XII. Mistress returns
The sound of voices stirred him from his partial slumber. It was Mistress Wendy, he noted immediately, with relief. Not a maid. But there were other voices. They sounded like those of the couple in the units adjacent to the Sundown units.
"No, kidding, he does that?" he thought he heard from a female voice, not his Mistress's. "Well, I'm game," he heard from a male voice. "If you girls want to have some fun, I'll gladly help out."
He shuddered. What was this all about?, he wondered. Was he hearing correctly? He again, briefly, tried to think of a place of refuge in the bathroom.
"Oh, but not tonight," his Mistress said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The tension which had suddenly seized his body released. He sighed and wondered what posture he should take as his Mistress entered the room. He rose from his position on his side and waited on his hands and knees. He saw himself in the mirror. He looked nothing so much as an anxious dog awaiting the return of his master. It was in his posture, and especially the look in his eyes. Mistress Wendy was now standing under the bathroom doorway.
"So, did you miss your Mistress, slave?" she asked. "You don't have to answer. I can see that you did."
He could tell that Mistress Wendy had had a few drinks with dinner. She was not drunk, surely. Rather, she was merely a little flushed. She seemed just slightly wilder. Under other circumstances he might have found her even more desirable than ever. Indeed she was. But under these circumstances he felt even more threatened, too.
Mistress Wendy kicked her shoes off just outside the bathroom. She braced herself in the doorway and rather gently moved her right foot on his face. He breathed deeply and relished the caresses. She pressed her foot in his mouth and he sucked gently on her black-stockinged toes. He had missed her terribly. He had missed her feet.
"Slave," she said. "I see you have made a mess of your pen. I guess the maid didn't come after all. Not yet, anyway. Thank god there's another bathroom."
She removed her foot from his mouth and added, "You're a mess, too. You shall clean yourself up." With this, she reached in her purse and unlocked the leash from the pipe on the back of the toilet. She proceeded to remove the rest of his restraints. All except his collar. He remembered she had discarded the key to its lock.
"Clean yourself up," she repeated. "I have a wonderful surprise for you." She left him, and he could hear her pass through the door that connected the two units.
He was stiff and sore as he stood up and climbed into the tub that was an unreachable refuge before. He drew the water quite warm, then stood beneath the showerhead. He worried somewhat about the effect of the water on his leather collar—didn't wet leather shrink?, he wondered— and the warm water stung his welts terribly. Still perhaps never in his life had a shower felt so good. He gingerly soaped himself, feeling both liberated—if only momentarily— yet doing the bidding of his Mistress. He could feel his stiff muscles loosening. He did not reflect, to his later regret, how the warm water was softening, tenderizing, his skin.
He wondered what surprise his Mistress might have in store. We worried a bit that it might involve the neighbors, but hadn't she said "but not tonight…" He hoped whatever that was about would at least wait until tomorrow. So what might she have in mind?
"Slave," he heard her voice through the steam of the bathroom. It sounded gentle, almost affectionate. "Slave, I'll give you one minute to get out here," she said.
He snapped off the water and dried himself. The crisp starchy hotel towel stung his sores badly. He started out the bathroom door and suddenly remembered himself. He dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled out to the bedroom without lifting his head. "Rise, slave," she said, "look around you."
He stood and was amazed at the changes to the room. A globe light hanging from a hook in the ceiling had been removed. In its place was a spreader bar, hung upon the hook. The shackles on the spreader glistened, for the room was brightly lit with floodlights. Another spreader bar lay on the floor. On the bed were a French maid's outfit, white stockings, and black patent leather shoes with long heels. Also, a large black leather strap-on dildo. In the corner of the room was a tripod with a video camera. He noted it was already filming and he wondered briefly how the astonished expression on his face would look on film.
It would be quite astonished indeed, he knew, for most astonishing of all was his Mistress. She stood in the glare of the light wearing a black leather collar, wrist and ankle cuffs, halter top with her luscious nipples just the size of ten baht pieces exposed, and garter bottom showing her perfect, down-haired pubis. All of the leather was studded, and small shining chains dangled from the halter-top and garter belt. She wore sheer black stockings, and black, toe-less shoes with four-inch heels. He could not discern, really, whether the effect was one of dominance or slavery. She held a rather heavy leather strap. The rich odor of leather was strong in the room.
