I wish I could regale you with tales of exotic aromas and tantalizing tastes on this National Coffee Day, but the truth is, I don’t drink coffee. However, I can still appreciate the wonderful morning ritual that coffee drinkers enjoy with that first, damn fine cup of Joe.

Each morning, I play barista, preparing Mistress’ coffee with the exact, non-negotiable amount of sweetener and cream she requires before serving it to her.

When we are in France, my coffee service comes with an extra bonus. We travel there several times a year, staying near the Versailles castle just outside of Paris because it is quieter and closer to the office. Every morning, just as the day begins to break, I slip out of bed quietly so as not to wake Mistress, and get underway.

I stroll down the street toward the Versailles palace and across the Place d’Armes, the big square in front of the castle. It’s early enough that the guards are just mulling around the golden gates, bracing themselves for the daily onslaught of tourists. I breeze past them and head down Rue Hoche to my favorite bakery.

The smell of fresh bread is a true religious experience, and the baker knows my face by now. I order a traditional baguette (“une tradie”) and a pain aux raisins. On the way back, I say hi to Louis. His statue on horseback dominates the palace entrance.

For a quick history lesson, Louis (the dude on the horse and France’s 14th Louis) built this massive palace as a total, high-concept power move of opulence. His grandson (you guessed it, another Louis) and his Austrian wife later lost their heads over how luxurious it all was, but hey, that’s a story for another day.

This morning, my walk is interrupted by an American couple. looking for a bakery. Detached, I let the the husband struggle through his best high school French to ask me for directions. I let him suffer for a second before rescuing him: “Oh! c’est facile.” I say. Then, switching to my clear California accent, I add, “It’s past the statue, down the street on the right. Good choice, too, they placed third in the national croissant competition.” Eyeing his panicked demeanor, I peg him as a fellow submissive out on a breakfast mission. I give his wife a knowing smile and add, “He did quite well.” Just a little bit of early morning amusement on my coffee run. 

Next stop: Starbucks. Look, French coffee is great, but it’s served in teeny-tiny cups fit for a dollhouse. Mistress likes a proper, oversized cup of strong coffee, so I wait my turn and order a hot Venti Americano to go. Once it’s ready, I double-sleeve it with an extra manchon and pop that little plastic plug into the lid, heaven forbid a single drop of this liquid gold spills on my watch.

I arrive back at the apartment, baguette tucked under my arm like a true local. Now for the best part: I strip completely naked, meticulously fix her coffee, and carry it to her bedside. I drop to my knees in total devotion, letting the combined aroma of hot pastry and bold espresso act as a gentle invitation to the day. The second Mistress takes that first sip, all is right with the world. It’s our favorite little daily ritual, come rain, shine, or even snow, and honestly, nothing fills me with more pride than starting her day off perfectly.