…ooOoo…
I wandered lonely as a Cloud
That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of dancing Daffodils;
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.
That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of dancing Daffodils;
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee
A poet could not but be gay
In such a laughing company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee
A poet could not but be gay
In such a laughing company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
JUST BECAUSE I SODDING WELL LOVE THIS POEM…
…ooOoo…
"If you go down to the woods today
You're sure of a big surprise
If you go down to the woods today
You better go in disguise
You're sure of a big surprise
If you go down to the woods today
You better go in disguise
For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic
Will gather there for certain because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic
Every teddy bear who's been good
Is sure of a treat today
There's lots of marvellous things to eat
And wonderful games to play
Is sure of a treat today
There's lots of marvellous things to eat
And wonderful games to play
Beneath the trees, where nobody sees
They'll hide and seek as long as they please
'Cause that's the way the teddy bears have their picnic
[ Lyrics from: lyrics/j/jerry_garcia/teddy_bears_ ]
Picnic time for teddy bears
The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today
Watch them, catch them unawares
And see them picnic on their holiday
See them gaily gad about
They'll hide and seek as long as they please
'Cause that's the way the teddy bears have their picnic
[ Lyrics from: lyrics/j/jerry_garcia/teddy_bears_ ]
Picnic time for teddy bears
The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today
Watch them, catch them unawares
And see them picnic on their holiday
See them gaily gad about
They love, to play and shout, they never have any cares
At six o'clock their mommies and daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little teddy bears
At six o'clock their mommies and daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little teddy bears
If you go down in the woods today
You better not go alone
It's lovely down in the woods today
But safer to stay at home
You better not go alone
It's lovely down in the woods today
But safer to stay at home
For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there together because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic…"
Will gather there together because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic…"
JIMMY KENNEDY
…..ooOoo…
My morning has been absolutely insane.
Absolutely vile.
Having a deadline to stick to has always made me jittery and nervous, and today has been no exception, in fact, it has been worse than ever.
Horrific in fact.
My boss, Peter Masen, has been like a cat on a hot tin roof all morning, pacing around the office, looking over my shoulder and constantly messaging me to see how the re-write of his bestselling author's manuscript was going and his incessant hovering has driven me to the point of bloody distraction and has made progress slower than usual.
Added to that, non-stop phone calls and emails have constantly interrupted, and therefore broken, my concentration on the final edit of the illustrious author's latest works, and my temper has risen exponentially as a result.
By 1:35 p.m., I've just about had enough, and, after grabbing my bag, I flounce out of the office, ostensibly to buy some food. But in reality, I need to escape Mr Hawkeye and his sodding lurking, because if he continues to shuffle around me pretending not to be watching me, I'm likely to throw something across the keyboard in nervousness. Looking out of the windows doesn't actually prepare me for what the weather's going to be like as our windows are one way glass and tinted, but it could be snowing for all I care, I just need to get outside for some peace and quiet and to calm my rattled nerves. Walking quickly out of the room before Peter can catch me, my sky-high, statuesque, heels click and clack loudly on the slippery tiled floor as I shove my way through the double doors, heading towards the minimalist, modern reception area, resplendent with a massive white floral display.
If I don't get out of the suddenly stiflingly oppressive space immediately, I'm going to blow a gasket, and, smiling at Mary, the quirky, terminally happy receptionist, I leave the coolly, elegant building, and the heat and carbon monoxide of mid-summer London hits my senses like a brick wall, almost making me reel.
I fucking hate the damp heat and immediately, a small trickle of perspiration drizzles down the centre of my back and my hair begins to frizz at the roots.
Ugh.
A short detour to the small designer sexy knicker-shop five doors down from my office soon has my miserable mood lifted somewhat, and, after having bought four sets of lacy, silky, frothy underwear, I trot back to the large, Georgian building where I work. Trilling to myself, imagining Edward's reaction to my new pretty, skimpy pieces of fabric, I walk down the narrow side street to a small café, to buy my lunch. My friend and work colleague, Jessica, is in Katy's café when I arrive, yakking away to anyone who will listen. After I purchase a chicken and salad sandwich, natural yoghurt, an apple and a banana, we walk back to the office, arm in arm, chatting happily.
As I return to my desk, I'm relieved to see that Peter has disappeared, and one of my colleagues tells me that his daughter, and my line-manager, Rosalie Hale, has dragged him out for lunch in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves down, so I have a bit of time to rattle on with my work without being observed. Turning my laptop back on, I find an email in my inbox from Edward – my beautiful dominant, who also just so happens to be my luscious, caring, loving, considerate and fuck hot boyfriend.
….
"Isabella.
Do not come to the house tonight at 8:00 p.m. as we had previously planned.
You are to remain in your flat this evening, alone.
Do not speak to anyone, either in person or on the telephone, other than me.
Do NOT touch yourself.
Do NOT have any alcohol but please drink a minimum of two litres of water to keep yourself hydrated. Tomorrow is going to be a long, tiring and very physical day.
Ensure that you eat a proper, nutritious, freshly cooked meal.
You are to arrive at the house at 8:00 a.m.—SHARP—and let yourself in with your own keys.
Dress conservatively, but attractively, please.
Wear a skirt or dress so that I have easy, and fully unimpeded, access to your body.
Your instructions for the remainder of the day will be waiting for you.
Master Edward
X"
…
Shit.
"See? See what you've gone and done now, Bitch face?" the harpies hiss menacingly, "You're a big fat fucking failure! FAILURE! That's what you are, cow bag. You are a fucking failure! We need to be with Vernon, Edward's cock, tonight, because, frankly, we need feeding. We're going to starve to death in here and needed you to let him cum down your throat. But Oh No! You've disappointed him this week, so now we all have to fucking suffer, no jizz and no orgasms equates no fucking food for us!" they yell out loudly, before flouncing off into the meninges of my brain.
Sighing, I run my fingers across the top of my hair in a feeble attempt to smooth it because they are, of course, completely right in their assessment of me. Not unusually – I know – I've been a little lacking in my submissive duties this week. With Edward, I frequently struggle to control my overwhelming natural urges where he's concerned. I find it very hard to resist him – impossible if I'm being totally honest – and even after a year of battling, I try to submit to him in ways that I have never done before. Secretly, I think that he usually likes the fiery, feisty side that I fight to curtail, but on Wednesday my behaviour was so terribly remiss and unfocussed that I pushed him way beyond his patience, and this email is testimony to the punishment that I have now to face, and I sigh to myself as a bubble of disappointment rumbles in my chest.
Edward is very indulgent towards me and my inability to always submit the way I should, but the last few weeks have been exceptionally bad, even for me.
Pressing 'print'—I make a copy of Edward's message, fold it and put it inside of my Barbie pink, leather Filofax to ensure that I follow his instructions precisely, before I move the email to my 'Edward' file on the computer so that it's invisible to anyone but me.
Obedience is my one serious weakness when it comes to being a submissive—with Edward anyway—and my tongue runs away with me before my brain can catch up, which usually results in me getting punished, regularly and painfully.
Added to that, I had sulked and stomped when I had failed his instructions on Wednesday evening, and even worse, I was supposed to have attended yoga for two sessions this week, instead of the usual three and because of bad time management, I had only succeeded in getting to one. What had pissed him off most, however, was the level of distraction I had displayed on Wednesday evening when we had had a session in Edward's beautiful playroom in the attic of his Highgate home, and I had screwed up really, really badly and let him down.
Fuck.
No wonder he is so disappointed with me.
It's not like we've only just begun our parallel lives together. Uh uh. We've been together for more than a year, and I really should have managed to organise and compartmentalise my time in a more constructive and diligent manner, and by not doing that, I have failed him …
After having me strip for him slowly to erotic music—something that I still feel horribly self-conscious about doing—even in front of him—he had ordered me to lie on the four poster bed, spread my thighs widely apart, and to finger myself to orgasm whilst he stood beside me and masturbated.
How difficult is that?
Well usually, not very, since I have been with Edward anyway. Not cumming just at the sight of him as he gets into Dominant mode is more of a problem generally and I'm wet before he opens his mouth to be honest. I love it when he cums all over my body—and especially over my face—and the mere thought of his hot jizz splattering on to me usually gets me so hot and bothered, that I can cum in as little as five minutes, and normally no more than ten at the very most as his deep, molten voice, growls orders out to me.
The second he squares his shoulders, lowers his voice and slips into his low rise jeans and he lowers his voice, well… I'm done—dripping, quivering and panting or already clenching and fluttering internally. However, on Wednesday evening, it obviously was too difficult for me and I just could not get there.
I just couldn't.
In the end, I had three fingers jammed inside of myself and my thumb was pressed firmly against my clit, rubbing frantically, and I still felt nothing, despite the fact that my arousal was smothered all over my hand.
Absolutely nothing.
Oh, I was wet, of course I was, but it felt as if my nerve endings had been turned off or severed and no matter how fast or frantic my movements were, nothing happened.
My mind kept losing focus and wandering back to the pile of paperwork littering my desk and the memory stick that was sitting idly in my brief case, calling to me to begin working on my massive amount of unfinished manuscript first drafts before the monthly author's review that had taken place today and that, on Wednesday, meant that I had less than forty eight hours to work on.
I had tried and tried, all but bending myself into a reef knot as I battled to get to the elusive nirvana called 'cumland'—but nothing happened.
Bitter and frustrated tears took over, and they burst into hysterics as I crawled off of the bed, dropped to my knees and begged my Master for forgiveness when it became abundantly obvious that I wasn't going to be able to cum and that I was going to fail such a simple task.
After dragging me by the upper arms, he plonked me back on the bed and told me to try again, using a vibrator this time, and despite being handed my favourite, trusty old Lelo and a fully charged bullet, I still couldn't get there.
Nodding, I inhaled sharply before shoving the Ina deep inside of me, I pressed it upwards and allowed the little nub to rub my clit before I pressed the bullet just above it—right on the small, retracted hood—but still nothing happened. I would usually be crawling backwards up the bed to get away from the hyper sensitive feeling, but there was no feeling at all and it was as if I was numb from the waist down.
Fuck it!
Edward stood and watched me intently as I touched myself all over as he held his foreskin tightly and pushed it up and down, exposing his over swollen, leaking, plum coloured head to me as he wanked slowly.
