True to our high falutin' literary ambitions here, the title of today's blog has a double meaning.
Here in our Mountain Hideaway, it was Mistress showing no mercy to her devoted Slave.
When the sun sank a bit more, Mistress declared it time for a short nap, and beckoned her Slave in to bed to keep her warm. That's an assignment that I was happy to perform.
But first, there was an assignment.
"Put my supplies by the side of the bed, Slave.... so, they're easy to reach when nap time is over."
I assembled her strap on kit, and of course the lubricant.
"Now don't forget the riding crop, Slave.... you know you have that punishment coming."
I found her crop too, but I must admit I was hoping that Mistress had forgotten my little transgression --- the embarrassing incident where I asked the ski patrol dude how Mistress could find Dave -------, the object of her smutty fantasies, up on the mountain this weekend.
We napped huddled close together, and then, just as the sun was setting, we both woke. Mistress had business on her mind.
"Hand me the crop, Slave....."
To stave off what seemed to be the inevitible, I tried a little distraction ploy, suggesting we first take in the sunset. The dying sun was blazing in front of our house, a tiny bright wedge was all that was left on the Western horizon.
But those last intense rays sliced through our living room window and, as if by conscious design, illuminated in bright bold red light a folk art painting of the Virgin Mother and her Son, hanging on our wall. (Out here they call such things "Santos" or "Retalbos"). I thought the timing of this little "miracle" could be useful.
"Look at that Mistress, .... that has to be a sign that the baby Jesus wants you to spare my aging ass! After all, you may have to spank it again tomorrow if the Broncos can't cover the spread!"
"That has to be the most pathetic scam to avoid a well deserved punishment I've heard yet, Slave."
You can't blame a Slave for trying, can you?
No, Mistress had no mercy.
Not unlike the alpenglow that setting sun left on the mountains behind our adobe cottage, I can still feel the 'afterglow" of the blows that rained down on my tender tush at sunset last night. Fortunately, after she had taken my not so virgin ass with her strap on, I was allowed to take my own satisfaction from those welcoming clean shaven folds. Maybe that was the Mercy I was looking for from Mistress, who always seems to know what's good for her Slave.
Of course, the other example of "No Mercy" came last night in Foxboro, Mass., where All Mine's Team put a big hurt on Tim Tebow and his over-matched apostles. As the ESPN headline put it this morning, "Brady's 6 TD's, Pats, Bury Tebow." And with Tebow's cold crucified corpse went the collective asses of the UCTMW management team -- well at least the WC, Slave and Mistress. Bill, feel free to add Donna into the mix if she wants to "feel our pain" in a team building exercise.
We've all had fun with Tim Tebow attributing his victories to his devotion to Jesus. I was even hoping that the sunset illumination of Jesus and his Mom here last evening, just before game time, was an encouraging portent.
But apparently Jesus took the sabbath off last night. Either that, or Mitt Romney got the Angel Moroni to intervene and balance divine influences on behalf of his local team. Combine last night's "burial" with the Saints loss to the team from "Sodom on the Bay", and the Christian right will have a few more talking points to add to their "War on Religion" whine.
But with Tebow sent to the grave, at least until the Broncos roll away his stone in the fall, maybe we need to find another story line for the balance of the NFL payoffs. (One thing I won't do is hype another bet with Suzanne. She drives a very hard bargain, not unlike her utilization of Big Blackie on Tammy).
And after taking a look at the Pats Coach on the sideline last night it came to me: Bill Bellichek is one of two evil geniuses separated at birth. See what I mean: