I found her name in the back of a local swingers newspaper, in small print, at the bottom of a column. "Mistress Jade, Private training sessions, Become the man I want you to be." I clipped the ad and carried it around in my wallet for almost a month before I got the courage to call. A formal sounding older woman, who told me that the Mistress was busy with a client, answered it promptly. But she told me that the Mistress was still accepting clients, and scheduled me an appointment for the next Tuesday evening. I worried for the next week if I was doing the right thing, but I was still there on time.
The house was located in an older but distinguished part of town. It was classy but demure, and I felt my throat tighten as I rang the bell. An older woman, who introduced herself as the woman I talked to earlier, opened the door Mistress' Jade Secretary. She showed me into the house, took my coat, and showed me into a room to one side, a library. I spent about half an hour nervously wandering, absently reading the book titles before I heard the door open behind me. I turned and was stunned by the sight I saw.
The doorway framed her for a second; in an entrance Hollywood could not have choreographed better. My eyes started low, slowly climbing the laces of her black knee-high stiletto-heel boots, up her black stockinged legs, past her black leather mini-skirted hips, admiring the white silk shirt that encased her torso, pausing at the black velvet choker, and coming to rest on her face. Her long straight black hair was perfect, and slung behind her shoulders. Her skin was like porcelain, her features exotic, and what little makeup she wore was perfect. I found I couldn't look her directly in the eyes, just darting glimpses. She walked across the hardwood floor, her heels clicking with each step. She sat down in a comfortable chair set on the edge of the area rug, beside the fireplace. I stood there, not knowing what else to do.
"So you wish to serve me do you?" she asked, her voice soft yet crisp, with just the faint hint of an oriental accent. I approached her and began to say yes when she stopped me with a raised hand. "If you wish to serve me you must follow my every command promptly and without hesitation. You are mine to do with as I will; do you understand this?" I nodded assent. "Then stand in the center of the carpet slave," she commanded. I did so, feeling uneasy, but aroused too.
"Strip naked, let me see if you are worth having." I hesitated, and she reached beside the chair and pulled up a leather-riding crop, smacking it against her palm repeatedly. "Do NOT make me repeat myself," she hissed. I slowly, and with as much dignity as I could muster, undressed, throwing my clothes in a heap where she pointed, until I stood before her exposed. She smiled wickedly and bid me to approach her. When I did she used the tip of the crop to examine my penis, still flaccid but beginning to respond to her attention. She then indicated for me to slowly pirouette, and to continue doing so until she said otherwise. I did so, and every time my exposed bum was towards her she would smack it with the crop, lightly at first, but increasing in force each time, until I could almost not stand it. But my cock was also responding now, growing to a fully erect size.