History Lesson 2

‘Everything in the house décor-wise,’ the Rev. Preston is saying as I scribble in my notebook, ‘is a little jaded.  In some rooms, it hasn’t even had a lick of paint in…decades… it seems.  As such, I’ve managed to wheedle some money out of the Church Estates Office to do the place up a bit.  So what I’m after really, is some pointers on colour, wallpapers, carpets, other finishes, that sort of thing.  The furniture, on the whole, is pretty sound although as you will see, the kitchen needs a radical update.’

Already the swatches and sample books were swimming around in my mind’s eye.  I was in serious design mode.  The Drawing Room we were in was a good size- in fact it was more like two rooms combined into one stretching from the front to the back of the house.  It had sofas and armchairs at one end, at the other a large oak dining table in front of some elegant but time-worn French doors.  and as we stood there in the middle of the large room, it was time now to ask the question.

‘…and, err… is there anyone else living in the house…?’

‘No,’ he replied, hands in pockets, glaring at me.  ‘I live alone.’

I allowed myself an inside grin.

Secretarial Services

History Lesson 1

 

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.

Valentine’s Hat-Trick Part 4

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.

His Slave for The Day

Valentine’s Hat-Trick part 3

Buggery always takes it out of you. It’s quite exhausting in an excitingly debauched way but I am running on oodles of nervous energy this morning and I soon feel fully re-charged.

My Lord after his dick had slipped out of my arse just grunted and slapped me hard on my left buttock and barked a command to me to get some coffee.

The single sharp hard slap tingled across my bottom as I smoothed down my little skirt and tottered over to the kettle. I hoped it was a taste of where things might go later as I was well overdue a good spanking.

I clicked on the kettle, not daring to speak. I could feel My Lord’s ire dark and thick behind me, his anger deliciously palpable. I knew I was in for a rough time this morning and all my senses prickled with a nervous, wanton excitement.

So I waited for the kettle to boil, daring not to look round at him. I knew he was standing there, leaning back against the table where I had just been unceremoniously fucked in the arse and I could physically feel his eyes tracking my legs and bottom and back, gauging, appraising lasers coveting what belonged to him.

The kettle clicked. My hands were trembling a little as I reached for it and poured hot water into a coffee mug. The belt was still around my neck, the long loose end dangling down my back. My arse still felt a little sore but not uncomfortably; in fact it felt quite deliciously violated and his come was already seeping out of my anus into my panties.

I dared to turn round with the mug and eyes cast down to the floor, moved towards My Lord and offered him the mug which he took. I stood in front of him, biting my lip, my eyes still cast downward.

‘It’s upstairs for you, right now,’ he suddenly barked, grabbing the end of the belt. He tugged hard at my neck as he walked away from the table and I stumbled in my heels, almost falling over again but managing to stay upright clicking after him as he led me out of the kitchen.

I followed him up the stairs with him still firmly tugging me along with the belt tight around my throat. I make it to the top of the stairs after a few stumbles and he leads me into our bedroom. There he turns and scowls at me, his face like thunder and I feel a charge of apprehensive want spark through my snatch.

He undoes the belt around my neck, standing close to me, his face inches from mine but I dare not reach out and touch him.

‘Undress,’ he snaps in to my face.

I do as I am told, taking off my top and slipping my pink skirt down to my ankles so I stood there wearing only my bra, panties, hold-up stockings and high heels.

‘Now put on what is on the bed and change your shoes.’

Obediently I kick off my pink high heels and step into the nearby pair of gold high heeled sandals. I bend to fasten them, making sure my arse is on full, stretched display to him as I did so. I then reach to the bed and put on what is there: a very short, white smock-like silk dress with think bands of gold sequins around the neck and hem. It is my slave outfit. Then when I am dressed, he slips another nose around my neck- this time of thick, silver chain link like a dog lead- tightens it, then on a long leash of chain he directs me out of the bathroom to the bathroom.

‘Get to work in here,’ he snarls. I want this place spic and span. It’s a bloody disgrace, you’ve let it become an absolute tip, but what do I expect from a little slut like you.’

He then hooks the end of the chain onto a small hook in the tiled wall by the door and I am finally tethered.

Saying no more he leaves the bathroom slamming the door behind him. I get to work with the cleaning products cleaning the sink, toilet, bath and shower and tidying any loose washing away into the laundry basket.

He comes back in about twenty minutes after leaving me and I feel as if I’ve done a good job, the place is quite sparkly, but I know it will not be up to his exacting standards.

In fact he is thoroughly pissed off with what he finds. He grabs me by the hair again and pushes my face over the bath…’see, there, the hairs? The stains? Haven’t I got eyes? Don’t you have a single domestic bone in your body, you useless little tart?  Good for fucking delivery boys though, aren’t you.  You’re very good and dropping your knickers spreading your legs and letting strangers fill your wet cunt with spunk, aren’t you.  Is that all you’re good for, you filthy bitch?’

