***Months Later***
Entry IV
Dear Diary,
He's coming this afternoon! Oh, I thought the waiting would never end! That business trip to France; I have been going mad left alone, with only his little notes and presents arriving by poste. I've cleaned the flat and filled it with flowers, and laid out His robe by the door. Oh, diary, I am like a schoolgirl again. See how my hands tremble as I write this!
I spent the morning in the bath, with lemon juice and milk to whiten my skin even more the way he likes it. And shaved. I confess I will not miss shaving myself with that straight razor, now he is home to do it for me! He is home! Oh, I am singing to myself again. My hair is up and curled, the hairdresser smiling knowingly at the brightness in my eyes, the easy colour in my lips and cheeks. She told me I look like a woman waiting for her lover. How perspicacious!
Dressing now even as I write - oh, what to wear. I know that I will greet him at the door on my knees as he enters, for after being away from he so long all he will be thinking of is the feel of my mouth on his prick. The way I suckle him, fondling his balls... He loves that, he says. I love it too, though I shall look forward to doing it later by the fire when it will last longer. If he does not cum quickly the first time, I shall not think he missed me!
He likes the coral colour on me, he says. He admires the contrast with my hair and skin. I shall wear his favourite corset in that specially dyed Cordoba leather, with the rings. Since he's not expected home until Friday, I shall have him all to myself and I know he will want to play. (And, no doubt, to see if I have been following his orders while he has been gone.) And stockings - the new silk ones he sent. And where did he find these clever heels with the strap and ring about the ankle? I hold them tight to my chest, imagining him in the shops of Paris, finding what he wants to see me in and sending it. To know that he truly thinks of me as I do him!
I shall have to purchase a bottle of champagne, and another of ruby port. Mm..I hope he lets me taste it on his skin. I purchased a bottle of sweet almond oil, for after his games are done to massage him and soothe the aches of traveling and exertion. I so love it when he falls asleep in my arms, still holding my leash. That smile on his face; oh, Diary, I am so much in love with him. It has been just over a year. The best of my life.
But I must go. I cannot have him catch me unprepared!
His Mistress
Entry V
Dear Diary,
Well, here we all are in Bath. Unexpected, I know. He has arranged for this lovely hotel for me, nicer than the first place he found last year when we came. I signed in, noting with pleased delight that he had used his own patronym, leaving the maitre d'hotel to presume I am a sister or cousin, perhaps. Not that I care what the man thinks, as I am sure that these sorts of arrangements are commonplace. But it was a thrill to sign my name with his, and I think a tacit apology on his part that our time together was cut short by this sudden trip.
I love Bath. I know he does not, but there is something in the holiday atmosphere, with children playing and smiles everywhere.. I go walking every morning, just to look at all the people smiling and be one of them. The gardens, the air of hope that the waters will be beneficial, even the looks of relief on the faces of the old as the warm soakings offer ease from joint troubles. The buildings are long and elegant, the streets so much cleaner than London.
This morning I walked by the cafe where we met for luncheon last May upon the first trip. I hope we can meet here again some time this journey. I stopped and looked over the wrought iron fence into the outdoor dining area, remembering that tea. We were like children, playing at being adults because it kept us from sinking then and there onto the bricks of the terrace. I remember his laughter at my attempt to eat strawberries and clotted cream in an exaggeratedly lascivious fashion.
Later that boat ride down the Avon, where I acquired my first and worst sunburn in years. Rowing the small punt down to a nice place to anchor. Of straddling his cock with my skirts pulled up as he sat on the bench. Oh, so slow and gentle we had to be, with the boat rocking so! Afterward shifting to the bank where I gathered moss stains on my favourite ivory crinoline as I lay back and let his tongue and fingers drive me to frighten the birds away with my cries. It was a springtime idyll so soft and perfect.
But I should come back to the present, Diary, and tell you of the train ride. He secured for me a berth in a sleeping car not far from the club car. I ate in my room, of course, to avoid meeting up with the family, then dressed in the simple silk robe and dark blue corset only he says he prefers when traveling for simplicity. My collar around my neck, I left the leash hanging over the door latch as I was unable to gauge his mood from the brief glance upon boarding as he shepherded the masses into their family car.
