Sunday Morning

It was almost 2.30 in the morning when Lauren told me a cab would be waiting outside the Grant to take me home. How did she know? I hadn’t heard her make a call. I dressed, putting my skirt and blouse on over my stockings and collecting my coat. As I was about to leave she called me back into the bedroom of her suite and I found her standing. She took me in her arms and held me tightly to her and kissed the top of my head.

‘We’re going to be good together, babe. Call me on Wednesday at 7. We’ll have supper together and then we’ll go to your place and maybe I’ll fuck you, maybe I won’t. You never can tell.’

I looked up into her eyes and she smiled.

‘Go. I have to work today.’ She led me to the wardrobe and took out the skirt, the leather skirt I was to wear on Saturday. She gave me the box with the plug safe inside it. She found me a bag to carry them in and I left her room.

The cab was waiting and the concierge held the door as I got in. I gave the driver my address and sat back. The city’s streets were quiet, we moved swiftly along them and my thoughts swirled like the fallen leaves thrown around by the cab’s draught. Being with Lauren was like being back in a familiar home. All the things I had missed since Tilly left seemed possible again. And yet. She had said she was staying here ‘for a while’ – I had no idea how long. Was I to fall in love and then lose her as I had lost Tilly? Could I bear that?

On an impulse I pulled my phone from my bag and sent a text message to Tilly’s number, confident she would not reply. ‘What should I do?’

The cab pulled up outside my door and I asked how much I owed but he assured me it was already paid. I grabbed my things and made my way into the warm embrace of my home, throwing bag and coat down and heading straight for my gin bottle. I hesitated as I picked it up then thought what the hell and poured a large one. I found tonic in the fridge and added that and a slice of lime and two ice cubes then sat at the kitchen table looking at the drink but seeing nothing.

I was startled when my phone trilled. My bag was in the hall and so I went and pulled the phone out and read the message.

‘Do what your heart tells you, not your head.’

Thanks a bunch. I never drank that gin. It was still on the kitchen table mocking me when I came down from my bedroom in my dressing gown at midday. I ate some fruit and yoghurt and had a few cups of tea. The cold light of day is supposed to let us see everything more clearly. That is a lie.

Monday

My boss called me into her office at 3 in the afternoon.

‘Are you ok, Lisa? You’ve been like a zombie all day.’

I apologised and explained I had a lot on my mind and she smiled knowingly. She knew my sexuality.

‘Woman trouble huh?’

‘Something like that.’

She told me to piss off home and get my head straight.

I walked home. Normally I take a bus but the walk, the wind and the bustling streets occupied enough of my mind to numb the confusion.

Tuesday

End this, I told myself. Don’t be drawn in. You are, I told myself, a forty-three year old woman. You have a life, friends, a home.

Thus resolved I went to work and performed as normal. My boss was gentle and kind. She took me out for lunch and gave me the opportunity to talk as I had so often before. What could I tell her?

It’s like this, Maggie. My ex lover and Mistress, Tilly, has handed me on to her friend. She’s going to hurt me. No, no, not mentally although maybe that too but physically. Tilly did that as well. Of course I don’t bloody like it, who wants a cane on her arse? So why do I allow it? Because it’s what I am. Oh God, no, I wouldn’t let just anyone cane me or beat me or tie me, only someone I love.

As if I could say any of that to anyone. So I told Maggie all was fine, thank you and it was a lovely lunch and I’m sorry about yesterday and it won’t happen again.

Home again and this time I drank the large gin and tonic I poured when I got home, a little later than usual. I took it to my bathroom and shed the clothes of the day and slipped into the warmth of the bathtub and soaked, sipping my drink. I dried off, put on my silk pyjamas and my dressing gown and went back down to my sitting room where I drank another gin. I made a perfunctory shopping list and the pen slipped from between my fingers and down beside the cushion of my sofa.

I reached down to recover it and when my hand came up, there, between my fingers and the pen, were Lauren’s knickers, the pair she had been wearing when we made love here on this sofa. I stared at them. Silk, pale blue and frail. I lifted them to my nose. She was there with me at that moment. My other hand went between my thighs and I spread them, feeling the damp silk. How had it got damp? I rubbed gently and through the silk I felt myself swelling and opening. I took her knickers from my nose and slipped that hand inside my pyjama bottoms and stroked the silk of her panties across myself. I lifted my knees and pushed the silk into my pussy. One finger covered in her went into me and curled. I began to shudder. My nipples burned and my free hand came to squeeze one as she had squeezed them. My climax was hers. My back arched, my head pressed back onto the sofa and I groaned as I squeezed the orgasm out between my teeth.

‘Do what your heart tells you, not your head.’

Wednesday

I almost ran home from work. It was fortunate that I was able to get away early and so I arrived ahead of the 7 o’clock deadline. I called her number - no answer. I sent a text saying I had tried to call.

