Better Together

Slave's 10 day hiatus at our SW hideaway comes to an end tomorrow. And while I've had fun with some of the locals, gotten lots of exercise, and stuccoed my parapets, it's just not the same here without my firm but fair Mistress as a source of warmth, contentment and amusement.  There are no tanning curves to secretly photograph, no clean shaven folds to worship, and no one to share my table with, whether I'm cooking at home or out on the town.

The strangest part is that Mistress is off at several Kenyan "camps" in the bush these last few days, totally off the grid.

It's been since last Thursday that we've actually spoken, and all I've heard from her in the last 48 hours was abbreviated email. While she's given me lots of rope while we are away, even wanking off daily, as she has directed, has gotten  dreary without her to supervise. I'm sure some of you perpetually under lock and key would describe that "burden" as a "first world problem".  But it's a whole lot easier to have conjugal relations with a hot wife every day than  to go solo. It might have worked for Paul Simon, but maybe I'm the Art Garfunkel of that duet!

(I do have to send a thank you to a reader who suggested  V.T. Burnham's book "the Uncertain Cuckold",  for providing a little fuel for the imagination in my quest to follow Mistress's orders. While the sexual action may be a little far fetched, Vaughn  provides some compelling accounts of a wife tormenting and teasing her cucky hubby as she frolics with one of his friends.)

The bottom line is that Mistress and I  are indeed, "Better Together" separated by 9 time zones. Ironically, "better together" was/is  the campaign slogan of the unsuccessful "Remainders" who lost the Brexit campaign, as well as former first Lady and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Both campaigns have argued that bridges are better than walls, that love trumps  (pun intended)  intolerance, and that you can't turn back time to a nation that was whiter and less diverse.

 English voters seemed to think that we may not be "better together" after all, though the folks in Scotland and Northern Ireland disagreed.

Of course, it's naive to think that in every circumstance, we are "better together". Some relationships may be better to be put in the rear view mirror. I'm thinking:

1) As a (lapsed) Catholic of Irish ancestry, it's a conviction imbedded in  my DNA that Ireland  would be better without the English oppressors clinging to the north. So will England now try to build a wall to keep those European Irish out of the north half of their shared Isle?

2)  Scotland  also might be better off no longer tied to their supercilious English neighbors. The Scots have whiskey and oil to sell. The English have Benedict Cumberbatch and Downton Abby reruns.



3) Cher clearly was  better without Sonny.

5) On the other hand I'm not convinced that Julia Roberts is better off without Lyle Lovett.



The jury is still out on whether  Donald "America First"Tump and  Boris "Brexit" Johnson, who seem to have so much in common, will be better with or without each other:

Seeds of Slave's Cuckold Fetish?

Slave heard a few faint text messages from Mistress early this morning - and night time in Kenya where she remains hunkered down in the "bush". doing some hiking through the countryside. She seems a little discombobulated at being so "off the grid".  Naturally I assured her that all is well here state-side, and it seems she did receive the most recent snapchat of my cock cage before I went out to dinner last night with some friends.

I'm wondering if that (presumably) foppish writer for the Financial Times is still explaining "Brexit" to anyone who will listen to his privileged prattlings.  I know everyone is all a twitter over the fallout for the world economy. And I am sure not oblivious to my own 401(k) plan and the various world markets. But as a guy who uses the name of a prominent Irish nationalist for my sex blog persona,  I must say I get a chuckle at the prospects of England shrinking in both physical and economic size as the Irish and Scotts consider finally cutting the cord to the Queen and her overbearing government.

I spent a good chunk of my day on a solo climb of the state's highest peak, which clocks in at around 13,500 ft. It's something I usually do with Mistress, but th weather was nice, and I needed another day unplugged from technology.  Of course, doing it solo has it's disadvantages- it's about 7 hours up and back, and without Mistress to keep me company, it can get a little lonely plodding along.  So (despite what I said about technology) I had my I-pod along and listened to a play list assembled sometime ago of mellow tunes spanning the decades since the 1960's.

One of the songs that popped up on the walk down the mountain was a 1968 song by the Jefferson Airplane, from the "Crown of Creation" album, called Triad (the link has an interesting photo/film montage). I remember being intrigued (and kind of turned on) by this song when I first heard it as my high school years came to an end and headed off to college. Sung by the oh-so-hot to an 18 yr. old Grace Slick - it recounts a three way relationship betwixt her and two of the band members.

'We love each other ... it's plain to see....so why can't we just go on as three...."

There is even a hint that while the guys might find all this embarrassing, and certainly unconventional, Grace was definitely down for and very frank about enjoying attention from both of her lovers.

