Jungle Girl In the Bush

Slave went on a little field trip yesterday, hauling my bike down to "Atomic City" to ride some nifty bike trails and tour the museums and some of the few left over historic sites from the days of the Manhattan Project.  It was a good way to disconnect from the anchor of the remote computer connection. It's helpful when you want to work remotely, but also an annoying reminder that you're not really on "vacation".

I was back in time for a refreshing late afternoon thunderstorm, which cooled things down considerably. Good weather for a pre-dinner nap. But it's not nearly as much fun to take a nap without Mistress to cuddle (and fiddle) with.

Later in the evening, I was surprised to see a text pop up from "Jungle Girl" who is out "in the bush" with the Dowager Domme and her sister, walking about with a guy with a large gun to view the beasts and vistas in Kenya. She forwarded some photos of giraffes, elephants, and posing with a cute baby Rhino.

I didn't ask where Mommy Rhino was, which would have been some concern, I would think.

The text conversation quickly turned to "what's new", then to Brexit, Donald Trump gloating about Brexit, and the fact that some guy from the Financial Times was there explaining it all to them.

When you have this whole cuckold thing fueling your fantasy life, Slave's thoughts immediately went there - conjuring up some Brit-twit with a snooty Downton Abby accent explaining to Mistress how disconnecting from the EU would naturally allow the restoration of Her Majesty's Empire. Rule Britania!

Sadly, this fantasy immediately fell flat. It's hard (at least for me) to be sexually intimidated by some guy who would rather grovel at the feet of a Mary Crawley type, or jerk off to the memory of being paddled by his prep school  Head Master,  than reduce my wife to a quivering, wanton slut begging for the right to suck his upper-crust cock.

So when it came time to follow Mistress instructions last night - and send her a photo of her slave's eager organ - I abandoned Mr. FT and resorted to mental images of Mistress being sexually enslaved in a more traditional "Jungle Girl" sort of  way, whether being involuntarily transported down river :

Or languishing in chains:

For those of you with tentacle fantasies, I suppose there is this option.

All of those were more suitably fuel for my imagination than Mistress falling under the spell of some "Brexpert"thinking that  boring her with his "Brexpertise"on the benefits of leaving the common market and the devaluation of the pound.

I did ask Mistress if there were opportunities for any flirting out in the bush. She was a little vague. "Some flirting slave.... but it's hard with our sleeping arrangements".   She sent me a photo of a rather luxe looking tent, on a platform, that she was sharing with her party.

"We heard lions last night outside the tent, but there are guys with guns patrolling the grounds."

Hopefully Mistress comes back before being devoured.