What If?

Author's note~ This story was written as a custom fantasy for a fan, and created through a merging of both his fantasies and My style of writing. I have been granted permission by the "star" of this story to post it here on Lit. Because this fantasy was written solely for the fan intended, I have turned off the voting feature as I feel the success of My work for this particular piece could only~ and should only~ be determined by said fan. However, I still invite readers to send Me feedback as I would love to hear your thoughts about the new venture I have begun with My favorite genre, and about there being a possible sequel with still more of Patrick's fantasies explored in a story titled, "What Now?" Please keep in mind that certain parts of the original formatting that I used, such as the type font chosen for the note left for Patrick , and the purple scrolled initials on the rug in the chamber scene may or may not be duplicated here on the site due to option limitations, but were provided as effective tools of visual and mood impact in Patrick's and My original copies, as well as the one sent to the U.S. copyright office.

With all that said, I hope you enjoy reading "What If?" as much as I enjoyed writing it!

* * * * *

The phone rang loudly on the service desk of the new car dealership that morning, piercing the solid droning background of the electric tools being used in the maintenance garage of the building.

Patrick answered the phone in his usual manner, "Maintenance department; Patrick speaking. How can I help you?" and found Her on the other end.

"Be at My chambers at eight o'clock sharp, slave," came the authoritative response to his phone greeting. "Wear only your jeans and your collar as you approach My chambers- nothing more. Leave your shoes underneath the chair on the porch. Ring the bell twice – then, enter. You will find a note on the foyer table to the left. Do precisely what it tells you to do."

"Hello? What?" Patrick dropped his professional tone and his voice down to almost a whisper as he turned away from the customers' curious glances; lowering his head as well as his voice. "Mistress? Is that you?"

"Yes, of course it is your Mistress! And I will not repeat Myself for you again! Just be there on time – or deal with My consequences," came Her directive. And as quickly as She had barked out Her commands to him, She had as quickly hung up.

His mind was on things other than his work the rest of the day, as thoughts filled his head as to what was in store for him that night. "'Be at My chambers at eight o' clock sharp' she said. Not that I would be crazy enough to intentionally take the chance, but what if something unexpected came up that would cause me to not be there exactly at eight?" he thought; then shuddered at the grim possibilities of that scenario as it crept in and fully occupied his imagination.

"Something unexpected" can be a twist of Fate, and the unexpected can be something you always needed without ever realizing you did.

Fate would intervene that night.

**********************

The first indication that he would not be there on time came when he had a last minute problem to deal with at work. His usual clock out time was six on the nose, but this night of all nights he did not walk out the door until six forty. Now in his haste to get home, he ran into heavier traffic than the norm.

"Is anything else going to go wrong?" he shouted; exasperated, within the solitude of his car, as he sat at yet another eternal red light. He stared at the dashboard's clock that seemed to stare in glaring defiance right back at him with the time of five minutes past seven.

"I'm going to be late, and Mistress is not going to be happy with me; not happy with me at all" he moaned as he pulled into his driveway and practically jumped out of the car while he was still shifting it into park

He showered in record time and once again hopped back into the car that he now raced to Her house. He pulled up to the front of Her home, and noticed the time to be nine minutes past eight; nine long minutes late for the commanded time of arrival. He saw one solitary light on through the etched glass of the Victorian front door, but otherwise, the house appeared still and dark. He ran to the door; yanking his sneakers off as he hopped across the front lawn attempting to save a few precious seconds in the process.

Breathless and nervous, Patrick rang the bell twice as ordered to do, then opened the front door very slowly; cautiously. He peered into the dimly lit foyer; as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. His eyes finally grew accustomed as he stepped in; silently closing the door behind him. He looked over to the foyer table and saw a piece of white linen stationery leaning upright against the lit lamp; its design of embossed, bold, black initials "MV" on its heading. The monogram stood for only one thing: Mistress Vixxxen.