"It must be the ocean," she said. "It's so romantic. A man and woman making love. One way or another, this setting demands it." She held the leather strap out before him and said, "I'm going to give you a choice."
XIII. Fair test?
Mistress Wendy walked over and switched the video camera off. The room was quiet, but for the sound of the waves on the rocks below. Near enough to be heard easily through the closed windows. She walked to the windows and drew back the curtain a bit with her hand. She stood there for a few minutes. He stood beneath the spreader bar, afraid to speak and afraid to stare. He did, however, carefully keep his eyes on his Mistress.
"I have a confession to make," she said finally. Her voice was soft and tender, and lacked her previous confidence. As if she was not sure what to say. "I'm lonely. I really do wish I had a real man here with me." She emphasized "do", not "real", as he might have expected.
"I don't know. Maybe it's this lovely spot. The view. The sound. The ocean," she went on. "But I think it's more. I'm sure it's more. And when I say a "real man", I don't mean some stud who just wants to screw me hard. I mean someone sweet and tender, to care for me and for me to care for. Like a real relationship."
Mistress Wendy sounded more like just plain Wendy right now. He loved her all the more for it. He wanted to walk to the window and hold her, but he was confused. He had no idea where this was going. He stood still listening.
"You. I've been thinking about you," she said. "You might be pretty special. I know you are gentle, devoted, honest and sincere. You're pretty good looking, too," she said, then laughed softly, adding, "I suppose I shouldn't say that but I did. As for sex, well I know you're not impotent." She laughed again.
She now walked back and stood before him. She looked him in the eyes, tenderly it seemed, and said, "Maybe we could, well, kind of forget about all of this stuff."
He was astounded at what he was hearing. He thought he should grab her and scream "Of course, I love you a thousand times over." He said nothing and remained standing still.
"We could sleep together tonight. Sleep in tomorrow. I think you've had a long day," again she laughed softly. "Tomorrow walk the beach, holding hands. I would love that. I've never done that, not with a man I really cared for. Then we could have brunch together. I imagine you reading the paper, then. I would read my book. Like a real couple. After that we could come back here…" She went on. She was now almost rambling. Rather, she was just talking to herself. Speaking of how she imagined things could be. "A candle lit dinner at the beach together tomorrow evening." She even knew what food she would order.
She again looked him in the eyes. Maybe even lovingly, he thought. "I long for you to hold me," she finally said, but even as she did so she was fastening one of his wrists, then the other, to the shackles on the hanging spreader bar. Oh how he longed to hold her, too, but obviously that would have to wait.
"I want to take a bath with you. Help heal those sores." With this, she very gently kissed his aching nipples, then dropped to her knees behind him and lightly blew on the welts on his buttocks. As she did so, she shackled his ankles to the spreader bar on the floor. His arms and legs were stretched tight, as he formed a rigid "X" from the hanging bar. What was going on, he wondered.
"I want to massage your aching muscles, and you mine," she added, "You know this isn't easy on me. I'm a little sore myself."
She was now standing in front of him again. He had still not said a word. And he wouldn't, nor for a while yet, because she now placed a ball gag in his mouth and snapped the strap behind his head.
"It could all be so wonderful," she said. "I want it. I want you." She was stroking his hair. He was wild with desire and confusion. His eyes darted, pleading that it could be so.
"But, I have a problem," she said. "As I say, you're a pretty good-looking guy. I have no doubt that you would be perfect for me. Your affection, your—well—your attention," she said, very gently squeezing his balls, "your kindness. "But," she said again, with emphasis, "this problem. I just can't shake this image of your squirming around the floor chasing after my shoes. Crawling around in the yard with a cow-bell on your sack, for goodness sakes. And in the bathroom…" she grimaced. "I don't know if I can forget all that. I fear you have lost your dignity."
