OliverKir doesn't tell me where we're going.He tells me at six in the evening, get cleaned, be downstairs in an hour, wear something that will be comfortable to put back on after a session and then he goes to make a phone call I'm not supposed to listen to.I shower for a long time. I shave everywhere I usually shave for him. I clean myself inside and out.I look at myself in the steamed-up mirror with the platinum at my throat and finger and I think, with the small private smugness I get when I let myself, fuck me, look at you.Deciding what to wear takes a while, because I’m torn between vanity and wanting to blow him away with how sexy his husband is, and not knowing how sore I’m going to be after.I settle on a pair of black silk pants that hug my ass and flow down my legs like water, and a soft, fitted black cotton tank top.Kir is in the front room when I come downstairs. Black trousers, black shirt, the long charcoal coat. He looks delectable.The team is studiously not lo
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