The spy who came into the Pavilion. Final part.

   Please help keep our

blog alive.

From only $3 a month

https://www.patreon.com/AndyLatex

Hi Everyone

  Hope you are all  well,

 This is a rather small Wednesday round up, life has made my time short at the moment, but that will not stop us from enjoying the final part of Mistress LeatherBeths complex and delightful story.

  However below, you will find just a few little pics, to enjoy as dessert.

 Big Big hugs

XXX

Andy

The spy who came into the Pavilion

By Mistress LeatherBeth

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

George and Matt had a swift chat, but they had to agree that, within their understanding of the laws, Chris Mills had, for once, done nothing wrong. They agreed that there was nothing to stop a player from leaving the ground for a period and then returning. However, over in the scorers’ box, Robert Snell cursed under his breath, as he had to amend the ‘absent’ entry in the scorebook.

However, Chris Mills’s return had no real positive effect on Derrington’s performance. Lacklustre was a word which sprang to mind. They put together a few useful partnerships but then, each time they seemed to be getting their act together, Chris would hand out some scathing rebuke to his partner, who would then take a wild swing at a ball from Will and be dismissed one way or another.

Yevgeny regained consciousness for the third time that day, meaning that, for the third time, nobody had killed him. Judging by the proximity of his knees to his chin, he was in a child’s chair. He was gagged, blindfolded and he couldn’t move. Of course he couldn’t move. Polly Evans’ ability to tie wasn’t restricted 

to shibari rope and, if she’d still been there, she would no doubt have recommended that he just have fun wriggling. Polly was firmly of the opinion that unsuccessful wriggling was one of the great pleasures in life.  

But for Yevgeny, all that he could think about at that moment was the pain in his foot and the ache in his head. (And still no vodka).               

Suddenly he felt a slight draught. The storeroom door must have opened. He made a few perfunctory grunts, just to let the newcomer know how unhappy a bunny he was with the way that he’d been treated, but then the gag was ripped away and he immediately smelt a sweet, sickly odour, quickly followed by a pad of slightly damp material being placed over his mouth and nose.               

“Oh, no,” he thought, “Oh no, not again. By the holy, blessed and sanctified shoelaces of Saint Theodore the Partially Sighted, not agai...”               

The fourth time Yevgeny came round, later that evening, he was in the driving seat of the Civic on the edge of the village, with a full tank of fuel and with several service station pasties and bottles of water on the passenger seat, together with a large brown paper envelope of mixed currencies. By the following evening he was over five thousand miles away, and it was Not Due East.

With Will tying up one end it was now time for Budgie to wreak havoc from the other. Chloe’s off cutters had provided him with a useful break (indeed, she’d picked up a wicket), but the first two balls of Budgie’s second spell had had the batsman floundering as the ball swung in just before pitching, then straightened. The batsman, attempting to protect his off stump, was a whisker away from getting an outside edge.

Of course, Budgie was just setting up the three card trick. The third ball of the over pitched a little wider. The batsman took a wild swing, made a thin contact, and JoJo collected a tumbling catch in front of Kat at first slip. High fives all round though, at the non striker’s end, Chris Mills had the face of a camel with a secret sorrow.

One of the youngsters was next in, looking as though the Headmaster had sent for him for the third time that week. He gave Chris a barely concealed look of loathing as he passed him, and took a guard of middle and leg before surveying the field prior to settling into his stance.

Budgie began his run up with a couple of bouncing steps before steaming in. The ball speared in directly on off stump, and the poor boy heard his stumps behind him shatter whilst still in mid back lift.

‘Трахни меня, это был яффо’ (‘Fuck me, that was a jaffa’), thought Olga, who had retired to the Audi to enjoy the remainder of this fascinating game.

The departing glance directed at Chris was, if anything, even more baleful.

The dismissed batsman, 16yo Simeon Petrie, reached the bottom of the Pavilion steps, and slowly, very slowly, trudged upwards. In truth, he was dragging his feet so that he could stare at Jane and Kerry for as 

long as possible. Such soft, tight leather, such smooth, shiny vinyl, such awe inspiring heels. In years to come he would look back on this day as the beginning of his fascination with, and his devotion to, smooth, slick and shiny ladies (of all genders).

Gareth ‘Spike’ Milligan came out to face the hat trick ball. He had also noticed Jane, but it was her highly inventive sledging which drew his attention. For such a refined looking (and very attractive) lady, she had a very imaginative phraseology and a spicy vocabulary. At the prospect of a hat trick, however, Budgie,  seemed totally unperturbed. He made his way purposefully back to his mark, turned, took a couple of deep breaths, and set off. A couple of paces out, just before his delivery stride, he drifted out towards the return crease. Spike had left an open gate, just begging to be attacked. The ball pitched on a full length and straightened, but didn’t crash through the gate. Spike barely got his bat across in time, but only succeeded in feathering a catch into the slips. Throwing herself instinctively low to her left, Kat took a diving catch, giving Budgie a spectacular hat trick and almost bringing Jane to the point of throwing her legs around Mayfield’s waist and punching the air but, for better or worse, she just managed to restrain herself.

With six overs left Derrington had stumbled to 198 for 9, with Chris Mills on 37 and young Xander Craig on 3. 60 runs required in 6 overs, with one wicket standing.

“Boy! Come here!” said Chris, ever the charmer. Xander, obviously a bag of nerves, met him halfway down the pitch. “OK,” said Chris, “this is what we’re going to do. People have been giving this poncy, twirly about bollocks leg spin too much respect. I’m going to put it into orbit, knock it out of the attack and bring us in striking distance for the last couple of overs. And you, sunshine, are going to keep out of the way and do exactly as I tell you. Capiche?”

Xander, shell shocked by the Mills onslaught, just nodded and scampered back to the non striker’s end.

And Chris Mills did, indeed, have a little success, taking a couple of fours out of Will’s first four balls. In truth, though, Will was toying with him. For his next delivery, Will unveiled his googly. It had a little bit more air under it, but dipped late in its trajectory, pitched in Rufus’ foothold, reared and spun viciously to leg. Chris’ stroke was transformed into a wild swing, making contact with the ball near the leading edge of the bat and flying off in the direction of deep square leg, where it would surely earn him a six.

