HNT/ Tight and Boot Season

Slave has a bit of a fetish for hose and tights, so the only bonus I can think of when the weather turns cold here in River City is that Mistress wriggles into her (usually) black tights most work day mornings.  They provide a distracting view when I chauffeur her to work as I did yesterday. And give me something to look forward to when she can stop by for some mid-day worship, as she did again before a lunch meeting yesterday.

Fortunately, she had elected to wear her "peek-a-boo" tights, which gave me easy access once I slid the chair against my office door and spread the soft absorbent blanket I keep on hand for such occasions. Once seated in her throne, all she had to do was spread her sexy gams and let her kneeling, obsequious slave get to work.

Yum.

Then she was off to her lunch date with a client. AS she waited at the restaurant she did too off a quick text.

"Thanks for the lick, Slave...."

I was happy to be of service.

Another service I provide for Mistress is pointing her to new blogs that might peak her interest. Truth be told, Mistress does not follow many of the blogs on our blog roll, but she does seem engaged by a new blog by David, the "Tactile Dom", called A Bull's Life .  David has commented here before, which led us to his relatively new blog.  He's one of those rare male bloggers in this realm of the blog-o-sphere, and even rarer because he's presenting the perspective of the male cuckolder (as opposed to the sub or cuckoldee like old Mick and some others out there).

Mistress always seems anxious to catch up on developments in his effort to recruit a new couple, and on more than one occasion has expressed curiosity about where he lives (sadly, in the Northeast it appears, not the heartland).

Ironically, David has a first potential engagement with a new couple o Friday evening, when Mistress and Slave will be entertaining Matt here in River City.

It will be interesting to compare notes with the Tactile Dom when the dust settles over the weekend.

New Neighbors on the Block

Mistress stopped by for a little worship in Slave's office yesterday, sliding out of one leg of her tights and black velvet pants to accommodate my devoted tongue and lips. When my work was done, I took her to lunch, then walked with her around the block to a new hotel where she and an office mate would be scoping out the facilities for their office Holiday party.

This place is a total renovation of what for years had been a downtown "SRO" (aka,  flop house). And the concept is very hipster: the first two floors are a contemporary art gallery, the upper floors are the hotel rooms. Oh so edgy for River City.

As we strolled around the galleries, we found a collection of very life like sculptures of nudes of various ethnic backgrounds, they left nothing to the imagination ----

Well, I guess you still have to imagine what this guy's un-cut cock would look like at "full staff", as I suspect Mistress did when she seemed a little surprised to find him greeting her.

Then there was this lady with a hat and nothing else:

Also in the collection were 6 or 7 depictions of what must have been tweens, boys and girls, of various ethnic backgrounds, all explicitly depicted. (I was reluctant to photograph or display those here for fear of being accused of a kiddie porn violation, though these clearly fall in the "fine art" exception.) This in the town that tried to prosecute a Museum a generation ago for displaying Robert Mapelthorpe photos!

Next thing you know, seemingly respectable professionals here will be writing sex blogs!

Thankful....

To have our empty nest back.

It was lovely having the cute Co-Ed and her surly sister back in town for the long holiday weekend. But all the other family members who expected us to entertain and amuse them?  Well they wore out their welcome by Saturday night.

And poor Mistress.... maybe it was abusive of her Slave to move the dinner with my older daughter's home  to ours on Saturday evening.... just so Slave could watch his alma mater take on its dreaded rival from the West Coast, with a national title on the line. In my defense, I did not realize what the head count would be.  Unbeknownst to me, my daughter had included my sister (who had cancelled on us at the last minute for Thanksgiving) and her wacked out boy friend. I figured we had dodged that bullet for the weekend when other pressing matters prevented them from joining us for the big Holiday feast.

Then there was a former sister -in-law, her current husband, and his 5 year old granddaughter. I still can't figure out who invited them. But there they were. Toss in my two cute but Oh so noisy and raucous grandsons. Another daughter and her fiance, my mother in law, her husband and the crowd easily exceeded the more sedate group we had for turkey on Thursday night.

All so Slave could watch a football game in the comfort of his own home?

I suspect I deserve a punishment, since Mistress ended up with the lion's share of the cleanup because her Slave was parked in front of the TV, and also made the Chili.  At least I was in a gracious mood after the dust settled in the Coliseum and my team was headed to the big dance in Miami.

But now they've all gone home.

We've had two delightful evenings (and sexy mornings) without having to worry that our lovely daughters are muttering "ewwww" to the sounds down the hallway.

And Mistress has set up her first tryst with "More Matt" , her would be Dom, for Friday evening.

One question yet to be resolved: Does Slave "get lost" for the evening, figuring they have to get comfortable with one another before "More Matt" has to come to grips with Old Mick. 

Or does Slave make dinner for the two of them, and let nature take it's course?

Any thoughts?

When Black Friday Comes....

Molly and Mick survived Thanksgiving here in River City with surprising aplomb. Our dinner was far above last year's low point, thanks to "addition by subtraction."  In the absence of a few joy sucking, "pay attention to me and all my problems" guests, all was pleasant, relaxed and laid back.

And though Friday was a bit over-scheduled, Mick did make sure to avoid any retail shopping,  dodging the potential for participating in the mayhem that has become the Friday after Thanksgiving here in these United States.  In case our overseas readers don't get the concept, here is a brief update of guns drawn, windows broken, and crazy Wal-Mart line hoppers   getting hauled away to jail. All for a discount on one more plasma screen TV. The worst of Black Friday.

But there are other ways to get your Christmas shopping done. Our cracker jack former Senior Correspondent Donna is always on the lookout for that special stocking stuffer. But in this case, something else is getting stuffed into something else.

She thinks this might be the perfect gift for the WC, something special to soften the blow of getting laid off during the holiday season:

Keep your package festive & toasty even in a blizzard!

The X-Mas Tuggie is the hands-free way to keep your stuff covered, cuddly and warm no matter how low the temperature dips!

The soft and fuzzy X-Mas Tuggie slips easily around your package to keep your shaft and balls nice and warm while caroling, skiing, sledding, building snowmen, or throwing snowballs. An adjustable drawstring in the base ensures a secure fit and keeps the tuggie from slipping off no matter how active you get. The tuggie itself is covered with red and white straps to make your cock look just like a festive candy cane. But it’s your job to talk your lover into taking a lick!

