The Reluctant Mistress and Her Unexpected Transition Part 9
A dozen red roses showed up at the bank Monday afternoon. The card read, “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Will you marry me?”
I chalked it up to youthful exuberance, but still, it was a nice sentiment, especially since after pizza on Sunday night at Danny’s apartment, before leaving I had given him instructions that he was released for the week, we would be a vanilla couple until further notice. He gave me a crushing embrace at the door and showered me with kisses, not a word of complaint, not the slightest hint of a pout.
I work in an open cubicle, not much privacy; with roses adorning my desk, I knew my co-workers wanted to know who my secret admirer was, so I went outside to call Danny. It was such a nice day, mild and sunny, I considered just walking to the other end of the plaza where Danny worked, but something told me to keep my distance until I sorted out the feelings his proposal triggered.
He didn’t answer my call, so I left a message, teasing him about a spring wedding date. April would be perfect. He called a minute later, out of breath. “So, you got the roses?”
“That was very sweet of you, honey, thank you.”
“Uh, about the wedding date, April seems a little soon, don’t you think?”
I laughed. “I was just teasing, sweetheart.” I was, wasn’t I? “I know you weren’t serious.”
“I’ll come over after work and get on my knees and ask properly. Just give me a little time to swing by a jewelry store and pick up the ring.”
“You know you can still buy Crackerjacks at Kroger’s, sweetie.”
“Danny dear, you forget I know what you earn. You can’t afford an engagement ring.”
“I can’t afford to let you get away, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Because I’m a good Mistress, right?”
The pause on the other end told me I wasn’t far off the mark. His inner sub proposing.
“No, because I adore you.”
“You adore your mistress.”
“Well, that, too, but seriously, Vanessa, I’ve adored you since the moment we met.”
“When was that?” I hated testing, but I wondered.
This time there was no pause. “The day you brought your car in . . . it was just before Halloween, last year. You were wearing an orange blazer, a white blouse, a matching skirt with a slit up one side, strappy shoes, looking totally hot. You said your tire low pressure light was on.”
I looked at the phone, hardly believing my ears. Other than the fact that the jacket and skirt were tangerine, not orange, he had gotten the occasion and the outfit right. Wow, maybe Danny did adore me for me. But still, I doubted the sincerity of his proposal, especially coming on the heels of our first week and Mistress and slave. Now, if it had come after a visit from my mom—
“But you know what really did it for me?” Danny interrupted.
I couldn’t resist. “What?”
“You knew which tire it was.”
Well, of course I knew which tire it was, it was the left rear. Dad raised me right. I had a tire gauge and knew how to use it. I also regularly checked the oil, added wiper fluid, and could take off a flat tire and put on the spare. And I knew how to drive a stick (which may have cost Dad a few years).
“You know what else did it for me?”
“My tiny boobs?”
“Your voice. The sound of your laughter . . .”
This boy could charm the pants off a girl. Which is exactly what he had done the evening of our first Halloween party. We had done a role reversal, I had dressed up as Captain Hook and he as Peter Pan. There’s a sign, though it didn’t occur to me until this very moment. I laughed.
“See, there you go again, laughing. I love your laugh. And your perfect, perky breasts.”
“Danny, I have to get back to work. Thank you for the flowers.”
“So you’ll marry me?”
“Sweetheart, no . . . but keep asking. I might eventually change my mind.”
“Can I come over tonight and ask again?”
“No! I’m working on a project. You watch Monday Night Football with your buddies.”
“No way . . . if they see how clean my apartment is now, they’ll think I’ve turned gay.”
“Goodbye, Danny. Enjoy the game.” I went back inside, grinning.
That night I curled up on the couch and worked on my sub survey, presumably while Danny watched football. I pulled a lot of the material off the internet, various BDSM surveys and kink preference lists. I even did a BDSM aptitude test, which reported that I was 80% dominant and 20% submissive. There it was, scientific evidence that Danny was right about me.
OK, so I might be a little bossy, but I’ve always been the smartest person in the room, and I always do my research. When you are right, it doesn’t do any good pretending the dumb bunnies know better. These qualities made me a good loan officer, and apparently, a good Mistress.
Tuesday I called Danny and asked him to take me out to lunch. We went to Chipotle, and while Danny ate his chicken burrito and I my salad, I handed him a manila envelope with the survey inside.
“What’s this?” he said, eyeing the envelope suspiciously. “The guest list for our wedding?”
