Here in River City it seems that summer just began and is already fading away. Things traditionally pick up speed at work after Labor Day, and we barely slowed down. (Thankfully we have a week away planned starting a week from today to grab back some of that lost summer.)
But yesterday there was a little break for us around noon time. Mistress walked over between meetings, and we had a chance for a little mid-day celebration of those clean shaven folds.
Our loyal readers know the drill by now: Slave pushed the door closed, and the chair against it. The blanket I keep there for such occasions was placed on its seat. Then Mistress hiked up her dress and shimmied out of her black undies, sitting on her throne as her Slave fell to his knees to savor her addictive juices.
What a lovely lunch break.
We had driven to work together, and when we headed home, Mistress spoke with her lover J about some plans for this evening. With what we hope will be an empty nest tonight (presuming our daughter up the road doesn't make a surprise appearance), our plan is to pick up J and his bicycle, go for an early evening ride, maybe go out for dinner, and then have Ja do a "sleepover" here with Mistress.
After the call, Mistress made sure her Slave was on board.
"You don't mind J spending the night do you, Slave?"
I assured her that Slave remains "cool" with her sexual adventuring. After all, I do get plenty of action, don't I.
We did spend a little time watching the final night of GOP coverage from Tampa. The cute video with all those Romney family photos for a moment had me thinking that the guy running for President wasn't the wooden plutocrat with hidden tax returns but actually Ozzie Nelson with his devoted Harriet at his side.
But the night was really hijacked by that great Amercian Clint Eastwood. In his alternative universe, the President is some guy who sits there and tells an old movie actor to "shut-up" and that Mitt should "go fuck himself". By now Mistress was asleep, and I knew the story of the day on the morning after would not be whatever speech Mitt gave, but the sheer wackidoodle of this cranky old man talking to an empty chair and asking the crowd to "make his day."
Ok.... enough with this AM's morning rant.
Since Mistress is likely to be sleeping in another bed tonight, maybe it would be wise for me to sign off now, and make sure there is plenty time this morning for Slave to get some action.
Mistress and slave are parked in our favorite little beach town, just north of "The City". We came to ground her after Mistress accomplished one of her "bucket list" items - the swim from Alcatraz Island to the SF waterfront. It was no easy task, but she had the company of three old friends, cheering each other on, while fighting the tides and keeping an eye out for whales and great whites reputedly lurking in the deep, cold bay waters. Their adventure fortuitously occurred on the anniversary of the infamous 1962 escape by three prisoners never heard from again, which was chronicled in the 1977 movie starring Clint Eastwood.
