This story contains descriptions of bodily functions. If that in any way is offensive to you please look elsewhere. All participants are well over the age of 18…
It centres around the theme of anticipation, so there isn’t much sex in it. If you, the Lit public want more, then I am sure you will make your feelings known…
The instructions had been very clear…2pm at the door of his apartment….I was to knock, not ring the bell.
I was on time and I was positive that I had prepared myself correctly.
There would be no need for him to scold me, I was sure, really sure……
The anticipation as I pulled the car into the car park was almost too much. I wanted a pee and there were butterflies in my tummy. Perhaps it was hunger? I should have eaten lunch – but no, – he had been so specific about what I had been allowed to eat.
“No food is to be ingested after 10am on Sunday January 15th,” the document had said.
Those instructions had been so detailed…I had been shocked by the size of the courier package that arrived yesterday morning….but at least I had had the whole day to work my way through it.
As I pulled up in front of the car park barrier, my mouth felt quite dry. It was 1.55 on the dashboard clock.
Anticipation!!….Nerves!! I could feel my armpits were damp, and I was so damp between the legs I was sure I could smell my arousal…
I’d felt some nerves yesterday as I had answered the door in just my dressing gown. After signing for it, I took the brown cardboard box from the courier guy. I knew it was from John. I put the box on the dining table and went to the kitchen and made coffee. I then settled down to explore the contents. I scarcely believed how any packages were inside. Each one wrapped in black tissue paper with a numbered white sticker in the corner. I opened each package in turn.
#1. One pair of white high waisted control panties – size 12 from a well known brand. Tag attached. Tag read :- ” Put these on immediately upon receipt. Must not be removed or changed before Sunday 2pm.”
Well that was easy, I thought to myself as I started to pull them on. He had commented on my lack of fitness and waist line when we had last met, so I suppose these were sending me a message.
Getting them on was slightly harder than I had expected, but once I had wrestled them into place, there was no denying they would Improve my shape and hold my tummy in. I felt controlled, but in a funny sort of way more confident for that. There was elastane in very odd places though, my labia were being pressed quite hard as was my bladder. I would need to pee frequently….. I suspected that was part of his plan.
I looked for the next package and tore open the paper.
#2 One black medium sized 4 inch butt plug, from well known sex shop chain. Tag read:- “To be inserted immediately and not removed before Sunday. Lubricate with saliva only.” Hmm – not so nice…He knew I did not like butt plugs. There was the hygiene thing, and I had not been to the toilet recently, so it was going to have to wait.
#3 One white suspender belt size 8 – pretty. No tag. I slipped it on. Did not quite work with the control panties. Would need to figure it out later.
#4 One pair Wolford 10 denier stockings – white lace trim to top – very sheer and very feminine – lovely. Tag reads – “Wear on Sunday.” No problem with that, I loved Nylons….
#5 One white lace bra size 32A, that matched panties. No tag? We both knew I was flat chested so not much needed to be said. Did not bother trying it on.
#6 One black Chanel knee length pleated silk skirt. Oh wow…….! Gorgeous. I could definitely see myself in that. Tag read:- “Do not wear before Sunday!” Harrumph…
#7 One cream Chanel silk blouse, with full sleeves that gathered at the wrists and plunging neckline. Another wow…! Tag read:- “Keep very clean….” I decided I would put it on at the last minute..
#8 One pair black patent LK Bennett size 5 dress pumps. 3 inch leather covered heels. Again gorgeous!! Tag read:- “Do not wear outdoors.” – pity.., oh well perhaps he would let me wear them outside after tomorrow…..
#9 One black leather neck collar part encrusted with small Swarovski crystals. Small silver dog tag engraved with single word – “Hussy” Tag read:- “Wear on Sunday!”- Yes, yes and once more yes, and my thoughts about our meeting made my nipples swell and my pussy start to moisten…
#10 The biggest parcel, which contained a black suede belted Max Mara mackintosh…..Gorgeous..!! Tag read “To be worn tightly belted!”. No argument there I thought…arousal turned up another notch..
#11, nearly at the bottom of the box now, a bottle of Chanel #5. Tag read. “To be worn on Sunday, no perfumed soap or anti-perspirant permitted!” Yes, again!! – no problem with that….
#12 when opened contained a simple cream coloured envelope. There were two sheets of paper inside, one headed “Saturday” and the second “Sunday”. The writing on each page was in a flowing italic style in black ink.
