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The FlorentineI’ve never really been the reckless type. I was always the organized one, the one in charge, the responsible one that everyone relied on. So when I saw the advert for a live in personal assistant in Devon I even surprised myself when I applied. The agency informed me that the householder had exacting standards and that he was clear the post required a devoted employee. They stated they had yet to send a candidate who was offered the job, but no reasons had been given. Two preliminary telephone conversations and written correspondence was followed by an invitation to come down for a full interview, and if that were to be successful an immediate 3 month probation period would be offered, subject to contractsSo that’s how I found myself in the car, boot full of luggage, trying to listen to the satnav’s instructions as I rehearsed my imaginary interview questions. Its wasn’t even that I really wanted the job as such, I just knew I needed a change, a new challenge, to almost reinvent myself in a town where no one knew me. Mr I have high standards – seemed to offer that challenge. Although nervous, I had some money saved, my old flat waiting for me and the strength of character to pack up the car again and leave any time I wanted if it didn’t work out. Turning into my destination my chin nearly hit the floor when I saw some of the properties. High walled entrances with electric gates, immaculate looking gardens and each house built in its own individual style. They were so far apart you could have fitted a dozen London properties into each gap. As the road rose up I was able to catch glimpses of the sea and could almost breath in the saltiness. Grinning in anticipation I couldn’t actually believe I could be living somewhere like this in a few hours’ time. The Florentine was the last house in the road. It formed the base of the cul de sac and it was as if the entire road lead into its gates. Before I could speak into the intercom the gates opened and I proceeded slowly up the drive. As the house came into view it was not a disappointment. Its whiteness stood out against the lush green garden and looked like it had come straight out of a magazine. Not exactly sure where to park I stopped a little way back and headed to the front door on foot. My car would have looked unsightly in front of this entrance way if I had got any closer. Using the large brass bell I waited for some reply, but the seconds ticked past and no one came? Did it work? Had they heard it? Feeling I had no option I pressed it again, heard nothing so held my finger down again – just then the door swung open and a woman stood in front of me, looking immaculate, bursa escort presumably Ms Shaw, who was the lady I had been corresponding with. Flustered I began apologizing about the bell, knowing I was getting redder and redder with embarrassment, ‘You see I just didn’t know if it worked, so I pressed it, then pressed it again and I…..’She raised one hand to silence me. ‘Everything in this house is as it should be Miss Tucker, or it is dealt with accordingly. Now, please follow me, Mr James is waiting’Closing the door behind us she proceeded down the corridor with me in her wake. The house was sparse but spectacular. White marble floors, white walls, accentuated with silver touches here and there. Trying to drink it all in I followed Ms Shaw wondering how her heels seemed to glide across the marble while the click of my steps seemed so loud in the silence. Finally stopping in front of a closed door Ms Shaw paused before opening it. ‘You are to sit on the chair provided for you in front of Mr James’ desk. You are to answer only what is asked of you. At the end of the interview you will return out here and wait until a decision has been made. Is all of that understood Ms Tucker?’Feeling ridiculously nervous now in front of this iceberg of a woman I heard myself say flippantly, ‘Chair, questions, chair! Yep I think I got it. Are you going to wish me luck?’Clearly not, as she simply turned away and opened the door for me. Walking in I wasn’t really sure what to expect but this room took my breath away. Again it was white, almost sterile, but the view from the windows was like nothing I had seen before. The glass ran the length of the room, and from the altitude of the garden it looked like one more step would plunge you into the sea below. ‘Please take a seat Ms Tucker. There may be time for sightseeing later’Bringing me back to reality like a shot, this smooth deep voice came from a man seated at the far end of the room behind a glass desk. As I approached I could see he was in a well cut dark suit with a black crew neck jumper underneath. Not sure whether to step up to shake his hand or not I remembered Ms Shaw’s words and approached the chair instead. Settling down, ankles crossed and hands clasped on my lap I looked up at my prospective new employer and smiled. His face was impassive, as he continued to stare back at me. Ms Shaw, sat on a chair in the corner behind him was equally as focused on me. That c***dren’s phrase – want to take a picture? – sprang to mind as I continued to smile like I was demented, desperate for a little sign of something from one of them to put me at my ease. After what seemed a life time Mr James bursa escort bayan asked me various mundane interview questions while Ms Shaw made notes. However, as rehearsed as I was, there was something about this man that made me stumble over my words, his gaze was so intent that it seemed to drill into my soul.