But wait. What’s this? A figure streaking round the boundary from deep mid on. As the ball passed its apogee and began its descent, the slim figure took a longer stride and then leapt, right arm outstretched. Fingertips flicked the ball upwards, back towards the field of play, preventing it from crossing the boundary. The figure did a tight forward roll upon hitting the ground, but he had kept the ball in vision, and got a left hand under it just a few centimetres above the turf. Andy had pulled off an absolutely stunning catch.

Mayfield’s blush would have been a sight to behold as, this time, Jane totally failed to control herself. Rather, she threw herself at him, wrapped her legs around his waist, dragged his face into her cleavage with her left arm while punching the air with her right and squawking, yes squawking, “Andy, you little beauty!”

Mills c sub b Will 45

Derrington 206 all out, defeated by 51 runs.

Given that the game against their deadliest rivals had been the primary topic of conversation in the village for weeks (along with the Extravaganza), the Rec was packed, and it now erupted. Josie Attlee, exhibiting all the beneficial after effects of a session as Cottontail, had started a small but boisterous conga over by the Grange paddock wall; Lois Watkins allowed her mind to stray from profit margins and delivery schedules for long enough to give Izzy a big hug; and Carmel was plainly moved by JoJo’s contribution and, especially, the extent of his acceptance; and, indeed, the entire village was en fête.

Jane spotted Andy and Will enjoying an intimate moment over near where Andy had taken his catch, and she strode over to congratulate them. However, they saw her coming, whereupon Andy winked, and then leapt, wrapping his legs around Will’s waist and snogging his face off. Happily, Jane was in an exuberant mood, and all three laughed at the joke before Will and Andy set off to the Pavilion to change.

“Budgie, mate, a hat trick! I’ve never seen one in the flesh before. That was brilliant,” cried Kat, giving him a big hug as the team got back to the dressing room. “But why have you never told us before?”

“Oh, tha knaws how ‘tis. Nobdy wants t’ brag,” he said, almost sheepishly.              

“OK,” said Stuart, “I’m still confused. Where’s the real Budgie? What have you done with him?”              

Budgie was still acting shy, so Kat explained. “Budgie told me earlier about a relative of his, whom he used to practice bowling with, and who got quite good at it. Budgie reckoned he could do a fair impersonation.”

“And this relative is…?” asked Roger.

“His cousin Jimmy.” There was a pause of a couple of seconds and then, one by one, pennies dropped.              

“Jimmy? Not Jimmy Anderson? Really?”               

“The very same,” said Kat. “The one and only, the almighty, the world record holding Burnley Express himself, James Michael Anderson, is Budgie’s cousin.”               

“Nay, stop marlockin’,” said Budgie, as several of the team knelt before him and bowed, chanting, “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”

“What a splendid afternoon it’s been,” thought Mayfield, as he surveyed the victory celebrations from the seat at the front of the Pavilion, to which he’d returned. A true team effort, village cricket at its very best. And a true community effort, virtually the entire village coming together, even if some of them had exhibited rather esoteric tastes the evening before.

He glanced round as a bright red Audi slowly moved towards the exit, at the far side of the Pavilion. The driver was waving to him, that charming lady whose full name he hadn’t quite been able to catch. Olga something or other? She was a friend of George Cooper, apparently and she’d told him, with a perfectly straight face, that he, Mayfield Green, was almost the doppelganger of a notorious one eyed Bulgarian secret agent. Well, really. Bulgarian? As if there could ever be the faintest whiff of espionage in the village.

And then there had been Jane’s reaction to Andy’s catch. Mayfield was aware of having blushed deeply at the time but, looking back, he could see that there had been no reason to. In spite of Kat’s previous admonition, he still found it a little difficult to believe that there had been anything personal in Jane’s actions. She had simply been delighted for Andy, and her emotions had got the better of her. She would have reacted in the same way with anyone who had been to hand at that moment.

Wouldn’t she?

“Andy, dear,” said Jane, as the team and supporters strolled down to the Fullerton Arms to celebrate, “that was wonderful.”               

“Really, Auntie, I just stuck out my hand, and the ball was there. Will got a century and a fifer and Budgie got a hat trick. They were the real heroes.”              

“Don’t be so modest,” said Jane, “you were spectacular. Now, I know I’ve been quite strict about the football boots, but perhaps cricket is a more acceptable occasional outlet for a young lady’s excess energy.”              

Andy, knowing that his dear aunt had only his best interests at heart, just smiled. He was feeling much more comfortable now that he’d retucked, reverted to his latex leggings and top, touched up his make up, and he had a substantial heel to walk on.              

“I must admit that today’s excitement has reminded me of dreams that I’ve been having quite a few times recently,” he said.               

“Oh? What sort of dreams?” asked Jane.    

“Well, in them, you’re a secret agent, taking on spies, or maybe evil villains, and I’m your loyal assistant. Sometimes I invent a gadget, sometimes you rescue me from the bad guys. But we always look stunning and beautiful and shiny. I call them The Lady Jane Adventures.”              

“Andy, dear, what an imagination you have,” Jane said. Nevertheless… nevertheless.

The End?......... (Hope not)

A lost image of my heroine Keira Knightley in a rather stylish Leather dress

(you mean it's a cheap excuse for a picture of Keira . Ed)

A couple of images from https://www.instagram.com/_angelshiny/

Not  a movie I have ever seen, but I do know Raquel Welsh and she looked amazing in this dress.

Wednesday round up time

 Please help keep our

blog alive.

From only $3 a month

https://www.patreon.com/AndyLatex

Hi Everyone

  Wednesday is here and that means the penultimate chapter of Mistress LeatherBeth's awesome story The Spy Who Came into the Pavilion.

  It also means to usual collection of bits and bob, videos and photos, but I will let you find all of those for yourselves.

XX

Andy

The Spy Who Came into the Pavilion

By Mistress LeatherBeth

Chapter 9

George and Kerry glanced at each other as Olga got herself organised, switching on the laptop before shuffling through the documents in the folder. The screen flickered and an attractive fair haired female face appeared. She exchanged a few words in Russian with Olga, who then introduced her as Tatiana Alexandrovna Groncharkova, Junior Counsel of the Fifth Directorate of the FSB.

“I believe that we may save a great deal of time if you just study this document,” said Tatiana, as Olga passed it across.

