Sentence Commuted

Mistress and slave are now back in River City, after two long days on the road. Fortunately we had the mobile wifi cranked up, with lots to entertain us on the long slog home. (It always seems longer traveling East than West. Go figure!)

 Our Friday started very early, with all of that new (and frustrating) snow, which covered the high desert with a magical glow at dawn:


By mid-day we we were working our tedious way across Kansas, past the little town that Truman Capote made infamous in his book "In Cold Blood".  Mistress has a strange attachment to the scene of that gruesome crime, which now seems mundane in an age of mass shootings and terrorism.

We finally stopped our exodus in Independence, MO. ,  home and final resting place of our beloved 33rd President. After a late dinner, slave was a little too tuckered for full blown sex, but made sure that Mistress did not have a big goose egg on her hypothetical "cum chart" with some pre-sleep worship.  And fortunately, there was ample time for some wake-up sex in our hotel room before we got back on the road to finish our journey.

And for those of you worried about slave's condemnation to an indeterminate sentence in his cock cage, at least one of our discerning readers put together the entry with the date. I will repeat his very perceptive comment here, in case some of you less than diligent readers missed it this morning:

I  think that Mick has pulled an April Fool's Day Joke on all of you. He will probably be punished by Molly if he did not get permission since it implied several things.

1. This posting hints that Molly has been too soft and lax in enforcing the rules which we all know is not true. Slave just told a lie about his Mistress...WHACK !!

2. This posting gives the impression that Molly wants the sensation of cold steel pressed up against her in the middle of the night. Not being there to snuggle and cuddle properly to keep Mistress warm and cozy in bed is a dereliction of duty....WHACK !!!

3. Lastly, Molly would never give up the "morning wood" or wakeup sex. Mick has a responsibility to be there at the ready and on command to serve Molly's needs.....WHACK !!!

I am sorry if I have burst your bubbles on the fantasy of Mick living life in the cage 24/7 but this is not about Mick after all. It is about Molly and serving one's Mistress. You all should be punished for forgetting that.... DOUBLE WHACK !!!! :-) 

Someone has been doing his homework!

New Quarter. New Rules.

Mistress and slave are cruising through Kansas this afternoon. Sadly, we rose to a couple of  new inches of snow on our car, and a "powder day" on the mountain. Since snow has been scarce this last month, it was particularly cruel for the snow gods to taunt us on our way out of town.

But today's entry is not a rant on the vagaries of precipitation, but a primal scream from a guy with a very tender ass, that has been squirming through the day against the well worn leather seats of our ancient Volvo.

You see, last night, Mistress had a "come to Jesus" meeting with her erstwhile slave.

I should have known there was a problem when she asked me to retrieve the riding crop that had been sitting unused for so many months, poking out from her hand tooled cowboy boot in our closet.

It wasn't long before she had me across the bed, pants and undies around my ankles, ass fully exposed.

"You deserve a punishment, slave....and tonight you're getting one!"

Silly me, I asked for an explanation. And got a litany:

- failure to turn off bathroom lights without being asked.

Whack

-wearing my underwear to bed, contrary to our contract.

Whack

-and, of course, coming up with myriad excuses for not wearing my cock cage....

Whack.

"We are headed home, slave....and it's time for me to crack down on all these rule violations...."

Whack.

As she laid into my ass, eliciting mucho squirming and whining, Mistress laid out her new expectations:

"When we get home, the cage is going on....indefinitely...."

Whack

"What do you mean, exactly, Mistress?", I managed to mutter as her crop landed once again on my glowing ass.

"Your little blogger friend Terri seems to get along just fine with no scheduled release time or date, slave.....It's time for you to get with that sort of program...."


Whack....

"You don't mean me sleeping in the cage, do you Mistress?"

"Of course I do.... your cock will get used to it!"

Whack....

"But what about 'wake-up' sex....How will I fuck you with the cage on...."

"Your tongue can do just as well, slave....and I suppose I could find substitutes if I get a hankering for cock..."

Whack....

"No doubt, Mistress..."

So not only are we heading back to the heartland, away from our idyllic hideaway, but slave has a whole new reality to look forward to...it could be a long April.

