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?

Ride, Mistress, Ride.

Mistress was in a feisty mood yesterday morning.

I had risen early, catching up in the news, writing yesterday's blog, and brewing some coffee. When called back to bed, I made sure to utilize my tongue and lips to provide her with a little starter cum, than apparently only whetted her appetite for more.  While her work-a-day cock was already primed and ready for action, she insisted on having a little appetizer before the main course.

"I want to suck my cock now, slave."

Who was I to object?

After teasing her little plaything to the very edge of an existential crisis that would have spoiled any further fun for her, she climbed on board for some enthusiastic cock riding.  And while the UCTMW staff videographer had the day off in honor of  Good Friday, this helpful pirated video gives you a sense of what transpired next:

Rest assured that Mistress took all the pleasure that some wake up cock riding could provide, and then generously permitted her passive slave to have his fun too.

Then it was time to stagger from the bed to handle some work chores and phone calls with clients back in the "real" world.  Bummer.

At some point, with the sun in full but the temperature still in the 40's here at 7000 ft., I sought out Mistress, only to discover that he had already settled down for some pre-skiing sun worship out on our patio. As you may be able to detect, Mistress already has added some bronze to her skin tone. As she emerged from the shower yesterday evening, her tan lines are already emerging after a winter of gloom in the heartland.

Nothing like a head start on summer while enjoying the final snows of winter.

It Takes A Village

Here in our high desert hideaway, Mistress and slave have been slowly bouncing back from our 3 am phone call earlier in the week, and the low level anxiety burn about our daughter in Brussels. She's back in the city now, trying to get back to her normal routine, and telling us not to watch the alarmist reports on US television news.

Good advice, no doubt.

Mistress and slave are trying to get back into our normal routine too, with our traditional wake up sex, some work on the phone or at our computers, then some skiing, then an afternoon nap followed by some worship to tide over Mistress's sexual requirements. Last night's evening activities involved Mistress participating in a local public radio "radiothon" to support the local county animal shelter. Being a "cat person" Mistress was more than happy to lend her deep and sensuous voice to the cause.

The "radio station" was actually an airstream trailer out on the Mesa - a flat expanse of sage brush and prairie dog villages that stretches out from the mountain range behind our house to the deep river gorge 15 miles to the south. And the airstream is parked in the backyard of a funky brewery and performance space that some locals have constructed in the wide open spaces.   It may be the micro-brewery with the vest view in America (though I've not been to Bend, OR).

The crowd last night at the brewery looked like a casting call for a movie set in the '60's about the Haight Asbury scene in SF. Apparently this is where all the hippies moved when the rents got too high in the bay area.

But today's headline is not about micro-brews and hippies, but was triggered by something that Terri over at A Married Sissy said yesterday.   His wife Diane got home late from work and bluntly informed Terri that he should mark down an orgasm for her on his daily "Chastity Report". (This slave would be embarrassed to do a chastity report because there would be so few entries reflecting my denial, but to each their own!)

Terri knew his place, so did not ask the "who, what, when and where"  concerning Diane's particular cum O' the day. But he speculated that her lover Paul had provided some oral pleasure at the end of the day in the privacy of Diane's office.

And this seemed to raise some jealous impulses. Apparently Terri believes that he should have a monopoly when it comes to providing oral sexual pleasure to his wife. As opposed to more traditional sexual intercourse, which he may consider to be the proper role of a cuckolder / lover like Paul.

Now it may not be unusual (and in concept it has a certain hot factor) for a cuckolder and / or wife to limit the cuckolded hubby to non-penetrative sexual services, I've never heard of any corollary, i.e., that the cuckolder should NOT be allowed to provide oral sexual pleasure to the wife. After all, don't some alpha guys enjoy the occasional opportunity to reduce a woman to a quivering mass by the simple use of lips and tongues? If the shoe was on the other foot, I certainly would!

Nor do I have that particular jealousy gene.

Mistress's own occasional lovers have always seemed to enjoy that privilege, and Mistress has reported her enthusiastic enjoyment of  their oral attentions when and if provided. She has an apparently bottomless sexual appetite, and sometimes it's a team effort to satisfy it. ANd those clean shaven folds are mighty tasty and tongue tempting.

I like to think of myself as a team player. And like any NBA "role player" coming off the bench  to spell a star player in foul trouble, who am I to object when said star gets to score from a variety of places on the floor while I am on the bench?

To pervert a phrase made famous by a certain Presidential candidate, it does take a village.