Snow, Sunsets, and Wookie Feet

Getting onto our 10th consecutive ski day, this Ol' slave's legs are starting to show their age. So as the snow fell here once again yesterday afternoon, Mistress and Slave made a tactical withdrawal down the mountain yesterday afternoon. (That photo is Mistress on skis. Aren't you glad she wears a helmet?)

That early retreat was all the better for reading by the fire, napping and then waking for some pre-dinner sex.

When we woke at about 6:30 pm Mistress expressed some sympathy for my plight.

"I bet you're legs are tired Slave, so what about me riding my cock so as not wear you out."

"I'll happily permit that, Mistress."

"Since when are you in charge?"

"Good point, Mistresss."

Sure enough, after some oral worship to provide a nice starter-cum, Mistress rode on until (almost) sunset, providing a vigorous start to our evening.  And as the sun set once again, peeping our from under the snow clouds along the distant western horizon, Mistress was wheedled into modeling her retro- Wookie feet after-ski boots, a gift from her sister that came in handy with all the snow we've had here at the end of  the season.

Aren't they cute?

Fortunately, Chew Backa is not around to draft her off into the sage brush and have his big hairy way with her.

With the sun in its final throws, and Mistress getting dressed for our last night out on the town, I persuaded her to join me on our front porch to bask in the alpen glow. Fortunately for all of us, she did not slide into her robe, and I had my camera ready:

The Missing

We're wrapping up our trip here just as our local ski mountain is shutting down for the season. And what better way for the ski season to end than with a couple of snow storms in the last few days, covering up the brown that had been popping through and providing us with some powder stashes to slide through as we polish off the season with so many ski days on our passes that we are embarrassed to share.

Combine the skiing with our two a day sex regime and some evenings out with friends, well, the time has flown too quickly for us here. The thought of heading back to the office and the drudgery of River City is hardly compelling.

Mistress has been on the phone a bit to her hometown lover.

"I think he misses me, Slave….."

"I'm sure he does, Mistress."

Speaking of "missing", Donna left a comment earlier today wanting to know how the WC's birthday visit played out. Sadly, the last we heard from him was the message that he was jumping in the UCTMW mobile news van and would be here in about 4 hours to partake of the birthday gift offered by my indulgent Mistress.

After that…. well he slipped off the radar screen. Vanished. Caput. Not a trace. Not a word.

There was some heavy snow on Thursday that buried the pass that he would likely have come through on his trip south to our hideaway. When he failed to turn up 12 hours later, we contacted the  authorities.  Mountain rescue teams have been scouring the pass and adjoining wilderness for the last 48 hours. To no avail...

But then it occurred to us: Maybe the WC stopped by one of those new marijuana dispensaries before hitting the road. With the clouded judgment that likely ensued if he had ingested a few "crazy cookies", who knows what route he may have taken.  And it's possible that to throw curious family members off his trail he shut down his cell phone - the equivalent of a little black box - that could be used to trace his chosen ( or accidental) course.

In desperation, we contacted the folks at CNN to put the WC on their radar. They've already come up with some compelling theories on what happened to Miguel  and the UCTMW mobile news van he was last seen driving. They include the following:

1) hijacked by terrorists who will use his ID to infiltrate a government building somewhere in Oklahoma…. or maybe Kansas?
2) beamed up by space aliens newer Roswell, NM who are curious about the reproductive habits of the males of our pathetic human species. Will they think the special occasion cock is typical?  Or calluses on the right hand?
3) Bushwhacked and left bleeding on some seedy Colorado trailer park  by the avenging Cossacks he had cheated in poker one late night in Sochi while covering the winter Olympics?
4) drowned in a tub of that high end lubricant he stumbled into reaching for a bag of fritos to tamp down a vicious case of the munchies?

I suspect Wolf Blitzer and his talking head panel of "experts" could have come up with more equally plausible theories to explain the WC's disappearance. But then there was "Breaking News" about some empty Foster's cans  found floating off the Australian coast that got them distracted.

Donna, we'll let you know if he ever turns up. And if any of our readers have any theories on what happened to the WC, feel free to add them to the list.

Birthday Gift for the WC?

Mistress and Slave hit the slopes again today, but not before some lovely wake-up sex followed by some al fresco scrambled eggs whipped up by this pampered Slave. I served Mistress outside on our patio,  where she was catching some early morning sun. Apparently I have gotten so used to her naked sun bathing here that she had to remind me later, on a chair lift, that she enjoyed eating her breakfast in her birthday suit.  Really, she was naked when I served her?

Oops. I guess Slave is jaded. Either that or I was famished and focused on devouring my own breakfast.

Now after a few hours on the slopes, we are back in our little rustic hideaway. We've owned it for about 13 years now - longer than our place back in River City. And while it's a lot smaller, it's all we really need. "If it doesn't fit here, Mistress, we don't need it!"

"Agreed Slave.... except for the cats."

Of course, we do have a suitable power tool stowed away, for those days when Slave's devoted tongue just won't cut it.  And there are some ropes and a riding crop. What more do you need?

(Sadly for Suzanne, we did "forget" Slave's cock cage. But that won't take too much room once we move here full time.)

We have developed some good and fun friends here. Last night, the locally renowned "Mattress Mary" (yes, she owns a mattress store) and her husband stopped by for some drinks, and stayed way past our bed time.  And there is that cute waitress with the tattoos at the local Pizza joint, who flirts with Mistress while serving her favorite: spelt pizza with mushrooms and goat cheese.

But speaking of birthday suits, our infamous western correspondent appears to be celebrating his birthday today. We hope he's enjoying it, and will happily give him the day off with his usual rate of pay. But Mistress had an idea. While the WC has oft threatened to bring his special occasion cock on down to our hideaway, he (and it) have yet to materialize.

So Mistress has a special inducement she has put on the table (or in this case, our bed):

"Slave, you can tell the WC that my ass is his for as many birthday strokes he wants."

But as they say in the informercials, this offer is open for a limited time only.

Tough Duty

Mistress and Slave are in our own version of a very pampered "boot camp" this week at our SW hideaway. With no cute Co-Eds or  overstaying house guests to dictate the schedule, we get to march to our own drums this week. That turns into a "two-a-day" sex regime, a late morning trip up the mountain, 10 or so robust runs, then our afternoon back here, sunning, napping, and getting a little work in so our clients don't think we've completely abandoned them.

Of course, it's not summer. Temps have bounced between the teens to the upper 50's. But that does not prevent Mistress from going au natural to restore that healthy glow. I think it was no higher than 40 degrees when I took this photo on Sunday:

It's the last week of the ski season here, so the ski patrol is out, polishing the mountain for the spring and summer season. Unfortunately, Mistress's favorite mountain man, Dave, is already off to Nepal for the Everest climbing season. But I do think her heart skips a beat when she sees one of these rugged guys with a few dozen yards of rope in hand:

Think of the possibilities!  'Nilla, maybe you can do one of those custom stories for her.