DarkLadyAradia
Virgin
- Joined
- Jun 3, 2018
- Posts
- 1
Setting: Airy, costal cottage with stormy grey drapery, cypress driftwood furniture, and sea glass light fixtures. Descriptiom of me: Delicate face, medium skin, auburn hair and redwood eyes. Pierced nipples. 5'5", 120lbs, Bcup
I'm a public relations consultant on the verge of a promising political career, and the only close relationship I've sustained (after selling out everyone to get to the top) is my monthly appointment with my ethereally peaceful masseur. We met in college when a friend recommended I needed something to relieve all the stress I was piling on my shoulders, and I found myself in his chair in the local mall. When he began his own business, he handed me a card with the phone number and company name: Majesty. I was a regular client by then and too embarassed to admit I never knew his name. As I rose in public success, I paid more in personal fees to keep him on call, so I could count on him in NY or LA, morning or night. Little do I know how closely he's been observing my physical and emotional weaknesses.
"Two more engagements and some more kids on the way for the married folks...?" I sigh and slouch in my shell-shaped basket chair, curling my legs up in my oversized Panama beach blanket while my tablet fals into my lap. On my porch, I slowly stop the basket chair from swinging while watching the darkness rise over the ocean, the moon already up before the sun was done setting. Suddenly, the two bedroom seems palatial and cavernous behind me, and old knots start tightening in my neck and shoulders. "Crud. I can't have a spasm tonight, I haven't even eaten yet and i have to prep the press conference tomorrow."
(Looking for someone to play an intense role, an obsessive relentless type that can barely keep it under wraps)
I'm a public relations consultant on the verge of a promising political career, and the only close relationship I've sustained (after selling out everyone to get to the top) is my monthly appointment with my ethereally peaceful masseur. We met in college when a friend recommended I needed something to relieve all the stress I was piling on my shoulders, and I found myself in his chair in the local mall. When he began his own business, he handed me a card with the phone number and company name: Majesty. I was a regular client by then and too embarassed to admit I never knew his name. As I rose in public success, I paid more in personal fees to keep him on call, so I could count on him in NY or LA, morning or night. Little do I know how closely he's been observing my physical and emotional weaknesses.
"Two more engagements and some more kids on the way for the married folks...?" I sigh and slouch in my shell-shaped basket chair, curling my legs up in my oversized Panama beach blanket while my tablet fals into my lap. On my porch, I slowly stop the basket chair from swinging while watching the darkness rise over the ocean, the moon already up before the sun was done setting. Suddenly, the two bedroom seems palatial and cavernous behind me, and old knots start tightening in my neck and shoulders. "Crud. I can't have a spasm tonight, I haven't even eaten yet and i have to prep the press conference tomorrow."
(Looking for someone to play an intense role, an obsessive relentless type that can barely keep it under wraps)