A click, and the berth door slid open. He entered quietly, latching the entrance behind him before turning in the limited space to look at me. I greeted him quietly, rising from the bunk to slip my arms about him in a long embrace, which he returned. He inquired about my dinner and accommodations, and I reassured him that as ever, his choices for me were to my complete satisfaction. He sat down on the bunk, but as I knelt before him to perform my usual first service he shook his head no and pulled me down to sit beside him.
Oh, Diary, he looked so tired and strained to be traveling again so soon after returning from Paris. I brushed my fingers lightly through his short dark hair, before slipping behind him. Carefully I removed his Norfolk jacket and waistcoat, and receiving permission the masher and tie as well. Folding them aside, I began to work at the knots in his neck and shoulders. He likes my strong hands, and I enjoy touching him this way, too. Oh, to be honest I crave any contact at all with him. He leaned back against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his solidity against my softness as my hands continued to press. I whispered finally that I would like to just give to him tonight, if he would let me. He smiled, 'I am in your hands, my Lady.'
Trousers, socks and boots joined the neat pile on the chair, and I urged him to lie face down on the bunk as I rummaged through my valise for the almond oil. (Along with two other items I thoughtfully pulled out and placed out of view.) The oil warmed between my hands, I straddled his ass and leaned over to begin stroking the muscles more deeply. I think he chuckled a little to feel the dampness I cannot hide against his skin, and I bit the back of his shoulder in quiet retribution for the teasing. He relaxed slowly and I took my time, working along down his arms out to each finger, leaving a kiss on the fingertip before moving on to the next.
The constant rumbling of the train began to work with me, and he was lulled to nearly sleeping as I slipped down along his thighs to start working at his buttocks. I love the flare of his lower back, the rounded curve of his arse where it meets his thighs. More oil, and he moaned a bit as I parted his legs to kneel between them and worked out still more knots in his arse and hips. A brief clenching of the cheeks, and I smiled as I knew his arousal was starting to stir more fully. I parted, kneaded, stroked his cheeks, until my touch lightened from the constitutional to the more enticing, letting a thin short stream of oil drip down along the crack to tease along down to the scrotum. My finger followed the stream, pausing to rest upon the puckered star in a silent question.
'Yes,' he whispered. 'You may.' Permission enough for all my plans, I thought, as I pulled out a cushion to ease under his hips. One oil slick hand brushed along his prick, straightening the curve to lie against the cushion's surface, and it jumped slightly in my fingers. I rolled my thumb through the layer of oil glistening there, and laid a kiss at the apex of that valley as I pressed the pad and first joint of the digit into his tight heat. He clenched around me at the invasion and I left my finger still as I gently fondled and spread the oil lower and along his balls and thighs.
His legs parted still further and he moaned my name as I pushed in a little further, beginning to tug slightly at the ring of muscle to stretch it. I withdrew once or twice, adding more oil to keep everything smooth and gentle, one more massage into laxity I was determined to use the toys I had pulled out. The first, a long and slender wand of Moroccan leather, replaced my finger unexpectedly, and he didn't seem to notice until it pressed in deeper than my thumb can reach. Another groan, lost in the noise of the train, and I worked him with the leather and my hand curled under between his legs.
A finger joined the leather after a time, still slow and gentle though I could feel his excitement growing with the sheen of perspiration along the flesh of his back and legs. A kiss on each buttock, and the first dildo was slipped out. Don't stop, he commanded breathlessly, starting to push against the cushion beneath him. I'm not, I whispered. Just getting more oil. Spreading it along the carved ivory dildo of much greater thickness he had found I don't know where. Two fingers, three fingers, and then the head was slipped in before He knew what was happening.
Three inches pushed in, and he froze in shock and erotic discomfort. 'Stop. Its too much.' Shh, I whispered, slipping a hand down to stroke at his stiffened cock again. Just relax. Let me make you feel good. Open to me.. I was half chanting this, over and over, by the time his head fell back to the bed and he called me a bitch in a very unconvincing voice. I chuckled, working the ivory in deeper. Matching the slow strokes with my hand. Kissing, licking, and biting at his ass cheeks, the oily taste of almonds heavy on my tongue.