Such a witty boy. I smiled innocently. “No, silly, we’re not having a wedding. These are just some questions I want you to answer.”
A lifted eyebrow. “About . . .?”
I put a hand on his forearm. “About your special interests.”
He swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat and his face went pale, as if I had shouted out to the entire restaurant, “Hey, everyone, my boyfriend is a closet sub!”
“Danny, it’s just some questions to help me understand you better, okay? I found them on the internet. Just take it home and fill it out when you have time. It’s no big deal. Now eat.”
He put the envelope to the side and we had a normal vanilla lunch.
My survey was extensive, ten pages, 30 multiple-choice and fill-in-the- blank questions, a long list of kinky toys and preferences, concluding with an essay section where he was to write out his fantasies and expound on why he thought he had submissive leanings.
Knowing Danny’s profound dislike for paperwork (I had helped him with his taxes in April), I honestly didn’t expect him to finish the survey until Friday, if not Sunday, after he had the weekend to work on it. But the next morning at nine fifteen, barely in the office and still on my first cup of coffee, I received the text message that I had instructed him to send when he had completed the survey:
“Assignment complete, Mistress.”
Amazing what sexual motivation can do for a man. He must’ve stayed up all night working on it.
I waited until three p.m. to text a reply: “Slave, be at my house at 7 sharp. Bring the survey. Wear your cock cage. Don’t be late.”
At seven p.m. I heard tires crunching on the gravel. I sat on the couch, wearing my first dominatrix outfit: a black, faux leather corset and mini skirt multi dress with leather lacing up the front. No bra, no underwear. On my feet, four-inch black T-strap high heels. My hair down. I looked sexy as hell.
There was a note for Danny on the kitchen counter, his slave collar resting on top. The note read, “Welcome, slave. Leave your survey on the counter. Take your clothes off, fold them neatly and leave on the floor. Put your collar on. Go upstairs and lock yourself in your cage. Throw the key towards the door, out of reach. I’ll be up in to check on you.”
I heard Danny come in. The antique wall clock (inherited from my dad) showed three minutes past seven. Danny would pay for that. It occurred to me I needed a Mistress’s demerit book. And a system of punishment. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something clattering to the tile floor in the kitchen. Probably the collar, dropped. Muffled sounds, then after a few minutes, the sound of Danny’s footfall going up the stairs. Then a faint rattle of metal on metal, the door of the cage closing. I waited a few minutes and then went into the kitchen. Danny’s clothes were in a neat pile on the floor, the manila envelope resting on top. My, another demerit; I’d teach my slave to follow orders explicitly yet.
I was tempted to open the envelope and start reading, but my plan was to go first go upstairs and tease Danny with the outfit, leave him horny while Mistress read all his dirty secrets. Stick to the plan, Vanessa, I told myself. Just like preparing a meal, stick to the recipe. I carried the envelope up with me and mounted the stairs, a little unsteady on the high heels but making sure they clicked on every step. At the top, I could see into the lit spare bedroom. The key was at the doorway, on the carpet.
In the room, I found Danny inside the cage, naked and collared, crouched on his hands and knees. He lowered his head and torso as I approached. I rattled the padlock, making sure the door latch was secure. I slapped the manila envelope against the side of the cage. “Good evening, slave.”
“Good evening, Mistress.”
“I see you were eager to have Mistress know all about your kinky submissive self.”
I stepped to the side of the cage and knelt down, the leather skirt hiking up to just below my crotch. I caught Danny peeking out one eye. His cock was swelled inside the cock cage, the glans of his engorged penis pushed through the head ring. “I see you are properly aroused by the presence of your Mistress.”
I rose, walked around to the cage and stepped back into the doorway. “You may look up, slave.”
Danny lifted his head and took me in greedily. The lust radiating out of his eyes was worth the price of the outfit and then some. Money well spent, especially since it was on his MasterCard.
“You remember we picked this out last Friday night?”
“Yes, Mistress, I do.”
“I think it flatters my figure, don’t you?” I did a flirty twirl in the doorway.
“That’s an understatement,” Danny responded.
Sexual energy poured out of the cage. If Danny hadn’t been locked up inside it, the fierce expression on his face told me he’d leap out, throw me down on the carpet, jerk the skirt up and ram his cock inside me hard. Of course, all wishful thinking.
“That’s an understatement, Mistress,” I corrected him.
Dumb sub, he just didn’t quite get the proper response etiquette. I let it pass and let him drink me in for a moment, an erotic vision to keep him preoccupied for the next hour.