Sure you could just use a tube sock to keep your package cozy. But then you have to worry about the sock slipping off and falling out of your boxers. And your typical tube sock isn’t nearly as festive or as sexy as the X-Mas Tuggie! Just imagine the look on your lover’s face when you tell them there’s one more present to open… and show off your X-Mas Tuggie!

The X-Mas Tuggie measures 8.5 inches long and 2 inches wide, with a generous sized ball sack. It is made by Pipedreams from polyester. 

Molly checked this little number out and had only one concern.

"I'm not sure it's going to be big enough for the Special Occasion cock."

I suppose one size fits all may not always work.

Happy Thanksgiving from Molly and Mick

 When it comes to TG humour, we can't do any better than Dumb Domme:

fowl suspension, spanked chicken, turkey fisting » Dumb Domme

But in case you're missing your fix of sex scandal reporting, check out this essay by Dana Millbank on why the whole Petraeus dust up isn't really a sex scandal at all:

How to tell when a sex scandal is a sex scandal

We will be hosting extended family for yet another holiday ritual today. Let's hope it's not as bad as last year!  And when they all go home and the dishes are done, we'll have plenty to be thankful for!

We hope your day goes well too!

Mistress and Slave Run Into an Old Blog Fan

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You Can't Take the Harlot Out of Charlotte.

Dilworth, Charlotte: Mistressville, U.S.A.? - The Daily Beast

Another odd coincidence: the Charlotte suburb where the sex scandals of the 2008 and 2012 election cycles can meet at the same nail salons and pilates studios.

Today's Reading List

Here's an interesting column on  the risks we sometimes take.... falsely assuming, like General P and his "biographer", that our cyber lives are private.

And here's another one, by a WW II General's grandson on his belief that the good General was a figment of his own self promotion, and not the great military leader he has been portrayed as by a fawning press. I particularly liked that last three paragraphs:

The generals who won World War II were the kind of men who, as it was said at the time, chewed nails for breakfast, spit tacks at lunch and picked their teeth with their pistol barrels. General Petraeus probably flosses. He didn’t chew nails and spit tacks, but rather challenged privates to push-up contests and went out on five-mile reveille runs with biographers. 

His greatest accomplishment was merely personal: he transformed himself from an intellectual nerd into a rock star military man. The problem was that he got so lost among his hangers-on and handlers and roadies and groupies that he finally had his head turned by a West Point babe in a sleeveless top. 

If only our political leadership, not to mention the Iraqi and Afghan insurgencies, had known how quickly and hard he would fall over such a petty, ignominious affair. Think of how many tens of thousands of lives could have been saved by ending those conflicts much earlier and sending Dave and his merry band of Doonesbury generals to the showers.

What We Know So Far....

If any story can draw Mick out of the blogger weeds it’s the ongoing Patraeus Brouhaha. So for those of you not following this in the minute detail that some of us have stooped to, here is a brief update:

It started when a certain buff female West Point grad, out of the Army and into Harvard, sidled up to a certain General at a post-lecture dinner to fawn and flatter. They exchanged cards and email addresses. The relationship blossomed over time, as she got tongues wagging among the press and the General's aides about why she was getting such unusual "access" to the supreme commander of our troops in Afghanistan.

After Paula Broadwell was booted out of her Harvard Ph. D. program, she gave new meaning to the term “embedded”. She was summoned to Afghanistan for desert run “interviews” with her new “mentor”. (I’m still waiting for the post run shower scene. There must have been a lot of dust to wash off.)

She turned her Harvard spurned dissertation into a book with the clever sexually charged name “All In”, and got a six figure advance, but only with the help of  a ghost writer  (I only thought celebrities needed ghost writers, but she was just planning ahead to future notoriety, I suppose).

Paula’s book tour featured arm and shoulder baring tops, no doubt to distract the likes of Jon Stewart from asking her to define “embedded”.

She gave speeches bragging about her access to classified information, and used her celebrity to raise money for GOP candidates

Of course, we are to believe that this “mentor / mentee” relationship did not evolve into something more carnal until after the General retired from the Army to become chief spook, as the Army frowns on “adultery”. So maybe there is no Afghan shower scene in the tell all book sure to come, after all? Bummer. Clearly, Paula was looking forward to the General's transition to civilian life, because she got a front row seat for his confirmation hearing, though on the other end from the Mrs.

Things were looking up for Paula, as she settled into the life as the CIA Director's consort in our nation's capitol. But then she noticed an "other woman", Jill Kelley, with her identical,  cleavage baring twin sister. Together they engaged in  socialite hi-jinks involving the top dogs at McGill Air Force base in Tampa.

She and her doctor husband host lavish parties for the Tampa based brass, with champagne fountains and caviar bars, but don’t pay their mortgage. She somehow becomes an honorary consul for South Korea, though she is of Lebanese ancestry. And she drops General P’s name to hustle big consulting fees by exploiting those South Korean connections.

Associates describe Jill as flirtatious with the Generals who come to her parties, and she gets a special pass to visit the Air Base as a “Friend of McGill”.

She parties with General P., while trading thousands of emails with his Afghan successor, General Allen, who, we are told by his colleagues, is simply a courtly southern officer who uses the term “sweetheart” only in purely platonic terms. Could there really be 20,000 pages of these “platonic” emails between Jill and General Allen?  Hard to comprehend. But at least they still teach Plato at West Point.

Jill persuades Generals Allen and Petraeus to send letters in support of her sister in a sordid custody dispute. The sister reportedly dates former Florida Governor, Charlie Crist, an old tanning buddy of the lovely Molly.  But, Charlie laughs it off, like so many other rumors of his sexually ambiguous adventures. We're still waiting from an explanation from US Senator Marco Rubio though, darling of the Cuba Libre crowd and a potential Presidential contender in 2016.

Somehow Paula gets wind of Jill’s perceived to be predatory behavior. She creates an email account titled “KelleyPatrol”, to warn General Allen about this overtly social climbing hussy. She sends more emails to Jill, warning her to back off General P.

Jill, alarmed at these “threatening” emails, takes them to a buff right wing FBI guy, Fred Humphries,  who had sent her those cute emails with his shirt off, posing next to some bullet riddled dummies.

To impress Jill, Fred makes sure the local FBI cyber squad delves into those "back off bitch" emails, lickity split. A search order is obtained. Apparently it did not occur to Jill that in their diligence investigating her complaint, the FBI cyber sleuths might want to check out her in-box as thoroughly as Fred would like to, and discover all those emails with General Allen.

