He had initially only wanted a haircut. He was new in town and did not take to the barber shops well. He found this little salon off the beaten track. it was called Salon soporifique. It offered all manner of styles and “The most relaxing head massage you will ever experience. You’ll sleep like a baby after you’ve experienced one of these”
Tag: Satin Skirt
- Author name:
- Satintrancer
- Publish date:
- June 4th, 2013
- Discussion:
- No Comments
“This is great” he thought. “CEO goddammit! A CEO!!!” Now he could really shake his corporate tail feather, get a notch on his greasy pole bed-post. He’d lick this lame ass company into shape, then move on to bigger and better. He had plans, great! plans.
But although he talked all the old Gordon Gecko-style “Greed is good” cliches, he was a little nervous. He just had to impress. And he hoped that the “Value for money” measures he was drawing up–which included the laying off of 400 blue collar and 100 white collar staff–got passed. He would make out that he felt for these folks working in this company’s factories turning an honest dollar. But in reality he wanted to be a jet setter, a shooting star. But he did not want to burn up. At least he told himself that this is what he wanted. His dedication to his life plan didn’t stop him from curling up in his lonely bed some mornings–hugging the pillow and longing for someone to love him. Much more frequently than he would even admit to himself in parallel to his desire for true intimacy he was dreading what rows and challenges would perhaps jump up and bite for him during the day. Read more…
- Author name:
- Satintrancer
- Publish date:
- May 27th, 2013
- Discussion:
- No Comments
He was so nervous, like many men who felt they could buy things for their partners in a lady’s store that blasted sophisticated couture from every corner he had entered in all good faith. He was now surrounded by every overt expression of femininity that anyone could imagine, from soft sensuous basques to long flowing gowns that displayed a more subtle yet equally sensuous aura. An aura that most men found subtly mocking and a little intimidating, like a little boy caught by elder sisters in his mothers wardrobe. Read more…
- Author name:
- Satintrancer
- Publish date:
- May 27th, 2013
- Discussion:
- No Comments
It was the 1980’s, the days of green text on computer screens and laborious printouts. He was a trainee at the Anglo Evangelist Housing Company put there to see that all the company’s clients had their needs met when they moved in. The team he worked with were all women. They rather clucked over him and tried to fuss him like a dozen mothers requiring a subservient teenage child rather than the obvious intractable rebels they had at home. He was alone living in a bed-sitting room. Although he never admitted it , he rather liked the fuss, especially from the boss of the section Ms Morphia-Sophor. He never could understand the name, only that when he heard it he felt very dreamy and secure and wanting. So wanting to please this lady who would waft sensually through the office always in liquid like white satin blouses and long , so long satin pencil skirts split so silkily alluringly just below the thigh swishing hypnotically as they trailed back and forth before his mesmerized eyes. Back and forth, they caught the office lights so strikingly, enticingly, and sweetly swaying like a gossamer image of a sweet caressing ocean of black, soothing silken ripples. Read more…
- Author name:
- Satintrancer
- Publish date:
- May 20th, 2013
- Discussion:
- No Comments
He was exhausted from so much walking, the tourist center people had taken his details and booked him into a little guest house.
He was a little worried because he had stayed at guest houses before in England and found those who offered “A peaceful stay in our family home” to be utter control freaks, wanting to know everything about their “Guest” (Really victim) and acting like the person filling their pockets by paying for this “Nosey parker” torture,
probably undeclared as taxable income-was some kind of alien. The images from the British comedy “League of Gentleman” of the “Local Shop” proprietress came to mind “Don’t touch the pretty things” when the “Pretty things” in question were usually bought cheaply from some dreadful second hand store. The woodworm ridden “Tastefully polished teak desk” was probably some worm ravaged veneered pinewood nightmare bought from some dump with a name like “Reminisces” for five English pounds. Read more…
