This Is That Day

Once there was a woman who was having a terrible day. Or a wonderful day. In any case, it was a day that threw her off her normal equilibrium. She felt unlike herself in a way that was upsetting at a very deep level.

The day was so terrible or wonderful that she had to make a phone call to a certain man in a far-off city and say to him, "This is that day."

"You're sure?" he said.

"Yes."

There was a long pause during which she could hear him typing.

"You may go," he said.

She walked to the prearranged spot, a hotel not far from her office. There was a ladies' room there, near the restaurant, that still had an attendant. It was the last hotel in the city that still offered such an extravagance.

The woman in our story - we'll call her Isobel - had never been to this hotel before, but she found the ladies' room with no trouble. It was quite beautifully decorated. The attendant was a dark-haired young woman in a black dress with a white apron - a very old-fashioned uniform - and a pin-on nameplate. Her name was Paula. She smiled at Isobel and handed her a key attached to a fob with the numeral 3 on it.

Isobel quickly found the door labeled 3 and let herself in with the key. It was not a bathroom stall, but rather a small cozy room containing a loveseat and a sink for freshening up. The door was louvered; it would prevent anyone from seeing in but it would not be soundproof. Isobel put her purse on the floor, took out her phone, and sat on the edge of the loveseat's cushion.

When her call was answered she said very quietly, "Master," and the man she was speaking to said, "Speak normally - don't try to hide your voice. It will not matter if the girl Paula hears you."

"You will not be speaking very much in any case," the man continued.

"Yes, sir," Isobel said.

"Now, Isobel, have you taken off your clothes yet?"

She hadn't, but she quickly did so. Jacket, shoes, skirt, blouse, panties, stockings, bra. He told her to kneel on the floor with her upper body resting on the loveseat and her legs spread wide, her eyes closed.

"Now I am in the room with you," he said next. "Standing behind you. My fingertips moving lightly on your naked back. Now you sense me kneeling behind you, my fingertips on your thighs, tracing down your calves, moving back up your thighs again. Are you wet for me, Isobel?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Louder."

"Yes," she said in as normal a tone of voice as she could.

"Is there something you'd like to ask me now?" he said.

"Yes."

"Go ahead."

She hesitated. Outside the room she was in there was silence. She didn't know where Paula might be or what she might be doing. It occurred to Isobel now that there might be women in other rooms nearby, also able to hear her.

"Go ahead," he said again.

She gathered her courage and spoke: "Master, please inspect my cunt to see if it is ready for you."

Still more silence. She could feel his approving smile over the phone connection.

"Good girl," he said in her ear. "That's my sweet filthy whore."

"Now," he said, "take two fingers, the middle finger and ring finger of your right hand, and push them into yourself. They are my fingers, entering you. Move them as you know I like to move my fingers inside you. Push your hips back against them. Now pull them out and taste them, Isobel. Taste your arousal, savor it, and then slide your fingers back inside your cunt again. Fuck yourself with them. You are fucking yourself with my fingers; your imagination is making that impossibility real.

"Also, Isobel, if you wish to moan, or gasp, or whimper, or make any sound, you must do it."

Silence; the sound of her/his fingers, moving inside her slick cunt.

"Isobel," he said firmly. "You know I love the sounds you make when I use you. I want to hear them now."

But almost as soon as she began to give voice to her pleasure, there came a soft knock at the louvered door.

"Is everything all right?" said a voice that could only have been Paula's.

Isobel's entire body flushed pink with shame, and she couldn't answer.

"You must answer," said her master over the phone.

Paula knocked again.

"I - I can't," said Isobel.

"Put me on speaker," he said.

"But - "

"Now," he said.

She did as he told her to do.

His raised voice came over the phone: "Come in, Paula."

And Paula, who evidently had a passkey, quickly did just that. In a moment she was standing there in her black uniform with the white apron.

"Hello, Isobel," Paula said. "I've heard so much about you."

"Paula is going to blindfold you now," Isobel's master said on the speakerphone. Paula did this quickly and efficiently, with a black sleep-mask-style blindfold that tied with a dark red ribbon.

"Paula is also going to take me off speaker," he said. "She has earbuds she will use, so that only she can hear me from now on. You'll be in silence and darkness, Isobel. Do you understand?"

Isobel nodded.

"She's nodding," Paula said.

And then it was a shadow world of Paula doing Master's bidding for the benefit of Isobel.

Paula indicated with her hands that Isobel should kneel on the floor, thighs spread wide, but with her body upright, spine straight. Paula's hands were soft and delicate, but firm. They brushed over Isobel's nipples, which stiffened under their touch. Then, in her darkness, Isobel suddenly felt Paula's tongue on her right nipple, lightly flicking, then circling the hard bud, then licking harder, harder, until finally Paula's mouth engulfed it, sucking, suckling. Isobel gasped and moaned; Paula's mouth was heat and tongue and sharp little grazing, nipping teeth. It was exquisite.

Then suddenly her mouth was gone; an instant later, Isobel's nipple bloomed with a deep focused pain that made her gasp again, made her clench her eyes behind her blindfold, made her whole body want to writhe.

Paula's mouth was at her ear, quietly speaking warm words: "I've put a clamp on your nipple, Isobel. A clothespin, actually." And then her mouth was gone, descending Isobel's neck to her chest, to her left nipple, where the process was repeated, another clothespin affixed, her breasts now two burning, aching points of Master's will. Isobel arched her back and concentrated; the twin pains led downward, to a point deep in her belly. They made her cunt pulse with need.