Over the summer, Jill tried to call off the FBI dogs, but, alas, the catfight was already out of the bag.

The FBI tracked “KelleyPatrol” to Paula, who’s less than cracker jack reserve intelligence officer espionage trade craft may explain why she was booted from that Harvard Ph.D. program. And when the FBI started trolling through Paula's anonymous email accounts and computer memory, what did they find but her smutty correspondence with the Director of the CIA, apparently including a “sex under the desk” reference. (We're still not sure if that was real or simply aspirational).

When confronted with the evidence by the FBI, both the General and his embedee had to confess to their “inappropriate (if ever so hot0 relationship”. But was there any harm but to their own marriages? Who knows?

Now all of this may have been swept under a well deserved rug.  After all,  having sex with the CIA Director is no crime.  But there was one messy complication: Fred, the semi-naked FBI guy, apparently became convinced that his FBI bosses were engaged in a cover-up to protect a certain President with a questionable birth certificate and socialist agenda.  (Fred apparently saw himself as  the David Duchovney character in the X-Files.)  Before the election, Fred took this story to GOP House Majority Leader Eric Cantor. The story was now out into the political realm, and the FBI knew it, after Cantor phoned the office of the FBI Director with the tawdry story of extracurricular sex at Langley that Fred had fed him.

The Case was almost closed. No harm no foul, right? But with Cantor in the loop,  the White House had to know about it too, because  the story was out into the political realm where it ultimately would leak like a punctured 5 year old condom.

Poor General P. and his buff, domme-ish lover. And their families. They are now just defenseless chum in the DC scandal machine. 

And the Defense Department's Inspector General has a team trolling through the emails between Jill and her other General friend to see what level of flirtation might disqualify him from being commander of NATO.

And what about our heroine Jill, who started this “bitch-hunt” when she sought out FBI Fred’s help?

She and her "not dating Charlie Crist" sister have been seen THREE TIMES at the White House in the last two months, dining with a yet to be named low level White House staffer who purportedly met these upstanding citizens on a recent trip to McGill Air Force base. Most recently, Jill and her family were on a White House tour the Sunday before the election, only days before all this brouhaha hit the fan.

That low level staffer has some 'Splainin' to do!

For Our WC, In Lieu of Severance Pay

First snow. Northern New Mexico. November 2009.

An Anniversary and a Transition

We started this little blog three years ago today...

Since then there have been 1056 posts here, and, according to the little google meter, more than 730,000 page views. We seem to average about 1100 page views a day these days.  And all that  doesn't count our month long exodus last fall to Mistress and Slave on the Lam , when we thought our cover had been blown. That frolic and detour covered about 35 posts from exotic climes and plush yurts in Whatthehellitstan under the sheltering wing  of the sex bloggers'  protection program.

The blog has been a joyful act of lust over these 36 months, and personally therapeutic for Mistress and Slave: in a strange way it helped us get beyond a soft patch in our marriage, by providing a focus and an opportunity for this humble Slave to express his devotion and addiction to my beloved Molly.

There have been more than 1000 mornings in which we started our day with Mistress reading the blog as I lavished her clean shaven folds with the attention it deserved. (Come to think of it, when we got rolling here, she had a lush patch of fur down there, lost at the suggestion of Mike, one of our first and certainly most loyal fans.)

And of course things evolved for us in unexpected but always entertaining ways as a result of the blog.

With role models like Suzanne, Tammy and Jay over at All Mine, Mistress got the inspiration to branch out and fully exploit her contractual rights to test the water with a variety of other lovers. It's a process that continues now, as she sorts through her current  collection of suitors.... Matt, the "nice guy" who's taking it slow, and who will take Molly to dinner on Sunday night; K, aka, Mr. Perfect Cock, with the glamorous Lance Armstrong packaging that's hard to resist;  and the other Matt, who wants to scratch Mistress's urge to submit.  Mistress has  lunch set up with the other Matt on Friday for their first face to face.

Who could forget Home Cumming Weekend, just over a year ago, when I got to watch Mistress take the muscular Didi with her strap-on, and the next night, succumb to the oral stylings of that barely 20 year old who ended up in jail days later on a trumped up charge. (Of course, that's why we went on the Lam).

Then there is our far flung staff: our Western Correspondent, with the special occasion cock and the rather slothful work habits and industrial size tubs of lube; Donna, our Senior Correspondent, who took care of us when we were on the lam, and Bill, our Director of Security International, who always had Molly's back.

We've enjoyed getting to feel like we are part of an extended family, and to hear from our regular cast of commenters who have come, gone, and returned over the years.

Of course, we've also seen so many  of our fellow bloggers  slowly fade away over these three years: Who could forget inimitable Riff Dog (who apparently crashed and burned in dramatic cyber-style). And Mistress always had a thing for the Discerning Dom, who signed off a few months back. It reminds us that the natural life of this sort of enterprise is limited.

So after some consultation here at the UCTMW World HQ over the weekend, Mistress and Slave decided it was time to move on from the routine of our almost daily posts here.

Why?

Well we noticed we were both succumbing to the pressure of coming up with bloggable moments to entertain our followers. What was unique and titillating one week became a little routine and repetitive the next. So why not crank it up a notch. More blog fodder needed.

Maybe we jumped the shark with "Cougar Week"? 

In any event, while Mistress has no plans to end her search for the perfect addition to our empty nest - or some combination of lovers who might meet that elusive objective - it makes sense to us to back off from our current routine of posting "real time" developments here. Nature will take its course, without the pressure of a daily publishing deadline. Our goal is to do what feels right for us, wherever that takes us, but not with the pressure of entertaining a wider audience.

Does this mean you've heard the last of Mick and Molly?

Unlikely.

We have no immediate plans to delete this collection of smut, sarcasm, amateur photography, and political and pop culture commentary. I suspect there will be developments and topics that will cry out for a timely post. So don't erase your bookmark or delete us from your blog roll just yet, friends.

And expect to hear our snarky comments on your blogs in the months to come.

As for that far flung staff: your generous severance pay checks are in the mail, along with your COBRA notice. And like the Romney campaign, I've already cancelled those company Amex cards. Hope you aren't in a cab on the way home when you get you read this.
But remember: your non-competes still run for the next 12 months!

Mistress's Lunch with Mr. Perfect Cock

Slave got sent off to work in his cock cage Monday, all safe and secure.   Mistress would be heading off to the Big Apple for a two day business trip on Monday afternoon.

