Wild Horses (Couldn't Drag Me Away)

Slave is heading back to River City. One day of the two day drive is completed. Somehow it seems more fun on the way out than on the slog back to the daily routine.

But at least I have more to look forward to than a return to my office.

 I will be collecting  Mistress and the two Mistresses in training at the airport Monday morning after their long journey back. I've been hoping she won't be too jet legged for a little mid-afternoon nooky, since it's been a long time since I've had the chance to worship those clean shaven folds. But I didn't want to press my luck (I almost did a typo there -- had to correct from "lick").

My drive today was highlighted by a herd of about 30 wild horses in the open range of southern Colorado - It's the first time I've seem them so close to the highway. Imagine: brought here by the Spaniards in the 1500's. "Liberated" by the Comanches or Apaches. Then wandering off into the wild to regenerate like a native species.

And when I spoke to Mistress this evening - early morning where she is, and bed time here in some sleazy motel in central Missouri - she made it clear she's counting on her Slave to do more on Monday than just collect her at the airport.

"I hope you don't have to go right back to work after you take us home Slave.... we have some catching up to do"

As the song goes.... wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Slave Rebellion

Dear Mistress,

I know I am risking a severe punishment, but I've decided there is one directive you've given me on this trip that I can no longer follow:

NO MORE MASTURBATING!

After all those years following the "no touch rule" I thought it would be a nice opportunity to get re-acquainted with my right hand. So when you told me I had to do it every day, I thought "wow. now that should be fun!"

But like too much ice cream, or the day after Holloween as a kid: too much of a good thing is just, well,  too much.

After all,  in these years of training, you've wired me to focus on pleasing you. My greatest satisfaction comes not from the daily sticky discharge of some bodily fluids, but hearing your moans of satisfaction as my lips and tongue ply their experienced craftsmanship on your clean shaven folds.

 Plus it seems so unfair that you've had to stifle your sexual needs while rooming on the road with your Mom. Now that you are in Delhi, maybe you can find some sexy British businessman, or hunky Indian lad to salve your needs, just to tide you over for our afternoon encounter on Monday after I collect you at the airport.

Yes, I know there are guys out there who find no greater pleasure than in taking matters into their own hands. The type that can go through vats and vats of high end lubricants comparable to the motor pool at the Air Force Academy.

But I know now that's not me! Indeed, in retrospect I am starting to wonder whether this was a lesson you were trying to teach me. That by overexposing me to "self-abuse" I would realize what a hollow and unsatisfying experience it is compared to pleasuring you and the generous reciprocation you've provided on a daily basis whenever we are together. You are the Tom Sawyer of Mistresses, and I am the dork you've persuaded to paint your fence for free.

I truly am a pampered house slave!

So I hope you won't take my insubordination too hard. But I am now on a masturbation strike! Call me the Spartacus of the Carrot Cuffers if you will. But unlike Edward Snowden I am not seeking asylum in Moscow. I'm turning myself into the proper authorities - you - for whatever punishment you deem fit.

Your defiant Slave,

Mick

HNT / Wildlife Edition

I decided to take the day off from my work email and handyman tasks here at our Mountain hideaway and take a long and strenuous hike to the top of our state - a 13,147 foot peak not too far from our driveway.

It turned out to be a beautiful day on the ascent - I hit the trail at 7 am to avoid those afternoon thunderstorms we've been having here. And as the going got steeper and the air thinner I made sure to stop frequently for a minute or so to catch my breath and take in the amazing views: including big horn sheep in the meadows across from the trail, and lots of cute little Marmot scampering about, like this guy:

It's a long hike - 3.5 hours up - and steep. Very steep, with lots of loose rock to stumble on. It tests an old slave's cardio-vascular system, and for another year I seemed to pass the test. Though I did have my doubts. When I finally made the summit I found myself up there with a young woman who, for the life of me, seemed to have the body double of Mistress at age 26, or so, when I first was smitten by her.

Was this an hallucination? Had I really had some heart attack somewhere on the trail and completed the climb in some other dimension?

