Auction

You hear the door open and, as instructed, wait at your computer. You hear the heels of my boots click on your floor as I enter. You feel me approach from behind you, feel my leather encased hand rest on your right shoulder. I lean down, you feel my hair brush the back of your neck and feel the warmth of my breath on your left ear. As I whisper:

Are you ready?

You draw in a breath.

Yes, Mistress. I am ready.

And you remember what this means my pet?

Yes, Mistress. I remember.

And you will submit?

Yes, Mistress, I will submit.

To whatever is asked, whether by me or another?

Yes, Mistress, I will submit.

I lift you to your feet, pulling the chair back away from you. Quickly, you are stripped -- it happens so fast you almost don't notice it happening. As instructed, you have shaved. I pat you on the hip, pleased that you have followed my instructions.

You feel the collar wrap around your neck. It is tall forcing you to hold your head up high. You feel the cold steel of the large metal D ring that hangs from the front of the collar on your chest.

The bustier wraps around you and is pulled tight, forcing your breasts up. You feel me pull the laces tighter and tighter, holding them until you draw in a breath and pulling them tighter still. Your hair is pulled back, tight, into a long pony tail, wrapped in silk to give it body. Garters are attached to the bustier and hose rolled up your legs to mid-thigh.

Then the shoes, black and impossibly high. You wonder how you can walk in them and realize that is part of the point, to make you feel even more vulnerable.

You look in the mirror and are surprised by what you see.

You think of yourself as proper, not stuffy but certain not a wanton woman.

The woman looking back at you is not you, at least not how your normally view yourself.

You stare at yourself and marvel and the dichotomy, the frailty that the tight bustier and impossibly high heels seem to convey and the power that the same items provide. You are powerful, yet submissive, intense but serene.

You are snapped out of your reverie by the feeling of you long coat being placed over your shoulders.

I walk to the door and you follow, carefully, making your way across the slick floor trying not to fall. You are so focused on walking that you don't think about the fact that you are walking out of your apartment without a key, any ID, cell phone -- you aren't even wearing panties, simply following your Mistress.

Later, as you think back, you realize that was intentional, that the clothing and the rituals associated with dressing were part of the package designed to set the mood of submission.

You carefully make your way down the stairs and the walk to the street where you slide into the limo behind me, careful to slide the long coat off of you as you slide into the seat.

You feel the cold leather of the car seat on your bare ass as you lean back into the seat, spreading your legs as you have been instructed.

I sit facing you, casually taping my thigh with the crop that I seem to be carrying more and more these days.

As you think of the crop, of it caressing your thighs, sliding up towards your pussy, the sting of it on your ass, your breasts, your pussy, you feel yourself getting excited, feel yourself starting to get wet.

I smile.

Patience my pet, patience, as the car rolls through the streets.

End of Part 1