TFIF…
Friday finally arrives, I swear it has been the longest of long weeks.
I wake early, shower, and pack my overnight case as instructed. I pop in a few extra toys and a tube of lube, I know I’ll be grateful I remembered that later!
I keep myself busy all day with meetings and calls, but as the day progresses, my knickers get damper and damper at the thought of the evening ahead.
Sir instinctively knows… he WhatsApps me throughout the day with suggestions of his filthy plans for the night ahead. He loves to edge me ahead of a scene… he knows just how tempted I’ll be. At lunch, I get a firm text that simply says: “Do not even think about touching that hungry pussy until I tell you do to do so.” I sigh with frustration, bite my bottom lip, and sulk in exasperation.
At 3pm, I get a message:
“Babygirl – it is time”
“Get your suitcase, go to the hotel, give the receptionist your name, get the key to our suite, and proceed directly there. Await my next instructions.”
I outwardly gasp with delight and, chuckling my signature filthy laugh, smiling like the proverbial cat that got the cream. I make my way to reception.
He understands me like no other, he knows I am a complete submissive. I crave complete instruction, I love the loss of free will. His control over me is such an incredible turn on – he is inside my head, he has the power to take me to my ‘sub space’ with just a few words.
Hands trembling and breathless, I proceed to the penthouse suite. Wow I am a lucky girl, Sir spoils me. I open the door and gasp. The suite is spectacular with a corner suite with a huge king-size bed, stylish linens, a sitting area, a chaise lounge and a seating area. A roll top bath in the bedroom, a separate bathroom with a waterfall shower and a wraparound balcony. It is stunning and I feel so very lucky and thankful. I look forward to showing my gratitude later…
There is a fully stocked complementary minibar, but Sir is incredibly thoughtful and ensures there is a bottle of Nosecco chilling on ice – he knows I no longer drink. His attention to detail really is exceptional.
I put my suitcase on the luggage stand and I glance at the chaise lounge and notice a Selfridges bag and a card in an envelope. The handwriting is so distinctively his. I’m surprised and delighted, perhaps another thoughtful gift…?
I open the card and it says..
“Babygirl… tonight is the night.
“I hope you have followed my instructions to the letter or there will be consequences.” I tremble with arousal and fear.
“Please shower, moisturise all over with the body lotion in the gift bag, and be sure to use the perfume I’ve included.”
I glance into the bag. Laughing out loud, I pull out the perfectly packaged and aptly named Tom Ford ‘Fucking Fabulous’ perfume – my absolute favourite as he knows. He really is spoiling me tonight. I suspect I’ll pay for it later!
Under the perfume is a second card – yet more instructions. He really does like to take control. The envelope says ‘Open after your shower.’
I do as I’m told, as always..
‘Babygirl, assuming you now smell Fucking Fabulous, I want you to dress in the finest Victoria’s Secrets I sent.
I slipped into the exquisite corset, cupping my small but perfectly formed breasts into the cups, padded just the right way to create a voluptuous plunge. I fasten each hook and eye, feeling hotter and hotter as I did each one in turn. I pull the ribbons to cinch my waist and give me the perfect hourglass figure. I roll my gloss-black stockings up each leg, hooking them deftly into place with the lace tops, ensuring the heights are equal and the seams run in straight lines up the back of my legs. I know Sir demands perfection or I’ll be thoroughly spanked later. I slip on my Vivienne Westwood heels.
I read on…
‘Babygirl, look at yourself in the floor-length mirror’
I spot a strategically placed freestanding mirror, perfectly positioned with a view of the bed. I stand proudly and look at myself. I gasp, I l feel hot. I look and feel beautiful, empowered, sexy and wanton – ready for Sir.
I read the next paragraph and gasp out loud, almost unable to believe what I’m reading…
‘Babygirl, take your new pink vibrator and your new butt plug. Lube both and insert them. Get the remote controls that were with each of them – do NOT turn them on. Secure them in place with your thong. Ensure the tail on the pink one is strategically positioned against your clit.’
‘Finally, use those leather straps and padlocks I sent you to secure those Westwood heels in place. You’ll be wearing those for the entire night.’
‘Put your collar and the lead in your handbag, get dressed and come to the bar where I will be waiting – bring the remotes and your handbag’
I do as I’m told. I’m so wet I barely need any lube for the vibrator, and the butt plug makes me squeal in delight as I slip it into place. It is almost a little too large, so I can feel it constantly in place. I do enjoy the feeling of something in my ass.
As I tentatively walk around the room, I can feel the vibrator and butt plug in place and the padlocks clinking slightly as I move. I nearly cum with anticipation, I’m practically breathless.
I slip on my leather wrap dress. It’s one of Sir’s favourites, and slowly and gingerly I make my way towards the lift. I descend to the bar. I can see him sitting there, looking hot as hell. He’s always immaculately but casually dressed in his Lacoste polo and Belstaff jacket. I step towards him. I can smell his signature scent and it drives me wild, I’m so fucking turned on, I’m like a dog on heat. My knickers are soaking.
The bar is busy, but it’s like we are the only people there. We lock eyes. The electricity between us is incredible. He looks me up and down, nods approvingly, and motions for me to sit. I sit down and he smirks as he can see me flinch slightly as the vibrator and butt plug make me jolt. He extends a hand. I silently hand him the remotes. He reaches over, kisses me, and whispers, ‘good babygirl’ in my ear.
He motions for the waiter and asks me what I want to drink. As I peruse the menu, he hits the power on both remotes simultaneously. I nearly squeal out loud in shock and delight, and somehow manage to order a mocktail.
The waiter leaves. I call Sir ‘a bastard’ – something I know I’ll pay for later..
The drinks arrive. Meanwhile, Sir is working through the various remote settings. The buzzing gets louder and more intense. I am grinding in the seat, biting my lip to stop myself from screaming as I feel an orgasm building. Thankfully, Sir has chosen a discreet corner of the bar, but I can barely contain myself or retain any sense of decency. He edges me and keeps me on the brink of cumming. All the while, I am getting more and more turned on at how filthy he is making me behave in public. I feel like his dirty whore.
He can see I can barely stand anymore. He pays the bill, takes my hand and walks me through the bar. As my legs tremble, I cling to him for support.
As we get to the lift, he turns to me, grips me and kisses me passionately in full view and says, ’What do you say, Babygirl?’
I say, ‘Thank you Sir’
‘Good Girl’ he replies.
We enter the lift, thankfully alone. He reaches into my bag, takes out the collar, he slips it around my neck, shushing my protests with a finger to my lips. He clips the lead in place. He leads me out of the lift like a pet as I walk eyes downcast in fear of being seen as he leads me to the suite. He opens the door, drags my inside, slams the door, pushes me against it, turns the remotes up to 10, and kisses me hard while I scream as I finally cum over and over…
To be continued…