John had clearly loved every moment of preparing me to be his sub. After all, he had been planning it for months. We had met on-line last February! We had only physically met each other twice, the rest of my seduction, and yes I was a willing participant, had been done on-line. Initially by word, but lately using video.. There were good reasons for this, mostly my ex-husband and my recent promotion necessitating me to travel more.
He was a banker, transferred back from Paris two years ago, and divorced. I knew he was a little older than me having graying hair that gave him an air of distinction. For the last couple of months, with my ex finally in Australia, anticipation of a whole 24 hours together had obsessed John. These instructions reinforced how exacting he was in everything he did.
“Jane – You had better not have gone out when the delivery man delivered this box. You are short of time as it is and if you don’t get started on time I suspect you will not finish on time….”
My curiosity was piqued at this point, there seemed to be masses of time…
It went on….
“You have two appointments to get to today. You have an 11am at The Retreat with Cheryl and a 2pm in town at The Salon with Leanne. Do not be late or disappoint me…… it’s all paid for.”
There were further instructions about what I was to do on Saturday evening, but when I checked the clock it was 10.30 so the rest would have to wait if I was going to make the 11am.
I rushed upstairs, pulled on some leggings, a sleeved T, cardigan, trainers and socks. I brushed my hair and tied it into in a loose pony tail. I cleaned my teeth and applied a little mascara. Downstairs, – coat, bag and car keys. Ready to go – 10.40 – not bad for a supposedly unfit 39 year old…
The Retreat was only a few miles away on the road into town. It was a swanky place I had been to with my sister as part of her wedding prep. That was probably 5 years ago now….God – where had the time gone….?
Parked and on time. I sat in a waiting room drinking sparkling water.
Cheryl was tall, with a dirty blonde shaggy hairstyle, thin lips and black framed glasses that hid gray eyes and gave her a rather severe appearance. She spoke with a rather nasal voice.
“So Mrs Peters, you’re here for a number of treatments – all prepaid. Please make your way to Treatment room 3, get undressed down to your knickers and I will be with you in a minute.”
I found the room. It smelt of coconut, but looked pleasant enough. I stripped down to my new panties and sat on the couch. I checked my phone. No e mails, but a text from John that just said “BEHAVE.!!”
I pondered on why I wouldn’t..?
Cheryl appeared eventually, armed with a folder of papers. She looked me over as she sat down next to me on the couch.
“The panties look very good on you, do they feel tight anywhere?”
It took a few seconds and then I blushed to the roots of my hair……She was in on it.. she had to be….. I could not believe John had gone that far….
“Umm – yes they are a bit constricting down below, come to think of it….” I was so embarrassed..
“I thought so, You will need the watch what you eat and drink. You could really do with losing some weight you know. Say a stone for starters….Have you thought of joining our gym? I would be happy to work out a fitness regime for you if you were interested?”
The affront of the woman…
“Er,..thanks, I’ll bear that in mind,” I replied, my passive nature kicking in.
She filled in something on the paperwork and made me sign the form. Conspicuously, she avoided telling me what was on my treatment list.
Putting the documents away in a buff coloured folder she then asked me to pull down my panties to just above my knees so she could start. I obliged but stood there feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable with my virtual nudity.
“I like to give my clients a thorough assessment before getting into their treatments. Get up on the massage table lying on your back.” That nasal tone of hers was already starting to irk me.
Starting at my feet she worked her way up my body, poking and probing and stretching and giving a running commentary, which felt like it was for her benefit more than mine.
“Toe nails ok, just need mild rework of polish. Heels good, ankles good, calves about three weeks growth, just about ok to wax, same with knees. Dry skin on right knee. Thighs good, slight bruise on left thigh.
I felt myself starting to blush as she got closer to my genitals. She went on…
Upper thighs joining pubic area, unshaven and densely furred. Pubic bone unshaven. Compact outer lips – unshaven, meaty inner lips – left side larger than right.. Pronounced clitoral hood. Clitoris visible beneath profuse growth of brown hair. When I lift left leg, labia open up and evidence of natural lubrication to vulva.”
God! Was that really necessary….she could have ignored that little detail.
“Very profuse hair growth down through perineum and around anus. Anus heavily striated, – no evidence of haemorrhoids, skin very darkly hued.”
I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. I was mortified by this woman, but was conflicted as I loved the feeling that John was really in control of me.
She stopped and put my leg down, and looked at me over the top of her glasses.
