First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
Showing posts with label cock riding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cock riding. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thanks-Ticipation
First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
Thanks-Ticipation
First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
Thanks-Ticipation
First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Catching Up....
Sadly, that seems just around the corner now.
Friday did not bring an auspicious start to our weekend festivities.
Mistress and my family had gone out of their way to plan my “Mick’s Over the Hill” celebration. But our Friday date night turned into an unexpected trip for her in the dreaded MRI tube.
Molly had been having some strange (for her) headaches the last few days. When they became debilitating Friday morning, I prevailed on her to stay home, then got her to her doctor. He checked her out, wrote some script, but prescribed the whole MRI experience to rule out some potentially ugly things.
So there she was on our normal “picnic and a movie” night, in that dark tube, hearing all those bangs, thumps, and rings for the next 30 minutes or so. Believe me, if you don’t have a headache when they slide you into that contraption, you are sure to emerge with a doozy.
So we headed home, Mistress in pain, both of us worried about what the word would be from her Doc after some Radiologist, probably sipping thick tea in some squalid apartment in Mumbai, read the results over the internet and gave her brain the thumbs-up or down.
What was comforting through this process was that our Western Correspondent was on the edge of his seat too – or at least appeared to be through the anxious texts he was sending us from some Tex-Mex joint in the Mountain Time Zone.
Mistress was bleary eyed and in no shape to respond to them, so she had me type reassuring reply messages to M as we waited at home for the Doctor’s call.
And he seemed almost as relieved as we were when we got the call that Mistress’s brain scan was “normal”. At least as far as the trained eye could detect.
The Doc, of course, was not including Mistress’s pervy wiring in that clean bill of health. But at least we knew that these headaches could be medicated away and did not portend anything scary.
Little emergencies like this do make you consider your priorities in life though. It reminded me how lost I would be without my Molly. How much I treasure her and rely on her to get me through the day.
And what was charming about M’s text messages that evening was the sense of their deepening attachment too.
Very nice.
By Saturday morning, Mistress seemed to be on the mend, and was in the mood to allow me to take her with my hungry cock – gingerly of course – before our morning bike ride.
Later that afternoon, while watching my alma mater put some whoop ass on an overhyped opponent on the gridiron, I got an unexpected surprise: my daughter from our nation’s capitol had sprung herself loose to visit her aging father for his birthday.
Lovely.
But because she was spending the night at our house – just down the hall – her presence put the Kabosh on too exuberant a “Switch Day” on Sunday morning.
I did take the occasion to “force” an orgasm or two from Mistress with her favorite power tool. I made sure she got a good taste of my firm and needy cock with those skilled, full lips.
Then I gave Mistress an order that took her by surprise.
“Ride my cock, Slave”.
She seemed a little stunned. These apparently were words she did not expect to hear. At least not from me.
“You just called me Slave!”
“Well it is Switch day….”
“I suppose you are right, Slave…..OK.”
She slid over me, slowly impaling her self on my firm, work-a-day appendage.
Divine.
And I love it when she picks up the speed, slowly working herself into a frenzy.
My hands were free to roam: pinching at nipples, pulling at her hips to deepen my thrusts into her.
And soon Mistress was moaning as she tipped over the edge, shuddering her release, as her fingers reached back to tickle my balls so cunningly.
I could tell she was tiring now, so pulled her down on top of me, letting her after shocks play out then building her up to another powerful cum.
“Why don’t you role over now Slave and let me finish the job on top.”
She did not protest.
The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. We had a long bike ride, which, fortunately did not re-trigger Mistress’s headaches.
When we got back I offered to worship. Mistress seemed inclined to accept my offer, sliding down those foxy black riding tights to give me access. I took the shot above before diving in to do my “job”.
Funny how switch day ends so quickly around the Collins household, isn’t it?
Later I collected my nearly 4 year old grandson for some hanging out time. He played with our toy collection as his mouldering grampy watched our local NFL pussycats blow another game.
Mistress snoozed on the couch.
At some point she woke and rolled onto the floor with us.
“My Slave’s not giving me enough attention this afternoon”, she whispered into my ear.
We kissed as the cute grandson focused on arranging stuffed animals and tiny furniture, while grazing on a bowl of fruit loops.
It was then that I realized that multitasking on my part was quite doable.
Mistress and I were lying there on the floor. I could shield her body with mine. Cute Grandson was oblivious as I slid my fingers into Mistress jeans, and proceeded to fondle and probe her as I have been trained to do.
Mistress’s eyes were scrunched closed. Her MRI certifiably “normal” brain was focused on something other than the large guys banging into one another on the TC screen.
Soon she was shuddering, gasping quietly.
