I hardly slept that first night Mistress granted me the privilege of sleeping over at her house. It mattered not that I slept on the floor, tethered to her bed frame. I was grateful to her for allowing me the privilege of being in her presence while she slept. I longed to crawl in bed with her, but feared her sending me away if I violated her dictates. It was enough to have the pleasure of hearing her breathe. I imagined she was tired from our session earlier in the evening. I finally drifted to sleep around 3 a.m. When she stirred around 7 a.m. the next morning, I was wide eyed and attentive to whatever she might desire from me.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked sweetly. I waited for permission to answer. "Oh never mind, silly boy," she said. After a few minutes, she brought in two cups, and sat naked on the floor across from me. I was overwhelmed by the sight of her soft, relaxed breasts and her slightly engorged vaginal lips. Surprisingly, there was a slight pout to her expression. Her expression, together with her tussled hair, made her look curiously vulnerable. In the midst of my desperation to please her, to submit to her, and hopefully to be accepted by her, I failed to notice the helplessness she conveyed in her expression. Gazing at her, I had the passing fantasy that she felt terribly alone.
She noticed I was distracted by her nakedness and asked, "What the matter Ian? Are you captivated by pussy?"
I remained silent.
"You may answer. In fact, because you've been so wonderful, you may answer my questions without needing to wait for permission. You've served me well thus far and you deserve the privilege," she explained.
"Well, as a matter of fact, yes Mistress, I not only worship your genitals, but frankly, I'm very taken by all of you. Not just by your pussy, but by all of what you've allowed me to experience with you so far. I'm taken by all you have to offer: your compassion, your directness, the firm hand by which you treat me. Being with you makes me crave to submit fully and completely," I explained.
"You're sweet to say that, Ian," she said nervously giggling. She bashfully responded as she sipped her coffee, "In many ways, I'm just a regular girl who works hard, spends too many nights alone, and keeps searching for what I know I need in the relationship department."
I was astonished by the soft, almost desperate way she was relating to me this morning. I thought perhaps she was not fully awake. She was apparently unaware of how she was coming across. I grew accustomed to her expressions of anger and irritation with me. True, she winked at me when I brought her lunch last week, but her show of pleasure seemed more for the display of the her co-workers and not necessarily for me. What she was showing me this morning was completely new.
"What shall we do on this glorious Saturday morning?" she queried.
"Whatever you want Mistress. I'm yours for the day," I explained.
Mistress seemed lost in thought as she pondered what to do with me. "I usually go to the Farmers Market on Saturday mornings. I'd like it if you came with me to get fresh fruits and veggies."
I responded gleefully, "I would like that!"
Mistress confessed, "I really like you Ian, but frankly, I've been misled in the past by self proclaimed submissive men who think they're ready to be in a relationship with me, only to discover that once I let them into my heart, they're fakes. They turn out to be men who are just in it for the kick of serving a woman once or twice but not serious about trusting me enough to really submit in the way that I need. I need a man who understands why I treat them the way I do; a man who understands the dynamics of this kind of relationship. I want to be as enslaved to him as I make him enslaved to me. When I force my will on him, he has to understand that I am captivated by his willingness to submit to me. Your submission brings me closer to you. When I fuck you hard, it's because I want you to fuck me harder. When I swat the shit out of you, it's because I want you to love me. Not many men understand that about me. I need that so much but it's very hard to find."
Mistress paused for a moment. Her eyes glazed over. She seemed confused and angry, as if she said more than she wanted to about her emotional life. Suddenly, she grabbed her hair in frustration and slammed her fist to the floor. She cried out, "Why the fuck am I telling you this? Shit...!" She grabbed the coffee cup out of my hand and stormed out of the room, leaving me on the floor, tethered and confused.
I heard the rattling of dishes in the kitchen. She turned on the television. I heard gunshots and cursing, apparently from yet another action movie she decided to watch. I imagined she was calming her nerves. I sat for nearly 90 minutes, still tethered to her bed. Eventually I lay back down, pulling the comforter over me and curling up in a fetal position to keep warm.
When she came back to the bedroom, she untied me from the bed frame. Her expression was cold as ice. "Get the fuck out of my house your little bitch!" she demanded.
