I do it for me, every day.  I start my day with a nice hot bubble bath.  I detest showers (may be a Psycho thing), unless someone fun is with me.  So I had just settled in and leaned back to just soak for a few minutes . . .

You tap softly on the door.  “Shhh. Don’t make a sound. We don’t have much time, because you have to get to work.”  You strip off your shirt, and reach for the soap and a bath cloth.  And you proceed to bathe me as if I were a precious object, handling me very gently.  When you finish and rinse the soap off my tingling body, you start to stroke and pet me.

Eventually you are holding me close and fingering me to the point of writhing and moaning. You put your mouth over mine so I can’t make any noise, and bring me to complete ecstasy in your arms.  You lift me out of the tub and dry me off gently with big fluffy towels.  Then you help me apply the lotions I use to keep my skin silky smooth and soft, and lead me to the bedroom where you have already chosen my clothes for the day.

You lie back on the bed to watch me dress. “I want to think about what you’ll be wearing when I meet you at the library for lunch today,” you say.  The lingerie is of course black: lace bra and panty with matching garter belt for my stockings.  On the outside is conservative-ish librarian wear: a gray skirt with an emerald green silk blouse that buttons up the front.

Leaving two buttons open, I finish dressing with you watching hungrily.  When I’m done, you come and kiss the spot left bare at the base of my throat.  “I’ll see you then,” you say.  And you’re gone.  For now.  I’ll see you later, and the anticipation is agony. But in a good way. Very good.  And later, it will all be worthwhile.