Mistress Joins Slave at Business Lunch

One afternoon this week, I hosted an annual Holiday lunch for some clients and colleagues. It’s an event that has been on my calendar for more than 10 years. It’s always a convivial affair, a chance to say thanks, network, reconnect and celebrate the year’s accomplishments. Sometimes my lunch is at our home; other times at a local restaurant. This year I picked the restaurant option: upstairs in a private dining room in an old German stube, with rich wood paneling, on a hill overlooking our big river.

Mistress (well she was “just” Molly then) would often act as my congenial co-host. And it was always good to have her there. But because of our crazy, nomadic existence  until January 2009, Mistress had gone missing at these events in recent years. So it was very nice to have her at my side, greeting my clients and their staff, 25 or so, as they entered, ordered drinks, milled about, and dug into the potato pancakes  appetizers.

Of course, the last time Mistress co-hosted one of these events, she was my younger beautiful wife. Today she was my younger, beautiful Mistress. And though I was not collared or leashed, I did have my cage locked on tight underneath my stuffy business suit and tie.

Mistress was dressed conservatively, but with style and a certain sexy flair: long hair down and full. Black form fitting dress wrapped around her, ending just above her knees, finished with the black tights and boots that make me want to fall to my knees when she enters the room. You have seen bits and pieces of that look in our pictures.

So how do the dynamics change at a business-y social event, after signing a contract to become my wife’s Slave?

My behavior is evolving, I suppose. And this was an event where I had to appear the Type A, in charge professional, to be trusted with my clients’ most important problems. Groveling probably would not enhance their confidence in me.

But I did noticed that I hovered more closely to her, made sure her drink was fresh, and assuring that she got first dibs on those potato pancakes she loves.  Where in the past we might have circulated separately, talking to clumps of guests, we did more of our circulating together, and I found myself keeping a hand on her somewhere. An arm, shoulder, and when our backs were to the wall, her lovely bottom. Gentle caresses were the order of the day.

 Molly always has made me look better, more accomplished and confident when she is at my side. She is a tall, young, confident knockout compared to her older, stuffier and now balding husband/slave. I can’t help notice men (and a few women) appraise her body, head to toe, with more than passing interest.

My friends and clients surely must wonder how she settled for me all those years ago. And I suspect some say to themselves: “If Mick landed her, he must have something going on….” Well there is something going on. But I doubt any of them suspect what our readers know about how this relationship has evolved.

As we sat for lunch, I made sure my chair was right next to Mistress, and we enjoyed chatting with the folks to our right and left. They were curious about Mistress’s work exploits these days, and she shared some common experiences with our lunch companions in her clever, competent manner.

What they did not see, was how my right hand had burrowed between her thighs, possessively, obsessively stroking the fabric of her back tights. You see there was something else driving Slave a bit crazy.

Mistress told me late that morning that she had arranged her initial, in person interview with her prospective Sir, to commence when our lunch concluded. An escalation in their interaction that took me a bit by surprise, but that I welcomed. This development had me on edge, driving me a bit crazy actually, with those confused emotions I have written about.

 Mistress was a bit anxious too about her “date”.  But she is a person of action, and was committed now to satisfying her curiosity about this fellow who had vowed to “own” her.

As my hand stroked her thigh, I thought about whether someone else might be handling her that way before the day was out. That thought made my cock twitch and strain inside that little cage.

Soon it was time for Mistress to go. I walked her to her car. Kissed her goodbye with a ferocity that fit the occasion, and wished her well. I had been tempted to slide her off into an adjoining room to give her a quick orgasm, but did not want to take the edge off her building sexual tension. We promised to stay in touch by text to assure all went well. And we did. And she came back safe and sound and interested in what the next step might be.

But what, if anything, happens next between Sir and Mistress is between them, and not for this correspondent to tell.