George took it and he and Kerry read it in growing disbelief.

“Erm, Olga…,”

“Dmitrovna,” prompted Kerry under his breath.

“…Dmitrovna,” said George, “I don’t quite understand. This document seems to imply that the FSB will be taking no action to prevent the deal which Cooper Amalgamated is proposing.”

“On the contrary,” said Olga, “if the Second Directorate had any knowledge of what you had in mind, they would move with Extreme Prejudice. They do not, however, have any such knowledge. You are fortunate that intelligence of your intentions fell into the hands of the Fifth, which is, for all practical purposes, Tatiana Alexandrovna and myself.”

“But surely,” interrupted George, “you informed them and the Kremlin immediately.”

“Now, why on earth should we do such a thing? Oh! You’ve been assuming that we owe unfailing loyalty to Vladimir Vladimirovich? Really, George, for someone as astute as yourself, I’d have expected a little more nuanced understanding of Russian politics. No, I think it is safe to say that Tatiana Alexandrovna and myself allowed our membership of the Putin Fan Club to lapse many years ago”

“Let me get this straight,” said Kerry. “In return for a ‘non interference fee’ payable to you two ladies, Cooper Amalgamated will be allowed to proceed with its plans?”

“My dear Kerry,” said Olga, “your actual plans are brilliant. Your contract wording is a masterpiece of, er, what is the English word, obfuscation. Your money laundering structure is a joy to behold. You are so close to achieving perfection that we feel minded to allow you to proceed. For a consideration.”

“Ah, yes, your fee. A little matter of Two Hundred and Fifty Million US dollars.”

“You will see from document F that we are not unskilled in the laundry ourselves.”

“What do you reckon, Mr. C? Given that this morning we thought we were taking on the might of Russian intelligence, we now seem to be looking at a painless Eight Hundred Million dollars. These two ladies are taking at least as big a risk as we are, so their discretion is assured. By the way, isn’t the tea interval due to finish in a minute or two?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said George, “I had a word with Matt Crawford earlier. He won’t ring the bell until we’re ready. After all, light isn’t going to be a problem.”

Kat got the team together once they’d all grabbed their sandwiches and cups of tea.

Her talk stressed concentration and avoiding complacency. She reminded them to be ready to help JoJo by backing up in case of overthrows. She suspected that Derrington might even benefit from the lack of Chris Mills’ odious personality. Neil Carter and Rufus to open the bowling, hopefully bring on Will and Budgie for their first spells around the twelfth over.

George and Kerry still had a few more questions but, after Tatiana had explained the protocols for the cloud based contract exchange, verification and registration system procedures which they were using in conjunction with numerous banks (at least two of which weren’t Swiss), with fully guaranteed dual option part payment tranches, George committed Cooper Amalgamated to the deal. As Kerry had said that morning, by the end of the summer, the buyers whom George had lined up to pay handsomely for the rights, licenses, etc. which had just come into Cooper Amalgamated’s possession, would have made close to a billion dollars for Hamilton Associates, a wholly owned subsidiary Belinda Llc., a Cayman based company which was itself a subsidiary of a Jersey based shell company named Magdelena Enterprises, which was 100% owned by a partnership registered in the Bahamas… But you get the picture.

George went to the Committee room door, opened it and nodded to Matt Crawford, who immediately went to the front of the Pavilion and rang the bell for the end of the tea interval. George donned his white coat and straw hat and made to take his place beside Matt.

As Olga tidied up after their successful deliberations, Kerry said, “I assume you and Tatiana Alexandrovna will be keeping a low profile and heading straight off to a remote island immediately when you leave here.”

“My dear Kerry, not in the least. For one thing, we have a very busy work schedule lined up. For example, we are just going into post production for a new blockbuster, ‘Славянские мальчики-рабы’, ‘Slavic Slaveboys’, and now would be the worst possible time to draw attention to ourselves. Our own laundry will not be able to make a start on dealing with the first instalment of our fee, the initial Five Million, until it is processed by your bank on Monday morning, let alone the rest of it. Until absolutely all of our arrangements are in place, our safest location is at our desks in Moscow. After all, we have the total trust of Vladimir Vladimirovich. In a few months time it may be noticed that we have both taken leave at the same time, which may raise an eyebrow, but nothing more will be made of our absence for several weeks. But by then we will be who knows where, travelling on who knows which passports.”

Kerry, by now somewhat slack jawed, simply smiled. Shaking the Colonel’s hand he said, “Olga Dmitrovna, I wish you and Tatiana Alexandrovna every good fortune.” “And I, you,” she replied. “Give our best wishes to Belinda and Lady Magdelena. And Kerry, my dear, I hope you get laid very soon. Oh, don’t look so surprised. After all, I am a spy.” 

Izzy perused the paperwork George had handed to her just inside the Pavilion door. Her eyebrows rose and it was possible to imagine her counting the number of zeros quoted. “George, have I told you recently that you are a truly superb businessman? I think this deserves some form of celebration. I shall be in the garage later.”

“The pit? Oh, yeth, Mithtreth,” breathed Belinda.

“Very well,” said Magdalena, “you have a second innings to umpire, after which you may join the team for a drink, but if you are not back at The Grange by ten thirty, it will go badly for you.” She then strode inside.

“Yeth, Mithtreth,” whispered Belinda, before setting the alarm on his phone for ten thirty five, his face one huge smile.

Kat seemed to have been right. If the spring in the steps of the Derrington openers, Lee Baxter and Phil Webster were anything to go by, as they jogged down the Pavilion steps, Chris Mills’ decampment had indeed lifted a weight from their shoulders.

Neil took the first over and was almost successful immediately. His first delivery was too good for Lee. It pitched on off and moved away but failed to find the edge. The ball thudded into Jojo’s gloves, and he immediately adjusted his stance several steps backwards. Neil was deceptively swift.

However, the first wicket was not long in coming. The second ball of Neil’s second over was slightly overpitched. Phil’s big stride down the pitch, however, turned it into a yorker, with all three stumps cartwheeling, and caused Kat, at first slip, to take evasive action to avoid a flying bail up the left nostril.

“Great ball! Get in there!” shouted Jane. Mayfield was only able to keep a straight face for a couple of seconds before he and Jane both burst into laughter.