"I always feel better knowing that you're in that cage, Slave...."

But what was still unclear to me was how Mistress would spend her day before heading to the airport.  When I came upstairs for some bon voyage sex, Mistress reported that she'd been texting with K, aka, Mr. Perfect Cock, who was clearly anxious to see her.

"He offerred to bring over coffee this morning, Slave."

"And you said?"

"That my husband was home.... but that seemed not to bother him....he said he could say hi to you, then bring me coffee in bed."

"Sounds pretty appealing, Mistress..."

"It does.... but since I'm going away I figured it would be a little unfair to leave you high and dry."

See, she is a compassionate Mistress. And she had the full benefit of that tight steel ring around my cock and balls that produced a particularly hard and persistent work=a-day cock for our Monday morning leaving town sex.

When we were done, I slid the cage into place, and she snapped the lock closed.

"I'm going for a bike ride, Slave.... then getting dressed before K comes over for "lunch".  I'll let you know what happens."

As you might expect, I was on eggshells waiting for her account of her lunch meeting with K, which she ultimately agreed would be at our house.

At around 1 pm she called.

"So how was lunch, Mistress?"

"There wasn't a whole lot of eating, Slave.... he sort of attacked me when I opened the door."

Hmmm.

"You mean he kissed you...."

"He went kind of crazy, Slave.... I could feel that hard cock in seconds."

"Ahhh.... so what were you wearing, Mistress....."

"Actually, just that silky robe...."

My guess is that Mr. Perfect Cock figured the garb Mistress elected to greet him in gave a hint at what she might be open to, don't you think?

Mistress reported that they did it twice.... with a little cheese and crackers in between....in various positions.

"You know, me on top. him on top. From behind. Me on the side of the bed with him standing. He's into lots of positions."

"Impressive Mistress. And twice in two hours?"

"It's an advantage of that 43 year old cock, Slave.... but he is a  little  quirky ....I'm not sure whether we really connect at a particularly deep level".

"But there must be some appeal...."

"Yeah.... he's got that Abercrombie model thing going for him.... and sort of looks like Lance Armstrong. That's pretty hot. I guess I'm just kind of superficial, aren't I?"

But who's to judge.... why can't a smart and sexy woman fall for some eye candy every now and then? Guys sure do it.

Now Mistress is in her hotel suite in NYC, and we just signed off for the night.

"My parts are a little sore, Slave..... sex with you, bike ride, then sex with K.... I think I need some rest."

Poor Mistress. At least she'll have two nights of R & R before she returns to all her suitors in River City.

Unraveling the Conspiracy

Things were a little too busy here at the UCTMW World HQ yesterday.

Fortunately, there was time for some lengthy wake-up sex, that featured Slave applying Mistress's favorite power tools to her clean shaven folds for a couple of bead shaking cums before I claimed my carnal reward.

There was a bike ride in our sunny morning: summer had crept back for just two days, but the last of the fall leaves were still flame red.

Then Slave went to the Pussycats game, with our daughter, her Co-Ed friend, and, of all people, Jay, Mistress's former lover, who still is hanging about in our life, but no longer in the "FWB" capacity. Mistress has moved on.

Speaking of which, she's planning to work from home today for a while before heading off to the NYC area for a business event for two nights. I've been told to make sure I am "cage ready" this AM, and already have schmushed my balls and cock into the steel ring, which should provide Mistress with an extra hard cock for her entertainment in this AM's "bon voyage" sex, before I head to work.

Mistress did let it drop yesterday that she was considering "Mr. Perfect Cock's" (K) invitation for lunch today. (He works not far from our house). He's been wheedling his way back onto her radar screen, after she dumped him via text message about 9 days ago.  No doubt he's had a little trouble getting Mistress's body and sexual skills out of his naughty little mind.

Last night, as we drove home from a charity event at someone's house, she announced that he's now suggesting they "lunch" at our house. Gee, I wonder what he has in mind? Of course, Mistrss is no fool in such matters, but seemed a little ambivalent about what to do.

I suspect it may turn on just how horny she may be by around 11:00 am or so.  And I'll be sitting at my desk, all caged up, wondering what's going on.  Maybe we need one of those nanny cams?

But despite our busy schedule yesterday, I did have a little time to research the allegations of one of our commenters yesterday, who believes that General Petraeus had not resigned because of a sexual scandal involving a jealous "biographer", but really to continue the cover-up of the whole Benghazi affair, and protect the President's ass.

Hmmmm. Could it be?  I turned immediately to the best sources for unadulterated "news" with a blame Obama spin:  The (http://drudgereport.com/ ) Drudge Report to collect various conspiratorial perspectives and then add it all up (though math is so 20th Century).

There was this theory: Petraeus actually started the affair months ago in anticipation of an excuse not to tell Congress what he might know about some attack on a US Embassy to occur at some unknown date in the future.  But that seemed too simple. Why would a guy reported to be thinking about running for President as  a Republican throw himself and his reputation under the bus just to save a Kenyan Socialist who had wormed his way into the White House?

This "he did it so he wouldn't have to testify" theory also seems dubious when you consider that fact that Congress HAS THE POWER TO SUBPOENA a witness, whether or not he happens to run the CIA. So sooner or later, he'll ahve to testify anyway (unless he suddenly and mysteriously disappears - look out for that one!)

No, it had to be something deeper, and darker. And it all began to add up when I learned that the "other woman" in this dark tale was a State Department employee, 37 years old, who is a "military liaison" station in Tampa, Fl. 

With title like "liaison", with it's pseudo French affectations, I knew there was something sinister about her from the start. No wonder Paula Broadwell was suspicious. And who did she work for? Hillary Clinton, long rumored to be a closet Lesbian. One can only imagine those long nights of sultry sapphic indulgence in that tiny private cabin on the Secretary of State's airplane as it winged its way to Jakarta or Abu Dabi on yet another apology tour.

It was all becoming clearer: where were the "deciders" in the early morning hours of September 11, 2012 as our poor diplomats in Benghazi were calling for drones strikes and back-up under withering assault from those Al Queda affiliated terrorists?

In a CIA safe house in Georgetown, that  the sinister but oh-so buff Paula Broadwell had turned into a dungeon in which she could extract secrets and vital fluids from the most important men and women in Washington.  General Petraeus was locked in a metal dog cage, forced to watch as his "biographer" used a variety of floggers, cains and crops to force our "President", strapped naked to a St. Andrews' cross,  to reveal the nuclear trigger codes and the whereabouts of his actual birth certificate.

