The Dutiful Mistress

In lieu of wake-up sex here at the UCTMW Mountain Hideaway, Mistress is now sitting in our bed, attired in a rather skimpy green undie and top set, and awaiting a 6:30 am conference call for the continuation of her "Senior Managment Strategic Summit" (or something equally pretentious) that kept her in River City last Saturday. 

As you can imagine, she's not thrilled, either about the early wake-up time, or the need to set aside precious time here in our private paradise to the sniping and posturing that is sure to unfold over the phone for the next 3 hours.  I've offered to worship while the call proceeds, but so thinks that might make her sound a little too "disengaged". Let's hope so!

On the other hand, if you have to be part of a tedious 3 hour conference call, you might as well do it with a view like the one above.

Both of us have learned how to put in our hours out here in the Sangre de Christo Mountains. And sometimes I think we can be more efficient out here. While she is on the phone, I will also be grinding away to prepare for some events at work next week, after finishing this blog, of course.

Yesterday involved more efforts to balance work and leisure here, while also giving Mistress a chance to work on her tan. There was an early conference call for her, but not so early as to cramp our sexual stylings after Mistress was primed with that first cup of coffee, and the attentions of my lips and tongue.

We spent a few hours on the mountain, the sun at full blast getting things a little too slushy by 1:30 pm or so, all the while checking our work emails on the chair lifts.

The slush gave us a good excuse to come back to the UCTMW "compound" for lunch and a little more sunning.  And here you can see Mistress responding to more work email messages in her preferred uniform. Fortunately, there was no Fed Express delivery yesterday.

I sent this photo via text to J, who later told Mistress that it popped up on his Droid device as he was sitting down to dinner with his parents for their Holy Thursday meal.  Gee, J, sorry for the distraction.

(My apologies Suzanne. I know you didn't want me to put up anything that would give your Jay any "carrot cuffing" provocations while he is away from you, but without this photo this would be kind of a crappy post, don't you think?)

Speaking of Mistress's J, they did spend some time talking as I made dinner last night. It seems they have missed one another, and were comparing schedules to see when they can get together for some "quality time" next week.  They've even talked about a "dinner date" for the three of us next weekend, though I do think J thinks that idea is a little "out there". But as a practical matter, who would take notice of three friends out to dinner. Where two of the three (and which two) bed down after that would be a private matter, wouldn't it?

HNT / More Sun and a Little Less Snow

Life slides by quickly here at our hideaway, and, sadly, duty back at home calls too, leaving not a whole lot of time for blogging this morning.

I do want to thank Harry and Petunia for their acknowledgment in comments yesterday that the truth should be a defense when it comes to punishable comments for this pampered house Slave. As for the rest of you.... well, I was not too surprised by your heartless lack of sympathy for my bony ass.

As for yesterday....Let's just say that our day started with some fancy cock riding by Mistress, developed into a lovely day on the slopes, as the sun came out to slowly warm soft and fluffy new snow into a more soupy concoction that had had our thighs burning my mid-afternoon. 

It seemed a  good time to adjourn back to our patio, where the snow from the day before had already melted in the warm sun.  Mistress does love her tanning time, so it was only moments after she slid out of her trendy stretchy ski pants that she was completely naked, giving those clean shaven folds a nice exposure to the sun. (The photo above is from Sunday afternoon. Slave was given strict instructions that there would be no photography yesterday).

Fortunately, she had a blanket to pull over her quickly when the Fed Express van rumbled up the driveway. I think our driver has gotten an eyeful on more than one occasion when he makes the turn at the end of our driveway, but not yesterday.

Slave joined Mistress with a book out on the patio too, and soon was drifting off after our "tough day". At some point the phone rang and I picked it up.  It was J, calling to chat with his FWB. (You don't have to tell me your full name when I pick up, J -- there is only one J on Mistress's list of callers).  I had to inform him that Mistress was out on the deck, completely naked, collecting rays to give herself a little color before their next rendezvous back in River City.

