The day started much as it had done for the past seven years or so. The alarm sounded and received it's usual savage beating. Meg growled, wriggled a little and shimmied her butt into my groin. Purring as she spread her legs just a crack to allow my dawn horn to slip along her pink bits and nestle into a warm thigh embrace.
An inexplicable 'nine' minutes later, the alarm, having evidently regrouped sounded it's bleeps with renewed commitment. Reluctantly, I slipped from the closest thing to heaven and made my way downstairs. The enthusiastic erection ebbing with every painful step. Tea, toast, clothes, brushy, brushy. Meg leaves for work looking fierce and I pack the van.
I'm decking today. A mighty split level affair, raised bedding, trellising, the works. There's a big budget and I'm spending it. I'm also enjoying the attention that my client has been giving me.
It started with tea. As so many things do. It's probably a good idea to tell you, I'm on week three of the project. But back to week one...
We'd spoken on the phone, at length. We'd never met but our conversations were easy and amusing. Maybe it sounds like a creepy thing to say, but it's always easier and nicer if one can flirt a little with the clients... It greases the tracks you see, they're more willing to part with money if you've made them feel special, attractive.
I've been doing this job for more than a decade so it's safe to say that when I turned up and a pale, black haired, tattooed goth in thigh boots and silk dressing gown answered the door, I... well... I... I'd like to say I turned on the charm and wrapped her erotically garbed and confrontational self around my little finger. But I'd be lying. I turned into a awkward, mumbling oaf. Embarrassed of my own roughness. She was stunning. Really. Like a fucked up porcelain doll. Flawless complexion, so pale and translucent, you could see the blood flowing beneath.
Every now and again, her leg would escape the silken gown and I saw the most beautiful meeting of leather and skin I've ever seen. Leather so black on skin like ivory is truly a breathtaking contrast.
But she was a total delight, not aloof like you might imagine but easy in conversation and so witty. The first two days of work were very pleasant. She was a remarkable host, furnishing me with tea on tap and regular cakes and biscuits. So many in fact, I actually turned some down! I believe that is the first reported occurrence of such self-denial.
But if I'm honest, the best thing of all was how she dresses. Or doesn't. Depending on how the mood takes her. You see, the thing about 'really' wealthy people (and I've known a few) is that they have to worry about very little. They employ other people to do the worrying for them. Emily was no exception.
She'd made a killing when she sold her label 'Strict' and re invested some of it into the hugely successful club she now owned with her girlfriend and apparently occasional lover, Eunice. She'd never stopped designing though.
Her wealth allowed her to express herself in ways that us mere mortals will never be able to do. At least, not without being locked up.
As I've already mentioned, her complexion was flawless, her face showed no scars, no piercings, no tattoos. It was, to coin a phrase, pure as the driven snow. But cast your eyes downwards and it's a totally different story. She doesn't just wear her clothes. Her clothes wear her back. It's not the horror show you might be imagining.
You know how really good lingerie slices the body up into deliciously framed morsels? Each strap, a tenuous bastion of modesty; the fabric, smoothed and sculpted. Simply put, good lines enhance another set of good lines.
Emily has taken this one step further and has cutaneous and subcutaneous implants. Hollow tubes channel under her skin and metal eyes run in beautiful curves down her back. More eyes allow a bodice to be laced across the chest and simple piercings allow her breasts to be laced, or chained together to enhance her already splendid cleavage. Piercings also encircle her upper thighs, upper arms, wrists and ankles.
That first day, while I mapped out the deck footings, Emily stretched out on a lounger by the pool with a large pergola shielding her from the sun. 'Goths look weird tanned.' she'd said. She spent most of the time skewed slightly towards me, her head rested on the top part of her outstretched arm. Her other hand lazily flicked and twisted a piercing on her lower belly, a fraction above the place where skin melted into the finest lace of her low cut knickers.
The little metal ring sat centrally in the soft tender upward curve of her pubic mound. I couldn't concentrate. Her silk gown had slipped open and although somehow still shrouded by silk, she was backlit and the silk so sheer, it left nothing to the imagination.
That was when I started to map her in my head. I saw that the rings around her upper thighs actually had the boots laced into them, little hooks on the inside of her gown were clipped to strategic piercings on her body and allowed the suggestion that her clothes were unattached or unfastened and could fall from her at any moment. I found it really rather erotic.
By close of play, I'd achieved approximately half of what I'd intended and had a deep ache between my legs.
I told Meg about it when I got home. She masturbated at me as I went into detail. Later I ruined her.
The following morning Meg was tired but less fierce and told me to 'behave' myself at work. Don't mix work and pleasure was her constant caveat. That's all fine for her to say, but she's not the one working for Queen Emily Dark Siren from the less charted regions of Fetish World.
Where not only is the tea and cake good, but the host is essentially providing a free deviant strip tease for close to eight hours. It's hard not to derive pleasure from that. But I'll do my best.
I thought she was out. I arrived at my usual time and she wasn't in the kitchen as she had been the previous day. I desperately needed a pee. The doors slid open. I called in. "Helloooo?" No response. I edged to the bottom of the stairs again I called. No response. Well! That's no good is it? Going out and leaving the house unlocked.
I climbed the stairs towards the bathroom, the door was open, just a few inches and could hear a peculiar combination of sounds. A tinny, rhythmic, sibilant undertone with a wet slapping. WTF.
I crept up to the door and put my eye to the crack. Emily was on the floor, eyes closed and naked bar earphones. Her legs splayed towards the door and she was vigorously ramming a huge, split dildo deep into both her holes.
A second later and she came to a very noisy and gushing climax. Some of her ejaculate splattered onto the door with a wet rattle. I saw her eyelids begin to crack and beat a hasty retreat, tucking my erection under my belt as I went. I still needed to pee but with my cock raging towards the heavens I wasn't gonna even try.
I attempted to overwrite the images in my head by focusing on work, but every motion, every pressure, twist and turn just served to rub me up in all the right ways. And with that sensation came, flooding and unstoppable, the image of Emily's pulsing cunt, sucking and puckering as she came, jetting fluid in great exuberant sprays over the marble tiles on her bathroom floor.
A shadow cast over me as I was taking a particularly tricky measurement. Glancing up was a mistake. I believe I actually let out a little moan. The first thing that caught my eye was the steaming tea but then the backdrop came into focus.
I guess you could say she was dressed today. Only if you were using an entirely new definition of the word though. I've never seen the like. She was bare foot, thin strips of ripped silk had been looped through the piercings at her ankles and fastened at the ones around her thighs, they resembled shredded stockings. Another piece of silk had been clipped to the ring on her lower belly and drawn around, between her legs to be fastened to the series of rings at her waist.
Her top was a work of genius. Just above her nipples. Emily had sub cutaneous implants that left two small metal bolts protruding from the skin. Hooked over these and fastened with tiny little silver nuts, Emily wore two elliptical shaped pieces of opaque latex. These had been pulled tight down and around her back to be joined with a little silver clip.
The overall effect was stunning. I was put in mind of hot Arabian concubines, smoking opium and fucking in candlelight.
I took my tea with shaking hands and mumbled my thanks. I think I was blushing. But when she saw me trying very hard not to look at the crushed silk gusset between her legs she opened then slowly to afford me a better view. At the point she asked me her question, I know I was blushing.