I heard nothing from her.

At 11 I went to bed, disconsolate.

Thursday

I sent another message just before I left for work. All day my mind kept wandering back to Lauren.

Normally I would not have been concerned. After all I was accustomed to Tilly going missing sometimes for days. Then she’d reappear and, if she bothered, she’d explain she’d been to some meeting or other and it had just gone on and on. I always believed her even though I knew it was possible she was seeing someone else.

At 3 my ‘phone twittered, a message had arrived.

‘Sorry, babe. Should have let you know but I had to go to Edinburgh and simply didn’t make time to let you know. Come to the Grant for 8 if you’re still talking to me. L’

I decided not to return the message. She was so self confident, she knew I’d b there; but would I go? I made my way home and stripped off the work clothes and sat at my dressing table and looked at myself in the mirror. If I didn’t go I’d never hear from her again. The question was, did I care? I loved that she had said ‘didn’t make time.’ It was as if she didn’t care enough. I didn’t cry. I just sat, looking at myself and asking questions. The answers were elusive.

The problem for a woman like me is finding a woman like her, like Tilly. They are like Halle’s Comet, they don’t come past my orbit every day. Rare and glorious is what they are. They understand a mind like mine. So few people do. Oh, for certain there are dozens who wield a whip, wear leather and use ropes and all the paraphernalia of the D/s crowd. But those with the mind, the intellect, the sheer strength of will and character are as rare as hen’s teeth.

I called the cab firm and ordered a ride for 7.30.

Naked, I poured myself a glass of wine then ran a bath and sank into it, closing my mind to everything. I dried myself off and dressed slowly, considering every item. I chose a black leather skirt that came to my calves and was wide at the hem, tight at the waist. I rolled stockings on and clipped them to a suspender belt – black, silk stockings with seams. I’d been saving them for a special occasion. I found a white, silk blouse with a stand up collar and sleeves to my mid forearm. I’d bought it in India some years before. I put the blouse on and admired, yes, I admired the way my nipples showed through it, dark and hard against the silk. I could feel something changing between my thighs but ignored it, not permitting myself to touch myself. I think I wanted her to be sorry that she hadn’t made time, to see that I was worth it. I was going to say to her, ‘You could have had this. But you didn’t make time.’

I hitched the skirt up and looked at myself in my long mirror. I stepped into my highest heels. They were too high and I selected another, lower pair.

Better. Defiantly I went to my drawer and pulled out a pair of black silk French knickers and pulled them up under my skirt.

In the hall I found my long, dark blue coat and pulled it on then went to leave but something stopped me. I sat in the chair in the hall and almost wept.

I closed my front door behind me and went to the cab that was waiting patiently at the kerb side. I gave the driver my destination and sat back into the seat and looked out of the window seeing nothing.

The door was opened by a uniformed flunky and I stepped out of the cab and made my way through to the bar. Lauren was sitting at the counter on a high stool, her heels hooked over the foot bar. She turned to look at me and smiled. She stood and came half way to meet me then stopped and waited for me to get to her. She was wearing a simple black dress with a V shaped neckline and tight at the waist, the hemline just below her knees. The words I had practiced all the way in the cab never had the chance to get out.

‘Oh God, babe, I am so sorry.’ Her arms went around me and she kissed my cheek. ‘I was terrified you wouldn’t come. I am such a cow. I get so focused and, well, no excuses, I fucked up. Can you forgive me?’ Her embrace became a tender hug. She held me like that and all my resolve evaporated. I think I may have let a tear slither down my cheek. I hope I wiped it away before she saw. Her hands gripped my arms and gently she pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length and looking into my eyes.

‘God you look gorgeous!’

I have no idea if others watched this. I was oblivious to everything and everyone but her. And then she was efficient and in command again. She led me from the bar to the restaurant, telling the barman to transfer her bill and bring her drink through and a ‘huge gin and tonic for my lover.’ I could not help smiling.

The maître d’ took my coat and she almost whistled. ‘Wow, you just get better. Love the skirt! And that blouse is just divine.’ We were ushered to a table, the drinks arrived and I don’t think I had uttered a single word.

‘Am I forgiven? I don’t deserve to be but you absolutely must.’ She held my hand across the table and squeezed it.

She ordered food and wine without reference to me and then, still holding my hand she smiled at me.

‘You’re allowed to speak.’

‘I forgive you. Of course I do.’ Where did that come from?

‘Thank the stars. Any normal woman would have ignored me but I knew if you were going to tell me to get fucked, you’d do it to my face. I figured you’d come, tell me to go to hell and leave me sitting at the bar with a red face and an empty heart.’

It is strange how a show of vulnerability can make someone seem stronger. Her concern seemed so genuine, so spontaneous that I could do nothing but believe in it. Of course, I wanted to believe. I did believe.

