Author's Note: Part 1 of a few.


Part 1

You knew from the moment the letter arrived that you were going to attend. You got in the taxi because... why? Can you put your finger on the reason? Need? Want? Lust? Adventure? Boredom? Who cares! The letter dropped onto the mat at five past ten last Tuesday, and the inevitable consequence was that you would be stepping out of a taxi today, outside a well kept georgian house on a bright leafy street, fighting with your emotions. Ring the bell? Walk away? It's not too late, you can still leave. But you know you won't; can't. Partly because this is something you need to do, something in you is driving you to be here, and you know if you leave now you'll regret it forever. But also because, as the letter instructed, you have left your house without keys, wallet, or coat. You would have to walk home and break into your own house.

In broad daylight.

In Uniform.

The taxi driver seems half asleep when he phones to say he's outside - early, of course, the one time it doesn't suit. If you were having any last minute second thoughts, well... "Ok, sure, thanks, I'll be right out, just give me five minutes." "No problem". Crap. Crap. Crap. What am I thinking? Breathe. Ok; calm, calm. I want this. Breathe. You lean over on the washbasin, feeling the nausea welling up, but nothing happens: nerves, fear, nothing more. You take a few seconds to calm yourself and then pick up the letter one more time, to check if you have fulfilled every condition. Tilting it into the light from the window you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and stop. And stare. You do, you have to admit, love the outfit.

The Uniform.

Your Uniform.

The letter instructed you to attend a fitting last week, at a tailor's shop that reeked of wealth, class and anonymity. The gentleman who took your measurements and offered you café-au-lait talked about finishes and stitches and 'thirties style: you're still not sure whether he was referring to the decade or the age-group. Considering he was done in less than ten minutes, the finished article is amazing: tight in all the right places, tighter in all the... right places; you have dreamed about this for years, but for once, the reality surpasses anything you ever came up with.

White shirt, high tight collar: not choking, but tight enough that you know it's there all the same. The full-length sleeves come down smoothly to just over your wrist; cuffs and collar are starched, forcing you to wrestle with the buttons and the stiff seams. The shirt tucks into a long pencil skirt that reaches to mid-calf, with a slight ruffled flare at the end. Black. Of course. The skirt closes with a zipper at the back, and hugs your legs all the way down. Underneath you're wearing (what else?) sheer stockings, seamed, but no knickers - as per instruction. Shoes next, and this is the part that's currently giving you simultaneously the most stress and the most pleasure. Black patent leather, they reach half-way up your calf, with a six-inch heel and a one inch platform. First lacing up the front, you then then buckle the three straps . Thankfully you've had a similar pair for a while, so walking is merely difficult, but these are without doubt the sexiest shoes you've ever owned. You're a full six inches taller wearing them, which feels so commanding, so empowering, and the arch of your foot is incredible: a girl would almost think it's worth the strain of keeping her balance in these things. Almost.

The corset took surprisingly little time to get right. Black, steel boned, it laces up the back first, and then two long steel plates helpfully clip together in front. It took some pulling alright, but when you exhaled, it shut with a delicious snap: short breaths only from now on. As if I was breathing any other way to begin with. Bloody hell, this outfit is going to make me come just putting it on. How am I going to get anything done?!?

Threading the black tie through your shirt collar and evening it up, the feel of the tie rubbing close to your neck, the anticipation of the knot... you almost came right there and then - fuck it, who's going to know? You did come there and then - But somehow, having got control of yourself, you managed to face the mirror and, clearing your throat slightly, and with an assertive shake of the head, you carefully folded one end over the other... through the hole... pull down... and then the final act, pushing the knot hard against your throat. You had to tie it twice before being satisfied, and the already tight collar now seems doubly so, but that feeling, when the knot presses tight, is so amazing, if you could bottle it you'd be rich.

So. Stockings, shoes, skirt, corset, shirt and tie. Only one thing left. Everything so far has been reversible. You already know from the invitation that if you back out now, you can still keep everything, it's yours, no questions asked. And that is tempting, you have to admit. But let's face it, you could have gone to the tailor's yourself any time you wanted. You could wear this every day if you desired. But that's not enough. That's not why you read that letter once, twice, three times , dashed off the mailbox to send the RSVP before you could chicken out, and then sat up all night in a panic, wondering whether you'd done the right thing. So it's time to decide whether you are going to take the final step. Once you make this choice there's no backing out, you will be committed. What'll it be?