Using scented oils, I languidly stroked my skin as I watched Edward's flushed face and moving fingers as I rolled and pinched my nipples, stroked my naked pussy, and even tugged and pressed my swollen clit with the little bullet and my fingers.
Nothing.
Even when he twisted his smooth, swinging balls, I felt nothing.
Not even a twitch or an ache inside.
As his frustration with me mounted, so did his growling, barked out messages and obvious anger, and, despite his disappointment, the lowered tone of his voice turned me on amazingly.
But I still couldn't cum.
He then told me to push three fingers inside of myself again, and to fuck myself hard and fast with one hand whilst playing with my clit with the Lelo.
Of course, I did as I was told.
My body flushed and shuddered, and I groaned and writhed as the sweat streamed in little rivulets down between my tits until it pulled in my belly button … and although the attention to my pussy felt fantastic, I still didn't cum as visions of red corrections in manuscript margins danced in front of my screwed up eyes like warning signs.
Fuck it all!
Oh, I got wetter and wetter, the more I tried, butI still couldn't cum. I just couldn't let go and switch off my brain, and I cried all over again as memories of past failures with other Dominants and lovers flashed before my tired eyes…
My mind just continued to wander…
Grumbling angrily, Edward yanked my fingers away, and sucked the dripping arousal from them as he rammed a huge rabbit vibrator inside of me and fucked me hard and fast and totally without mercy. Usually, I would be on my third or fourth orgasm and be exhausted, but this time, there was just—nothing.
Just tiredness and a feeling of abject failure.
"The bed is soaked with your juices, Isabella, you're so fucking wet!" he yelled, "Why, when you are so fucking turned on, can't you cum?" he asked, sounding shocked, because in all the time that we'd been together, he had never known me be unable to orgasm with him. "You've never NOT cum before! What the fuck is going on, baby?" he asked again.
His hands moved so fast that the squelching noises reverberated around the room, and it felt amazing. Once or twice, I felt the tell-tale urge to pee that usually indicated that I was about to cum and squirt in the process, and I thrashed about and moaned, arching and reaching upwards, but I still didn't cum. Hissing in anger, he picked me up and plonked me down firmly on the padded table in the playroom, as his verdant green eyes bore into me whilst he remained fully clothed, despite his fly being undone, his cock standing proudly as he stood beside me and I licked my lips in delicious anticipation as my mind remembered how wonderful he tastes on my taste buds.
The enormous, throbbing cock jutting out of the front of his jeans alerted me to his very painful and desperate predicament, and the steady stream of syrupy pre-cum that was leaking out of the slit showed just how very turned on he was… and my mouth watered in desperate need to have him in my mouth.
"Take over, Isabella," he ordered, grabbing my sweaty hand and putting the vibe into it. Nodding, I pushed and thrust the rubber cock inside of myself, hard and fast, and the little ears banged and rubbed my swollen clit sending sharp electrical shards ricocheting around my body.
But still I didn't cum…
Or rather, I couldn't cum.
The girls were beside themselves and even tried to rub the appropriate receptors in my brain to turn me on more and began twanging the ones that controlled my nipples and clit, strumming them like a rhythm guitar, hard and fast, building up quite an impressive riff that could rival the end of Hotel California—but still nothing happened.
It had the opposite effect.
Having Edward watch me masturbate is always incredibly intimate and arousing, and he says that my face is the most beautiful thing in the world when I orgasm. Having watched the movies and looked at the pictures that he has taken of me over the months, I can't see the attraction myself, I think I look like a wizened old Alaskan woman, raw and cragged from living in an icy igloo, when my face and eyes screw up in my flushed, sweaty, panting and desperate state as I let my climax wash over me and scream my release out to the heavens.
But he finds it hard to maintain his decorum regularly when this happens, and he has been known to cum in his trousers more than once just from watching me lose my shit.
I didn't mind, he always made me lick his cum from the inside of his jeans whenever this happened so we both got what we needed in the end, and the harpies didn't object because they were always up for a cum based supper, whether hot or cold, they weren't fussy.
Disgusting creatures that they are.
It's a feeling of power and control—strangely enough—that I adore—the simple, pure power that my submission has in giving him his dominance, if that makes sense? By submitting to him completely, and usually—well often—without question—I give him the freedom to dominate my mind and body as he needs and we both crave.
He has a photograph of my face as I cum in his wallet. I think it's both ugly and freaky, but he loves it and uses it to jack off in his private bathroom in Chambers when he gets me talk dirty down the phone to him.
I love doing that…
He loves to see me touch myself and I love the effect that it has on him and his massive, always ready for action cock, Vernon.
Edward's breathing hitched as he watched my feeble attempts with the rabbit, and his eyed narrowed. "Try harder, Isabella! Try harder! What's wrong with you tonight, baby?" He barked out at me. Swapping hands, I bent my knees, planted my feet on the table, and tilted my pelvis upwards so that the bent tip of the vibrator repeatedly rubbed and bumped my g-spot. This would usually have me cumming like a small lake, or in the very least like a large pond, all over the padded surface within a matter of minutes, and even, if we are both very lucky, squirting all over the pleather.
Not this time.
It still didn't work.
"Move your pathetic bloody skanky hand out of the way and we will fucking finger you ourselves!" Psyche harpy said loudly, as she pokes her head out of my right hemisphere, looking at me in horror.
I, of course, ignored her.
In the end, my pretty Master got really agitated and angry with me and told me off for over working and spending too much time with my head buried in a book, and to stop fucking well thinking about manuscripts and red pens!
He can't talk when he says that I work too hard.
He works even longer hours than I do, in fact, his own work load has increased to such a level that he and Emmett have recently taken on several new lawyers, but he never loses his concentration during a scene, that failing is all mine, sadly.
"Make me cum!" he ordered, "Fuck my arse with your finger!" he yelled as he dragged me by my hair off of the table and forced me onto the floor, on my knees and made me suck his cock. He held my head rigidly in place, as I swallowed it all the way down the back of my throat and I stroked his balls and pushed the tip of my index finger up his backside. He then ordered me to stop moving my finger but to keep in place, before he fucked my mouth hard and fast and demanded that I swallow all of his cum as he tugged and pulled my hair painfully, dragging me backwards and forwards as he thrust all the way down my throat. The thick ridge of his cock rugged against me roughly and I battled not to gag as I swallowed around him repeatedly.
Threading his fingers through my plaited hair, he yelled and shuddered through his orgasm, holding me so tightly that I thought that he would rip my curls from the roots.
I love it when he does that…
He then lifted me back onto the table, dropped to his knees and went down on me, sucking my clit slowly and much too softly until I screamed in desperation, and laughing, he had pushed two fingers up inside of me before he curled them up to rub my g-spot firmly, causing me to jump and jerk as if electrocuted.
And even that took ages to make me climax.
I earned a hard slap around the top of my thigh and had to suck his hand clean because he had cramp from being forced to work his poor fingers so long and hard.
Fuck it all.
Afterwards he had sat on the high backed chair, draped me over his knees and had spanked me excruciatingly hard and fast for my lack of concentration and tardiness. As I cried after every spank, every count and every "thank you"—just as I had been told to say—I sobbed more bitterly knowing that this was because I had failed him.
Tears and snot ran down my face, attractively, and a silver snail trail of drool slithered over his expensive jeans as I wept bitterly. Not only did I cry angrily due to the sharp, stinging pain, but in frustration and sadness over disappointing Edward.
The truth is that I loathe letting him down, and I had done so, badly. It's the one thing that I dread more than anything else when we switch our roles from lovers to Dominant and submissive.
Being a disappointment to him.
It crucifies and crushes me, not only because he is the best Dominant on the planet, but he is the most wonderful, perfect, loving and beautiful boyfriend in the world, and he's way too good for me. He deserves so much more than that—he deserves nothing but the very best from me, my love, care, attention, devotion and time—and all that he asks of me is my total submission, and on Wednesday, the sad fact is that I didn't give that to him because my brain refused to shut down.
Fuck it all.
"You're nothing but a big fat failure, Bella Swan! Do you know that?" Subconscious harpy says, grinning cruelly.
Fucking bitch.
Our respective careers were even impinging on our non-submissive and Dominant time too, to the point that we'd been spending a couple of nights a week apart now. Rather than the usual one night, it was becoming necessary to be apart more, and it was breaking my heart, and it was driving us both insane to be honest.
Work is crazy for us both at the moment, but we knew that when we signed up to this journey. What we hadn't known at the beginning was that not only would we be fully committed in the BDSM side of our lives, but that we would fall in love and become life partners too and our careers were demanding in the extreme, which affected and restricted our free time. My work is totally dominated—no pun intended—with a whole host of new, possible authors who are demanding my every moment, and as they are based all over the world, we are all on different time zones, andI seem to be at their beck and call twenty four seven at the moment.
It's becoming a struggle to maintain a happy work and life balance. Ever since I was promoted to Book Editor, rather than an Assistant Book Editor, my workload has increased exponentially.
I'm now just one level below Rosalie Masen, and although I still answer to her, I have far more freedom and choice. It sounds much more impressive than it really is because in truth, I'm one of many in the same position at Masen Publishing, but I absolutely LOVE my job and it is the only thing that can get me out of Edward's bed with a smile on my face in the morning.
Well, that and the loud purring and threatening claws of my beloved cats!
Oh, and the vociferous bitching of those fucking annoying mythical harpies bitches that dwell inside my head and chat to me at highly inappropriate moments.
Master Edward has been so proud of my rise up the career ladder, but neither of us is happy with the extra level of pressure it has had on my time and energy levels. He's been unbelievably patient with me because our work is so important to us both and he understands that real life often encroaches on our private and special time.
This is something we both hate and try our best to fight.
But in all honesty, he has been more than a little preoccupied of late as well dealing with a massive new case that has been given to him in his position of QC. I know that his frustrations with our inability to juggle the three separate factions of our lives are mounting, as are mine.
By not seeing me tonight, I know that he is punishing me for my lack of concentration. And I also know that I deserve to be punished, and accept that, and yet I'm also very aware that he is also giving me the head-space I need to sort myself out and he is also allowing me to work late, if need be, thus freeing me mentally and emotionally for a weekend of unbridled submission.
