Mistress In the Mist

Not long after I posted my sad appeal for whack-off fuel yesterday, I heard from Mistress via viber.
"Sorry I didn't call yesterday evening slave, but it was a harrowing day, and we were all just exhausted."

She described a 17 mile trek through the jungle, with porters hacking a path through the vines with their machetes, and having to carry the Dowager Domme and the Princess part of the way along a steep, muddy path to their destination: a community of highland gorillas. The picture on the left is one that Mistress took with her I-phone and texted me yesterday. Mistress described a scene where her small party of tourists sat amidst a frolicing collection of mothers and children, including one mom who approached close enough to touch and smell Mistress's hair.

Yikes.

By the time we talked, Mistress was back from a 2nd jaunt, less rigorous, to visit with another extended family of gorillas, and was lounging about the rustic "lodge" where they were staying. with a little relaxation time, I had to ask if there was any flirting going on.

"Sort of slave.... there is this cardiologist from Montana, a little younger than you, who was on the trail with us.  You could say there was some flirting going on.... but not much time or space to take it beyond some flirtatious banter...."

I texted with one of out daughter's later in the morning. She was wondering if I had heard from "Jungle Girl". "Hope she doesn't get carried away by some gorilla", she snarked. Of course, that got slave's imagination going. There was this scenario to consider:



Or this one:



But I suspect even a 600 lb. silverback would respond to Mistress's more Domme-ish personality, resulting in the following scenario:

In Need of Hot Cuckold Fiction.

There's been no word from Mistress since she departed from Kigali at around 3 am on Monday morning. She was headed by jeep for a rendezvous in the bush with a gang of high mountain gorillas.  I am assuming there is no viable  internet connection at the "lodge" they are at for two nights. Someone would get in touch with me if there was a real problem, right?

When we last talked, she described coming down to breakfast on Sunday without her entourage, and the male tourists giving her the once over as the hot and (apparently) solo babe at hotel.  But none had a chance to chat her up once the Dowager Domme arrived to spoil the potential fun.

Speaking of fun, Slave's been combining some remote work, bike rides,  and a punch list of chores here in the high desert, where it's been unusually hot for the first week of summer.  I even took a field trip to the local land fill, dropping off some old mattresses. Nothing like a dusty landfill on a hot high desert day.

It's still pre-dawn here now, but the full summer solstice moon is lighting the landscape in a continuous twilight.

And, of course, I've followed instructions to the tee. What would you expect from a devoted slave? Last night I went out to here some local artists channeling the Allman Brothers. As required, I wriggled into my cage, and made sure to take a snap chat photo to clog Mistress's inbox when she finally gets back on the grid. When I got home, a little bleary eyed I suppose, I had a brief panic when the key did not seem to fit the lock.  Could Mistress have played a trick on me?   Had I packed the wrong key?  That would have made for a very long hiatus from Mistress.  Fortunately, I had simply screwed up when trying the insert the key, and all popped out safe and sound.

I also followed Mistress's directive and made sure to discharge my pent up masculine juices. Her thinking appears to be that slave does not misbehave when he has regular "relief" through a regular "purge". While some may disagree (I'm thinking about you Diane), Mistress is always right. Right?

Of course, when left to my own devices, sometimes it's necessary to have something to stimulate my imagination. When it comes to pump priming, I respond better to words than images. (Now that must me a big surprise to our regular readers.

Of course, the internet has plenty of story sites to pick from.  And with a kindle handy, the potential for downloaded books and stories is also there.  On the ride west, I resorted to listening to  podcasts to keep my brain alive across the prairie, shadowing the Santa Fe trail. An old favorite is something called the Kiss Me Quick POdcast, a series narrated by the smart and funny Rose Caraway, assisted by her producer husband. Some of the stories are sexy, some are funny, some I just don't get, but all are read with wit and verve. As Rose says, this is hand's free fuel for your sexual imagination. Well, at least one hand free. The podcast is worth a listen if only for Rose's sexy, insouciant 'tude.

Rose also promotes written and "audible" anthologies of stories by her and her coterie of smutty (mostly) lady erotica authors available at Amazon. When listening to her podcast patter Saturday night, I was amused to here her promoting a new collection exploring the cuckold "fantasy" which she described as "very hot and trendy right now " in the world of erotica.  Curious, I downloaded her collection Tonight She's Yours, figuring it would be helpful fuel for my imagination when I was confronted with the unenviable task of meeting Mistress's rigorous masturbatory demands.

Yesterday afternoon I ran through some of the tales of cuckolding - they seem to follow what have become cliches of the genre,  written by conventional lady erotica authors who seem not to get the underlying psychological elements that fuel the cuckolding life that some of us enjoy and write about in sexblogland.

