Walking to the bar, I knew what I had to do, but I also knew that my resolve was weak.
It had been nearly six months since I had met the woman who would become my mistress in a bar in Wrigleyville. I had known the bartender there for years and she introduced me to Samantha at my request, after warning me that it was a bad idea. I had been looking for a little tie and tease with a hot chick, a wild ride with a tattooed beauty to contrast with the Seven Sisters women I met at work. Instead, Mistress Samantha threw me into the deep end of the BDSM pool.
After only a month, I had developed a heavy pain tolerance, been violated with a strap-on, and been fitted with a chastity device. Exactly 43 days ago, my mistress told me that I would have a decision to make and that some separation would help me to make a choice. She forbad me from contacting her and she left the chastity device on. She said she'd get in touch when the time came.
For over a month, I agonized. When would she contact me? What if she never did, and she's telling her friends about the idiot she talked into chastity and set loose on the streets of Chicago? Should I just cut the lock and move on with my life? She had already taken me to depravities I didn't imagine when I first approached her. I had come to need her and her depravities.
Two days ago the text finally came. I was to meet her at a gay bar in Boystown, I was to be wearing a pair of pink panties under my clothes, and I was to bring her a gift. "Something expensive," she specified.
It was the gay bar that made the decision for me. I told her when we met that bi was a hard limit for me and now she was signalling her intent to violate that limit. So I was going to the bar to break up with her. Present her with the gift, tell her it wasn't working out, get the key to the device, and then we go our separate ways.
The club had just opened and there were only a few customers. The bartender had obviously been told that I was coming - he took one look at me and nodded toward the back room.
Mistress Samantha was seated at the back bar. She looked as beautiful as she always did, tall, dressed simply in jeans and a Ramones tee shirt, her bluish hair in a pixie cut. As I walked up to her, she immediately took control of the conversation, as she had since our introduction.
"Hello, Mike. Did you bring my gift?"
"I did, Mistress. But we have to talk."
"We do, Mike. And we will. But first put your gift on the bar. Your credit card, too, since you're buying the drinks. Then we'll talk."
I complied and started to speak but it wasn't my turn yet.
"Good. Now strip to your panties and get on your knees."
"Mistress Samantha, that's what I want to talk about. When we met, we discussed my hard limits and any public display was one of them. Bisexuality was another. Do you remember?"
"Of course I remember, Mike. I also remember that I told you that a time would come when you would willingly abandon your so-called "hard limits," and you'd even beg me to take you forward. You probably didn't hear me at the time since your dick does not have ears, but I said it. Now is that time."
