(It wasn’t long after I discovered that I could enjoy being dominated and tormented by a woman that I created a micro-site on Geocities (remember that?) focusing on my submissive side. I don’t know why I thought a little story would be an effective way to communicate my sense of the – ? – proprieties. To my surprise response from the women who ran across it was positive and kind. Of course they all lived hundreds or thousands of miles away: a condition that persists to this day.)
“A strong arm and a stinging paddle are the best training tools.”
This isn’t erotica. I wrote it many years ago to give dominant women that I met online a picture of my perception of Femdom relationships. Presented as such the responses – much to my surprise – were favorable. If you aren’t comfortable with erotic power exchange (or heterosexuality) you shouldn’t read it.
My First Mistress – Part 1
When I came to her house I was a little surprised by the size. She lived alone but it was large enough for a largish family. Big yard too. Otherwise it was a plain suburban west Durham house.
When I got to the door I tightened my stomach muscles trying to tame the partying butterflies that had moved in there. As instructed I knocked three times. About half a minute later the door opened. For a split second I thought I’d faint.
She was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see her eyes and my feelings of intimidation took another jump. Not wanting to look like a gawking fool (probably already too late) I started to introduce yourself.
“I know who you are.” She sounded impatient but out of habit than actually annoyed. “Don’t speak, just nod. You saw my car as you came in.” It was under a carport. I nodded. “Go wash it. If you aren’t going to do a good job you might as well leave now. When you’re done come back and knock at the door.” She shut the door.
She’d told me I’d have to pass a few tests. I’d been expecting something more exciting. It was probably proof of my desperate need that without hesitating I went over to the car.
There was a hose, clothes car wash and wax. I don’t own a car so I was a little lost at first. But my father used to make me wash his car when I was a teen. I hated doing that with a passion. I could almost believe that, Joan – that was her name, had read my memories when she picked this chore.
I scrubbed the car twice, including the hubcaps and tag areas. It was hot and it was tiring. But waxing was even worse. I was so afraid it wouldn’t look right I kept buffing and buffing until my arms ached. Finally it was as good as I could do and I hoped good enough.
Back at the door I waited a couple of minutes until she answered my knock. She wasn’t wearing the shades so I could see her very intelligent intense looking dark eyes. She had a few worry lines etched into her forehead but they only added to her look of smart competence. She was tall probably about five inches less than my 6’3″. She was skinny, almost boney but I don’t know that her body could’ve matter I was so sucked in by her eyes.
But she was only there for a moment. “Come back tomorrow at the same time.” The door shut.
I felt like I should be disappointed but I wasn’t. But I sure hoped tomorrows test would be less strenuous.
My First Mistress – Part 2
She opened the door and put her fingers to her lips to indicate that I wasn’t to speak.
We went through mildly snazzy but pretty conventional living room to a side room that I suspected had been a breakfast room. It was completely empty.
She looked me in the eye and I felt a mild shiver pass up my spine.
“Go in the corner,” she pointed, “and get on your knees facing the corner and keep your hands at your sides.”
I complied getting very exciting wonder what she was going to do to me.
“You will stay there until told otherwise. Keep your eyes facing the corner, your arms where they are and your mouth shut. If you decide to stop before told you just leave the house and do not come back.”
I heard her leave the room.
A few minutes passed. Then several. Then I couldn’t guess how long I’d been there. Minutes started to seem awfully long. Sometimes I thought I saw the wall move. My knees were hurting and my ankles were sore.
I started to get mad. This was awfully boring. But I didn’t dare move. I’d hungered to be trained for a long time and she was the first who ever offered to do so.
I might as well have been chained there even if the chains were only in my mind and of my own making.
Finally after an eternity that I later was told was only 90 minutes she was back in the room.
“Get up and face me.” I almost fell and legs were wobbly but I was up in a flash.
Her expression was unreadable. It couldn’t decide if she looked grim, amused or maybe even mildly approving.
“Go but you may come back tomorrow at the same time.”
I left softly shutting her front door.
I’d washed her car. I’d been bored almost to tears. None of it had been even faitly erotic. I could not guess what tomorrow would bring. But looking inside myself I knew that having been forced to conform to another’s arbitrary commands had given me some satisfaction.
But I did wonder how many more tests I’d have to pass.
My First Mistress – Part 3
As I went up the walkway I wondered how she’d test me today. And what the tests proved. And when they’d end. We actually exchanged a fair amount of email before she’d agreed to see me. We shared complimentary appetites: she like to do to men what I wanted done to me (or at least I thought: since I’d never done any of it I didn’t really know).
The door opened for the third time.
“Go to the back yard and wait for me.”
As I did so I wondered if she was going to have me mow or lawn. The fear of something like that dampened my enthusiasm but I couldn’t brind myself to stop now.
She walked out. Dressed in a pullover top, cut-off jeans, and cheap rubber sandals, “flip flops” my mother used to call them. She’d always been dressed casually before but I’d been too hyped up to really notice the actual clothes.
She went over to a pick-nick table made of greenish wood.
“Sit here. Put your right hand’s palm down on the table.”
As I complied I noticed a wooden ruler in her hand.
“You are to keep your hand flat. I’m going to give you ten strokes. If that is too much for you leave and don’t come back.”
I barely had time to steel myself before the first slap hit. But it wasn’t that bad. At first. By the fifth stroke it really stung. My fingers felt like I might not be doing much with them tomorrow but it was almost over. I thought. An eleventh stroke hit me. A twelfth. With the thirteenth she turned the ruler so the edge cut into my fingers.
I yanked my hand away.
When I realized what I’d done I wanted to cry. I’d failed and would have to leave. But when I looked at her she looked pretty pleased.
“Don’t worry, you weren’t supposed to be able to take the last one. Once you got past the first ten you’d passed the test. The others were to teach you that no matter what I say I’m going to do I can still do whatever I want.”
“You have one last test. Come with me.” Shortly we were back in the room whose corner I’d knelt in. This time there was a big wicker plantation style chain in the center. She sat in it.
“Come here, may kneel in front of me. Remember you still aren’t to speak.”
So excited I was trembling I did.
“You have no idea how many men want to be where you are now. But they don’t really want it badly enough. They don’t really want to serve.
“The first day you proved you were willing to work for you place in my service. Yesterday you showed enough determination to withstand boredom which was a much harder test. Today you had your first taste of pain. I like hurting men. If you hadn’t been able to take it you wouldn’t be suitable for me. This is your last test.
“You won’t think it hard when I tell you but it will take all of your willingness work work and to keep on even if you get bored or tired.
“I am very, very slow to orgasm. Your last test is to satisfy me with your tongue. You probably think this is a big treat.” She was right about that.
“But it will take longer than you think. If you manage it we’ll do all the things we wrote to each other about. Otherwise, you won’t have made the grade.”
Standing up she pulled off her top and dropped her shorts. She sat back down. Gesturing at her cunt she said “Get to work, slave.”
She was right. It was long. It was wonderful at first. Then it took all my determination to keep going. At the end it was wonderful again. And then I was hers.