The usual cuckolding suspects are rounded up: insatiable wives drooling over the large , thick and throbbing cocks of the burly "bulls" (several of them black, of course), who want to fill their slutty holes. The pathetic hubby watches as he is tied to a hotel room chair, denied the chance to choke his scrawny chicken. There are no cock cages, let alone husbands consigned to wife's undies.

One writer tosses in a little historic verisimilitude, creating a European refugee couple in post WWII Europe who trade sexual favors for food from a young American GI on an overnight train.  But despite the intriguing historic context, the whole arrangement seemed more pathetic and transactional than hot.

Overall, slave was underwhelmed, and still in need of intellectual stimulus to get get the pump primed to follow Mistress's orders. These stories were more rote than intriguing. I suppose you can't expect writers who don't "get" the fantasy to write about it in an engaging way. It made me think that I should take a shot at a little fiction of my own. Or, being essentially lazy, ask my readers for some recommendations:

Have any suggestions of web sites or books that will help old Mick fulfill Mistress's orders this week?

What News from Jungle Girl?

Mistress is off to East Africa with her mother, the Dowager Domme, and her sister, who we sometimes refer to as the "Princess" because of a rather entitled demeanor. Their more than 24 hour trip sent them over some of the scariest air space in the world (Iraq, Syria, Egypt), changing planes on one of those creepy desert kingdoms, then a stop in Entebbe where they picked up another plane to Rwanda.

It did not take slave much longer to drive the 1300 miles to our southwest hideaway, where the air is cool and clean this morning. Unlike some of you suckers in Arizona, the 7000 ft. altitude here keeps things cool in the summer.

Mistress and I were able to talk via viber on Friday night and Saturday afternoon my time, then again after midnight last night when I ended my caffeine fueled drive.

She was curious about whether I had yet taken advantage of my right / directive to "self abuse" on a daily basis.

"Not yet Mistress. I've been driving. You don't want me to stroke and drive do you?"

"No slave.... texting me is bad enough."

When we talked yesterday afternoon as I drove across a flat, hot, but tornado free Kansas, she was describing the scene: a luxe hotel in Kigari, where guests were gathered at a poolside bar. I could hear what sounded like an Afro Beat lounge act playing in the background.

"Are your mother and sister already in bed, Mistress?"

"Yes, slave.... I told them I would be up in a while, after I talked to you...."

"Any guys flirting with you?"

"There were two guys who tried to chat me up when I swam laps this afternoon, slave...."

If your wife has "permission", or on our case a contractual right, to fuck around, then exotic travel comes with opportunities to do more than just snap photos of cute animals and stunning vistas.

So as I dropped off to sleep last night, it was not hard to conjure images of Mistress lingering at that bar last night and peaking the interests of other tourists, or maybe some exotic locals intrigued by the allures of this lone American female with the long dark hair, dark complexion, and seductive curves.

And once Mistress begins her trek into the bush, she is bound to make a very sexy jungle girl. don't you think?

But she should be careful out there.  There could be some evil poachers, or rugged tour guides who might have some kinky proclivities that would be happy to take advantage of a shapely American tourist who wanders off alone into the jungle.

I just hope they take pictures and make sure to leave them on her I-phone.

In the meantime, I think I have plenty of mental fuel in reserve for when I take matters into my own hands later today.  But first I'd better run the weed eater and go for a bike ride to knock my own kinks out after all those hours on my aging ass and behind the wheel.

Mistress's Parting Instructions

Mistress headed off yesterday afternoon on her African adventure, demonstrating a surprising skill at  compact packing. When she doesn't have her slave / bearer with her, she somehow figures how to restrict the quantity of shoes, jewelry and tank tops she carries for a two week journey.

Naturally, I drove her to the airport, and our parting at the curb was both passionate and melancholy. It's been a year since she's been gone so long, and my bed will be very sad and lonely without her. It sure was last night.

She did text me this am from the Philadelphia airport before boarding a flight to Dowha to clarify the instructions we had discussed over the last week:

"Forgot to tell you the rules.
1) "touch" once a day beginning Saturday,
2)cage when you go out.
3)send pics of both

So I better document my compliance.

Of course, Slave confirmed his agreement to  these rather permissive and generous rules. She is certainly a benificent Mistress when it comes to the daily right to discharge my "natural juices". And wearing the cock cage for trips away from our SW hideaway is hardly a burden. I suppose it could be much worse. She might have hired a "Slavesitter" to keep me on the straight and narrow while she is gone.