I texted Slave to meet me outside Ann Summers. Anticipation was everything. About an hour later, I arrived; he dropped to his knees as soon as he saw me and waited for me to approach. A group of teenage boys walked past and pointed and laughed at him. He remained perfectly still in his humble position. There was a fine line between giving Slave the humiliation he yearned for without humiliating myself. But I was a mistress, what did I care what other people thought?
I walked determinedly towards him, stopping a foot away and staring down at him.
‘Hello, Mistress Beatrice. Thank you for honouring me and allowing me to meet you today.’
I was about to give him the order to stand up when a voice directly behind me interrupted my mistress poise.
‘Hey, A –’
I spun around and kissed Joe before he got a chance to say my name. It was a longer kiss than it needed to be, my hands on the side of his face, my tongue pushing into his mouth, my lips pressing hard against his. He tasted of salt. I moved my hand down the back of his T-shirt, absorbing its dampness with my skin, down to the slight curve of his hips. When I pulled away Joe stared at me as if the man kneeling at my feet didn’t exist; in fact, as if no one else in the whole shopping centre existed.
I smiled. ‘Is this your new fad workout? Fighting all the old ladies to get the best bargains in the sales?’
His face was flushed, a mixture of exertion from whatever exercise he’d been doing and a blush that made him look younger than I felt. ‘I … I don’t think there are any sales at the moment. I’ve just been using the trial membership at the new gym, you know, the one that rep was giving away on Friday at the …’
I kissed him again, quicker this time, my tongue thrusting in and out of his mouth. He put his hands on my bottom and tried to pull me into his body. I yanked away and brushed his touch aside.
He shook his head with a confused smile. ‘I don’t get you. I really don’t get you.’
‘You’re not supposed to get me.’ I gave him a wink. ‘So see you around.’
He took a couple of steps away and then turned back to me, his hands spread out wide. ‘Do you want to go for a coffee?’
‘Surely caffeine doesn’t suit your healthy lifestyle?’
‘I could ask you back to mine for a protein shake, but I’m not sure it has quite the same ring to it.’ He gave me the kind of look filled with warmth and promise that, if I had been a different girl in a different place in my life, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to resist.
‘See you around.’ I forced my eyes to gaze in the opposite direction.
I counted silently to ten before turning and checking Joe was out of sight before returning my attention to Slave and trying to remember who I was supposed to be.
‘Stand up, slut,’ I said quietly.
Why had I always arranged to meet this man in my home town? Because I liked the idea of him driving down to see me whenever I clicked my fingers. Because there was one man who I hoped would see us together.
‘Mistress, I think I am experiencing jealousy.’ Slowly he got to his feet. ‘I haven’t had this before. It’s like a knot in my stomach. I feel sick. The way you spoke to your friend, you sounded so light, so happy. How do I make you talk to me like that?’
‘Accept what you get and don’t make yourself even more pathetic crying for more.’ My voice was soft, almost a whisper. I took a deep breath and refocused on why we were here. ‘Go to Ann Summers and find an open-minded assistant. Tell her you’ve just got your first boyfriend and he’s asked you to dress up like a woman for him and will she be kind enough to help the little sexual freak you are choose some items as you have no idea where to start. You need to purchase bra, knickers, stockings, and a butt-plug. Go.’
‘Are these items meant for me to wear, mistress, not for you?’
‘Did you have permission to ask a question?’
‘I’m sorry, mistress, I’m a cock-loving slut.’
I looked down at where his hand was squeezing his balls. ‘Harder.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ he squeaked.
‘You may stop. Text me when you have completed your task.’
I walked off, hearing him mumbling behind me, ‘Bra … Knickers …’
I went to the library, looking in the reading rooms and local study area before choosing a random book of poetry and sitting down at a table with students around me making notes on thick pads of paper or typing into laptops. I opened the poetry book but did not look at it.
My lover came here when, for whatever reason, he wanted to avoid the faculty staff. He brought me here.
‘You’re so intelligent, darling, don’t let your mind grow stale.’
‘Tell me what to read and I’ll read it.’
‘You don’t need me to tell you, that’s what I’m trying to say. You’re clever, choose what you want. Expand your world.’
On that occasion I selected a pile of six Mills and Boon romances.
‘Punish me,’ I said when he raised his eyebrows at my selection.
At home, we lay naked. He rested his head on my stomach and I read to him. At first it was with a sense of mocking irony, but the stories engulfed me. These fairy tales for little girls in big bodies, where the princess might be disguised as a nurse or a teacher or a secretary and the prince might appear as a doctor or a parent or a lawyer. There would be wicked witches and evil enchantments along the way, but they were just there to give the heroine and hero a chance to earn their happy ending. They would carry through their whole lives the knowledge of how close they came to losing each other. They’d experienced a flash of that empty hollowness which existed when they weren’t together so they would never veer from each other again.
After reading we made love. It was tender, gentle kisses, gazing into each other’s eyes. No fantasies, no teasing. It was more frightening than the roughest beating he’d given me.
A text came through from Slave, rudely interrupting my thoughts.
