Confession 53

I'd been staring at the door for nearly five minutes, trying to decide what to do, so I figured I'd better either go for it, open up and go in, or just chicken out now and go home. The wind was howling down the alley, and I turned my back against it, shivered against the cold. The snow back here hadn't been plowed, and my feet were starting to freeze. I needed to decide soon whether to just do this.

I studied the door again. Plain black, ordinary looking metal industrial door, set in a large, abandoned looking concrete warehouse. The only thing remarkable about the door was a single word, stenciled in yellow, in small letters, just below eye level.

"CONFESSION"

A few more deep breaths. I blew on my hands. Were the rumors about this place true? Was it some sort of trap? I had no idea what to think. A part of me wanted to find out, but another part of me was terrified of what might be in there. I knew, though, that if I didn't go through with it now, while I'd finally worked up the courage to drive all the way out here, and come find this hidden door, that I probably never would. And that I'd probably wonder forever what might have been, and regret it. I twisted my hands together to keep warm, and to work up my nerve. Then I reached for the ice cold door knob, turned it, and pushed open the door.

I stepped inside, finding a small waiting area. Cinder block walls painted beige. To my left, an uncomfortable looking wooden bench, where two men sat. Both, for some reason, were barefoot. Directly in front of me, an enclosed desk area. Behind it sat a young woman staring at a computer screen. She had short blonde hair, wore earbuds along with a black Ramones t-shirt beneath a gray hoodie, and ignored me as I approached the desk. I waited. It felt good to be out of the freezing winter air, but it was still very cold, even in here. I waited a few more minutes. Still, the woman didn't acknowledge me. She was very pretty, in a punk sort of way. I wondered if I was supposed to make myself known, but I was sort of scared to ask. After another minute, I spoke.

"Um, excuse me, ma'am?"

She slowly turned her chair toward me. She fixed me with a look, sort of disdainful, then let her lips pop. Then she spoke.

"First time?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I can tell. Show some respect, perv. Take off your shoes and socks before you even THINK of speaking to me. And keep your hands locked behind your back while you talk. Show me you understand your place. Think you can do that?"

She spun back around to her computer. I felt my stomach lurch. If I was scared before, I was terrified now. I knelt down, untied my shoelaces, pulled off my shoes, then my socks, which were filled with nervous sweat. I stuffed them in my shoes. It felt strange being barefoot on the cold linoleum floor. Standing, I clasped my hands behind my back. Barefoot, at attention. Weird. This did feel humbling. I spoke, hesitantly.

"Ma'am?"

"Can I help you?"

"I - um." What to even say? "I'm here, um, for - for confession."

"Of course you are." She spun around to her computer. "Name."

"My name is Chris, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Your FULL name, idiot."

My jaw dropped a little. "You need my full name?"

"Um - like yes? We need all your information. In the event that you confess anything illegal, we have to report you. But don't worry, most of the time, we never use it. Here, I'll make it easy. I'll be taking your wallet anyway. Just give it to me now, and I'll enter all your information for you."

"Um, yes, Ma'am?" She spoke as if I had no choice, so I just sort of blindly followed along, handing over my wallet.

She stood, handing me a very large bag. "While you're at it, let's just get everything that we need at initial check in. Go ahead and put your shoes and socks in here, and your coat, along with everything in your pockets. That's right - keys, cell phone. I'll turn it off, don't worry - everything. Then give it to me. Good. Then go right over there and wait on the bench until the priestess is ready to see you. NOW."

"Y - yes, ma'am. I felt my voice catch, just a little."

She turned back toward the computer, then looked at me, raising her eyebrows, as if to say 'go already,' so I went. I walked over to the bench, which had just barely enough room for me at the far end. I sat next to a young man, maybe a couple decades younger than me, in his early twenties. He wore jeans and a thin, stylish shirt that he had to be freezing in. And of course, he was barefoot. He looked worried. Every once in awhile he would close his eyes tight. Next to him was an older man, maybe fifty or so, in dress pants and a dress shirt, a tie. And barefoot like the two of us. He seemed calmer, but occasionally he would rub his hands together, or take a deep breath. Both of them were silent. It seemed like we were supposed to sit still and not talk, so that's what I did. We waited. And waited. And waited.