“Where is the plug?” She asked, her appearance looking severe, the words hanging in the air…
It took me a second to register what on earth she was on about, but when it did register, I felt my cheeks start to burn.
“I was rather short of time.” I stammered. “The parcel only arrived about an hour ago, and I didn’t have time to prepare myself. I didn’t think I needed to wear it for this. I didn’t realise anyone else would know….” I was almost in tears as I said it.
“Please stop snivelling Mrs Peters. Your instructions were clear, as are mine, Let me share mine with you.” She picked up the buff coloured folder and opened it once more.
She went on.
“5/ Check client has black 4 inch butt plug in place. If in place, check she has not used proprietary lubricants. If not in place, she should receive three enemas as a punishment. Enemas should be one black strap molasses and lemon juice enema with mix ratio of 200g molasses, 20ml lemon juice to a litre in warm water. One x1.5litre Castille soap tepid water enema and one x2 litre cold water flush.”
I was stunned by what she read out. I knew John had his fetishes, but the severity of the punishment seemed slight out of proportion to the misdemeanour.
“I would really rather not have those.” I said rather weakly.
“I don’t think you really mean that,” she replied. “Do you want to see John or not? If you refuse to have the enemas you had better leave now, and there will be no further contact with him. However, if you wish to continue, take your panties off and turn over on to your elbows and knees.”
She put the papers down, and then smiled a rather mischievous smile. She clearly had a sadistic streak and was going to enjoy my further humiliation.
After a few moments, any last resolve within me buckled, and I slowly peeled the panties off. I wanted to see John very badly. He was the first man I had ever met who seemed to understand my needs….
I had been successful…I had worked hard for years and risen to the top. I had taken control in my professional life of everything that I needed to. It was uncomfortable but I had done it. In my private life I had no energy left to be the leader, John recognised this the moment we met…. I loved the thought of being able to abdicate responsibility to him.
The next forty minutes were pretty unpleasant. It wasn’t as though I was an absolute novice when it came to enemas either. My maternal grandmother, a Canadian by birth, had inflicted cold water enemas on me twice as a cure for constipation when I had stayed with her as a young woman. Her puritanical nature and stern demeanour were not to be argued with, so there was no question about whether it was the appropriate treatment. Despite my embarrassment at the time, the treatment had cured the problems.
Cheryl, had been encouraged by John, and enjoyed every single moment of the preparation process, making it quite ritualistic. The assembly of the tubes, the mixing of the ingredients and the filling of the bag was done deliberately slowly and with a running commentary. Worst of all, she teased me about the nozzle to be used. She asked me to pick from a conventional 4 inch nozzle, a thick 8 inch silicon dildo, or an 18 inch rubber tube which had a pungent smell. For a moment I thought my choice of the 4 inch nozzle had worked. Needless to say she picked up th rubber tube and applied some lubricant to it. I was going to get it whether I wanted it or not.
I felt a dab of something cold on my sphincter, as she applied some lubrication, and then, with no warning, the tube was pushed firmly in and the clamp released. A surge of sugary water hit my rectum and caused it immediately to cramp.
“Harrumph….!!” was all I could manage to say. The water surged on, the pain in my bottom and stomach building and then momentarily relaxing before starting to build again as knots seemed to tie my gut up.
She stopped the flow and slowly fed the rest of the tube into my colon. The pause of the flow relaxed my gut slightly and the cramps diminished. Then she opened the clamp again and the inward rush of liquid started them again…
The agonies went on for minutes. Cheryl leaning over me, almost holding me down, whilst stroking my hair and offering words of mock support..
“Very good,..” was followed by “You are being very brave..”
Finally after what felt like hours she said,
“Nearly done with the first one Mrs Peters, I’ll show you where the toilet is.”
Unceremoniously, she eased half a yard of tubing from my bottom, remarking cruelly how dirty I had made it, and helped me off the massage table and out of the treatment room door.
My bottom was in full revolt and I rushed past Cheryl into the loo. There wasn’t time to close the door before a torrent of foul water poured from my bruised guts. The overpowering smell merely added to my humiliation. As the first evacuations died down. I looked up to see a Cheryl standing in the doorway smirking.
“Better Mrs Peters???”
A peristaltic wave surged through me and another rush of water poured out. The relief was overwhelming….
After a few minutes, Cheryl guided me back to the treatment room, and the process was repeated. The cramps from the soapy water were, if anything, worse than the molasses.
Cheryl stood and watched, smirking, as I dived past her making the toilet with hardly a moment to spare.