“Ummmm…. That’s much better Slave.”
Words that are music to a devoted Slave’s ears.
Catching Up....
Sadly, that seems just around the corner now.
Friday did not bring an auspicious start to our weekend festivities.
Mistress and my family had gone out of their way to plan my “Mick’s Over the Hill” celebration. But our Friday date night turned into an unexpected trip for her in the dreaded MRI tube.
Molly had been having some strange (for her) headaches the last few days. When they became debilitating Friday morning, I prevailed on her to stay home, then got her to her doctor. He checked her out, wrote some script, but prescribed the whole MRI experience to rule out some potentially ugly things.
So there she was on our normal “picnic and a movie” night, in that dark tube, hearing all those bangs, thumps, and rings for the next 30 minutes or so. Believe me, if you don’t have a headache when they slide you into that contraption, you are sure to emerge with a doozy.
So we headed home, Mistress in pain, both of us worried about what the word would be from her Doc after some Radiologist, probably sipping thick tea in some squalid apartment in Mumbai, read the results over the internet and gave her brain the thumbs-up or down.
What was comforting through this process was that our Western Correspondent was on the edge of his seat too – or at least appeared to be through the anxious texts he was sending us from some Tex-Mex joint in the Mountain Time Zone.
Mistress was bleary eyed and in no shape to respond to them, so she had me type reassuring reply messages to M as we waited at home for the Doctor’s call.
And he seemed almost as relieved as we were when we got the call that Mistress’s brain scan was “normal”. At least as far as the trained eye could detect.
The Doc, of course, was not including Mistress’s pervy wiring in that clean bill of health. But at least we knew that these headaches could be medicated away and did not portend anything scary.
Little emergencies like this do make you consider your priorities in life though. It reminded me how lost I would be without my Molly. How much I treasure her and rely on her to get me through the day.
And what was charming about M’s text messages that evening was the sense of their deepening attachment too.
Very nice.
By Saturday morning, Mistress seemed to be on the mend, and was in the mood to allow me to take her with my hungry cock – gingerly of course – before our morning bike ride.
Later that afternoon, while watching my alma mater put some whoop ass on an overhyped opponent on the gridiron, I got an unexpected surprise: my daughter from our nation’s capitol had sprung herself loose to visit her aging father for his birthday.
Lovely.
But because she was spending the night at our house – just down the hall – her presence put the Kabosh on too exuberant a “Switch Day” on Sunday morning.
I did take the occasion to “force” an orgasm or two from Mistress with her favorite power tool. I made sure she got a good taste of my firm and needy cock with those skilled, full lips.
Then I gave Mistress an order that took her by surprise.
“Ride my cock, Slave”.
She seemed a little stunned. These apparently were words she did not expect to hear. At least not from me.
“You just called me Slave!”
“Well it is Switch day….”
“I suppose you are right, Slave…..OK.”
She slid over me, slowly impaling her self on my firm, work-a-day appendage.
Divine.
And I love it when she picks up the speed, slowly working herself into a frenzy.
My hands were free to roam: pinching at nipples, pulling at her hips to deepen my thrusts into her.
And soon Mistress was moaning as she tipped over the edge, shuddering her release, as her fingers reached back to tickle my balls so cunningly.
I could tell she was tiring now, so pulled her down on top of me, letting her after shocks play out then building her up to another powerful cum.
“Why don’t you role over now Slave and let me finish the job on top.”
She did not protest.
The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. We had a long bike ride, which, fortunately did not re-trigger Mistress’s headaches.
When we got back I offered to worship. Mistress seemed inclined to accept my offer, sliding down those foxy black riding tights to give me access. I took the shot above before diving in to do my “job”.
Funny how switch day ends so quickly around the Collins household, isn’t it?
Later I collected my nearly 4 year old grandson for some hanging out time. He played with our toy collection as his mouldering grampy watched our local NFL pussycats blow another game.
Mistress snoozed on the couch.
At some point she woke and rolled onto the floor with us.
“My Slave’s not giving me enough attention this afternoon”, she whispered into my ear.
We kissed as the cute grandson focused on arranging stuffed animals and tiny furniture, while grazing on a bowl of fruit loops.
It was then that I realized that multitasking on my part was quite doable.
Mistress and I were lying there on the floor. I could shield her body with mine. Cute Grandson was oblivious as I slid my fingers into Mistress jeans, and proceeded to fondle and probe her as I have been trained to do.
Mistress’s eyes were scrunched closed. Her MRI certifiably “normal” brain was focused on something other than the large guys banging into one another on the TC screen.
Soon she was shuddering, gasping quietly.
