"Here", he texted from the hallway, the old building still had locked doors that required her to come down to let him in. He kind of enjoyed the dance. Wondered how long she would leave him waiting or if she would ever deny him entry completely. There was no movement in the hallway, usually by now he could see her feet heading down the stairs.
His phone chirped. "Keys are in my mailbox. Let yourself in, pet!" She had told him that she'd give him a set of keys once he'd proved himself a worthy enough sub, and for a moment, he thought this might be the day, but he could tell from the keychain that this was her set. Still hadn't proved himself, then. But there was also a bit of relief attached to that. He liked that she was the key holder, whether to the doors of the apartment or his cock cage, he very much preferred her being in charge.
The first key he tried didn't open the front door, so he moved to the second and that one worked. What was she up to that she didn't scoop him up like normal. He was fairly certain she liked to watch his ass as he climbed the stairs to her third floor apartment. In fact, today he'd worn the corduroys, the slim fit ones, that he bought specifically because she razzed him when they first met about only owning one set of ill fitting pants. He liked the way these pants made him feel - slutty and on display.
When he got to the apartment the door was closed and he hesitated. Should he knock? He did, but she didn't answer. He waited a bit, and tried the door, which was locked. He texted, "Apartment, too?" But when she didn't respond he decided that the "let yourself in" invitation covered that door as well, and he used the second key to unlock the door.
"Hello?" he called while swinging the door open, but he could tell pretty quickly she wasn't there. The lights were out, there was no music, and the space just felt different without her presence. He reached for the light switch and turned it on, spotting the trap she'd left.
There on the couch was the frilly cherry printed apron, and a pair of red mesh panties. His cock twitched. There was a note next to it, and an X on the floor made with tape. He removed his coat and shoes, taking care to hang it up, set his shoes out of the way, and went to read the note she'd left.
"Pet,
Change into your uniform. There are dishes in the sink, clean them. Make the bed. Lock the door. When you've done that, put the blindfold on, and kneel on the X. (You may rest your ass on your heels, or move to all fours if your knees start to ache.)
You can not move from the X until you feel my hand on your throat. Don't speak, either. No matter what I say, or what you hear, stay put, and stay silent. Show me how obedient you can be. Xxoo"
And she'd signed the note with a red lipstick kiss, a corny cliche that somehow also made his dick start to leak.
Eagerly he undressed, folding his clothes in a neat pile, and put the undies on. They had frilly bows at the hips, and he could almost feel her thumb under the waistband pulling them far from his body only to let them snap back with a satisfying thwack. He put the apron on and hesitated for a second, unsure of where the ties should be. It was slightly awkward to try to tie them in the back, so he wrapped them around his waist, pulled tight and let a small bow hang near his belly. It felt nice, how tight it was. It also felt humiliating, how girly the frills and bows and cinched waist made him look.
He started to move to the kitchen to wash the dishes, and then paused. Though she had listed that first, he really wanted to make her bed so he could look at himself in the full length mirror. He moved to the bedroom and turned on the lights, and immediately realized his mistake.
She'd pulled the blinds to the side, even the shears. The chances were pretty slim that anyone had seen him through the windows, but it wasn't entirely impossible. He hesitated. Maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe she was across the street, looking up. He went to the window, but left the lights off. He looked down, optimistic, hoping she would be there to cast him an approving glance. But she wasn't anywhere to be found. So he pulled the curtains closed, and turned to the task at hand.
The mirror. He turned the lights on and looked at himself. His long limbs had goosebumps, but it wasn't from the cold. He liked the way he looked dressed up like this. Partly because she had told him, and partly because it let him debase himself in a way that felt fun, and safe, and wildly sexy. He turned to the side and tried to see if his hard cock made any difference to the flow of the fabric.
The way this apron was made gave it sort of a bell curve, so he couldn't decide if the fabric was bulging because of his cock or because of the way the garment was sewn. He could almost hear her sultry voice in his ear, whispering that of course it was the way the apron hung naturally. His cock was pathetic and small and wholly unremarkable. It would never cause a bulge like that. The tip of his dick got wetter at the thought. He hoped that wherever she was, she was also getting slick at the thought of him playing housemaid for her at home.
The bed. He tried to remember exactly how she arranged her pillows. She had a lot of damn pillows. While he was pulling the covers up, he noticed a magnum wrapper on the bed stand. He let out an involuntary moan. Had she gotten fucked and didn't tell him? She could, of course, do whatever she wanted whenever she liked, but he did love it when she told him about her dates with other men - especially the ones with well hung men.
He put his hand on her sheets, hungry for a wet spot. When he didn't find one - he knew it was a stretch - he reached for the pillows and inhaled. Humiliating, he knew, but he was hoping to catch a scent of musk, or male, or manliness to confirm his hope that she'd been fucked well and hard by one of her other suitors.
It was also entirely possible that the wrapper was a plant. That she'd left it there specifically to toy with him. He wondered if it would be too much to look in her garbage for a used condom. He shook his head. That wasn't on the list, and his only role right now was to be an obedient pet. Make the bed. Do the dishes. Lock the door. Wait.
The dishes were easy enough. He lingered longer than necessary hoping she would come in the door before she had to lock it. He knew she'd slide her hands beneath the apron, grab his cock, touch his ass, all the while whispering emasculating filth peppered with praise for her (at least he hoped) favorite pet. When she slipped into her domme role he could tell. Her voice got huskier. Her hands got grabbier. The phrases she reached for had an edge to them that seemed perfectly designed to make him moan and whimper and twitch. And when she was in that space, it let him fall that much deeper into his submissive role, which let the rest of the world fall away.
The dishes were clean, so it was time to move on to the next thing. The lock on the door. Where was she? This was unlike her. He had to admit he thought she was too nice - because she was really nice - and often wondered if she was actually the best domme for him. He didn't like thinking about that, he knew it made him a bad submissive to question whether or not she had it in her to have the firm hand he required. But she surprised him. And he couldn't deny her hands were strong...
He locked the door. Moved to the X, put on the blindfold, got on his knees, and waited.