Webster b Carter 3 (6/1)

The next Derrington batsman, Tom Manship, had just emerged through the Pavilion door and was at the top of the steps when there was a loud car engine noise followed by a screech of brakes down the side of the Pavilion. The car door opened and a figure leapt out, padded and carrying a bat. “Tom! Get back inside! I’m in next,” he bellowed. And with that blunt statement Chris Mills announced his return to the fray.

To be concluded next week

Here is an unashamed favourite and fave of the blog Cherly Baker of Bucks Fizz, squeezed into vinyl, for the tv show razzamatazz, back in the 80s

And now something I would love love love to try. I adore Vacbeds and have been put in one on a few occations, but a vac Sac is something i would love to try. This just gives me the impression of what a sissy such as Andy has to go through when being transported without paperwork.

And what would Wednesday be without Andy putting on  a show

and finally four images which have tingled my imagination, 

She reminds me of a dear dear friend/Love

and she reminds me of another

 

I really adore this

 

More sissy packaging

Spys and the Wednesday round up

  Please help keep our

blog alive.

From only $3 a month

https://www.patreon.com/AndyLatex

Hi Everyone

  I am gonna kick off with the meat of this Wednesday round up, Chapter 8 of Mistress Leather Beths wonderfully complex, spy, sissy, espionage story. I have also included a different version of Jane from the last post, this one just has her mobile tightly squeezed into those pants. (Lucky phone I here you say).

 We also have a few little face app clips and a few other treats. YouTube discoveries.

Take Care 

XXX

PS

Again I apologise for my slow  Email response, I will get to you all as soon as life allows

XX

Aunt Jane at the Cricket match

The Spy Who Came into the Pavilion 

By Mistress LeatherBeth

Chapter 8

“Lyisten, yeffrybdy. Lyisten to me veh cyefully. Kropotkin is not heppy man, and your prytty fryend is my hostyge. Do exactly ess I say!” shouted Yevgeny.

What he would have said next (beyond “I want vodka!”) is a moot point, for although Andy had frozen for a split second, he had immediately realised that his captor was unarmed. If Yevgeny had had a weapon, he would have produced it first, before grabbing Andy. But now, with one hand holding Andy’s wrist behind his back and the other forearm across Andy’s throat, he’d actually weakened his position.

Add to that the fact that it was Andy who was armed, and not afraid to make it count.

Kerry heard the noise at the front of the Pavilion as he came out of the toilet, and he saw Andy move swiftly to drive the heel of the Fernando Berlin 318 through the soft upper of Yevgeny’s loafer and into his right instep. Yevgeny howled, and judges would have marked the pirouette he performed equally alongside that of Mayfield the previous evening for style, difficulty and artistic integrity.

But worse was to come for poor Yevgeny. Kerry had advanced the intervening few metres from the toilet door, during which time he’d removed his shoes, holding them by the rear straps. As Yevgeny released Andy and hopped around in agony, Kerry has swung the left shoe, the platform catching the Russian with a loud crack across the side of the head. His momentum reversed, his jaw was perfectly aligned to receive the full power of Kerry’s right platform, meeting his chin from the opposite direction. Left cross, right hook. The old 1-2. Yevgeny, his eyes already focussing somewhere in the mid Atlantic, folded to the floor.

This action took place between overs. Will looked up from his mid pitch chat with Budgie and took in Andy’s predicament. But by the time he’d sprinted over and taken the Pavilion steps three at a time, Yevgeny was already unconscious. Will folded Andy into his arms, expecting him to be distraught, but no. Andy’s eyes were sparkling, and he seemed to be buzzing with excitement.

Kerry, after checking that the shoes which everyone had been complimenting all day hadn’t taken any damage, made to drag Yevgeny away, at which point Rufus stepped forward, scooped up the body, flung it over his shoulder and enquired where it should be detained.

Suddenly Izzy was in their midst, looking very unlike Magdelena in skinny jeans and tshirt. She produced a large key ring and unlocked a door next to the toilets, a small storeroom. “I’ll make temporary arrangements for this gentleman, everyone just get off and enjoy the game,” she instructed, and as she was chair of the Village Hall committee (as well as by her authority as Magdalena), people swiftly dispersed.

“Will, please. Just go and get that century. I’m feeling fine. Better than fine, I’m feeling wonderful. And Alice has sorted out some kit for me, so I need to get changed.”

“Are you sure?” asked Will.

Andy’s eyelashes fluttered, but there was no arguing when he pointed Will back to the middle.

Andy waved across to Alice, and they went inside.

Olga swore. “Говно на палке! (Shit on a stick!). Maybe I should have gone ahead and just eliminated Kropotkin. What a пенисаголовка (dickhead).”

Extravagant secrecy seemed pointless now. She placed the powerful FSB binoculars on the passenger seat, stepped out of the Audi and strode across to the seats previously occupied by TB12, Haskins and co.

Mayfield’s foot was improving all the time but, as they had reached the far side of the ground, adjacent to The Grange Paddock, he and Jane were among the last to assemble at the Pavilion. To begin with, Jane was distraught, and it took several people’s intervention to prevent her from seeking Andy out. Only when Will assured her that not only was Andy totally unharmed, but that it was Andy himself who had effected his own escape, and seemed to have almost enjoyed the incident, did she calm down and take a seat next to an attractive woman in a charcoal calfskin boilersuit.

“Excuse me, but the young lady who was the centre of the excitement a few moments ago. You are associated with her?”

“Yes. My nephew.” A pause.

“You must be very pleased with the manner in which your nephew dealt with the situation. Very resourceful and quick thinking.”

“Why, yes,” Jane said, and found herself adding, “people shouldn’t just go by looks, and make the mistake of underestimating Andy.”

The game had restarted, but not before Chris Mills had put in a verbal request for Derrington to be awarded a walkover, due to the delay which had taken place.

“Mills,” said George, “be a sweet child and get out of my sight.”

“Matt,” said Chris to George’s colleague, “are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

“He’s only saying what most people in Derrington think,” said Crawford. “We’ve tolerated you because we’ve kept winning the League, but enough is enough. I’m tabling a vote of no confidence at the next Committee meeting. We hope to invite Janet Fisher to take over. She was quite successful at her previous club in Cheshire. But you’d still be welcome to try out for a place in the team.”

