Thursday, March 6, 2008

Shayne enrolls in school.

My waiter, dressed in a smart canary yellow waistcoat, had arrived with the coffee. I enjoyed his attentiveness as I crossed my legs to relax, casually looking across the street to the building she would soon emerge from. This elegant Italian bistro couldn't possibly have been situated more appropriately.

I wore my favourite black suit, the black silk tie flowing down my cobalt-blue shirt like a river of exquisite anguish. I relished the sensual fusion between the fresh air, my excellent coffee, my evening's attire, and the knowledge that this new, endearing, lustfully wonderful little tart I had discovered was about to get a hint of what she had been asking for. I was especially looking forward to spanking her womanly ass. I smiled, pleased with myself, as my hand patted the package I had set on the chair beside me. She wasn't expecting this, not exactly all of this, tonight.

She came from the building. I made eye contact with her, and with a slightly bemused smile, she came across the street toward my table under the scarlet canopy. My waiter returned to refill me as she set herself down. Asking me if she would like some coffee as well, I enjoyed seeing both his and her faces briefly contort with confusion when I replied that, no, she will not be having any. Like her, the coffee was singularly my pleasure tonight.

In time, I pushed a small white plate across the linen to her. On the plate was a black leather bracelet.

"This is the time for you to ask your questions," I said to her. "If you choose to pursue what I'm offering, what you have asked to share with you, then show that acceptance by placing this bracelet on your right wrist. This is very old-school. But also know that your placing the bracelet upon yourself will also be your final independent act, until it is removed, and then by me. Once you've worn this, everything you do and say will be prioritized with my pleasure in mind. You will be my pet. You will behave accordingly. Do you understand?"

She tried to be coy, but I saw the swallow and the slow nod that followed. She asked her questions. She received her safe word. With a silent pause, she lifted the bracelet from the plate and snapped it upon her wrist. I finished my coffee and stood.

"Take that package," I instructed, motioning to the other chair, and walked away. She followed.

As we walked through the crowded downtown streets, I gave her a crash course of all the basic expectations I would have for her if she wanted to pursue this sort of experience with me. She listened attentively as she tried to keep up with me. Soon, I had taken us into the elegant lobby of a corporate building. Guiding her past the sumptuous couches, I stood her next to the door of the women's room. I gave her a kiss, looked at my watch, and then looked directly into her adorable eyes.

"You have ten minutes. You will change into the contents of that package and you will place what you are wearing neatly folded in it. For each minute that you are late, you will receive one stroke. Do you understand?"

Her eyes widened as she nodded, trying to stifle a nervous laugh. Around us, businesspeople wandered. An old man turned the page of his newspaper. I smiled at her and relaxed on one of the elegant couches as she disappeared.

I waited. I waited a little longer. My my. I waited some more. Oh, dear me. The poor thing, thought I to myself.

Some 33 minutes later, she emerged with a blush and look of confusion. The blue tartan skirt and the white bobbysox were charming on her and fit her well. The crisp white shirt had the proper cut to accentuate her waist and ensconce her breasts. I had also selected proper shoes and underwear for my little tart.

But the poor wee thing just couldn't manage the tie. I laughed when I pictured her, bent over the washroom sink under the mirror, frantically doing and undoing the tartan tie, sweating over how much time she was taking. I lwas amused.

Helping the poor distressed baby, feigning a supportive pout, I did the unfortunate thing's tie up for her. Oh, the price she'll have to pay for that. But then, that's what daddies are for.

On our way to my car now as we continued our walk among corporate alphas and betas. To amuse myself, I had her skipping towward the car as she obeyed my instruction to open the door for me. Once inside, I reached under her seat for the chain I had set there, and affixing the handcuffs to a link by means of handy clasp, I cuffed her in such a way that her hands were held low and between her legs. I was amused.

From another compartment, I produced the brown leather collar and the leash. I showed them to her.

"Earlier, I explained that the bracelet, and its being on your right wrist, is old school. So is this," I said, gently shaking it. "The leather is brown because, as a pet, you are inferior. You are untrained, and to wear black, or steel, or lace is a privilege that you have yet to earn. And yet, to wear any Top's collar, no matter the make or style, is your reason for being and the most important honour. Your bracelet reminds you that you are in playspace. The collar reminds you, and shows all, that you are the property and pleasure of your Top. Do you understand?"

She nodded as I buckled the soft brown leather around her neck. I smiled as I affixed the leash to the D-ring and tugged her head closer to me for a kiss. A few teasing smacks on her bare thighs, a gentle probe under her tartan, a random squeeze of her tit over the crisp schoolgirl shirt, and I started the engine.

"All learning should be sweet," someone told me once. So, simply for the contrasting debauch and the humour it brought me, I began Shayne's training experience with a visit to an old-fashioned soda shop where she, in her authentic Catholic schoolgirl uniform, enjoyed a root beer float.

Me, I had more coffee. Not much later, coffee wasn't all that continued to stimulate me.

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