Cyber Security Breach

Mistress and slave had a pretty laid back weekend here in River City. We had plenty of sex - two a day Saturday, and the deployment of Mistress's favorite power tool Sunday morning as a special sexual condiment.

Mistress indulged her slave on Saturday night.

Rather than a night on the town, Mistress allowed her slave to stay home and watch his alma mater take on the college basketball equivalent of the DeathStar. Sadly, my team sputtered out in the final seconds, succumbing to the superior height and athletic skills of "student athletes" who will be headed to the NBA rather than calculus class once the tournament ends. The consolation prize for my guys is that they will at least end up with college degrees. 

Our idyllic weekend ran into a wrinkle Sunday afternoon, when Mistress's mother - the Dowager Domme - mentioned in a phone call that she was "getting your emails".

Huh?

She even quoted a few emails between Mistress and her sister, and another friend, which contained some not un-typical grumbling about the Dowager Domme's indulgent shopping habits and sometimes authoritarian familial management style.

Mistress immediately wondered who else was getting her emails, which involve both her business and (very) personal stuff.

As the UCTMW Chief Technology Officer, I immediately went into trouble shooting mode.

"What device was she using?"

"Her Apple laptop...."

'Where is she accessing your emails on her computer...."

"She says there is a little icon on her screen, and when she clicks on it my emails show up....."

"Hmmmm..... Have you ever used her computer to log into your emails account?"

"....Oh Shit....yes..... at her office once. She needed me to check on something....so I used her computer...."

I suggested that Mistress tell her nosy Mom to slide said icon into her trash, and then delete her trash.

She said she would.  But .... would she really do it, or keep her "back door" open into her daughter's world?

And what else might she have seen?

Thus began Mistress's damage control phase of this operation.

First she checked to see if any of those smutty emails between her and an MD who works with her Mother were still in her account.

"Thank God, slave. I must have deleted those."

"Good. But what about the WC? Or your other lovers?"

She went back to her account. Sure enough lots of smutty exchanges between her and the WC from a few years back. She clicked on one. A photo of a certain cock in its cage pops up....I didn't bother to ask why Mistress was sharing my caged cock with the WC.....Oops.  Did Dowager Domme nose her way into that? Or to those photos of Mistress clean shaven folds and special occasion cocks that she and the WC were known to exchange, back in the days of their cyber taunts and teasing?

"Let's hope she wasn't that curious, Mistress....."

Her CTO quickly suggested another remedy.

"Let's change your password..... then even if she doesn't delete her back door, she won't be able to pry it open again....

After some more scrambling, we successfully altered the keys to Mistress's secret stash of cock shots de jour.

In the meantime, Mistress was contemplating whether to tell her sister that the Dowager Domme was now privy to their sibling grumblings. And Slave was wondering whether to send a letter to some advice columnist about what you do when your Mother-in-law snoops into your wife's email account.

For once, Mistress was feeling a little sisterhood with Hillary Clinton.

"Maybe you need your own private server like her and Bill, Mistress."

In my day, all I had to worry about was whether my mom was picking up the phone and listening to my romantic discourse with a home town honey.

Now you have to worry about Mom hijacking your email account?

Where will it end?

Biding our Time

Mistress and Slave have had about enough of our spring-breaker here at our Mountain Hideaway. We find that after about four days of feeding and entertaining her, and listening to her rants about a variety of things that annoy her.... from visa requirements, to drones, to bad skiers, to the local bars that are reluctant to serve a 19 year old.... well, we are more than ready to send her back to campus.

Not that we've been unable to squeeze in some pleasure.... we've kept to a pretty steady two-a-day schedule even with her here, but one has to keep down the noise and listen to her complain about how all we do is "sleep".

Well a late after noon, apres ski "nap" makes good sense doesn't it?

In the meantime, I suspect Mistress has been saving up reasons to give her Slave a cropping, and I was happy to realize that we should get back from dropping our little bundle of whines off at the airport in time for a proper switch day on Sunday!

The sad news is that Mistress's fantasy Mountain Man has bid adieu to our parts and is now on his way to Katmandu for the Everest Climbing Season.  Suzanne suggested that Mistress tag along, but the price tag quoted for the tour he is guiding is $60,000 a pop. But that does include 70 days "lodging" in a tent at altitudes above 18,000 feet, and all the Yak steaks you can eat.

"I bet they have groupies at base camp, Mistress...."

"I'm sure they do, Slave."

Maybe she could sign on as a "service provider".

Fortunately for me, Mistress has not yet booked her flight, and we still have a week to go out here before skulking back to River City to discover whether we still have jobs. And while the weather has been rather cold so far (though not as snowy as that Soccer Match last night up in the WC's hometown), we look forward to a warming spell so Mistress can work on that "no tan lines" tan on our deck.

Finally, I want to apologize to Suzanne for her unfortunate selection fo my alma mater on her NCAA Men's bracket. You should have asked, Suzanne! Those lads are firmly entrenched in the "One and Done" column. Overly Pampered Pussies is what I was calling them last night when I exposed myself to about 15 minutes of their  sad N(o )D(efense) performance.

Now the ladies team? That's a different story. They are the Dommes on that campus. The "men's" team should be required to launder their undies and fill any other personal needs they may have during their tourney run, all the way to the Final Four.