Seated on a throne nearby, and patiently awaiting her turn with the crop, was our Secretary of State, dressed in a black leather pants suit with a cut out to give full access to her clean shaven "lady bits". She who must be obeyed had a tight grip on the leash of her kneeling and collared liaison who was skillfully applying her tongue and lips to pleasure the world's most famous diplomat.

No wonder no one picked up that urgent 3 am phone call.

Back to Basics

Saturday was a nice chance for Mistress and Slave to catch our breath here at the UCTMW World HQ.

The election was over.

Mistress had no "extracurricular" activities scheduled.

"Maybe a breather is in order, Slave."

Our cute Co-Ed was home for the weekend, purportedly to catch the Pussycats game today against the reigning Super Bowl champs, but, more likely, just to hang out in her bedroom with her cats and catch her breath too.

There was your leisurely wake-up sex. Particularly nice, since Slave had been shut down the day before.

Then, after I spent time with my cute grandkids, and Mistress and our daughter had some "chick time" together, we hooked up again in the Executive Suite for a nap and some more sex. Mistress seemed to enjoy the opportunity to ride her cock. It may not be "perfect", but it seems to get the job done.

Last night, we just stayed home, with Slave watching his alma mater do a workman like job against Boston College to take the team to 10-0 and keep them in the "national title " conversation for another week. 

I'm sure Jay over at All Mine was a little disappointed. But the up-side for him is that he can now take it out on Suzanne's lovely ass. Our bet calls for her to absord some strokes from a wooden spoon for each point differential. The score was 21-6, so you do the math, dear readers. I think she's probably happy that the Irish had a couple of turn-overs which prevented them from running up the score!

Through the day,  did monitor the ongoing revelations about General P. and his "biographer."  It seems that the whole thing unraveled over threatening emails she sent to a yet to be named third party (a woman who reportedly is not a government employee), who asked the FBI to investigate this electronic "harassment". Those nasty-grams, presumably motivated by jealousy,  may or may not have been from the General's g-mail account, but, in any event, led the FBI to some apparently smutty and certainly embarrassing emails between the General and his sometimes  running companion.

Mistress raised an eyebrow when I reported this.

"She sounds like the crazy lady astronaut, driving across the country in diapers to ambush her married astronaut boyfriend's other girlfriend at the  Orlando airport." 

Oh yeah. What was her name? Another trivia question from the scandal machine.

What's the big deal about the CIA Director's private g-mail account, I had to ask myself.  Well, apparently the intelligence community frowns on the prospect that someone with the highest security clearance might be sloppy with his email passwords, even for a private account. Chinese hackers are always on the prowl for tidbits.

But the best story of the day was this one, that goes over some territory we covered here yesterday about how we seem so much more judgmental about the sexual pecadillos of our poo-bahs now than in the past.  Certainly its a whole lot easier to get caught when you leave electronic footprints. And with a virulent "alternative" media ready to pounce on any wiff of scandal, the "honor among thieves" bond between the traditional press and the exalted that protected the likes of FDR, Ike and JFK has broken down.

If the Times doesn't run a story, then Gawker surely will, so WTF. Let it rip.

What was nice about the Times story is that it tossed in a little more historic detail that even Slave had missed, going back to the indiscretions of Alexander Hamilton, who apparently issued the first "I showed poor judgment" statement in the young Republic's history:

Harding made illicit love in an Oval Office coat closet. As a senator from Texas, Lyndon Johnson commandeered a room in the Capitol for his meetings with women, said the presidential historian Robert Dallek. As president, he said, Mr. Johnson installed a buzzer to alert him when his wife, Lady Bird, threatened to interrupt one of his conquests.

Mrs. Coolidge was widely rumored to have running liaisons with Secret Service agents.

President Bill Clinton, of course, goes without saying.

Curiously, many scandals burst open in part because powerful men usually are rotten at picking mistresses.

Alexander Hamilton as secretary of the treasury began an affair with Maria Reynolds, who had pleaded for his help in fleeing an abusive husband. Hamilton went to her apartment to give her $30, but after being led to her bedroom, “it was quickly apparent that other than pecuniary compensation would be acceptable,” he later wrote.

Mrs. Reynolds was blackmailing him, and her husband extracted $1,000 by threatening to expose the affair. It eventually became public anyway, and Hamilton expressed bitter regret. It was, he wrote, “morally impossible I should have been foolish as well as depraved” for what he called “such insignificant ends.” 

Mrs. Coolidge and the Secret Service?  Now that would make for an interesting Masterpiece Theatre series. 

But you have to wonder: if Alexander Hamilton had simply said "it's none of your damned business", would the course of American history have been changed?

Scandal!

Yesterday America took a break from Super Storm recovery and Fiscal  Cliff Diving to focus on a story that really gets our juices flowing: The CIA Director's sudden fall from grace over an extra-marital affair.

One minute he's the former hot shot military commander turned chief spook, on everybody's short list for potential 2016 Presidential candidates. The next thing you know he's a sidebar on Entertainment tonight and the Daily Beast, with side by side photos of his frumpy wife and the hot young thing he's been dabbling with.

As a political geek, I was watching in real time as the White House press briefing was hijacked when the reporters PDA's suddenly lit up with stories of the Petraeus resignation. Press Secretary Jay Carney seemed a little dazed when the questions suddenly switched in mid badger from tax rates and Benghazi to extra marital hi-jincks at Langley.

Of course, we've been through this drill before. Nothing peeks the curiosity of the public like a little illicit sex in high office.  Mistress and I are no better than the rest of you. She found this intriguing John Stewart Interview with the mystery lady of the hour, who apparently was hiding in plain sight, as the author of a suck-up biography about her lover entitled "All In". Mistress giggled at the double entendre title. And Jon Stewart almost seemed to be in on the secret as he teased out stories from her about their sweaty desert runs together in Afghanistan. One can only imagine the shower scene that came next.

This chunk from a Washington Post story about the resignation provides plenty of fodder for the imagination:

David Petraeus resigns as CIA director

Video: David Petraeus has resigned as director of the CIA after admitting he had an extramarital affair.

Broadwell, who also is married, is a West Point graduate and a research associate at Harvard University. She is the co-author of “All In: The Education of General David Petraeus.” (The book’s co-author was Vernon Loeb, local editor at The Washington Post.)
In earlier interviews, Broad­well described meeting Petraeus in 2006 at Harvard, where she was working on a dissertation about leadership. She said they soon started e-mailing and discussing her research.

