It is raining yet again, a heavy shower with the occasional clap of thunder. It is my favorite weather for staying home with four or five young, submissive men and enjoying the simple pleasures of domesticity. If you’re curious about what these men do when they’re not actively being taken advantage of, it’s quite low-key. Lounge, I’d say, is the best description. They sit on my comfortable furniture in the den or the sitting room or the sunroom and do very little aside from look inviting. They’re allowed to read the paper or browse my artsy magazines, although if I walk into the room they have to put such distractions aside and await instructions. Unlike other sorts of pets, they’re not allowed to stare or drool. They may cast me questioning, eager looks from time to time then glance away discreetly, pretending to find the view out the window supremely engaging. Tonight I am feeling atmospheric. I love thunderstorms, though it’s highly unlikely that we’ll lose power. Instead I flip off all the switches in the upstairs fuse box and light candles.