He roughly pulls me over to the basin by the chain around my neck and I squeal as he pushes my face into it, telling me what a fucking disgrace I am, what a pathetic woman, can’t even clean a sink properly, would rather be fucking delivery boys wouldn’t I, would rather bend over to take some strangers cock into my pussy rather serve her husband properly, rather than do some decent housework for him, wouldn’t I? wouldn’t I?

He is very angry now, whipping himself up into an indignant frenzy and I am making excuses, I am whimpering, I start to beg for him to be lenient with me as he pushes me across the bathroom, as he very roughly grabs my hair again and pushes my face over the toilet bowl and tells me what a dirty, slovenly tart I was, happy enough to take a big cock up my arse, but incapable of cleaning sanitary ware to any level of acceptability.

Standing over me he yanks the chain around my neck and pulls me up from out of the toilet and up onto my feet. The cold metal chain biting into my throat, he pulls me over to the shower cubicle. There, he pulls down the shoulder straps of my smock dress and bra and pulls the cups of my bra down exposing my tits. My nipples are hard, erect, on fire.

He pushes me back into the shower. It’s a large, tiled cubicle big enough for two people [three even…it has been done under other quite, different circumstances which I will no doubt share with you one day], and I stumble and crumple onto its tiled floor. His cock is then out of his trousers but although showing signs of hardening it is still pretty flaccid. I can sense what is coming next. Calling me all of the disgusting names under the sun he stands over me and begins to piss on me. His warm, golden urine flows out with a strong manly force over me, shooting down over my tits then up to my face where I open my mouth to drink some and then it over my hair soaking into my thick hairs and I am covered in his warm, fresh piss, it soaks into my hair, my face, my dress, my stockings.

As soon as he is finished he hardens very quickly and I know it is at the sight of me at his feet, covered in his piss, my tits full my nipples like bullets my red lipsticked lips parted, ready, ready, ready….

And so his hand his behind my head again with a handful of hair and the big tight purple bulb of his cock is an inch from my lips and then rammed in my mouth without any warning he pushes my face onto his cock and it pushes its way to the back of my throat and I gag a little on the huge shaft of man meat in my mouth, his hard cock filling my mouth then it slides back a little and my tongue flickers over the pulsing, hot bulb my teeth nibble gently around his shaft and I suck and he comes in my mouth, spurts of come shoot to the back of my mouth as he spasms with a long moan ejaculating into my willing mouth as I drink down his spunk, my Lord’s spunk and he has now completed the second strike of his hat-trick, orifice number two has been entered and marked and his cock then slips out from between my lips, still semi-hard, and without saying a word, My Lord turns on the shower, and a fresh stream of water cascades down onto me, soaking me, cleansing me and he steps out of the cubicle as I take off my clothes in the shower below the thick flow of water and he stands there,watching me, as I rub the water and soap all over me, and is still watching intently as I eventually snake a finger down to my slit, as I massage my nub of pleasure, as I masturbate myself rubbing and stroking my vagina until I come, remembering that delicious piss cascading over me and then being fucked in the mouth and I then feel the familiar yearning deep in my snatch, the need in there, the need for it it to be rammed by a long, hard cock and as I enjoy my orgasm, as my Lord watches me intently, I know that that relief is not now too far away.

Admin

 J587MKNSDJNC

Valentine’s hat-Trick Part 2

 

….and so I stood in the kitchen feeling wonderfully vulnerable. I know I am in trouble.

I look over my shoulder and see him standing there. Shoeless, his dark hair sexily unkempt, he is wearing a white tee-shirt and black business trousers, the belt unbuckled, and I stare at it, breathing heavily, my thighs bare below my little skirt tingling, my slit a gloop of need, my whole vagina a wonderful, throbbing zone of anxious, expectant desire. A desire to be opened and taken and…yes…hurt. Even my anus was alive with a delicious pulse of dread and excitement and I allowed myself a thought: which orifice was he going to fill with his come first? The answer I knew, now, would come soon enough.

His scowl makes me shiver as I stand back against the kitchen counter. He is taking in my legs, then my tits, then his eyes lock on mine.

I was watching you,’ he spits moving into the kitchen. ‘You dirty little bitch. I saw you you flirting with that delivery boy. ‘

He now stands right in front of me and reaches forward and roughly grabs my thick, permed hair at sharply pulls back my head. I yelp at the stab of pain. He just puts his face closer to mine and scowls all the more; my cherry red lipsticked lips quiver and my long neck is taunt with a fraught but eager tension.

