No Shirt. No Shoes. No Tattoos.

After our Friday morning wake-up sex, Mistress and slave were out and up to a long hike that topped out at around 11,800 feet in the mountains above our little SW Hideaway. It was the best place to avoid the smoke from a fire smoldering in some forest about 30 miles from here, which can water the eyes depending on which was the wind is blowing.   Up at higher altitude we can get above the smoke, where snow still lingers in our local ski valley.

After a late afternoon nap and some worship, we walked down to an unlikely appearance by a New Orleans funk band in out quaint neighborhood business district. Mistress was festooned in some pst-hippos tie-dye for the occasion, and was showing off some rather appealing leg.

But, unlike some in the crowd, she wasn't dancing. 

And no, that's not the WC.