demanding climb. The locals with their well acclimated lungs and hard bodies can do it in 45 minutes or so. But for flatlanders like us – schedule at least 90 minutes if you are lucky.

The hike stretches across a long narrow ridgeline with amazing views across this wild and beautiful state and north to another. (the picture at the top gives you a good sense of the trail, which starts on the left and extends to the very top, maybe 1.5 miles).

And as the final destination seems to get tantalizingly closer, the trail gets steeper, narrower and dicier. Sometimes you can be plowing forward through knee deep snow, grateful for the footprints of those that preceded you. Other times, like yesterday, the snow is thin and your stiff and heavy ski boots are slipping and sliding on loose rock and ice.

But what awaits is a long and challening run over barely tracked snow down a dramatic slope until you finally arrive to the more routine runs where the mere mortal skiers have been looking up at you in wonder.

Now Molly and Mick have done this hike in years past. But it’s been a few years for me. Quite frankly, in my 60 year old decrepitude, it’s a tough physical challenge that I can happily forego – been there, done that – even though I do miss that sense of accomplishment when the run is over, and the views along the way.

So when our teen said this week “I want to go to the peak”, I was a little reluctant. Quite frankly, I didn’t think she knew what awaited or had the mettle to stick it through. And believe me, there comes a point on that hike when your body says “no mas”, but, quite literally, you can’t turn back.

I was not into seeing her hit that point and having to deal with the consequences.

But then Mistress stepped in.

“I’ll go with you…..”

I raised an eyebrow. Quietly lobbied against the risk. But they were undeterred.

So off they went.



Gutsy and determined.

And I got to watch them take their turns down that wide, steep slope, slowly but surely, about two hours after they headed up that narrow trail with a bunch of other hardcore skiers following behind.

The teen made it first, on her snow board, collapsing onto her back on the snow next to me.

“I’m really not that tired. It was just hard on my lungs sometimes….”

Uhh, yeah. At 12,500 feet, climbing up. It’s a killer.


Mistress made it down a few minutes later, a broad smile on that beautiful face.

“My legs are like rubber, Slave.”

No doubt.

So here is to Mistress and our sullen but adventurous teen. I am proud of both of them.