He's a firm, disciplined, and strict Dominant at all times, but a loving, caring and wonderful boyfriend and a fuck hot lover too. He puts my every need before his own and always gives me what I both need and require, and in return, I shouldn't struggle to give him what he needs in return. Sadly, I get a wee bit carried away and struggle to keep my mouth shut sometimes and although I get punished often, he loves that I have a spark of rebellion. He always says that, despite needing to dominate me, he loves the fact that I don't make it easy, and that I keep him on his toes at all times.
Although I am sad at missing having some private and quality time with my Master tonight, I also know that I seriously need to ground myself and ensure that tomorrow I give him the time, and mental commitment, that he demands, deserves and craves from me, his submissive. And the only way to achieve that goal is to knuckle down and work my arse off today and clear some, if not all, of my heavy workload.
After drinking a bottle of water, I munch my way through my lunch as I finish making suggestions in the margins of my latest manuscript, Sarah Monroe's second vampire novel, and I work solidly all afternoon, scarcely moving, even to pee. Before I know it, the office is completely empty and virtually silent, other than the cleaning staff and me.
After printing off the latest typed up amendments, I photocopy my handwritten changes, file everything away and pop some work into my bag. As I turn my computer off, I'm thrilled that I have almost cleared my desk and my inbox for the first time in weeks and feeling relieved, I stretch and look around me.
The harpies are fast asleep under their manky communal quilt, inside their domicile tent. Sighing in relief, I stretch my fingers and smile, it must have been very boring for them, poor bitches have been deprived of any stimulation all afternoon, and they must have decided to have an early night.
Thank fuck.
Serves the interfering cows right!
The light is changing outside because it is well past 8:00 p.m. and long shadows reach from the buildings opposite, casting darkening shapes all around in various shades of violet, lavender and peach over my building, changing the colours inside of my office space. A wave of exhaustion washes over me as I rub my poor aching neck and wince as I do so. It's sore and stiff from being stuck at an odd angle in front of my keyboard for hours, or hunched over a paper manuscript, and I'm suddenly ravenously hungry, desperately thirsty and in dire need of going for a pee.
Because the girls are unusually quiet inside my head, and I bloody well hope it stays that way for the foreseeable future, because that way, I can get a bit of reading done on the bus journey home.
"We are bored to sobs in here, bitch face…" Green Ninja harpy sighs, as she goes back to spitting on the tips of her cowboy boots and polishes them with Midnight Blue Ninja harpy's discarded, and heavily soiled thong. Well, that's a surprise… she's managing to be quiet for once.
"I thought you lot were under your quilt?" I say as I watch her.
She ignores me.
Having finally caught up with the backlog of work in my in-tray, means that the relief is immense and I smile brightly to Mario, one of the cleaners, making him startle in fright.
Blimey.
I didn't think that I was physically that off-putting, and instinctively, I reach up to smooth my pony tail.
"When did you last look in the mirror, Bella?" Pink Ninja harpy asks, "Huh?"
Nice.
Leaning back in my chair again, I yawn deeply, before I stand and pack my things away completely. Picking up my big, slouchy bag, I shove a manuscript and a red pen inside of it, along with another bundle of papers. Putting my laptop into a midnight blue leather case, I check my desk once more before I lock the drawers, grab my new sexy underwear bags, and head for the main door. It's a warm, balmy, late August evening in London. The sky looks lovely, painted as it is with shades of darkening turquoise with summery clouds that are tinged with deep indigo, and streaks of orange, red and pink as the sun is going down rapidly.
It is, without a shadow of a doubt, my favourite time of day, along with the early morning when the light is bright, fresh and new. As I stand waiting at the bus stop, my poor feet start aching inside my violet patent leather stilettos. They're very pretty, but I have no stockings on today and my feet are hot, sticky and uncomfortable and despite them being constructed from the finest Italian leather, they rub here and there, and all I really want to do is to climb into a long, hot, bubble bath and relax.
"Oh, good. Lay and wallow for long enough in hot water and you can add 'shrivelled old prune' to your many physical attributes can't you, huh, Bella?" Subconscious harpy bitches.
Squinting in the low sunlight, I scan the far end of the King's Road for my desperately needed number nineteen bus, and step from foot to foot trying to ease the pressure on the balls.
After what seems like an age, it appears, as usual, with two others lumbering along behind it, and clambering on, I manage, unbelievably, to find a seat. The man next to me is sweating profusely, and curling my nose up slightly; I quickly rummage in my bag and find a sweet to suck on in a bid to help with the smell. I hope that the peppermint's strong flavour and scent manages to stop the offensive odour permeating from his armpits and his sweaty, wide open pores that is making me, and my empty stomach, feel more than a little bit nauseous.
After reaching Piccadilly Circus, Mr Sweaty, thankfully, departs the bus. He had spent far too much time staring at my bare knees for my liking and kept opening his legs so that we were pressed together as he very obviously, and without any embarrassment, adjusted his cock. That bath is looking more and more attractive by the minute as I stare at my bare leg where he had touched it and shudder slightly. The roads are busy but the traffic is moving quite quickly as I travel on the trusty old, rickety bus that luckily goes from outside of my offices in Chelsea all the way back to my home in Islington without me having to change vehicle once.
I love London.
My beautiful, magical, historical, wonderfully pretty City always gives me a spring in my step no matter how stressed, tired or busy I am. It's always busy and often grimy, but I still get a thrill from living here, and I see a magic in it every day, whether it's watching the rain drops dropping in the fountains of Trafalgar Square or the sun rays sparkling on the leaded, mullioned windows of Lambeth Palace—the Tudor home of the Archbishop of Canterbury that sits on the south bank of the Thames. Even this river—the artery of my city—is horribly murky at times, vibrant at others. It seems exotic and awe inspiring to me despite the fact that it often looks like the colour of milky coffee!
Tower Hamlets and it's wonderfully diverse cultural mix is one of my favourite areas, from the eerily wonderful Fournier Street and Spitalfields Market—once the haunts of London's most notorious killer—Jack the Ripper—to the mouthwateringly delicious smelling curries in Brick Lane, and more recently the tall, alien egg looking glass paneled building colloquially called 'The Gherkin' due to the emerald grin glow that it emits from its unusual lights onto the London skyline after dark—but that is, in fact, now called 30 St. Mary Axe.
Having lived here all my life, it never gets old to me, and it never stands still, always changing but somehow always managing to remain the same.
Historical.
Beautiful.
Familiar.
Fascinating.
Home…
My pretty, beautiful city.
As I stare out at the passing world around me, I realize for the first time in months I feel relaxed. Well, no, I always feel relaxed after an Edward induced orgasm, but the weight of my over-burgeoning work has been lifted from my shoulders and everything, even tiny little glinting bits of the evening setting sun adding a rosy glow to the concrete, gladdens my heart tonight and rolling my neck, I feel myself begin to loosen up and calm down.
True, I miss my Master.
The thought that I won't get to see him or touch him for another twelve hours makes my heart and hooha clench in disappointed sadness. Yet, miserable as it makes me feel, I also know that I could not have been what he needed me to be today, and in turn, I wouldn't have got what I needed either, I would have ended the day sad, frustrated and unhappy that I had once again let him down.
Looking around the bus, the man opposite me is appraising me appreciatively and I squeeze my legs together and attempt to tug the hem of my short dress down. As I do so, his eyes flash to my small cleavage and he licks his lips and shifts in his seat.
Ugh.
That is one part of being female that I hate, if you wear short skirts and high heels, you just have to be available to the attentions of any man or in the very least, on the lookout for a quick, meaningless fuck and you have no right to be offended by unwanted advances. Nothing could be further from the truth with me and I twist the large diamond ring on my right middle finger in response to his staring eyes trying to indicate that I'm not free. All he does is leer at me more obviously and drops his hand to his crotch, palming his erection.
Shudder.
Blushing, I turn away and look out of the grimy, smeared window once more and sigh. To an outsider, I look like a young, smart professional woman, on her way home from work, which of course I am. I'm aware that, these days, I have the air of a calm, confident and self-assured young businesswoman about me, thanks to the love and care that is lavished on me by my Master who gives me what I crave, and the satisfying niche that I have carved out for myself in my career.
Fulfilment.
Satisfaction.
Love.
These are all wrapped up in the pretty bow of love that exudes from me every time I think of my precious lover. As well as earthshattering and fuck hot orgasms most days that mean I am rarely left frustrated or wanting.
"The Precious!" the girls bark out from inside of my head.
Aaaaaaaaand they're awake.
An old lady sits down beside me and smiles as she looks at me carefully, cocking an eyebrow at me. "You're a pretty one, my sweet," she says. Bless her. She's small, pale and slightly stooped, and despite the oppressive heat, she has a jaunty black beret on top of her fine white curls and she is wearing a thick black knitted, woollen dress and matching tights.
Smiling back at her, I say, "Thank you. I love your beret. I would love to be able to wear one like that, but sadly I end up looking like Frank Spencer, especially when I wear one with a trench coat!" I state, making her chuckle. We chat for a few moments as she explains to me that she has been to visit the latest Damien Hirst exhibition at the Tate Modern. Being a huge fan, I ask her all about it and what her favourite displays were and after chatting for a few minutes, I excuse myself from our conversation, before I pull the manuscript and pen out of my bag and begin writing comments in the margins in red ink.
"What do you do, my dear?" she asks, gently, and as I explain to her, her eyes light up. "My goodness! Literature is your passion the way that art is mine!" she exclaims, before she pulls the rope to alert the driver that she needs to get off at the next stop.
After saying goodbye, I turn my attention back to my work, and with a cursory glance around me, I'm relieved that Mr Wank from opposite me has alighted the bus too. Thank fuck. Smoothing down my dress, I fold the paper and begin to work.
Being ogled by unsavoury characters is par for the course when you are young and female, and I always dress in pretty, feminine clothes and have come to expect the occasional pervy look or comment from leering men, or spiteful remarks from other women. Today, I'm dressed in a pale lemon dress, with a tightly fitted bodice, thin, spaghetti straps and a full, 1950's style skirt, that stops mid-thigh and is covered in tiny violets with dark green leafs, and I'm carrying a large, violet patent leather Prada bag that matches my shoes, and I think that I look smart, and slightly quirky.
My hair is pulled up in a high, sleek, smooth ponytail and absentmindedly, I chew on the end of my fountain pen and pull the end of it. Well, put it this way, it WASsmooth when I left home this morning, but the humidity has made it frizz and my naturally curly, insanely thick hair has had other ideas and is now wildly wavy and looks like it is hitching a ride home on the top of my head rather than actually being a part of me!
