Malled

Poor Mistress.

Due to some problems with her relatively new laptop, she had to spend way too many hours at the local mall over the weekend at the Apple Store. Our whole family has been hooked on Apple for many years. I can't even count how many table and lap-top computers we've bought over the years. Then there are the I-pods, and I-phones. Our kids seem to go through those all too quickly, so Mistress has gotten used to working the system at the Apple Store to fix and (often) replace products on the fritz.

Somehow she talked the folks at the Apple Store over the weekend to replace her 3 month old laptop with a new one because the spacer key was not working. Of course, that also required moving all her "stuff" from her "old" computer to the brand new one.

And that doesn't happen instantaneously.... so last evening Mistress and Slave had to go back to the Apple Store one more time to pick up that new computer with all of the important stuff (you know, pictures of the WC's special occasion cock) moved onto it. 

Now Slave does not do well in Malls.  They may be the one place that clearly raises my blood pressure. And this Mall is a real monster. There were the people lined up to force feed at the Cheese Cake Factory (is there any less appealing name for a restaurant?) the packed parking lot (why are folks packing a mall two weeks after Christmas?) and all the usual suspect merchandisers (do people still buy stuff at Eddie Bauer).

And the Apple Store was absolute chaos. Didn't those places used to have a soothing Jobsian feel to them. Cool people looking at cool stuff with cool helpful (if geeky) staff to help you?

Now the place is filled to the rafters with cranky consumers, arrogant staffers specializing in putting you off, all attached to an I-pad to explain you are too early or too late for your appointment.

It was driving me crazy. So I adjourned to the "Mall-way" with my Times and let Mistress struggle with the Apple-acracy.

Mistress was not pleased, either about my disappearing act or my sarcasm.

"I'm a little tired of your grousing, Slave."

Nonetheless, Mistress was pretty indulgent when we got home. We deferred dinner to allow for some worship, and then some robust end of the day sex in the Executive Suite. Of course, Mistress kept those special peek-a-boo tights on, which presses some buttons for me.

But it became clear that a punishment is coming.

"I'm glad we have that riding crop in our  Mountain Hideaway, Slave....  because it's going to be put to good use...."

Oops.

Wager Redoux?

Mistress and Slave were sitting around the house last evening at around 8 pm. She'd been working way too hard all day, on an emergency project for work. Slave had done some work too, painting our basement to cover up some ugly wall colors from the prior regime.

Mistress was bone tired, but I asked her indulgence to watch the end of the Steelers vs. Broncos game, which had suddenly become much closer. Around these parts, the dreaded "Stillers" have well earned, if begrudging respect.   So the fact that they were finally taking the bloom off the Broncos early lead was no big surprise in my living room. And as the game headed into overtime, with momentum belonging to the lads from Pittsburgh, it seemed inevitable that the ending would be "same old, same old", with the Steelers smugly advancing.

To induce Mistress to stick around until the bitter end, I even fell to my knees during a commercial break to lavish Mistress's clean shaven folds with the attention they surely deserved after so many hours in front of a computer monitor.

But as what could have been a lengthy and tedious overtime began, Mistress announced she was heading up to the Executive Suite, and expected me to join her promptly.

What happened next?   On the very first play of OT, the Steel Curtain defense suddenly parted, not unlike that biblical sea as Tim "The 2nd Coming" Tebow stepped back to pass. And the receiver he found wide open down field sprinted into the end zone, to end the game and set up a date in New England with the All Mine home team.

Of course, I knew our Western Correspondent would be following the game - either in person, or in the lavish media room he had built with his company AmEX card at the plush UCTMW Mountain Zone HQ.

And suddenly I realized that the wager we had left in the dust the day before, was resurrected, but with a different team carrying the UCTMW banner.  With the WC's involvement, couldn't the UCTMW staff bet the farm -- or at least something amusing - on the outcome of Saturday night's game with our counterparts at All Mine?

In a series of text messages, the WC encouraged us to go for it. "I think Molly wants to lose that bet anyway.... and I know you'd love to take orders from Suzanne for a weekend."

Is that the sort of trash talk you want to share when setting up a Mega-Wager?  Where's your testosterone, WC?  Don't you think Jesus will come through again for your beloved Donkeys? And aren't you willing to put a little personal skin in the game? At least an orifice?

So are the folks at All Mine  willing to consider a wager that involves not a game between the bad luck Bengals, who were sure to lose against the mighty Patriots, but a game against the Tebows, who seem to have the Lord's terrible swift sword in their offensive arsenal when things get tight?

Game on, Suzanne?  Or do you need to pray on it?

Bungled

Well, friends, those of you who were following the NFL play-off games yesterday now know why Slave was looking ahead. I wanted to blog about the possible stakes if our local pussycats made it to the 2nd round against All Mine's team before my chance dissipated.  As a long suffering student of local football lore, I had a feeling that yesterday morning would be my last chance to  toss out the prospects of our provocative bet, and get everyone's anticipatory juices flowing.  And sure enough, all is now moot: our team played a feisty game through 28 minutes of the first half, but then gave up a costly interception for a TD, that turned out to be the winning points of the game.

So the folks at ALL Mine don't have to worry about the delicate task of deciding which of our offers to accept, or come up with terms even more salacious as an alternative.

