Jeremy
Meghan has somehow now got into the habit of making little demands on me, sort of ordering me around, like I'm some kind of admin assistant or something. Last Tuesday she had me go to a gourmet shop, way over town, and buy her a half pound of Caerphilly cheese - which I'd never heard of - and take it to her doorman. On Sunday she calls, right after I got back from church, telling me to be in the parking lot of the mall at five where, she said, she might need to call me to pick up something for her; I was there but never heard from her - and I stayed until ten, when the mall closed. Tonight she calls, all business, and with her usual lack of small talk says: "I need you to pick something up for me."
I know better than to ask any questions: "Yes, of course."
"Write this address down: twenty-eight ..."
"I'm sorry ... I need to get something to write on."
"Jeremy, you are an irritating little shit. Weren't you a boy scout? Be prepared and all that? Go and get the damned stuff."
I hurried to the kitchen where and my shopping list pad: "OK, sorry, got it."
"Twenty-eight fifty-two Bruton, the basement store. You got that?"
"Yes: 'Twenty-eight fifty-two Bruton, the basement store'. Right now or what?"
"Don't ask me questions; I find it very irritating. Have you got that, Jeremy?"
"Yes, Meghan. I'm sorry."
"There will be a parcel there. Pick it up at six, tomorrow, and bring it to me at my place at eight. Got that?"
"Yes, six, tomorrow, for eight," I quietly parroted. She hung up.
Meghan
I'm actually having a blast doing this 'mistress' thing. It was Bec's idea. "You need to train him to submit," she said, "so you can train him, later on, to act."
"Huh?", was my articulate response, "you mean, like, I'm going to put on black leather and high heeled boots and all?"
"No Shug, that's amateur hour, play-acting stuff. You're going to control him properly."
"Like how?"
"What is it that he - that any friggin' male - wants, above all else?"
"Sex."
"Right. So you give him the kind of sex that he could only dream of."
"I'm not going to fuck him."
"I know, we talked about that. But Elizabeth could. You said she still liked it."
It's true. Even though Elizabeth and I have been together almost two years now, she still likes to do a man every now and then. I say 'a man', but it's always Armando. That suits me because our deal is that we always do it as a three-some. Actually, that's kind of misleading. The three of us get on the bed, but Armando doesn't touch me. I just do my thing while they do theirs. The reality is, of course, that I love it: it really turns me on to watch and, added bonus, Armando is really sweet about doing my little daddy thing for me; he understands that. So I get a good turn-on and a facial. Not a bad deal.
"Yeah, she still likes it ... but I don't want her getting too much of it, you know what I mean?"
"Of course, Shug. But, you know, if you play it right you get him to prefer jerking off to most anything else. You know what I mean."
"Give him little shows, you mean? Get him into 'watching' rather than doing?"
"Yeah, you've got it: 'I created a voyeur' type thing. You only have to do it until you can trust him to go out and do your bidding, like we talked about. Find his own little virgins to fuck up."
"OK, so he gets great sex. That's it? That's going to make him my little submissive?"
"It'll sure go a long way to keeping that boy on a leash, but you need to do more. You need to get him used to taking orders, to doing what you want, outside of sex. You've got to get make him one hundred percent obedient, twenty-four seven."
"OK, I can buy that. What sort of orders?"
"Trivial things ... but don't forget to mix in the sex stuff as well. For instance, you always, always, forbid him to come until you say so. You gotta program him so that he wouldn't dream of finishing himself off until you give permission. That's when he's with you off course. But, when he's not with you, you make him do things like, er, pick up some groceries and bring them to your doorman - menial stuff. Or, maybe, tell him to be somewhere at some specified time in case you need to call on him; and then don't call - let him just sit there, scared to leave in case you do call. Don't be asking him 'nicey, nicey' to do things: tell him what to do like you're dealing with some flunky. Make sure that he like totally understands that, if he wants to keep enjoying this phenom sex, he must obey. 'Obey' is the key word."