The bench was hard and cold, and naturally, after awhile, my butt started hurting. I shifted a little this way, then that way, causing just a very slight creaking sound. Immediately, the woman at the desk stood up, looked over, and gave me a very angry stare. I froze. She went back to her work. I tried to be very, very still, despite my aching behind.

It was freezing in here, and I wished I still had my coat, or at least my shoes and socks. The linoleum on my bare soles felt like ice. I had no idea how long it had been. There was no clock, and I had no watch. My cell phone had been taken away. It seemed like I'd been here forever, and absolutely nothing had happened.

So what did I expect to happen? What did I want to happen? Some sort of female domination - that's all I knew. This place wasn't even really on the map. It wasn't advertised anywhere. Its reputation was strictly word of mouth. It was sort of a long-standing urban legend, that supposedly was true.

A collective of women, the rumors said, were true believers in female supremacy, or maybe they just personally liked to rule over men, or thought lots of men in general needed to be punished. However the particular teller of the tale wished to spin it, these women, not for money, but to further their own personal agenda, held daily "confession" for submissive men at this location, passed around only to those in the know. But it wasn't ordinary femdom tripe. It was serious, and only for serious minded men, who actually had something real to confess - something they felt they'd done wrong, and needed to be punished for. And it was absolutely not for the faint of heart or body.

How many of the legends were true? Probably some, probably not all. I had to admit that part of the reason I was here was that I'd always had an interest in femdom, and in female supremacy, and seriously just wanted to experience this. But at the same time, I genuinely did feel the need to confess something. So I finally had a genuine reason to come, if that part was true.

My thoughts were interrupted by footsteps, and another voice. From somewhere behind the desk, another young woman appeared. She leaned around the corner, and simply said "David?"

The older man closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he looked white - much paler than he had just a minute berfore. His expression looked different too. He looked very, very scared. The man stood, and walked toward the young woman, following her behind the desk and around the corner. The young man beside me shifted slightly to his right to give us both a little more room, but did so discreetly, apparently trying not to be caught.

So we waited longer. And longer. And longer. The young man beside me seemed more worried. Despite the cold, he was sweating. I could tell from his face, he was dreading something. Once, he took in a very quick breath, then I could swear I heard a barely audible whine of apprehension. Once in awhile the woman at the desk would leave to go back to wherever whatever was happening was happening, then come back. And still we waited some more.

A sudden burst of very cold air hit me as the door opened, and a man walked inside. I looked quickly at the opening, and noticed that it was already dark. How long had I been here already? The door slammed shut, and the man approached the desk, knelt and quickly removed his shoes and socks, then stood with his hands neatly behind his back. He spoke politely, almost apologetically.

"Steve Smith, presenting myself, Miss."

The woman at the counter didn't even look at him, but clicked a few times on the computer screen, then grabbed a bag, and slid it toward him. He took it from her, even as she still didn't acknowledge him. He reached down and put his shoes and socks in, took his coat off and put it in, then quickly emptied his pockets and put the contents in the bag, before very quickly leaving the bag on the counter, and putting his hands behind his back.

"My things, Miss."

He said this, waited one second, then turned and walked toward the bench without any acknowledgement from the woman. He sat carefully on the other side, as if he didn't want to make a sound. We were again crowded on the bench, the young man's elbow pressed against mine. I wondered what we would do if another person came in.

Waiting is so very hard, especially when you don't know how much time has elapsed, doubly so when you don't know how much time you'll be waiting. Triply so when you have no idea what you're waiting for. I knew it would be bad, probably horrible, yet I couldn't wait for it. My butt ached. I could NOT sit still. I stretched just a little, took a deep breath, let out a long, just barely audible sigh. As I did, the woman at the desk leaned over, and stared me down, hard.

"Do you have somewhere to be?"

I felt intimidated. "No ma'am. Miss."

"The priestess will see you when she is ready to see you. Until then you will sit still and SHUT UP. And remember that you're being punished. IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes Miss."