Gen. David Petraeus: The retired four-star Army general who commanded forces in Iraq and Afghanistan has resigned from the head of the CIA, citing an extramarital affair.

In the preface to the book, Broadwell said that after Obama picked Petraeus to lead U.S.
forces in Afghanistan in June 2010, he invited her to Kabul, and she decided to turn her dissertation into a biography. She made repeated trips to Afghanistan to spend time observing Petraeus.
In describing Petraeus in a CBS News interview two months ago, she said: “He, at the end of the day, is human and is challenged by the burdens of command. . . . So, he has this mask of command — you think he’s really confident — but I got to see a more personal side. He’s confident, but he’s also very compassionate about the loss of troops and sacrifices we’re making in Afghanistan.”

Ah, yes. She can see through that "mask of command". In fact, as a West Point grad who is clearly pretty buff, she has a whiff of Domme about her that maybe the General found appealing at the end of a long day giving orders to the grunts. And one can speculate how that email exchange evolved into an invitation to check out his bachelor barracks out in Kabul, half a world away from their respective spouses, where the whiff of danger from the possibility of a Taliban ambush can make even the most devoted husband or wife throw caution to the wind and surrender to the immediacy of the moment.

Actually, it all seems pretty natural, doesn't it?  Ike and Kay Sommersby, his loyal WAC jeep pilot,  apparently had something like this going on as he saved the world from Hitler during the Big One. Somehow that did not disqualify the simple soldier from Abilene from two terms at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

But we are a lot nosier and apparently more judgmental these days. And it seems that E-mail played a role in exposing this trsyt, forcing the General to offer his resignation when he knew the scandal was about to explode around him, like one of those suicide vests he was able to dodge in Kabul.

It's sad when the Washington scandal machine is more dangerous to an American soldier than the Taliban.

Should Obama have rejected the proferred resignation?  Who's to say.  But maybe by falling on his sword, gthe General  will turn what would have been months of speculation and judgmental tut-tutting into a few days of media hype before Paula Broadwell's name becomes a trivia question answer to go along with Monica Lewinsky, Jennifer Flowers and other "Bimbo erruptions" of the past. But she's a little different isn't she?  married to a Doctor, with two kids of her own, an author and West Point Grad. She's hardly your standard issue bimbo. But will the press and public notice the difference?

No doubt the former General will fade from public view for a few months, only to suddenly re-emerge  as an "expert" talking head on CNN or FOX the next time there is an international crisis, earning a few hundred grand in appearance and speaking fees. Wesley Clark will drop one rung on the "Former Generals" booking list for all those cable news producers out there desperate for content.

It all seems a little unfair. The approach of the French to such matters seems much healthier: why take away a talented man or woman from public life based on what happens in their bedrooms (or command tents)? 


 

Pride - and Asses - on the Line

Mistress is now off to that little College town up the road for her first sleep over with David, her 40 year old would be "Master".  He seemed very interested in getting Mistress into his clutches this evening, and she did not put up much of an argument.

Indeed, she went out of her way to slide into those peek-a-boo tights to make sure he had quick and easy access upon her arrival.

We drove to work together, and on the road home she let it drop that David had texted her making it clear he planned to use "all of her orifices".

"I made it clear that two orifices were available, but that #3 was off limits, at least for now, Slave."

"Let's see how long you can draw that line, Mistress...."

"Oh, Slave....."

She actually seemed to blush.  Cute.

Meanwhile, Mistress has been in re-negotiations with Mr. Perfect Cock, the Abercrombie Model "hunk" she had some compelling sex with last Friday afternoon here at the UCTMW World HQ. But she blew him off via text message after hearing about his strange and complicated relationship with a woman out west, and after he failed to make a prompt courtesy call (or message) after having an afternoon's all access pass to her lush body.

"It's a matter of manners, Mistress. A man does not have sex with a woman, particularly  for the first time, and not get back with a "thank you" note within at least two hours."

Mistress seemed to agree. And yet, surprisingly, she seems to have reopened the door for Mr. Perfect Cock.

"I told him maybe dinner sometime,  to talk ...."

"And he said....."

"He can't stop thinking about having sex with me...."

"Bummer for him, Mistress...."

We'll see how good a groveler this guy is, because it may take some serious groveling to get back into Mistress's clean shaven folds.

I'm not discounting his chances.

I did get in touch with Jay, over at All Mine today. Jay is tending to the blog while Suzanne and Tammy are off to Europe with a trunk of sex toys to keep Suzanne satisfied. (I'm still wondering if they were able to get through security at Logan without some serious TSA snickering at poor Tammy, who's bags were overstuffed with dildos, harnesses, etc.)

Jay and I went to the two Catholic Universities that will meet on the gridiron  Saturday night in Chestnut Hill for this year's version of  what some refer to as the "Holy War." I've been to one of those confrontations there, and was amazed at seeing so many white Irish Catholic types wearing ND shirts and BC hats.

 Lots of conflicting loyalties. Lots of flip sides of the same Celtic gene pool coin.

Those of us who suffered through four years in South Bend, Indiana like to think of BC as just another party school for folks who couldn't get into ND. Of course,  BC grads know it's a whole lot more fun to matriculate in Boston than in the rust belt,  where the biggest building in town is a dead factory that stopped making Studebakers at about the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Maybe it's that familiarity that stokes the contempt the two schools have for one another. That, and  the big upsets that killed two potential championship seasons for the Irish back in the day.

In any event. to make matters more interesting, Jay and I have negotiated a little bet over Saturday evening's game:

If the Irish win, he's volunteered Suzanne's lovely ass for a wooden spoon paddling.

If the Irish loose, than this humble Slave will be at the mercy of Mistress on Sunday, who will wield that wooden spoon.

The number of "smacks" will be based on the margin of defeat.

Obviously, Jay drove a hard bargain. But I admire his team spirit in refusing to take the spread, which currently favors my Irish.

I'm sure Suzanne will be proud of his negotiating skills as she counts off those wooden spoon splats on her ass when she finally finds her way home!

So Many Suitors. So Little Time.

The fog of uncertainty and tension that descended for several weeks because of the election here in the US is finally lifting  at the UCTMW World HQ. With one less thing to worry about, Mistress and Slave can, hopefully, settle back into a more regular routine involving sex, sex and a little more sex.