You already know.

Opening the small plain box, you take out the handcuffs. Brushed steel. Two inches of chain between them. Because they were tailor-made the ratchet only closes to one position: these handcuffs are made for your wrists. There is no key. Or to be more accurate, there is. But not in this box. The tailor sent the cuffs to you, but the key to... well, for the moment let's just say, to someone else. You place one cuff over your left wrist, keyhole facing away from your hand as instructed. You swing the hasp over, trapping your arm right above the hand, below the wrist bone. Squeezing the cuff closed, you pause. Oh my god, what am I doing? Breathe. Squeeze a little more. It's actually quite tight, perhaps a little more than is comfortable...

Click.

With a sudden intake of breath, you pull your hand away from your own grip, but the cuff stays tightly locked in place. You can't rotate it round your wrist, it won't slide up your arm, closing your fist is actually slightly painful... At once, the doubts come racing back. But they are drowned, swamped, by the elation, the shortness of breath; you take the other cuff as quickly as you can and place it over the right wrist. Squeezing with your left hand is awkward, due to both the length of the chain and the pressure on your left wrist, and your fingers slip several times. Repositioning yourself to use your body weight to push the cuff closed against the dresser, you try again. It squeezes tighter, then

Click.

The adrenalin rush is insane, an intense wave through your whole body as you instinctively struggle with the cuffs, testing their limits, their strength. It's an effort to calm yourself down to look in the mirror one last time. But, yeah, you look incredible. You'd totally fuck you.

And now you're standing outside a well kept georgian house on a bright leafy street, fidgeting with your handcuffs. Thank goodness for the trees, there's at least some semblance of anonymity... The taxi has driven away. You're on your own. Why did you trust this woman, remind me? You reach up with both hands for the doorbell, and press firmly. After about fifteen seconds you hear footsteps approach the door from inside, as if down a long hall, high heels on wooden floorboards. The footsteps reach the door and stop. A pause. A bolt being drawn. A catch being lifted.

The door opens.


Part 2 (added: 2020/07/30)

As the door opens inwards you struggle to remain calm. You're not sure where to put your hands, your instinct is to either put them in your pockets or fold your arms, neither an option open to you at the moment. Then the door is open and she is there, leaning against the door frame, smiling softly, and drinking in the sight before her. It's unnerving and empowering and degrading all at once, and your head begins to spin a little, it's a lot to deal with. She steps forward onto the doormat and leans in for a greeting, a peck on each cheek as if for an old friend. Again, you're not sure where to put your hands, but before you can get too confused she solves that problem for you, by firmly taking hold of the short chain on your handcuffs with her left hand and pulling in towards her waist. She reaches around your shoulder with her right arm for a quick embrace, cheek to cheek, takes a half-step back to look into your eyes, then says simply "come", and turning, walks back in through the doorway, pulling you after.

Holy shit. Oh my fucking god this is insane. I'm insane. She's insane! What am I doing?

Mistress closes the door and your efforts to remain calm are betrayed by a slight intake of breath, and Mistress puts one finger up to your lips, whispering "Hush." You clench and unclench your fists and your heart flutters as you anticipate what is coming. "Come", she says again, leading you gently down the hall towards the rear of the house. Down a double step, past the staircase, she pauses at a dark oak door, takes a key from atop the doorframe, and unlocks it. Inside is a room heavy with mahogany, every wall panelled floor to ceiling, with a deep-pile burgundy carpet on the floor. The light comes from two tall floor lamps in the opposite corners, and a small table lamp on the bureau against the far wall.

Once inside she re-locks the door and then leads you to the centre of the room, where a very solid iron post rises about a meter from a heavy wooden panel in the floor. Without saying a word, Mistress brings your handcuffs to a small iron ring on top of the post and quickly snaps a padlock shut, locking you in place. She then walks calmly to a leather armchair facing you and sits down.