Paula's voice back at Isobel's ear: "Give me your tongue, darling." And Isobel did, pushing it out, her chest heaving, she was panting now from the pain, and Paula stroked her tongue with her fingertips, licked it with her own tongue, sucked it lingeringly - a girl sucking her tongue at Master's instruction; Isobel moaned again and clenched inside - and when this long, strange, and wonderful kiss was over, Paula put a clothespin on Isobel's tongue, as well. A third point of deep pain.

"The pain is necessary and will lead you to joy," Paula said - or did she? Isobel wasn't sure if she'd imagined it. Now Paula was moving Isobel's body forward - she sensed she was now in the middle of the floor, the loveseat behind her and the washbasin to her left. Then Paula said, "Now, Isobel, very slowly, lower yourself, lower your ass toward the floor as you remain on your knees. She did as she was told, and as she did so Paula's fingers went to Isobel's cunt and spread her lips, and soon she felt a solidity, a warm hard presence at her entrance.

"Master's cock," said Paula. She did not have to say "Use your imagination," for even though Isobel knew in some rational corner of her mind that this was not Master's flesh, was in fact a thick smooth anatomical dildo attached by a suction cup to the floor of this small strange room, it was, in the circumstances, her Master's body entering hers.

She cried out as its thickness filled her; for a moment it took the pain away.

Paula at her ear again: "Master wants you to know how good your hot wet swollen pink cunt feels. He wants you to know you're beautiful, you're his beautiful whore, his treasure."

Isobel made sounds she would not have been able to describe. Her clothespinned tongue made her drool; her chest was slick with her saliva.

She rocked on Master's hard, centering cock. She wanted to pull the clothespins off her nipples, but Paula must have seen this, for she took Isobel's wrists and crossed them behind her back and held them there, firmly, just as Master would do and had done many times.

"Not yet," she said, "not yet," but it was no longer Paula's voice at all, it was Master's, and into Isobel's darkness he said "Fuck me, my whore. Use my cock to wring what you need out of this strange day." And Isobel did. She bucked and writhed on him. She rose up so that just the tip of him was still inside her, then slammed her body back down, letting him fill her hard and fast, again and again. There came a moment when Paula whipped the clothespins off her nipples, and the blood that had been denied them rushed back in and the sensation of fire and beauty nearly made Isobel pass out. She wanted desperately to touch her clit, she needed to touch herself as she rode her Master, but her arms were pinned back by Paula. Still, Paula was wise, or clairvoyant, and she saw this, and she kept Isobel's wrists in one hand while with the other she reached down and rubbed her clit - perfectly, urgently, just as Isobel would have done it herself, pressing it so that it was caught between Master's thick rigid shaft and Paula's fingers, and Paula pressed hard as Isobel continued to move, faster, ever faster and more desperately, and Paula could tell when Isobel was just where she needed to be, for at the moment when Isobel's orgasm began, Paula pulled the clothespin from her tongue so that she could speak, could enunciate "yes" and "God" and the whole sweet Babel of tongues that poured from her throat as Master made her cum.

She must have lost consciousness. The next thing she knew, she was curled on the loveseat, alone in the room. No Paula, no sign of what had happened. Well, not quite. The mask was there on the armrest of the loveseat, its crimson ribbon wrapped neatly around it. Isobel's cunt, her nipples, and her tongue still throbbed. Her phone was there as well, beside the mask, and her original call was still in progress.

"Master?" she said hesitantly.

"Yes, Isobel," he replied immediately. He sounded happy. "Did you find what you hoped to find when you came to the hotel today?" he asked her.

"I don't know what I hoped for or expected," she said. "But yes, I did. Absolutely."

"Good girl," he said. And her whole body tingled with warmth and well-being. She felt, she realized, like herself again.

"You've been here over an hour," he said gently. "Hadn't you better get back to work?"

"Yes," she said.

"Go," he said. "We'll talk soon. Paula has told me how obedient and beautiful you were today."

And with that, he rang off.

Isobel put her clothes back on, washed her hands, checked her hair and lipstick in the little mirror above the washstand. When she emerged from Room 3, there was Paula at her attendant's station, looking prim and responsible in her black uniform with the white apron.

Isobel stared at her, trying to think of something to say. Finally she settled on, "Who are you?"

Paula gave her an open smile. "I'm - someone who likes to help," she said.

"I don't know how to thank you," Isobel said.

"No need," said Paula. "It was my pleasure."

There was a slightly awkward silence. Then a third woman came hurrying through the door from the outer hallway. She seemed surprised to find someone other than Paula there.

"Room 6," Paula said, handing the newcomer a key.

Isobel moved toward the door, and as she did, Paula put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to speak confidentially.

"My master is an old friend of your master," Paula said. "That's the connection. I enjoyed helping you today."

She seemed about to step back and let Isobel pass, but then she squeezed Isobel's shoulder and said, "And - if you're wondering, I've never seen a more compliant or transcendent whore. You should be very proud. I know your master is."

Isobel blushed furiously, and her legs felt suddenly weak.

Paula leaned in even closer and said, "Till next time, Isobel," and then she ran the tip of her tongue along Isobel's earlobe.

It tingled. Her soft flesh felt warm, illuminated, where Paula's tongue had touched it. Walking slowly but with purpose, Isobel felt that light and heat all the way back to her office.