Dear reader, I leave it to you to picture Chris Mills’ reaction. Five minutes later he was driving out of the village. The scorecard for the Derrington innings would show:

C. Mills absent hurt (no, really hurt; close to tears, even) 0

“How’s your ankle? I must admit that even the thought of ballet boots would scare me.” said Andy. Alice gave a rueful smile. “I’ll be fine in a couple of days. I don’t think I’ll bother with them again. I got into the latex bondage scene at Uni, before I switched my course to Theology, but the boots were never a favourite element. Anyway, I only indulge myself a couple of times a year these days, whereas you’re a girl 24/7. I must admit that you and your aunt have done an amazing job. And Will obviously adores you.”

“No more than I love him,” smiled Andy.

Alice had found Andy a white shirt and cream trousers, both of which fitted well enough, but the only footwear available was a spare pair of trainers, and this gave him a bit of a problem. He hadn’t worn anything lower than a 4” heel for months, and it took several minutes to get used to anything flat.

Just at that moment the dressing room door was flung open and Chloe rushed in.

“Quick, you two. Will’s on 98.”

Although still tottering a little from the ridiculously low heels, Andy was first through the door.

As they reached the front of the Pavilion, the penultimate over was just ending.

Will had taken a single to bring him to 99, but the final over would begin with Budgie on strike.

If this were a work of fiction, the climax would be dragged out until the last ball, but as it’s a historical transcript, containing the unvarnished, factual truth, I must tell you that, after Budgie nudged the first ball of the over for a quick single into the offside, Will finished off 4-6-4-4-6, leaving him 123 not out at the end of the innings, out of a total of 257-8, with Budgie 7 not out.

Will was in danger of being mobbed as the teams left the field for the tea interval, and it was with difficulty that he and Kat persuaded people to disperse, reminding them that it was only half time. The crowd dispersed and the teams made their way indoors for tea.

As umpires, George and Matt Crawford were the last to reach the Pavilion. George noticed Kerry by the door, gesturing towards the woman chatting with Jane.

“Excuse me, Matt,” he said, “I think my PA wants a word.”

“Sir,” he said, as George drew alongside, “I believe that to be Жosimova.”

“Mmm,” said George, “Not quite the circumstances I’d have chosen, but we’ll have to do the best we can. What was the excitement earlier?”

“Yevgeny, sir. He seems to have been in the village all along. We can worry about him later, if necessary. He’s currently locked in a storeroom.”

“Good. At least he won’t be able to interfere with our discussions with our friend the Colonel. But we’d better make a start. The tea interval doesn’t last for ever.”

“Mrs C. has opened the Committee Room and had refreshments sent through,” said Kerry.

“Excellent,” said George, then he had an idea.

“Matt!” he called, just as his fellow umpire was about to turn into the tea room, “Can I have a quick word?”

Jane and Olga had been getting on like взрыв на скотобойне (‘an explosion in an abattoir’, equivalent to ‘a house on fire’). They’d bonded over a mutual admiration for William Wilde and taken it from there. However, when Olga saw George mounting the steps she’d excused herself and made to intercept him.

“Mr. Cooper,” she said, “so good to meet you at last.”

“Colonel Жosimova. I believe we have business to discuss.”

“Olga Dmitrovna, please. And I shall call you George.”

George was somewhat confused. This was hardly the attitude he’d expected from a hard-bitten Executive Officer of the FSB but, not wanting to give away any advantage, he simply replied, “Of Course. I have a room prepared, if you’ll just step this way.” He had no idea exactly how hard bitten she was, but that was a secret between Olga and Tatiana. Olga excused herself and went to the Audi to collect a laptop bag and a document folder, then followed George and Kerry into the Committee Room.

To be continued

2 more Chapters to go, so stay tuned.

Now Three silly fun things, that blew me away when i tried them, One might be a little odd but heck they are fun

The other day Lebanese Singer and Blog fave, did an online concert and the trailer featured her in one or two Latex outfits, As it was a subscription thing there was no way of copying the concert, but luckily YouTube has come to the rescue.

By the way not sure about the footwear or the choreography

A few weeks ago I featured some wonderful heels from AngelShiny on instagram, well I though I would send you some more, plus a little extra clip.

https://www.instagram.com/_angelshiny/

 

What a sweet colour these are, love them.

                                                             A darker even sexier pink

                                           Love a nice nude shoe, but these boots are gorgeous

Wednesday mega round up, Plus The Spy Who Came into the Pavilion

   Please help keep our

blog alive.

From only $3 a month

https://www.patreon.com/AndyLatex

Hi Everyone

Last Friday saw one of the best moments on British TV in a while, The fan and amazing Davina Mccall in Latex on the Masked Dancer semi final on British ITV.

  The dress was by Yves Saint Laurent so in a way this is a crossover with the Katy Perry post a few weeks ago and it seems the YSL collection has proved a big success, both the the brand and to getting Latex back on the front pages.

  But before we take a look at the YSL sensation, let's have a quick tribute to Davina, present and past .

XXX

Andy

So a quick look at some of the famous beauties who have taken up the YSL Latex collection.

Kylie Jenner

                                                       Haily Baldwin/Bieber gets the entire look

Need I say more, the stunning Sharon Stone

                                     The cute Lily Collins at the MTV Awards and in Vogue Arabia

And one for us KPop fans, the beautiful Rose, from BlackPink

Following on from the Gemma Arterton/Andy Prince of Persia clip last week, we have a request from our very own Mistress Leather Beth,to re-visit this amazing moment from The Jonathan Ross show a few years ago when Gemma Arterton walked on in the tightest pvc/vinyl pencil skirt imaginable. So tight even she had a wobble.

Ignore the thumbnail LOL

Short version

Long version

   Well you can't deny you get content on here, but now after all that waffle, Chapter 7 of The Spy Who Came into the Pavilion, with a little extra tweat (sic) in honour of and with thanks to our author .