He picked up the note tentatively, and read its contents once; then twice, to assure himself of Her exact instructions. The handwriting was scriptive; but clear in its directives.

slave ~

Close and lock the door behind you. Strip down and hang your jeans on the coat tree hook. This should now leave you naked except for your slave collar as I commanded earlier. If it does not, you will remove any other clothing and bring it back to your car. Naturally, you are not to put your jeans back on to do this. Bring any other pieces of forbidden clothing to your car naked – and one piece at a time. you are to suspend any forbidden piece of clothing high above your head as if your arms were clothesline poles. And, you will walk slowly back to your car to accomplish this - each and every time. you may run back to My house on the return trip{s} as you are already late and have wasted My valuable time. I trust My slave has been a tardy, but not a totally disobedient one. It will not go unnoticed – or unpunished if you have.

you will then begin to crawl up the steps on all fours and with your head constantly bowed; you will continue to crawl down the hallway to the very last door directly in front of you. At that time you will proceed to scratch at the door; head still bowed and still in a crawling position as you wait patiently for further instructions. If you fail to obey any command within this note, you will be dismissed and you will never be allowed contact with Me again.

Remember, I will be aware the moment you have disobeyed Me.

Patrick felt a chill trickle down his neck to his spine at reading this last ominous statement, but was relieved to know he had remembered to take his shirt off in the car when he parked in front of Her house. He knew She knew it was the state law that you must wear a shirt while driving, and was proud of himself that he outwitted his Mistress. Dropping his pants, he realized his careless mistake, as his short lived pride immediately evaporated and was replaced by overwhelming dread: he had, in his rush to arrive at Her home on time, absentmindedly slipped on jockey shorts beneath his jeans as was his usual routine. He shook his head in disbelief at his stupidity. Not so much that he had worn the jockeys under his jeans, but that he actually had believed he could- even just one time- outsmart his Mistress. He glanced about the foyer quickly, as if She could hear his mind chastise himself and discover he had attempted to out- think Her. This, he knew, if realized by his Domme, would mean his submissive doom. He breathed a long, soft sigh of relief, as he saw nothing and heard only the grandfather clock chime the quarter hour from the parlor to the left of him. He continued to undress; hanging up his jeans on the brass hook as instructed. Naked, he now stared at his jockeys in his hand; building up the courage to walk out the door and to his car bare assed and as further ordered; with hands holding up his underwear high above his head like a flag at full mass. He tasted the humiliation rising in his throat as he turned toward the door to step outside once again; praying no one would see him in the last of twilight of the summer evening.

He was unaware that his prayers were too late. There had been one set of eyes watching him all along. Swamp green eyes.

She had seen his every move.

**********************

He walked out to his car slowly with hands – and jockeys - held high above his head; all the while hoping none of Her neighbors were out walking their dog, or jogging after dinner, or {God forbid} seeing the entire family next door- and they seeing him in all of his humiliating, submissive glory- as they climbed into their van to head off to the drive-in or to Grandma's. He had no idea what he would do in that case. And he more than knew he did not want to find out in any case. He picked up his slow gait slightly when that all too possible and uncomfortable thought occurred to him.

He reached his car, and opened the passenger door; throwing his underwear onto the seat and quickly, but quietly, shutting it again. He noticed the garage door on the house directly across the street start to open, and realized in horror one or more of the neighbors was going to be in their car backing out in just a few seconds. The very naked slave ducked down behind his passenger door and held his breath until the sound of the car's engine faded as it drove down the street. Shaking from the near exposure of his total exposure, he stood back up and practically sprinted back to Her front door; swearing under his breath as he ran, "That was too damn close for comfort! I haven't been here fifteen minutes and look at me - the neighborhood streaker! If I ever make it through tonight, I will never allow anything like this to happen to me again!"

He was only fooling himself with that thought.

Fate and Mistress had already determined his future.

