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.
