Now at Whole Foods: Clothes 100% Off

Although he needed to appear penitent and collected on the outside, on the inside Billy was elated. This is exactly the reaction he was going for -- and Sam got to see it too. Mission accomplished. Little did he know the mission had only just begun.

"You're right, Mrs. Parnell, I'm an idiot . . . I am sooo sorry," Billy continued, hamming it up a bit for good measure. "Let me go get that for you," he offered -- an offer that the haughty woman should have accepted.

"I think you've done quite enough already, Mr. Miras, and I don't need your offers of false chivalry," Danielle retorted, "I'm most capable of retrieving my own shoe, thank you very much."

Pleased as punch with having discombobulated the perennially confident Mrs. Parnell, Billy Miras watched with glee as Danielle -- with only one very high heel still on -- hobbled off to collect its towering mate. The small spectacle was likewise enjoyed by Sam Sweeney and a number of the very women -- including Rachel Miras, Sally Sweeney and, having just arrived at the store with her son Callum, Emily Duncan -- each of whom the imperious diva so looked down upon and insulted too many times to count.

Keeping a stiff upper lip so as not to give the peasants witnessing her discomfiture any satisfaction, Danielle at last arrived at her shoe which had ultimately became wedged at the base of an open dairy locker. Turning her back toward the locker, and with as much poise as she could muster, Mrs. Parnell lowered her spectacularly fit bottom, sheathed in her very fashionable grey, tweed skirt atop the locker's lip before reaching down to retrieve her errant footwear.

Unfortunately for the comely counselor, as she lifted her foot up to put her high fashion, red-soled, Christian Louboutin pump back on, she overbalanced and fell, crashing backward into an assortment of frozen pizzas, ice creams and vegetables.

For those onlookers who had not yet returned to the banality of grocery shopping-- particularly the likes of Rachel Miras and the other moms who had already taken no small amount of joy in watching the arrogant Danielle Parnell hobbling after her lost shoe -- the sight of the self-proclaimed Queen Bee's spectacular tights covered legs flailing wildly as she struggled among the cases of frozen peas unleashed no small amount of laughter and finger pointing. For Billy and Sam, who high-fived one another as the angry authoritarian attempted to regain her feet, this vaudevillian pratfall was nothing but an unexpected bonus.

As Danielle continued kicking to try to regain some semblance of earth bound purchase, her Prada leather jacket began to get soaked, the front of her form fitting shirt became untucked and, unnoticed by anyone just yet, her high fashion Escada pencil skirt began to ride up revealing not the unending, black, opaque nylon tights one might have imagined a sensible mom to be sporting but rather the tell-tale welting -- in this case leopard print -- that confirmed the suddenly distressed damsel was wearing thigh highs. But that secret was for now preserved because, although she had managed to kick off her other shoe in the process, the more than slightly disheveled Mrs. Parnell had at last gotten the situation under control and hauled herself from the locker -- seemingly a good deal shorter than before she fell in.

Staring daggers at the crowd that had gathered to witness her struggle, Danielle stepped back into her heels and, doffing and hanging on a nearby cart the Prada leather jacket that had become water-stained in back during her escape, revealed to all her magnificently fit arms that appeared in all their glory thanks to the form-fitting, sleeveless black, cotton, Ralph Lauren oxford shirt she wore underneath.

Although the tail of her shirt remained untucked in back and her luxurious brown hair, so immaculately coiffed when she entered the store mere minutes before, was now somewhat in disarray with strands of the lavish mane falling in her face, it was clear that Danielle was quickly regaining her swagger as she carefully scouted out the faces before her ready to make someone pay for her recent indignity. How dare these peons take pleasure in her misfortune, she inwardly fumed.

And then -- as if scolding a group of misbehaving children, and to the joy of Billy and Sam who couldn't believe how well their simple prank had panned out -- Danielle, without her customary cool began, "well I hope you're all proud of yourselves. Standing there pointing and snickering while not offering me even the slightest hint of help."

Turning to Emily Duncan, who as the District Attorney of Davidson often came before "Judge" Parnell when Danielle heard cases in the Davidsonville Municipal Courthouse on a pro bono basis, "what about you Duncan -- do you feel happy that you got one over on me . . . you . . . you two-bit charlatan. Let's see if you're snickering the next time you show up in my court room."

"Or you Miras," Mrs. Parnell raged on, less composed than usual due to her recent spill, "are you proud of that idiot son over there cackling like a hyena? Perhaps when the two of you return to the Shire you could teach him some manners."

"That's right you," the gorgeous beauty continued as she wheeled around to face the 18-year-old Billy Miras -- her usually cool, superior demeanor devolving into an uncharacteristic furor of perceived persecution, "I know your little stunt was no accident. You people disgust me."