I’ve completed the task. May I ask what you wish me to do now, Mistress Beatrice?
I put the poetry book back on the shelf. There were tears in my eyes. None of the students noticed; they were too engrossed in their own worlds. I felt a moment of maternal warmth for them, as if I was a generation apart from them, not just a few years. I wished they were all loved and safe within that love, that they could dedicate their time to their intellect without fear of being alone or deserted.
I texted a reply back to Slave.
Wait where you are. I’ll come to you.
I went to the toilets in the nearest department, sat in a cubicle for a while before reapplying my make-up and going to find my slave.
He was staring in the direction I’d walked off when I left him. I came up quietly behind him and tapped him on his shoulder.
He immediately dropped to his knees. ‘Hello, mistress. I bought all the things you told me to.’
‘Let me see.’
Keeping his head bowed, he handed me the bag. There was a matching set of lingerie; red and black lace bra, stockings, and knickers.
‘Where is the butt-plug?’
‘Butt-plug? Oh, I am so sorry, mistress. I’m a stupid, cock-loving slut. I thought I’d remembered everything.’
‘Stop whining. Just go and get it now.’
‘From the same shop?’
‘Can you see anywhere else around here that would sell butt-plugs?’
‘The women in the shop were already laughing at me, mistress, could I …?’
‘And I bet you were enjoying every moment of it. Go. Run.’
He jogged across to the shop. A few minutes later, he returned with another bag.
‘Show me what you have brought.’
He pulled out a big blue rabbit vibrator.
I stopped myself from smiling. ‘If you want to stick that inside you, fine, but that is not what I asked you to purchase. Go back and get a butt-plug.’
Another five minutes and he returned with his third bag of p
urchases. He started to get them out, but I shook my head and started walking off.
‘If you can’t get it right this time then I really have no use for you. Lead the way to your car. You’ll take me back to your flat.’
‘Mistress, really? I wasn’t expecting this, I haven’t prepared for you.’
‘Shut up before I change my mind.’
In his car I let silence rule as I ruffled through his bag. He’d obviously been scared of failing this time. There were two different sets of love beads, one vibrating; a beginners’ butt set with four different slim dildos of increasing length; a curved black dildo of significant width; and a small round glass butt-plug, around two inches at its widest. He’d also bought some sex toy cleaning wipes and a bottle of lube.
I replaced it all back in the bag and stared at his profile for a while as he drove. He was a cautious driver, keeping to speed limits, and only overtaking the slowest vehicles: lorries, caravans, older men crawling along the motorway in sports cars. I thought of being in the car with my lover. Often he ordered me to drive and he might read a book or doze on the backseat of my little runabout. I preferred it, though, when I could sit in the passenger seat gazing at his hands on the wheel, knowing what the hands which now effortlessly weaved his beloved Jaguar in and out of traffic could do to my body.
I looked up and down Slave’s figure. ‘Hold the steering wheel at the top with both hands. Sit up properly. You’re sloppy. You’re chauffeuring your mistress to your home for the first time, at least give the appearance that you care.’
He adjusted his posture. ‘Sorry, mistress. I do care so very much. This is such an unexpected honour. I know I haven’t earned it by pleasing you, that you are blessing me with this treat all from your graciousness.’
I raised my right hand. ‘Stop a minute, Slave. Do you mean these things or are they part of your game?’
‘Mistress!’ The indignation in his voice sounded genuine. ‘Whenever anyone has said to me online that this is a game, I’ve told them they’re wrong. This isn’t about playing around, it’s real. Just like you’ve taught me.’
I put my hand on his knee. ‘Dean.’ His real name didn’t feel natural to my tongue, but I forced myself to use it. ‘Do you ever want a break from this? Some vanilla time? We don’t have to be 24/7. This is your choice. I’m not guiding you either way.’
He answered immediately. ‘No, Mistress Beatrice. I like everything exactly how it is. I don’t want to change.’
I stared out of the window for the remainder of the journey. He stopped outside a small estate of maisonettes. I sat still and waited for him to come round and open the car door for me. I stepped out without looking at him. He closed the door behind me and knelt on the pavement.
‘Mistress? Before when you asked if I wanted vanilla time, were you giving me an opportunity because I’d told you how jealous I was of the way you spoke to your friend? And I was too stupid to take it? Can I change my mind?’
‘You didn’t choose vanilla time, which means you don’t get to ask me questions without permission. Give me your keys and tell me which one is your flat. I will text you if I require your presence. Until then, remain here squeezing.’
He obeyed and I walked alone into his home. I admired his – bravery? Recklessness? Commitment to being a sub? Kneeling in the street where he lived, anyone could see him. Earlier, I had wondered whether he got things wrong so I would end whatever the thing was between us. Now I thought he wanted to be seen and found out. He wanted to be forced into a choice between his Christian life and his sexual life. I was uncertain which one he’d choose.
I moved around his flat, opening kitchen cupboards (he seemed to live on supermarket own brand pasta), going through his bathroom cabinet (stockpiles of aspirin and ibuprofen gel) and his wardrobe (unbelievably neat for a single man). In his lounge there was a pile of magazines. That’s when I texted him to come and join me.
