Snow Day

I know, when it snows like hell, and you're in a ski town, the first thing you're supposed to do is grab your skis and head to the mountain, right?  Sort of like Annette and Frankie in those old beach movies when someone yells "surf's up"?

Well I regret to inform you that Mistress and Slave have become fair weather skiers.  When the roads get slippery, and the snow gets a little too thick on the cruising runs, we tend to look for other things to occupy our time. Accuse us of being "fair weather skiers" and we are likely to break down and confess.

That was especially true yesterday, when we woke with some sore legs and backs after four consecutive days on the slopes, about 7 inches of new snow in the yard, and the gregarious Irish DJ on the local radio warning about a bad accident on the road up the canyon that had traffic stopped for the foreseeable future.

Well of course there was some grazing on Mistress's clean shaven folds to conduct, after which she indulged her cock with some compelling mouth to rod resuscitation before allowing me to fuck her.

Slave whipped up some scrambled eggs as we still considered out option of a later than normal trip up to the mountain. But ultimately we acknowledged the obvious -- our motivation to hip the slopes was just not there. So we resigned ourselves to a day of lazy. And though we did do some remote location work for a while, a good bit of the day was spent in front of the fireplace, reading or napping.

At around 1:30 pm we wandered down the street past some of our neighbors frolicking in the new fallen snow:

And we slid into the local ice cream store / breakfast spot / and wifi hot spot for a scoop of some locally made organic ice cream, purportedly free of the bovine growth hormones that the fellow above seems to gorge on. I noticed that the store is now offering a breakfast special named after Mistress:

Thoughts of that "bed of sauteed portabellas, spinach and red onion" had us heading home and back to our own bed. After inquiring whether I had packed my "device" (the aneros), Mistress made it clear she was interested in exploiting the particularly hard and needy cock it can contrive. 

And rest assured, she did.

All in all, I think we put our snow day to good use.

Bear Necessities

Yesterday was another perfect one here in the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

There was some robust wake-up sex in Mistress's home office away from home. She seemed to particularly enjoy the devotion of my lips and tongue to those clean shaven folds.

Then there was a day on the slopes, with some early morning cloud cover melting away on our very first chair ride to perfectly clear and azure skies.

Mistress even got in some flirtation time.  WE had agreed to meet at the end of a run at a small espresso shack at the base of a lift. Mistress took the direct route, and I must have meandered, so when I was arrived, she was sitting at an out door picnic table, helmet off, and the arm of a bearded man, about my age over her shoulder.

I stepped up to the coffee shack, only a few feet away, and casually asked what her order would be.

The fellow, with a neatly trimmed beard seemed a little surprised when Mistress said, "oh that's my husband....".

Then she said to me "he asked if he could pose for a picture with me . . . you don't mind do you?"

"Of course not...."

The man added, a little defensively, "It's not like we're making out or something...."

"Well that would be OK too.... it's up to her.... she's got permission....."

The man, a handsome chap who turned out to be here from San Diego for some type of bachelor party weekend, seems a little startled, but settled for his photo.

Mistress later explained that he told her they were on some sort of "scavenger hunt", and a photo with a
"young wife" was on the list.

"I expressed doubt about that Slave....I mean, I'm not all that young...."

Maybe it was the MILF category, Mistress...."

After that we took a few more runs, and then, legs getting sore, we retreated down the mountain at around 2 pm. Slave had an errand to run.

On Saturday afternoon, on the way down the canyon, a front tire had blown out. Slave did some "field slave" duty and changed the tire on the muddy shoulder, impressing Mistress with the fact that I had at least a few useful skills.

But that left us driving on one of those wimpy little spare tires, which the rental company helpfully explained that I should use for no more than 50 miles, at no more than 50 mph. Well that's helpful!
And, BTW,  when they learned how far  we were from "civilization", their initial offer to bring a new car and haul this gimpy one away was unceremoniously withdrawn.

"Just take it to a local tire store... maybe customer service will reimburse you...."

I look forward to that conversation.

So that brought Slave to the nearest tire store yesterday afternoon. And it was very "local".  Something that seemed the combination of auto parts and taxidermy shop, with a little seating area furnished with 40 year old couches and barca-loungers. And of course a full sized stuffed brown bear off to the side, where a flat screen might be at your local Goodyear store back in River City.