**********************

He opened Her front door once more, and quickly closed it behind him. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as the thought of the close shave with the neighbors – and the possible repercussions - had just hit him. He was still shaking a little as he walked over to the staircase and dropped down to his knees in preparation to obey Her next command. He never looked up; looking only at the intricate pattern of the carpeting as he began to ascend the staircase one step at a time. His mind was a sea of questions; a new question swirling through his brain each time the palms of his hands flattened on the next step.

...{step seven} "What will Her punishment be because I was late?" {step eight} "What if She keeps me waiting by Her door on all fours and just ignores me?" {step nine}"What if wearing the damn jockeys is cause for additional punishment from Mistress?" {step ten} "Why the hell am I here anyway?!?" {step eleven} " I know I'm curious about being a submissive and all, but...what if I'm getting into a lot more than I should?" {step twelve} "Fuck! Where's your goddamn common sense, Patrick?" {Upstairs landing} " It's sitting at home with Her phone number, that's where. You wanted to leave your common sense at home because you have wanted this night to happen ever since your interview; even before the interview. So, just keep crawling – and kneeling – and begging – and everything else that a devoted slave is suppose to do for his Mistress. And maybe, Patrick, you'll find that your submissive desires are real and that She is real. And that She is really going to explore some of those desires with you here; tonight."

Still on all fours and with his head still bowed, he found himself now fully on the landing- and just finishing the argument with himself as to why he was there to scene with a Dominatrix. He had met with Her just a few weeks ago, and felt not only intrigued, but also very aroused the entire time he spent seated across from Her in the coffee shop where She had decided to hold the interview. She had been dressed all in red leather; the preference of leather being not only the Domme's choice, but that secretly of his. And although seemingly too heavy in weight for that time of year, She carried it off in a cool, seductive way that only a Dominatrix could do without a hitch. Yes, his fetish was precisely that; he knew it was his weakness and that he would do just about anything for a woman in leather. But for a Mistress in leather, ahhhh well...

The interview had not been what he expected it to be; not by a long shot. She had ordered coffees for them both; taking charge of even that simple detail of an everyday thing. Without missing a beat, She began the interview by coming right to the point, and demanding to know if Patrick thought himself a true submissive, and if indeed he did, what was his definition of one? She had all the confidence befitting a Domme, as Her eyes never wavered from his a second as She waited for an immediate if not sooner than that answer from her newest BDSM plebe. His interview had lasted about an hour and he felt it had gone very well in spite of his nervousness and ...hardness. The leather had definitely been an aphrodisiac of and in itself, but the combination of the scent of Her perfume with the muskiness of the leather caused his head to fill with wild fantasies, and his cock to stand at full attention the entire time. He wondered if She had noticed the kite in his jeans when he had risen to fetch his Lady another latte`.

He now stretched like a cat that has just awoken from a nap; smiling as the titillating thoughts of that day brought his cock to its full extent; its head nearly touching the carpeted landing as if supporting its shaft's rigid weight. Feeling more determined than ever to experience his Mistress' discipline, he lifted his head slightly; back paddling the palms of his hands to straighten his on all fours stance, and glanced down the long corridor in front of him and the imposing mahogany stained door at its end. He dropped his eyes once more, and began the humbled crawl to Her chambers.

Someone watched Patrick continue his slave's journey down the hallway, and had then slipped down the staircase unheard and undetected to the foyer below.

This time, however, it was not Mistress that had been observing the new submissive.

**********************

Patrick reached the door at the end of the corridor, took in a deep breath, and scratched at the wood panel like a dog begging to be allowed into its master's room. "Well, aren't I just like a pet that seeks attention and wishes to gain entry into its owners' chambers?" he asked himself, as his ears strained to hear Her voice summon the pet of a slave into Her presence.

He waited for some sort of response; exactly what kind he was not sure, and after a minute or so, he scratched at the wooden door again; a little louder and with a little more force. It opened slightly, and he could see shadows dancing on the wall that was facing him. The wall recital was from seven or eight white pillar candles that sat in an illuminating frenzy; clustered on a large round, lace covered table. But still no sign or sound of his Mistress.

