So Where Did Francois Go?

Yesterday, as Mistress and her Slave were doing their morning commute to work, it was hard for me not to get a little distracted by Mistress long, shapely legs, stretched out onto the dash, with those alluring black tights and boots.

"Do we have those special tights on Mistress?"

"I do Slave.... I wear them just about every day."

My right hand drifted off the wheel, sliding onto her thigh, headed to clean shaven folds north. Her thighs spread, as I found my mark, damp and fertile.


"Watch out Slave, I think we gave that trucker and eyeful...."

Sure enough, I'd not noticed the Semi Cab just to the right of our steel and glass capsule, as it hurdled through time and space.



"We may have made his day, Mistress."


Of course, at my age, I've got a good deal of experience at using my fingers to provide a little pleasure to my Mistress. Within a minute or two, her thighs were squeezing my hand tight, and she bucked and sighed to a little "on the way to work" cum.

"Well that was a nice treat, Mistress."


"You'll be oozing sex when you go to that morning meeting, Mistress."


"Do you really think?"

The cabin of her car was filled with her pheromones my now. I pitied those young guys around the conference table with her later in the morning. It could be distracting.


After her temperature cooled a bit,  I asked "what ever happened to Francois, Mistress?"


"You know, it has been a few weeks.... he had the problem with the sick dog.... and it seems harder for him to get away in the evenings.... but, come to think of it, I haven't heard from him in a week or two."


I resolved to get to the bottom of it, so when I got to the office, I deployed my considerable sleuthing skills.


It seems that Francois, who's military background we've noted here before, had been called up for active duty with his comrades in the French Foreign Legion. Apparently with President Sarkozy's more muscular foreign policy, there is a need for a quick strike force for covert ops, and the gourmet cook to keep their bellies full.

Francois's family has a long history of service to the Legion. I think that's his grandfather, with the beard in this archival photo.


So while we will be celebrating the Holidays in our cozy homes with families and friends, poor devoted Francois will be in forbidden climes, wondering where the hell he can find a few hundred pounds of fresh mussels and some crisp
Poully Fusse to wash them down with. No doubt some first class cuisine is required  keep those fighting legionaires in the mood to bag another Arab dictator for Mother France.

But as I pressed further into the basic re-training that Francois has been required to endure, to get himself back into fighting shape, I got a little concerned. I mean, what about those family jewels? Will  they come back intact from those hostile climes?

And is there any concern about snakes and scorpions when they do this curious exercise?

We do hope that Francois takes care of himself over there. And when he's done disposing of President Assad, we hope he returns to River City safely and with all his "faculties" in full operating order. In the meantime, Francois, we also hope you enjoy the company of your comrades, and the delicacies that may present themselves along the way. Just be careful of the sweetbreads!


Bon voyage!