“Ummmm…. That’s much better Slave.”
Words that are music to a devoted Slave’s ears.
Catching Up....
Sadly, that seems just around the corner now.
Friday did not bring an auspicious start to our weekend festivities.
Mistress and my family had gone out of their way to plan my “Mick’s Over the Hill” celebration. But our Friday date night turned into an unexpected trip for her in the dreaded MRI tube.
Molly had been having some strange (for her) headaches the last few days. When they became debilitating Friday morning, I prevailed on her to stay home, then got her to her doctor. He checked her out, wrote some script, but prescribed the whole MRI experience to rule out some potentially ugly things.
So there she was on our normal “picnic and a movie” night, in that dark tube, hearing all those bangs, thumps, and rings for the next 30 minutes or so. Believe me, if you don’t have a headache when they slide you into that contraption, you are sure to emerge with a doozy.
So we headed home, Mistress in pain, both of us worried about what the word would be from her Doc after some Radiologist, probably sipping thick tea in some squalid apartment in Mumbai, read the results over the internet and gave her brain the thumbs-up or down.
What was comforting through this process was that our Western Correspondent was on the edge of his seat too – or at least appeared to be through the anxious texts he was sending us from some Tex-Mex joint in the Mountain Time Zone.
Mistress was bleary eyed and in no shape to respond to them, so she had me type reassuring reply messages to M as we waited at home for the Doctor’s call.
And he seemed almost as relieved as we were when we got the call that Mistress’s brain scan was “normal”. At least as far as the trained eye could detect.
The Doc, of course, was not including Mistress’s pervy wiring in that clean bill of health. But at least we knew that these headaches could be medicated away and did not portend anything scary.
Little emergencies like this do make you consider your priorities in life though. It reminded me how lost I would be without my Molly. How much I treasure her and rely on her to get me through the day.
And what was charming about M’s text messages that evening was the sense of their deepening attachment too.
Very nice.
By Saturday morning, Mistress seemed to be on the mend, and was in the mood to allow me to take her with my hungry cock – gingerly of course – before our morning bike ride.
Later that afternoon, while watching my alma mater put some whoop ass on an overhyped opponent on the gridiron, I got an unexpected surprise: my daughter from our nation’s capitol had sprung herself loose to visit her aging father for his birthday.
Lovely.
But because she was spending the night at our house – just down the hall – her presence put the Kabosh on too exuberant a “Switch Day” on Sunday morning.
I did take the occasion to “force” an orgasm or two from Mistress with her favorite power tool. I made sure she got a good taste of my firm and needy cock with those skilled, full lips.
Then I gave Mistress an order that took her by surprise.
“Ride my cock, Slave”.
She seemed a little stunned. These apparently were words she did not expect to hear. At least not from me.
“You just called me Slave!”
“Well it is Switch day….”
“I suppose you are right, Slave…..OK.”
She slid over me, slowly impaling her self on my firm, work-a-day appendage.
Divine.
And I love it when she picks up the speed, slowly working herself into a frenzy.
My hands were free to roam: pinching at nipples, pulling at her hips to deepen my thrusts into her.
And soon Mistress was moaning as she tipped over the edge, shuddering her release, as her fingers reached back to tickle my balls so cunningly.
I could tell she was tiring now, so pulled her down on top of me, letting her after shocks play out then building her up to another powerful cum.
“Why don’t you role over now Slave and let me finish the job on top.”
She did not protest.
The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. We had a long bike ride, which, fortunately did not re-trigger Mistress’s headaches.
When we got back I offered to worship. Mistress seemed inclined to accept my offer, sliding down those foxy black riding tights to give me access. I took the shot above before diving in to do my “job”.
Funny how switch day ends so quickly around the Collins household, isn’t it?
Later I collected my nearly 4 year old grandson for some hanging out time. He played with our toy collection as his mouldering grampy watched our local NFL pussycats blow another game.
Mistress snoozed on the couch.
At some point she woke and rolled onto the floor with us.
“My Slave’s not giving me enough attention this afternoon”, she whispered into my ear.
We kissed as the cute grandson focused on arranging stuffed animals and tiny furniture, while grazing on a bowl of fruit loops.
It was then that I realized that multitasking on my part was quite doable.
Mistress and I were lying there on the floor. I could shield her body with mine. Cute Grandson was oblivious as I slid my fingers into Mistress jeans, and proceeded to fondle and probe her as I have been trained to do.
Mistress’s eyes were scrunched closed. Her MRI certifiably “normal” brain was focused on something other than the large guys banging into one another on the TC screen.
Soon she was shuddering, gasping quietly.
“Ummmm…. That’s much better Slave.”