I think the only thing that surprised him about that scenario was that the snow we described on Tuesday had already melted. So it goes in the Land of Enchantment.  He did obtain assurances that sun screen had been applied to some of his favorite parts.

By around  5 pm the sun was sinking lower and a cool breeze had picked up. We adjourned to our bed, with plans for a nap before dinner. But somehow the nap got hijacked by some work calls, and then the temptation of the recently aerated clean shaven folds took hold.

I will leave the rest to your imagination.

Cruising for a Bruising?

Mistress and Slave cashed in on that fresh snow yesterday, spending several hours on the slopes in a fresh 15 inches of powder. You could tell from the crowd that showed up on such short notice that quite a few sick and personal days were being taken in these parts, and more than a few teenagers conned their parents into calling in to school with some lame excuse for their absence.

Of course, the skiing did not cut into the time dedicated to wake up and apres ski sex here in our mountain hideaway. 

But it was after the post-coital buzz faded, and the sun was beginning to pop out just in time for a dramatic sunset (you can see it lighting up the mountain in the picture above), that Mistress talked to J by phone, and reported on my "misbehavior".

She insists I must be subliminally seeking out a cropping on my bony ass, based on some comments I made at a dinner party with friends Monday evening. But I will let you, dear readers, be the Judges.

We were discussing the local ski patrol stalwart who  spends much of his year climbing and hiking. He holds the American record for summits of  Everest, and recently treked to the South Pole. As reported here a few weeks ago, Mistress has a damp spot for him, and I think you know where.

So when his name came up, it seemed only fair to mention that Mistress "has a free pass" for him if the opportunity ever presented itself. In fact, I added "Molly has a free pass with anyone who meets her fancy...."

This earned a few catcalls from our dinner group, though I assumed they were thinking old Mick was just blowing smoke.

After that, Mistress mentioned that she had sent the famous Climber a message on facebook, saying she was happy to meet him back in January in the ski patrol hut. (He sold her a T-shirt, as you may recall.)

"And he actually responded to me!!!"

This is where it could be argued that Slave crossed the line.

"I think she headed straight to our bedroom to masturbate over that little response."

Now this was said as an aside. I am pretty sure no one else but Mistress was paying attention to my mutterings.  But I got that "look" from her, that promised there was a punishment in my future.

I tried to make up for it later, mentioning  that I was always happy to kneel before my beautiful wife in a conversation we were having with another couple. Again, I doubt they understood that I was quite serious.

So what do you think, does Slave deserve to be punished over such innocent cheekiness?

Our Senior Correspondent Gets Cheeky

Weather can change quickly here this time of year. Yesterday Mistress and Slave, after their morning rituals (sexual and otherwise) left the house in sunshine, and ended up skiing in a brisk wind and blowing snow. Since we can be fair weather skiers, we retreated down into the valley, and took a bracing bike ride into a 30 mph wind. Now that was hard work!

By the time we woke from a nap, and a little late afternoon nooky, the snow was falling, and the chair where Mistress had spent Sunday afternoon was under several inches of fluffy white stuff.  So today we get to head back up the mountain where they say the new snow is up to 15 inches, and still falling.  

So it's nice to have the following contribution from Donna to share with you, as Mistress and Slave settle into their spring holiday here in the Mountains.


 

It's A Cheeky Blog Today

Cheeky One

When Bill called me back to the bedroom yesterday evening, I was so excited. I had visions of sucking Bill's penis with my arms cuffed behind my back, of Bill filling every orifice with toys and tongue, of making use of the spreader...right up until the point he sat down on the edge of the bed and motioned for me to get over his lap.

Yep, there was a whole lot of spanking going on, barehanded and strong. We moved from the number owed for using the word "sorry",  to many more for a cheeky attitude that has become more prominent in Bill's opinion, which he reminded me (with a few more swats) is the only opinion that matters on this subject. Then there were some swats for complaining about keeping all the paperwork straight and a few more for General Principle. And by the way, if I ever meet this General Principle dude, we are going to have some words!

