Chapter One
London 1878
Sometimes our lives can take the strangest turns. A person walks into your life and quickly becomes your savior. In my case, it was a copper with beautiful blue eyes.
When I approached 112 Cumberland Place that morning everything looked the same, and I had no idea what would soon unfold within its walls, and that the man of my dreams would walk into my life around noon that day.
The same routine was followed every Tuesday morning. The master of the house dismissed all the staff an hour before I was scheduled to arrive. He was a private man and never wished anyone in his employ to know how he sought his pleasure.
Sir Michael, a psychiatrist by profession, was a man who liked things to be perfect. We had kept the same appointment, same day, same time, for a little over a year. He liked order and sameness, an almost obsessive behavior that I guessed was the reason many of his patients sought his help. For, he too, knew what it was like to live with such an affliction. On our first meeting he’d sat and gone through step-by-step what I was to do upon arriving at his house.
I would get there at shortly before ten a.m. That day I was a few minutes late, because it had been raining and the hansom cab had taken more time to travel along Charing Cross Road.
Upon arriving, I climbed the stairs to the front door, put my hand behind the flowerpot on the windowsill and searched around in the dirt for the key. Due to the heavy rain, it had become muddy, so by the time I retrieved it, I had to wipe mud from it before placing it into the lock.
After pushing the door open, I stepped inside and wiped my feet on the mat. The smell of polished wood hit my nostrils, and I assumed the servants had spent the better part of the morning cleaning the banisters and walls. Cleanliness was another one of Sir Michael’s obsessions. He liked his house as neat as a pin. His women in the same condition. I proceeded up the stairs to go about my ritual that he insisted upon before he had contact with me. He required that he was my first client of the day, and paid extra for the privilege.
After heading up the stairs to the first floor, I pushed open the door to the bathroom and walked inside. I shut it, knowing I would have complete privacy, but still wanted to go through my ritual in my own secure world. I placed my bag onto the floor and then took off my clothes, laying each piece neatly across the edge of the bathtub.
Once naked, I glanced at myself in the mirror. A curvy young woman like myself sometimes was not always in demand, but I knew how to please a man, so my days were always filled.
I reached for the sponge and bar of soap Sir Michael left especially for me. Despite my lateness, the water in the bowl was still tepid. He had always insisted that once the downstairs clock stuck ten I be in position and ready for his grand entrance. Time was of the essence, so I hurried. After dipping both soap and sponge into the bowl, I worked up a lather and proceeded to wipe the sponge over my pubic hair. I spread my legs and worked it into my folds. The coldness bit into the delicate skin around my pussy. I took the edge and pushed it up into my channel, cleaning myself to his high standards.
I put the sponge back beside the bowl, wondering if the servants ever wondered what it was used for and who had used it. Next I reached for my bag, opened it and the box and took out my own sponge dipped in vinegar before inserting it high into my pussy so Sir Michael would not even know it was there.
I glanced one more time at myself and then headed to the room, knowing I had only seconds to spare. I hurried down the hallway and then inside his room to see everything laid out, ready for our time together.
I took the red scarf, tied it around my eyes, walked to the foot of the bed and leaned over while the clock chimed ten.
As punctual as ever, Sir Michael walked into the room. I always knew when he reached the bed,
London 1878
Sometimes our lives can take the strangest turns. A person walks into your life and quickly becomes your savior. In my case, it was a copper with beautiful blue eyes.
When I approached 112 Cumberland Place that morning everything looked the same, and I had no idea what would soon unfold within its walls, and that the man of my dreams would walk into my life around noon that day.
The same routine was followed every Tuesday morning. The master of the house dismissed all the staff an hour before I was scheduled to arrive. He was a private man and never wished anyone in his employ to know how he sought his pleasure.
Sir Michael, a psychiatrist by profession, was a man who liked things to be perfect. We had kept the same appointment, same day, same time, for a little over a year. He liked order and sameness, an almost obsessive behavior that I guessed was the reason many of his patients sought his help. For, he too, knew what it was like to live with such an affliction. On our first meeting he’d sat and gone through step-by-step what I was to do upon arriving at his house.
I would get there at shortly before ten a.m. That day I was a few minutes late, because it had been raining and the hansom cab had taken more time to travel along Charing Cross Road.
Upon arriving, I climbed the stairs to the front door, put my hand behind the flowerpot on the windowsill and searched around in the dirt for the key. Due to the heavy rain, it had become muddy, so by the time I retrieved it, I had to wipe mud from it before placing it into the lock.
After pushing the door open, I stepped inside and wiped my feet on the mat. The smell of polished wood hit my nostrils, and I assumed the servants had spent the better part of the morning cleaning the banisters and walls. Cleanliness was another one of Sir Michael’s obsessions. He liked his house as neat as a pin. His women in the same condition. I proceeded up the stairs to go about my ritual that he insisted upon before he had contact with me. He required that he was my first client of the day, and paid extra for the privilege.
After heading up the stairs to the first floor, I pushed open the door to the bathroom and walked inside. I shut it, knowing I would have complete privacy, but still wanted to go through my ritual in my own secure world. I placed my bag onto the floor and then took off my clothes, laying each piece neatly across the edge of the bathtub.
Once naked, I glanced at myself in the mirror. A curvy young woman like myself sometimes was not always in demand, but I knew how to please a man, so my days were always filled.
I reached for the sponge and bar of soap Sir Michael left especially for me. Despite my lateness, the water in the bowl was still tepid. He had always insisted that once the downstairs clock stuck ten I be in position and ready for his grand entrance. Time was of the essence, so I hurried. After dipping both soap and sponge into the bowl, I worked up a lather and proceeded to wipe the sponge over my pubic hair. I spread my legs and worked it into my folds. The coldness bit into the delicate skin around my pussy. I took the edge and pushed it up into my channel, cleaning myself to his high standards.
I put the sponge back beside the bowl, wondering if the servants ever wondered what it was used for and who had used it. Next I reached for my bag, opened it and the box and took out my own sponge dipped in vinegar before inserting it high into my pussy so Sir Michael would not even know it was there.
I glanced one more time at myself and then headed to the room, knowing I had only seconds to spare. I hurried down the hallway and then inside his room to see everything laid out, ready for our time together.
I took the red scarf, tied it around my eyes, walked to the foot of the bed and leaned over while the clock chimed ten.
As punctual as ever, Sir Michael walked into the room. I always knew when he reached the bed,
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