She decided to pile on the humiliation a bit more when she was administering the cold water enema.
“Well Mrs Peters, that seems to have cleared you out pretty well, you were rather bunged up weren’t you? I could take a look at your diet if you joined the gym.”
Before I could reply she adjusted the tube in my rectum and clicked open the water flow another notch. My bruised colon muscles lurched again and a large fart broke the silence..
Ignoring my ignominy she carried on.
“John is quite particular you know. You will find he is quite intense with his cleansing rituals. You will probably get used to them, I always preferred the enemas to the catheters myself. I have a tendency to get UTI’s and those balloon catheters are pretty uncomfortable at the best of times?
“I am ready to submit to what he desires from me,” I replied confidently, though a wave of inner turmoil was making my blood run cold.
Catheters! God what could I possibly need those for? Whilst my submissive side was loving being ordered about, there were limits….
Finally, completely purged, and wiped down, Cheryl had me lie on my back on the table with the backrest raised and my legs splayed. She wheeled over a spotlight and a trolley with the waxing kit on it.
She gazed between my thighs and then looking over her glasses at me again said, “John, as you can imagine, is very particular about pubic hair. You seem to have rather let yourself go down here haven’t you?” and ran her fingers through my bush tugging the hair roughly.
This sent an alarming message to my clitoris….
I looked her between the eyes, momentarily emboldened.
“On the contrary,” I replied, “John specifically told me to let it grow a few months ago. He said he wanted me to look natural.”
“Of course he did. A full bush is far more fun when it comes to exacting pain and humiliation,” came the reply. “Anyway let’s get started. All we have to do is your legs and around your clit and labia. Everything else is to be left as it is.”
For a moment I took comfort in this…then a buzzing sound started and Cheryl attacked my thatch with a small clipper. I was saddened to see the small pile of clippings fall between my legs. After years of having to look “plucked” for my ex I had got rather attached to having my full bush back, especially the sensuality of playing with it with my fingers.
The clipper had one compensation, it sent some pleasant sensations to my clit, and I felt another wave of dampness in my pussy.
Cheryl waxed my legs using a pink coloured wax and cloths. She was very adept, pulling the skin tight as she tore off each strip. It was completely painless and my legs shone when finished. She then positioned me on to my hands and knees…
“I can see I am going to need a lot of powder to dry you off Mrs Peters. Your cunt is running white juices. Do you always lubricate so freely? John will be pleased that a little vibration has had such a marked response.”
The colour returned to my cheeks, the only compensation being that Cheryl was not able to see my embarrassment. I wanted to reply but chickened out.
She applied powder round my nether lips, her fingers deliberately fondling my bud and then with five or six deft applications of wax and cloths, she ripped the hair out around my labia. As I remembered, from previous experience of waxing this area, it was not for the faint hearted…..the pain was exceptionally fierce….but perversely rather a turn on…. At one point I yelped and was rewarded with a hefty swat across my right buttock. This hurt nearly as much as the waxing…
“Please keep still and quiet during the service,” was as much sympathy as she was prepared to offer.
Finally, she applied a cool lotion to my denuded lips and announced she was finished.
“Thank you,” I said almost automatically and climbed off the bench.
“Don’t forget to exfoliate or you will get in-grown hairs….”
“Yes I know, I will be very attentive,” I said quietly, and carefully pulled on the panties.
“Normally I tell my clients to rebook in 6 weeks, but some how I suspect you will be back sooner…”, and with a broad grin she left me to get dressed.
By the time I got to the car it was gone 1pm. I drove the few miles into the centre of town as quickly as I could. I knew roughly where the The Salon was and was confident I would have time for lunch and still make my appointment.
The traffic in the town centre was heavy and the car parks overflowing, so I had to queue.
Whilst sitting in the queue I wondered what more surprises John had in store for me over the weekend. I was reasonably confident he liked my long hair the way it was, so I did not give the hair appointment a second thought. I pondered on what his flat would be like and in which room my final seduction would be effected…. I decided a bedroom would be least likely…
Whilst waiting to get in the car park, I wiggled my fingers inside my leggings and panties to feel my newly tonsured pubes. The bald patch round my labia felt rather sore and was still sticky. I smiled to myself about how much stickier things might get the following day.
Finally, I parked and on my way up the High St. I stopped for a quick coffee and a sandwich and whilst eating smiled an inner smile to myself as I wondered how many of the other shoppers around me were there preparing for sex. That was what this was, nothing more, nothing less.
