Peek-a-Boo Tights Meet Leather Seats

Mistress had several places to be yesterday morning, so we drove to work separately. At around 9 am she called me, after leaving the dentist, and on the way to a breakfast meeting.

"Slave.... I'm wearing this skirt today with the big slits...." (It's black, of course, and has several long flaps that look quite modest as she walks around but can separate when she sits).

"Yes,,,, you look nice in it, Mistress."

"Well when I sit on these leather seats, those pleats part, and my "parts" rub up against the leather seat with these peek-a-boo tights on..."

"How's that feel, Mistress?"

"It's a little.....ummmm.... sexy, Slave....."

"Makes you horny?"

"Makes me think about sex, Slave...."

"Oh, poor you...."

After work we met up at a local captain of industry's home, for a reception for a state wide official that Mistress met several years ago. She's a charming woman, and she and Mistress shared a private lunch together back in 2010 before she was quite well known.

Of course, sometimes political poo-bahs easily forget the folks they met along the way. But this woman immediately recognized Mistress, giving her an affectionate hug.

The lady looked at me and shared words of wisdom.

"Mick.... you must have a wild and crazy life with this beautiful lady....."

We shared a knowing look.

"I couldn't agree with you more", I said.

"If  you only knew....", Mistress added.

Afterwords we got home,   I made sure that the first order of business was to relieve Mistress of all that undischarged sexual tension that built up from her clean shaven folds sliding to and fro across those soft leather seats.

"You must have suffered terribly today, Mistress...."

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.