She had the same long sexy legs, her tight ass tightly contained by what clingy riding shorts that left little  to the imagination. Her hair was a sun bleached brown. And when the cool breeze at the summit kicked up, the skin on those long legs broke out into some mind boggling goose bumps that called out for a man to hold her tight and warm her up....

"Mistress.... is that you.... have we been reunited in some alternative universe? "
(I hope I didn't say that our loud, but I can't be sure.)

Well apparently it was not an hallucination. Once I caught my breath and my heart beat returned to something comparable to a resting pace, I struck up a conversation: this vision from my past was actually a medical resident from the Denver area, who was young enough to be a middle daughter for me. And while her stunning bod made her a dead ringer for the Molly I met back in 1987, her face was more Chloe Sivigny. Still, not bad.

Shame on you old Slave!

When I briefly lost my balance perched on a rock to take a photo of the amazing view, I made a quick recovery. "Good catch", she said, she mentioning it was good there was a doctor around in case I busted my skull (or something).  Somehow I felt reassured. But I was tempted to consider faking some malady that might require her to conduct an "examination".

She took a photo of me at the top on my camera. And I took a photo of her on my camera. I was tempted to ask her if it was OK for me to "capture" her on my camera, purely for tourism purposes of course. But my training kicked it. We exchanged first names, but Mistress will be happy to know that I made no effort to suggest I "show her around town" last night after our hike was completed... presuming that I survived.

Of course, any interest Slave had in this vision from our past was purely nostalgic!

(No Suzanne, I did not wear the cage on this 7 hour hike.... just to get that question off the table.)

In the meantime, Mistress was having her own adventures in the mysterious East. She sent photos from a  19,000 ft. altittude lake at the border of India and China, including this photo of some Yaks in a nearby pasture:

 

This reminded us of our sojourn to that charming, tricked out  Yurt in Whattheheckitstan a couple of years back, documented in our other blog Mistress and Slave on the Lam. And of course, the WC, who ended up at the wrong end of a Yak out in the shed when he came to visit. The WC has had some health problems of late, and we are worried about him.... please send him good vibes for a rapid recovery. We miss him here.

Finally, some of you drawn by the HNT tag are probably wondering: is all we get Marmots and Yaks.... I want my money back... oh yeah, if this was a pay site, Google would have pulled our plug. So in all fairness, here is a photo of happier times here at the Mountain Hideaway:

Our patio is just not the same without Mistress working on eliminating her tan lines!

Oops...Did I delete that cock-shot?

Last night Slave was invited to dinner at the home of some friends from Houston. It was a familiar crowd - two couples from Texas; another couple from Oklahoma; a local troubadour and his charming wife. Lots of wine and other mentally disarming substances were consumed. And the absence of Mistress Molly was commented on frequently.

Any affair  can be a little dull without her to stir things up. But these folks were trying. Maybe trying to hard.

At some point during dinner - possibly to change the subject from someone going into too vivid details about a recent incident of a peeking Tom in a port-a-pody - I elected to display a photo Mistress had sent with her and the kids from the highest highway pass in the world - 19,000 feet - near the India - Pakistan border.

There was some oohing and ahhing, but then the person holding my I-phone started thumbing through my pictures, commenting and displaying to others some other nice shots Mistress had forwarded to me via Viber. (oops....another product placement).

I thought it was cute.  but then I realized there might be a particular photo there that would be excruciatingly humiliating.... had I bothered to erase that cockshot Mistress had demanded I send her the other day?

I realized that not acting would be crazy, so I stood up, walked around the table and politely said,

"Now B, you may not want to see all those photos....."

I reached down and gently retrieved my phone.

Of course B was no idiot....

"Hmmmm..... there must be something on there Mick doesn't want us to see..... "

"See he's blushing.....I knew it.... did she send you titty shots?   .... I bet that's it."

I simply slid my camera back into my pocket. A "you got me" smirk on my face.

"I'm exercising my Fifth Amendment rights....."

Was I wrong to let the table assume that it was Mistress who's body parts could have been found on my I-phone?

And what would Miss Manners say about a person who - without permission - starts looking for more than the photo you proferred on your I-phone for her to see?

Was handing her the phone an invitation to go exploring in my files?

Please help me sort out this social conundrum.