She hadn’t intended to try out her new toys so soon. She still couldn’t believe how much she had spent at that sex party - she had bought things she had never even seen before, purchased so much from the persuasive sales girl that she was given free gifts - and part of her regretted it. After all, there were more appropriate things to spend her money on than sex toys, weren’t there? But when she laid eyes on all those yummy accessories.....
June wanted to surprise her man, invite him over the following Saturday for a romantic, candle-lit dinner, then unleash her own personal dessert. But these things required preparation, warm-ups. Practice. Being nineteen, she was still new to the whole sex thing, and a bit nervous. In fact, her current fling had been her first conquest.
The candles lining her hallway were lit despite the warm afternoon sun flooding her apartment, a glass of wine and still another blood-red candle adorned the burgundy table-top in her kitchen. She had slipped into her new outfit, a PVC-and-fishnet number. Black, of course, the vinyl only covered half her body, the fishnet leaving only the tastiest bits to the imagination. The dress only barely covered her shaved pussy, left the top of her modest but well-formed breasts exposed. Double straps crossed over her shoulders. There was a studded black cuff on each wrist, her fingernails painted the same rich red of her lips, and black lace-up leather boots crept up to meet each knee. Her short black hair was brushed glossy and perfect, her eyes black with mascara. She was sitting back to enjoy a well-earned cigarette through her new forearm-length cigarette holder when the door buzzer sounded.
This startled her. Who could it be? Nobody knew she had gotten the day off... She picked up the phone.
“Canada Post, Ma’am. We have a package for... June Rain?” An English accent.
“Yes that’s right.” For a moment she considered saying that she had just stepped out of the shower. Would he just leave the package and go away? No, it probably required a signature. With a sigh, “all right, come in. I’m down the hall on the left.”
Her heart beat loud in her chest. What would he think? But her rebellious side took over. Who cared? What would he do? Refuse to give her the package because she looked like a dominatrix? She braced herself, stood in front of the door.
A knock. She opened the door. The man was tall, lean, a little pale. Blue eyes to match her own and dusty brown hair, a longish, though not unattractive nose. She thought she could smell cologne on him - Boss, the scent her lover always wore. A crisp, white uniform, hat.
She watched his eyes widen as they took her in, starting at her full crimson lips and traveling painfully slow over the body-hugging vinyl and long legs to her leather-encased toes. Finally he spoke, one hand extending a large package toward her. “I-I need a signature on this.... Miss.”
“It’s Mistress, actually.” Shocked at her own words. what was she saying? But the sound of “Miss” on his lips had set her blood on fire. Took the package in her well-manicured hands, signed his clipboard. Made sure to brush his hand with her fingertips when she returned it.
“Thank you Mistress.” His voice was faint, barely a whisper. But she caught it.
“You have time to come in for a drink.” She pointedly did not make it a question. She couldn’t believe what she was doing, never even considered doing anything like this, but there was something in the way his lust-filled voice quavered as he called her Mistress that made her ache. She was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was very wet.
He hesitated, his eyes still wide and almost fearful. “I- I have to -” Gestured vaguely down the hall.
She shook her head and held the door open. “I didn’t make it an option.”
She shut the door behind him, then reached up to remove his hat. “You interrupted my cigarette. While I finish it, you will go into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of wine. Bring mine from the table and join me in the living room.”
She returned to her chair in the living room and retrieved her cigarette from the ashtray, crossing her legs. He was soon beside her, moving with a stiff urgency to hand her the glass. His eyes on her cigarette holder. She pointed to the couch. “Sit. What is your name?”