After a few seconds passed, I slapped the envelope against my bare right thigh. “Well, slave, I’m going downstairs to read your survey. I’ll be back up to discuss it with you when I’m done. I expect to find you hard, so keep your mind on how just badly you wish you could fuck your mistress.”
“Yes, Mistress, it won’t be hard.”
I tilted my head. “It won’t be hard?” I teased, feigning disappointment.
“No, no, what I meant is it won’t be hard to stay hard for you, Mistress.”
“Aha,” I chuckled. “Good boy.” I flicked off the light and headed down the stairs, my heels echoing in the staircase, no doubt floating up to Danny’s lustful ears.
The wine was chilled and ready, the bottle already opened and waiting in the fridge, a nice Italian Pinot Grigio, 2013 Santa Margherita (yes, I like my wines). I poured a glass and took it to the living room, where I kicked off the high heels and curled up under a comforter on the couch. I opened the manila envelope and pulled out the survey, ten stapled pages. The instructions said to use a pen, not a pencil, as I wanted Danny’s first thoughts, no erasures. I was pleased to see he had gotten that right. He wrote in block letters. I wondered if he even knew how to write in script. Perhaps Mistress would teach him.
The survey was intentionally designed to make it look as if I had taken it from the internet, so that the questions seemed impersonal, not mine. I wanted Danny to answer questions as if responding to a disinterested party, so that he would be more truthful. The survey began with multiple choice questions that covered basics we were already way past, considering he was locked in a cage upstairs, but they were leaders for the subtler questions to follow:
- If your girlfriend told you she wanted to tie you up and have sex, would you:
- Run for your life.
- Ask her to explain why she felt the need to control you.
- Tell her you wanted to tie HER up.
- Negotiate limits to the scene, including the use of safe words.
- Tell her that’s the sexiest thing a girl has ever suggested to you.
- You’ve come upon an article about dominant females and female-led relationships. You:
- Ignore the article and continue your search on dominant football teams of the 90s.
- Browse the article, but are put off when it describes women as the superior sex.
- Read the article with interest, but dismiss it as not relevant to you.
- Read the article with disgust, wondering what kind of pervert wrote it.
- Devour every word, your soul shouting out this is true and right for you.
- When you meet a strong, alpha female at work or a social setting, your response to her is:
- She’s a bitch, she needs to learn her place.
- Pity the poor guy who ends up with her.
- You admire confidence in a woman and find it attractive, even sexy.
- You flirt with her, hoping to get her in bed and show her who’s boss.
- You introduce yourself to her, dreaming of her dominating you in bed.
And so on. Not unexpectedly, Danny answered “E” to the first two questions, C and E on the third. The questions got subtler, not so leading, but after 30 questions a clear picture emerged: Danny was a man who wanted to live a lifestyle where the woman in his life was in charge of his life. And it wasn’t just about sex—he wanted to be submissive to his woman in every way—chores, finances, travel, work, vacations. I wondered why he had this longing. In regular life, he seemed a normal guy, a man’s man.
Interesting. I sipped my wine and moved into the section on kinky preferences. Turned out my guy liked a lot of kinky things, but disliked an equal number, which pleased me, because most of his dislikes were strong dislikes for me. As for his likes, well, I had no idea just how kinky Danny was, deep down.
Systematic me, I had made the list alphabetical. Danny’s kinky interests included 24/7 total power exchange, anal sex (really!?), breath play (?), blindfolds, bondage, breast/nipple torture, candle wax, chains, chastity devices, cock & ball torture, confinement/caging (had those two covered), defilement (huh?), domination (yup), ears (how?), handcuff/shackles, high heels (worn on my feet, I presumed), humiliation, lace/lingerie, latex, leather, massage (oh, he’d be giving me a lot of this), masturbation, nipples, oral sex (no surprise), pantyhose/stockings, power exchange, shoes/boots, role playing, scent, sensory deprivation, spanking/paddling, talking dirty, toys, vibrators and whips.
The list of dislikes was equally long: age play, biting, blood, body hair, branding, bukkake (the name alone a yuk), Chinese balls, cling film, clown (wtf?), coprophillia (scat play, another yuk), cross dressing, cuckold (I had to look it up; not happening), dacryphillia, denim, depilation/shaving, doctor/nurse, electrotorture, exhibitionism, feathers, fire play, fisting (ow!), food play (not even grapes?), gang bangs, hair pulling, infantilism, knife/needle play, lactation, making home movies, masks, piercings, pinching, pony play, religious play, sadism, tickling, tongue fetish, transvestism and watersports.
