Management 101



The moment her phone displayed 18.00 hrs, Gemma began typing.

She had exactly one hour. From six to seven. As usual, she started with a review of her day.

Sunday was always the hardest, it being her ‘free day’. On Sundays she was usually allowed to make her own decisions and manage her own life.

Next, she moved onto a summary of the past week, evaluating herself, her successes and failures.

Finally, she typed out her proposed schedule for the seven days to come; her wardrobe plans for each day, her eating and dieting chart, weight target and exercise schedule. She filled in her social commitments and nights in, the TV shows she wanted to watch, and her internet proposals. Last of all, she included her sexual requests.

At precisely seven o’clock, she pressed ‘send’ and rested her tired fingers.

She imagined His approving smile as the envelope icon showed He had one new message.

She knew He liked to be sat at his desk, knowing her message would arrive neither one minute early, nor a single minute late. It was He who stipulated she had to complete the written task in one hour, no more, no less.

Gemma pushed her chair away from the kitchen table and got up to pour herself a glass of tap water. She began packing her shopping away, stacking the fish, fruit, vegetables and ginger into the fridge, the other ingredients into the cupboard.

She lived on her own in a nice one-bedroom flat in a residential part of London. She had a living room, bathroom, kitchen and a decent-sized bedroom, with a double bed, and a sash window overlooking the small patio garden. The place had good WIFI and it was warm and secure; in fact, everything she needed at 24 years old.

She had photographed the shopping ingredients she’d purchased. She’d taken a separate shot of the supermarket receipt and then a close up of the total amount. Her Master took a close interest in her diet and expenditure. She’d lost 4 kilos in 5 months. Precisely the amount they had agreed. Exactly the weight she’d wanted to shed before their arrangement had begun.

She glanced at the time. It was seven twenty. It was always around now that she started to get butterflies in her stomach. She could imagine Him, carefully reading her message, appraising her, making notes on a pad using His stylish fountain pen.

She’d met Him only five times in the five months it had been going on. That was all. But she felt closer to Him than any other man in her life. He knew her better than Freddy did, better than her own brother, better than her boss, certainly better than her estranged father. The reason was simple. She withheld information from all the others. People always do. Even from those they love. Sometimes especially from those they love.

But with Him, there were no secrets. Not a single one.

By seven forty, she started to feel that familiar throb between her thighs. Not the aggressive urge of sexual hunger, but the restrained ache of something else entirely. The thrill of being controlled. Managed. Her decisions were not her own.

She’d had vague fantasies since puberty. But the reality had begun two years earlier, when she first came to London. She initially played a game with dice. Depending on the question, she had numerous outcomes. Throw a 2, or a 12, or any number in between; her life in fate’s hands. It started with mundane stuff: bath or shower or neither? She had a list of results; 10-12 was to take a bath, 4-9 was a shower, but if she threw a 3 or a 2, she went out unwashed.

Layer by layer, she started adding complexity; cold bath, hot bath, cold shower, hot shower, deodorant, no deodorant. The possibilities were infinite. Breakfast? She started simply but soon had a list from 2-12: if she double-sixed she could enjoy coffee, juice, cereal and toast, the full deal. But if she threw a pair of ones, she had to leave the house on just a glass of tap water.

For a while, having a pair of plastic dice as her Master was exciting enough. Their total randomness, their cold disinterest. They could be deliciously cruel but the two dice didn’t even know it. They could make her hold her bladder for another hour. They could even make her taste her own urine. And yet they didn’t give a shit.

But the time eventually came when two dispassionate dice were simply not enough. She wanted more. She wanted feedback. She wanted randomness that was amused when she had to do something she didn’t like, or couldn’t do something she wanted to. She needed to find somebody who enjoyed controlling her as much as she wanted to be controlled.

But, above all, she wanted somebody who cared.

At 19.59 hours, she sat down and stared at the screen hopefully.

Of course, He operated under a different set of rules. He had no obligation to reply at any fixed time. He had no obligation to reply at all. If she heard nothing from him, it simply indicated that He’d agreed with everything she’d proposed. Thus she had his permission to proceed as she suggested.

Unless, Starzbet of course, He subsequently changed his mind.