Huh.
Sighing, I put my sunglasses on as the angle of the sun changes and is now hitting me directly in the eyes, and after shoving the wad of paper back into my bag, I lean back on the seat and yawn, there isn't much point in trying to work with the way that the driver is jerking us along the roads and speed bumps, and instead of attempting to work, sit on the bus, watching the people around me.
Twirling my riveted, white gold, diamond encrusted Cartier bracelet around my wrist, I smile to myself, because I doubt that there are many other women, or men, come to that, on the bus, who get their arses paddled and flogged three nights a week. Biting my lip, a small shudder reverberates through my warm, tired muscles when I remember that I'm also tied, bound, caned, whipped and gagged at regular intervals, before being fucked into oblivion, in any orifice that he chooses to use, by the most amazing Dominant in the world.
And that's before the free time with my boyfriend and lover takes over!
Edward is mine.
And I'm TOTALLY his.
Startled as we turn into St Pauls Road, reaching my destination far quicker than I had expected, I grab my bags, leap to my aching feet, and jump off the bus, before I walk briskly from the stop in Highbury Grove, to my flat in Grosvenor Avenue. If I walk quickly, it takes me eight minutes and the virtual silence around me, as well as in my head, is very welcome after my tiring and mentally draining day. My road is dappled and pretty as the sun glints between the thick canopy of leaves on the plane trees, and smiling to myself as I watch the Swifts ducking and diving as they snatch the insects from just above the hot, shimmering tarmac, my hair bobs up and down as I walk briskly towards my door as twilight and a visible darkness begins to creep around the edges of the sky. And at that one fucking thought, the girls rally around their frigging encampment and begin trilling away, frightening the shit out of me in the process.
"Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come with talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains
Within the sound of silence
Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone
Neath the halo of a streetlamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light, split the night
And touched the sound of silence
Neath the halo of a streetlamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light, split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw, ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared, and no one dared
To stir the sound of silence."
People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared, and no one dared
To stir the sound of silence."
Not paying attention to where I'm walking as I inadvertently listen to the interfering harpies, I catch the tip of my hugely expensive shoe in a dip in the York stone pavement, and jerking upright, I stumble, almost falling over as I do so, and tweak my left ankle. Yelling out loud as I drop my bags, I grab my ankle and wince in discomfort and my noise makes the low flying birds, as well as the strutting pigeons, take flight, as I startle them.
Great.
So fucking much for the sound of sodding silence.
The light is rapidly disappearing, and the sky is turning to deep lavender blue, dotted with deeper indigo clouds and twinkling stars are appearing already in the clear gaps, and the summer, golden moon, hangs like a large Chinese lantern in front of me, occasionally hidden by a proliference of leaves. I don't like the dark, and hate being alone in it, and I attempt, feebly, to increase my speed and the uneven, hobbling click clack of my heels on the dusty pavements, resolutely ignoring those interfering, noisy bitches who are dragging things around inside of my head.
As I run up the steps, I rattle around in my bag, and after I grab my big bunch of keys, I let myself into the main house, and after undoing the locks, a small sigh of relief escapes my lips when I step through the front door of my own flat.
My pretty little flat is my sanctuary.
It is so good to be home and as I move through the small hallway, the cats gallop like a herd of heavy footed, starving Wildebeest in full flight towards me as I laugh out loud and carefully pull my shoes off of my sore feet. They miss me when I'm out all day, and many of my nights are now spent away from them too, I know, but this is little more than cupboard love to be honest, even though Mrs Collins, my cleaning lady, would have fed them on and off all sodding day!
Greedy buggers.
Stripping naked as I pad barefoot around my flat, I head into the kitchen to feed my hysterically shouting cats, plus Jasper, the ginger tom, who has pretty much moved in over the last fourteen months. I pick each one up individually and cuddle them, kissing them on the head many times, before I scoop finely diced chicken into fresh bowls, pour biscuits and cat food into others, and place them on mats on the floor. I lift the dirty bowls and place them in the dishwasher before giving them fresh water.
As ever, my flat is absolutely spotless, due to the fact that the amazing, if slightly eccentric, Mrs Collins has worked and woven her magic during the day and I yawn loudly as the coolness of my flat works its relaxing calmness once more. Vases of various shades of pink roses litter every surface, courtesy of my lovely Edward and as I read the card that had accompanied them, tears spring to my eyes.
….…..
To my darling Isabella,
I'll miss you tonight, baby, more than you can possibly know. But believe me when I say that I will, and it hurts me as much as it does you for us to be apart.
Thank you for just being you,
I love you with every part of me, and I always will
M x
…..…
M.
How did I ever get to be so lucky?
Huh?
He's so romantic, even when he's in Dominant mode. He makes sure that even when I'm being punished for tardiness or an inability to follow one of his instructions that I know how loved, adored and wanted I am. I thank the Gods every day for being blessed enough to have him in my life.
Smiling at the large 'M', I stroke my finger over the note, and sigh happily. He always signs that when he's in "Master" mode. And he always initialises his moniker because, frankly, it would be inappropriate for anyone, other than us, to know what that letter means. It isn't something that I'm in the least bit ashamed of, but nor do I wish it to be made public knowledge, and as Edward is a well thought of public figure, I'm extra careful and I respect the discretion that our lifestyle demands.
The cats are surprisingly reticent to eat as they follow me around, and I just dread to think how much chicken that the erudite Mrs C has shovelled down their throats during the day. My heart sinks when they squiggle and rub around my legs in desperate need of hugs and cuddles from their mummy, because I know how sad they must have been without me today. They don't like it when I leave them alone and guilt wraps its way in a tight, constricting band around my heart.
Edward is very good and knows how hard it is for both the cats and me to be apart for any length of time, and he willingly spends more time at my flat than he does in his own house these days because it makes life far easier for me. Unbelievably, I now have a small office-cum-sitting room of my own in his house, in the room next to my submissives space. He arranged for this to be done as a surprise for me at Christmas so that I can work in peace and quiet when I'm there and 'off duty' as it were.
But the sad fact is that the cats need me to be with them, and that my home is very little compared to his and I just don't have the room to provide a similar area for him and I only have one desk to work at and he struggles to spread his paperwork out on my tiny kitchen table. When he has his laptop and several fat cats on the table, there's just not enough space for him to be able to cross reference in the way that he needs to. The cats worship and adore him, and his chicken chopping skills, and so won't leave him alone for any length of time. I can hear him laughing and talking to them as he attempts to stop them from dribbling on his legal documents as he can't bring himself to ignore them, and so, ultimately, he gets absolutely nothing done when he's with me. This is turn, leads him to wander into the bedroom, bored, and one thing leads to another and… as you've no doubt guessed, neither of us gets any work done in the end.
Not that either of us has ever complained because we rarely need an excuse to make love and whenever he walks up behind me when I'm working, he cups my breasts and strokes my nipples, totally destroying my concentration as he does so.
I've been musing over the possibility of turning a small corner of my spare bedroom into a work area for Edward as a surprise, and Terry, my neighbour, is looking for a suitable mahogany desk, bookcase and chair for me. The shelves has been turned into cupboards so all my crap and detritus is now hidden, and I'm even thinking of adding a white metal day bed, piled high with lots of prettily decorative cushions and a handy quilt so that when I'm bored or can't be arsed to work, I can take a little sojourn into his office and distract him for a change…
As I fill a saucepan with water, I turn the stove on and place it on the lit burner, and waiting for it to boil so that I can cook some pasta, I watch the fur kids fannying about, chasing—well… that's quite a loose term—a small moth, and smile at their pathetic attempts whilst I drink two large glasses of iced water. When the water boils, I throw the fresh pasta into the steaming bubbles, and, after stirring the pan, I leave the stuffed tortellini simmering on the hob whilst I run a bath.
Edward is almost as obsessed with the fur angels as I am now. He calls himself 'daddy' when he holds long and meaningful conversations with them. He's also taken it upon himself to be in charge of the early morning grooming sessions, worming, Front-lining, clipping their claws and has become an aficionado at preparing their chicken and fish just as they like it. Not to mention that he's now totally conversant in "Cat" and can decipher exactly what every nuance of their various purrs and meows mean.
He rarely even gets angry when Jaspie Poos curls up on his chest and goes to sleep when I'm settled between his legs on the bed, giving him a mind-blowingly amazing blow job. I go nuts, Edward just explains that they're just looking for a little bit of attention and carefully lifts him up and onto the pillow above his head.
Grrrrr…
Laying out all my depilatory and exfoliating equipment on the vanity unit in readiness for completing my Master's request to be clean-shaven, waxed and lasered, I then pour a capful of foaming, rose scented oil into the steaming, swirling water, before I trot back into the kitchen, grabbing a white cotton robe en route so that I don't burn my naked flesh whilst I'm cooking.
It's a bloody good thing I have been to the beauty salon and lasering clinic the previous two evenings in preparation for tonight!
Little did I know that I would be home—alone. Sadness washes over me again as I attempt to manoeuvre around several fat, furry bodies that are now sprawled across my warm bedroom floor like spilled milk.
I love my babies.
Chuckling, I smile to myself as I look at Ernie. He is a big, fat, lump of a tabby and white boy cat. He's totally soft, sweet and gentle and the only boy amongst my gaggle of kitties—other than the now permanently resident Jasper. He's lying on his back, draped across my freshly discarded shoes. He, like me, has a shoe fetish, and usually my shoes would be cleaned, polished, stuffed with fresh tissue paper and put back in their breathable dust bags by now, before being placed in their plastic, air-vented boxes, complete with corresponding photo on the outside so that they are always ready for me and are easy to find. My breathing hitches and fingers twitch in my desperate need to get to my shoe cleaning kit and to ensure that my precious footwear is safely ensconced in its little cocoon, safely.
Anal.
I know…
But I haven't got the heart to shove Ernie off of them and so I will deal with them later.
My pasta is ready when I return to the kitchen, and after draining it in a power blue colander, I toss a medley of a little olive oil, diced mozzarella, finely chopped tomatoes, cut up asparagus and some shelled peas, along with fresh basil, oregano and crushed garlic into it from a small lidded Tupperware container in the fridge. I then pile it up in a blue and white domino ware pasta bowl and place it on the table.
