Dear reader, this story is a ‘slow burn’ as they say, with this first chapter mostly about setting the scene and introducing the two main proteinists. I expect this story to have many more chapters. I hope you enjoy it and it leaves you wanting more!
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How did it came to this? Submitting at Veronica’s house
How did I come to be here, now, at This very moment, naked and face down on a leather spanking horse, arse hanging over the end of it, with both wrists and ankles in leather cuffs which are clipped to the horse’s metal legs? This question keeps going over and over in my mind as I breathe in the smell of new leather and hear my soon to be, official, Mistress walk around the ‘playroom’ (as it is known to all those who live here), her high heels clickity-clicking on the polished concrete floor, while she assembles the implements of my ‘initiation’, as she calls it.
“Well James, are you ready for your initiative into the house, into the realms of official slavedom – as my own personal servant and toy?” Mistress goes on before I can answer (I paused before replying as I’ve observed in recent weeks what happens to slaves who interrupt her). “Yes, yes, it’s true, you’ve observed the household operating, been explained the rules, and even signed the paper agreeing to how you will, generally, be treated, but I want to hear you say it one last time, I want to know that you really do want this, for once the initiative is implemented it will be so much harder for you, for all of us, to turn back.”
I take a few deep breaths, trying to keep my composition, before I reply, turning my head as far as I can to my right on the leather to try to catch a glimpse of my magnificent, almost official, Mistress, “Yes Mistress, I want this, I want to be your slave, please initiate me.”
“Very well then,” says Mistress, in a happy soothing tone, “everyone here has witnessed your agreement, so let us begin. Tell me James,” she says asher high heels clickity-clack over the floor around behind me, “do you remember what the initiative, and standard punishment, consists of?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I say, voice wavevering, “20 and six.”
“Twenty and six what?” intoled Mistress in an annoyed voice.
“Twenty paddles and six strokes of the cane Mistress.”
“Good, very good, we wouldn’t want you forgetting that now would we James?”
“No Mistress” I say, in barely more than a whisper, as I struggle to control my breathing.
“Right then,” says Mistress, in a voice loud enough to make me twitch, I say twitch and not jump because I am too tightly fixed to the benchmark to jump! “Here come your 20 strikes of the paddle, and believe me, they will hurt!”
“Oh, shit oh shit oh shit, how did I get here,” I ask myself for the hundreds time in the last fortnight. To answer that question I need to take you, dear reader, back three weeks…
Day 1: Meeting Veronica (The Friday three weeks previously)
I work in a biggish city, a state capital, in a job that is reasonably well-paid, but is, at the end of the day, a modern ‘factory’ job where widgets come in and I, on a screen, do something to the widget, and then send the widget on to someone else to do something with it. Who knows how long it will take before computers replace all such work, I often think to myself, but that’s another issue, and a tale for another time.
It was the end of a long day and I was walking back to my usual train stop, down a busy street, on one of those summer days that is so long and hot that you want to run to your train or bus to get home, or to the beach, as fast as you can, but you know you won’t because the heat has sapped you of most of your energy.
About halfway to my destination, amid the thronging pedestrian peak-hour rush, I see, about ten paces ahead of me, a tall attractive brunette women of about 35 years drop her bag of oranges, the bag splitting, and the oranges rolling betweenthe dozens of be-suited or pantyhose-clad legs down into the gutter.
This being a big modern city no one stopped to help (of course!) but, when I looked at her pretty face and saw how exasperated she was, I felt quite some empathy for her and, as I reached her side, I bent and began gathering the oranges up from the footpath. The brunette (not knowing her name this was how I thought of her) gave me what was initially, if very briefly, an astonished look, before smiling and calling out, over the city din, “Oh, really, you don’t have to do that, I’ll manage!”
As she looked about her for something to put the fruit in, I offered her a plastic bag and went back to picking up the oranges that had made it to the gutter. When we’d picked them all up we stood looking at each other awkwardly for a few moments before I said, “Do you live around here? I could carry these home for you.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary, really it’s not,” she said, slightly breathlessly.
“I don’t mind” I replied, perhaps a little over-enthusiastically, “I really don’t, I’m not in a hurry, please, let me help.”
In the middle of that noisy, busy street, she paused with a look of concentration on her face, appeared come to a decision, smiled and said, “Well thank you. I’m this way,” nodding behind her, “just a couple of blocks.”
Her apartment was in a small 19th century block of three story terraces above a dress shop and what looked like a rather risqué lingerie shop. Climbing the stairs behind her from the entrance between the two shops I couldn’t help but notice her how taunt and shaped her arse was.
Upon entering the apartment she dumped the shopping on the kitchen benchmark and motioned for me to do the same, then she reached into her handbag and brought out her purse. “Here,” she said, holding out a $20 note, “please take this for your trouble.”
Slightly offended, I retorted, “Oh no, really, I don’t need a reward for helping someone, please put your money away, I helped you because I like helping people, I really cannot accept.”
“Oh, okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, but you must let me do something for you in return, a drink perhaps?”
“A cup of tea would great yes, thanks, but you could just tell me a bit about yourself, I like to learn about how others live, I so often find that I Couldn’t have imagined what people tell me about themselves, and I find such conversations help me keep an open-mind about the world.”