She continued to stare me down, angrily, for several more seconds before returning to whatever she was doing on her computer. I tried to sit as still as I could, and not let my fear and anxiety show. Talk about being thrown headfirst into an unknown situation. Sitting still was more difficult by the minute. This was awful. I closed my eyes. I tried to think of all my fantasies, all the thoughts in my head, all the things I liked about the idea of being dominated by women. Maybe I'd get myself in the right headspace.

I remembered the first time the idea of punishment entered my fantasies. I'd imagined lying on some sort of table, having a woman, some sort of authority figure, pulling down my pants, exposing my bottom, spanking me in front of an audience. Sometimes my friends, sometimes a large crowd of anonymous people, sometimes a small group of girls I knew. Public punishment. My first femdom turn-on. I'd refine it as I got a little older. The woman would become women I actually knew, and in my fantasies they'd strip me completely naked before spanking me. The audiences would change, and they'd introduce various lingering humiliations. But there was always punishment.

At some point, other ideas entered my head. Certain years were all about feet. Many nights during that time, before I went to sleep, I spent an hour or so lying on my bedroom floor, face down, naked, imagining a different woman that I knew sitting on my bed above me, ordering me to kiss her feet. For an hour, sometimes two, I'd kiss the floor, imagining kissing her feet while she looked down on me. For quite a few of my female acquaintances at that time, I held in my mind a detailed fantasy of what her feet looked like, felt, smelled and tasted like, as well as the exact tone of condescension she would use when telling me where to kiss.

As time went on I developed more complex fantasies, thoughts of servitude and slavery, deep submission and surrender. I recalled some of them - imagining being enslaved, forced into permanent chastity, full-time service. Why had I never, in real life, sought out any relationships involving these things? I'd been too afraid, maybe. My relationships had all been perfectly conventional. I seemed to want it all - full time absolute slavery, or nothing at all.

These thoughts helped pass the time, but I was still waiting for who knows how long. It must have been close to an hour since the last guy was called. I hoped I didn't have to pee soon. I hoped that thinking about having to pee didn't make me have to pee. I was glad I didn't have anywhere I had to be tonight. My butt cycled between aching and numb, aching and numb. I didn't know it was possible for it to hurt so bad just from sitting still so long. God, how much longer? My feet were starting to feel numb from the cold linoleum pressing on my bare soles. I tried to zone out for awhile. It wasn't easy.

A certain time later, though it wasn't easy to say exactly how much time, the other woman peeked around the corner again. "Eli?" The young man next to me tensed up, inhaled sharply, then stood, and walked grimly toward the door where she was waiting.

I now had more room. Again, the woman at the desk disappeared for awhile, then reappeared. Again, I remembered all of my submissive fantasies, rehearsed my confession, wondered again if I was doing the right thing. If I decided to back out now, would the woman at the desk even give me my things back? It sure didn't seem like it.

I glanced at the woman, making sure I didn't draw her attention. Then I glanced to my right, at the man who had come in after me. His eyes were closed in concentration. Looking past him, at the door that I had come in, I noticed something disturbing. This heavy steel door had no doorknob on the inside. There was no way out except through the back - through whatever these women had in store for me. Shit, I thought, what sort of outfit had I gotten myself mixed up in?

I focused on the pattern on each linoleum tile, noted how they didn't match up. I listened to the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. I tried to zone out. Anything to distract myself from the pain in my bottom, which ached from sitting for so long on this hard wooden bench. I tried not to think about the look of abject fear on the face of each of the men before me when they had been called.

It had to have been another hour at least. I had no way to know, but it certainly seemed like it. At the very least, it was a long, long wait, with absolutely nothing happening. At last, I was startled by the sound of a voice calling my name.

"Chris?"

I looked up to see the same woman in the door behind the front desk. I'd been waiting so long, I was almost stunned. I pushed myself up, and found that it was hard to make my legs move. I almost had a cramp. Finally, they seemed to work again. I felt immediately relieved that my wait was over, but as soon as I approached the door, I felt my stomach twist into knots of apprehension. What was in store?