God bless Mrs Collins and her worrying about my lack of eating, because she always makes sure that there is food in my fridge.
After I pour a large glass of orange juice, I throw a big handful of ice into a jug and top it up with water, and, grabbing a powder blue spotty napkin and a bone handled knife and fork, I place them on the table. I then grind some black pepper over my food, and, sitting down at the little table, I inhale deeply as the delicious odours wash over my olfactory senses, before I scoff it down much too quickly. My empty stomach grumbles as the food hits it, and I sigh contentedly, hoping that this doesn't lead to horrid indigestion and a sleepless night.
Eager to get into the hot water that promises to soothe away the tension in my muscles and to wash away the grime that is travelling in London, I eat much too quickly and grumble as it burns my mouth a little bit.
Sipping my orange juice, I smile as I pad into the bedroom and take the piece of paper that contains the printed copy of Edward's instructions. I would love to have had a glass of chilled South African Pinot Grigio with my supper, but I've promised not to touch alcohol this evening, so I won't.
Finishing my food, I load up the dishwasher, wipe down the table and work surfaces and generally tidy up, before I pour myself a tall glass of iced water and, turning the washer on, I hurry to the bathroom, twisting my ponytail up into a tight knot and pin it up on to the top of my head.
After dropping my robe into the laundry hamper, I remove both lots of nail varnish before I step into the hot, bubbly bath water. The moan of satisfaction that slips unbidden from between my parted lips as I sink into the almost too-hot water echoes around the room, lightly bouncing off of the tiled walls, and sounds deeply erotic, even to my own ears.
As I lay in the steaming water for a few moments, I close my eyes and my mind wanders off to a darkly painted room where all my dreams and deepest, darkest and most base of all fantasies have come true, in Highgate, before I take care of my Master's request.
Scrubbing my skin from head to toe, I carefully check my slightly pink skin for any loose and stray hairs, before I put a deep cleansing and nourishing face pack on, along with a chilled eye mask, and lie back to relax. The hot water works its magic, and gently and calmly massages my woes and cares away, and soon I'm so relaxed that I begin to drift off to into a food sated, relaxed sleep.
Sitting upright and jerking in surprise, as a loud noise frightens me out of my slumber; my eye mask hits the dissipating bubbles and makes me jump again. I leap upwards sharply in the cooling water when the shrill ring of the telephone shatters the silence once again, splashing water all over the already slippery china tiled floor.
Scrambling out of the bath feeling totally disorientated, I stand in the middle of the semi-dark bathroom and look rapidly from side to side, not quite knowing where I am.
My vision is blurred, and feeling bewildered, I rub my eyes frantically as I try to get my cohesion back, because I must have fallen into quite a deep sleep, and my mind feels heavy and sluggish. Water slops all over the floor as it runs in small rivulets down my legs and, as the ringing continues, I make a dash for the door.
In my haste to reach the phone, I skid on the wet floor, fall forward and land heavily, and painfully, onto my knees jarring my wrists, elbows and shoulders in the process.
"FUCK! So much for my relaxed muscles now!" I hiss out as pain shoots through my kneecaps and upper body.
I'm sure from the amount of pain vibrating through me that this means that once more my skin will be bruised just in time to see Edward in the morning. The thought sends a sudden thrill of fear and excitement through me because Edward will not like my skin being marked once again due to my clumsiness.
Fuck it!
The only marks that I'm ever allowed to bear without question are from his hand—or one of his many impact implements—alone. He may just punish me, again…
Oh good!
The fact that I'm so clumsy and that I hurt myself all the time, freaks Edward out and he is so over protective of me that it feels a little bit stifling, in a good way, at times. I haul myself back to my feet and run into my bedroom, before I grab the phone from its cradle; I don't need to check the caller ID to know it's my Master calling to check if I have carried out his requirements.
My Master…
As I pick up the receiver, I keep my mouth closed firmly as I wait for him to speak to me first.
"Speak to me, Isabella. Greet me." He orders.
"Good evening, Master," I say breathlessly.
"Good evening, Isabella. I trust that you have followed my instructions carefully, and to the letter, as I requested?" he says sternly, but with his usual politeness and undertone of affection, "Answer me, please," he finishes.
"Yes, of course, Master," I respond nervously, chewing my bottom lip as I answer him.
His voice is calm and quiet and as ever, and it makes me both excited and slightly nervous that I might fail him in my eagerness to please him. In many ways, the manner in which I behave when I'm with him, or am anticipating being with him, I'm like an over-excitable puppy.
How very sensual!
"Now, my lovely, Isabella," he says, "Tell your Master why you took so long to answer the telephone, baby?" he asks lowering his voice slightly, making my nether regions tingle and throb as every muscle south of my navel clenches deliciously.
Fuck it all. One sentence and I'm done for.
"I... I… er… sorry…" I stammer, feeling totally disorientated, "I… um… I was in the bath... Master… I should have taken the telephone with me. Sorry… forgive me… forgive me for making you wait," I stutter. "I fell asleep, sorry, and couldn't get to the pho …"
A loud, sharp intake of breath shuts me up instantly. Verbal diarrhoea. What the hell have I done?
"You've turned your fucking verbal filter to frigging zero as ever, you sodding dim wit!" Pink Ninja harpy hisses out angrily.
I should NOT have told him that because he's going to go absolutely mad now, and, shivering in nervous anticipation, I hold my breath and wait for the count backwards.
Three…
Two…
One.
There's complete silence on the other end of the line. Total silence – all I can hear is Edward's increased breathing, and this is not from desire, this is from displeasure.
From anger…
Trying to cover my arse and to diffuse his anger, I hurry on with my explanation, "And then in my haste to answer the phone I slipped getting out of the bath, and it took me a minute to stand up again because my knees and wrists hurt …sorry…"
There's still silence on the other end of the phone and I bristle in indignation at my Master's obvious anger at my explanation.
Hell, what exactly is his problem? It was an accident!
Falling over is not the type of pain that I enjoy, and I struggle to keep my tongue under control as I fight the desire to talk to him, without permission.
Master hates me not keeping myself safe, but that's his problem… not mine.
Huh.
Well, no… that's being unkind, he loves me and always has my very best interests at heart, but the fact that I'm so vertically challenged causes us both extra worry and concern. He only panics about me because he loves me, and as both my boyfriend and my Dominant, it is his role to look after me, in every possible way, and as his breathing becomes more rasping, I know that he is furious with me right now.
Shit, I'm in so much trouble. I also realize that by admitting that I had fallen asleep in the bath, I had NOT followed his orders. Keeping myself safe is one of his main rules and when I break that particular instruction, that it is something that he sees as a serious breach of protocol and he punishes me accordingly, and I know that I'm in for one hell of a spanking for this infringement.
Just as my blood pressure begins to increase and my pulse throbs in my ears, I hear a long, deep sigh, "Isabella…" my Master says, in a low smooth, deceptively cool, even voice, "What am I going to do with you?"
Oh fuck. And at that simple question, arousal trickles out onto my wet skin and slithers down my inner thighs.
"Do I take it from this comment that you have infringed one of my rules, again, Isabella? AGAIN?" he asks, lowering his voice, causing an almost violent shiver of excited arousal to ripple through me at having to admit I had disobeyed him.
Inhaling sharply, I close my eyes and hold my breath, trying to calm my nerves before I exhale and speak, carefully. "Yes, Master, but…" I try to explain but he abruptly cuts me off.
"Do NOT answer me, Isabella," he says icily.
Failed again.
"Did I TELL you that you could answer me? Did I ask for a response to my questions, Isabella? Did I give you permission to respond to me? Did you forget that this is Friday evening and even though we're not playing tonight, you're still my possession to do with as I see fit, and you are required to follow our usual plans and protocols, regardless of where you are?" he asks sounding totally pissed off.
Breathing heavily, I close my eyes, bite my lip and say nothing and this seems to please him, because when he speaks again, his voice is much calmer.
"Good. Now for that infringement, you will come to the house, as planned at 8:00 a.m. wearing no underwear. None at all, Isabella. No bra, stockings or knickers. Do you understand me?" he asks. Not responding, I bite my bottom lip painfully trying to resist the almost overwhelming desire to respond. "Added to that, I want you to have a medium size butt plug inserted into your backside before you arrive, is that clear?"
Once again, I keep quiet.
"You may answer now…" he says somewhat smugly, and I just bloody well know that he's grinning at my discomfort, I can almost hear the smirk in his voice as he knows that he has me exactly where he wants me.
"Yes, Master," I answer quickly and quietly.
"Good, I'm glad that you at least have remembered my rules at last. Now, it's Friday evening after all. I want you to put your rose scented body lotion on and get into bed. You're going to need to be relaxed and well rested for tomorrow. Believe you me, my sweet, Isabella, you have absolutely no idea what I have in store for you, baby," Edward finishes, chuckling.
"Oh God…" I murmur, with difficulty.
My breath leaves my lungs in a loud whoosh and the anticipation of what his words have conjured up in my mind causes the moisture to begin to pool between my thighs.
"Why do you sound funny?" he asks sounding concerned. "Why aren't you speaking properly? What the fuck's going on?"
Not wanting to upset him again, I keep silent.
"Answer me!" he commands.
"Um. Well, you see," I stammer.
"Answer me now, Isabella," he barks, "Or I will add ten more spanks to the punishment that you know is looming. Tell me!"
Ugh.
"I have a face pack on to try to make me look nice for you tomorrow, and its dried really hard, and is so tight on my face that I can scarcely move my lips, Master," I explain, "It makes it hard to speak," I finish.
"Hmmmm. Okay. Well, I prefer it when you struggle to answer because your mouth and throat are filled with my cock, whilst I tug your hair, baby," he says, chuckling, "But I accept your explanation," he finishes.
Holy fuck!
"What are you wearing right now, Isabella?" he asks, lowering his voice.
I don't respond.
"You may answer me, Isabella," he says.
"Um. Nothing, Master. I was in the bath, I'm naked," I say, barely above a whisper.
"So, you haven't even wrapped a towel around yourself?" he asks, "Well, I bet you're pink and wet and pretty, baby, and I wish I was there to lick the droplets of water off of your skin," he says. "Are you wet all over, baby?" he says, gruffly, "Does my voice make you wet?"
