Mistress Draws a Marriage Proposal

Here at our SW hideaway, Slave busied himself with a project of stuccoing our parapet. Don't believe me? Here's an "in progress" shot from up on our roof. Now I will confess it's been a little hard to match the color of the prior coat. But a little quirky texture and coloration variance is part of the whole adobe thing right?  We'll see how it looks after last night's thunderstorm!

I was all set to resign myself to another day with no news from Mistress when my text message lit up around noon time here. We were actually able to get a voice connection for a while, though Mistress was being shadowed by her Mother and sister it seemed at some primitive "hot spot", so she could not give me a candid read out about life on board. She did get an email through to me though, with some amusing details.

The crew who unloads the cargo loves [our daughter] as well. No good news on the sidedish topic. There is another guy... A newcomer from the last few days who is from the UK and traveling alone. Very interesting and works so her can travel and travels about 9 months a year to pretty remote places. Has great stories. Lots of prospects.... But no alone time. 

ON the phone Mistress explained that while she can slip out of her room she shares with her Mother to spend time in the boat's "bar" at night, our daughter has been joining her, and the Dowager Domme seems pretty conscious if she's gone for too long. What a shame. a hot babe with permission, but with too many chaperones!

Her email went onto explain another amusing development:

Saturday we went to an idyllic beach and we were pretty lazy. Was swimming with Steve and this seaman from the crew . Steve is the UK dude. Crew really likes [our daughter] and me. They speak no english.  Seaman asked Steve to ask if I would stay and marry him. He also said he is one of the Warriors on his home island. That's a first."

On the phone Mistress added a few details.

"I told him that I was already married.  He said, 'that's no problem, a lot of us have more than one wife!"

Poor Mistress, all these options but no time to slink away for fun. In comparison to her well milked slave, she's been in abstinence mode for 11 days and counting. She's may be ready to explode at anytime. Let's hope she gets a chance to relieve the tension soon.

But Slave should have taken her potential Warrior husband as an omen, and called a local bookie.  I slipped in to my cage and headed down to a local bar where the two steppin' music was playing on one side, and the Cavs v. Warriors game was on the other. I was pulling for my regional team, but as I should have known from the omen of Mistress's proposal, the Warriors came out on top. (excuse the cuckold oriented pun!) It's not looking good for LeBron and the Backbenchers.

When I got home I dropped my jeans over my cowboy boots, and snapped a photo of her work-a-day cock in its cage. If she can open her snapchat, she should be pleased to see I am following orders. Hopefully I am not so ham handed with my I-phone that the picture doesn't end up displayed like this:

Regrets, I Have a Few.

I guess I should have a clock that counts up the hours I've not heard from Mistress. It's been at least 60 now. A Slave without his Mistress to guide him is pretty pathetic isn't it?  So I've continued to follow the orders she left behind. Di you think she'd mind if I imposed an abstinence day?  Or should the daily self-abuse continue because that's what she ordered?  Maybe that's the best way to break a masturbation habit.... make him do it so it gets kind of boring?

I guess we could ask the WC to chime in on that.... he's the guy who buys the lube by the barrel.

In any event, what are my regrets?

One is not exercising my switch day privileges often enough. I mean here it is. A  Sunday. And I've no one to tie up and tease to a few orgasms!

Instead I am going to take a walk on the wild side and re-stucco one of our parapets, which has shed some of its skin over the winter due to all that wind and snow and sun.

Depending on how well it goes, I could have a new profession lined up.

Caged Night Out

Mistress has been MIA for 36 or so hours now. I must say it's odd not being in touch at all. But the boat she is on has no native wifi. Her only connect-otunities  are when they come ashore on some remote island and the locals are obliging.  And then she's competing with her fellow travelers, who are checking on the balance of their trust funds!

Then again, with all those prospective lovers on board, maybe she's just too busy to check up on her slave.  It makes me wonder whether she's been able to go topless on those pristine beaches, like this shot of her along the banks of the Rio Grande.

Slave was particularly busy yesterday, catching up on a backlog of maintenance issues here at the hideaway. Trying to suppress prairie dogs. Working to keep up the impression that I am still busy at my desk back in River City. And going for a long bike ride.

But it seems the days are longer here without Mistress to serve and keep me company. Even naps aren't as much fun!