As the still sexy Mrs. Parnell continued to lambaste the crowd before her, a broad smile began to emerge across the face of Callum Duncan, who standing directly behind the lovely lawyer was the first to notice that the zipper in the back of the imperious beauty's skirt must have been damaged by her fall into the frozen food locker. What's more, tooth by tooth, without its snooty wearer realizing a thing, the broken zipper was beginning to gape open and the sexy grey skirt to very slowly begin to move down Danielle's magnificently shaped hips revealing -- to Callum's delight -- a band of delicate black lace atop -- was that leopard print?

And then it happened . . .

. . . as Danielle moved ever closer to Billy and Rachel Miras, jabbing the air before their faces with her exquisitely manicured finger while explaining to them both that although they may be laughing for the moment, in the long run she would always be their better . . . it happened. Due to its damaged zipper failing completely, the very fashionable, grey, tweed, Escada skirt, that had so perfectly encased the arrogant Mrs. Parnell's fabulously exercised ass, slipped over the swell of her mesmerizing hips and fell precipitously to a pool at her high-heeled feet.

For an instant, the slack jawed onlookers, who were still being berated by the imperious diva -- now wearing only her sky high Louboutin heels, opaque black thigh high stockings topped off with a leopard print welt, tiny black, lace thong, with a translucent triangle of leopard print silk in front and a much smaller triangle of the same fabric in back, and a black, sleeveless, cotton Ralph Lauren blouse -- stared at the sight before them in shocked silence.

In that same instant, unyielding in her tempestuousness, and too caught up in her castigation of the Miras family to immediately appreciate her predicament, Danielle stepped right out of her now ruined garment which Emily Duncan, who had been standing behind the soon to be shocked Mrs. Parnell with her son Callum, quickly grabbed and secreted into her own grocery cart.

"Mommy," croaked a shocked Will Parnell, breaking the silence as he wheeled around the corner of the frozen foods aisle only to confront his gorgeous mother standing skirt-less before him, "I . . . I . . . can . . . see . . . your . . . p- . . . p- . . . panties!"

And then -- as Mrs. Parnell followed her son's gaze down to her now skirt-less legs -- the crowd erupted in laughter.

"Oh my God," screamed the stunned Danielle, "my skirt . . . where's my skirt?" But, thanks to the quick work of Emily Duncan, when the distracted diva looked down at her tan, toned but nervously shaking legs, there was nothing to be seen.

As the likes of Sally Sweeny and Rachel Miras doubled over in laughter, those men who had witnessed the dominating diva's skirt hitting the ground collectively groaned at the sight of her absolutely perfect thong-covered ass now fully on display.

Danielle was in shock as she tried simultaneously to shield her mouth-wateringly tight bottom and, up front, her nearly visible sex, atop which, discerned through a sheer triangle of leopard silk, could be spied a neatly trimmed landing strip. Her usually agile mind was in complete disarray. What just happened? How could these nobodies be staring, laughing and leering at her -- in her panties. And Will, was he . . . oh my God . . . he and all his friends . . . look at their trousers . . . they're . . . hard. She needed cover -- her Prada. But by the time it dawned on Danielle to reach for her exclusive leather jacket she realized it too -- thanks again to Mrs. Duncan -- had disappeared.

"Where are my clothes," screamed the now-panicking beauty causing the laughter of her audience to increase audibly.

As confused as he was aroused by the site of his usually calm, cool and collected mother standing before him in barely there animal print panties, with her eyes the size of saucers and her mouth agape, Will new he should do something to help -- and -- despite a small part of him reveling that for once she was the one embarrassed, he began to take off his Gonzaga blazer and to move toward Danielle to cover her.

Unfortunately for Will, who couldn't peel his eyes from the site of his sexy mom's distress, he didn't see the frozen cylinder of Pillsbury Cinnamon Swirls that had fallen from the dairy locker squarely into his path. Fortunately for everyone else but his mother, the fall that resulted from Will stepping directly on the solidified snack sent him careening toward the now cowering former alpha-mom.

Throwing his jacket aside in order to free his hands, Will grasped for the first thing he could find to break his fall -- the lapels of his mother's sleeveless, fitted, black, cotton blouse. In one fell swoop, as fabric audibly tore and buttons popped in all directions, Danielle Marie Parnell was stripped of her very fashionable, very expensive, Ralph Lauren shirt.

The cacophony of the crowd's howls grew ever louder at the sight of the town's biggest tease and most officious snob standing there before them wearing nothing but her ridiculously high heels, black thigh high stockings secured by leopard print welting to her fantastic legs, tiny leopard print thong and a matching black lace and leopard print push-up bra, the diaphanous nature of which provided a sign to all that they were most definitely in the frozen food aisle.

"Mee-owww," joked Rachel Miras.

"How very inappropriate your honor," teased Emily Duncan who had suffered so often the barbs of the now-humiliated diva.

And then, after snapping a picture with her phone, Emily in a mocking tone continued, "I may just have to report this to the bar association."

I'm ruined, thought Danielle to herself as she tried desperately to cover her incredible body with her hands to absolutely no avail.