Whimpering, I clench my inner thighs tightly. It never ceases to amaze me how worked up he can get me from just one sentence, and on many occasions, with one simple word.
"Answer me, baby… is your pussy wet? Is your clit throbbing for my touch, my angel? Do you ache inside? Are you desperate to be fucked and allowed to cum? Do you wish that you could taste me?" he growls lowly.
Stifling the loud groan in my throat before it can give me away, the desire for Edward's touch coursing through my veins as another wave of moisture floods my crotch and I almost whimper, "Yes… Master…" I say with a shaky breath as Ms Clit revs to life and arousal pours down onto my upper thighs once more as my breathing hitches and my heart begins to pound almost painfully in my chest.
Rubbing my thighs together, I know that by the way my breath catches, Edward will know what I am both doing and thinking of doing.
"Part your legs, baby," he says, "Don't you fucking dare touch yourself… you are NOT to touch yourself in any way, shape or form, and I'll know if you have…" he says, with a threatening tone to his voice. "I know what you're doing… so stop it and stop it NOW!"
Shit.
There's no way I would ever disobey Master regarding masturbation; it just would not cross my mind to do so and the outcome and resulting punishment wouldn't be worth it.
But I wish he were here to touch me and assuage my desires and urges.
Sigh…
It is going to be a very long night…
"Good night my lovely, Isabella," he says, "Sleep well and remember, if you touch yourself, I will know. And for an infringement of that magnitude, you would be punished more severely than you can imagine." He continues. "But just to let you know, baby, I will be masturbating whilst watching our latest homemade movie…" he says, "You know the one? The one where I had you hanging upside down from the ceiling and was buried inside your throat, balls deep whilst I used the wand on your clit, Isabella. You do remember what we did last weekend, don't you? You do remember cumming really hard in that position, don't you? How you squirted into my mouth when I fucked you with my fingers? Do you remember?" he asks and I whimper out loud. "That looks really good on film… the way your juices arc into the air…" he finishes, throatily.
Fuck…
Rubbing my inner thighs together again, against his wishes, I know, but I truly can't help myself, I'm almost dry, well, wet humping the door frame because I'm so fucking turned on that I'm openly panting now.
Fuck it all!
It's Friday night.
Friday night for God sake!
He should be fucking me senseless tonight and he should be either filling my pussy, mouth or arse with his hot cum, or splattering it all over my flogged skin, not wasting it on some piece of bloody clothing or the tiles in the shower cubicle.
Not fair.
Pouting, I huff and whimper, making him chuckle, before he carries on talking to me. "Don't sulk!" he says, sounding slightly disbelieving at my attitude, "You do remember that I was in bed with you this morning, in your flat, don't you, Isabella? Huh? It isn't months since I touched you, you know!" he says, laughing more loudly now. "I made love to you twice in our bed before we had to get ready for work, and then you sucked my cock and I came down your throat in the shower! God, but you're a greedy girl," he chuckles. "Enough really is never enough for you, is it, baby?" Tears prickle my eyes, and I know that I'm being unreasonable.
Edward and I had made love virtually non-stop last night. We were possessed with need and the second one of us came, we started all over again, and carried on until we had both fallen asleep after I had cum so many times that I had lost count. When our bodies just couldn't cope with any more exertion and he was still inside of me from behind when I passed out just the sun was coming up. It was amazing… as usual.
No wonder I've been absolutely knackered all day.
"Just know this, baby. That at all times, even when I appear angry, I love you more than life itself…" Master says gently. "Now, be a good girl and get some rest. I trust you've eaten already and you may work for a little while before you go to sleep, okay? Good night, Isabella," he finishes.
Tears spring to my eyes and I swallow thickly before I answer, "Good night, Master, I love you too," I reply quietly, before hanging up.
Shit.
Carefully making my way back to the bathroom, I remove my ruined face mark, empty and clean the bath before I throw my dirty clothes into the laundry hamper and the dry-cleaning basket, before I mop the water up off of the floor to stop me from having another bloody accident or the cats from traipsing suds all over my fresh bed linen—my sheets struggle enough with the amount of bodily fluids that they have to deal with almost daily.
Knowing that I need to sleep, but that I'm totally awake now, I rummage about in the medicine cabinet, and finding what I'm looking for, I take a big glug of cough medicine, aware that it will make me sleep deeply.
"Taking drugs now are we, Bella?" Psyche harpy says, tutting loudly in disbelief, "Edward will boot your arse if he finds out!" she says, shaking her head.
Master hasn't mentioned any restrictions on medications has he?
"So, bitches, fuuuuck you!" I say, waving the bottle around wildly and sticking my middle finger up at thin air.
"Oh dear! She's an addict!" Pink Ninja harpy says sounding scared, "Back away from the bottle Bella! Back away from the drugs …put the bottle down … …"
Ugh!
I scan my memory for his instructions—and although he has forbidden me from touching alcohol, he has made no mention of other drugs or stimulants, and this is a proper over-the-counter medication, nothing illegal. This makes me feel better because I haven't broken any more of my Master's rules and I find that in the absence of anxiety, I'm now buzzing with excitement and anticipation wondering just what the next day will hold.
How on earth am I supposed to be well rested when I'm aching, wet and quivering, so excited that I can hardly stand upright, but with no way of relieving myself?
I try not to think about my aching clit and throbbing pussy, despite the harpies pointing to it and waving 'RUB HERE' signs around my left hemisphere, kicking my optic nerve as they pass it to garner my attention as they head towards my clit and nipple receptors. "Not helping bitches!" I bark out as I dig about in my drawers and find something comfortable to wear to bed. They flip me the bird and continue to march around and around, stamping loudly on the floor of my brain, until I feel like I want to puke!
Focussing, I concentrate on carefully rubbing the lotion into my arms and legs. Even my own touch feels almost too good this evening and I am so aroused that I feel lightheaded and, for the first time in God only knows how long, my eyes snap towards my further wardrobe that contains my box full of gadgets and gizmos.
Focussing hard, I shake my head, inhale sharply and head back into the bathroom before I rinse my hands and chuck the towels into the hamper.
Sitting down, naked, at my laptop, I work for half an hour before I sneakily search through 'Chinz art deco breakfast sets' on eBay, before I decide that I really should back away. I force myself to stop buying after I've bid on half a dozen things that I don't need, but want anyway. The small German figure, circa 1933 is something that I have craved for a long time and I had placed a much higher initial bid than I usually would. And Edward will roll his eyes in disbelief if I win the two honey pots that I've also bid on to add to my burgeoning collection.
He doesn't really mind and to be honest, he fans the flames of my obsessions, indulging me constantly as my new collection of Edwardian crystal and silver scent bottles is testament to. I commented that I liked them in passing and the next thing I knew, a large box, containing twenty of them in different sizes, styles and patterns, was delivered to my door. These now take pride of place on a shelf in my bathroom.
After putting a thick layer of face and eye cream on, I dress in my white boy shorts and a vest top before I grab my pink leather journal, the manuscript and a pen, and jump into bed, taking a chilled bottle of water with me.
My bed linen is made from cool, luxurious Egyptian cotton and feels silky and soft to my over-heated, highly stimulated skin. Fine linens are one more of my many obsessions. Ever since I began working in the Kings' Road, I've battled to avoid the Yves Delorme shop in Duke of York Square, but sadly, I fail often as my credit card bills show testament to.
Edward is overly generous and sometimes it gets too much for me to bear because I'm not used to feeling like a 'kept' woman, and I sometimes cringe when he showers me with gifts and 'things' to the point where I have to make him back off a little bit. His desire to look after my every need, and requirement, knows no bounds. And I feel nurtured and adored in all areas of both my submissive, and day to day, life, so it can sometimes be a bit too much.
Smoothing my fingers over my bed, I smile. This set is my latest acquisition, and although I managed to buy it in the sales, it still cost me an arm and a leg. It's made from bright, crisp white cotton, and is covered in a profusion of enormous, exotic blooms and roses, and I absolutely love it. Mrs Collins was appalled at the amount that it cost when I told her; she said I could have bought about fifty sets made from the best grade of polyester cotton from Walthamstow Market for the same price.
Master had requested from the very beginning that I keep my journal detailing my daily activities and thoughts up to date at all times. It is something that I have found that I quite enjoy doing, despite it being yet another thing that I have to cram into my already over busy day, because I feel connected to him even when we're apart. Edward loves reading it, and whereas with other Masters, journal keeping was a chore, this is a total pleasure.
With Edward? Well, with Edward, truth be told, I enjoy anything that makes Edward happy. And Edward enjoys reading my journal, so I do as he asks.
Slipping on my black rimmed glasses, I begin writing down all my day's little foibles and activities. This even makes me chuckle at times, especially when I go into graphic detail of the underwear that I bought today and knowing the effect that this will have on Edward. His breathing will hitch and he will flush, and I will get a couple of extra spanks—erotic ones though—for teasing him. So that means that it will be a win-win situation all around! Yawning loudly, I continue writing, and when I begin extolling the virtues of the London skyline at twilight once more, I know that it's time to put my journal and pen away for the night!
For the next hour, I sit cross legged on my bed and, switching into work mode again, I make further amendments to the already heavily altered manuscript, frantically scribbling down suggestions in the margins, along with questions that I need to run by Sarah before I make any additions to part two of her wonderful story.
As one yawn begins to roll into the next, I put everything away, go for a pee and wash my hands before I untie my hair. I comb it through with my fingers before I spray a night treatment all over the ends of it, and then I slather thick cream on my hands and feet and put special gloves and socks on to wear to bed.
I take my personal grooming responsibility very seriously and my feet will be as soft as a baby's bum the next morning because of this lotion—Edward sometimes likes to masturbate using my feet to wank himself with, so I need to make sure that they are in good condition.
Clambering into bed once more, I pull the thin sheet over me, leaving the duvet dangling off of the end, and lay down. Ernie climbs onto my pillow as I turn my light off.
My clit throbs painfully causing me to toss and turn. Sighing, I roll onto my stomach, shoving my head under a pillow, trying frantically to be a good girl, and not rub my thighs together like an over-sexed locust on heat as visions of Edward's pretty face, and massive appendage, flit across my memory, making that exercise almost impossible to adhere to.
Sighing, I roll onto my back at last and, lying with my legs spread wide to ward off temptation, I throw the sheet off me in the oppressive night air and lay sprawled on the scarlet cotton bottom sheet.
