Tackling Some Field Slave Duties

In between some office related tasks, our two a day sex regimen, and a bracing bike ride in a chilly wind that whipped up from the north, Slave took on some yard work yesterday.

Our "grounds" are a little wild here. Clumps of alfalfa popping up that the horse next door likes to poach. A smattering of prairie dog compounds that I have made a little less hospitable this week, and a big stand of red willow that seems to spread a little closer to our house every year. Despite the dry climate, trees and shrubs just keep growing. So every now and then Slave needs to get out my saw and pruners and wack them back. (No, please don't confuse me with Dubya. It's not exactly "clearing brush".)

I think Mistress thought I was a chewing some loco weed when I took my saw to a tree limb abutting our patio. She let me know yesterday that one of my more annoying habits is that I can get a little carried away with the task at hand and be oblivious to it's potential impact on others. And she seemed a little startled when the sucker finally came crashing down.

But in my defense, I want to point out that unlike the lumberjack wannabes over at All Mine, I did not have to make an emergency room run after this task was completed. I made sure that I was in the right location when it came time to yell "timberrrrrr".

Further, I had enough good sense to eyeball this tree's length and know that it would not even come close to disturbing Mistress in repose:

Cheating?

It was an unusually Irish like day here in the Southwest yesterday. And maybe the timing was good. Mistress had some lengthy conference calls, and Slave had some work to do as well. But we did fit in some nice wake up sex here at 7800 ft., and squeezed in a nice vigorous bike ride in a fine high altitude mist. This morning I'm hoping for some clearer skies to see if the mountain tops acquired any snow overnight.

Last night we went to a local bar / restaurant to hear one of our local favorites perform with some friends - doing his piano man routine with a little John Lennon tossed into the mix. No matter the weather or season, this lovely old adobe building always seems packed on Wednesday night when our friend Jimmy is playing. And if you've been lucky to acquire a four-top, as we were last night, it's likely the hostess will do some "match making" and seat another couple with you.

Sure enough, after we started our dinner we were joined by a couple relatively new to town. He's a 39 yr. old art dealer. She's a 25 yr. old biologist. When I did the mental math, I realized the age gap was almost exactly like the years separating  Mick and Molly.

And between songs we picked up the back story: they had met at a local bar a few months back. He had just moved here. She was just passing through on her way to Kansas City to start a job with a consulting firm.

Sparks flew that night. And somehow, withing a few weeks (she had to retrieve her dog) she was back here, moving in with him, looking for a new job in this rather backwater but beautiful community. 

It reminded me a little of the lightening that struck when Molly and I met, more than 24 years ago. But sadly, we were encumbered: both married, me with two kids, etc.

I told the young lady that she was lucky to have the freedom to follow her dreams and heart when that lightening bolt struck. If they're very lucky, they may be here and happy together 24 years from now, the way Mistress and her devoted Slave are. Though we sure wish we could find the means and moxie to be here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo Mountains full time, rather than back working in River City.

But of course, we plan to continue making the best of our adventures, no matter where we call home.

Now.... on a completely different subject, as folks who have used Ashley Madison in the past to help Mistress acquire her lover J, we found the attached article about the billboard below more than amusing:

Of course, as far as we are concerned, cuckolding is not cheating, is it? Plus, we have nothing to hide in our tax returns.

Where's Molly?

Mistress and Slave have been enjoying out week away. Though there has been time spent working "remotely" (does that mean disengaged, or away from the office, or both?), we've had plenty of time for sex, bike riding,  sex, listening to local music, and more sex here at our Mountain hideaway. And the sun has allowed Mistress plenty of time for her favorite passtime: sunbathing naked while reading a book.

She's also tried to keep in touch with J, who no doubt is missing having her a little closer at hand. I tried to help the other day by surreptitiously texting him a photo of his "fuck buddy" as she lay naked out on our patio, the sun dappled mountains forming a scenic background.

"He says I must be a nudist, Slave...."

The photo above shows Mistress talking to J on her cell yesterday afternoon, right before we headed for a bike ride along a trail that borders the Rio Grande gorge.

We do love the folksy quirks of the local culture and habits out here, which are so different from the "stick up our asses" mindset of River City and its environs. The other night we were at a local music festival featuring various forms of "Americana" music - a swirl of folk, country, rock and swing that seems timeless and well suited for dusty trails, big sky and craggy mountains.

During a break a local "celebrity" known as "Mattress Mary" (I know, she sounds like a woman of ill repute from South Pacific, but she actually runs a bedding and mattress store; she also reviews films on the local radio station) took the stage to ask help finding her dog "Molly". She reminded us that this particular black Lab appears in her billboards and print ads. The dog was boarded at a nearby ranch when she went on a recent trip, and somehow wandered off.  She assumes a good Samaritan may have taken in Molly, and wanted to spread to word that Molly's owner wants her back. Last night, when I took Mistress out for her favorite local cuisine - spelt crust pizza smeared with goat cheese - we saw this poster as part of Mattress Mary's campaign to reclaim Molly:

I'm just using my vast sex-blogging audience to spread the word: Help find Molly!

Let's hope he didn't encounter one of those bears lurking about.

Honey Trap?

After Mistress read the morning entry, I think she was a little surprised that I proceeded to some vanilla, but muy caliente wake up sex here in our remote UCTMW southwestern HQ.

"No switch today, Slave?", she asked, after she had given me permission to cum.

"I thought I'd save it until this afternoon, Mistress."

"Just don't interfere with my sun bathing, Slave."

"Would I do that?", I teased.

After a bike ride, we did spend most of the afternoon out in the patio, with Mistress completely naked, stretched out on her chair, ber trusty kindle in hand.

Slave was reading to, in between forays in our yard in my on going campaign to encourage a pesky colony of prairie dogs to "move on".  I will not share the inhospitable details of my effort, but it did involve shredding an old bath towel into strips. And I set aside 4 of them for later that afternoon.

Around 3:45 pm Mistress was making sounds suggesting she was "done" for the day's sunbathing.

"Not quite yet, Mistress."

I reappeared a few minutes later with my terry cloth strips, and proceeded to tie her wrists and ankles to the chair.

"I thought you had forgotten about switch day, Slave!"

And then, once I had her secured, I went in for some other tools: Her hitachi magic wand and an extension cord.

First I used my lips and tongue to savor her clean shaven folds, which had been marinating all day in the warm high altitude sun. The flavors of salt, sunscreen and her natural musky juices intermingled in a heady cocktail.

Then as I gently applied the hitachi as she squirmed against her bonds, I teased a bit.

"You know we do have some organic honey inside.  I'd love to get a photo of a bear in our yard after yesterday's run in.  What if I smeared some on your breasts and folds, then sat quietly a few yards away with my camera, waiting for events to unfold?  That might make for a great photo op."

"What, you want me to get mauled?"

"These aren't grizzlies, Mistress.... they'd probably just lick the honey off with those rough tongues...."

Of course, Slave would never do that, would he?

It all became a little moot, as the hitachi was having it's inevitable impact on Mistress's wanton body. Soon she was squirming harder, forcing herself against it's churning head, and begging for permission to cum.

And Slave was indulgent.

I do enjoy watching her go over the edge, bound securely to her chair, eyes scrunched shut in ecstasy.

Soon she was unbound (at least her ankles) and we proceeded back to our bedroom, allowing Slave to take his well earned reward to polish off our switch day sex.

I just feel sorry for the bears' lost opportunity.