Decision, Indecision

After last week’s news, I’ve not had the time to think about how to play things with Cleo, work’s just been too busy.

I’ve had three days in Europe; Prague and Budapest this time and have generally been feeling a little listless about what to do going forward.

Cleo is off to the north on Wednesday this coming week, I really can’t see how we could keep an arrangement going with her 200 miles away.

So, to add to my slightly downbeat mood, Mrs LSD breezily announced that my sister was going to visit this weekend. She and I get on well, though I think her husband, Ben, is a total arse.

Ben is one of those complete dreamers who’s always months away from his latest project making a mint, sadly, he’s been through about 6 since he married my sister only five years ago and we’re all still waiting. He was really not the company I wanted when my mind was continually drifting back to Cleo.

Sunday dragged past, whilst I had to entertain Ben’s latest crackpot wheeze, something involving classic cars. He even had the neck to ask me if I fancied investing…I politely declined.

I managed to have a good catch-up with sis, so the day wasn’t a complete write-off.

Eventually they headed off and after putting the children to bed, I collapsed on the sofa.

Finally my mind engaged into meaningful thought and I came to the sad conclusion, I had to let Cleo go.

 

Cleo gets the Call

I’m writing this on a Friday afternoon, I’m at 35,000 ft on a squeakily efficient Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt back to Heathrow, it’s been a busy morning of meetings, made slightly more wearing as I was up fucking Cleo to 2am this morning….

This flight’s busy, fortunately I’m sitting in Business and I’m making the most of a large gin & tonic as I tap out this account of last night.

Cleo and I arranged to meet at her favourite restaurant, Roka in Charlotte Street. I was positively looking forward to seeing her, the last few days had been a bit difficult and I found myself daydreaming about my Sugarbabe more often than usual.

We arrived virtually at the same moment, she was stunning in a short tight green dress and a gorgeous pair of beige Kurt Geiger heels, I had a positive thrill as I followed her past a table of pissed-up guys, who clocked her immediately.

Seated in a quiet corner, I ordered champagne and we immediately connected, just as we always do.

Then came the news, she’d got the part she’d been auditioning for and would be based in the North for a 12 week stint, performing in her first proper role. I was delighted for her.

We were having one of those serious conversations where the overly-attentive waiting staff just become simply irritating.

She wanted to continue to see me, but could I also come and visit her, though she understood if that wasn’t possible. She then told me that it was understandable if I wanted to end our arrangement.

I thought about this and told her that I would try to make it work, but that it might be tricky.

I really was pleased for her, but knew that this was going to be difficult. So, what to do?

I decided the best play was to enjoy the moment, so I made sure we did.

After a dinner that was charged with a certain amount of foreboding, I decided that the best way to deal with this was to give Cleo something to remember us by.

We were staying nearby at the recently refurbished Berners Street Hotel, a recent addition to London’s booming catalogue of chic locations.

After a cocktail in the fabulous bar, we headed for bed.

I had decided that Cleo needed something a bit edgy that night and after telling her to strip, I commenced to tie her up into a wonderfully complex arrangement of rather tidy ropework.

There then followed 2 hours of the horniest fucking in my life. I alternated candle and ice play on her that had her coming so loudly I had no option but to gag her 😉

By the end I was feeling completely drained and it was a relief, in all senses, to fuck her mouth as she lay bound to the bed.

As I untied her and we arranged ourselves in each other’s arms, I had this feeling that this was the last date I’d have with Cleo.

Back to Business

Last week was my first week back in London after a refreshing fortnight in Greece. I arrived back to the usual 300+ emails in my inbox, a worryingly large amount of which hadn’t been dealt with, except in the most cursory manner, by Katerina, my PA.

Katerina is a lovely girl, hard to believe that just over three years ago she was working in an Estonian car dealership. She is now firmly established in London, has masses of friends, goes to dance classes and sends money back home to parents, who must find their daughter’s new-found position beyond their imaginings in a country that was part of the Soviet empire, only a generation ago.

Now, Katerina is a broad-minded girl, when she first came to the UK, she spent a lot of time in the, how can I put this, entertainment industry, ok, she was a lap dancer. She’s a bit too leggy and dyed-blonde for my taste and after all, off-limits – never mixing sex with work colleagues is one of the few morals I always stick to.

So, Monday morning, just as I was taking a break after 3 hours of non-stop email replies, into my office comes Jonathan, our ever-so-slightly camp, office concierge guy, carrying a couple of suits I’d left with him before my holidays.

Attached to one of the suits was one of those envelopes dry cleaners use to stick things in you’ve left in the pockets.

G String

I opened it without thinking and onto the office floor fell a black lace G-string.

Katerina looked down at it, then up at me, smiled a wicked smile and left.

Of course, it was Cleo’s parting gift before I went on holiday.

I fear the convo in the break room at lunch time is going to be a little livelier than usual…