He rang the doorbell. I stood in front of the door, looking at his outline through the tinted glass. There was no reason to make him wait, apart from my own whim. I pressed my own body against the door, feeling the coolness of the glass against my cheek and through my clothes. He raised his hand and touched the other side of the window. I counted – one, two, three, four, five – then I opened the door.
I walked through to his lounge and he followed me, carrying his bags full of underwear and sex toys. I stretched out over his sofa. He waited in the door way for his next command.
‘Put your new clothes on, slave, show me how pretty you can be.’
I gazed at him as he undressed. He was awkward, staring at his feet as he moved. He rolled his socks up in his shoes, lined his shoes up precisely against the wall.
‘May I have permission to leave the room please, mistress, to hang my suit up so it doesn’t crease?’
‘No.’
It was only as he was placing his jacket over the back of a chair that I realised he’d asked a question without obtaining permission. He told me how much he adored me because I was so hard on him, such a perfectionist, so demanding, missing nothing. It was too late to ask him to squeeze his balls; if he was aware of the slip himself hopefully he thought I’d ignored it out of kindness, or my refusal was his punishment.
It was difficult to think all the time, to always have to concentrate on his behaviour, to guess what he desired without letting him know I was doing what he wanted.
He took off his shirt next, then his trousers, finally his white boxers. The skin normally concealed under his clothes was pale, making him seem fragile and young. I could have called him over, let him rest his head on my breast, ordered him to cry and release all the pain from his childhood; his lost mother, his abusive stepmother, his separation from his siblings.
‘Put on your new underwear,’ I said.
He struggled with it all. But he tried. And eventually succeeded. The clasp on the bra was like his own personal Mensa test. He fiddled around with the knickers for a long time, attempting to fit himself in comfortably. One of the stockings snagged on his toenail.
‘You’ve named me Beatrice. I’m going to name you Daisy. That is the name you’ll use in all your contact with people on the scene. Understood?’
‘Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.’
I beckoned him with one finger to come closer, then to turn around in front of me. He needed gloves and make-up. I thought of getting a lipstick out of my handbag, a scarlet one, and painting his face with it. I could picture myself getting up and smearing it over his mouth with one hand while the other one fondled his nipples through the material of his bra.
But it was too intimate. I’d chosen my cosmetics to suit my master and match his desires and tastes.
‘Daisy, tell me, why do you have so many wedding magazines in your home?’
He answered immediately. ‘I told you, mistress, in the email when you asked about my employment history.’ He bit his lip and took a deep breath. ‘Forgive me, mistress, I shouldn’t assume you read the emails or texts I send you. I’m sure you have much more amusing things to do with your time. If you don’t mind me telling you again, I’ll explain.’ Another deep breath. ‘I used to work for a friend doing wedding photography, when I still lived in Devon. I still occasionally photograph weddings for someone at church or friends, so I like to keep up to date with prices and trends.’
‘Why do you need to keep up to date with prices? Surely you don’t charge your friends?’
‘Not much, mistress. Well below market rates. I wouldn’t charge you anything, of course.’
I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘You think I’d want to get married? It’s an outdated concept that has a history of trapping and abusing women.’
There we were, neither of us quite lying, neither of us being honest, both of us choosing to believe the other.
‘Sorry, mistress. I hope you’re not offended, but I’ve sometimes had fantasies of being married to you.’
I laughed.
He continu
ed speaking. ‘Not like a proper marriage, but just so all my material goods and finances would officially be yours. I’d sleep in a dog bed in the kitchen and make you breakfast in bed each day. I’d bathe you ready for your dates when you’d go out and meet real men who could satisfy you. And I’d put you to bed when you came home and then go back to my dog bed in the kitchen when you were peacefully asleep and had no more need for me.’
‘The dog would sleep in its own bed. You would lie on the cold floor, and if you’d really pleased me I’d let you have a tea towel as a pillow and a dishcloth as a blanket.’
We both smiled at the ridiculous image, but his cock had hardened as I spoke and was pushing out of his knickers.
‘Get your new lube and finger your arse,’ I said.
He got the lube, broke the seal, then stared helplessly at me. ‘What do you mean by finger my arse? Do you mean press a finger inside me? Is that safe, mistress?’
I sighed and put my head in my hands. ‘I’m willing to let the odd stray question slide, but you take my kindness and abuse it. For that disrespect you’ll push your whole fist up your arse.’
‘Mistress, is that even possible? I’m not sure I can do that.’
I stared at him.
He met my eyes for a brief moment before dropping his gaze. ‘Pants! I’m sorry, mistress. I’m a cock-loving slut and don’t deserve you. I didn’t mean to ask another question and I didn’t mean to look at you. And of course I can, and will, do whatever you tell me to do.’
‘Start by playing one finger around your arse, then insert it up to the first knuckle, up to the second knuckle, then the whole finger. Then two fingers. Then three. And so on. And, Daisy, do not ever say “pants” again in my hearing. Or, for that matter, anyone else’s hearing. You’re a grown man, not a 12-year-old Girl Guide.’
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