Words that are music to a devoted Slave’s ears.
Catching Up....
Sadly, that seems just around the corner now.
Friday did not bring an auspicious start to our weekend festivities.
Mistress and my family had gone out of their way to plan my “Mick’s Over the Hill” celebration. But our Friday date night turned into an unexpected trip for her in the dreaded MRI tube.
Molly had been having some strange (for her) headaches the last few days. When they became debilitating Friday morning, I prevailed on her to stay home, then got her to her doctor. He checked her out, wrote some script, but prescribed the whole MRI experience to rule out some potentially ugly things.
So there she was on our normal “picnic and a movie” night, in that dark tube, hearing all those bangs, thumps, and rings for the next 30 minutes or so. Believe me, if you don’t have a headache when they slide you into that contraption, you are sure to emerge with a doozy.
So we headed home, Mistress in pain, both of us worried about what the word would be from her Doc after some Radiologist, probably sipping thick tea in some squalid apartment in Mumbai, read the results over the internet and gave her brain the thumbs-up or down.
What was comforting through this process was that our Western Correspondent was on the edge of his seat too – or at least appeared to be through the anxious texts he was sending us from some Tex-Mex joint in the Mountain Time Zone.
Mistress was bleary eyed and in no shape to respond to them, so she had me type reassuring reply messages to M as we waited at home for the Doctor’s call.
And he seemed almost as relieved as we were when we got the call that Mistress’s brain scan was “normal”. At least as far as the trained eye could detect.
The Doc, of course, was not including Mistress’s pervy wiring in that clean bill of health. But at least we knew that these headaches could be medicated away and did not portend anything scary.
Little emergencies like this do make you consider your priorities in life though. It reminded me how lost I would be without my Molly. How much I treasure her and rely on her to get me through the day.
And what was charming about M’s text messages that evening was the sense of their deepening attachment too.
Very nice.
By Saturday morning, Mistress seemed to be on the mend, and was in the mood to allow me to take her with my hungry cock – gingerly of course – before our morning bike ride.
Later that afternoon, while watching my alma mater put some whoop ass on an overhyped opponent on the gridiron, I got an unexpected surprise: my daughter from our nation’s capitol had sprung herself loose to visit her aging father for his birthday.
Lovely.
But because she was spending the night at our house – just down the hall – her presence put the Kabosh on too exuberant a “Switch Day” on Sunday morning.
I did take the occasion to “force” an orgasm or two from Mistress with her favorite power tool. I made sure she got a good taste of my firm and needy cock with those skilled, full lips.
Then I gave Mistress an order that took her by surprise.
“Ride my cock, Slave”.
She seemed a little stunned. These apparently were words she did not expect to hear. At least not from me.
“You just called me Slave!”
“Well it is Switch day….”
“I suppose you are right, Slave…..OK.”
She slid over me, slowly impaling her self on my firm, work-a-day appendage.
Divine.
And I love it when she picks up the speed, slowly working herself into a frenzy.
My hands were free to roam: pinching at nipples, pulling at her hips to deepen my thrusts into her.
And soon Mistress was moaning as she tipped over the edge, shuddering her release, as her fingers reached back to tickle my balls so cunningly.
I could tell she was tiring now, so pulled her down on top of me, letting her after shocks play out then building her up to another powerful cum.
“Why don’t you role over now Slave and let me finish the job on top.”
She did not protest.
The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. We had a long bike ride, which, fortunately did not re-trigger Mistress’s headaches.
When we got back I offered to worship. Mistress seemed inclined to accept my offer, sliding down those foxy black riding tights to give me access. I took the shot above before diving in to do my “job”.
Funny how switch day ends so quickly around the Collins household, isn’t it?
Later I collected my nearly 4 year old grandson for some hanging out time. He played with our toy collection as his mouldering grampy watched our local NFL pussycats blow another game.
Mistress snoozed on the couch.
At some point she woke and rolled onto the floor with us.
“My Slave’s not giving me enough attention this afternoon”, she whispered into my ear.
We kissed as the cute grandson focused on arranging stuffed animals and tiny furniture, while grazing on a bowl of fruit loops.
It was then that I realized that multitasking on my part was quite doable.
Mistress and I were lying there on the floor. I could shield her body with mine. Cute Grandson was oblivious as I slid my fingers into Mistress jeans, and proceeded to fondle and probe her as I have been trained to do.
Mistress’s eyes were scrunched closed. Her MRI certifiably “normal” brain was focused on something other than the large guys banging into one another on the TC screen.
Soon she was shuddering, gasping quietly.
“Ummmm…. That’s much better Slave.”
Words that are music to a devoted Slave’s ears.
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