Whew, I was relieved he wasn’t into those. I mean, to each his own, but I didn’t know half those things existed, that people really got off on them. I was a vanilla girl in a kinky world. Going back to Danny’s likes, I was both disturbed and intrigued. Anal sex . . . I presumed that he meant he would like me to use a strap-on on him, because my asshole was sure as hell off limits to him. The survey raised as many questions as it answered. Having him in the cage when I asked them would help; we wouldn’t be negotiating, I would be interrogating.
Moving on to my favorite part, the essay section. I had Danny list six locations that appealed to him for enacting a BDSM fantasy. He listed bar/nightclub, bed, desk at work, dungeon, dressing room and a vehicle. All doable, except maybe my desk at work. Next I had him write out five fantasies. Turns out we had already acted out three of them—confinement in a cage, flogging in a dungeon, treated like a dog. The next two fantasies caught me a little off guard.
In one, he was blindfolded, hogtied in the trunk of a car, left in there while I did suburban shopping at a mall, then driven to an unknown location where me and my kinky girlfriends would use him as a sex slave all weekend. My! Well, maybe the first part of that might be possible, but I didn’t have any kinky girlfriends (that I knew of) and I wasn’t sharing Danny with them. The fifth fantasy was about coming home to discover his Mistress wearing a strap-on cock, being forced to suck it, then her taking him in the ass. Bend over, boyfriend. I wondered if I could pull that off. Was it just a fantasy, like the girl’s sex slave weekend, or did he really want to be fucked by his Mistress?
The last essay was probably the hardest. Why did he want to be dominated by a woman? Danny’s answer was short but thoughtful. He wrote, “I’ve had these desires since adolescence, when I grew balls. My first masturbation fantasies were about being dominated by a girl, forced to go down on her, tied up and teased, etc. It’s almost impossible to bring up these sort of desires in a regular relationship, and the BDSM dating sites are filled with posers, mostly sick guys screwing around with fake profiles. I’ve been to a few professional dominatrixes but those experiences were disappointing. Yes, they went through the motions, but the motions were not connected to emotions. For me, this has to be connected to someone I love, someone I adore, someone I respect. That’s the cake—the relationship. The kinky part is like the icing on the cake. It wouldn’t be the same without icing, but you have to have the cake. For me, submitting to a good woman is my way of making myself a better man. It fills me with joy and gives me power in my daily life.”
I have to admit, that essay melted my heart. Danny might be a bad boy, but he was a good man, seeking to be an even better man. I loved that he wanted it connected to his woman, the woman of his life (not withstanding his fantasy about my girlfriends and me having our way with him, the dog). The thing that really caught my eye was his concluding sentence, about being a submissive filling him with joy and power. I could imagine him working under a filthy car, wearing his cock cage under his jeans, thinking about what the cage represents, giving him a secret thrill in an otherwise grungy, mundane moment at work. Not to mention, knowing he was going home to an adorable, sexy woman who held the keys to his cock. I got it. Yes, it was a little crazy, but then everyone is crazy in their own way. It comes down to what makes you happy. Some people like to skydive, right?
I made a decision. I finished my wine and threw off the comforter, slipped the high heels back on. The wall clock read a quarter past eight. Up the stairs I went, heels clicking. I paused at the top, just a moment to let my slave know I was there. Then to the doorway, flicked the light on. Danny was on all fours, his cock still swelled large in his cock cage. Good boy. I walked up to the dog cage and caressed Danny’s hair through the wires. “Have you been a good boy, slave?”
“Well, I’ve read your survey . . . very interesting. Thank you for your honesty, slave.”
“We have a lot to talk about. Or rather, I have a lot to say to you, about what we will and won’t be doing, specific things, but for now I have a bigger, more important question to ask you.”
“You say that your soul comes alive, that you find joy in life when you are my submissive slave, not just the kinky sex, but the act of submission to my feminine will. Is that right, Danny?”
“Yes, Vanessa, I mean, yes, Mistress.”
I smiled. The slip of his tongue was revealing. “So you want me to be in charge, is that right?”
“In charge of your real, vanilla life . . . chores, finances, where we go on vacation, everything?”
“What if I want to have children?”
A long pause. “That would be for you to decide, Mistress.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes, Mistress. I love you and trust your judgement. If you wanted a child . . . that too.”
