When we finally reached your house, Sir, I remembered being somehow surprised by its ordinariness, its bland similarity to the houses around it. I have no idea why I thought it would be somehow different; I certainly wasn’t expecting to find a dark, sinister castle filled with torch-lit dungeons or anything like that. It just seemed strange in its lack of strangeness.
Here I was after being led, in nothing but my panties and at the end of an improvised leash, for block after block through the streets of my town by a man who had simply taken possession of me. And here was that man, calmly unlocking the door of a pleasant-looking two-story house, pale yellow with dark green trim, which seemed as though it could have belonged to anyone.
And it occurred to me, with something of a shock, Sir, that most people who know you probably do consider you to be a more or less ordinary human being; someone who mows his lawn, goes to the supermarket, attends social gatherings and talks about sports or politics or whatever. My mind found that nearly impossible to grasp, Sir.
I had no idea what to expect after you led me inside, dropped the shopping bag with my clothing and closed the door behind us. I’m sure I was hoping that you would simply throw me down on the floor, tear off my panties and ravage me. I can’t tell you how much I would have welcomed that, Sir, after being in a continuous state of arousal for what seemed like hours. But I had already learned the value of simply keeping my attention on you and waiting for your instructions.
So when you flipped on the light switch then dropped the end of my leash I simply waited and watched as you walked around turning on other lights. I must tell you, Sir, that it felt odd, and even a little wrong somehow, to suddenly be left on my own after following behind you for so long. And when you returned and without a word simply removed the belt/leash from around my neck I felt…bereft for a moment, as if I had lost my connection to you.
I wanted you to say something comforting to me, to maybe welcome me to your home or tell me that I had done well in following you there so obediently. Instead you pointed down the short hallway to a door and said brusquely, as you returned your belt to its loops, “Get me a glass of iced tea. The pitcher is in the refrigerator.”
Then you simply turned away and went into the living room, which was just off the hallway. I watched, stunned, as you sat down in the large overstuffed chair that faced a coffee table and a big-screen television, picked up some mail and began to sort through it.
My sadness quickly changed to anger. It wasn’t enough that I allowed you to treat me like a pet; now I was your servant as well? The bag with my clothing was still there on the floor next to me where you had dropped it, and I had an overwhelming impulse to snatch it up, march out the door and slam it behind me. I actually began to reach down for it…
No. I had already learned that it was too late to turn the clock back, to try to become once again the person I’d thought I was before you turned my life upside-down, Sir. I was there to learn what it meant to belong to you, Sir, and I would learn.
So even though my hands were still trembling with anger, I straightened up, managed a barely audible “Yes, Sir,” through gritted teeth and padded away on bare feet, through the door and into the kitchen.
The kitchen had obviously been given a thorough renovation in the not too distant past. The stainless steel stove and refrigerator were both state-of-the-art and the tiling on the floor still looked quite new, as did the large picture window behind the wooden table and chairs in the breakfast nook, elegant in their simplicity, as were the matching cabinets and the butcher-block island in the center of the floor.
Aside from a coffee mug and a small dish in the sink, the room was immaculate – not bad for a bachelor, I thought as I pulled open the refrigerator door. The pitcher of iced tea was front and center among a fairly standard assortment of beverages – milk, water, a bottle of white wine lying on its side – and the other shelves held nothing unusual either that I noticed.
The pitcher was large and made of thick glass, and was heavy enough to require both hands as I lifted it from the refrigerator and placed it on the counter before closing the door again. After a couple of tries I found the cabinet containing the glasses and selected a tall one, which I filled with ice from the freezer before pouring the tea. As I returned the pitcher to the refrigerator I noticed on a door shelf one of those plastic lemons with juice, which I retrieved. Then I rooted around in the lower cabinets until I found a small black tray, on which I placed the glass and the lemon. I borrowed the sugar bowl and a cloth napkin from the table, added a long spoon from one of the drawers and after arranging everything nicely decided I was done. All it needs is a bud vase with a flower, I thought. I picked up--
Poor old Mr. Jurgens. At least I was seated at my desk and ready for him, unlike I’d been for the Halvorsens. He arrives like clockwork every other Monday at the same time, wanting to know why his rundown old house hasn’t sold yet. The truth is that he doesn’t really want to sell it and that his children talked him into putting it on the market because they want him to move into a nursing home. But the asking price he set for it is far more than any sane person would ever pay and I’m pretty sure he knows it and is just going through the motions to keep his children out of his hair for as long as he can.
Usually our entire meeting takes less than five minutes but of course today I excused myself the moment he sat down and made him wait while I hurried to the bathroom to follow your instructions again, Sir.
This time it was a little easier, Sir. Or at least it was until I called you, as instructed. Stripping to my panties and kneeling for you, taking the position you had commanded me to take, was somehow comforting this time. It immediately made me feel closer to you, Sir, and I smiled with anticipation as I pressed the speed-dial button, hoping against hope that you would see fit to speak to me again.
The moment you answered I repeated what you had told me to say, and this time I spoke as clearly and confidently as I could (while praying that Mr. Jurgens wouldn’t hear me): “I apologize for being a disobedient little slut, Sir.”
Oh, I loved that so much, Sir. I wanted to continue, making up naughty, degrading things to say in order to please you. But I wanted even more to be obedient to you, Sir. And maybe, just maybe, to be rewarded with the sound of your voice.
There was a second door, a restaurant-style swinging door with a small window, which, I discovered, led into a small but well-appointed dining room which could seat eight people at the dark mahogany table, although a full seating would leave very little room for maneuvering. This surprised me, Sir, as you didn’t seem to be the sort of person who would do a lot of entertaining. I thought that perhaps the room was simply part of the house when you bought it.