My mouth dropped in shock and disappointment. There was no way I could hide the flood of rejection and despair. Despite the tears welling up, I stayed focused on what I knew I ultimately wanted, and said nothing. I quickly reviewed how vulnerable she made herself earlier this morning. I assumed she was overwhelmed with her feelings for me and needed her space. I gathered my things and headed for the door. I hoped she'd have some parting words for me, but none were forthcoming. I wanted to slam the fucking door in a fit of rage, but thought better of it. I just left.
A week went by without as much as a phone call from Mistress. I took a few days off from work because of my profound sadness. I came so close to something I've wanted for years. Despite my rage, I couldn't even convince myself that she wasn't the right woman for me. I tried comparing her to my abusive ex-wife, but in the end, I kept coming back to failing to understand how she could reject me after giving myself completely to her. I, of course, blamed myself. I thought, "I'm getting too fucking old. She realized I'm just a pathetic aging submissive little pussy. I hate myself. If I had the guts, I would hurt myself."
I also had plenty of time to think about what happened on that fateful Friday evening and Saturday morning. I realized the problem was that she needed to maintain her dominant role. I somehow broke through her defenses and seduced her more vulnerable side. It just pissed her off and led to my rejection. I decided if she ever called again, I would be such a "bad boy" that she would have no choice but to abuse the shit out of me. In my mind, it would be the only way to get her back into my life.
Two weeks passed and I was going out of my mind. Morbidly depressed and horribly lonely, I decided the time had come to take action. I pondered how to provoke her into bringing me back into her life. I decided to make an appointment at the hair salon where she works, but schedule an appointment with another hair stylist. I needed to see her, and imagined that when she saw me, she would remember the importance of our connection.
I called the Salon and asked if Rhonda was working and what times she had available. They told me that she had a 6:30 p.m. open, which informed me that she was working that evening. I asked the receptionist if anyone else had openings at that time. Much to my relief, Jill happened to have a cancellation at that time. "Perfect!" I thought. I scheduled with Jill for 6:30.
When I walked into the salon, I saw Mistress sweeping hair off the floor from her previous appointment. Walking back with Jill, I made eye contact with Mistress. I could see the look of surprise in her eyes. She turned away to ignore me. Mistress had someone book her 6:30 slot, so she was stuck having to cut hair while I sat two stations down. I was friendly and as flirtatious as possible with Jill. I spoke in a loud voice, telling her how much I loved her hair, and how talented she was at giving scalp massages. When Jill and I were done, I turned away from Rhonda and walked off, not even giving her the satisfaction of a look in her direction. I happened to glance at a mirror on my way back to the cashier's station. I saw Rhonda staring at me as if she was burning a hole in my ass. Mission accomplished.
I fully expected a call from Mistress, but much to my disappointment, my phone was deadly silent. I finally crashed about midnight only to be woken up at about 12:30 a.m. by the lyrics of Maxi Priest's "Close to you." I stupidly gave Mistress her own ring tone on my phone. For the last few weeks I felt foolish for doing so. I gathered myself quickly and responded, "Yes Mistress?"
"You fucking asshole!" she shouted. "How dare you come into the shop and put on that display. You let that whore touch my work! You little fucking pathetic prick! Get the fuck over here right now. I'm gonna fuck you up bitch." The line went dead.
I dressed quickly and drove to her house. Reflecting on her phone call, I realized she sounded very angry and a little drunk. When I arrived, there was a note on the door. It read, "You are the biggest, most pathetic asshole I have ever met!"
When I opened the door, Mistress was waiting in the living room. I closed the door and waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs for instructions. She was finishing her drink and watching yet another action movie. I guess action movies gave her an outlet for her aggression. Anyway, she kept me standing there with my head bowed for an hour. Finally, she got up and came to the entryway. She looked beautiful. Her hair was deliberately tussled and had good height to it. She was bare breasted and wearing stunning black knee high boots with crotch-less black pantyhose.
"I hate your hair cut. I can't believe you let that little cunt touch you," Mistress said with a bitterness that was frankly frightening. I wanted to run out of the house, but was desperate to maintain a connection with this woman. I needed her.
