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Diary of a Lesbian Love Slave Pt. 10

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Today I found myself at Miranda’s house staring at the full-length nude portrait of me that hangs in her hallway. I’m wearing a domino mask and reclining on a lounge chair soaking in the sun, my nipples standing up tall and proud, my red bush glistening in the sunlight. It’s quite a striking image, if I do say so myself.

As I stood there I thought about how it came to be. About six months ago Miranda told my Mistress that she was creating a new website for her shop, and asked if I would be willing to model for it. My Mistress was hesitant until Miranda offered to let me wear a mask to protect our privacy; then she agreed, on the condition that she would have veto power over any photos Miranda took.

So it was that I found myself again modeling lingerie for Miranda and my Mistress, this time with Miranda snapping away on a big SLR camera with an even bigger lens. I had never modeled before but Miranda told me I was a natural. (She probably says that to all the girls, or at least the ones she wants to fuck. Or in my case, fuck again.)

It ended up being a pretty grueling day, changing in and out of clothes, holding poses, trying to follow every instruction Miranda gave as she moved me around. I decided that models actually work pretty hard for their money.

At the end of the day Miranda asked my Mistress if she could take some extra shots for her “private collection.” My Mistress shook her head. “No nudes.”

“Oh london escorts come on,” pleaded Miranda. “After all that time you spent getting her bush perfect, don’t you want to record it for posterity.”

“I have plenty of pictures.” When she traveled without me, my Mistress often had me send her nude selfies. I was getting quite good at it.”

“But I’m an artist,” said Miranda.

My Mistress considered for a moment, and finally relented. “One nude,” she said. “One, Miranda.”

After taking a minute to think about what she wanted, Miranda took me out into the garden dressed in nothing but a garter belt and hose. She took about a dozen shots, then stood there deleting all of them except the one she and my Mistress agreed was the best.

Afterward she took us out to dinner, then invited us back to her house for a nightcap. (She lives in a spacious, well-appointed flat over the shop.) We started out in the living room but pretty soon adjourned to the bedroom, where Miranda was soon burrowing between my legs as my Mistress sat on my face. Just another day at the office for your favorite lesbian love slave.


On my way home from Miranda’s this afternoon I stopped by the grocery store. While I was there I got a text from my Mistress informing me that we would have a guest for dinner that night. So I bought a chicken to roast and some vegetables, wondering who this person might be. A few minutes later I got another london escort text instructing me to “wear something sexy.”

As evening approached I got the food going and put on a slinky, low-cut dress that made absolutely the most of my modest cleavage. About 6:30 my Mistress turned up with a woman in her late forties or early fifties, tall and thin and not bad-looking, but with severe features and no fashion sense. The dress she was wearing was baggy and unflattering and her makeup was a mess.

My Mistress introduced her as Virginia — “Call me Ginny,” she said, nervously twirling a strand of hair — and sat her down in the living room with a drink. Taking me into the kitchen, my Mistress spoke to me in hushed tones. “Ginny’s a potential client,” she said. “A big one. So I want you to be extra nice to her.”

It took me a moment to realize the import of what she was saying, and when I did something in my eyes must have betrayed my uneasiness. Being shared with my Mistress’s friends was one thing; being whored out for business purposes was something else.

“Look, I normally never do this kind of thing,” my Mistress said in an unusually solicitous tone. “It’s a slippery slope, I know. But Ginny’s really nice. And I can tell that she’s lonely, poor thing. I’m not even sure that she knows she’s a lesbian. But I do.” She grinned slyly. “If we can show her a good time, what’s the harm?”

After having it put to me that way, london escort agency I decided I would make it my mission to help give Ginny a night she’d never forget. It would be my good deed for the day.


By the time dinner was over I felt like I’d known Ginny for years. She was awkward at first, but after a glass of wine she began to loosen up, and pretty soon she was telling us all about herself. She was from Kansas and had inherited her family business and — well, her stories weren’t all that interesting, to be honest, but she had a pleasant voice and was easy to listen to.

In the course of the meal she had several more glasses of wine and grew more and more giddy and giggly. A few times I had seen her eyes alight on my collar, and I knew that she was curious what the situation was here, but too shy to say anything. I felt like I looked good that night, and more than once I’d seen Ginny stare at me for a while, then look away sheepishly.

I did my best to be attentive and flirty. Once when I refilled Ginny’s wine glass I let my breast brush against her shoulder, and she blushed a little and turned away. We had strawberries for dessert and I made a production of it, dipping the berries in sugar and then licking it off.

Finally my Mistress took Ginny to the living room and I started clearing the table. After a few minutes my Mistress came into the kitchen and planted a big kiss on my cheek. “You’re doing great. She must be dripping wet, poor thing.”

I certainly was. Though I wouldn’t necessarily have picked Ginny out of a crowd as someone I wanted to fuck, the way things were transpiring was getting me very excited. I could hardly wait for the next step.

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