We talked. She probed me about my work, my hopes, my career prospects. It was the most natural conversation. I was lost in her and when, at about 10 I went to the toilet I looked into my own eyes in the mirror and saw a girl in love. She was, dammit, so totally genuine. I took my knickers off and put them in my handbag. I knew she’d want that and now I wanted it too.

‘Can you stay for a while? You don’t have to get to work at some ridiculously early hour tomorrow?’

In the lift she held my hand. We got to her room and she closed the door, turning the security lock with a decisive click. I threw my coat onto a chair and she came close to me, her mouth close to my forehead.

‘I really am sorry, babe.’ I lifted my chin and touched my mouth to hers, a kiss of forgiveness, matter closed. Her hand was suddenly over my breast. Her finger circled my nipple and as if they were connected, both nipples hardened under my blouse. She kissed me again, deeper, more firmly. Her hands moved to my face and she held it as she kissed me. She was tender, gentle and I sensed a need in her to love me.

She stepped back a little and slowly opened my blouse, pulling it out of my skirt. She bent to kiss each nipple, to suck each one gently, her tongue working around them. Her nails traced the underside of each breast as she loved them and I brought my hands to her hair and stroked her head, my own nails scratching her scalp gently. A soft moan covered my nipple and she squeezed it between her lips, no pain, just gentle pressure. We undressed each other without hurry until we were both naked although she didn’t take my stockings off. I don’t think that was for any reason than that she just didn’t need to. She guided me as we kissed to the bed and threw the covers aside so we could lie, me on my back, she above me, her hips between my legs, her mound almost on mine. The kiss hardly stopped a she rocked between my legs and I lifted my hips to meet her. At some point we must have moved because I was between her thighs, my mouth on her pussy and hers on mine. I sucked her clitoris, lapped between her lips and stroked her thighs, reflecting almost exactly what she was doing to me.

The first time I had given her an orgasm it had been a violent, whole body experience but this one was a shuddering, a keening groan that grew softer as it intensified until she emitted a long sigh of fulfillment. My own came a little later and took its time to form. It was almost spectral at first but then gained pace and power until my back arched and I felt myself losing control of my body.

And then we were lying on our sides, facing each other, her leg across me, her arm under my neck, her mouth close to mine.

Her finger traced my lips and she smiled, ‘Your face is wet.’

‘So is yours.’ We kissed, a gentle touching of lips.

Lauren got out of bed and moved gracefully across the room and disappeared through the door into the sitting room of her suite. She came back with two glasses of wine and sat beside me. We both leant against the padded headboard and sipped our wine in silent companionship, post coital calm.

Saturday

I had showered, washed my hair, dried it and applied a little lippy and eye stuff. I was naked, looking at the clothes on the bed and the box. I did not lack resolve this time. At around midnight on Thursday I had asked if I could leave because I needed to be up for work the next morning. She’d accompanied me to the sitting room and watched me dress. She’d gone to my bag and taken out the knickers I’d put in there and handed them to me.

‘You can wear these.’ Her smile was broad and I wondered if she knew everything. ‘I love a sub with spirit.’

‘It didn’t last long, did it?’

‘Long enough, babe, long enough.’ We had kissed a long goodbye and I had left feeling warm and almost whole. I hadn’t felt like that since Tilly had left.

I looked at my watch, it was almost 8 and I needed to get a move on. I’d ordered a cab. I had selected another silk blouse, black and almost transparent. It had buttons from a high neck to the waist and the sleeves were long and wide to neat cuffs at the wrists.

I got some KY and in the bathroom I used it to smooth the passage of the heavy steel plug into my arse. It wasn’t huge but it stretched me until I closed around its narrow stem and I felt it nestling inside me. I’d cleaned myself out carefully when I was in the shower.

I put the blouse on, stockings of course and then the skirt. It was more like an apron. I pulled on my long coat and took one look in the mirror and smiled at myself. Perfectly respectable to all outward appearance, but beneath the coat, a whore’s skirt.

*

‘I am Lauren’s whore.’

The woman who had opened the door reacted as if this was the most natural thing in the world and took my coat.

‘Welcome to Intime.’

I half expected her to check that the plug was in place but she simply told me to go through to the bar, indicating with a wave of her hand the direction I should follow. I passed through a tall, wide door and into a scene of dark wood, velvet furnishings and low light around a long bar. Lauren stood at the far end of the bar wearing a long black dress that was suspended on her shoulders by tiny thread-like straps and which fell from there to the floor in a glimmering cascade of black silk, decorated with a thin silver embellishment at the hem. No other material could look like that. Her hair was tied loosely back and her eyes shone in the light of the lamps. A fire burned in a wide hearth.

I walked to her and as we kissed her hand ran over my naked buttocks. There were perhaps ten other women in that room but for me at that moment no one existed but Lauren.

Next episode – Saturday Night and Sunday Morning