So last night I elected to venture out to here some two-stepping Americana music at a local "dance hall" set in an ancient old adobe structure down the road a piece.

Dancing out here is more ritualized than back East. And its more about getting out and seeing your neighbors than "hooking up". There are plenty of single guys and gals of a certain age displaying their ability to twirl and scoot in their cowboy boots and western finery.

And although I had on my boots and cowboy hat, I am willing to bet I was the only guy there in a cock cage!

Of course I am clueless when it comes to those two-stepping moves. I just sat on a stool against the wall, nursed a couple of IPA's and enjoyed the music and the people watching.

That's not to say I didn't have my opportunities. Three  women in the 60+ age range who had made the 50 mile trek over a twisty mountain pass were concerned that I wasn't out on the dance floor.

"Do you waltz?", a nice lady with a June Cleaver haircut and baggy jeans that were better suited for milking the cows than a friday night outing, asked me, with a nod toward the floor.

I explained I was a midwesterner and not inclined to embarrass myself.

"Well your dressed for it", she said, a reference to my hat and boots apparently. I guess I was an "all hat and no cattle" sort of cowboy pretender.  But then she added:

"That's fine. I'm not in the mood for giving lessons."

Not a problem. She was soon on the floor twirling with an old codger who knew his moves, leaving me to my beer.

Later, during a break, one of her friends took her best shot at  coaxing me out onto the floor. She was a tad more fashionably dressed, in black pants and boots. But what was most intriguing was a special skill:

"I killed a bear once with a bow and arrow."

A black beer. That was in Canada.

"So where do you shoot a bear with an arrow so it dies, rather than being maimed and pissed off?"

"In the heart."

Silly me for asking.

Around here she bags  antelopes. But only when they're laying down.

"You have to stalk them".

So Cupid has some competition in these parts.  I mentioned that the guys she dates might want to wear Kevlar. We then discussed whether Kevlar could actually stop an arrow.  It's in doubt.

Now you wouldn't have a conversation like that on a Friday night in River City.

And no, she did not coax me onto the dance floor either. But it did make me grateful that at least I had some steel covering my tender bits.  This babe clearly had a very accurate aim.

Free Range Slave

Slave made it out to our SW hideaway after a long travel day. It's nice to be where the air is so much fresher and cooler, and away from my office for a while, though it's odd to be here without Mistress.  The patio needed to be weed whacked upon my arrival. And while it is now more pristine, it won't be the same without my Mistress there requiring me to apply ample sun screen.

And of course, there's no one here for our other important daily rituals.  "Milkings" are getting a little old, truth be told. It's much more fun when I have to ask Mistress permission before being allowed to cum. And if I've earned it by giving her 2 or 3 first.

I did hear briefly from her yesterday, right about 5 pm mountain time that tell tale chirp from my I phone notified me that she was on line.

Unfortunately, the viber voice signal was unreliable, so re reverted to text messaging. She was on the island where Paul Gauguin painted all those bare breasted island babes.  No doubt Mistress is tempted to take her bikini top off too, but she's got the Dowager Domme and our cute graduate keeping an eye on her.

She mentioned that in addition to the French guy, David, (about my age) there are two other prospects flirting with her:

"Guy from UK who is traveling all over the South Pacific solo. My age."

Then there is a 40 ish Hawaiian who seems to have caught Mistress's attention.

"He's on the faculty at the University of Hawaii. An anthropologist. He's doing the lectures on natice culture.  He's very hot, slave."

"You seem to have an abundance of choices, Mistress."

"Yes, slave. The flirtations continue. Maybe it's my age. But they all just keep following me around...."

Well maybe it's her age.  But I suspect it's more her inherent potency. Plus, bunking with her Mom, she's gone without a good cum for a whole week now.  The pent up demand probably has her oozing pheremones.

I almost feel sorry for those guys on the boat with her.

As for me, my protocol is the wear the cage when I venture out at night. Although I don't think there is much risk of me being taken down my some predatory Mistress here in our little town on the high desert.   Last night I went to a local sports bar to catch the Cavs v. Warriors game. The only lady who chatted me up was covered in tatoos and was convinced I was some guy named Rick who had been a dick to her the day before. Fortunately I convinced her she had me confused with some other dick, or I would have been wearing her Mojito.

I guess it's time for me to do a photo shoot for Mistress, and then get back to the weed whacking.