I spent a good majority of Monday at the grocery store. I wanted to pick up “a few things” for the “Huge NorEaster Headed Our Way“.  I took a look over at the French Toast Alert System and saw that we were encroaching on a full “Elevated” status so decided to make a quick trip down and get the basics.  I picked up 3 gallons of bottled water, a gallon of milk, 6 quarts of half & half (for my coffee), 4 loaves of bread plus some powdered milk and a few other things.  I snagged a few boxes of cereal and some granola.  Came home, checked on my levels of driveway salt, the toboggan I use to get down the driveway and the sprayer for distributing rock salt after a good shoveling.  I was happy, settled in and enjoyed my afternoon … “prepared”, as any good New Englander should be.

Yesterday morning was crazy busy with getting everything ready to go on a day trip down to our offices in Massachusetts.  Taking the Commuter Rail is so much easier than driving into the city and I know I saved time (parking is a bitch in Boston on a normal day, let alone a snow emergency).  The trains ran on time and by the time I got down to the office, there was just the hint of snow in the air.  All over the news, people are talking about how terrible the storm is going to be and they are interviewing people who remember the Blizzard of ’78 (yes, it must be capitalized because it’s a Major Event …. think of the way the Father from the movie “A Christmas Story” spoke of his “Major Award”, the leg lamp … same mentality applies).  Everyone is in a panic, talking about how people are going to get stuck in it … people are going to lose power, it’s going to be tossing us back to the dark ages.  I admit I was slightly concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get back home in the later afternoon but thought I might stand a chance earlier in the day.  So, I took care of what needed doing and headed back North.

By the time I reach South Station, it was a wet “wintery mix” falling.  I was never so happy to see the car service waiting for me with a nicely warmed interior.  The driver helped me into the car, handed me my coffee (he knows exactly how I like to drink it) and off we went to the house.  I began noticing the roads weren’t that bad, not many people on the streets but, one never knows … that can change in a heartbeat on Boston streets.  Of course, by the time we reach my house in Salem, I realize that it’s not taken us long at all and the roads aren’t really that bad.  The newscasters are now saying the storm will hit during “rush hour”.  OK, so I missed it … that’s perfect.  Bobby helped me out of the car and walked me to the door, confirming the need for him to return on Friday and I stepped inside.  I watched the snow starting to come down off and on through the night.  I stopped listening to the newscasters so I could work some and take a few phone sex calls while watching the white stuff cum down.  Like most women, I was waiting for the big load to hit … I kept checking to see when the “blizzard-like conditions” would begin.   I waited all night and, it is now 6:55am on February 11, 2010 and I’m staring out the window at … what … SIX inches of snow?  I had been promised a fuckin Nor’Easter damnit … I went shopping to prepare for a Nor’Easter … now what the hell am I supposed to do with 5 peanut butter jugs, 24 safety candles, 2 packages of D cell batteries, 2 9-volt batteries and enough AA cells to power the Citgo sign for a week.

The moral of this story is that I think I got snowed by Channel 7 Weather Team.  I feel like a wife on her wedding night …. she’s looked forward to this day for her entire life and she gets into bed, rolls over to her new husband, the man she loves and adores and wants to spend the rest of her life with …. only to find that he’s hung like a gnat.  She expected Ty Lattimore and got Bud Melman.  I exepected a Nor’Easter and I got SIX inches of snow.

So I got snowed … once again the meteorologists tricked me and pulled a snow job on me.  Perhaps next time, I’ll prepare one for them?  I mean … I have all the tools for some really nice CBT … all that’s missing is the 6′ high snowmound for them to experience a true New England Fucking.

I had an interesting thought this evening as I watched the news … Massachusetts is on tap to get our first official Nor’Easter of the Winter of 09.  The weathermen are as giddy as a cocksucker at a strapon convention, as though they finally have some sense of purpose instead of predicting foul weather in other parts of the country.  Watching everyone get all excited for something big and white reminded me of a curious sort of cuckold situation that had been bothering me of late.

Well no … perhaps I should explain a bit more clearly.  I wondered if there is such a thing as a reverse cuckold?  Statistically speaking, there has to be someone out there … a black man, with a skinny black dick that no woman in the world would want to suffer through … perhaps even smaller than the white man she left at home to FIND a big, black cock.  How humiliating is it to know that the myth of being a Black Man can be so irrevocably … hysterically … WRONG?  I can almost see the expression on the woman’s face when she triumphantly brings her Bull home to her sissified husband, only to find what’s hanging between his legs is even smaller and more pathetic than the volcanic pimple in her husband’s panties.  Either of them would be lucky to escape with just a thorough tongue thrashing … How would this little black pecker manage to find his Nubian Goddess?  To satisfy her the way a woman of her stature and position deserves?  Is there such a thing as the WWC?  A Wide White Cock that is designed just for the women who find themselves at the mercy of some cruel twist of fate that left their big, black bull more like a limp piece of licorice?

Personally I’ve never had to deal with anything like that situation … all of my big, black bulls have come into my bed with more than enough to satisfy me … and I’ve never had to seek out the mythical WWC.

So think of me, darlings … while I’m getting pounded by the powder this weekend instead of the black cock I deserve!

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Well, perhaps not just yet but we are getting there, aren’t we?  We’ve now passed by Thanksgiving (I do hope everyone got down on their knees and showed their appreciation for their … blessings, however small they may be), slipped our way past Black Friday (Did you go out and find a real man for your wife yet, cuckie?) and are now easing our way into the Christmas season like a lubed up cock penetrating a faggot’s ass for the first time.  Have you all given serious thought to how you’re going to celebrate this season?

Perhaps this is the year you’ll finally screw up the courage to bring your girlfriend to the company Christmas Party and show off how hot she looks in that skimpy red dress (the matching panties are safely tucked away inside YOUR pants … just to remind you of what a panty wearing loser you are for her)?  Will you have the cojones to introduce her to your boss, knowing full well how attractive he is?  Perhaps, if you time it perfectly, you could be spending next Christmas with your ear pressed up against the door, listening to your boss fucking your new wife in your wedding bed!

Speaking of wedding beds, this reminds me of a call I had recently … a call that stands out in my mind as needing to be mentioned.  This particular caller … let’s call him Blushing … was calling to make a confession to me.  He was overwrought with guilt and a need to tell someone about his naughty fantasy.  Apparently, Blushing likes to steal panties from his sisters, his aunts and other women in his life so he can sniff how dirty they are … now this, unto itself is relatively harmless … I have quite a few panty sniffers who like to indulge in the aroma of a well used pair of panties.  No … what sets Blushing off from everyone else is that our little panty sniffer apparently likes to cruise auction sites online and purchase used wedding dresses.  That’s right, our little bitchling can’t get enough of slipping into a fresh, white wedding gown and humping his little stick against the crinoline until he stains that perfect white dress with his panty juice.  He imagines himself walking down the aisle like the Blushing Bride, with cum staining the inside of his perfect dress … hmm, a metaphor perhaps?  At the very least, some pretty strong symbolism …

Ah well darlings … as you know, I tend to go a little crazy for the Christmas season and have already started working on my dinner plans for that night … I’m thinking of doing a ham, with some of my famous mashed potatoes and some rolls …

Who knows … perhaps some lucky boy might get a special cream pie for dessert?

Adieu,

Empress Ryan
~The Dick Domme Nation Life Coach~
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