Accidental Submission Pt. 04

"My dearest stephanie... I almost forgot one thing" and with that he hands me a new £5 note

"For my whore"

Sir leads me to the door and the same big black car is waiting outside as had ferried us around yesterday, with the same driver. Sir leads me to the back seat of the car; the driver is holding open the door. Sir ensures I am seated and I am certain the driver enjoys the view as I take my seat, given that the coat slipped off my leg, showing the welt of my stocking and suspender clip. Sir does not get in beside me, but turns to the driver.

"Please take stephanie to her home; I am sure she will tip you handsomely." I knew I was still a whore for the rest of this evening. If I'm to be a whore I decide to act the part and as the car pulls away I cross my legs, allowing the coat to drop away, allowing the driver, who had again adjusted his mirror, to enjoy the sight of my legs. I also realise that I am still slightly fuzzy from all the wine I have been drinking. In no time at all I realise we are pulling up outside my flat. The driver opens the door to me and takes my hand, guiding me to the door. As I open the door he informs me that Sir has insisted he makes sure I get safely to my flat, so he follows me into the hall and up the stairs. As I open the door I turn towards him, not knowing quite how I should go about offering him a "tip." I don't need to. As I go in he follows and pushes me against the wall. Pushing the coat off my shoulders he looks over my body. The coat is now behind me, held in the crooks of my arms: all I am wearing is the jewellery, garterbelt, stockings and heels. As his eyes roam down my body I see him pause on the marks and bruises and I wonder how many girls he has seen like this and how many he has taken home. I see him start slightly as his eyes settle on my cock which is now clearly visible.

"Turn around bitch! I guess you'll be taking it up the arse then!"

Epilogue;

The sounds of Cambridge radio from my alarm welcome me to Monday. The sun is already streaming into most of the flat although thankfully I had closed the curtains in my bedroom. The dull glow of the green LED on my bedside table reminds me of my weekend adventure, showing me that my new toy is fully charged. I wander barefoot into my kitchen and make a cup of tea to bring back to bed, my arse reminding me that I am still plugged with the new toy's smaller twin. I sit up in bed, enjoying the tea, thankful that I still have a couple of hours before work. I soon head to my bathroom for a long shower and will now need to clean myself inside each morning. I'm not going to be able to easily cover the marks on my body, so I'm pleased our office is air-conditioned. I choose a white pencil skirt, a stunning fuchsia coloured fine linen blouse with a beautiful white and pink silk scarf. I'm pleased that at least the marks on my neck from Saturday are fading. Perhaps I'll be able to get back to normal. I get to the office a couple of minutes early, as usual, make myself a cup of Earl Grey tea as usual and pass the time of day with my colleagues. I avoid the usual questions about the weekend other than, "Yes, great thanks."

Firing up my Mac I open the browser and check what I have going on today: one new client meeting this afternoon with Athena Property Development, otherwise just the usual. Hopefully I should get some work done, then I see other new meeting request pop up for Thursday afternoon: M.J. properties, site visit.

I open my email. Amongst the many emails are a couple that catch my eye, one from Athena. I look at that, apparently a really big deal, sorting out their show homes. I notice that there is a small note on their site, "a Division of M.J. Properties." I hesitate to look at the next email: the subject line is just "personal service."

As soon as I open the mail the plug in my arse starts to pulse: thank god the thing is so well made it's silent.

The mail reads:

"You have not yet activated your new phone, please do. You will find there are multiple accounts set up there. You will know by now that I can set triggers for your plug; I know that it is with you as it is geo-located through the SiM card embedded inside it. You will also now see that there are some appointments being entered into your calendar. Those that are during the day include your services as an interior designer, those that are in the evenings and weekends are only for your services as a courtesan. Your services in this respect will be rather more lucrative than the £5 you sold yourself for this weekend. If you close this email and delete it, I will know, and that will tell me that you want no further part. If so, you may keep all the toys and clothes as a true payment for your service this weekend and the new client meetings will disappear. If you reply to this mail, then you accept these conditions."

I close the email and the plug stops its pulsing. I go and make myself a coffee, feeling the width of the plug making me wiggle my bottom, but missing the pulsing. I look out the window at this quiet but beautiful sunny day in this quiet but beautiful city and slowly wander back to my desk. Putting in my password I re-open my email. I click on the same email and the pulsing re-starts. I click on the reply icon.

"Yes Sir".

SEND...