Looking up, I stare at the sparkling chandelier lampshade above my head, counting the crystal droplets that twinkle like little silvery stars by the muted light that is coming in through the open shutters as they waft hypnotically, moved by the cool air being provided by a large rotating fan that sits at the bottom of my bed, pointed towards my cooch. Blanche is sitting between my feet watching the large beads as they move and smiling, my eyes begin to droop as the inky blackness of sleep starts to pull me under and remove me from all semblance of reality.
…ooOoo….
I'm not sure at what point my eyelids droop and close or exactly when sleep takes me, but the next thing I know, my alarm clock is shattering the tranquil silence.
"You light, the skies up above me
A star, so bright you blind me
Don't close your eyes
Don't fade away
Don't fade away
A star, so bright you blind me
Don't close your eyes
Don't fade away
Don't fade away
Yeah you and me we can ride on a star
If you stay with me girl, we can rule the world
Yeah you and me we can light up the sky
If you stay by my side, we can rule the world.
If you stay with me girl, we can rule the world
Yeah you and me we can light up the sky
If you stay by my side, we can rule the world.
If walls break down, I will comfort you
If angels cry, oh I'll be there for you
You've saved my soul
Don't leave me now
Don't leave me now…"
If angels cry, oh I'll be there for you
You've saved my soul
Don't leave me now
Don't leave me now…"
It dawns on me, as I rush toward consciousness and roll over onto my side that cough medicine works as effectively as a sleeping pill, if not better!
Take That Loving harpy begins bouncing up and down excitedly on the nerves that control my bladder function and grumbling, I open my eyes and shake my head, trying to dislodge the bitch as I do so.
Crawling out of bed is tricky as I feel like my head and throat have been stuffed with cotton wool, and extricating myself from the comatose fur angels is always a feat in itself, and sitting on the edge of the mattress is a dangerous activity this morning as I sway slightly.
Glugging down the contents of the previous evening's bottle of water, I curse the fact that I hadn't replaced the lid and acknowledge the fact, begrudgingly, that I might just be ingesting the dead bodies of several mosquitoes and gnats as I swallow gulp after gulp of the stale water.
"All good protein, girlie," Sarcasm harpy says as SWAT Team harpy smacks her arse, trying to get her to run around the tented encampment faster. "Not as good as Edward's cum, of course, but better than nothing!" I have no idea why she's making Sarcasm harpy run around, and I'm sure as fuck not asking, as I stumble into the bathroom, and without waiting for the temperature to adjust, I climb under the freezing cascading water. "FUCK!" I bark out into the deathly silence on my echoing room as the icy shard-like spray hits me, waking me up instantly, and my teeth begin to chatter as the water slowly begins to warm. Carefully washing and conditioning my hair, I clean my body with a rich, nourishing soap, before I rinse myself thoroughly and then exfoliate.
Stepping cautiously out of the cubical, and standing on the bathmat for safety this time, I wrap my sopping, heavy hair in a bath towel, before I rub lashings of softening lotion into my warm, damp skin. After swathing a robe around my skinny frame, I wander into the kitchen to make some fresh coffee and feed the hordes and multitudes. They are still lying in exhausted piles across my feather filled duvet and pillows.
"Urrrrggggghhhh…" rattles around my brain.
Oh no…
"What the fuck was in that medicine?" Psyche harpy slurs as she staggers across the floor of my brain and bashes her foot on a piece of wood.
Oh.
That wasn't wood—shit—that was Sarcasm harpy's club foot. They stagger out of their tented homes, one by one, wearing quilted dressing gowns, curlers in their hair and are puffing away on cigarettes.
Yuk.
No matter how many fucking times I've told them that my brain is a no-smoking zone, it still doesn't seem to matter to them—they never listen to me and I dread to think how much black, sticky tar is clogging up my brain cells. Chain Smoking harpy shimmies around, in and out of my left hemisphere, puffing away on a dog shit pipe, deliberately trying to wind me up, and I ignore her. It drives her insane when I do that.
Bitch.
Titty Twist harpy is sitting prostrate on a log by the camp fire and begins singing, looking longingly at Sarcasm harpy and her weak bladder, lovingly. That boy needs his eyes testing and perhaps a frontal lobotomy to cure him of his abject adoration of the bitchiest bitch in all of harpydom.
"Cigareets and whuskey and wild wild women
They'll drive you crazy they'll drive you insane
Cigareets and whuskey and wild wild women
They'll drive you crazy they'll drive you insane[ Lyrics from:
Once I was happy and had a good wife I had enough money to last me for life
I met with a gal and we went on a spree she taught me to smoke and drink whusky
Cigareets and whiskey…"
They'll drive you crazy they'll drive you insane
Cigareets and whuskey and wild wild women
They'll drive you crazy they'll drive you insane[ Lyrics from:
Once I was happy and had a good wife I had enough money to last me for life
I met with a gal and we went on a spree she taught me to smoke and drink whusky
Cigareets and whiskey…"
For the love of all that's holy.
Ernie yawns loudly and as he rolls over, he almost falls off the side of the bed; I grab him, and carry him gently to the chair where I lay him down on another feather cushion. He doesn't even wake up. God it's a hard life for the cats that reside in my flat…
NOT!
They barely move when I pile their food into clean bowls, and as I fill the cafetiere with fresh ground coffee powder from the pot in the fridge, and fill it up with hot water, I start to think of what my upcoming day will hold.
Edward spends weeks planning our various and different scenes, his imagination is unbelievable and his resourcefulness is exemplary and he takes my breath away with his resourcefulness and thoughtfulness.
He is perfect.
Absolutely and unequivocally, perfect.
The love of my life.
After roughly towelling my hair, I dry it as smooth as possible before I smooth products through it and force it to become poker straight, adding some serum and using straightening irons to make sure that my unruly curls are held at bay, at least until Edward sees me and the humidity that is London in summer takes over and aids and abets my defiant follicles once more.
Applying lots of body lotion to ensure that my skin feels luxuriously soft under his probing finger tips, I wrap my robe around myself once more before I sit at the dressing table and look at my face.
"Probing… finger tips…" Pink Ninja harpy whimpers, breathlessly, and as my fingers glide over my forearms again, I whimper right along with her.
Sighing because, despite sleeping well, I'm still very pale and washed out looking, with faint shadows around my eyes and look really tired, I slowly rub some moisturiser into my sensitive skin. After I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, I secure it with a black band before I apply a light, fresh, summery face make-up. My freckles show through the foundation but I don't care, Edward likes them and they look quite cute and add interest to my bland, uninspiring features for a change. I add a few individual false eyelashes to enhance my dull chocolate brown eyes, before I apply lashings of mascara to make my already huge eyes look even bigger and a fine line of dark green to highlight the gold specks that litter my irises. Finally, I apply a translucent, fuchsia pink lipstick, and then paint both my finger, and toe nails the same shade.
Adding a spray of perfume through my hair, I pack my make-up away into my bag and have a quick look at myself in the mirror.
Smiling, I rummage through my wardrobe and decide what to wear. Ignoring the underwear drawer, as I have been expressly forbidden to wear any, I instead go into the furthest wardrobe and rattle about inside the large black, plastic, trunk that sits inside it. This is the domain of my toy arsenal and after finding what I need, I lie down on my bed and smooth my ponytail out behind me, ensuring that it stays as straight as possible.
As I pull my knees up, I plant my feet on my mattress, thick anal lube in one hand, stainless steel jewelled butt plug in the other and after inhaling and exhaling several times, I lube it up. After covering my right hand with more of the sticky, thick gloop, I begin to tease and probe my backside until my breathing hitches. Slowly and gently, I insert my index finger into my anus, and move it in and out a few times, feeling my muscles relaxing into the delicious stretching sensation, before I add a second, and then twist a third together and slowly and languidly fuck myself with them, pressing upwards, causing friction against my g-spot through the thin sheet of muscle. Reluctantly, I remove my fingers before I slide the lubed plug inside.
My muscles relax and contract several times as they fight against the heavy, cold intrusion before they adjust and I sigh at the deliciously decadent feeling. It isn't uncomfortable, hell my Master's cock is four times its size, but it makes me feel 'full' and I'm conscious of its presence as I move about, washing my hands, smoothing my hair, making my bed and tidying my room.
It feels wonderful…
Pulling on the dress of choice, a black and grey, cotton gingham, Vivienne Westwood summer dress, which finishes right on the knee, I look in the mirror again and smile at the plain and sophisticated frock. A pair of sky-high black suede stilettos and a matching large suede bag complete the outfit. It's very simple, very elegant, and totally and utterly belies what's happening underneath!
Ringing for a cab, I grab my journal and shove that inside my bag too, before I have a final spray of perfume, and after kissing my babies goodbye, I head outside into the hot morning sunshine.
My neighbour, Mike and his girlfriend are cat sitting for me as usual this weekend, so I know that my babies will be well cared for. If, for any reason, he can't look after them, Mrs Collins always does.
Clambering into the waiting car, I give the driver directions and we immediately head towards his house in beautiful Highgate. My time keeping has to be perfect as a submissive, and I ensure that I arrive with only five minutes to spare. I can't bear the anticipation of waiting for him to let me in, and he is a stickler, time keeping wise as well as in all other ways, he likes punctuality, he doesn't want me to be too early and I am always punished if I'm late… even if it's not my fault. If I'm too early, he will make me stand on the doorstep until the allotted time of arrival before he will permit me entrance to his house, no matter how crappy the weather is.
I arrive with just a few moments to spare, just as I planned and after paying the driver, I shuffle out of the cab, acutely aware that one false move would flash my bits at the already much too attentive fucking driver, and I bite my lip to hold back the threatening groan as the plug is dragged roughly as I shimmy across the mock velvet upholstery in the car.
Climbing the steps, I allow myself a whimper as the plug bumps inside of me, and I frown because, stuck to the letterbox is a shocking yellow post-it note. It simply says, "I trust you remembered your keys…" and means that I have to let myself in. Thank God, they are safely attached to my key ring, because in the excitement of everything, I would never have remembered them, and because of repeatedly forgetting them in the past, and being punished – justifiably – I now carry them everywhere with me, or else I would be in big shit right now!
Opening the door to my Masters house in Highgate is always a time of great anticipation and excitement – I never know what to expect to be honest. It's such a very lovely house and my heart sinks in disappointment that he isn't waiting for me, naked and with flogger in hand in the hallway.
