“Visiting businessman requires a Personal Assistant this weekend working from a temporary home office. Salary £600 cash-in-hand. Enquire at the contact details below”

The advert immediately catches your eye, with no plans for the weekend and extra cash always being welcome. You quickly update your CV and email the contact address expressing your interest. An hour later, a reply comes through inviting you to an interview in a few days time.

You plan your outfit carefully, wanting to look professional but not too formal. You make your way to the apartment address you’ve been given five minutes early, and knock on the door.

A tall, slim man in a fitted suit answers the door and flashes you a warm smile that reaches his eyes. He’s broad shouldered, with grey blue eyes and short, greying brown hair. He introduces himself and invites you in, chatting casually and putting you at ease. He gets you a glass of water, and invites you to sit on the sofa. He asks you a few questions about your experience and motivations, and hopes for the future.

After about 15m of chat, he offers you the job with a smile. Pleased, you accept immediately. He fetches a contract from his desk, which you sign after a cursory flick through. He locks it away in the desk drawer, and asks you to come back on Friday evening ready to start work. He thoughtfully calls an Uber for you to make sure you get home safely.

Friday comes, and you find yourself looking forward to working for the charming and confident businessman. He greets you at the door with his warm smile, and invites you in. It’s as he locks the door behind you and pockets the key that you feel the first flicker of concern.

You walk nervously into the lounge of the apartment, where he has his desk set up. “What would you like me to do first?” You ask. He pours himself a whisky, and sits behind his desk before answering. “Go next door, choose an outfit and get changed, then come back through” he says, without looking up. Uncertainly, you go through the door he gestured at, and walk into a bedroom. On the bed are a variety of lingerie sets and costumes, all neatly arranged. You look at them in confusion, feeling yourself getting angry, and storm back into the lounge.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you shout angrily. “I’m not here to dress up like a slut for you”.

“You’re here to do absolutely anything I want, it’s what you agreed to” he says, reaching into the desk drawer and pulling out the contract and sliding it across the desk towards you. “I suggest you read the print more closely this time. And before you get any ideas about tearing it up, this is a copy of the original”.

Indignantly, you pick it up and start to read in increasing panic. There it is, in black and white with your signature at the bottom. A contract agreeing to do any and every task given to you until midnight on Sunday. An agreement that you left all free will and rights at the door, and absolving your employer of any liability and exempting him from prosecution on any grounds. You are effectively a slave for the weekend, and there’s nothing you can do about it………

This is very much a concept, and I have deliberately left it open and non-specific at the end as it is an idea I want to develop with you. This is very much something I would like to try IRL. If you think you might be interested, please do drop me a message.

My kinks: non-con, forced orgasms, orgasm control, restraints, reward and light punishment, coercion and manipulation, facials, outfits, aftercare if desired, and many others.

Limits: toilet play, extreme pain, injury, anything illegal.