Tuesday, 27 November 2012
Thursday, 20 September 2012
Time passes, but the routine goes on. Been away from my diary for a few months but I’ll report events back to eventually over the next month or so.
However you may well be wondering how did I first meet my delectable Mr Robson?
Time for a little history lesson perhaps.
It was over twenty years ago and I was a free-spirited twenty-something girl about town. I’d graduated from Art School and was running my own little interior design business and it was doing very well too. I had enough commissions to keep me busy five sometimes six days a week and although I wasn’t making a fortune, there was enough cash coming to not just keep the wolf at the door, but firmly down the path and outside the garden gate.
I had independence and a great deal of sexual freedom. I had plenty of fun and boyfriends but never anybody serious and although that sounds great, personally, I still had a bit of an emptiness in me and a great deal of uncertainty about what I actually wanted out of life and, specifically, a relationship. At the time I met the Reverend Alistair Preston I was in a semi-serious relationship with a guy called Rick, a fellow Art School graduate who was working as a photographer for some fledgling start-up business based on a nondescript industrial estate way out on the edge of town. I say semi-serious in that Jonah was serious about us, but although he was a nice enough bloke, I wasn’t. You get the picture.
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
After I have showered I am allowed a little bit of pampering as Mr Robson leaves a warm towel by the bath for me and a gift- a small pack of my favourite- and very expensive- perfume and toiletries with I apply to my now clean, warm soothed skin with unashamed pleasure. Well that’s not to be unexpected really…I am a not backward at coming forward at enjoying unashamed pleasure. I appreciate the gift from Mr Robson though, it is a sign of his love for me, and I feel content and [almost] fully satisfied as I prepare for the rest of the morning, knowing that Mr Robson’s show of affection for me, will not however affect his command- and demands- of me over the next couple of hours, that he will be as strict and where necessary painfully controlling of me as and how he sees fit without any compromise, and that is exactly how I want it to be.
I eventually leave the bathroom and go into our bedroom. He is nowhere to be seen and must have gone downstairs. He has however left out the clothes I am to wear. They are efficient and secretarial but suitably sexy. A black jacket, small white blouse and a tight, short black skirt that barely covers the tops of the sheer, honey coloured stockings I am to wear, with black, very high but business-like pointy high heels. My underwear will be a red lace thong and bra. Also on the bed is a small black box and I know what is inside it; it is my gold ankle bracelet, I am being taken outside as Mr Robson’s slave, in the role of his secretary.
Tingling with excitement- and apprehension- I put on my clothes. Apprehension, because he is taking me out in such a short skirt but the apprehension is mixed up with an intense shiver of excited anticipation at what lay ahead.