How I Met Mistress Savannah
Having complete and utter control over me is what pleased Mistress Savannah the most. She exploited her power in an endless avenue of twists and turns. Nothing ignited Her propane gas flame of displeasure more than when She was not my only reason for existing. Every single thought and intake of air belonged to Her. Mistress Savannah knew how to destroy me not just as a physical entity I once knew myself to be but as a worm that willingly ate away at my secret soul.
The Lady Mistress and I would meet through a femdom dating website. I believed this encounter would end as another empty shadow of time with nothing of value happening. I placed the first phone call message. It was a fifteen-second message delay mailbox. The unexpected time limit made me want to not be taken as a loser so quickly. With a bit of composure, I was able to leave an audible message with my email address as a point of contact.
I’m Not Mistress Savannah
Twelve days later, close to the point of me giving up on the idea altogether, a SPAM email address hits my email box. I opened it and it said, “Congrats Bob – A screening lunch appointment is scheduled. Be discreet, walk to the bistro and draw no obvious attention. 1:30pm sharp. When your cellphone begins to vibrate, lift your eyes slowly and look for a lady with a clipboard. She will wink and then you may join her.” Every single option for escape or being afraid crossed the empty grey screen of my own mind, but I chose to remain calm and see just where this would go. I walk to the bistro and sit down. In a few minutes, I saw a simply glorious face sit two tables down, and then BAMM; she looks at me and winked.
My Altoid spearmint mint gets caught in my throat, my hamstring muscles freeze solid as I took that giant step to the left and sat at her table. She giggles seeing me so bare of emotional status. “Relax, I’m not the Mistress. I hear to screen out the ones no one wants to deal with.” Twenty minutes roll past the two of us, after a bottle of Guinness, she rises first and asks me to remain seated for three more minutes before I make my exit. I sat there trying to slow down the beating of my heartbeat; trying to think of what would happen next. I spin the empty bottle of stout on its side and then stand it back up. The walk back to the office made me wonder if I had made the cut or not. I had no way of knowing at this point.
I’m In Control
On the drive home from work on a Thursday, I get a surprise. A short sweet message that simply says to expect a phone call that evening. A bitter twist of fate; a tight squeeze of my voice box and a forceful mental plunge and once again I am forced to wait. Waiting is not my forte. Fifteen to thirty minutes is enough reason for me to walk away from a concert ticket, a clearance sale, or a restaurant table for two. I ache as I showered and shaved; wanting to be given an unforeseen ultimatum because the Mistress refuses to continue.
The sound of the phone echoes off the walls, and I find myself picking up on the fourth ring. The line goes dead ‘CLICK’ — She had disconnected the phone call. It had been six hours since she called me on the way home and she had me held in her grip as firm as a cable or a plastic zip-tie. How unnerving for me as an Alpha male to have to wait; but I did it willingly. A bottle cap takes a lazy whirl into the air and the phone rings. On the second ring, I answer the phone. “Much better boy, you will learn in time, who is in control from now on, if you choose to proceed.”
Her voice fell across my ear like velvet, so I hit the volume on my Alexis speaker system. “Everything I ask of you to do is a test of your ability to learn how to release all control over to me. Every test is another step towards your surrender. You can always quit and afterward I will walk away, never to return.” Her first test was a slow sex talk orgasm, where I exploded into the palm of my hand and then ate it as she instructed me to do. Her giggle ends the call.
