The phone rang. Jenny didn't bother to check her Caller I.D.—she knew who it was. She stood very still, waiting for her instructions.
Her answering machine beeped as it began to record.
Hello, Jenny—I'm on my way over. As soon as I finish speaking you're going to do three things. First, you're going to unlock and unlatch your door—I don't even want to have to turn the doorknob, understand? Next, you're going to get out all of our toys and arrange them in a semi-circle just inside the doorway so that the door doesn't touch them when it opens. And when that's done, the last thing you're going to kneel inside the semi-circle, facing the door. You will be wearing only bra and panties—something nice. You will be resting on your heels. Your legs will be fully spread. Your hands will be locked behind your head and your mouth will be open to receive me.
I'm sure I don't have to remind you that the last two times we were together you were careless about following my instructions to the letter--and I'm sure you remember how I had to discipline you because of that. The second time was much more severe than the first, wasn't it, Jenny? So this time everything's going to be perfect...isn't it?
I'll see you...soon.
There wasn't a lot of space in Jenny's small apartment. Nevertheless she began to run. He'd probably been calling from home, which meant she had at least fifteen or twenty minutes to prepare, but He might have been calling from downstairs for all she knew, and God help her if everything wasn't exactly as He wanted when He arrived.
So she ran.
First she dashed to the door to set it as He had instructed.
It was a Wednesday afternoon. Jenny often had to work a split shift at her job—she dutifully kept Him informed of her schedule—and He telecommuted from home and could come and go pretty much as he pleased. Which meant that He would call her out of the blue, night or day, any time he knew she wasn't at work (and sometimes even when she was) on her home phone or on her cell, and expect her to drop whatever she was doing (she'd once had to abandon her shopping cart in the middle of the supermarket) and prepare herself to humbly fulfill His slightest sexual whim.
It drove her absolutely crazy. And never failed to make her weak-kneed and wet with anticipation.
He often called with specific instructions for her before coming over—sometimes a role He wanted her to play but generally just what she was to wear--if anything. And on occasion, as today, He would tell her how she was to be posed when He arrived. She'd long since given Him a key to her apartment so the instruction about leaving the door open was no doubt meant to further test her preparedness and obedience.
But there were also on-going rules, preferences she was expected to anticipate without being told. Today, for example, He hadn't designated a role for her and had specified just bra and panties. But it wasn't just a matter of knowing what kind of lingerie to He'd prefer this time (something extra-frilly and feminine, she thought as she rushed into the bedroom to change and gather all the things He'd ordered —hmm...the lavender lace with satin ruffles, she decided). She also had to think about her make-up—sometimes He liked her entirely without it, fresh and innocent-looking, and sometimes, for certain roles—the executive or the schoolteacher, for instance, He wanted her looking professional. As she hurriedly shed the sweat-clothes and underwear in which she'd been cleaning the apartment and kicked them into the closet she decided that today, in keeping with the girly lingerie, He'd want the whole works: long lashes, full eye-make-up, blush, lipstick and all.
She also had to think about how to wear her long, blonde hair, but that was simple: always down around her shoulders unless specified otherwise. It was pulled back into a high ponytail at the moment and she started to reach up to remove the elastic, but paused, her attention drawn by the role-playing costumes she kept in a special section of the closet.
Oh, she so wanted to put on one of her "li'l girl" outfits, as she called them. Maybe the checked gingham skirt with the bib front, with a white blouse and the shiny black Maryjanes with white knee-socks and, oh, the frilly little white panties...mmmm. But He would only let her do that when she had been extra good. Then He'd play Brad-the-babysitter with her, or Mr. Brown, the teacher who kept her after school for touching herself in class, or...
Oh god, what was she doing? If she wasn't ready when He arrived she might as well burn her "li'l girl" clothes! She quickly sat down at her make-up table and went to work, trying to keep her hands from shaking.
When she had done the best she could with her make-up, she glanced up at her bedside clock (Jesus, she'd taken too long!) and dashed into the bathroom, where she frantically cleaned herself as well as she could with a wet washcloth and re-applied her deodorant –God help her if He thought she wasn't clean for Him. Then she quickly searched her lingerie drawer for the lavender bra and panties and wriggled into them before yanking out the entire lower drawer of her dresser, which was so crammed with sex-toys that she had push some of them down before the drawer would come free.
Hurrying, but trying not to break into a sweat now that she was clean, she carried the entire drawer into the living room and dumped it onto the rug in front of the door. Then she returned the drawer to the dresser, ran back, fell to her knees and frantically began arranging everything in a semi-circle around her as He'd ordered, trying to create an aesthetically pleasing pattern while praying that He didn't arrive before she was done.