Leanne was a girl somewhat younger than me. She was dressed all in black, which complemented her dark complexion and sharp pixie haircut. She shook my hand in greeting and guided me to a private area at the back of the salon away from the rest of the clientele. She took my coat and having hung it up in another room sat me in a black leather chair facing a large ornate mirror.
We looked at each other through the mirror and she smiled at me.
“So normally Mrs Peters I like to get to know my clients a bit before I do their hair. Even though John and I have talked about you and I have seen your picture let’s just take 5 minutes to catch up. Is that OK? Oh, and do you mind if I call you Jane?”
“Yes that would be fine,” I replied, and smiled back. So, John had been here and set this up the same way. No arrention to detail was going to be missed.
It felt like being with Cheryl all over again. She knew about me and I did not know her from Adam. This time however there was no sadistic streak, Leanne was generous of spirit and naturally caring.
We spent a few minutes talking about little things, – shampoos and conditioners and bad perms and hair mistakes. I relaxed because Leanne was so friendly. She took my hair out of the pony tail and brushed it out gently as we talked.
Eventually she looked at me and smiling said.
“So, we had better get on. You have a lovely head of hair, and not one grey hair in sight. Aren’t you lucky…..? She did not wait for my reply.
“John has outlined to me what is required and having seen how your hair falls and where your hair line is at the back I think we can make a start.”
I felt reassured. “Yes a good trim will really set me up.”
She looked at me with a puzzled expression.
I don’t think you are here for just a trim Jane…John was quite insistent…Didn’t you two discuss it? John gave me the impression you wanted your hair cut short,” and she smiled at me again in the mirror.
“Er…no , not really, I don’t want short hair,” I replied, my stomach starting to tighten.
“He told me you both had agreed to cut your hair into a graduated bob. By the way I think it will suit you beautifully.” She gathered the back of my hair up in her hands and turned my style into a mock bob. “See? Anyway we had better get on. Come, let’s wash your hair and you can relax, you are going to look stunning when I have finished…”
“Er….” I started, but did not say what was on my mind. I knew saying “No” or protesting would be the end of my assignation with John as it would have been if I had refused to go along with Cheryl..
So Leanne washed, cut and dried my hair. It took nearly an hour and a half. As she worked I initially felt happy and calm because someone else had taken the decision from me. After the recent changes in my life a change of image would do me good. This calmness soon turned to horror as the hair piled up on the cape in my lap, and the clippers buzzed around my neck. I got to that moment where I realised the outcome was not going to be what I wanted but there was nothing I could do about it. John had again enforced his will.
We barely spoke whilst she worked. I felt more and more nervous and the conversation just dried up.
Finally, when the last snip was done, and the straighteners had Ironed what was left of my once flowing locks into shape, I looked at myself in the mirror.
It was a big change…
“So, what do you think? Short hair certainly suits your face shape.”
“Umm, yes, I think it will be very nice when I get used to it,…” I was in shock really, and just wanted to get out or the earth to open up and swallow me.
“It will need cutting again in six weeks to hold the style,” Leanne said smiling at me again in the mirror.
“Yes of course, I will rebook…” I stood up and undid the cape, brushing the clippings off my clothes. “Could you find my coat?” I asked. She went off to find it. My insides tightened to a knot when I saw the remains of my hair scattered around the chair. I felt myself welling up inside. I left in a hurry, determined that Leanne would not see the tears running down my cheeks.
I drove home in a daze, went into the kitchen and made myself an Espresso. I took my coat off and went into the bathroom. I stood and gazed in the mirror at a youngish woman with short hair who I did not really recognise…and cried….
I spent a long time in the bathroom….
At one point I remember pulling at my side parting and bang as if I could lengthen my hair by pulling it. I was fascinated by how short she had cut the back and went and got another mirror so I could look at it more closely. I could feel cool air on my neck and my fingers played with the bristly short hair that was left. I felt like a young boy recently cropped by an over enthusiastic barber. I did not understand why in the midst of the anguish my panties were soaked…
I felt conflicted by John’s imposition of his will. I wanted him to dominate me so badly but hated myself for being so weak and submitting to his plans so meekly. What on earth was I doing…….
Finally I left the bathroom and went back to the dining room. I studied the two pages of instructions again.
I was allowed to eat and drink what I wanted on Saturday but was to be in bed for 10pm. Sunday’s list of tasks were mainly preparatory, bathing, nails, eyebrows and make up. I was not allowed to shave my armpits or use anti-perspirant or wash my newly cut hair which was all rather odd.