‘Do you understand what a personal assistant is Ms Tucker, as your answers seem to indicate you do not?’The derisory tone in his voice stopped me in my tracks, what did he mean? This man had some kind of ego.‘I do believe I do Mr James. I envisage my job to be handling your diary, dealing with your correspondence, accompanying you to meetings if necessary…’Raising his hand to silence me, he turned and smiled at Ms Shaw before returning his gaze to me.‘No Ms Tucker, that is not a personal assistant that is a secretary and believe me when I say Ms Shaw is more than capable and well trained in that department.’ Confused now, I looked from one to the other and swore I saw a smirk cross the bloody capable and well trained Ms Shaw’s face. Looking at her more closely I took in her tight black skirt, fitted white shirt, black stockings and ridiculously high heels. Well trained, what an odd term? Suddenly the cogs in my head began to turn – was she a secretary as in that film? That guy who spanked her over the desk if she got a spelling wrong? Was she that kind of well trained?Looking from her to him again I felt my cheeks blush. I can remember watching that scene where he spanks her and getting so turned on. In the film she goes and touches herself in the bathroom after, and I touched myself too while watching her. Looking up at Mr James in shock I stared as he rose from the desk and approached me. Frozen to the spot all I could do was sit there as he circled my chair like I was his prey.‘Ms Tucker, I expect much more from a personal assistant. You would be attending to my purely personal needs as the title suggests. ‘I felt like I was drowning in his words as he moved, wrapping me in invisible ties that stopped me from running away from this insane situation.‘I demand very high standards Ms Tucker. You will be expected to follow my instructions without question. To carry out my wishes whenever and wherever I tell you to. I am very, how shall I put this – demanding of my staff. Especially so of my personal assistant’The job title had whole new connotations now, that was blatantly clear even if he hadn’t used the words. He wanted a personal slut, a slave, a fuck toy – however you wanted to put it. So why was I ignoring the voice in my head telling me to get the hell out of here and listening to the one that wanted escort bursa to know more. Suddenly I felt him behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders, his breath on my neck. His face was so close to my ear that had I turned our lips would have touched. Every muscle in my body tensed at his touch but not with the fear I had anticipated it would, but with a desire like I’d never felt before. It felt like he was touching every inch of me, caressing me with his voice, dragging me somewhere I knew I wanted to go. Suddenly Ms Shaw was stood in front of me with a book, bound in black. ‘I want you to take this book Ms Tucker and go out into the hall way. I want you to find out why my home is called The Florentine. If you are inquisitive about the results of your research wait there to be summoned back. However, if it holds no interest for you then please leave it by the front door as you depart’With that he removed his hands from me and walked through the glass door into the garden. This alluring man in black, looking out into the sea leaving me feeling like I was drowning!Ms Shaw handed me the book and leant in. ‘Make your decision wisely. Whatever you chose your life will be changed forever’Leading me to the door she closed it firmly behind me and all I could do was stand there, wondering what exactly just happened. Who the hell are these people? This is crazy! Now I need to look up a bloody house name?Fuck this – I headed down the hall way towards the front door, slamming the book down and reaching for the latch to get out of here. What on earth did The Floentine have to do with anything? Cursing under my breath I grabbed the book again, curiosity was killing me. Opening it, it was a dictionary – full of terms I’d never heard of and illustrations like nothing I’d seen apart from in movies. Turning page after page it was like a sensory overload, but I couldn’t stop myself‘The FlorentineFlorentine Flogging – is a two-handed style of flagellation used in BDSM which involves the rhythmic use of a pair of matching floggers, one in each hand of the Dominant administering the flogging. A slower rhythm with gentle impact can be used to great warm-up effect. The skin will become very warm to the touch when this has happened, and in some people, the skin may become pink. The pressure may be varied to induce a pleasurable or painful response from the submissive’Suddenly the sound of the door opening at the end of the corridor distracted me from my revelations. The sight of Mr James walking towards me induced a tight band around my chest making it almost impossible to breath. Every footstep screamed another word through my brain – slave – domination – submission – trained – pain – pleasure!And now he is standing before me, cupping my chin in his hand and drawing my eyes up to his‘So Ms Tucker – do I have a new personal assistant?’From somewhere deep inside me I reply – ‘Yes Sir’

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