But she waited. And hoped. If he was kind, He usually responded some time after eight o’clock.

She began preparing her own supper, as planned; a healthy seafood salad. She measured out the one solitary glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc she’d requested for this evening. After all, he hadn’t told her ‘no’ yet.

She glanced at the screen resentfully, as the minutes ticked by.

She thought of Him simply as “Sir”, although she did indeed know His real name. She knew where He lived. She knew He was happily married and that He had two sons. She even knew where He worked and His telephone number, not that she’d ever have called him.

And she knew He was almost the same age as her father.


She set her alarm for 06.00.

She pulled on her running kit and stretched, ran 3 miles in the dawn light, took a cold shower, dressed for work, ate some bland muesli, drank a glass of hot water and lemon peel, and was out of her flat by 7 a.m.

She was, as was usual nowadays, the first to arrive at work. Everybody had noticed the change. Above all, her boss. He’d even given her a performance bonus and a raise. Whereas before, Gemma had been one of the weakest on the team, she was undoubtedly now one of its stars.

At 9.30 precisely, she slipped to the Ladies and waited for the message he’d promised. He’d only sent her a one-liner the previous evening: ‘Half past nine’.

Her heart leapt and her pussy spasmed as she scrolled through his long, thorough and explicit reply. She skim-read it twice, then flushed the toilet unnecessarily and returned to her seat, finding it hard to concentrate.

He had flipped her week upside down. She had proposed a date with Freddy tomorrow. She had a movie planned with Jill on Thursday; Fifty Shades of Grey, no less. She had scheduled nights in today and Wednesday, including some TV and internet time, as well as a list of household chores. She had tentatively suggested a night out Friday or Saturday with the gang, with Freddy tagging along.

Freddy was her new boyfriend. He was sweet, vanilla, and a year older than Gemma. They’d only been dating six weeks but things were going well so far. He had no idea about her secret, managed life, and undoubtedly he’d be horrified if he found out.

She pushed any tiny pangs of guilt aside. Freddy wasn’t aware of just how damn lucky he was.

Her Master had made some serious changes to her schedule. Above all, He had decided to meet her face-to-face for an Appraisal Session at 8.30 p.m. on Thursday. Fifty Shades, indeed! She’d be getting a dose of the real thing.

He had moved Freddy to tonight, with nights in Tuesday and Wednesday, and agreed to consider her plans for the weekend following her Appraisal on Thursday.

Everything was non-negotiable. He didn’t invite any debate. There were also comments on her clothing, eating, exercise and internet plans, but she considered them minor details. Finally, he’d forbidden her to orgasm before Thursday.

She texted Freddy and, fortunately, he was able to switch nights.

Five months ago, when she had first found her Master, Gemma had been dating another boy named Josh. Theirs had been one of those youthful relationships that should have been blown out much earlier. But it flickered and sputtered like a dying candle, dripping its messy wax all over the table. “Sir” had helped her end it cleanly.

She had then been unattached for three months between Josh and Freddy. She’d had one casual fling over a weekend with some guy but that had gone nowhere. Her Master had allowed it, encouraged it even. He’d enjoyed taking full control of what happened.

Back in the present, Monday passed quickly enough. She got her mind back focused on the job.

She spent the day according to the strict schedule she’d proposed and that He’d now agreed. She visited the bathroom to pee only three times all day. She ate only an apple for lunch. She spent her lunch hour on her phone doing research on homework her Master had given her; the subject was ‘figging’. Otherwise, she worked hard at her job. At 6.00 p.m., she sent Him a message updating her plans for the evening.

It turned out Freddy enjoyed everything that night. Naturally he did.

As soon as they walked in her front door, she pushed her boyfriend into the armchair and removed his shoes. She unzipped his fly and tugged his trousers down. When he tried to reciprocate, she smiled and shook her head.

Gemma had mixed feelings about oral sex. It wasn’t something she disliked, but then again, it had never been top of her bucket list either. It was just something nice that couples did with, and for, each other as a give-and-take pleasure.

Her Master had taught her otherwise. Before He took over her decisions, she’d never given one BJ as an unreciprocated, unsolicited gift. The hardest had been the first. He’d instructed Starzbet Giriş her to give a farewell blowjob to Josh the night she ended it with him. The whole thing had been humiliating. She even swallowed her ex-boyfriend’s semen knowing they were about to split up. Still, at least it had let Josh know what he’d be missing, lol.

