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It was that latter comment that should have been a signal. Instead, I said my goodbyes and drove home, wondering about what might have been. A couple days later, she called me back and told me that she had been thinking a lot about what I’d told her and that, the more she thought about it, the more it intrigued her. She said that if I was interested, she would like to see me fully dressed sometime. When she asked about what kind of outerwear I had, I told her that all I owned was a black leather skirt and a black blouse. I was more than a little surprised when she specified that my outfit had to be some combination of pink and white: shoes, hose, skirt, blouse and underthings. I thought that this was a rather odd request from someone new to my scene and secret, but I also felt like it was kind of an order that I was more than happy to try to comply with. We made a date for the following Saturday and I wasted no time in making an appointment with a local gal who specializes in. There were breaks, but they were few and far between. I had needed to pee, a fat guy lay on the floor, his mouth open his cock hard as I relieved myself into his waiting mouth. Then it was morning. I was sore. I ached. My legs ached. My back ached. My jaw ached. My arse was sore. My cunt was sore. Marta led me to the kitchen, we were both naked, but for our shoes, our stiletto heels, which echoed on the wooded floor. I drank the glass of water she poured for me. Then drank another. “Enjoy yourself Beatrice?” Marta asked.I smiled at her. “I did, don’t ask me why, but I did. But now I feel dirty, I need a shower.”“I know what you mean. But first, you need to meet Boris.” Marta said.“Boris? Which one was Boris?” I asked.Marta laughed. “Boris is the boss. You don’t argue with Boris.”Boris was charming, I stood in front of his desk like a naughty schoolgirl, still naked, the remnants of my panties, on my right ankle. I almost giggled. Boris liked me he said. He gave me an envelope. It was.
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