It was an eventful weekend here in River City, and I know I have been a little lazy in my reporting, so let’s try to catch all of you up on the ups and downs of the past few days. I don’t want to earn the WC’s reputation for sloth. At least not until I qualify for Medicare.
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.