We already hit that our mark yesterday, with some "semi-exhausted but too horny not to do it" wake-up sex on only a few hours sleep. And last night, after an early departure from work, a bike ride, and a nap as Brian Williams droned with election post-mortems in the background, we found ourselves making slow and sensual love while speculating aloud about David's plans for Mistress tonight.

Originally the plan was for David to come down here to River City and join us for dinner. No doubt there would have been some "activity" upstairs, as Slave cooked up something appetizing downstairs.

But David had other ideas.

"He wants me to spend the night with him at his house Slave..... that way he doesn't have to worry about getting home to his dog while the night is still young."

See there's always a competing relationship.

So Mistress will be heading up the road this evening after work, leaving Slave to speculate about her further enthrallment to his 40 year old cock.

"It's good for you, Slave."

No doubt.

Then there's "Mr. Perfect cock".  I was going to write a "think piece" here on the issues that he and Nic share, which I believe may be derived from their common employer, a rather large international consumer goods company based in these parts.

But then he reappeared in Mistress's text inbox today, apparently trying to wheedle his way back into her (our) bed.

"He says he's never been dumped by text message, Slave."

"Oh, so that got his competitive juices flowing. Or did it just take him a few days to get horny again, after taking you three times last Friday afternoon?"

I think I have an attitude about this guy. Could it be that Abercrombie catalog model look that Mistress described.

"We went back and forth awhile during a boring meeting at work, Slave.  He was curious whether he was just a pawn in some game between 'you and your husband'" .

"And what if he is, Mistress... would that bother him? He might actually get off on it... you never know... sort of a double reverse cuckold."

Too much thinking here on too little sleep. I think I'd better just go back to bed with Mistress before it's too late.

Tony Bennett & Diana Krall, The Best Is Yet To Come - YouTube

 One of today's comments suggested that the election results will somehow cause America to plunge over some fiscal cliff. Like the President, Old Mick is a bit more optimistic.


Tony Bennett & Diana Krall, The Best Is Yet To Come - YouTube

A Festival of Democracy

Slave spent the last several days as I have the last few election cycles: working within an organization devoted to protecting the right to vote.

This year saw a particularly aggressive effort to make it harder to vote in our state and around the country.

The cynical math was that the fewer  folks who voted, the better the chances for the political establishment that wanted to turn back to an earlier (and less inclusive) time.  After a night like last night, the punditry is already proclaiming that what was unclear 48 hours ago was pre-destined. Inevitable.

Don't believe a word of it. It took a whole lot of work, as well as the determination of folks here and around the nation to wait in long lines in often hostile weather and conditions to make it happen. They would not be suppressed.

The satisfaction of fighting that fight successfully is pretty strong today here at the UCTMW World HQ. But we did rouse ourselves for some celebratory wake-up sex. And now its back to our "day" jobs. 

We'll get back to normal here after a good night's sleep tonight.  Until then, no matter who you voted for, we should all celebrate a country that can fight it out at the ballot box, and then, hopefully, move forward.

Mistress Spends her Sunday With David

Cougar Week may be  over, but there is at least one 'keeper' so far from Mistress's little experiment.  After our morning sexual rituals here at the UCTMW World HQ yesterday morning, Mistress got focused on primping for her "Command Performance" up in the little college town where our cute Co-Ed is matriculating.

"He says I'm to wear a skirt, Slave."

"No doubt he wants full access to those clean shaven folds, Mistress. And who can blame him?"

So as Slave read the election news with a high degree of angst, Mistress slid into her "surprise", the peek-a-boo tights that definitely provide an "all access pass" to the lucky guy de jour.

She even had me hook up the back of her sweet black corset.  What do you think og the package that David had the privilege of unwrapping yesterday:

Mistress was out the door by 9 am. Slave did some leaf raking, then headed off to watch Payton Manning dismantle my helpless pussycats.  It turned out  I was wise to avoid a bet with the WC with Mistress's lovely ass on the line.

During the game, Mistress texted that David had elected to take her to dinner after a full day of 'other' activity. 

"I'll be home in a few hours, slave."

After the game, Slave visited the local Board of Elections, where local voters, mostly African American, were waiting in a three hour line in the cold and dusk to vote early.  Their determination to be counted certainly was inspiring.

At home I fixed some dinner, and enjoyed the replay of my alma mater's unlikely OT victory on Saturday evening. At least one of my teams won over the weekend!

But nagging in the back of my  twisted mind was the image of Mistress in that sexy outfit, being fully exploited by her younger lover. I certainly was curious to know how things went.

She made it home safely at a little after 9 pm. And was surprisingly refreshed after her long day. She confirmed my suspicion. Amidst all the sex they had time to take a Sunday afternoon nap before dinner. A good choice, and a sign that the two of them must be meshing.

"Even his dog liked me, Slave."

Which says a lot, since Mistress would not be mistaken for a dog person.

"Did he like the peek-a-boo tights, Mistress."

"Oh yes.... and my ass too. He says I have the ass of a 19 yr. old cheerleader."

In summation, a good time was had by all. And Mistress collected a full photon torpedo spread of cums.

"I lost count Slave...."

(Though that did not prevent me from awarding her with one more cum via my anxious lips and tongue as she lay there in be next to me. She even slept in the peek-a-boo tights, to cater to my particular kink for them).

Before we drifted off to sleep, Mistress announced that David will be coming to dinner again on Thursday night.

Sounds like a keeper.

Another One Bites the Dust

We left you hanging here Friday afternoon with Slave heading home to see how Mistress did with her "nooner" engagement with K, the 43 year older who was a late contender for Mistress's Cougar Week play-offs.

On the drive home, Mistress let me know that the "coast was clear", so I did not have to worry about barging into anything that would make all of us blush. 

I found Mistress in bed, her laptop open, under the covers, dressed in one of her cute little nighties. She had that post-well - fucked look on her face.

"My body's sore, slave...."

The debriefing went as you might expect, if you were a 61 year old Slave / Cuckold coming home after your wife had spent a few hours in bed with a young(er) stud.

"He knows what he's doing Slave.... and he 'bounces back' quickly.... we did it three times betweem 1:30 and 4:00."

"Impressive, Mistress."

And he likes different positions.... from the side, from behind, me riding his cock."

"Sounds like you had a lot of orgasms, Mistress...."

"Oh, I did Slave...."


"But I detect a slight lack of enthrallment...."

"Well.... I have to say, he's a little strange...."

"How so, Mistress...."