Oh god, was that the downstairs door opening? Quickly! Knees apart, hands behind the head, mouth open! She tried to calm her breathing, to look serene and welcoming for Him. She smiled inwardly—everything was perfect, and He would be pleased with her.
She strained her ears, listening for His footsteps on the stairs. Her apartment building was a once-elegant three-story house that had been converted. The elderly landlady/owner lived on the main floor and had divided each of the upper floors into three smallish but comfortable apartments. A dusty glass chandelier still hung above the echoing stairwell at the center of the building. The steps and halls were carpeted but wooden and creaky underneath. She should be able to hear Him climbing the stairs, especially since her door was unlatched.
She held her breath, listening...
Nothing. Only the usual TV soap opera blaring from the floor below--her landlady being more than a little deaf.
Jenny let out her breath in a sigh. False alarm. She started to relax, bring her arms down... And caught herself. The fact that He wasn't here now only increased the probability that he would be, any second now. Everything had to be perfect this time, she reminded herself. If she displeased Him again... Back straight, hands locked behind the head, mouth open!
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
Her jaw began to ache slightly. She flexed it a few times, but it didn't help. She started to let it relax, to close...then forced herself to open it again and held it that way resolutely.
Time passed, but just barely. It crawled, in fact. Her jaw began to ache in earnest, and her shoulders and ankles began to protest as well.
Where the hell was He?
Finally she reached a compromise with herself. I'll close my mouth, but just for a moment, she thought. I can open it again in half a second if I hear Him coming. She allowed her jaw muscles to relax and closed her mouth. It felt wonderful.
But her shoulders and ankles, and now her knees were clamoring for relief. To take her mind off of her discomfort she looked down at the inventory of items spread around her. She thought she had done pretty well on such short notice.
To her left were all the spanking implements, arranged by size: the large whip on the outside, then a couple of smaller ones, followed by a bamboo cane, a riding crop, a number of different-sized paddles, a heavy wooden ruler and a hairbrush--the latter two reserved exclusively for her "li'l girl" moments.
To her right, restraints—including both metal and velcro cuffs, some attached to wooden rods or chains of varying lengths—plus a collar and leash, a blindfold, assorted clamps, coils of rope and silk and nylon, and ball-gags and other devices to hold her mouth open, though she couldn't bear to look at those right then.
And in the middle: dildos, vibrators and plugs of every size and description, ranging from a set of tiny little vibrators which fit onto a fingertip, to a remote –controlled vibrating butterfly; a number of different butt-plugs; jars and tubes of lubricants --and dildos...of human, superhuman and possibly alien dimensions, shapes and colors.
And there, in the very middle, as if pointing at the door, lay the pride of her collection: Long John Silver.
She called it that not only because of its outstanding length but because of its shining mirror-finish. It looked like a long, slim silver bullet, and she loved to use it and loved even more when He used it on her, no matter where He put it. Something about the texture of the warm metal, which was etched with fine grooves, combined with the unique frequencies of its vibrations, got to her like nothing else in her collection.
She leaned forward slightly so she could her face in it, the reflection stretched and distorted as if in a funhouse mirror. Oh god, she hoped He'd use it this time!
She pictured Him striding through the doorway and just standing there, looking at her, as he often did, enjoying the sight of her waiting to serve Him, smiling slightly as he saw that everything was exactly as he'd instructed. Then as a reward, Jenny thought, maybe He'd pick up Long John—she reached down with one hand—and silently hold it in front of her face like this, as if asking if this was what she wanted.
Jenny stared at it, and into it, hypnotized. He would see in her eyes that it was, then He would switch it on, like this, and crouch down, and as she watched slowly ease it beneath the elastic of her panties, the metal warming against her abdomen as the vibrations went deeper and deeper within her. She could feel it nosing, snakelike, through the curly jungle of her pubic hair to just touch her clitoris...
Jenny shivered and closed her eyes. And maybe then, when Long John was firmly nestled between her legs he would stand up and with no further preliminaries take out His cock and begin to fuck her mouth like this.... She put two fingers in her mouth and began sliding them in and out. Oh god yes, using her as His fuck-toy! She moaned and began jamming her fingers more deeply into her mouth and down her throat...
She felt it more than heard it, the sudden change in the air. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped. There He was, standing in the open doorway, looking at her, just as she'd pictured it.
...Except that He wasn't smiling.
His expression, as near as she could tell because of the dark glasses he was wearing, was completely blank. Icy.