I toted my dead tire to the front desk where a rather grimy hispanic fellow took it off my hands and out the back door for a quick diagnosis. Someone on a cell phone asked if I wanted to wait or come back, since "treatment" might take half an hour. I elected to stay and soak in the atmosphere, which began to take on the dimensions of a sit-com set, sort of an Hispanic, Southwest version fo "Taxi."

But I got the bad news only a few minutes later. A sad shake of the head. "This one's dead, Senor."
I didn't spend much time in mourning, instead asking if they had a reasonable facsimile. It turned out they had something that might work, and would only put me out $120. Though Mr. cell phone warned that the rent-a-car company might argue if it wasn't an exact duplicate when I asked for my money back.

No doubt.

Of course, when they tried to mount the new tire the news got worse. They pointed to a bent rim, and the leak it produced.

"That's why it went flat in the first place...."

"Can't you just bang it back...."

"But it's aluminum.... banging might make it crack...."

They seemed impressed with  my cajones when I said "but what do we got to lose....."

Sure enough, a few wacks with a mean looking chunk of metal, and the rim seemed restored to something close to it's original shape. And the tire wasn't leaking. Will it hold for the week and the ride back to Denver?  Who knows.

 After I settled my tab, Mr. Cell Phone had no problem with me taking a photo of their bear.

"My Dad shot it up near Eagle Lake. When it was legal. They say that bear tore up a whole lot of kitchens."

I'm glad I never had to grab my corn flakes back from that bad boy.

Back at home, Mistress was laying out in the last of the day's sun, wrapped in a blanket, taking some work calls.  But soon I persuaded her to share some of her bodily warmth back under the covers.  While she claimed her folds had gotten a little stubbly from neglect, I was more than happy to abandon my field slave duties for more intimate tasks.

Settled In in the Southwest

Mistress and Slave took their guests out for a nice dinner Saturday night, then saw them on their way Sunday morning, leaving us to our own carnal devices for the rest of the week.

It took a little adjusting with guests in the house though. I had to turn on some music to mask the sounds of Sunday morning wake - up sex, and Mistress got a free pass on Switch Day.

"If I used the crop on you do you think you could stifle those moans enough so as not to disturb our friends outside the door, drinking their morning coffee, Mistress...."

"I wouldn't count on it, Slave."

Well I suppose I could have contrived a gag, but then how would I mute the sound of the crop thwacking Mistress's delicious bottom?

Once they were off, we had a nice semi-full day of skiing in some bright SW sunshine.  But we retreated a little early to enjoy our empty cottage, and Mistress even caught some sun out on the deck, wrapped in a warming blanket.

After I made a run into town to fill up the larder for the week, we settled into bed, for some more reading, a nap and some delightful pre-sunset delight.

It's nice not having to stifle. 

We are counting in much more of the same over the next six days.

Spanking Averted

Mistress and Slave made it to our mountain hideaway after a long trip last evening. When we arrived we had a full and dramatic view of the Milky Way on a moonless, cloudless night.

Amazing.

But Slave almost faced the possibility of two thrashings in one week.

You see its rare we travel on Southwest Airlines, with their infernal "festival seating" Q.  Several years ago, it was more frequent, and Mistress (who did not have that title in those days), knew it was necessary to check-in at the earliest opportunity to avoid being stuck at the back of the line and settling for a middle seat between two snoring, smelly lardasses.

But Slave had forgotten that lessen. I waited until yesterday morning at work to check in.  We were assigned slots B-52 and 53 in the line for a packed flight to Denver.

Mistress was not too pleased.

She gave me a withering look as we watched all the others load up in front of us.

"Slave, if we end up having to sit apart, you'll get a spanking tomorrow!", she whispered with an "evil" smile.

"I understand, Mistress."

Luckily, we did find an aisle and middle seat near the back of the plane. A little too close to a crying baby, but sometimes you have to settle, don't you?

And after a long drive, we've made it to our Nirvana,  the sun is coming up and we have a nice ski day ahead of us.

It's a little odd though, in that a female colleague and a client are also here for the next 24 hours or so, sharing the house. We'll enjoy a nice dinner with them tonight and then get our cabin back for the rest of the week.

But in the meantime, Mistress had some instructions.

"Slave, while the ladies are here, I don't want you going out to take care of your business on the snow."

It's a habit I've gotten into here.  I mean why waste well water. And the views are to die for.

"I Don't want any other women getting a look at my cock!"

Who could argue with that sentiment. Not this Slave.