The Spy Who Came into the Pavilion

 By

Mistress LeatherBeth

 

Chapter 7

Chapt 6 http://smoothslicknshiny.blogspot.com/2021/06/the-spy-who-came-into-pavilion-plus.html

   The tenth over began, and Will and Alice had been making good progress, in spite of the ball acting unpredictably on occasions, moving the score on to 48 for 1. Will had had no compunction in targeting the two younger fielders, and had forced at least three miss fields, much to Mills’ anger. Now he and Alice were just a couple of runs from a fifty partnership. A change of bowling had brought on an off spinner, accurate enough, but no great turn. Will stroked the ball through cover point and called ‘two’ as he set off running. Just as he reached the other end, he heard a squeal. He looked round to see Alice writhing on the ground in the middle of the pitch. The ball flew in to the ‘keeper, who lifted the bails, and Alice was run out. Will trotted down the pitch to where Alice was lying, to find her in tears.

“It’s an old ballet boot injury. Sorry, Will. The Extravaganza must have aggravated it,” whispered Alice.

“Never mind about that now,” said Will. “Let’s get you back to the dressing room.” With that he slung Alice’s arm round his shoulder, lifted her to her feet, and helped her inside.

        Alice Aldridge run out, 18 (48/2)

Yevgeny was, in equal parts, frustrated, confused and fascinated. The frustration came from his inability to circumnavigate the field. He instinctively didn’t want to be noticed, which led to him keeping close to the hedge. But every few yards there were small groups of people, some standing, some lounging on chairs or benches, and a few were pickynicking, and he only felt able to progress when he was satisfied that nobody in any group was looking in his direction. This made progress painfully slow.

The confusion and fascination were both generated by the ritual on the field. He appreciated that the English believed it to be some kind of sporting event, but to a good son of the steppes like himself it was completely bizarre. The ball throwers all used different techniques, and there were no fixed positions for the ball chasers. And the ball itself; it seemed to follow him around. On three occasions it had been hit over the edge of the field quite close to him, and he’d had to toss it back to a chaser. The first time he’d noticed how smooth the red leather was, and how tight the stitching. A few minutes later, and the leather was scuffed, the threads beginning to come loose. The third time the leather on one side was starting to flake, whilst the stitching looked as though someone had been trying to peel it off. If this was part of the game then these adjustments to the ball must be one of its main skills.

48 for 2 had soon become 53 for 3. In spite of Kat’s warning, Stuart Parker had been trapped on his crease by off spin which had turned just enough.

        Stuart Parker lbw Manship 1 (53/3)

This had, however, brought Rufus Kadenga out to partner Will. Rufus had been born in Francistown, Botswana, but brought up in South Africa. A PhD in cellular biology from Witwatersrand, Rufus was a big man with a big personality. At the bottom of the Pavilion steps he took a slight detour and silently stood next to Chris Mills for a few seconds before giving the Derrington skipper a huge grin and a cheeky wink and moving into position at the crease. No verbal sledge could have been as intimidating.

As George Cooper, standing at the Grange End, gave Rufus middle and leg, he glanced at Will and quietly muttered, “My boy, the next time you’re on strike from the Pavilion End it may be a good idea to smack one over long on.” Before Will could request clarification, the bowler was in and Rufus immediately got off the mark with a single to cover point. George casually removed his phone from his pocket and tapped a couple of numbers.

Will considered what George had said. Obviously he didn’t mean for Will to put his wicket at risk, but he plainly knew something, and that was good enough for Will. As it happened he didn’t have long to wait. The next delivery was a slow half volley. Will did precisely what Stuart had failed to do, got to the pitch of the ball with his front foot, and his full follow through saw it climb into the sky, then drop well inside the paddock at The Grange. George raised both arms to signal Will’s first six of the afternoon.

For this particular stretch of the perimeter the hedge was replaced by the paddock wall, which contained a gate specifically installed to assist fielders to retrieve big hits such as this. As one of Derrington’s youngsters set off towards the gate, a cricket ball flew way over his head, thrown from the paddock. Yevgeny, seriously wondering whether he would ever get that vodka, caught it second bounce. Except… what was this? The ball was almost as good as new, the leather barely marked and the seam in almost perfect condition. Really, he thought as he lobbed it to the nearest ball chaser, this game is ridiculous.

Meanwhile, in the paddock, Izzy just smiled, then went into The Grange to change.

   

When the ball arrived back in the bowler’s hands there was uproar. He ran over to Chris Mills who examined it, then strode across to George and brandished the ball in his face.

“Umpire, what the hell is going on?” he almost screamed.

“Some problem, Mills?”

“This isn’t the original ball. It’s been switched while it was out of sight.”

“Really? Let me have a look. Mmm. This looks rather like a ball which has had ten to fifteen overs use. A couple of marks, but in pretty good condition. And here we are in the thirteenth over. I really can’t think what you are implying.”

Chris Mills suddenly realised what his only explanation could be. “But we’ve been tampering with it!” lnstead, he remained silent. His fury at having been thwarted was clear. He snatched the ball out of George’s hand, tossed it to the bowler and almost screamed, “Let’s get these cheating bastards beaten.” A couple of Derrington players had the good grace to look sheepish.

Olga wouldn’t describe herself as an expert on the game of cricket, but she had learned more than the basics a couple of years earlier whilst sharing a bed for a couple of weeks with Babs, Nikki and Charlene, agents based at the respective Moscow Embassies of the UK, New Zealand and Australia. They’d all quickly worked out why their masters had arranged these rendezvous (to discover what the Fifth Directorate was involved in), called a truce, and got down to the serious business of discovering which one of them was the kinkiest. Nikki had proved to be the undisputed winner and had credited her success to her coming from a country where sheep outnumbered humans five to one.

  Will and Rufus went on something of a rampage for the next few overs, and by the end of the thirtieth they had advanced the score to 168/3. Yet, by the fortieth, they had slumped to 213/8. First, Rufus had ignored Will’s call of ‘two’, tried for a third, and been run out by half the length of the pitch. But even as he took his leave, his smile was as big as ever. He was soon followed by Kat, who had snicked to slip. Then Roger Travers-Macy, after successive fours, went for a third and holed out at square leg. Chloe lasted two balls before she nurdled into short leg’s hands, and JoJo was caught and bowled.

Through all this Will had progressed, and was on 89 as Budgie took JoJo’s place.

“Let’s see if wi can get thi’ that ton, shall wi?” he said.

“Jane, dear,” said Mayfield, “would you mind awfully if I dispensed with the glasses?”

“Mayfield, of course, if they’re more of a distraction, just pass them here. If you’re feeling up to it, maybe you’d care for a stroll around the boundary”

“That would be delightful,” said Mayfield. He returned the Ray Bans to Jane, stood, and let his gaze slowly take in his assembled parishioners and their friends.