Oh shit, she thought. Trembling, moving with excruciating slowness as if trying not to attract the attention of a wild animal, she removed her fingers from her mouth and replaced her hand behind her head. But she didn't dare try to remove Long John, still humming away and still extremely visible for several inches above her panties, never mind the lengthy bulge it was creating inside them...or the large wet spot spreading out just beneath it.
There was absolutely nothing she could do or say at this point. She could only wait for the consequences.
Which were not long in coming.
For a moment He simply continued to stand there, arms crossed, a somewhat pale, muscular figure. He was all in black, from boots and jeans to sleeveless tee-shirt. That His eyes were hidden made his presence even more intimidating. He seemed to be staring straight into her eyes but there was no way to tell, and Jenny had to steel herself not to look away. She felt as if the gravity in the room had increased ten-fold, that she would be unable to move again until He released her. And despite the fact that Long John was still humming mindlessly against her the wet spot between her legs now felt cold and clammy.
At length, He stepped forward, over the implements arrayed before her, to stand between her outstretched thighs. Then He reached up with one hand and grasped her ponytail. Oh fuck, thought Jenny, I didn't even take my hair down! –just before He jerked her head sideways so that she fell sprawling across the neatly arranged collection of restraints. He did this without releasing his grip on her ponytail, so that she wound up on her back, gasping.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him bend down to pick up something from the floor. Then she was being dragged by her ponytail, her scalp on fire, across the scattered sex-toys.
And out the door of her apartment.
He dragged her across the hallway to the wooden balustrade which enclosed the stairwell. He pulled her up by her ponytail until she was again in a kneeling position, facing the doorway to her apartment. He released her hair, then reached down and seized her wrists. He opened a bracelet of the handcuffs He'd picked up and snapped it over her right wrist, then ran the chain and remaining bracelet between the wooden railings behind her head, wrapping the chain several times before imprisoning her remaining wrist--trapping her hands behind her head.
He shoved her knees apart roughly with his boot.
He reached down and carefully removed the elastic that held her ponytail, then gently smoothed and arranged her hair with His fingers until it fell lightly to her shoulders, framing her face the way He liked it. He stepped back, as if to admire His work. She was now posed precisely the as he had instructed her. Even her mouth was open—not out of conscious obedience but because it was the only way she could breathe. Because she was terrified. Oh god, she was chained to the railings outside her apartment, where anyone could see her, wearing nothing but her bra and panties!
And, it might be added, with a large, humming silver dildo hanging lopsidedly out of those panties, miraculously still held there by the elastic. She saw Him look at it. Watched Him reach down and remove it. He held it up in front of her face, just as she'd imagined him doing—except that the top few inches were now so smeared with her juices that she couldn't see herself.
Oh, and she had pictured Him looking into her eyes and smiling...not grimly silent and hidden behind His shades. Nevertheless He unintentionally continued her fantasy by crouching down—but unlike her fantasy he didn't slide it teasingly down her abdomen. He yanked the elastic of her panties out and down and roughly shoved the dildo between her legs, so that its head went right past her vagina, right past her behind and came to rest above her crossed feet, making a protruding bulge in the back of her panties. He then pulled the elastic up and let it snap back into place—causing a sizable, vibrating length of Long John to nestle between Jenny's buttocks ...and the identically humming handle to press firmly between her legs.
She groaned aloud—then suddenly remembering where she was instinctively tried to muffle her mouth with her hand but succeeded only in jerking against the handcuffs and bruising her wrist. Which at least turned her groan into a gasp.
She would gladly have begged him to stop if she thought there was any chance she might succeed—but she knew better. This was her third failure...and three was definitely not the charm in this case.
As Long John's vibrations rippled up through her like waves of pure heat she watched, through quivering, half-closed eyelids, as He stepped back once again. He stared at her through his dark glasses.
After a long moment he gave a slight nod, as if satisfied with his work.
Then he turned and went back into her apartment.
And closed the door behind him.
Oh my god, He's just going to [i]leave me here like this[/i], Jenny thought, beginning to hyperventilate. She thought desperately. It was the middle of a weekday afternoon—her neighbors must be at work—she hoped—but even so they had to come home eventually. She didn't know any of them well but she knew what they looked like and in an instant each and every one of them made an imaginary appearance at the top of the stairs, or made their way down from the floor above. How could she possibly explain?
She closed her eyes in despair. She could see them all there—even Mrs. Healy, the landlady—standing in a semi-circle around her, staring at her expectantly. Well, Jenny imagined herself saying, I was in my apartment, waiting for my Master to arrive and I was supposed to be posed like this, you see, but I got distracted imagining Him putting this dildo down my panties and then putting His cock in my mouth so I wasn't ready the way I was supposed to be so this is how He's punishing me, and that's only fair, don't you agree?