The woman waiting for me was in her late 20s or early 30s, with pale skin and dark reddish brown hair, shoulder-length and straight. With soft brown eyes, she had a surprisingly cute face. She wore a cream blouse buttoned all the way to her neck, and a long, gray skirt, fashionable but modest, with dress flat shoes. I followed her through the doorway into an unfinished hallway. The walls were the same cinderblocks as in the waiting area, but back here, they were unpainted, just rough gray, bare concrete. Since I was barefoot, the most noticeable change was the floor. The linoleum ended as soon as we passed into the hallway, giving way to cold, unfinished concrete.

She walked, I followed. Down a long, dimly lit hallway, around a corner, and down another stretch of hallway, we continued until we reached a more brightly lit open area. The woman stopped and faced me.

"Chris, take off all of your clothes. I want you completely naked."

I was extremely nervous, and admittedly embarrassed at even hearing her command, and hesitated for just a split second.

"NOW, Chris."

"Y-yes, Miss." I immediately started unbuttoning my shirt.

"Faster."

"Yes, Miss."

I practically tore it off. As I did, the young woman from the front desk casually walked up to the open area, stood there with her hand on her hip, a smirk on her face, and began watching me strip. She was obviously enjoying it. I winced, tightening my face as I pulled down my pants, stepping out of them as fast as I could.

"I understand you didn't have the best attitude in the waiting area. Courtney had to remind you to be silent and patient. That had better not happen the next time. Clear?"

"Yes, Miss."

This woman, giving the orders, watched me expressionless, while the woman from reception - Courtney - now smiled openly as I pulled down my boxer shorts, and stepped out of them, standing naked before them both. I shook just a bit. I was surprised at how ridiculous I felt.

The woman - the one I'd followed - was standing in front of another large metal door set into the cinderblock wall. She pulled down on the stainless steel door handle, opened it, and turned on a light switch. Bright lights from the ceiling illuminated the room - a small rectangular room, something more like a cell, about four feet wide, and maybe eight feet long. At the far end, facing us, was an elegant but comfortable looking chair, wood, upholstered in red, painted black. The woman walked into this small, now brightly lit room, and stood in front of the chair. The other woman, Courtney, pointed into the room, snapped her fingers, and said "Go."

I stepped over a small ledge into the room, while Courtney followed me inside. Like the rest of this building, the walls were cinder block, but in here, they were painted black. The floor, also painted black, was smooth concrete. I felt Courtney's hands on both of my shoulders, pushing me down, and heard her voice behind me, simply saying "Kneel. Now." I obeyed. As soon as I was on my knees, facing the other woman, I realized that between my feet was some sort of thick iron ring, a semicircle protruding from the floor, the ring half-buried in the concrete, parallel to my legs.

Courtney positioned me so that my feet and ankles were just behind the ring. Then she pulled from her pockets several thick plastic tie-wraps. She fed one along the floor beneath my ankles, through the ring, then fastened it over top the back of my ankles, pulling it tight. Then she did the same with another. Then another. With three strong zip-ties holding me to the floor, I wasn't going anywhere.

I felt Courtney's hands on my wrists, pulling them together behind my back. Using the same type of tie-wrap, she fastened my wrists together once, then twice, then three times. I was secured. I felt light-headed though, and the thought crossed my mind that if I fell forward, I'd be landing on my face, hard. Courtney was prepared for the same contingency. Taking some sort of cord from the wall, she clipped one end to the tie-wraps around my wrist, the other end to the tie-wraps around my ankles. Then I heard her voice softly in my ear, sarcastic and condescending. "Have fun, perv." With that, she stepped out, and closed the door.

Alone in the small, closed cell with the other woman, I took a deep breath. She looked at me, then sat down on the chair, smoothed out her gray skirt, then looked at me again. I took another deep breath, and waited for whatever was coming.

The woman was actually quite beautiful. Soft brown eyes, cute little nose, full lips for her smallish face. Her voice was sort of quiet and she actually seemed like the shy type. Straight auburn hair. Very little makeup, short-cut nails. The only jewelry she wore was a very simple silver bracelet. I kept waiting, but she just looked at me, expression unchanging, studying me. It was eerily unnerving. God, it felt so weird to be naked like this while she just stared at me. I swallowed, hard. She would look down, smile a little like something was funny, something about me was funny, then be serious and just stare at me again. This went on for maybe five minutes. Finally, she spoke.