"Sub Space Sale"
"Oh man, I hope nobody sees me like this..." I thought to myself, nervously, glancing at the tall, six foot wood fence surrounding the back lot, hoping no drivers whizzing passing on the street would glance down the long driveway leading down the side of the complex. At least the tall fences and cinderblock wall on the west side of the building would afford me some privacy from "The Outside."
This was, after all, a private play space. A safe space, She had said. Discreet, secluded, out of view from the public, and what went on behind closed doors here was nobody's business. Nobody but Hers, Her friends, and us, their clients. Their submissives.
Was it secluded enough? Was the wall high enough? I could see the plants and juniper trees over top of the cinderblock wall separating the back lot from the street, and behind the six foot wood fence was, if I remembered right, some industrial space behind us, a medical clinic of some kind on the left, and I think, one of those ubiquitous "Payday Title Loans" places on the right. The medical office would likely not be open on a Saturday anyway, and people needing loans would be minding their own business, and in and out quickly; likely too busy (or hard up for cash) to peek over the fence. Plus, it was after hours; don't those places usually close by 6 or 7?
So yeah, I probably was pretty secluded from the prying eyes of the public. I hoped so anyway. The facility was discreetly disguised as a hair and nail salon. Well, "Disguised" wasn't entirely accurate. Most of the time, during daylight hours, it was exactly what it appeared to be. Heck, She even did cut hair, part time anyway. Including mine, by the way. Nobody would have known the place was anything more than what it was advertised to be, except...
Except that when I had come in for my regular hair cut appointment a few months ago, and seen her dressed in a tiny leather skirt and knee high leather boots, my jaw hit the floor when I realized how drop dead sexy She really was. She being Erica, my once and future hairstylist, and at the moment, my tormentress, dream BDSM goddess, and Mistress.
She must have seen my reaction, because she even said, "Hey, you like my outfit huh?" And I had stammered, "Yes! Oh my God you look great!"
"Sit down, and I'll whip you into shape."
"I'd like that!" I said, jokingly.
Then she asked that fateful, life-changing question:
"Would you, now. Do you mean, literally?"
Blushing, I had answered, "Maybe I do."
"Careful what you wish for, then. If you really are serious, come by the salon Saturday evening, around 8, and we'll see what we can do with you. Slave."
At the time, I wasn't sure if She was serious or not, but man! I had always had a secret fetish for being dominated, used and abused. And I always did have kind of a crush on Erica, to be honest. So after the haircut, which was stylish and looked great by the way, I asked her, half-jokingly, "So maybe I'll see you at 8 on Saturday?"
"Maybe if you're a good little obedient boy, you'll see ME on Saturday. Maybe even dressed like this. And if you're good and 'obedient...' I won't have to punish you."
So that conversation, so seemingly innocent, had led me to a lot less innocent activities. Well, technically She had led me to it, but it was my own doing, too. I had in fact rolled up to the salon two days later, that Saturday evening. Not really knowing what to expect- would it be a formal date? A big laugh with her and her friends having a joke at my expense? Or me simply wasting time pulling up to a closed business on Saturday, and nobody would be there. To be honest, I was expecting this last thing more than anything else.
So I had actually been a bit surprised when I pulled up and noticed the lights were on inside. The door had been locked, but when I knocked, She had answered. Looking, if anything, even sexier than she had two days ago. She was wearing a skimpy leather bra in addition to her tiny leather skirt and boots.
"Come on in! Are you really ready to be my little slave boy tonight?"
"YES!" I said, eagerly. A mix of emotions: Sexual lust, nervousness, and a little bit of anxiety, had swept through me. Was She ("She," rather than just "she," I hoped...) about to make my darker sexual fantasies actually come true?"
"Yes MISTRESS!" She snarled, angrily. "Then, come in, sit down, and let's talk about your interests, your kinks, fetishes, and what you are looking for in a session. What kind of stuff are you into?"
I liked that she had been professional about it, and that put me at ease. She clearly was experienced and knew what She was doing. And I was both excited and nervous at the same time to explore the darker, hidden parts of my sexuality with this amazing goddess of a woman.
One session, and I was addicted to Her. Addicted to the way she talked harshly to me and degraded me. Addicted to being tied up and powerless in front of Her, addicted to kneeling naked in front of Her. Enchanted by her leather boots, long dark hair, and leather outfits. Addicted to Her paddles, Her commanding voice, the humiliating things She put me through, and the intense highs I experienced while going through them. It was like, imagine being intimate with YOUR high school dream crush, in a way that was more powerful and intense than any prom night kisses could ever be, stripped to your most vulnerable self, your darkest secrets exposed- the high was incredible. So was She...
Her two friends, also hairstylists, manicurists and beauticians by trade, also moonlighted here on weekends. All highly trained and skilled by the supreme Domme herself- Goddess Erika. And then there was Steve. A big, burly dude, who served as sort of a bouncer, bodyguard and, if required, a hot hunky male stud. For the extra special scenes.
Like the one Erika had been preparing for me tonight.
It was, as luck would have it, a warm, late May evening. Not yet dark, and still nice outside. There was a slight breeze though, that I would occasionally feel as it lifted the tiny pleated skirt She had made me wear, and gave me weird goosebumps on my newly-hairless legs, now covered by those slutty fishnet stockings.
"Strut around a bit, if you get bored. Show us what you got," she had said. I was just getting used to wearing these high heels. They didn't really make these things in my size, which wasn't too surprising I guess, and my toes felt pinched. It had taken me a while to get used to wearing them but, well, I learned quick. Any teacher with a paddle and a whip will make you learn ANYTHING really quick. Including, how to shave your legs and chest, and apply make-up. She was the stylist- and the wax hair removal specialist, after all, so she had done this part during my hair appointment the previous week. (At extra charge of course.) But the rest had been up to me.
Man, these things are going to make my ankles sore tomorrow, I thought. People walk in these things all the time? Wow... Sore ankles, sore ass... This was the price of submission. Part of it anyway.
Tonight, there was the literal price too, that I had to remember.