Now, she knelt and lowered her face into Freddy’s groin. She nuzzled his balls and hairy inner thighs. They were sweaty and masculine after a day’s frantic work on the trading floor where he was a trainee. She debased herself, seeking out every nook and cranny with her tongue, until his erection could wait no more.

It would be wrong to say she thought of her Master throughout. On the contrary, she concentrated on the job. Besides, she liked Freddy. She was actually starting to really like him. But all the time, she could feel her “Sir” watching, over her shoulder, judging her commitment and marking her efforts.

She pumped Freddy’s shaft carefully, rhythmically, making it last. There was no rush. But when eventually he reached the point of no return, moaning and gasping and grasping her hair, she kept her lips soft and puckered, curling her tongue, making sure to catch and swallow every spurt, despite its slimy texture.

Satisfied with her performance, she winked at her phone as she got to her feet. She fetched a hot flannel and wiped Freddy down, brushing off his suggestion that she now might “need looking after” herself. Instead, grimacing at the humiliation, she thanked her boyfriend for allowing her to blow him. She imagined her Master chuckling as she’d obeyed his warped order.

Then, she fetched Freddy a beer and cooked him supper.


Tuesday was hard.

Gemma spent the whole day in a knee-length skirt without any underwear on. She wore a tight top with no bra underneath. She had to wear her jacket throughout the day just to appear respectable.

Nobody commented on, or even seemed to notice, her visits to the Ladies every hour, on the hour. If they did, they probably thought she was having ‘woman issues’. Which of course, in a way, she was.

She sat back on the toilet seat and slid her finger into her sodden pussy, stirring the soupy mixture like she was making a bisque. She teased her clitoris the requisite sixty seconds again until she couldn’t breathe and she had to bite her lower lip hard.

She took a photograph with her phone of her open cunt, displayed like some rain-soaked rose, its pink petals in full bloom. She twisted her arm so her wristwatch was in shot, recording the time yet again, two minutes past the hour.

Then she unbolted the cubicle and returned to her desk, red-faced and tugging her jacket closed over her chest. Somehow, she got her mind back on the job again and impressed her boss.

“Coming for a quick drink, Gem?” her colleagues asked at the end of the day.

She politely declined. “Housework.” She shrugged. “Won’t do itself.”

One of the things she adored about her Master was the effort He put into her management. He didn’t just throw out commands and punishments. He worked at it. He invested his own time and effort. In fact, he seemed to really care.

Each night at bedtime, whenever she went to bed but always before midnight, she sent Him a short ‘diary’ of her day, highlighting any variances with the plan, admitting her successes and failures. She attached a detailed schedule for the next day with updates on her diet, weight, exercise and lifestyle program. She attached each of the nine time-stamped photos taken of her glistening pussy that day for him to inspect. She hated the word ‘cunt’. It was only in the furnace of submission that four-letter words crept into her internal vocabulary.

She included the list of the chores she’d done that evening in her flat: dusting, brushing, mopping, scrubbing, ironing, washing, polishing, drying, stacking, all done without the aid of any modern appliances like vacuum cleaners and dishwashers, although she had both.

Dusting, tick, Brushing, tick. Bathroom spotless, tick. Toilet shining, tick.

And all done in focused silence without any accompaniment of TV or music. The only unscheduled break had come when her mother phoned her. That was fine. Her Master always allowed her to put her family first.

As usual, her need to use the toilet came upon her late in the evening. It was the way her body worked. She sent Him a message, feeling as she always did, like a little kid in school sticking her hand up, asking teacher “please may I be excused”.

He didn’t reply for ten minutes.

Then her phone pinged.

“I’m busy.” He messaged.

She was sitting cross-legged, folding her ironing, when her phone finally pinged again. Her bowel cramped in anticipation.


As ever, she felt ridiculously grateful.

Partly because he’d given her permission to ‘be excused’.

Mostly because he always seemed to get the timing just right.


She Starzbet Güncel Giriş woke in a state of absurd horniness.

