It had been a long day and you were looking forward to getting home and relaxing in a nice bath. Thursdays were always odd ones, and this one had pushed you to your limits. The moment you walked in the door you dumped your bag and coat, slipped off your bra, and sighed, trudging up the stairs to start running the bath. As the warm perfumed steam filled the room you pulled off your blouse and skirt, catching a glimpse of your chest in the mirror; “Sir’s Plaything” clearly visible across your bra line – a daily reminder.
Just as you bend over to check the water temperature you hear your phone downstairs. Any other ringtone and you’d have ignored it, but not that one. Stopping the taps you sprint downstairs, not wanting to keep him waiting any longer than absolutely necessary. “10 minutes” is all the message reads.
*Shit!*. While you are, of course, available for his use any time, visits are unusual on weekdays. You don’t have time to do more than prepare yourself, hurrying to fetch the leather collar, plug, blindfold, and clamps. 7 minutes later you’re kneeling in the front hall, the door unlocked, just waiting for his arrival.