by Carrie
Monday morning: dressing for work. We had just gotten back from the beach the night before . I was in another world. Trevor was in his. I had an early meeting with my staff, appointments, too much to do. Trevor was in bed busy reading the gossip column on-line, “How’s Mrs. Peyton?”
“Mrs. Peyton? You know her?” “Of her.” “Seems you know everyone.” He leaned over and slapped my bottom, “Don’t get snooty. You and she are old friends.” I said, “Not old friends.” I showed him my panties. “Not those.” I pulled out several others. He liked the black polka dot satin one that hugged my bottom with the black bow on the back.
He said, “I ran into her the other day at the auction and she said that Bixby, her butler, was upset with you.” “Trevor, since when do you know her?” He said, “I don’t . But I mentioned that I’m seeing you,” with a dirty leer, “I told her you’re quite the naughty type.” I got another little spank.
I was taking out my navy Lauren. “Wear the gray one.” “Why?” “You haven’t been at work all week. By Wednesday I’ll allow you something more fun.” “But I like the navy outfit.” He said, “I don’t give a damn.” I got the grey.
“Why is he annoyed with you?” I came back with navy pumps, “Not those.” I brought out several other pairs. He said, “The black ones will do fine.” I put the rest away. “Why would someone else’s butler be annoyed with you?” From in the closet, “I don’t know. I’m running late, Trevor. Who cares?”
I came to the bed and showed him my blouse, “The nipple clamps.” “Why?” He said, “No one will see them under your blouse.” “But I want to wear a bra.” He said, “I don’t care what you want. Put the clamps on. You’re skinny and have nice big tits.” “Trevor, people will notice something strange underneath.” He said, “Good.”
I put them on and tightened them just so they’d hurt. “Are you going to take them off when you get to the office?” “No.” “How do I know you won’t?” “Look, Trevor, I’ve been loyal to you ever since we met in that little market downstairs. I will not take them off. If you want me to suffer, I will suffer.” I bent down and kissed him.
He reached for the whip on the night table. I put it there last night when we got home. He said, “I thought you were running late.” “You’re playing with my tits.” He said, “They’re so nice. Too bad one day you’ll be old.” I said, “One day you’ll be dead.”
I got back to dressing. He played with the whip. “Have you ever been whipped?” “Yes.” He wanted to be the first. We were both staring at the whip.
“You like getting whipped?” I said, “I’m accommodating.” It was a bullshit answer and he knew it. I don’t like it, but I will submit to it. “When was the last time you were whipped?” I said, “Some barn” “Some barn?” I said, “Some groom in some barn.” “Did he think you were a horse?” “Not exactly.” “What then?” “A bitch.”
“Carrie. You’re funny.” “Am I?” “Yeah, sort of like…” “Like what?” He said, “Like some 40s movie star.” I said, “Cary Grant you ain’t.” He said, “But Ava Gardner you are.” He ran his fingers down the spine of the whip. “You bought this for me?” “No. It was a gift.” “Really? From whom?” I said, “Me.” He laughed, “You are funny.”
“Do you get whipped hard?” I said, “I’ve been whipped hard, yes.” “Can you take it?” I said, “It’s not easy.” “What do you mean?” “I try to be good about it. Grit my teeth and all that, not move, like nothing’s happening.”
“But something is.” I said, “Yeah, I know.” “But you try to be good about it.” I said, “I’m best when I’m bent over holding onto something. I’ll yell, maybe scream now and then.” “But grunt most of the time.” I said, “As I mentioned, I try to be good about it.”
“You like it?” I said, “No.” “But you allow men to whip you?” I said, “Those I don’t want to lose. I’ll do it for them.” He thought about that. “Will you do it for me?” I had finished dressing and got my bag. I said, “Yes.” He said, “I’m quite strict when I whip a girl.” I said, “I have no doubt.”
I left the bedroom, turned down the hall, walked by five rooms, the library, the sitting room, then past the kitchen and dining room and around to the main hallway. My mobile phone rang. “Yeah?” “I love the way you walk.” “Trevor, I’m late.” He said, “You’re going to get whipped tonight . We’ll see how you walk then. Something for you to think about at work.” “Panties down?” He said, “If you’re not a good girl.”
“Just take it easy on me.” I could see the whip in his hand, me standing before him, bent over, panties down, hair over face, holding on, trying to be good about it. He said, “You’ll be a little sore; that’s all.” A kiss. He hung up. I put my hand on my bottom for a second then was out the door.
I said good morning to my doormen, got in the cab and headed to work. I got a call from my CFO. He said we’re making money on the new line. He wanted to know if I had anything to tell him. Yeah, I’m getting whipped later. Bent over. Panties down. Tits hanging. Hands grabbing onto anything. Just like any ordinary beautiful girl on a Monday night.
I said, “No.” Hung up. Checked my Blackberry. A photo of me on Page six was in the email. I thought of what Trevor said about getting old. I wasn’t there yet, but I knew people who were and it was devastating. But then so is being lonely, at any age. And that’s how I was feeling.
End of Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 158
Diary of a Rich Girl to be continued…
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