I was just entering my prearranged destination. It was 11 pm and just before I paid the admittance fee, I stopped to look at myself in the mirrored walls. Reflected before me was a sexy, if a little sluttish looking woman in her thirties. The only discrepancy being that I was actually a 37-year-old man, happily married, here at the precise instruction of the woman I loved, and was married to. She had returned home a day early, from a trip to her sister's place, in the country.

"You're gonna be our little slut", he snarled at me as I sat before him on the satin covered, queen sized bed. I did not know his name and I didn't want to know it. All I cared about was the thick, eight inch cock that was stiffening before me.

It was late evening when I heard the knock at my door. Before I could rise from my seat, two guards had entered the room, two maids behind them. The women politely avoided my eye. 'Your presence has been requested tonight,' spoke the first guard, offering his hand as I stood. Smoothing my gown, I nodded. This was the reason I was here, but now that my first night was imminent, fear was seeping in.

“I can’t see you. My Husband is home.” Lisa insisted.
“Please, I ache to be touched by you. You have made me wait so long…”
“I will make you wait further, if you speak to me like that…”
“I thought you wanted to meet today?”
“Well, he’s taken the day off, Sarah. There’s not much I can do…”

"I'm not ready yet." Rebecca bellowed down the stairs to Brian. She finished brushing her hair and put the paddle brush down on her dressing table. He had been waiting over an hour and was beginning to lose his patience. He ran up the stairs to their room. “Rebecca, you’ve got five more minutes until I completely lose my patience with you. We’re already late.”

It was late in the night, a Friday night, as usual. He came to the main entrance and she gave him the keys to the carpark and to get into the block. They did not smile or speak. He walked away, she closed the heavy metal door. She then turned and went back up in the lift to her flat, leaving the door slightly ajar for him. The place was full of soft candlelight and music. It was warm and tidy.

I hate washing the dishes. Really, I don't mind doing any other housework, although obviously I'd prefer someone else to do it for me, but washing up I hate. I had decided it was about time I invested in a dishwasher so imagine my delight, and surprise, when I arrived home from work to find my man standing at the sink, pink washing up gloves and all, working his way through the pile of dishes that I had let build up for about four days.

What He wanted was me… This was clear before the games began. He had his room and I had mine. We worked hard. We worked in His room – ‘the working room’ – and after 7 straight hours, I declared that we should call a break before dinner.

I had just finished shaving. It had been a week since I had last done it, and my pussy was beginning to get a light fuzz of blonde hair on it. I liked to keep myself bald- both for sensation and because my boyfriend loved it. I was naked, having come from the shower, and was rubbing baby oil into my mound and running the razor over myself one last time, to make sure I was as smooth as possible. I placed a finger on my clit and closed my eyes. That was when I heard it- scrabbling. And voices. I opened my eyes, and realised that the sound was coming from outside the window. I sat up and peered outside. I couldn't see anything. It must just be the neighbours.

What the Master wanted was me… This was clear before the games began. He had his room and I had mine. We worked hard. We worked in his room – ‘the working room’ – and after 7 straight hours, I declared that we should call a break before dinner.

The trouble was that our dialogue was so intense, almost as strong as my desire for possessing him, that after 7 hours of straight work I also wanted to be in hot, scented water, that I invited him to continue the discussion whilst I immersed myself in the self same hot, scented water.

I stripped, he watched, continued talking as if I were fully dressed, and I lowered my voluptuous body into the scented water.

She walked into the hotel lobby shaking the rain from her umbrella. It hadn’t stopped raining all day. Moisture drenched the air with a close humidity that made her thin cotton t-shirt cling uncomfortably. She checked in at reception and gratefully took the room cardkey with thoughts of a refreshing shower at the forefront of her mind. As she walked towards the lift her mobile beeped with a new text message. Dipping into her handbag she pulled out the ‘phone and read
“Black spiky heels, seamed stockings as instructed.”

I immediately found myself thrusting the crop into his hands upon receiving the gift and got onto all fours in front of him. I was wearing my best french knickers and he just slipped them down to my knees without a second thought. He made me deliciously pink and hoarse in the throat and I could feel the pain upon my ride onto the tube. Luckily I was wearing my gypsy skirt and could feel the breeze. I had to bring coffee to obnoxious celebrities while my arse cheeks throbbed. It was blissful.

This was no ordinary job interview, she knew. It was the one which could turn her life around. She loved her current position and though she knew she was valued, she felt bored and frustrated by the lack of challenge and imagination the job offered. It was meeting her prospective employer at a conference that she thought she had found the ultimate post. The openly flirtatious conversation at the bar along with the offer of a ‘good position with me’ (Ms Allis took the strange phrase as part of her companion’s Scandinavian to English translation), had Ms Allis agreeing to a ‘mutual interview’ the next week. The precise instructions as to her expected dress code for the interview only served to heighten expectations and made her wish for the next week.

I paced up and down waiting for him to arrive. It has been months since I last saw him and the last time we had spoken I had really annoyed him and he told me he wouldn’t see me any more.

I wash my body under the warm water, gently massaging the shower gel into my stomach and breasts and nipples, raising my face to the shower head and enjoying the feeling of the water washing me clean. I'm preparing my body for you, shaving my pussy and washing between my legs where I know your cock will be in an hour.

I stood dressed in my heavily boned and tightly laced vintage corset, very sheer seamed stockings and perched on my five-inch stiletto heeled shoes. I looked down at him kneeling at my feet. He was naked with his arse resting on his calves, his knees wide apart and his hands resting palms up on his thighs, the submission position. His head was lowered and he was looking at my gorgeous feet as he remained perfectly still except for the bobbing up and down of his erect and leaking cock.

I am wearing a proper corset, boned and laced, which gives me a wonderful hourglass shape. The bodice of the corset is unusual – it holds my breasts up, presents them, but leaves them bare so that they are visible and accessible. I’m also wearing a full skirt, made of layer upon layer of net. The skirt is slit down the front, but the layers of net cover my cunt from view.

Charlotte was very excited about taking over the handling of the family business and she was sure that she could turn it round and make it profitable again. ‘Wetland Potteries’, a ceramics company, had been founded fifty years ago by Charlotte's father and he had turned it into a major player. Unfortunately a stubborn man, Charlotte's father had refused to go along with the changes and the company had gradually lost market share until there was now the possibility of them being taken over by a rival. Charlotte was trying to arrange new finance and she had an appointment that afternoon with John Clooney, an renowned entrepreneur who had unlimited funds and had indicated that he was willing to invest. If so they could retain their independence. The big problem was that time was short and she had to get funds by the end of the week. Moreover, Mr. Clooney had a difficult reputation.

The morning arrived, sun shining and blue skies. A Friday off work this was the day I’d been waiting for as long as I could remember. Today I was going out dressed as a woman, my partner and I had been together for 5 years, since the sixth form and I had confessed my passion for dressing up in my sister's clothes almost within the first month of our relationship. Instead of laughing or ridiculing me she was very interested in my wants and needs.

They had chatted on the internet, but never met. At 23, Donna had several lovers her age, but she knew she was missing out exploring her fantasies of making love to a mature couple. They had a couple of drinks together where they met and all three knew this was what they had expected.