I let myself into her flat with my own key. No doubt she heard me, but nevertheless I crept into the spare bedroom, unslung my rucksack, and began to get undressed. This room is never as well-heated as the rest of the flat, and it was a chilly duty to stand there naked, laying my costume and accoutrements out on the bed. Not only were my nipples standing out, and zinging each time I accidentally brushed them, but the skin of my arms and legs were covered with goose-pimples. I did a few exercises, flinging my arms wide and by breasts forward, just to get a little warmer, and rubbed my palms vigorously where the goose-pimples were thickest. By the time I put my fur jacket on I was glowing a little. Next a high-fastening suspender belt, it's long supports making a viaduct through the arches of which my valley could be seen, holding tense a pair of sheer stockings; then boots, jackboots but for the heel, made for strutting, not goose-stepping – all made my legs seem as long as the spars of a barquentine. There was a mirror – I checked out the effect – just as it should be! Then I picked up my two important properties: firstly a chain, with a leather loop at one end and a lanyard-clip at the other – I put my wrist through the loop and wound the rest of the chain around my palm and fingers, suggesting a knuckle-duster or a weird, mail gauntlet; secondly, a riding crop. One last look in the mirror...a strange sight, for the spare room of a flat...
I turned and walked out of the room. My tread down the corridor was measured now, stalking, deliberate enough to make my heel-falls audible in the lounge. My jacket I had left unbuttoned, open to the waist; my breasts were free and my nipples maintained a buzzy friction with the silk lining. I strode towards the door and reached out for the doorknob. Little-she would be waiting for me.
Some months previously she had simply been my latest girlfriend. Then one evening, as we walked back from our favourite bar, where we had had perhaps one glass of wine too many, she said she had a suggestion to spice-up our sex life. I hadn't realised it needed spicing up; hadn't it been tasty enough so far? I had been intrigued, I have to admit, to know what she had in mind, but for the rest of the walk home she was more reticent, and told me later that she had wondered whether she had put me off. When we arrived back at her flat, out came a present she had been saving for me, and when I saw that it was merely a pair of shoes I remember thinking, "What an anti-climax!" But what I actually said was, "Darling, they're lovely, but I simply couldn't walk down the street in heels that high!" She said that they weren't for street wear, and it began to dawn on me where her suggestion was about to take us.
She said she wanted me to tower over her, as she sat on a low chair, or on the floor. She said she wanted me to put my hands on my hips and speak sternly to her. She wanted me to be her "Big She". Well, why not? Gradually the spicing-up grew towards a final, full flavour, and I indeed became her tall mistress, stalking down her corridor, flinging open the door of her lounge, and...
I recall that once I arrived on a wrong day. She had guests. It had been necessary to slam the door and run as fast as my boots would allow, back to the spare room. Fortunately, most of them had had their backs to the door.
On this occasion little-she was waiting for me alone. I stood in the doorway, tapping the end of my riding crop against the palm of my left hand. She was kneeling by the opposite wall, naked except for a leather collar round her neck, almost cowering, looking up at me like a puppy that does not know whether to expect a kick or a caress. With my whip I pointed to the floor, and little-she lowered her head, occasionally daring to glance up at my face. Her lips were slightly apart, and she was panting a little.
"Look who's here!" I said.
"My Venus!" she whispered.
"
Pauvre petite Séverine
," I said. "
Viens ici – viens à ta maîtresse!
"
Her face lit up; now her puppy eyes were full of joy – a ball, or a bone, or a biscuit had just been thrown to her, and on all fours she bounded over to me. When she was about to jump up, a sharp "Ah, ah, ah!" from me, and a raised finger, brought her to a halt. She sat back on her haunches and raised a hand in a half-hearted, paw-like dab, the fear of rejection once more in those eyes. I turned and walked over to a high-backed, faux-gothic chair, placed myself – almost enthroned myself – upon it, straightened my back, and crossed my legs. I unwound the chain from my hand, and dangled it, rattled it. She crawled over to me, and crouched patiently while I fastened the lanyard clip to a ring in her collar. Giving it a couple of gentle tugs, to make sure it was fast, I stood up.
"
On se promène. Avance, chienne! Allez-hop!
"
I stalked around the room, whilst little-she scrambled awkwardly along at my side, still on all-fours. If she got ahead of me or lagged behind, a sharp tug of the chain would bring her to heel From time to time she glanced up at me, just to see if she was being a good girl. She tired before I did – of course she did – it would never do for little-she to tire her mistress! I sat again on my gothic
cathedra
, and she squatted at my feet panting, glowing.
"Good girl," I said, and her eyes misted with simple happiness.
For a while we just sat there, little-she and Big-She back from a pleasant promenade. From time to time I ran the end of my riding-crop along her back or, placing it under her chin, obliged her to raise her head and look at me, to see if she would dare to try and out-stare me (no, she never did!). A touch of the crop to her naked flank now and then brought a flicker of fear to her eyes, but only a flicker, for she knew that her mistress, her Venus, was pleased with her today, and might allow her a little treat...
She put one hand on my knee, and looked imploringly at me.
"What?" I said, pretending not to understand. She began to sniff the air, and to nuzzle at my legs and knees, as if she could smell something there. I touched my crop to her cheek.
"No!" I said, sharply. She sat back, disappointed, but soon that hand was on my knee again, those eyes were looking at me imploringly, and the snuffling and nuzzling started again. Then, for the first time since she had acknowledged me as I entered the room, she spoke, in a little, timorous voice.
"Please, mistress!"
"Who gave you permission..." I began, my voice rising, and one eyebrow too. But then I relented. Mistress Big-She would be generous to her
