Morning with Mistress Morgan
As always I get up at least ninety minutes before my impossibly lovely and beloved wife Morgan. The alarm clock sitting on the floor doesn’t bother her of course – we have separate bedrooms. Hers is lavishly decorated, sumptuously appointed and extensively stocked. Mine is Spartan in the extreme – hardly more than a closet with a hard sleeping pallet and little else. In fact the attached closet is larger than the living area, and far more colorful and decorative (and just as stocked as hers) with its vast selection of frilly, lacy, ruffled and pleated and always skimpy lingerie.
This is all I’m ever allowed to wear of course. And so after I pee sitting down and shower (directing the powerful spray of the handheld unit for particularly long against my genitals
