Visit One

New story to keep you readers entertained. Not sure where it will be going.

Enjoy.

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Visit One

“My listing is intentionally vague, Mr. Long, for apparent reasons. So we’ll need to talk explicitly, to assure both of us that the services envisioned are... ah... within the spectrum of your paraphilia.”

I am surprised by both the erudite vocabulary and the diction. The listing suggested services for gentlemen with a fantasy about control... yielding... or words to that effect. I was intrigued enough to reply. Messages were exchanged and things became more specific. And now here I sit in the livingroom of this well spoken and apparently well educated woman of color.

Mainly I listen. After all it’s about control... ceding it.

“So you’re aged 32, single, work as a engineer. That’s good... a very exacting field.... and I like  men who understand being exact,” the word given very specific and forceful enunciation.   

I nod, taking in the woman’s features, somewhat awed by her presence. At some forty plus years, the stunning beauty of youth has left her... somewhat. But left her in a manner such that in place of gawking to distraction there is instead admiration for handsomeness, a focus on her savoir faire, her intelligence. There is limited make up... such is needed not. And she wears a certain scent, a perfume which becomes but not overwhelms, diffusing a feeling of hominess.

And there is the athleticism. Wearing a loose white blouse and plain dark blue skirt, her physique is not apparent. And I convince myself that such is intentional. For in glancing at the gams, calve muscles well formed suggest exercise. And with slight motions of her hands, the sleeves of her blouse momentarily retreat to reveal arms of substance. Overall, I suppose it’s the hair style that leads to the summation... short, easily washed and combed out after a strenuous work out... or other form of exertion.    

“I like your perfume,” instantly regretting the interruption in what can be perceived as a non sequitur.

She smiles, not flustered in her calm confidence.

“It’s an old scent, Mr. Long. Jean Nate. But one becomes comfortable with... guess you’d say... a daily regimen.” 

Brand name recalled, I am about to blurt that my mother wore the same, then catch myself in realizing such an intended compliment could be deemed unchivalrous.

“So come with me, Mr. Long. More specifics.”

She arises... gracefully but not daintily. Clipboard in hand with my curriculum vitae, she strolls from the livingroom. I follow through the diningroom to the kitchen. All is neat and impressively orderly, hinting at a military background. She pauses at a set of stairs and points downward.

“Future visits you will enter that side door. Don’t be early... don’t be late. The electronic lock will be set to allow entrance at the exact time of your appointment, releasing the door for thirty seconds. Don’t come too early and skulk about either... I have neighbors...”

Halfway down the stairs, there is a landing with the referenced door. It’s thick and sturdy. A sizable metal box attached at the top, most likely magnetized, has wires leading to a timer. There’s a red button to the side, imprinted with the word ‘exit'.

“In entering you will go down to the basement. The kitchen door at the top will be closed and locked to you.”

From the landing we continue to descend to the basement. There the woman flips a switch illuminating a chamber. The walls are of pure white, the gray flooring tiled. Expecting a dark and foreboding dungeon, I am surprised, my reaction apparently showing as the woman pauses to allow me to assess.

In the middle there is a short bench like apparatus mounted on a low platform. I glance, my eyes quickly diverting to the wall to the left. There is an array of instruments of correction... whips, crops, tawses, paddles... some not before seen and therefore unnamed. On the wall ahead hang all types of restraint gear... for the wrists, ankles, neck... and made of various materials... steel, leather, nylon. There are even medieval appearing wrought iron shackles, one set connecting the neck and limbs by a single chain configuration. Such is ancient, a museum piece.

“A role desired by many, Mr. Long... to become the naked and chained slave of a black woman. It’s a replica I had forged by a blacksmith based on a very old photo from a southern plantation. Very heavy. Putting a man in that and working him on the treadmill can bring... ah... let’s term it a certain thrill.”    

“No cotton fields?” my sardonic question meekly postulated.

“It does bring fantasy, doesn’t it? Perhaps someday I’ll purchase some land... I’d certainly have no shortage of field hands... would I?”

I smile, I suppose my deviant thoughts not well veiled, as I look to the wall on the right. Medical paraphernalia... hoses, nozzles, catheters... along with cabinets I imagine to be littered with similar stuff.

“Shave your pubes before every visit... thoroughly. You’ll disrobe for me completely. Fold your clothing and leave here along with my fee,” the woman stepping to a low cabinet. “And waiting here will be this hood,” taking from the wall an expanse of black latex.

Hands deftly unfold and demonstrate a single large opening.

“For your nose and mouth. But before putting it on, do move to mount the platform, tummy on the bench,” stepping to that in the middle of the chamber... which my eyes have squeamishly avoided inspecting. “Kneel, tummy here, buttocks high, knees widely parted, forehead low to the platform... after you’ve donned this,” the woman offering a rare smile as she holds up the thick hood. “And resting on the platform will be the dildo of my choice. After hooding yourself you will wait for me with the dildo in your mouth.”    
    
To the front of the apparatus, left and right, there rest cuffs for the wrists. To the rear are similar cuffs... for the ankles.

“Do you prefer to be bound, Mr. Long? Or can you obediently kneel and cede in offering a woman her pleasure?”

For some reason I cannot come to reply.

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we? But remember, Mr. Long... exacting. Buttocks as high as possible, forehead low to the platform, knees parted to the extreme. I like rituals. You will learn my rituals. And most importantly you will learn to enjoy yielding to my rituals.”

Should I ask about the ultimate ending?

I decide such would be too crass an inquiry... and in a way seeking to top.

“This is the last time you will see me, Mr. Long. Henceforth you will only feel the presence of the person in control.”