So was it the steamy voice of Grace  Slick nearly 40 years ago and the Airplance  song"Triad" that buried this kinky ticking time bomb that now has me turned on by the concept of  sharing my Mistress with other lovers?

Stranger things happen.

And did anyone else have that same reaction to this song?

Jungle Girl In the Bush

Slave went on a little field trip yesterday, hauling my bike down to "Atomic City" to ride some nifty bike trails and tour the museums and some of the few left over historic sites from the days of the Manhattan Project.  It was a good way to disconnect from the anchor of the remote computer connection. It's helpful when you want to work remotely, but also an annoying reminder that you're not really on "vacation".

I was back in time for a refreshing late afternoon thunderstorm, which cooled things down considerably. Good weather for a pre-dinner nap. But it's not nearly as much fun to take a nap without Mistress to cuddle (and fiddle) with.

Later in the evening, I was surprised to see a text pop up from "Jungle Girl" who is out "in the bush" with the Dowager Domme and her sister, walking about with a guy with a large gun to view the beasts and vistas in Kenya. She forwarded some photos of giraffes, elephants, and posing with a cute baby Rhino.

I didn't ask where Mommy Rhino was, which would have been some concern, I would think.

The text conversation quickly turned to "what's new", then to Brexit, Donald Trump gloating about Brexit, and the fact that some guy from the Financial Times was there explaining it all to them.

When you have this whole cuckold thing fueling your fantasy life, Slave's thoughts immediately went there - conjuring up some Brit-twit with a snooty Downton Abby accent explaining to Mistress how disconnecting from the EU would naturally allow the restoration of Her Majesty's Empire. Rule Britania!

Sadly, this fantasy immediately fell flat. It's hard (at least for me) to be sexually intimidated by some guy who would rather grovel at the feet of a Mary Crawley type, or jerk off to the memory of being paddled by his prep school  Head Master,  than reduce my wife to a quivering, wanton slut begging for the right to suck his upper-crust cock.

So when it came time to follow Mistress instructions last night - and send her a photo of her slave's eager organ - I abandoned Mr. FT and resorted to mental images of Mistress being sexually enslaved in a more traditional "Jungle Girl" sort of  way, whether being involuntarily transported down river :

Or languishing in chains:

For those of you with tentacle fantasies, I suppose there is this option.

All of those were more suitably fuel for my imagination than Mistress falling under the spell of some "Brexpert"thinking that  boring her with his "Brexpertise"on the benefits of leaving the common market and the devaluation of the pound.

I did ask Mistress if there were opportunities for any flirting out in the bush. She was a little vague. "Some flirting slave.... but it's hard with our sleeping arrangements".   She sent me a photo of a rather luxe looking tent, on a platform, that she was sharing with her party.

"We heard lions last night outside the tent, but there are guys with guns patrolling the grounds."

Hopefully Mistress comes back before being devoured.

Oops.

Mistress (aka Jungle Girl) phoned me yesterday from Nairobi. 

Seriously.  

Those of you who've seen the movie "Eye in the Sky", understand my trepidation, what with all those nasty terrorists chilling in the Somalian refugee camps in that town. 

"Watch out for drones, Mistress."

She seemed unconcerned, describing her visit to the home of Karen Blixen, (the heroine in Out of Africa) near the hotel she was staying at in what sounded like a less scary neighborhood about 17 miles from the city centre.

From there she was heading out to some sort of rustic camp for several safari days.

"They say no internet connection there, slave....so I will be off the grid for maybe three days."

It certainly will be strange to be that out of touch with her. 

Left to my own lonely devices, I could at least cling to the daily regime she requires of me (fueled by some of the helpful suggestions of cuckold fiction by you devoted readers). After  some work via computer and conference call, some "field slave" duties on our roof and in the yard, and after "taking care of business", I headed out to a local watering hole for some music and a few beverages.

But first I wriggled my "junk" into my cock cage, and snapped a photo transmitted to Mistress via "snap chat".  Of course, the reason why snap chat has become the social media tool of choice for "sexting" is that (in theory) the photos disappear after a few seconds, and can't be used to ruin a "sexters" professional career, marriage, or reputation. 

But that assumes that the person viewing the photo checks it out in privacy, doesn't it?

As I was sitting at the bar last night, sipping an IPA and listening to a local troubadour, I got a text message from Mistress, who was waking up in Nairobi and preparing to leave for her safari "camp":

May Day

Received latest cock cage

Opened

Then realized mom was over my shoulder!

Heading out soon.

Great to hear your voice slave.

Love and miss you.

I'm certainly hoping that the Dowager Domme did not get a close and comprehending view of my locked up equipment. If so, what do you think her reaction might be?