In which Milica and N meet (part 1)

My date with Milica was long – and long-anticipated.

Her compliance has been so comprehensive, so complete, so exquisite, it was a delight when, a day or two before we were scheduled to meet it slipped a little and I was able to confirm in communication with her that my asks had become somewhat monotonous to her. She wasn’t tired of serving, she was tired of doing the same tasks over and over. While of course I would have preferred that I learn this by her telling me rather than by her slowing down in compliance, I understood that she was learning from her compliance her preferences, as was I. And what better thing to learn than that she was eager to give me more, just for it to be different, novel, exciting!

One of the tasks I had given her was this storyboard assignment. She confessed to me that the story itself was just so cheesy that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The story was cheesy, that was kind of the point, but I totally got her point as well. And it was no skin off my nose to reconceptualize the storyboard to one that would ensure mounting excitement for both her and me on the day of the meeting. Mounting excitement for both her and me on the day of our tryst.

As we met for our weekly check-in on Wednesday morning, I assembled the skeleton of the storyboard. A skeleton which I fleshed out over the following 8 or 12 hours, and which ended up looking like this. Half the photos, half the videos, you can’t see. But even just the ones you can, holy shit, did I have some fun awaiting me.

Part 2. Part 1 of the date. I walked to the bookstore, walked to the back, found the section where Milica had left my room key. I had a little trouble locating the bookshelf itself. It wasn’t as the photo had led me to imagine at the very back of the aisle, but rather on the side two-thirds of the way back. I had a moment of panic, where I thought, shit, am I not going to be able to find it? But of course, I found it, no trouble. Texted Milica a photo of my room key, and gave her some last minute instructions. I don’t have any others.

I walked the short walk to the hotel, ascended to the 9th floor, and found a housekeeper knocking on the adjacent door. Housekeeper, knocking on the adjacent door. Housekeeping, she said. I passed her, held my key to the magnetic key reader, and it didn’t work. I flipped the key over, rotated it, but no go. I texted her, my key doesn’t work, you’re going to have to open the door. There was no immediate response. I knocked, imagining the housekeeper coming to our room, as Milica greeted me in her sheer bodysuit.

Milica did greet me in her sheer bodysuit, but the housekeeper was still in room 907. There was no “do not disturb” tag to hang on the door, so I flipped the security lock. Instructed Milica to resume her wanding. Washed my hands, unburdened myself of my bag and things. Washed my hands, unburdened myself of my bag and things. She looked delicious, her lips painted bright red. Her lithe body kneeling, waiting for me, her mouth hungry.

She was quivering, literally quivering, with anticipation.

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