door unlocked?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Do they say this just to get on your nerves?
“Reach up and open it with your right hand. I will be waiting in the bedroom.”
Colin crept out of the bathroom hardly daring to look up. His eyes were trained on the carpet as he crawled toward my feet. Suddenly, I had a brainstorm.
“You will adjust my garters.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he paused, “…Sabrina. You have beautiful legs,” he added shyly.
“I know. Come here. Start with my back garter.” I turned around slightly so he could reach it. I couldn’t let on how good it felt to hear about my legs when I’m starting to angst about my weight. “Slowly. Not like that. You have to loosen it first, then pull—very softly.” I turned again. “Now the front.” I could see a bulge in Colin’s shorts. “Good. Now the right garter. Carefully.” I leapt back. “You clumsy idiot! You ripped my stocking!”
“I’m sorry, Mistress! I didn’t meant to!”
“This will be taken into account,” I told him. “Mistress Thalia will not be pleased.”
“Yes, Mistress. Will you allow me to make it up to you?”
“We’ll see.”
Stumped for a response, I decided to go the implacable route.
“Go to my bag and unzip it. Slowly.”
I ordered him to remove a few instruments. Unfortunately, Mistress Thalia wasn’t here to wield her whip, but I did have a small black leather paddle.
“Come here,” I told him. “Not like that. Stay on your knees. Put the paddle between your teeth. Hold it between your teeth and don’t drop it. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and I ordered him to crawl slowly toward the bed. Removing the paddle from his clenched teeth, I told him to rest his head against the bedspread and pull down his silk shorts.
“Slowly!”
I needed to prolong our session because, after all, I was trying to make up for Trisha’s absence. Snapping the leather cuffs around his wrists, I peeked at his erection, then walked over to the clock radio while he enjoyed a moment of suspense. I hunted
around for WQXR.
“Thank you,” he said.
We both know that a genteel-sounding concerto can muffle a telltale spanking. He stays here often and needs to be careful. Was Colin’s “thank you” acknowledging my thoughtful discretion? Or was he just praying for a nice loud whack?
I was so nervous and irate—about Charmaine hijacking my apartment, about the lobby bathroom and my ripped stocking, Trisha standing me up—that I obliged him with a very harsh smack. So harsh that my wrist felt it. I had to sit down for a moment and order him to worship my feet with his mouth. After a few minutes, I rose, giving him a gentle kick.
“If you’re very good for the rest of the afternoon, I’ll recommend a golden shower as your reward,” I told him.
The toe of my shoe caressed his groin.
“I was hoping…”
I leaned over and silenced him by inserting my crumpled thong panties in his mouth.
“Mistress Thalia and I will discuss it. After I leave. And you will be punished or rewarded on our next visit. It all depends on Thalia’s verdict.”
The skin on his cock was firm and very pink. When I brushed the toe of my shoe against his erection, he flinched. Colin was closer to coming than I had realized. I withdrew my toe by tracing a line down his thigh, carefully eyeing the clock to make sure he wasn’t being rushed. Trisha, the absentee dominatrix, was very specific about his time allotment. I walked over to the chair and picked up the paddle.
His wrists were still bound together behind his back, encased in the fuzz-lined leather. I was tempted to reach down and finish him with my hand. But no, that would knock me right off the bitch-goddess pedestal. Instead, I removed the manacles.
“You may place your hands in front.” It was a routine he’d been through before. “Two inches apart, no more and no less.”
I refastened the manacles, then picked up the paddle and used it to caress the back of each thigh. Remembering the impact to my wrist, I tapped his skin lightly. His hands were playing near his erection, getting closer. When I began to smack his buttocks, the panties fell out of his mouth. He grabbed his cock as best he could and came on the carpet.
“I’ll clean that up,” he said meekly. “If you take these off.”
I brought my phone into the bathroom. Charmaine wasn’t answering the landline or cell. But the deal we struck at noon was very clear: at five pm, I return to the apartment, stash my work toys and clothes, change back into what I was wearing when I last saw my husband, and fly so she can prepare for her sixthirty. We’ve had a few close shaves, but Charmaine has always been prompt about answering the phone.
And this time, I really needed to get back into my apartment. The laddered stocking was a serious liability. Changing in the lobby bathroom again would be pushing my luck. If noticed, I’d be earmarked for future visits and singled out by security. But putting on your sneakers in the hotel room is just out of the question.
Fortunately, dommes are supposed to be aloof, not warm and friendly like normal hookers, so I didn’t have to overcompensate—much—for my disturbed attitude.
In the elevator, I was having mixed feelings about the session. It’s exciting to rise to the challenge of being something you’re not, but domination is a chore. I never feel convincing and it’s not really what I do. I hate having to worry about whether a slave is happy while pretending not to give a damn.
Avoiding the Park Avenue entrance—where the out-of-towners vie for taxis—I waved anxiously at a cab on Fiftieth and hopped in, still clutching my cell phone optimistically. But when it rang, it was not Charmaine.
Why, when somebody owes you a phone call, do you get called by the one person in your life whose call must be dodged? I watched my husband’s cell phone number flashing on my display screen and waited for him to go into voice mail.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I told the cab driver. “Can you take me to Starbucks on Seventy-fifth and First?”
Nursing a small decaf and a large bottle of water, I dialed Charmaine obsessively. What was she doing? Trying to squeeze in a quickie before her six-thirty? In voice mail, I could hear Matt urging me to meet him at the Gap. “Hey, babe. If you get this by six, come on over, you can help me pick out some underwear.” God, what part of the city is he in? Matt has a tendency to treat his own whereabouts as an afterthought. “I’m almost there. Oh…hey, it’s the one at Citicorp.”
I should be the kind of wife who can turn a trick at three pm and help her man decide between boxers and briefs a few hours later without raising a hint of suspicion. So why is Charmaine screwing this up for me? It’s almost five-thirty and I want to be there for him!
I