He dared not look any further into the room, as Her instructions on the note were explicit, "you will then proceed to scratch at the door; head still bowed and still in a crawling position as you wait patiently for further instructions."

Patrick suddenly had the feeling he could be clearly seen, even though the candlelight's glow flickering faintly through the partially open door was the only source of light available. He lowered his head even further at the mere thought that She could be lurking in the shadows; actually observing his every move and waiting for the first and only sign of disobedience that would send him on his un- merry, un-fulfilled and un- submissive way. The slave plebe didn't know how long he had been kept outside of Her chambers, but it was long enough for his neck to become stiff in its hung position. All manner of questioning second thoughts invaded his mind once again and grew as he remained crouched at the threshold of Her dungeon.

Just before the young, inexperienced slave took heed to his rising apprehensions and ran to his car never to be seen nor heard from by the Dominatrix again, a voice from directly behind him cut through the silence; startling him, "Mistress Vixxxen will honor you with seeing Her now. She feels you are at least worthy enough this evening to attempt to teach you Her first lesson. You are one of a very select few, fortunate students to pass the interview. Do not disappoint Mistress in Her evaluation."

Patrick listened attentively to the masculine voice directly behind him, as he kept his head bowed in obedient and subservient earnest. He remembered still more warnings of his Mistress in the letter: "Remember, I will be aware the moment you have disobeyed Me" and vowed to himself he wasn't going to give Her, or anyone else that he now realized was there as Her additional eyes and ears, the opportunity to witness any other infraction of Her commands.

A hand reached over his knelt body, and opened the door full, as more of the candle lights' glow filled the entrance. Patrick felt his knees begin to shake; not from the length of time he had been on them, but from the impending scene he knew he was to very soon partake in. The suspense of what lay ahead of the crouched slave was growing by leaps and bounds.

It was difficult for the submissive to keep his head down and not even raise it slightly to see what lay beyond the door of Her chambers. But he dared not. He had gotten this far, and knew it would be his long felt craving's ruin if he lost his self discipline now. He was at the point of no return - and he also knew he was at the point of not wanting to return; not wanting to return to the wanting - but the never having- domination he so very long yearned for. Intuitively, he knew he was going to have his fantasies quenched – beginning tonight.

"you may respectfully crawl into My chambers, slave," the Voice of Her Supremacy ordered from somewhere in the room. "and over to the foot of My lair."

Without a moment's hesitation, he found himself almost scurrying into Her chambers like a mere bug; guessing the direction where he thought Her bed might be found. He still did not dare to look up to see which direction he was heading, but imagined he would wander about forever if necessary to discover his predetermined destination. He slowed to a creep; then stopped, as his carpet burned hands and knees felt sudden relief beneath them. It was a comfort zone to the weary and slightly tender parts of his body that had been supporting him on his journey to meet his Submissive Maker. He had come upon a sumptuous area rug; its thick fringe framing the scrollwork of initials tufted within the center of the circular shape:

MV

He gazed upon the initials of purple on the cream colored background at close range; his eyes still cast nearly straight down, as he saw shadows cover the dual monogram as if they were two shoulders being covered by a black shawl. He now realized where the shadows originated, as the rug depressed in two spots directly in front of him.

The shadows were from two heeled black leather boots standing on either side of the monogram.

And in those heeled boots was his Mistress.

**********************

"I see you have finally found your way to Me," Her voice somewhere above the boots began, "you are late, but I know you were tied up at work and that they were circumstances beyond your control. I also know you exceeded the speed limit and ran the light at Morris and Montrose in your haste to get home to shower." The voice of all too accurate accounting continued." Tsk, tsk. Very reckless of you, slave. And your car could very well have drifted right into your garage door the way you jumped out of it before shifting it into park. But I understand the reasons behind your race to beat the clock. And I will forgive you this one and only time for disobeying My command."