Mistress does not follow football with much interest. But as we sat with some friends watching the 2nd half yesterday, she seemed unusually curious about the outcome. Whatever smutty fantasies she was having about a possible close encounter with Jay's TC were receding before her, sort of like the American Dream at the end of the "Great Gatsby".  Ah, well, Mistress..... there's always next year.

And the bad news for Suzanne, Jay and Tammy is that the Patriots may now have a far more formidable opponent to face next Saturday night.... Though I suppose there is a slight possibility that our Western Correspondent's favorite team, (AKA Jesus's Team) may face the lads from New England at some point in these playoffs. Maybe we can somehow involve him in a wager with Suzanne?  If so I suggest that Big Blackie play a prominent role.

In focusing on yesterday's potential Wager, I skipped over a rather bizarre incident here on Friday morning.  Mistress had an early morning, 7:30 am  breakfast meeting at a little restaurant just a few blocks away in our antiseptic little community.  She was typically costumed for work - black dress, those special black  tights, and black boots too. I  kissed her goodbye, with plans to pick her up in an hour for our commute to work.

But barely 5 minutes later, as I was frying some eggs for a little breakfast of my own, the phone rang:

"Slave.... you need to come down here now.... I've been detained by the Police..... for jaywalking...."

Arggh.    I knew I shouldn't have given Mistress that sudaphed to help cure some sniffles.It ahd clearly given her a little extra "edge".

Turning off the stove, I grabbed a jacket, and jumped in the car for the short drive to the "crime scene".  Sadly, when I arrived there was no yellow tape, but there were two police cars with blue lights flashing, slowing traffic as drivers rubbernecked to see what was up so early in our normally tranquil little town.

Mistress was in a rather heated discussion with a Sergeant who had been called to provide "back-up", apparently because Mistress had become a little pissy when she was told she had to  stand on the sidewalk, or she would be taken into custody, rather than step inside the adjoining restaurant for her breakfast meeting.

I think what annoyed Mistress the most was  that the rather large and bullyish officer who had stopped her had demanded to know "what her business was" in the neighborhood, when in fact she had grown up here. I mean, should you have to explain why you are stepping into a restaurant at breakfast time?

In any event, I urged Mistress to exercise her right to remain silent, and tried to engage the Sergeant in a little snappy patter, as the apprehending officer took about 15 minutes to confirm that Mistress was not a fugitive from justice or an illegal immigrant, before issuing her the jaywalking citation.  And after she was released, the crowd inside the restaurant gave her a round of applause for surviving this display of overwhelming force by our local Keystone Kops.

All of this was a little disturbing at the time. Plus my eggs were getting cold.

But afterwards we did have a bit of a chuckle. 

"Mistress, you came close to getting taken into custody.... and before they slipped you into the holding cell, they probably would have gotten a matron to do a full body cavity search....."

"You don't think they would have done that, do you, Slave?"

"Absolutely..... but at least it would have been convenient to do the search.... after all, you had your peek-a-boo tights on."

I think from now on Mistress will think about what she's wearing before she walks against a  "Don't Walk" signal.

The Wager

As those who follow our blog and All Mine know, a potential confrontation is brewing in the NFL Playoffs: our local pussycats will play the All Mine crew's favorite team, the New England Patsies, if (and it's a big if) our team can beat the Houston Texans this afternoon.

Of course, any NFL player has been brainwashed to say you must take "one game at a time". It's absolute heresy to be publicly acknowledging that there may be another  game on the horizon that could be a whole lot more interesting. But then again, this Irishman would never have cut it as an NFL player anyway..... and if we don't write this  blog today, well...... it could be years before we can discuss some comparable wager with our friendly competitors in sex blogland.

Last night, after Mistress rode my cock to several rather dramatic cums, we walked down to our local watering hole. On the way, I brought up the topic of the wager.

"We could go vanilla, Mistress.... wager them a week at our Mountain hideaway against a week at Suzanne's New England lake house."

"That would be nice, Slave.... but a little out of character, don't you think?"

"I suppose so....way too bland for a sex blog.... How about this....if our pussycats win, you get to ride the trophy cock?"

Mistress always seems to derive her best cums in the female superior position.... doing it with Jay's legendary Trophy cock would certainly make her toes curl.

"Ahhhh..... now you're talking, Slave.... but only if Suzanne is cool with it."

"Of course, it;s up to her to agree to the terms..... but what if the pussycats lose.... what would they get?"

We tossed this one around a bit. A bet that Jay would get to take Mistress in any way he saw fit would be a little too "tails Mistress win, heads she wins too", wouldn't it?  Plus what would Suzanne or Tammy get out of such a wager?

"How about this Mistress.... we go visit them and act as their Subs for the weekend.... Suzanne keeps alluding to her hankering  for a female sub.... and maybe Tammy could use a couple of days relief from the household chores...."

"Ahhh..... that sounds reasonable Slave.... as  long as you don't have to wear any diapers.... I'm really not into that....."

So there you go.... that's our proposal Suzanne, Jay and Tammy.... let's see who wins this afternoon's game, and then let us know what terms you would prefer.. I'm not too worried about spending a weekend washing Suzanne and Tammy's lingerie while Mistress takes on more intimate duties.... at least not yet.