‘Flouncing around in front of him like that,’ she snaps into my face. Flashing those legs and wearing that little skirt leaving hardly anything to the imagination. I bet you managed to bend over as well to flash him your knickers, didn’t you, you fucking slut.’

‘N-n-n-no My Lord,’ I stutter back, ‘I wouldn’t dare do such a course thing.’

‘Yes you would because you are a horny cock teasing little cow, aren’t you?’

‘No, I’m…’

‘Yes you are….DON’T ARGUE WITH ME!!’

He scrunches up my hair ever tighter and yanks my head back further pressing me against the kitchen cabinet, my hands splayed behind me on the worktop.

‘If I hadn’t of been around,’ he spits, ‘that boy would have been in here at a moment’s notice, wouldn’t he. I’d have been out at work, and you with your juices flowing in that needy tight little crack of yours would have had him in here, in my kitchen, and your tits would be out and your knickers down in no time and he would be sucking those tits wouldn’t he, and licking those long legs before bending you over and fucking you on the kitchen table- my kitchen table, wouldn’t he? Admit it, WOULDN’T HE!!’

I whimper from the sharp pain in my scalp from the crushed up handful of hair.

‘Because you don’t care, do you, you bitch. You’d let him fuck you, you’d let his spunk drip out of you onto the kitchen table where it would dry, and you would then be happy for me to come home from work, and sit at that table- even eat at table- where a young man’s spunk stain had seeped into the wood, a spunk stain created by him after lifting up the short skirt and pulling down the knickers of my wife. And you’d secretly fucking laugh at the sight wouldn’t you.’

‘No My lord, I would never, never….’

I try to look away from him. His anger is intense now, his eyes are boring through my skull. He had caught me flirting with the delivery boy- a delivery boy with flowers sent to me by My Lord no less- and he had read my mind, tracking my thoughts about the young man’s cock, how hard and virile it would be, how his strokes in my cunt would have been firm and deep, how my cunt would have tightened around that young shaft of flesh in depraved, unfaithful pleasure, if only My Lord had been out at work this morning…

Valentine Hat-Trick Part 1

January is a very quiet time. The month just seems to slip by in a blur; the New Year invariably is a busy period at work for Alistair and I go almost into automatic mood, being the good efficient housewife, happy to keep the household in order with the expectation of any particularly nefarious thrills in the near future.

Having a ‘quiet’ period is quite nice actually. A bit of uneventful ennui for a few weeks can be soothing in a funny sort of way. After the hectic and full-on events of Christmas and New Year, it’s good to have a time when you can re-charge the batteries.

But by the time January is over and February is upon us, that period of relative uneventful quietness does start to get a bit boring; the humdrum- and largely sex-free it must be admitted, which is perhaps the most difficult part- starts to become a bit wearing. The chance to rest and hunker down with a book in the evening is a regular, enjoyable experience that starts to wear quite thin. So Valentine’s Day in mid-February comes as a welcome relief. We have our Lenten period of reflective denial over and done with early; by V-Day, it’s time to get back into the swing of some good old fashioned lust, general debauchery and energetic spanking again.

And so it usual for this time of year for Alistair to enjoy his ‘hat-trick’ routine. This quite simply involves a sustained day of me being a totally submissive housewife, and him depositing his spunk in my main three orifices, namely cunt, arse and mouth in the space of a few hours. 

It starts a couple of days before when Alastair becomes My Lord. It’s a pretty straightforward routine whereby I become a traditional housewife in 1950s mode. I wear flouncy patterned dresses, sturdy Play-Tex bras that make my tits look like torpedoes, stockings and even a girdle which I know drives My Lord mad with passion but it is a passion he suppresses and doesn’t satisfy which of course builds up a –usually impressive- head of lustful steam.

And so I potter about the house at My Lord’s beg and call. It’s all simple routine, but nonetheless also builds up healthy levels of need within myself and I often feel myself becoming wet as I gaze down at my marigolds, washing up the dinner plates in the sink [the dishwasher is strictly out of bounds during these times]. The need to be quite roughly fucked in a number of holes grows ever stronger and the sense of denial over those few preceding days, only intensifies that need.

Finally, it is Valentine’s Day. The routine for me starts early. I dress in a short, flowery pink skirt, shocking pink high heels, sheer gloss hold up stockings, a tight white blouse and the obligatory little white lace pinnie. My hair is pulled back with an Alice band. My nipples are hard with anticipation. I provide My Lord with breakfast in bed at 8.00.a.m. He grumbles but I can tell he approves of my dress and drinks in my legs. I leave the bedroom happy, but of course not yet fully satisfied.
 
I then get down to some cleaning, dusting the living room with a little flounce in my step.
At 8.20 a.m. there is a knock on the door and I open it. It is a bouquet of flowers for me from My Lord and I flounce and flutter my eyes at the young man delivering them. I feel a pleasant little thrill as he looks wantonly at my tits in the tight, almost bursting white cotton blouse and appreciatively at my legs as I coo over the flowers.