"Will, help mommy," she shouted at her son who still prone on the floor was just getting up to his knees, "your jacket -- give me your jacket you idiot."

But unfortunately for Mrs. Parnell, as her son looked up and for the first time noticed that his mom was standing only in her heels, thigh highs, thong and bra, his hormones and a vestigial Oedipal instinct took over. As the young man kneeled there open-mouthed, his eyes transfixed on his mother's barely clad body in a shocked stare of mixed emotion, the mirthful crowd watched a dark bloom growing before them in the nether regions of the 18-year-old's otherwise perfectly pressed khaki pants. And then, having expressed his confused feelings about his mother wordlessly, Will Parnell proceeded to pass out on top of his Gonzaga blazer.

Looking at Will lying there, and thinking back to the barb hurled at her by the boy's now humiliated mother, Rachel Miras couldn't resist, "so are you proud of that idiot son over there lying in his own mess?"

Forgetting her near naked state for a moment, the ceaselessly arrogant Mrs. Parnell -- staring daggers at Mrs. Miras -- reared back to slap the offending creature in the face. But no sooner had her hand begun its journey forward then was it stopped mid-path by the powerful hand of Mrs. Sally Sweeny, who after suffering this woman's arrogance earlier and since then hearing about how Danielle had humiliated Sam at school, decided that being a Regional Manager for Whole Foods was not going to be in the cards.

"That's quite enough out of you, you little tease," bellowed the store's manager as, pulling Danielle's hand behind her own back, she frog-walked the once imperious sexpot halfway down the aisle to where a stool sat to permit the shorter stock boys to reach the higher shelves.

"Oww . . . stop that . . . unhand me you cow," protested the nearly broken uber-MILF, "who do you think you are?"

"I'm the woman who is finally going to put you in your place missy," raged Mrs. Sweeny as she took a seat on the vacant stool and pulled the once haughty honey across her lap, "by giving you the spanking you so royally deserve, the spanking that you threatened my son with . . . and the spanking you suggested to him that I needed."

At this point the crowd was in complete hysterics. The women were cheering on their new hero while the men were waiting breathlessly to see the sexiest woman they knew brought very, very low.

Before Sally began what would be the end of Mrs. Parnell, and in response to the diminutive beauty attempting to break free, Mrs. Sweeny relieved Danielle of her leonine bra and used it to secure the petulant prima donna's hands behind her back."

"How dare you," cried Danielle who, lifting her head as she shouted gave the gathered men the view of her bare breasts that they all had coveted for so long.

"Enough," Sally sternly decried as she began to rain spanks down on the thong covered ass of her prey.

"That's for strutting around town like you own the place," Mrs. Sweeny smiled.

"And that's for teasing our men . . . for calling me fat . . . for taking Rachel's parking spot . . .," the list went on as the crowd cheered wildly.

"And that's for embarrassing my son," Sally Sweeny said at last relenting a bit but still holding the completely broken diva across her lap.

"Now before I let you up . . . and kick your sweet little ass out of my store . . . you're going to apologize to Sam," the big boned grocer finished.

By this point, Sam Sweeny, who could not have imagined when he arrived at work thirty minutes before the sweet revenge that had just transpired, was standing immediately in front of where Danielle's sweaty face, with her hair disheveled, hung from his mother's lap.

"I said apologize," demanded Sally delivering yet another strike to the reddened but no less spectacular bottom of Danielle Parnell.

Struggling to look up, Danielle Parnell, whose mind was reeling and who had been crying like a baby, found herself staring directly into the crotch of the young, hard athlete whose own pants were stretched to the limit by his raging manhood.

With Danielle still silent, Sam Sweeny gave her a bit of her own medicine, "who is the little girl now . . . huh, cry baby," he teased.

"I am," Danielle whispered.

"He can't hear you," came Mrs. Sweeny's loud retort.

And then, more loudly, Danielle croaked, "I am . . . I'm the little girl . . . a very naughty little girl."

"A naughty girl who got a spanking," Sam teased, getting harder by the second.

"Yes . . . Mr. Sweeny . . . your mommy gave me a spanking for being naughty," Danielle driveled on, "I hope you'll still be friends with my son Will. He really likes you."

"And I like him too, Danielle," Sam said -- loving that he called the arrogant adult by her first name, "I'm sure he and you will be seeing a lot more of me."

Then, after quietly apologizing to "Mr. Sweeny," and as she began to lose consciousness from her abject humiliation, the once imperious uber-MILF, her eyes fixated on the bulge in the young man's pants in front of her, softly so that only he could hear, said, "I . . . I . . . I . . want Sam's weenie."

You all do, Sam smiled to himself, cocksure once again.

* * *

With the elated crowd's help, after stuffing the town's former Queen Bee, wearing only her heels, thigh highs and thong, into one shopping cart and her still catatonic son Will into another. Sally Sweeny rolled them both out of the store . . . and directly into the side panel of their very fancy Mercedes Benz.