It was one of those strange days where one came home, had a snack, put some dishes in the sink with sudsy water and trotted over to the lounge to read. Feeling cold, and unbelievably sore from the gym yesterday, one dragged a quilt up and snuggled into it. The lounge's soft skin warmed up and moulded around one's recumbent form as only leather can do. And before you know it the last thought was hmmm... it's only 7.30, there is time for a nap before He gets up at 9.30.
See because life is still a little frantic we sort of have a date night on Saturday. Oh not dinner and a movie... hell who has that much time? No, it is a date for something that is far more important to us... sex. As one has mentioned before sex for us is intimacy and without it we don't function as well as we like. Actually we don't function very well at all.
The sound of the heavy glass door being rolled open woke one up... kind of. Hey you it's 10.30 He said peering over the lounge. That is when He gets up to get ready for work. Shit... haven't made you lunch yet one mumbled, struggling to wake the rest of the way.
Well you would have been up earlier. I came out at 9.30 and you were sound asleep.
Sorry.
You even slept through the fireworks.
The brain tried to process that, while surreptitiously checking for wet spots. What fireworks one asked, wondering if He was still speaking in code?
There was a huge fireworks display up the road. It woke me up. So did the cat banging on the back door. You slept through the lot.
Oh... really, there were fireworks?
Struggling to escape the lounge's embrace one made Him lunch while looking longingly back at it. We have shared so many good naps... each one gets a little better. But now one is starting to wonder if the leather lounge is a little evil. Not only is it stopping one from being a good slave, it's interfering with our sex life. The damn thing is more insidious than the other woman L
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