She’d had erotic dreams during a fitful night’s sleep, on top of the endless edging she’d executed on herself the day before. So she took an extra long, extra cold shower and dried herself vigorously, grinning into the mirror at the healthy redness in her cheeks.

His next text arrived while she was on the bus. Her heart skipped a beat.

Change of plan. She would be going out tonight. He’d arranged for her name to be added to the guest list at a gallery opening in central London. How he managed it, she had no idea. She googled the place and the event. Fortunately what she was wearing would be sufficiently smart. She suddenly realised why he’d made a change to her proposed dress code for Wednesday.

At 7.00 p.m. that night, she gave her name to a muscled, black security guard at the door who checked her off without hesitation. She entered and accepted a glass of champagne.

During the first half hour, several people came up to her; a couple of guys hit on her but some were just making small talk, as they wandered about the increasingly crowded gallery, looking at the art.

And then she saw Him. He was talking amongst a small group. He either hadn’t seen her, or more likely, simply ignored her. She pretended not to know him either as she walked past, feeling her cheeks redden and the arousal in her nipples.

Her phone pinged two minutes later. She glanced at His message.

“The man in a check suit by the bar.”

All her life, she’d been shy. Always too timid to make the first move in situations like this. So He had agreed to help her, to train her to overcome her nerves.

She approached the man in the check suit. He was much older than she was, but rather distinguished, with grey hair and spectacles. He was sipping champagne.

Her mouth felt dry and her stomach churned. But she forced herself.

“Do you … er … know a lot about art?”

He looked at her, his surprised blue eyes slightly distorted by the lenses of his glasses. But he smiled kindly enough, delighted to have been approached.

For the next half hour this charming gentleman talked to her as an equal. He explained the relevance of art in general, and the exhibited artist in particular. There was no sexual innuendo, nothing untoward, just enlightenment.

“You may leave when you like.” The next message on her phone said.

She floated home on a cocktail of euphoria and champagne. She’d been to a party that she’d never normally have been invited to. She had done exactly as she’d been told. She’d approached an older, daunting stranger and been taken seriously. She’d learned something. And most of all, she’d pleased her Master.

Somehow, after sending Him her daily diary, she managed to fall asleep, in spite of the ache between her thighs and the images in her head.


Freddy phoned her early on Thursday morning.

“Doing anything tonight?” he asked.

She hated lying. She wasn’t very good at it either.

“I have to work.”

“But you never work very late. We can hook up when you’ve finished.” His voice assumed a conspiratorial murmur. “I’d love another dose of what you did on Monday.”

“I’m not feeling too good. Tomorrow.” She replied. “Promise.”

Of course, she couldn’t promise anything. Final decisions were out of her hands. But it was a calculated risk.

“Alright.” He replied, disappointed but accepting.

There was no doubt in her mind who she’d choose if it came to a decision between Freddy and Him. One was a luxury. One was a necessity. But she was pretty confident she could keep pleasing them both if she worked hard enough.

At lunchtime, she began her last message before 8 o’clock that night.

She typed fast on her phone, at Starbucks, sipping her daily allowance of caffeine.

It was her Evaluation of everything that had happened since their last meeting. Like a Head’s Report at school, summarising “little Gemma’s performance”, as if citing what her individual teachers had said. Wardrobe, good. Eating and Diet, excellent, Exercise, must work harder. She left her sexual evaluation until last; her care of Freddy, her lack of ego, her level of self control.

She reminded Him of her ten worst mistakes in the period; the slice of carrot cake she hadn’t been able to resist, the stupid shoes she’d purchased on a whim without permission. She repeated the list of sexual sins, including the time she’d tipped herself over the edge when masturbating without permission to cum.


he ended with the overall score out of a hundred she’d have given herself, and the punishment she would have sentenced herself to. Then she hit send.

She left work slightly late, and her bus was caught in traffic, so she had to rush when she got home. She’d received no texts which meant He was on time.

At 20.00 hrs precisely, the doorbell rang. He was always punctual. He seemed to set himself the same high standards as those He demanded of her.

“Good evening Gemma.” He said, as she opened the door. She greeted him dressed in a tight blouse, pleated skirt, stockings and heels.

“Good evening, Sir.”

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