Just like Edward, the house is elegant and tasteful, and it is appointed in the most perfect spot in Highgate Village and is bright, sunny and serene at all times, glowing with a mellow golden light all day. It's filled with expensive and carefully chosen antiques, and is decorated and stylishly presented all over, but, if I'm being completely honest, it's the room at the top of this beautiful building, once the large sprawling attics and servants quarters, that holds the most appeal to me.
My Master's playroom…
Painted a deep blue with beautiful dark wooden furniture, with a ceiling dotted with miniature halogen lights that resemble stars and is, without a shadow of a doubt, my idea of heaven. I feel the wetness grow between my thighs just at the thought of that lovely room and what it will hold for us today. My memory flickers back to Wednesday evening when Master had tied me to his St Andrews Cross and had hit my back, arse and thighs with my two favourite pale pink suede floggers, both at the same time, after he'd pushed vibrating eggs deep inside my pussy and anal beads into my arse after he had spanked me.
He'd then masturbated, huffing and grunting loudly before he had yelled and splattered his salty cum across the latticed marks that had marked my pink flesh as he came all over me, marking me as his.
The girls are still pissed off with me that they didn't get their spunk supper that night.
Would we be back in there today? At that thought, every muscle south of my belly button clenches, highlighting the fact that my arse is filled with the hard metal plug. As ever, I have followed his orders precisely and without question.
Well, I always try to…
Today, hopefully my dedicated submission will be pleasing to Edward and my mind will be uncluttered enough to allow myself to let go and detach from everything other than my Master and the sensations that only he can induce in my mind and body. As I enter the hall, as silently as possible, I look around. It's totally deserted, and as my heart sinks further, my attention is caught by a thick cream envelope that is sitting on the central table, propped against my favourite blue and white Spode vase that is filled today with my favourite roses—dark blood red Grand Prix roses and exotic green foliage.
Hurrying across the tiled floor, walking carefully on my tip toes so that I don't slip, I grab the stiff envelope, smiling, when I see my name written on it in Masters elegant script, and after sliding my nail along the slit, I quickly open the envelope and read the contents.
….…
"Good morning my precious, Isabella,
I trust that you slept well and I also hope that you've managed to follow my instructions carefully.
Today you are to make a picnic of finger food from whatever you find in the kitchen. It must be nourishing, delicious and light and easy to serve.
Today will be all about punishment and pleasure.
Your punishment.
My pleasure.
If you please me, I may give you a little bit of pleasure too.
Maybe…
You have fifty minutes to complete this task.
Do not fail me again today.
Remember at all times, I love you.
Your Master
X"
…..
My breath catches in my throat as the reality of his words sink in.
Oh God. Oh my God.
Outdoor sex!
A picnic with Edward always, always, always means outdoor sex. It always has in the past and I just pray to God that it does again today.
Surely it will? The second that we get out in the fresh air, my knicker elastic explodes and a tap gets turned on between my thighs.
Oh God, you have absolutely no idea how much I love outdoor sex… so do the girls. Aaaaaand on that happy note, they begin singing.
Painfully.
Ugh.
"On a picnic morning
Without a warning
I looked at you
And somehow I knew
Without a warning
I looked at you
And somehow I knew
On a day for singing
My heart went winging
A picnic grove
Was our rendezvous
My heart went winging
A picnic grove
Was our rendezvous
You and I in the sunshine
We strolled the fields and farms
At the last light of evening
I held you in my arms
We strolled the fields and farms
At the last light of evening
I held you in my arms
Now when days grow stormy
And lonely for me
I just recall
Picnic time with you
And lonely for me
I just recall
Picnic time with you
Now when days grow stormy
And lonely for me
I just recall
Picnic time with you…"
And lonely for me
I just recall
Picnic time with you…"
The frisson of excitement I feel at the possibility of getting caught when we make love out of doors is almost unbearable, but when we fuck in our BDSM roles, well… the overwhelming desire and lust that mixes with the unknown, and the hope of getting caught makes every nerve-ending burn with passion, desire and danger!
I shudder as memories of previous picnics flood my mind, especially when he had fucked me in a boat on the Serpentine Lake in the middle of Hyde Park. There were dozens of other boats all around us, oblivious to the fact that, although it looked as if we were merely lying side by side, Edward did, in fact, have his hand underneath me and had his middle finger inside of me, fucking me rapidly, whilst his thumb strummed my clit until I orgasmed as silently as possible surrounded by ducks, geese, swans, moorhens and humans—as well as reeds, duck weed and water lilies.
Sliding down into the bottom of the boat, he'd covered most of his fully dressed body with a soft pink and blue tartan rug before he'd pulled me down to sit on his face. The fact that I looked the epitome of a sweetly dressed English young lady, ostensibly innocently going for a boat ride on a hot Sunday afternoon, meant that we didn't really raise any suspicion. The only thing not visible to the rest of summery London was that I had no underwear on, thus giving Edward complete access to my pussy as I sat, stock still, with my legs widely spread, trying to look nonplussed and calm as he had eaten me out enthusiastically and thoroughly whilst people laughed and giggled and eaten their picnics within touching distance of us, in their attempts to row around the huge lake.
Our boat bobbed enthusiastically in the still water—unlike everyone else's vessel—as I fought a losing battle of not moving under his ministrations. His nose had rubbed roughly and relentlessly against my clit, and I had cum within minutes of him tongue fucking me—after hours of him touching, teasing and talking dirty to me—deluging his face with my juices as I did so. I had to hold onto the oars firmly to stop me from moving my hands as I held my pelvis still. The aforementioned wildlife was none too impressed as they were pushed around by the small waves that emanated from the hull and stern of our tiny vessel, and they squawked their displeasure loudly, and repeatedly as I dropped one of the oars, splashing them and interrupting their quiet Sunday sojourn in the process as I rapidly lost the battle to stay upright, silent and still.
After sitting up, he grinned at me, as I was still sitting upright on his chest, before he slid me down so that my uncovered arse was sitting on the hard wooden bench at the far end of the boat whilst he spent the longest time licking my cum off of his fingers and face. The sun had pounded down on us, and after commenting that I looked rather flushed and that my freckles were popping out as he looked at me, he had insisted that I drank a bottle of water, before he rowed to the side, with great difficulty as we only had one oar and we kept going round in circles, much to Edward's annoyance and my mirth.
When we returned the boat to the boathouse, we didn't get our deposit back due to my laxness with the property of the Royal Parks—the oar was still floating somewhere in the middle of the lake—and he had then taken me into a quiet, wooded area near the Serpentine art gallery, surrounded by pretty, fragrant shrubs and had spanked me hard and fast for my carelessness.
It was a fucking brilliant way to spend a hot, sunny, Sunday afternoon in old London town and I came again just from the sheer decadence of it and the hard, unrelenting slaps against my inflamed upper thighs as the roughness of his shorts had rubbed my hypersensitive clit once more. After making me kneel in the long grass, he had slid underneath me and had fucked my throbbing pussy with his long, talented, rigid tongue, bumping his nose repeatedly against my clit as he had done so, and after I had cum, as quietly as I could, thanks to a napkin being wedged inside of my mouth, he had bent me over a tree stump, and fucked my dripping wet body from behind as he had dug his fingers inside of the bodice of my pink, floral, surprisingly innocent summer dress and had squeezed and twisted my nipples to the point of pain as I dug the high heels of my Barbie pink stilettoes into the closely cropped grass.
Shopaholic and Fashionista harpies had to be resuscitated at the thought that my heels might have been damaged in the thoughtless, cavalier way that I had dared to use them to anchor myself in one position as he thrust in and out of my desperately needy body.
It had been a remarkable day and the feeling of his covered body as it pressed and moved against mine, as the hot sun beat down on us, was fantastic.
Walking across the grass afterwards, hand in hand, with his jizz trickling down the inside of my legs hadn't been the most pleasant of experiences, especially with the girls chattering excitedly away inside of my heads and the bees, flies and wasps buzzing around my sticky, cum covered legs, but because this is what he had wanted to do to me, I had gone along with it happily.
Oh…
The wetness of my suddenly overwhelming arousal trickles out of my uncovered pussy and down my bare thighs at the thought of Edward fucking me in the sunshine once more.
Master knows my exhibitionist tendencies so well and is playing me wonderfully, as ever, today. My heart rate increases as I inhale deeply and looking at my watch, I realise that I have wasted five minutes already, as I put my bag down and quickly head into the kitchen.
Masters kitchen is amazing.
It is totally in keeping with his Georgian house and I love it in here—almost as much as my own, much smaller and much less elegant shabby chic little room. Smiling as I look around the elegant and calm, cream hand painted wooden units, along with the granite worktops, slate flooring plus a large stainless steel Lacanche stove, I sigh. It truly is perfect. There is a steam oven, electric oven, halogen oven, and an enormous triple panelled, stainless steel fridge, freezer and wine fridge that stand proud in the enter of all of the units. There are even two drawer-style dishwashers either side of the sink and a built in coffee machine—and it truly is beautiful.
"Your kitchen is so bright and over the top that it looks like a clown has exploded in it, compared to this, Bella," Subconscious harpy says laughing shrilly.
Bitch.
"Don't mention clowns!" Deep Throat harpy says, rocking in a corner in terror.
He doesn't like clowns…
The room is absolutely immaculate, as always, due to both his non-stop cleaning, and that of his housekeeper, Emily's, OCD tendencies, and I grin to myself as I trail my fingers along the island that has been the scene of many a fucking, and lovemaking, session.
Looking up at the clock, I chastise myself for allowing my mind to wander yet again, before I search the fridge and the large, walk-in pantry for what can be construed as 'finger food.'
Returning to the main part of the kitchen, I see that, on the central island, there is a large pale green wicker hamper and beside it there is a tartan cool bag, complete with frozen blocks, two crystal glasses, a bottle of champagne, white linen napkins and tablecloth, two thick, soft, pale sage green checked, woollen blankets and several thickly puffy, fat, feather, green silk covered cushions. My wonderful, beautiful, amazing, fuck hot Master, thinks of everything and he knows how to keep me comfortable and as unblemished as possible and as the girls nod, I begin preparing our food and try to imagine what he has planned for our day together in the country.
…ooOoo…
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