In her mind's eye the neighbors all nodded understandingly. But then one of them, the pretty-looking guy she'd always assumed was gay, stepped forward. She imagined him reaching down, grasping Long John's handle through the fabric of her panties, and beginning to wiggle it slowly back and forth, back and forth, its motion separating the cheeks of her behind and rubbing between her legs.
Ooooo.... Jenny felt her hips begin to sidle back and forth, simulating that motion. Mmmm... She saw the pretty boy smile wickedly at her and felt him gradually change his motion—felt Long John sliding slowly between her lips and thrusting out between her buttocks, saw the rest of her neighbors smile and nudge each other as she started lifting her hips to meet each thrust, faster and faster, her mouth open and her tongue hanging out...
It was the sigh that stopped her cold. It was a sigh of deep exasperation. Her eyes flew open. There He was, standing in the open doorway—holding a chair from the kitchen, for some reason.
Jenny held herself rigidly still, not daring to even bring her tongue back into her mouth. She watched, panic-stricken, as He turned and carefully set the chair down just inside the doorway then came to stand directly in front of her.
And unzipped His pants.
Oh god, thought Jenny, He's going to put it in my mouth after all! Out here!
But she was wrong.
When He had His cock out and it was standing firmly erect in front of her face, He abruptly shoved three fingers into her open mouth, swabbed them roughly around on her tongue and in her cheeks then began applying the saliva He'd gathered there to the shaft of his cock. He did this several times, until his entire cock was shiny with her spit, and her lipstick was smeared all around her mouth.
Then he began to masturbate.
Jenny watched Him like a child outside the candy store window, her glance shifting rapidly back and forth between His face--still utterly blank except for a clenching of the jaw muscles--and his pumping fist. Oh, if she only dared to stick her tongue out just a little further, if He would just let her have a little taste of the sweat on His balls while He stroked Himself!
But she got more than that, as she knew she would. When she heard His breathing double its pace and saw His teeth beginning to clench she knew enough to turn her face up to Him and hold her mouth open as wide as she possibly could. And a moment later she heard Him hiss between His teeth and gasp...and she watched His come spurt high into the air and rain down onto her face and into her waiting mouth.
Ahhh...the taste of His come on her tongue! Stressed out as she was (and, she had to admit, aroused as well) by her punishment and the accompanying terror of being discovered handcuffed to the railings outside her apartment in just her bra and panties—and now with His come all over her face—the acrid, salty taste of Him was as familiar and comforting as chicken soup.
She knew better than to swallow without permission, of course. But she could feel a precious drop or two poised on the very back of her tongue and while He was still recovering from his orgasm allowed herself to quickly tilt her head back just the tiniest fraction more...and felt a small but satisfying trickle make its way down her throat.
But it was if she had swallowed an infinitesimal depth-charge. Between the erotic stimulation of watching Him masturbate and then come all over her and the vibrations of the tireless Long John between her legs she felt an eruption beginning to rumble inside her, starting deep within and sending bolts of electricity up her spine like lightning in reverse. Oh god, she was going to come! No! If she came without permission, especially after everything else that had happened, she had no idea what he'd do! At the very least he would write her off, probably just turn and go and leave her handcuffed there for somebody else to find!
She clamped down with everything she had, imagined herself immersed in Arctic waters, concentrated on the pain in her jaw, shoulders, knees and ankles...
And slowly, like a wave that rises and then subsides without breaking she felt the near-orgasm slowly settle and then vanish, leaving only a quivering sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Had He seen? She had a large spatter of come over her right eye but opening her left she saw Him looking down-- putting his cock away and zipping up his jeans. Oh, thank God, He hadn't noticed! But now what?
He turned away from her without a glance, and for one horrified moment Jenny was convinced that He was going to just walk down the stairs and out the door. But then He completed the turn, walked back to the chair sitting in her doorway and down in it, facing her. He sat up straight, His hands folded in his lap.
He stared at her from behind his dark glasses.
At first Jenny thought He was expecting her to do something and she tried frantically to think of what it might be—what could she do, handcuffed to the railings? But then she realized that He was simply watching her. And waiting. Oh god, He was not only going to leave her there to be discovered by the next person who came up the stairs, He was going to watch it happen!
Five minutes went by, during which Jenny was conscious only of three things: the absolute necessity of keeping still, with her eyes open and focussed on Him; the slow, almost glacial movement of His come as it continued to run down her face, taking a lot of her make-up with it, dripping off her chin and onto her breasts--and of course the now-tortuous humming of Long John between her legs and buttocks.
