N.B: Contains watersports.
*****
The appointment was made. Now I had to struggle through the week that followed like a drug addict desperate for a fix. I couldn't concentrate at work; my notebook filled with crude, adolescent sketches of her hips, her breasts, her pussy suspended over my face.
The evenings were the worst. Then there was nothing to distract me from the interminable waiting; I found my leg bouncing up and down in nervous anticipation of my next submissive treatment as the images of vapid television personalities played across my unfocused eyes.
Several times in the run up to that next appointment I found myself driving down her street. Sometimes I pulled up but left the engine running, gazing at the frosted glass of her front door, wondering what she was doing inside, what painful pleasure she was bestowing on some willing victim like myself. And I felt a pang of jealousy which had me flooring the accelerator and taking me to some bar where no one knew my name.
As I knocked back a bourbon and coke in the confines of a snug which muffled the moronic sound of twenty ignoramuses watching Arsenal V. Man U, I reflected on that strange jealousy. Solitude leads to strange psychoses and obsessions, I have found. One of them, in my case, is etymology.
Jealousy, now used ubiquitously as a substitute for the word 'envy' was originally quite distinct from it. A fear or anxiety over an expected or suspected loss of something close to one's heart.
Was she close to my heart? Yes, it was undeniable. She had opened the door to the living, breathing, sweating world of my fantasy. She had taken my hand (and cock) and led me to take my first steps on that yellow brick road and I knew that now I was irretrievably lost, unable to separate and compartmentalise that sordid world with the bleak reality of my lonely life of before.
But I couldn't be close to her heart. I was just another paying customer, no more significant than the last. How many nights a week did she indulge sad perverts like myself? How many fantasies did she so expertly realise? It was all an act, a performance on which she probably reflected and laughed whilst counting the coins. And yet, and yet...
That widening of the eyes when she regarded my manhood. Those arms draped around my shoulders. That fleeting kiss. That sweet voice which hinted at the real woman behind the mask, "Time to go back to the real world."
Was there any significance? Was I just hoping beyond any hope? How many men had sat in similar surroundings nursing these same thoughts, caught in her web?
I downed the last of my drink and left.
***
When I got home and clicked my on computer, a distraction before bed, I noticed a new email in my inbox. The ID was hers.
'Dear Slave,
Another visit so soon? Clearly you didn't learn your lesson well enough. Obviously, you need stricter instruction. When you visit, bring a change of clothes and an overnight bag. It'll cost extra but I think you need it.
Kiss,
Your Mistress.'
My eyes widened and I didn't realise I was holding my breath until I let it loose in an unconscious sigh of arousal. All night? Was that her plan? It wouldn't be any disruption; I had booked a Friday evening like last time; there was no need to get up and be anywhere the following day, but could I take her ministrations for such a long time? Of course I could. And I would. She was my mistress after all and I lived to serve.
***
It was raining heavily this time when I pulled up across from her abode. I cut the engine and clutched the handle of the leather overnight back sat in the passenger seat. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the known/unknown of my immediate future, and pushed open the driver's door.
The rain fell in thick and heavy drops and I was near soaked by the time I stepped up to her front door and rang the bell. There is no awning over her entrance way and my hair began to be plastered to my forehead as I waited.
I saw her outline slowly approach and realised that she was keeping me waiting on purpose; the teasing torture had already begun. The lock clicked and the door swung open and I gasped involuntarily at the sight of my tormentor.
This time she was clad in the latex catsuit she wore on her homepage and it looked even more alluring in the flesh. The black rubber was polished to a shining finish and extended from neck to toe, clinging to her shapely figure like crude oil dripped over her gorgeous frame, accentuating every curve. A keyhole cut in the chest revealed her shapely cleavage and her black cherry hair hung loose, framing her porcelain face. A zip extended from the bottom rim of the keyhole down her front to disappear between her legs. Her lips were painted a dark wine red and her eyes were shadowed a charcoal black. A pair of long laced boots extended to her knees, the toes of which were a rounded, militaristic style which promised discipline and physical torment. In her hand hung once more the riding crop of before.
"Like what you see?" she purred from the doorway.
