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 ***********ed 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.
As it was, I merely edged my way past the backs of the chairs and opened – a little awkwardly, balancing the tray in one hand - the door at the opposite end, which led back into the living room. And even though I had only been apart from You for a few minutes, I have to tell You, Sir, that when I entered the room and my gaze found You again it was as if we’d been apart for hours: I felt a shock go up my spine and my pussy actually clenched, hard, and I nearly stumbled. I had to bite my lip to stifle my gasp as I caught myself and straightened up.
To be honest, it frightened me more than a little, Sir, that You should have such an effect on me, and I considered again the possibility of simply bolting, literally dropping everything and making a run for what had been my normal life. But the thought was barely formed before it vanished as I consciously stepped forward and into Your presence.
You were reading a letter, Sir, and seemed not to notice me as I approached Your chair – didn’t even look up after I had been standing next to You for some time.
But I was beginning to learn more quickly, Sir, and after a moment I knelt at Your feet, sitting back on my heels and offering up the tray with my head bowed, my hair falling around my face. It’s funny – I couldn’t see Your face from that position, of course, but I swear, Sir, that I could feel Your smile, like warm sunshine falling down on me, and I couldn’t help smiling to myself, so pleased with Your pleasure in me.
Of course I remained exactly as I was, Sir. Even when You took the tray from my hands and set it on the coffee table I merely lowered my hands and let them rest on my lap, one open palm on top of the other, and waited. And Sir, it seemed like such a reward when you reached out and tilted my chin up so that I could look into Your eyes and see the warmth and kindness there.
“Thank you, Nadine,” was all You said, a soft murmur, but I felt myself flush as if You had praised me to the skies. You let me rest in Your gaze for a wonderful long moment, still holding up my chin with the tips of two fingers, then added, “Let me teach you how to kneel for me.”
Why should such an offer make me light up inside and spread a happy smile across my face? I have no idea, Sir.
“Yes, please, Sir. Thank You, Sir.”
I only know that when You released my chin and caressed the side of my face as You continued to smile at me with such affection, I couldn’t help closing my eyes and leaning into Your hand like a kitten reveling in fond attention.
And oh, Sir, when You pulled me towards You so that I could rest my head on Your lap while You stroked my hair and murmured that I was Your good girl – well, You know, of course, that I cried a little, my tears soaking into Your pant leg. I knew I wasn’t allowed to speak without first being spoken too, but even if it was allowed I could never have found the words, in that moment, to express the depth of what I was feeling: the sense of welcome…of acceptance…and more than anything else, of belonging.
For that moment alone I thank You, Sir.
When some time had passed You gently helped me, with no small reluctance on my part, as I’m sure You know, Sir, to sit up and return to my original kneeling position. I returned my hands to my lap and sat looking up at you, giving you my full and smiling attention.
“Very good,” You told me. “This is how you will kneel when you are either serving me or waiting for me. This position, your full attention on me and only me.” You leaned forward and continued, “…Even if I’m not in the room, not in the same building - even if I’m nowhere near at all. When you are waiting for me, you are doing nothing else but waiting for me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, nodding to show both my understanding and acceptance.
“Good. Whenever I tell you to take the First Position, this is what I mean. Remember this.”
“Yes, Sir.” As if there was even the slightest possibility that I could forget.
Then You reached down, took my wrists in your hands and slowly pulled my arms up over my head, gradually raising me until I was upright on my knees. I had to use my toes to keep myself balanced as my knees, my hips and finally my shoulders and head were all brought into line.
At first I thought You were dragging me to my feet again, the way You had in my office, but once You had me upright on my knees to Your satisfaction, You slowly lowered my wrists, my arms spreading like wings as you did. You placed my hands behind my head then pushed them together, indicating that I should lace my fingers together, which I did, making sure to keep my eyes on Yours, Sir.
I was deeply startled when You pushed Your foot between my knees and used it to shove my legs apart, Sir, first one and then the other. I gasped, and it was all I could do to keep my balance and keep my eyes focused on You, but I managed, and I was gratified to see Your small nod of approval.
But You weren’t done yet, of course, Sir. You leaned even further forward, reaching behind me with one arm and firmly pulled my pelvis forward with your hand in the small of my back, making it arch all the way from my hips to my shoulders. Making my breasts thrust out towards you.
And even though this position wasn’t physically comfortable and never would be, I knew immediately that it would always be my favorite whenever we were together. Because in this position I would be in a perpetual state of offering myself to You. The feeling was deeply erotic, of course, but also, in some subtle way, spiritual as well. Again, it was as if I was coming home to a place I had never been before.
You saw immediately that I had understood, and You warmed me with Your smile once again.
“This is your Second Position, Nadine.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank You, Sir.”
I knew that I was supposed to remain silent after that, but I was unable to help myself. Tears overflowed my eyes again as I repeated, “Ohhh, thank You, Sir! I… I love this so much, Sir!”
My vision was blurred, of course, but I could swear I saw just a glimmer of answering tears in Your own eyes as You reached out to gently brush the moisture from my cheeks once again. Which had the opposite of the intended effect, as my lips began to quiver and the tears began to flow even more freely.
And oh, Sir, then You gathered me in with both arms and lifted me onto Your lap and snuggled me while I sobbed and cried myself out.