The candles are lit. The fire is burning hot in the wide hearth with the wooden beam across it. My old cottage sitting room is cosy and warm. A bottle of wine is chilled in the fridge and I am dressed for her.
I hear her knock and go quickly to the door to let her in, standing aside as she does so. She turns and we kiss briefly. Her blonde hair catches the candlelight and glows like a halo around her face. Her blue eyes sparkle.
I take her coat and lead her to a deep, soft sofa. I fetch her wine. Few, if any words. I have had my instructions and now I will obey them.
My blouse is black and almost transparent, buttons from shirt neck to waist inside my long dark blue silk skirt. The skirt is slit to the side, high up my thigh. I wear no bra for, unlike my Mistress's ample 34c bosom, mine is a tiny 32a. Hers needs no bra, being firm and pointed but she wears one anyway, always something sexy and exciting.
I wear stockings, of course, and suspenders, both black. The stockings are silk and seamed and the movement between them and my skirt is arousing. I have French knickers on. They are black too, trimmed with a small ribbon of lace and slit up the legs – loose and revealing. I sit in a deep chair opposite her. I look into her eyes and slowly begin to caress my right nipple through the soft shirt. It hardens under my finger. I undo a button and another until the blouse is open to the waist, my small breasts still concealed, at least in part, by the fabric.
She sips her wine, watching me. Her skirt is short, revealing her long, stockinged legs. Her breasts are moulded in a black silk camisole. She looks delicious.