1. SUNDAY
The moment her phone displayed 18.00 hrs, Gemma began typing.
She had exactly one hour. From six to seven. As usual, she started with a review of her day.
Sunday was always the hardest, it being her 'free day'. On Sundays she was usually allowed to make her own decisions and manage her own life.
Next, she moved onto a summary of the past week, evaluating herself, her successes and failures.
Finally, she typed out her proposed schedule for the seven days to come; her wardrobe plans for each day, her eating and dieting chart, weight target and exercise schedule. She filled in her social commitments and nights in, the TV shows she wanted to watch, and her internet proposals. Last of all, she included her sexual requests.
At precisely seven o'clock, she pressed 'send' and rested her tired fingers.
She imagined His approving smile as the envelope icon showed He had one new message.
She knew He liked to be sat at his desk, knowing her message would arrive neither one minute early, nor a single minute late. It was He who stipulated she had to complete the written task in one hour, no more, no less.
Gemma pushed her chair away from the kitchen table and got up to pour herself a glass of tap water. She began packing her shopping away, stacking the fish, fruit, vegetables and ginger into the fridge, the other ingredients into the cupboard.
She lived on her own in a nice one-bedroom flat in a residential part of London. She had a living room, bathroom, kitchen and a decent-sized bedroom, with a double bed, and a sash window overlooking the small patio garden. The place had good WIFI and it was warm and secure; in fact, everything she needed at 24 years old.
She had photographed the shopping ingredients she'd purchased. She'd taken a separate shot of the supermarket receipt and then a close up of the total amount. Her Master took a close interest in her diet and expenditure. She'd lost 4 kilos in 5 months. Precisely the amount they had agreed. Exactly the weight she'd wanted to shed before their arrangement had begun.
She glanced at the time. It was seven twenty. It was always around now that she started to get butterflies in her stomach. She could imagine Him, carefully reading her message, appraising her, making notes on a pad using His stylish fountain pen.
She'd met Him only five times in the five months it had been going on. That was all. But she felt closer to Him than any other man in her life. He knew her better than Freddy did, better than her own brother, better than her boss, certainly better than her estranged father. The reason was simple. She withheld information from all the others. People always do. Even from those they love. Sometimes especially from those they love.
But with Him, there were no secrets. Not a single one.
By seven forty, she started to feel that familiar throb between her thighs. Not the aggressive urge of sexual hunger, but the restrained ache of something else entirely. The thrill of being controlled. Managed. Her decisions were not her own.
She'd had vague fantasies since puberty. But the reality had begun two years earlier, when she first came to London. She initially played a game with dice. Depending on the question, she had numerous outcomes. Throw a 2, or a 12, or any number in between; her life in fate's hands. It started with mundane stuff: bath or shower or neither? She had a list of results; 10-12 was to take a bath, 4-9 was a shower, but if she threw a 3 or a 2, she went out unwashed.
Layer by layer, she started adding complexity; cold bath, hot bath, cold shower, hot shower, deodorant, no deodorant. The possibilities were infinite. Breakfast? She started simply but soon had a list from 2-12: if she double-sixed she could enjoy coffee, juice, cereal and toast, the full deal. But if she threw a pair of ones, she had to leave the house on just a glass of tap water.
For a while, having a pair of plastic dice as her Master was exciting enough. Their total randomness, their cold disinterest. They could be deliciously cruel but the two dice didn't even know it. They could make her hold her bladder for another hour. They could even make her taste her own urine. And yet they didn't give a shit.
But the time eventually came when two dispassionate dice were simply not enough. She wanted more. She wanted feedback. She wanted randomness that was amused when she had to do something she didn't like, or couldn't do something she wanted to. She needed to find somebody who enjoyed controlling her as much as she wanted to be controlled.
But, above all, she wanted somebody who cared.
At 19.59 hours, she sat down and stared at the screen hopefully.
Of course, He operated under a different set of rules. He had no obligation to reply at any fixed time. He had no obligation to reply at all. If she heard nothing from him, it simply indicated that He'd agreed with everything she'd proposed. Thus she had his permission to proceed as she suggested.
Unless, of course, He subsequently changed his mind.
But she waited. And hoped. If he was kind, He usually responded some time after eight o'clock.
She began preparing her own supper, as planned; a healthy seafood salad. She measured out the one solitary glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc she'd requested for this evening. After all, he hadn't told her 'no' yet.
She glanced at the screen resentfully, as the minutes ticked by.
She thought of Him simply as "Sir", although she did indeed know His real name. She knew where He lived. She knew He was happily married and that He had two sons. She even knew where He worked and His telephone number, not that she'd ever have called him.
And she knew He was almost the same age as her father.
2. MONDAY
She set her alarm for 06.00.
She pulled on her running kit and stretched, ran 3 miles in the dawn light, took a cold shower, dressed for work, ate some bland muesli, drank a glass of hot water and lemon peel, and was out of her flat by 7 a.m.
She was, as was usual nowadays, the first to arrive at work. Everybody had noticed the change. Above all, her boss. He'd even given her a performance bonus and a raise. Whereas before, Gemma had been one of the weakest on the team, she was undoubtedly now one of its stars.
At 9.30 precisely, she slipped to the Ladies and waited for the message he'd promised. He'd only sent her a one-liner the previous evening: 'Half past nine'.
Her heart leapt and her pussy spasmed as she scrolled through his long, thorough and explicit reply. She skim-read it twice, then flushed the toilet unnecessarily and returned to her seat, finding it hard to concentrate.
He had flipped her week upside down. She had proposed a date with Freddy tomorrow. She had a movie planned with Jill on Thursday; Fifty Shades of Grey, no less. She had scheduled nights in today and Wednesday, including some TV and internet time, as well as a list of household chores. She had tentatively suggested a night out Friday or Saturday with the gang, with Freddy tagging along.
Freddy was her new boyfriend. He was sweet, vanilla, and a year older than Gemma. They'd only been dating six weeks but things were going well so far. He had no idea about her secret, managed life, and undoubtedly he'd be horrified if he found out.
She pushed any tiny pangs of guilt aside. Freddy wasn't aware of just how damn lucky he was.
Her Master had made some serious changes to her schedule. Above all, He had decided to meet her face-to-face for an Appraisal Session at 8.30 p.m. on Thursday. Fifty Shades, indeed! She'd be getting a dose of the real thing.