"Gotcha. I like it."
"Now Shug, I know you can play the bitch really well but now and then you've got to be nice. It's like training a puppy: you start off by telling it to 'sit' and giving it a treat every time it does so. Then every other time, then every third time, and so on until he slams his butt on the floor every time, treat or no. But, in the beginning, you've got to keep those treats close at hand."
"Got it. Train him like a dog. I love it. What a delicious bitch you are."
"Years of dealing with assholes, Shug. Too many years. Oh, one last thing on the training: you've got to work really hard at getting him to keep his hands off his pecker when he's not with you. That way, eventually, you're his only sexual outlet. When you've got him there, you've got him trained. He's yours."
Jeremy
Promptly at six, having had to explain to Mr. Stevens that I had an appointment and could I leave ten minutes early, I arrived at the address I'd been given. It was a lady's underwear store, which kind of worried me, but, even worse, it was the sign in the window: 'Closed', even though there were lights on. Painted on the window, gold on black, was the store's name: 'Intime'. Had they screwed up the spacing, or what? Next to the sign was a bell-push. I pushed, heard it ring and then, thank heavens, heard footsteps. The door opened and a woman looked at me and said: "yes?"
"Um ... I'm supposed to pick up a parcel for ...er Miss Hughes." She looked at me, in a somewhat clinical way, then held the door open for me to enter, which I did. She closed the door behind us and led the way. I followed. We passed isolated displays of very flimsy looking underwear in every color but white. I started blushing. Fuck; I hate that I do that.
She ducked behind a counter and brought out the sort of little paper bag that you get from these high-end stores, all in black with the name 'Intime' on it in gold. She put it on the counter and said: "here." She was really good looking, sort of oriental, but not totally, yet with the lightest blue eyes. Her almost black hair was cut short in kind of a spiky, edgy way, which fitted in with her funky kind of outfit. "Do you like underwear?" she asked, in a slight, foreign accent with overtones of huskiness.
I blushed even more. Fuck! "Um ... well, er, sure, I guess."
"You are blushing."
"Um, I guess, I-I'm a little out of my depth in this kind of place."
"Ah, yes," that accent again, "a woman's place. I understand."
I was so grateful for that bone of compassion that I ventured to ask: "why don't you spell 'in time' with a space?"
She looked blankly at me with those slightly oriental, blue eyes and raised an eyebrow: "in time?"
"Yeah," and I pointed at the bag.
She smiled, then giggled: "ann team" she said - or at least that's what it sounded like, "it's French. For 'intimate'.
"Oh," was my witty comeback as my total lack of worldliness was exposed.
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Elizabeth
He was kind of cute. Not hot, like Armando, but a nice, clean American boy. Of course I will do whatever Meghan asks - she will have me fuck him no doubt. But I had asked what he was like for I do not wish to fuck a pig, no? So Meghan suggested sending him around to the store so I could see him incognito. "Besides," she had said, "it will give him a chance to check you out and get his little fantasies going. Kind of like priming the pump." This is typical Meghan: always finding the angle.
Jeremy
Right on the second of eight, I rang Meghan's doorbell. She opened it and I noticed that, for once, she wasn't wearing jeans: she had on a loose, fairly long, black skirt. Neither was she wearing her customary white button-down. Instead she wore a baggy, grey, long-sleeved top - kind of like an oversized t-shirt. I handed her the Intime bag, which she took without a word, and followed her in to the living room. The room looked the same as last time except that the coffee table between the sofas was missing. She sat down on one of the sofas: "get yourself a drink," she directed. I poured myself a glass of wine, she pointed to the sofa opposite her and I sat. She did that silent toasting thing again and we drank.
"What would you like to do?" She asked in a pleasant voice - as if we were equals and I could take charge of the evening. Right.
"Um ... whatever you want," said I as my cock started to demonstrate its independence.
