*This is a sequel to the last story I wrote so it probably would make more sense if you read it first! Thank-you to everyone who voted and left the lovely comments. x
It had been three weeks since my encounter with Erica. She had not tried to make contact with me afterwards but every time the phone rang the identity of the caller disappointed me.
I found it difficult to concentrate with thoughts of Erica popping into my head, forcing me to recall what had happened between us. Thus, leaving me in an undeniable state of arousal.
In the end I decided I would have to try and contact her. This, to me seemed odd; when we were together Erica was the one to take control. I was reluctant to find her myself because she came across as the kind of women who would go and get for herself exactly what she wanted. Maybe she didn't want me.
After much consideration I resolved to go through with it. Driven by memories of the last time and the irreplaceable feeling I had when I was around her, at least I could say I tried.
I would have to do it now before I chickened out. It was a Monday morning so I knew she would be at work.
I dressed in the outfit I had chosen carefully last night; ankle length trousers, white shirt and heels. Appropriate for both finding Erica and my lunchtime meeting. I applied my make-up carefully but let my blonde hair fall in it's natural waves down my back.
The building was easy to find. I parked outside and made my way inside without giving myself the opportunity to change my mind.
As I walked in the secretary was picking up her handbag about to leave for lunch.
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I was just leaving, we don't have any appointments available.'
'Oh, actually I was wondering if I could have a quick word with Erica,' I replied.
'Erica?' the secretary questioned, 'Oh! You mean Ms Fitzgerald.' She seemed surprised I had used her first name.
'Uh... yeah,' I mumbled.
She reached for the phone 'Who should I say it is?' she asked whilst dialling a number.
'Eh... Anna,' I replied but not quite knowing what to say.
She spoke quickly and formally into the phone.
'Give her five minutes and then it's the second door on the right.'
I sat down as the secretary left. The building was completely silent. The only sound I could hear was my own racing heartbeat. I wondered if there was anyone else there as I nervously waited for five minutes to pass.
When I was satisfied it had been five minutes I went to find the second door on the right. I took a deep breath and knocked quickly.
The door was opened as quickly as I had knocked. Erica stood wordlessly before me with a serious expression on her face. Her clinically tidy office and sharply tailored suit added to the impression I got. She moved back from the door, silently inviting me in. I entered anxiously.
As soon as I was out of the zone restricting the door she shut it behind me, cornered me against it and placed her hands above my shoulders making me feel intimidated by her height. Erica lifted her leg and pressed it against the door between my legs. She then pushed her knee up to what was, for her, a comfortable height but left me forced to stand on my toes.
My breathing quickened as her knee pressed uncomfortably hard against my crotch and she moved in closer to me and began to unbutton my shirt. I shivered as she touched me and I became aware of the constant butterflies in my stomach. I felt my shirt slide off one shoulder revealing the strap of my bra. I hadn't noticed the small piece of paper Erica had been holding between two fingers until she slipped it under my bra strap.
With the minimum contact possible she re-buttoned my shirt then pulled her knee away leaving me struggling to stay on my feet as I was suddenly dropped from the tips of toes. At this she sat down at her desk with some papers and gave me a look as if to say, 'Are you still here?'
With that I left. I walked as quickly as I could back to the car; I couldn't very well start poking around in my bra here. What did the note say?
I couldn't wait until I got home. I drove into a seemingly deserted alleyway, the kind that filled the space between the backs of flats on the outskirts of the city. Satisfied there was no one around I undid the first two buttons on my shirt and slid it down like Erica had minutes before. The note now sat just peeking out from behind the lace trim on my bra. I removed it and re-buttoned my shirt as fast as I could in my paranoid state, scared someone would see me.
The note read: IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH! MY HOUSE, TONIGHT, 8PM. SHARP.
My heart skipped a beat. As I read I couldn't help but imagine the stern, clipped tone I was sure she would have used if she had told me to my face. I didn't know she expected me to get in touch with her. She didn't say anything or even give me a number!
I soon forgot my confusion over how she expected me to contact her but began to worry about the forthcoming evening. What was she going to do to me? The marks had only recently faded from the last time but yet I couldn't wait for her to bruise me all over again. I wanted pain, but only from Erica, I wanted her to hurt me. I loved the pain as much as the gentle caresses. It was unexplainable.
Could I take the pain? Would I still enjoy it? Would she stop if it was too much? Doubts circulated in my mind. The last time I whimpered and begged but she carried on relentlessly. Somehow I trusted her not to push me too far. I enjoyed putting my fate in her hands.
My meeting seemed to last forever and the afternoon's coursework seemed endless. At six o'clock I could concentrate no longer. I occupied myself with meaningless household tasks in an attempt to stop worrying.
I showered, waxed, plucked and moisturised in preparation. I touched up my precisely applied make up but couldn't bring myself to eat anything before I left.
I pulled up outside her house at eight o'clock exactly, relieved to have made it in time. All the curtains were closed and the house was in darkness. It didn't seem like there was anyone in.
As I walked up Erica's excessively long drive I noticed there was a note taped to the door.
It simply read: It's open...
I opened the door nervously and stepped inside. The house was completely dark apart from one room at the end of a corridor. I followed the light, wary of the sound of my heels on the floor in the silent house.
The room with the light on turned out to be the kitchen where Erica sat waiting. She wore only a black corset, stockings and ferociously high black stilettos. I was almost too preoccupied by her appearance to notice what was sitting out on the marble worktop. There were a selection of whips, canes, straps, even hairbrushes and a wooden spoon. I tensed up when I caught sight of the collection of instruments but was soon distracted.