Finally, my butt on fire, he told me to follow him to the living room, that he had come across a position he wanted to try in there for spanking and sex , I was hoping for the sex without anymore spanking. The position is rather odd to describe, but basically he turned the rectangular hassock so that the shorter side was between his knees as he sat on the couch. Then he had me kneel on the hassock, and back up toward him. He positioned my knees on the outside of his hips, then had me lower my head onto the hassock. So it was head down, butt up and I got another good spanking right on top of the earlier one. Sore cheeks! Really sore cheeks! But when he finished the spanking and pulled me straight back against his erect penis, I knew he had a position we would return to again soon, hopefully with more focus on sex and less on spanking my red cheeks next time.

Cheeky Two

I had some trouble sleeping and watched an infomercial in the middle of the night for some sort of procedure that makes one's face appear 15 or more years younger. The before and after pictures were quite remarkable, although the fact that none of the women wore makeup or had their hair styled in the before pictures, but were done up to the nines in the after photos did make me wonder a tad. The testimonials were all similar, very similar, with every woman using phrases you don't hear often in general conversation, phrases like, "Now my outside matches my inside."  If you have ever spent any time with Grey's Anatomy, you probably don't want your outside to match your inside. That's why skin is there: to protect and hide the innards. Further explanation by a plastic surgeon, later to be reiterated by a psychologist, was that people are living longer and feeling younger, but their faces don't match their energy levels. Oh, that makes sense. No, wait, I don't think it does.

As I sat there pondering those deeper questions of life, you know the kind, like how could it possibly be that with 20+ channels on our television, this was the cream of the viewing crop, I began to think about what changes I would make to my body if I could. In reflecting on the short-term past, I might have chosen to change that decision to have a cup of strong coffee after dinner, but in trying to contemplate the much bigger picture, my hips came to mind.

Bill loves my hips and my butt, too, and I am very appreciative of that, but recently I have come to understand that my below the waist size is different than I thought. And that hurt me, it really did, right up to the point that it hurt someone else more than it hurt me.  Let me explain.

I was innocently rolling through a warehouse store when I spotted, way off on the horizon, a display of shorts in my favorite color. I grabbed the rims of my personal chariot and did my best impression of a wheelchair athlete in getting over to the display. Yes! The fabric was right, too! Oh, joy! What surer sign of spring? I quickly leaned into the stacks looking for my size. I picked up a pair that seemed to be about right and examined the tag, hunting for the size, and that's when I saw the letter G. I am familiar with S for small and M for medium, but G? So I put the shorts in my lap and rolled over to the clothing section employee to ask about the mysterious size designation.

I waited politely for a break in the clerk's rather lengthy conversation with another female employee, about the prior night's rendezvous with their boyfriends, before making my polite inquiry. The young woman, clearly bothered that there were customers in the store, said in very broken English, "Those will probably fit you. The G stands for grande."  What came to mind was that famous quote by Bugs Bunny, "They don't know me very well, do they?"

From the look that came over her face along with the fact that the other employee backed away and left, I can only suppose my evil grin must have been a clue that something was about to hit the fan. In a very soft, yet steely, voice I said, "That wasn't very nice, now was it? In this tough job market, I would hate for your employment to be placed at risk by this happening again with a less understanding person. So, just to be sure that won't happen, please tell me how you think you might improve the response you just gave me." And as I spoke, I rolled closer and closer, moving in on her personal space. She paled, her English immediately improved and together we worked out a much better response.

When Bill wandered up a few minutes later, I introduced them and thanked her for her assistance, assuring her I would look forward to seeing her next time. She looked at me with big eyes, I smiled, and we both started laughing. Then she gave me a genuine smile and asked if there was anything else she could help me with. lol

After we left the young woman, I rolled over and put the shorts back on the stack. Grande, my ass. Literally!

I'm staying up late tonight to get the name of that place that does the face lifts from the infomercial. I'm okay with my face, but maybe they can make the cheeks in my shorts look 15 years younger. Maybe?

Hugs,
Donna