Olga had become engrossed in the match. Nothing that Babs, Nikki or Charlene had said had quite prepared her for the excitement of the real thing, even at village level. But for all that she was engrossed, she was still aware of her surroundings, and she immediately noticed when TB12 began to stir. Firstly, he handed his dark glasses to his companion. Then he stood, and began gingerly putting weight on his foot, something that Olga had never seen him do before. But then, before he and his companion set off on a stroll, he turned his gaze on the general scene. Olga grabbed the binoculars from the seat next to her and quickly focussed on her adversary as he looked in the general direction of the Audi. What was she seeing? No, it couldn’t be! He did NOT have a glass eye! And it was well known that TB12 had lost his right eye during Operation Pumpernickel, back in 2004.

Surely Olga couldn’t have been mistaken in her identification. Then she saw confirmation. As the pair set off to circumnavigate the field, he totally failed to grope and fondle his companion’s cream leather bottom. That was proof enough. This was not Agent TB12.

Yevgeny tensed as Kerry made an excuse to Andy, got up and headed indoors to the toilet. With only one person sat at the table, maybe he could slip past, and get that vodka. Then he swore, as Alice appeared, with the limp of a dodgy ankle.

“Andy,” she said, “we’re going to need you as 12th man. Do you want to come inside so that we can sort out some kit for you?”

Actually, all Andy wanted was to hang on and hopefully see Will get his century. But he could also see the sense in what Alice suggested, rather than waiting until the tea interval, so he followed her into the Pavilion.

“At last,” breathed Yevgeny, as he made his move up the side steps of the veranda. But he was to be thwarted yet again. Andy had realised that he had left his phone on the table and, coming out to retrieve it, almost collided with a shifty looking character.

Yevgeny finally broke. He was not a violent man. OK, he made a living as a gopher in a shady world, and love and friendship forever seemed to pass him by, but this job had taken its toll. He certainly didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Putin; but again, there were some semi autonomous sections of the FSB (such as 5D) which were hardly more attractive. He was stuck in this ridiculous country, with its preposterous sports, on the point of dehydration (that’s another thing. Isn’t it supposed to rain here all the time? The temperature must be over thirty), but even getting a vodka seemed fraught with danger.

Yevgeny snapped. He lunged for Andy, grabbed his wrist and dragged him to him. With his wrist pinned behind him and a forearm across his throat, Andy froze as Yevgeny shouted, “Lyisten, yeffrybdy. Lyisten to me veh cyefully. Kropotkin is not happy man, and your prytty fryend is my hostyge. Do exactly ess I say!”

The spy who came into the Pavilion plus Wednesday round up

    Please help keep our

blog alive.

From only $3 a month

https://www.patreon.com/AndyLatex

Hi Everyone

  Sorry, this is a bit of a short midweek round up, Wednesday has caught me on the hop, plus my computer is giving all sorts of problems again "Grrrrrr!!!!!", but never fear we have the important bit which is the next chapter of Mistress LeatherBeths awesome story, plus a few other bits an bobs.

Firstly another lost audition, in which Andy tried out for the role of  Princess Tamina in the film Price of Persia. The role went to the gorgeous Gemma Arterten  

As my machine is playing up, it might be appropriate to do a classic clip show and re-run some old captions, some might have over looked.

Hey! if is works for the BBC it will work for us.

Then how about I let you do some work and let us see if these inspire ideas in your naughty minds in the same way they do me

By the way, Yes that is a boy!!!!!!

So now the main event, I place you in the hands of Mistress LeatherBeth

XXX

http://smoothslicknshiny.blogspot.com/2021/05/wednesday-fun-starring-spy-who-came.html

The Spy Who Came Into the Pavilion 

By Mistres LeatherBeth

Chapter 6

Yevgeny regained consciousness again and discovered that he was lying in a ditch at the side of a lane. He slowly scrambled to his feet and looked around. And there, a couple of hundred metres away, in the field into which the lane faded, was the Civic. As he stumbled toward it, he tried to piece together what had happened. He checked his phone and it was almost one thirty pm, so he had nearly four hours to account for. 

The last thing he remembered was getting out of the car to stretch his legs. He’d heard a faint sound behind him, but before he could turn to see who it was, there had been a sharp prick in his thigh. Within seconds nausea had become unconsciousness. Now here he was, seemingly in the same village. Whichever FSB operative had incapacitated him had not thought it necessary to kill him, for which he was obviously grateful. Part of him just wanted to get as far as possible from here. But he was as greedy as most of the human race. He knew the potential profits to be made from the game he’d got mixed up in and was loath to quit just yet.

The long spell of warm weather had made the lane hard and bumpy, and progress was slow for someone in Yevgeny’s condition, so he had plenty of time to hear the sounds coming from the other side of the hedge. He peered through a gap and saw a group of locals performing one of their ancient rituals, the one which he believed was called крикет, apparently pronounced ‘krkyet’. Really, if they had to have these ridiculous observances, why did they not just delegate such tasks to their peasantry?

He was about to turn away and retrieve the Civic, when he suddenly did a double take. Was that Mr Cooper, wearing a white coat and straw hat, who appeared to be undertaking the function of a dancing master to the proceedings in the field? Yevgeny began to think. He’d never actually met Mr Cooper, only seen a photo of him, so he wouldn’t be recognised. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe he needn’t flee the village. Maybe he could rescue some profit from this exercise. Maybe he could at least get himself a vodka while he got some of the stiffness out of his neck and planned his next move. He squeezed through the gap and, keeping close to the hedge, began to circle the field.

“Andy, I’m sorry I’ve been delayed,” cried Jane, as she briskly but gracefully mounted to the front of the Pavilion via the side steps. All heads turned as she made her entrance. It was a close run thing between the length of her shorts and the height of the heels on her ankle boots, both measuring about 16cm, and once again Andy marvelled at his Aunt’s unique style. If Jane thought an outfit looked good, she wore it, and such was her confidence that no one would ever think to disagree. She’d paired the shorts with a blouse which on anyone else would have been considered two sizes too small; Jane had obviously decided that the this was not bra weather, and the metallic silver material clung. Anyone wanting a definition of the word ‘cling’ would simply need to have observed Jane that afternoon.