"Yes, mistress. You look beautiful... stunning," I replied and grimaced at my attempt at not sounding cheesy failing miserably. Fortunately she passed no comment on this.
"Well, my little drowned rat, I think it's time you came inside." She stepped to one side and gestured with the riding crop.
I stepped into the porch and stole an opportunity to surreptitiously run the backs of my fingers along her latex-clad stomach. Mistress Scarlett never misses a trick however. The riding crop came sailing through the air to swat at my hand and I instinctively retracted my fingers into a protective fist.
"Getting bold, I see," she said, with a laugh in her voice. "You really do need a proper lesson this time."
She shut the door behind me and the lock clicked. I was truly imprisoned in her lair; there was no escape now from what lay ahead.
She walked ahead of me and I followed like a pet desperate for attention. I watched as her hips swung before me, her firm arse cheeks flexing as she stepped across the tiles, the rubber which encased them shining in the dim light of her hallway.
We entered her minimalist living room and she turned to face me.
"You remember the safety word?"
"Yes, Mistress," I answered, a quaver in my voice. The situation had a more solid reality than before by virtue of experience and I felt nervous at the prospect of extended passion and torment.
She stepped up to me and pressed her slick figure against my body, sliding her left hand around my back to rest it on my shoulder. Her rubber-clad body was warm; waves of heat rose from those places where her skin was exposed and I felt a familiar stirring as the reality of her flesh was reinforced.
Her face came close to mine and her lips brushed my own. The dark lipstick had a fruity taste and I tried my utmost to restrain myself from passionately reciprocating her kiss, from consuming her beautiful mouth.
She knelt down and placed the riding crop on the floor, her left hand running down my body as she did so, ending on the front of my trousers. Her fingers caressed and gripped my hardening cock, hidden beneath layers of fabric. With an inhaled hmmm, she rose to her feet and ran her fingers up and over my face to brush my wet hair backwards over my scalp. Her right hand slipped down and took the overnight bag from me.
"I think it's time you undressed," she commanded and walked over to the sofa to place the bag by its side.
"I brought a gift for you," I said as she turned to regard me.
"Oh yes?" She smiled beatifically and my heart fluttered.
"I-in the bag," I stammered and slipped my jacket off.
She unzipped the bag and withdrew my gift: a bottle of finest red wine.
"I guessed you like red wine from before. It's... rather expensive," I muttered and began unbuttoning my shirt.
"Thank you," she said as she held the glass bottle and regarded the label. "I think we can have some fun with this."
I continued to undress as she walked from the room, her heavy boots making contact with the floor with a pleasing parade ground stamping.
I was down to my underwear when she returned with a large wine glass hanging upside down by its stem from her sensual fingers. She placed it on the glass coffee table and retrieved a bottle opener from a bowl.
"I said undressed," she spoke absentmindedly as she worked the corkscrew into the neck of the bottle. "I want you naked immediately."
I slipped my fingers into the waistband of my shorts and obliged. My stiff cock slipped free at the same instant she worked the cork from the bottle with an echoing 'pop'. She giggled and poured a generous measure into the glass upon the table.
She flicked her hair back over one shoulder and, picking up the glass, took a deep gulp of the precious wine. It had cost me a week's pay to purchase and now it ran down her throat; I couldn't think of a better place to put it.
She crossed her left arm underneath her breasts and rested her fingers on her right elbow as she sipped at the wine and regarded my naked form.
"Delicious," she spoke and I wasn't sure whether she was referring to the wine or to myself. She placed the glass back on the coffee table. From the sofa she picked up a familiar collar and leash and approached me.
"Put this on." She held it out.
I wrapped the collar about my throat and felt for the buckle at the back of my neck. I tightened it to a pleasing constriction and let my arms fall to my sides. The room was warm and my rain slicked hair was gradually drying. I felt comfortably naked before my mistress. I wanted to stretch out on her tiled floor and be probed and invaded by her, to give my vulnerable body completely over to her commanding hands.
"On your knees, slave," she ordered and I eagerly obliged, lowering myself to the warm tiles at our feet.
She bent over and retrieved the crop from beside me. Her left hand came forward to take hold of the leash.
"Now for your infraction as you entered, I'm afraid you must receive some punishment. Stick that cute arse up in the air, little boy."