This brought a wry smile to her lips as she replied, “Oh very well, I can do that I suppose, but I hope you are as open-minded as you say you are!” I laughed at that, when she dropped her guard she could be quite disarming.
“Well” I said, rather formally, “for a start, I’m James, pleased to meet you…”
“Veronica, Veronica Caine,” she smiled that wry smile at me again.
“So, Veronica Caine, tell me about yourself, where are you from, what do you do for work and what are yourinterests?”
Veronica didn’t reply immediately but rather paused and appeared to think deeply and carefully, before saying, “I need to deal with these groceries, then get your tea, then we can chat, why don’t have a seat over there under the window?”
As I sat on the deep brown and rather comfortable leather locke, the warm late-afternoon sun on my back, I couldn’t help but take a long look at Veronica as she moved around the small kitchen reaching and bending as she put things away.
Having the time to look at her without the distractions of the street, I now thought Veronica was in her early forties as opposed to her mid-thirties, but very well preserved, with only very fine lines around her eyes and a figure that looked like it had been shaped by rigorous exercise and considerable discipline. Yes, I Thought to myself, a very attractive woman indeed, not only in her physical appearance but also in her confidence and, I would even say, her commanding presence. I wondered, hope against hope, if she was single.
Finished with the groceries, Veronica filled the electric kettle, turned it on and turned to me, and in a voice that it was much freer and friendlier than what I heard before, a tone that suggested she had decided something, said, “Right, James, just give me a few moments to freshen up and I’ll be all yours” as she disappeared behind a door that I could only assumed opened to a bedroom.
Without Veronica to look at I cast my eyes around the apartment and slowly it dawned on me that, while it was carefully decorated and quite comfortable with all the objects you would expect, the place had a ‘no-one lives here’ look about it. It made me wonder just what was beyond the door that Veronica had disappeared behind.
I heard Veronica come back into the room and instead of the two-piece business suit she was now wearing what appeared to be nothing but a light, long, dark blue silk bath robe! I had appreciated her figure before but this rEally took it to another level. I was impressed, and it must have shown because she gave a broad smile and turned towards the kettle asking me how I liked my tea. Black, no sugar I told her.
She sat beside me, placing our tea, hers white, on the small coffee table in front of us. “Well James, to answer your questions, I’m from London originally, I’ve lived here 20 years, my work is running a small chain of retail shops that sells, amongst other things, lingerie, and my interests, well, let’s just say they are ‘unusual’.” Before I could say anything, she went on, “Enough about me, tell me about you James, you look like you might have had an interesting life so far, hmmm?”
Between how she was dressed, how close she was to me, her friendly manner, and something else I Couldn’t quite put my finger on, I was starting to sweat a little! “W w well” I stuttered, “I wouldn’t say it has been that interesting, I certainly don’t come from some exotic city far away.” Veronica raised here eyesbrows, and nodded slightly, as if saying, “go on.”
I took a deep breath and continued, “I’m originally from the country a few hours from here, I work in an office, and I my interests include sky-diving, snorkelling and SCUBA diving, as I said, I like to keep an open mind and in order to do so one needs to be open to, and have, new experiences, even if some consider them to be a bit risky.”
This last piece of information seemed to result in Veronica raising her eyesbrows and smiling. “Well well, you like a bit of risk in your life do you James, how fascinating, so do I, James, so do I.”
It occurred to me then that Veronica had been a bit evasive about what she sold and what her interests were, so I decided to push for more information. “You mentioned you sold lingerie ‘amongst other things’ and that you had ‘unusual’ interests, care to expand?”
In reply Veronica gave me a hard and appraising look. “Well now James, a risky question from a risk taker, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised! Just how open to new experiences are you James?” Veronica asked in a tone that might almost be described as commanding.
I felt strangely compelled to reply. I took another deep breath, looked her in the eye and said, “Well, I’m single, healthy and not getting any younger, so no time to waste in being shy,” as I raised my eyesbrows and smiled.
She gave a small laugh and replied that the shop sold not only lingerie but sex toys and ‘other items’ (she was being evasive again, I noticed) and that her interests had to do with showing people how they might use the items she sold, and all this was told with a twinkle in her eye.
“So tell me James, how would you feel about participating in such activity?”
I felt quite tongue-tied, not knowing quite how I felt, or what Veronica might think the correct answer was. I tried to say something, and only managed to stutter, “Oh, ahh umm…” when Veronica said sharply, “James! Answer me!”
Angain,I felt strangely compelled to reply, to give her whatever information she asked for. “Yes, Veronica” I said, quietly, while looking at her feet, “yes I think I might like it.”
“Good, very good James” she cooed, in a smoothing manner. “Well, how would you like to come and visit me and my friends at my place in the country for the day, say tomorrow? But you must bring a change of clothes etcera Just in case you want to stay overnight.”
“Oh, no I couldn’t impose on you like that Veronica I…” She cut me off in a stern tone.
“Nonsense, I want you to come and you know you do too, so let’s have no more discussion about it.” She scribbled the address on a scrap of paper and stuffed it in my shirt pocket. “Ten am, don’t be late” she stated, and with that, took me by the hand and led me to the door.
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