“I’ve not missed anything, have I?”, she asked.

“Just the toss,” said Andy. “Derrington won and put us in, so Will will be batting first wicket down.”

Jane turned her attention to Kerry. “Hello,” she said. Andy could see that Kerry was reeling slightly from Jane’s entrance and style, and helped out by making the introductions.

“Aunt Jane, this is Kerry, Mr Cooper’s PA. Kerry, this is my Aunt Jane.”

“Your Aunt?” gulped Kerry, and then recovered.

He said, “Hello, pleased to meet you. Andy has told me a little bit about you. Could I get you a drink?”

“I’ll go,” said Jane. “They never get my Pimm’s just as I like it unless I keep an eye on them. Do you two want top ups? By the way, Kerry, dear, I love your shoes,” she said over her shoulder as she vanished into the Pavilion.

“That’s your aunt?” gulped Kerry, her expression a wide eyed mix of confusion and amazement.

“Yes, why?”

“it’s just that, well, when you said aunt, I pictured someone middle aged, or even an older lady. And your Aunt Jane doesn’t fit either of those descriptions.”

“Hardly!” said Andy, smiling. “We’re not actually related. She’s a family friend, but I’ve called her Aunt since I was little.”

“And she always dresses like that?”

“She dresses exactly how she wants to dress. Her own taste is all that matters.”

“She looks like the ideal person to help bring out the girl inside. You’re happy with that?” asked Kerry.

“I am now,” said Andy. “In the beginning it was terribly embarrassing, but Aunt Jane knew best. And now I have Will, and I couldn’t be happier. How long have you been Kerry?”

“Well, I told Mum when I was 15, but, looking back, Kerry had been just below the surface since forever.”

“And your Mum was OK with that?”

“She’s the most open minded person you could imagine,” said Kerry.

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of George Cooper and Matt Crawford, striding out into the middle, closely followed by the Derrington team, who went into a huddle halfway to the square.

A few seconds later the opening batsmen, Alice Aldridge and Darren Swift, appeared, and made their way to the middle, swinging their bats in a 360° arc and stretching them above their heads in the time honoured manner. Alice remained at the wicket at the Pavilion End, whilst Darren went on and took middle and off at the Grange End, ready to receive the first delivery. Chris Mills set an attacking field; three slips, a gully and a backward short leg, together with third man, extra cover, mid on and deep square leg. George Cooper lowered his arm, and Chris Mills came in off his long run up. Game on!

Olga’s plans were undergoing a rethink. In her mind she’d got everything set up. Cooper and the pretty boy should by now have been wetting themselves at the thought of what they’d let themselves in for. Yet they were looking untroubled. Certainly, if they’d been at all worried they’d hardly have been spending time at the cricket.

It was plain that George Cooper would be otherwise engaged for some time, and she doubted that she could isolate Haskins in the short term either. Best just to recline the seat in the Audi (parked in the shade of the trees overhanging the nets) and wait.

It’s generally agreed that bowlers don’t usually make the best captains; they over bowl themselves, for one thing. But Chris Mills considered himself an all rounder, so he thought that the accepted wisdom didn’t apply to him, and his ego was able to explain away his barely adequate stats. So it was a surprise to almost all present when his first delivery pitched just back of a length an inch outside off, reared, took the inside edge of the bat, and Darren played onto his leg stump for a duck, a golden duck. Zero for one after one ball. Cries of “unlucky, Daz” accompanied him as he trudged up the steps and back into the Pavilion.

Darren Swift, b Mills 0 (0/1)

Will was still adjusting his gloves as he crossed with Darren and clattered down the Pavilion steps, to be greeted by a smirking Chris Mills.

“Scraping the bottom of the barrel already, aren’t we? A schoolboy and a woman vicar? We’ll have this this game won inside an hour.”

Aha, thought Will. You want to sledge, do you? OK, then. He replied, “You might need to do that if you don’t want a couple of your team missing their bedtime,” said Will, nodding towards a couple of lads who were probably no more than fifteen, and looked younger. Budgie had made it clear that one of the reasons why Derrington were so unpopular was their objection to female players when they had been admitted by the League a few years earlier, and Chris Mills had been the leader of their opposition.

Will took middle stump, and Mills charged in again. This time, however, he overstepped by several inches. Will had anticipated this, and swept the resulting long hop through the unoccupied long leg area for four, taking the score up to 6 (including the two extras for the no ball).

And so the match settled down. Derrington’s other opening bowler was more accurate and consistent, but of no great pace, and Will and Alice began to put together a useful second wicket partnership.

Olga stiffened as agent TB12 hobbled into view down the side of the Pavilion before joining the Haskins party. She really needed to know how the Bulgarians were involved, so she quietly but swiftly stepped out of the Audi. Carefully moving from one patch of shadow to the next she approached the Pavilion’s kitchen door, which had not been locked the last time that a bag of rubbish had been put out. In her dark charcoal calfskin boiler suit she was barely visible outside direct sunlight. The kitchen contained only two people, both with their backs to her as they prepared tea. They were listening to ‘Haslemere FM’ (“Serious hip hop for South West Surrey”). Unknown to them, Olga tiptoed through the other door and turned right towards the Pavilion’s front door, from where she could eavesdrop on TB12 and the others. And the first words she heard were from Kerry, “…and at that very moment, the Hummingbird went off on a ten setting, and I nearly had a heart attack!”

Hummingbird, thought Olga. The code name for some type of secret weapon, maybe? But everyone seemed to find the reference hilarious. Everyone, that is, except Agent TB12. He was such a master of deviousness, thought Olga, with his expression of total and utter confusion and bewilderment, plain in spite of the Ray Bans.

TB12 maintained his silence, and Olga realised that she was unlikely to pick up anything worthwhile. He and Haskins would be unwilling to discuss business in front of their companions. Olga studied both of these. “Я бы никого из них не выбил из постели”, she thought. (‘I wouldn’t kick either of them out of bed’). Both had lots going from them. The younger was edibly cute, not very experienced, perhaps, but with a sultry vibe. Meanwhile the elder exuded style and hot sex from every pore. Maybe, she thought as she made her way back to the Audi, when she and Cooper had concluded their business, Olga just might ask to be introduced.