"Well, kind of full of himself.... he actually said 'some women say I have the perfect cock'."

"Well was it perfect? 

"It was OK, Slave.... but nothing to marvel over."

"Glad to know the WC doesn't have to worry about that...."

"And his situation is pretty strange...."

Mistress went on to describe the fact that K, who is divorced, has what some might consider a bizarre relationship with a woman who lives out west.... they met on a yahoo chat page, and have had a three year relationship. But they've only actually been together three times.  But he says  she's planning to move in with him at the end of the school year, along with her child.

OK, maybe that's not so odd. But K, who had said he also wants a 'live' relationship here in River City, is rather tightly leashed by this woman.

"He says he can't go more than about 2 hours without 'checking in' with her.... so, if I spent the night at his house, he'd have to be able to talk to her for about an hour or more every night..."

"So he's got you there, but is probably having phone sex with her in another room?  Ewww....."

"Very Ewwww, Slave....."

"Had he told you about all this before...."

"There were wiffs of it Slave, but not all the details."

"So what made you overcome that initial reluctance, I mean some of his texts were pretty anal... like whether you could PDA in public, or go on weekend trips with him, even before you figured whether there was a spark?"

"I guess I fell for those superficial good looks, Slave. He has this Abercrombie model handsome thing going for him.... and making out with him on the park bench was kind of hot. But, truth be told, after the first time we had sex, I was ready for him the leave."

"But at least you got those extra cums for the 2nd and 3rd times, Mistress."

"True... but now my body hurts...."

Poor Mistress.

But yesterday she sent  K a brief text message which she read to me. The gist was that it was nice meeting him, but his situation was way too complicated, and she had no desire to get in the middle of his relationship with the lady from out west.

Good bye  Mr. Perfect Cock.

That leaves David and Matt.

Matt is the "nice guy", divorced, who has been dutifully texting Mistress this weekend from his trip with his two cute kids to the Smokies. They have another dinner scheduled Wednesday night. He's the tortoise in the race. But as Mistress says, maybe he needs a wife, not a lover.

And as it turns out David, the free spirit, texted Mistress early this morning, taking advantage of the time change.

He's "summoned" his "little slave" to come up to his town today even earlier than planned, and dictated that she wear a skirt.  She seems excited by these demands, and will surprise him with her "peek-a-boo" tights. It's cold out here this morning !

Fortunately, there was still some time for wake-up sex for her dutiful Slave.  But there is a downside.

"All these rendezvous are messing with my exercise schedule, Slave. But amazingly, I've lost 8 pounds in a week."

"Wow.  There could be a book in this: "The Mistress Molly Diet:  Cougar Your Way to a New You".

I'll get the editorial staff on it.

Mistress Has Another Brush With the Law

You could call this a bonus post, but then there have been so many things going on at the UCTMW World HQ that its hard to keep up with events.

First, there is the tampering with our "valuable" personnel assets by our friendly competitors over at All Mine. Sure, Suzanne, we appreciate your generous promotion of our blog. But all this fawning over the WC's once every few months posting about the come on he's getting from that disgruntled horny housewife at his gym who works out sans undies was a little over the top. Miguel throws in some quotation marks and suddenly he's James Joyce?  This is more sucking up than Jay's Trophy Cock gets most weekdays.  I'm a little concerned that you are trying to get the WC to jump ship, despite the stringent terms of his ironclad non-compete.  At least let's work a trade. Maybe Sherry would like to spend some time over here at UCTMW?

But what has gotten me on the laptop before heading home this evening has more to do with Mistress's date last night with K.  They met at a local restaurant, a few miles from our house, in a rustic old neighborhood along some old railroad tracks.  The restaurant sits on a quiet little square, which is where Mistress had her little brush with the law last night.

When I signed off last night entry here, all I knew was that Mistress's date appeared to exceed the diminished expectations she had beforehand.  What was supposed to be dinner at 8 pm had lasted until around 11 pm.

Shortly after Jon Stewart came on, I did get a text saying she'd "be home soon."

And sure enough, she was home by around 11:30 pm, a wicked smile on her face.

"That was a surprise, Slave.... he may be the best one yet.  Much nicer in person than on the phone. And very sexual."

"Hmmm.... How could you tell?"

Well after dinner, he walked me to the car, but we decided to sit for a while on the park bench there on the square. It was dark... no one was around.... so we started to make out."

"And how did that go, Mistress..."

In the meantime Slave is being reminded that his cage is still locked tight. But this sex talk is making it suddenly much, much tighter.

"Nice Slave.... he's a very good kisser...."

She's taking off her dress now....

"How about unlocking the cage, Mistress?"

"We'll get there Slave.... let me wash my face first."

Ouch.

"But just as things were getting hot.... well a cop pulled up.... asked what we were doing there, and reminded us that 'loitering' was prohibited."

"I guess you're lucky he didn't run you in.... it might have been a little embarrassing to K if I had to bail you both out."

Ultimately, Mistress did unlock me. And it was obvious there was a little undischarged sexual energy that needed to be dealt with by her Slave's devoted lips and tongue. And by the time that was done, well, Slave's work-a-day cock was eager to get into the action. As we fucked, I did a little more debriefing.

"He was playing with my breasts Slave.... through my top.... and he slid his hand between my legs... my regular tights were on.... but it was nice...."

"Did you come, Mistress...."

"No.... I didn't want him to think I was TOO easy....."

"And what about your hands Mistress. Did they wander?"

"Did I feel his cock you mean? Why yes I did, Slave...."

"And?'

"Hard Slave..... and he seems very well endowed...."

I guess it was good that the Cops asked them to "move on". Who knows where things would have gone.

"So is there a return engagement scheduled Mistress?"

"Why yes... we compared schedules and we're both taking the afternoon off tomorrow. meeting right here at 1 pm.... So I guess you and I will be driving separately."

Mistress thought it should be a cage day. But since I had a meeting in a building with a metal detector, Slave got off the hook today. Good thing too, since sitting in a boring meeting contemplating my wife in bed with her new lover might have been especially painful.

She did call me on her way home, around 12:15 pm.  "Is it bad that I'm doing this with the 2nd guy this week, Slave?"

"Three if you count me, Mistress.... and its in within four days come to think of it."

"It's good you're keeping track."

Well I've killed enough time at the office. It's almost 5:30. I warned her I'd be home around 6 pm.  What I don't know is whether K will be there when I get home.

Could be interesting.