I stared at Danny in the cage, wondering, thinking. How could he know his own heart so well? What if this was just his submissive side talking? It was a fun fantasy, but making it real, making submission to another—to me—the center of his life? How could I know his resolve?
An idea came to me.
“Slave, I’ll be right back.”
I went downstairs, opened the fridge, took out the milk. It was skim in a quart plastic container, about half full. I poured the milk into an empty water bottle, rinsed the jug out and screwed the lid back on. Back upstairs, Danny was in the same position, the same hard cock. I wondered if he was filled with ideas about what erotic scene I had in store for him next. Little did he know, none. I picked up the key and went to the dog cage, unlocked the padlock, swung open the door and threw in the empty milk jug. I quickly swung the cage closed, reset the latch and locked it. Danny didn’t have a clue.
“I’ve made a decision about you, slave. I have an offer to make, but I want you to really think it over, I want you to sleep on it tonight, here, inside your cage. It won’t be very comfortable, but then being my submissive slave won’t be comfortable . . . you’ll have to do things you don’t like, things you don’t want to do. You’ll have to do them because it pleases me, period.”
“So here’s my offer. I’ll become your full-time Mistress, everything you dreamed of and wrote about in the survey, the woman who makes you a better man, but if we are going to do this, you have to be utterly sure. I’ll write up a contract, and you’ll sign it in the morning. If after spending the night in this cage you decide it really isn’t such a great idea, I’ll understand completely. But if you call it off, then we go back to being a vanilla couple, no kinky games. It’s all or nothing, understood, Danny?”
“So that’s a bottle for you to pee in. It’s plenty warm up here, so you won’t freeze. And now you have all night to meditate on your heart’s desire, and decide if it is for real or a foolish fantasy. I want you to decide if you really, really want to submit your mind and body to a woman—to me.”
The ‘Yes, Mistress’ response had serious limitations, I realized. Gazing at Danny, I took a closer look at the space in the cage. Could he lie down? Maybe he could, if he was on his side, lying in a semi-fetal position. I wondered about the sanity of what I was proposing. Then another idea came to me, a sound idea, some common sense, something I could live with. An end game to this, a future.
“Slave, I’m calling a time out. You are to respond to me as Danny.”
“Yes, Mistress—I mean, yes, Vanessa.”
“Danny, in that note with the roses you asked me to marry you. We joked about it on the phone. Were you serious, or was that just your submissive self gone crazy?”
Danny lifted his eyes. “Vanessa, I meant it with all my heart. I can’t afford an engagement ring, sure, but I meant it—I mean it.” His expression couldn’t have been more sincere. And his cock was still hard.
So, I’ll Take that as a Yes
“Okay, I take that as a yes. So here’s the deal. If you still want to go through with this in the morning, I’ll have you sign a contract that goes through April, six months from today. It’ll be our own private engagement, with the key to your collar my engagement ring. Then in April, when the contract expires, if you still want to be my slave, in a female-led marriage, and I agree to it, then we’ll set our wedding date in July. If you decide that you don’t want to be married—”
I choked up, almost started to cry, but caught myself. I was made of sterner stuff. I was a Mistress. “—If you decide you’ve had enough, you’ve got it out of your system, and you don’t want to be married, I’ll release you from any obligation. That’s my proposal.”
Danny heard the catch in my voice, and I think he knew I was dead serious. He studied me, his eyes raking in my leather-clad body, but I could see that his focus was deeper, on what I had proposed, what it really meant for him. He cleared his throat. “I accept.”
I couldn’t help but notice the absurdity of the situation, a couple discussing their future, the man naked in a cage, the woman in dominatrix garb. As the French say, C’est la vie.
“Okay then, the time out is over, slave.”
I rattled the padlock one more time, just making sure the latch was secure. I turned for the door. Just as I put my hand on the light switch, Danny spoke, “Mistress, may I say something?”
Of course he could. Why hadn’t I thought of it before, giving my slave permission to speak, to ask a question or make a statement, and not just say “Yes, Mistress’? He needed to be able to communicate. We both had plenty to learn if we were going through with this.
I turned to face Danny, folding my arms across my chest. “Go ahead, slave.”
“Vanessa, that’s the sexiest, coolest thing a girl has ever suggested to me.”
“Mistress, that’s the sexiest, coolest thing a girl has ever suggested to me,” I corrected him.
“Yes Mistress, if it pleases you.”
I flicked off the light so he couldn’t see me smile.
Next Episode: Simon Says
Find your Slave