When International Media Celebrities Collide

Mistress and slave have been agonizing over the last 24 hours over our impending abandonment of our idyllic lifestyle here in our SW hideaway. Of course, there has remained plenty of time for wake-up sex, cock riding, and post afternoon nap worship. And a few nights out on the town too.

But on Monday afternoon there was one of those rare moments of intersecting celebrity that I felt important to document here on the pages of UCTMW for our expansive, devoted and world-wide audience.

Our little village has a tiny organic grocery store - the kind that offers home made pesto, gluten free pasta, frozen free range chicken thighs, ground bison, locally sourced greens, and "free trade" coffee beans from obscure towns in Central America. Plus the long haired dude in charge will make you a smoothie on demand.

Slave stepped into our little grocery to pick up some tomatoes and coffee Monday afternoon, noting that there were a small group of other customers in this tiny, three aisle market. Two women in their 40's and three cute little kids, all with with really expensive haircuts.

There was one lady with reddish brown hair swooping to her shoulders and oversized, black framed glasses. Our eyes met briefly, and I had one of those "oops" moments.

Was this another one of those embarrassing incidents where one of our vast public recognized me as an internationally renowned sex blogger? I quickly averted my eyes, hoping that she would not recognize me, let alone make some sort of provocative, overly personal  comment that would "out me" and make others in the store take notice.  Like....

"Aren't you Mick Collins?  Is this a cage day, Mick?"

Fortunately, she was discrete, just giving me a vague nod of semi-recognition as she felt up a hand picked, chemical and additive free avocado that retailed at $5/piece.  I suppose it could have been a little odd if she questioned me in front of her cute little kids about how Mistress's hunt for a part-time Dom was going.

Slave fumbled with the plastic bin that dispensed the locally roasted chocolate and pinon infused coffee beans (only $15/lb.), letting them dribble into the unmarked brown bag.  I figured 4 oz. could last until the end of the week and kept my head down.

Of course, I recognized her too.

She was dressed down, sporting a "plain folks" modified Erin Brokovitch look, presumably to avoid recognition by the riff-raff. She has a second (or maybe 5th?) home across the pasture from our house that we've known about since she married that C&W crooner, Lyle Lovett,  about 15 years ago. Now she's married to some camera man named Danny, with whom she's had those 3 cute kids.  We've seen her about town from time to time, at the bookstore, on the slopes, or dancing side by side with her on a New Years Eve as the band played "Drift Away."

What's nice about being an internationally renowned media celebrity, is the bond that exists betwixt all of us other inhabitants of the celebrity bubble. So when we run into one another at a tiny little organic food market, we tend to give each other a little nod of recognition in order to  minimize the threat that the little folks will take notice of the vertitable gods or goddesses among them.

But I'm not so sure Julia could have contained herself so discretely if Molly had been shopping with me.

Easter on the Mountain

Unlike so many Easters past, our Easter here in the Sangre de Christo Mountains did not involve baskets and Easter egg hunts with our cute girls. Instead, it turned out to be a rare "adults only" Easter - with a fresh dusting of snow to smooth our way across the mountains.

Of course, no "adults only" Easter would miss some "fucking like bunnies" as a substitute for watching the little ones discover the goodies in their Easter baskets. Our version involved the deployment of Mistress's favorite power tool as a good way to launch the fun in our sun dabbled bedroom with it's mountain views.

And while the daffodils are certainly blooming back in River City in our tiny little yard, here the cold nights have kept the blooms off the trees. The only real sign of spring in our yard here so far  are the plump little prairie dogs  that can be seem scurrying about conspiring to dig up our yard yet again.  Argh!

So while skiing and the renewal of Easter may seem incongruent, it was certainly fun for Mistress and her slave to enjoy the sunny mountain trails before heading back down for some late afternoon sunning on our patio.

The only semi-downer on our day was my alma mater's  unsurprising loss to the Tar Heels last night in the round of eight. I was fortunate that we had already scheduled an Easter dinner here with some friends, so pouring drinks and grilling some salmon forced me not to focus on the slow but relentless beat down of the Irish by the clearly superior team from NC.

Sometimes a Number 1 seed deserves the ranking. And over-achievers come back to ground.

But back here in the Mountains, we all know who the Number 1 seed is, don't we?