Then I am back in the kitchen arranging them in a large vase. I can hear My Lord coming down the stairs. I busy myself with the flowers, humming quietly to myself. Then I can sense him stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He was more than merely watching me; I can feel his eyes appraising me and I can also feel the increasingly torrid waves of anger coming from him. He is very displeased with me and I dampen at the thought that it is about to start…

Find out what was in store for me in Part 2....

New Year Chores

It’s that time of year to get down on your knees and just scrub scrub scrub….

Had a treat in store for Valentine’s though…a full report coming very soon :)

An Explanation of ‘The Lifestyle’

 

You might be wondering, with good, reason, if I am such a submissive housewife, how am I able to write all this down? Do I do it with the express approval of My Lord and Master, does he vet everything before it is allowed to be published?

Well I’ll let you into a little secret…this log is my very own, secret place. This is my very own diary, my very own record of the relationship I maintain with my husband, and the lifestyle we have chosen to adopt and. as you will see, although much of it is directly controlled by My Lord, not everything within it is, and I have my own- sometimes illicit- freedoms within it.

I probably need to describe the mechanics of our relationship a little more. We operate as a partnership; I am the submissive part of the relationship and My Lord is the dominant one, but we work in an inter-related way- a ‘symbiotic’ one he’s told me, and that’s pretty much true.

My Lord for example may have the final say in all of the decisions that affect our household, but that doesn’t mean he makes those decisions alone. Sure he has that final decision, but he makes it after fully consulting with me and considering my opinion.

I am also allowed some leeway in my own life. I can keep a diary like this for example, without having to ask his permission although to be honest, as I have deliberated neglected to tell him about it, and were he found out about it somehow, I might well be in line for some serious punishment. You see we are supposed to have a completely open relationship in all senses. But a girl has to have her secrets, doesn’t she? Isn’t it what makes her alluring, a little mysterious, and mystery can’t be achieved through being a goody two-shoes all of the time, can it now?

Our relationship within ‘The Lifestyle’ isn’t consistently of one nature, either. It operates in degrees of domination/submission. We may go through periods where I am an abject slave, as the recent episode at the garden centre. It may last for a few hours, more as a ‘play’ device, or it can go on for a week or two, during which I live totally at the whims and command of My Lord. I cannot speak unless spoken too, cannot go to the toilet without his permission, I attend to all his needs no matter how menial or- sometimes- disgusting- and I am completely his sex toy. I am nothing but a play-thing for him to do anything he wishes to short of I must add, drawing blood, injuring me in any way or putting myself or anyone else in serious danger, as we do have a strict charter drawn up between us that is kept to stringently with regard to that sort of thing.

At other times, I am allowed to operate on a gentler, but no less strenuous level of dutiful, attentive housewife, which to be honest is the majority of the time. I still attend to his every need and am to a large extent his sexual plaything, but I have more freedom than when in slave mode. I can speak without being spoken to first, I am allowed to express opinions [within reason and respectfully] and enjoy a relatively flexible life where I can go and do as I please- again within reason of course, and under the strict understanding that My Lord is told at all times just what those movements are, and who I am seeing [if anyone].

I suppose the closest correlation I can think of is that of your archetypal fifties housewife. I even dress that way much of the time, although my form of dress does vary as demanded by My Lord. Sometimes it is dresses in pastels or gingham, but always of course with pointy high heels [usually slingbacks], stockings, traditional suspenders, and appropriate, matching lingerie.

Other times, I wear shorter skirts, often flouncy, flirty little skirts with hems that barely cover my stocking tops, the obligatory high heels and revealing, tight plunging neckline tops that barely hold my tits in place. I also, always wear a small lace pinny over my skirt. I vacuum, dust and polished dressed like this, although I am always, always if My Lord is around, very quickly bent over the kitchen table or back of a living room settee and given a good hard fuck, which of course always puts me in a better mood for finished the chores afterwards, although the countdown in my head has inevitably started towards my next servicing.

Ah, the sex. This is of course central the whole Lifestyle. Sex has always been very important to me, and in Alistair I have found the perfect foil for my often ferocious sexual appetite, that has of course its own twist of a thirst for domination- and, of course- the delicious swish, thwack and ache of pain. The intense pleasure of a complex, many-faceted orgasm is central to my life. It means everything, and finding ways of channelling pain and pleasure towards achieving that orgasm, is to me the very essence of my existence.

Does this sound over the top? perhaps,but this is a personal diary, my very own testament, and as I promised I am determined to tell it as it is, so there are no apologies from me on that count.

However…2012…a new year. Can’t wait to see what lies ahead!!! And for the first time, it is going to be recorded here…:))