There were also details of what contraceptives I was to pack in my bag. A trip to the pharmacy would be necessary on Sunday morning. John did not just want me to just purchase condoms, he wanted me to go through the humiliation of purchasing a Cervical Cap and spermicide. This would inevitably involve an intimate conversation with a Pharmacist.
He had thought of yet another way of testing me…
After a quiet evening during which I avoided looking at myself, I went to bed as instructed. I found it hard to get to sleep and contemplated playing with myself but decided it was a bad idea as John would almost certainly cross examine me. I was surprised that there had been no further text messages or e mails from him. He was deliberately building the tension.
I went to bed and tossed and turned. It was no good, my mind was whirling with all the experiences of the day…
I must have nodded off in the end, as the next thing that happened was the alarm buzzed at me. It was 8am.
I checked my phone. Nothing. Absent mindedly I opened my social media homepage. There was a new post from my sister about her skiing holiday but nothing much else.
In the bathroom, I ran a bath and hid my hair under a shower cap. It still did not look like me in the mirror.. I climbed in and soaked, wishing my anxieties would wash away. They didn’t..
By 9am it was getting bright and sunny outside. I had drunk coffee and done my nails. I had spent some time shaping my eyebrows a little and hoped they would be to John’s liking. My self confidence seemed to have drained away. I made myself some eggs and a fruit compote and sat staring at the TV not taking anything in. My nerves were starting to jangle..
Dressed in jeans and a sweater and with a beret pulled over my hair, ( hiding my hair seemed the only way of avoiding the reality ) I drove to an out of town retail park so as to be there when the big pharmacy opened.
Being there early did avoid queuing up with a multitude of others, but the girl behind the counter was a “Sunday girl” and not very experienced. She had no idea what I was trying to buy so had in the end to call over her supervisor who was older and of Indian origin.
“Don’t get much call for those these days,” she advised me as she dug dep into one of the drawers, finally producing one wrapped in clear plastic.
“Have you used one before?” She asked handing it over with the large tube of spermicide after taking my money.
“Oh yes,” I lied. “I’m an old pro with one,” I replied and instantly blushed scarlet as I realised my appalling choice of words.
“Very uncomfortable i always found,” she replied.
Yes I thought that would suit John’s desires perfectly… I turned and virtually ran from the store.
By noon I was sitting on the sofa at home nearly ready to leave. I had finished my make up, using a smoky eye shadow, a little blusher and a clear lip gloss. I just needed to dress and and insert the fearsome plug. My nerves were shredded with anticipation. I had spent half an hour trying to get my new hairdo to look as it had done when Leanne had finished, but had pretty much given up. The crown of my hair was all sticking up at odd angles and the bang would not lie across my forehead right. I was vexed that I was not allowed to wash it. I then put the bra, suspenders and stockings on and gazed at myself. My underarms were sweaty and my panties were moist again. I went to the bathroom and had one final pee, drying myself carefully.
I spent some time wetting the butt plug. All those years of conditioning about not touching my asshole kicked in. I felt quite relieved I had been given the enemas as at least I was clean. My sphincter was tight shut and working the butt plug in was uncomfortable. Eventually I decided the plug was in the most comfortable position I could get it, though my bowels felt strained and painful. I knew this was how John wanted me to feel – stretched and subservient. My hands were shaking, I was a complete wreck with anxiety.
Pulling the panties up I then put the blouse and skirt on. They fitted beautifully. I dabbed perfume behind my ears, between my breasts and between my stocking tips and panties on my inner thighs. Lastly I put on shoes which fitted perfectly and the leather collar. I tucked the tag in so it was invisible.
I took a long look at myself in the mirror. The beauty of the clothes and footwear was sullied by the continual dull ache in my bottom. I was an immaculate wreck, and a stranger to myself.
I checked through the lists one last time, found the car keys, It was 1.20pm. I put the mac on, tightened the belt and headed out. I was ready.
My first knock at the door, was rather timid and John did not answer. For an awful moment I wondered if I had got the right day or the wrong apartment. But I was sure it was today and it was apartment 16. I knocked more purposefully, and stood back.
I was shaking like a leaf..
Finally, I heard heavy footsteps approach the other side of the door, a pause the chain come off and the latch open…..
“Ah, Jane, it is you, good…. good. You had better come in,” his facial expression giving nothing away. He just stood to one side and ushered me in….