Last weekend, my Mistress came over for the first time. After reading the initial post I know you’re all dying to read how it went and I can tell you it was really nice. It’s hard for me to comprehend or explain but it made me feel so much like myself. On Sunday on our way to the bus stop, Roxy said she’s interested to see what I’ll write too, so here goes. I’ve split it in three parts because I wrote too many words.
The anticipated arrival
My friends asked me when she was expected to arrive and I couldn’t really tell them; I didn’t know. I knew she would be off work at 5 and that it takes anywhere between two to four hours to get here so I estimated she could be here between 8 and 9. She’d said she’d text me closer to the time so I fully expected her to only text me 15 minutes before arrival. She messaged me at 8.30 with the estimated arrival time of 9 so I started running the bath at 20 to and made sure it was full of bubbles. Liam texted me to say I should pour the wine 5 minutes before arrival for the perfect temperature and added an FYI with: it needs to be at room temperature, red wine shouldn’t be kept in the fridge. Bit late Liam, but Missy had already helped me with that one earlier.
I listened to some songs, walked up and down the house until it was 2 to 9 and stopped moving. I heard the taxi arrive and stood just outside the bathroom, one step away from the view of the living room, through which I could have seen her arrive. I didn’t of course. I listened to her steps and waited until they reached the front door. She must have knocked though I don’t remember. I remember seeing myself in my dress and heels and telling myself that I looked fine; she had told me to wear this, I couldn’t have possibly got it wrong. She carried this massive bag with her and asked for the spare room to put it down. “It’s only me,” she said, noticing my anxiety. Yes, only you, I thought.
There was an embrace, a wonderful long moment like there’d been on the street last time. Her hands felt under my dress, curious to explore the lingerie underneath and it made me smile. I felt the active desire to be lusted after and to present myself in such a way with the clothes I was wearing. Skin recognises skin, though my mind couldn’t shut off. My breathing was shallow and it felt as if I could collapse if I missed a beat. I had the instinctive desire to move closer but my mind blocked me. She asked me to take her to the bathroom, something I actually felt capable of doing.
Fishing for handcuffs
I remember how nonchalant it seemed, the way her trousers, shirt and underwear ended up on the floor. Suddenly she was naked and it was really hard not to look. Her mind was elsewhere, exclaiming that the temperature of the water was perfect (definitely luck) and said something about how good I was being to her. I was still so anxious that I couldn’t really accept the praise. A bit theatrically, she mentioned her big bag and how there were a book and handcuffs inside. She told me to get them for her, which made me smile to myself in a “really?” sort of way. It’s such a classical way of building anticipation, making me go through the toys she brought.
I figured the book and handcuffs had to be somewhere on the bottom and came across two different whips in the process. But as I started taking things out I felt self-conscious about possibly taking out stuff I shouldn’t (I don’t know how I got to this thought considering I knew she literally meant for me to see). I changed strategy by simply feeling the objects that were inside as a book and handcuffs have quite specific shapes. I thought I found the handcuffs but fished out some nipple clamps instead. Ha… I thought. You guys are fun (half-sarcastic, half-true). I then found the handcuffs but it took a while till I got to the book. Turns out it’s because it wasn’t a book in its traditional shape and more like a really thin A4-sized notebook.
When I returned to the bathroom, she gave me back the handcuffs so I could lock my hands together. My hands were a little shaky and I was very conscious of her gaze on me. I secured the one on my right wrist but struggled with the left like the cuff kept slipping out of my hands. “Oh come on, I’m sure you’ve done this a million times,” she said amused as if she partially thought I was doing it on purpose, which instantly made my face feel hot and my hands even more unstable. “Nope… not… really…” I sort of muttered (and certainly not while you were watching and making me all nervous about it). I liked that she’d orchestrated it like this.
Kneeling next to the bath
I kneeled down next to the bath in which the keys had sunk and she said she was going to read me some of her poetry (since I had nowhere else to go, ha). I believe I once asked her if I could read her poems and I liked that she read them to me instead. Sitting next to the bath with my hands cuffed, while only needing to listen was really calming. The other day, I listened to an author reading my favourite poem and it took away from it because she only read the lines. Roxy brought her poems alive with her voice and I thought it became quite musical. There was one bit where she described a feeling through candle wax which painted the picture very clearly. Gradually, my anxiety evaporated and it was like how we were in real life before lockdown. It felt familiar and comfortable, and I felt happy.
She made a teasing remark about how it appeared that my knees were starting to hurt (they were). It’s not my knees as much as it’s my ankles, though. I wonder if it’s because I’ve had ankle injuries with football because I could sit on my knees just fine when I practised Aikido or maybe I’m getting old. I had bought her the wrong wine, though she immediately added that this one was rather nice. Earlier that week she’d told me which brand she liked and I still managed to pick the wrong one. She half-teasingly remarked that I must have done it on purpose and said she was going to slap my tits for it later.
Roxy wanted me to shave her legs. I think it’s important to keep in mind that my biggest fear is to hurt someone so having to hold a razor above another person’s skin with the possibility of cutting them is not my favourite thing in the world. In my very slow attempt to shave her leg, however, I made her boobs go cold as it was taking so long (never mind she’d been in the bath for like an hour without refilling the water) and so she shaved her own legs. She clearly showed me that I don’t have to be so careful and finished within two minutes. Next time I’ll manage. I think.
I brought her her robe and then waited for her in my room (her room for the weekend). We went through the script/storyboard for the video we were going to shoot tomorrow and I was happy to find her drawings were as bad as mine. While she sat in the chair I sat back down on my knees. She hadn’t really indicated or specifically stated that I had to sit on my knees but it felt like an unspoken rule and it felt right (albeit painful). When we finished running through the storyboard she asked me if I owned a collar (I don’t) (“which slave doesn’t have a collar?”) (me), then told me to write the word slave several times on a piece of paper and to rip them off individually. “You can fill the page if you like. Between you and me I’m sure we’ll have enough staples.” Ha, I was sure we did, feeling a little apprehensive. I wasn’t sure if it’d be more painful if someone else stapled my skin.
Before going there, there were lots of touches and nipple squeezes and tugs. My memory is a bit fuzzy because I was a little lost in the sensations. She wasn’t gently playing around with my nipples like last time; instead, she seemed to enjoy making them burn. She put my hair up in a ponytail and cuffed my hands behind my back. I stayed on my knees while she came up behind me so I could lean against her and from there she stapled the first piece of paper to my leg. It was quick and not too painful. It was nice that I didn’t have to worry about doing it, which allowed me to embrace the pain and made it pleasurable. She switched between stapling, playing with my nipples and slapping my tits (which is more painful than I thought especially with sore nipples, though I liked it), leaving kisses and stimulating my clit.
I got sensitive very quickly once she was touching me and couldn’t help but squirm around. And I mean I really tried to get away from her touch, kind of like a fish on dry land dearly trying to hold onto life. She tried to pin me down and I thought it was amusing because I don’t think she was prepared for it. I didn’t do it on purpose. The whole time I was fighting myself, wanting to stay still for her and to get the stimulation and wanting to get away because it was too much. I believe I’m quite good at wiggling myself out of someone’s grasp but she adapted well. There were a few times where I thought she had me and I’d be subjected to the torture of stimulation, ha.
It became time for bed and I asked her where I was supposed to sleep. At first, she had thought on the floor next to her, but she figured I might wake her up in the morning, so the spare room seemed better. I was surprised to see that it was 2 am when I lied down in bed. My nipples were incredibly sensitive and the thought that clamps hadn’t even been used made me feel both aroused and a little scared.
Part two can be found here.
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