Lo was in the tub. I was in my business suit. I looked down at her and said, “Lo, how long have you been in there?”
“Why do you ask, Daddy?”
“Because there’s so much steam in this room that the paint is peeling.”
“Just a little while,” she said demurely.
“I see you have all your bath toys,” I said, looking at her glass dildo in her hand, her suction cup dildo stuck to the wall, and her hand-held showerhead dangling.
“Everything but my rubber ducky.”
“A rubber and a dicky?”
“That would be nice too, but without the rubber. Why don’t you get out of that stodgy old suit and join me?” she asked.
I began loosening my tie and unbuckling my belt.
“That’s it, Daddio,” she encouraged.
“I’m going to change, but I’m not getting in there with you. It looks like you have things well in hand already,” I said, as she reinserted the glass dildo.
“Well, I’ll be out in a just a bit and then we can play ‘Hop-on-Pop.”
“You know,” I said as I was hanging up my suit jacket and pants, “the Twittersphere was all agog this week with memes and a bruhaha about women in bathtubs.”
“Really?” she said, preoccupied by her pussy.
“Yeah,” I said, “Apparently some company is marketing bath trays for women and the ads show all the wonderful things that a woman can do in the tub with them. But it’s backfired because, I mean, really — who eats a five course meal and watches a movie in the tub?”
To my rhetorical question, I heard moans and then gasps of pleasure, followed by “Fuck, Fuuuuuuck, Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
“I know, right?” I said.
When she finally emerged from the bath, like Venus from the froth of the sea, she said, “I haven’t just been doing myself, Daddy.”
“Oh really? You had company?”
“I wish,” she said. “No, I also did the laundry. It’s clean and dry now.”
“Oh, just the opposite of you.”