Jenny felt as if she had been frozen into this tableau forever. Her joints were in agony. She almost wished that someone would come up the stairs, just to get it over with.
Assuming that He would let her go after just one...
Jenny had no idea what time it was. She guessed about four-thirty. Was she going to have to remain here like this until people started coming home from work after five? She knew she couldn't possibly last that long without keeling over.
And so, apparently, did He because a moment later He abruptly stood up and came over to her. He stood looking down at her, considering...then reached behind her head and unfastened her wrists from their shackles.
Oh god, sweet relief! She felt her shoulders creak as He took hold of her wrists and gently lowered her arms, then slowly pulled her forward until she was resting on all fours. Ahhh...her knees, her ankles...released! She wanted to bend down and kiss His boot—would have, gladly, if He'd indicated that He wanted her to.
But He was busy removing the handcuffs from the railings. Then, almost as an afterthought, He reached down the back of her panties and plucked Long John from its hiding place, the sudden absence of vibration between her legs startling a gasp from Jenny. He switched it off and carried it, along with the cuffs, back into her apartment, grabbing the chair as he went.
Gritting her teeth against the pins-and-needles of returning circulation, Jenny flexed her aching joints as much as she could without actually moving from the position He'd left her in. She was taking no chances. Was her punishment over? Would He return and beckon her back into the apartment?
A moment later He did return...
But He was carrying her collar and leash.
As He fastened the red leather collar around her neck, being careful not to get it tangled in her hair, Jenny wondered if he was going to lead her back into the apartment. Even if it was for more punishment she wouldn't mind so much—just so long as it was behind closed doors!
He took hold of the end of the leash and tugged gently until she began to crawl towards Him. He started walking—backwards, so that he would still be facing her. He led her towards the doorway...
...Then He turned away from her. And led her over to the stairs.
Then down them.
He took his time, allowing her to maintain her balance as she crawled awkwardly down the stairs, head-first, her long blonde hair falling around her face–some of it sticking to the remaining semen there-- and making it difficult to see where she was putting her hands.
As she descended towards the first floor, not daring to think about where He might be leading her, for some reason Jenny found her attention drawn to the soap-opera voices and music emanating from Mrs. Healy's apartment.
"You don't love me. You've never loved me!" is what she heard as she was led toward Mrs. Healy's door. It was a deep, masculine voice—a little like His, she thought distantly. It sounded angry, and Jenny felt as if the voice were somehow accusing her. The voice that replied, however, was feminine, warm and confident, and seemed to brush the accusations away with a smile, as the music began to soar. "How little you know me after all this time," Jenny heard as she passed the door. "Don't you know I'd do anything for you? Anything at all?"
The dialogue continued, but Jenny was no longer paying attention. He had opened the door that led into the tiny foyer, which led in turn to the front door of the building, which of course led...
That was why He had given up waiting for someone to come home, she realized, her mouth suddenly dry. He was going to complete her punishment by taking her...out there.
As she followed him into the foyer, the rough matting there prickling her hands and knees and the tops of her feet, He reached back and closed the door behind her. She was now facing the front door, an old-fashioned one with a large inset glass panel painted with the address-numbers in gold at the top. She could see out, past the concrete stoop and the three steps leading down to the sidewalk, to the street.
It was a residential area, and the traffic was not plentiful at this time of day. But anyone walking by who happened to glance in could see her—a pretty blonde woman, make-up smeared, hair in disarray and wearing nothing but a lavender bra and panties--on her hands and knees, a collar around her neck and a leash being held by an ominous-looking man in black clothing and dark glasses.
He wouldn't really make her go outside, though, would He? She dared to hope that He was only doing this to frighten her, and looked up at Him, her eyes begging for mercy.
He responded with a toss of His chin, indicating that she was to open the door, and her heart sank.
But then she rallied herself and set her mouth in a determined line. She would show Him that even though she sometimes made mistakes she was entirely His, to use as He saw fit. And if she had to crawl all the way around the block in her underwear, wearing a collar and leash, to prove it, then she would.
"Don't You know I'd do anything for You? Anything at all? " was the last thought in her mind as she reached up, twisted the brass doorknob and pushed the door open...
...Only to have His hand close over hers and pull it firmly shut again. She glanced up at him, startled...
And for the first time that day saw the faintest hint of a smile on His face—just before he turned and opened the door behind her.
Then He knelt down and gathered her up into His arms, rose to His feet and began carrying her back up the stairs.
And as He carried her across the threshold of her apartment as if she were a bride (a bride already mostly undressed for the honeymoon, but nevertheless), Jenny knew she had been forgiven.
Even if He did crouch down and grab her largest wooden paddle before carrying her into the bedroom.