Jesus.

H.

Christ.

I can't - I can't fucking move.

Mistress looks you up and down critically while you fidget; you tug at the cuffs but you're not going anywhere. After a minute or two she seems satisfied. "I see the tailor did a good job" she says. Taking this as a compliment to your own presentation as much as to the tailor you reply "thank you!" and smile, biting your lower lip. "I'm sorry, what was that?" "Thank you Mistress!" A slow smile spreads across her face and she nods approval.

"So, a toast, I think" and she turns to the mahogany side table, pours from a decanter into the single wine glass, and holds it up towards you. "Here's to you, making it this far!" and she takes a slow sip. Needless to say, there's no glass for you. Not that I could drink anyway in this position.

"I was so glad when I received your RSVP, you have no idea. I was afraid I might have put you off with the terms of the letter. Tell me, how do you feel right now?" "Ummm... vulnerable. Trapped. Nervous! Uh - Mistress!" "Do you feel afraid?" "No" Am I sure about that? "No what?" "No Mistress!"

Mistress gets up from the chair and walks right up to you, you could reach out and touch her if your hands weren't fixed to the top of the iron post. She reaches out and straightens your tie (crap, how did I not notice that!) and then pushes it a notch tighter against your throat. She looks straight at you and slightly raises her eyebrows, as if soliciting a reaction, but you stay silent. She smiles again.

"Well, Miss A______, your uniform is almost immaculate, I commend you. However your manners leave a little to be desired. But we can fix that" and she walks past you to the far side of the room. You could turn to see her but you sense you're not meant to. You hear a heavy wooden drawer opening and then closing again, and when Mistress reappears she's holding a short black riding crop.

Fuck. Oh my god. This is it.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You can change your mind at any time, but this will work best if we both take it very seriously. I think we can assume, since you are currently locked to a post in my house, that you are serious about your submission." It doesn't sound like a question, but you say "Yes Mistress" anyway. "Very well. I will explain the Rules, and then I will ask you to confirm that you understand and accept them." "Yes Mistress." She pauses for a moment, and opens a drawer in the side table, taking out a pen, a stiff piece of paper, and two small keys, which she places on the bureau beside her. From the same drawer she also removes a bright red ball gag, which she places beside the key.

"So," she begins, "the Rules. You will refer to me as Mistress. I will refer to you as Miss A______. When you are here you will be in your uniform, which I may amend as I see fit. You will be obedient, performing whatever tasks I may set you immediately and without complaint. You will be chaste. This means no orgasms," Mistress looks at you smiling, "exactly as you requested. You will accept discipline without complaint." She pauses for a moment but before you can say anything she continues.

"Initially I am going to suggest that you spend one evening and one full day here every week, which will be Wednesday from six pm to midnight, and Sunday from six am to midnight. I expect you to be in your uniform on arrival. That means all of your uniform, before you ring the doorbell."

"Your discipline will be as follows, in accordance with your experience and with what we have already discussed. For uniform infractions, such as a loose tie, dirt on your uniform, collar undone, you will be plugged in your rear, two hours. For verbal infractions, such as addressing me without referring to me as Mistress, or for foul language, you will be gagged, two hours. For failure to complete a task in the given time, you will have a written punishment reflecting the task. For disobedience you will be gagged, locked to the post at which you now stand and cropped in accordance with the offence. For breaches of chastity you will serve a punishment day, which will be an extra full day in uniform and with full restraints."

She pauses as if to let this all sink in. It's terrifying and exciting all at once like, this is exactly what I have fantasised for years, but it's suddenly real.

Suddenly, Mistress stands up and walks over to you, picking up the keys. She opens the padlock and takes hold of your cuffs. She opens them and places them on the bureau with the keys. You rub your wrists and wonder what to say, but stay silent. "This is a free choice. I am going to leave the room now. I am leaving a copy of the Rules on the table. I will return in ten minutes. If you agree to the arrangement I have outlined, you will sign the Rules. You will put the ball gag in your mouth and strap it tight. You will then re-lock yourself to this post. The keys will stay here on the bureau.

"If you do not agree to the arrangement simply wait here for my return, at which point you may leave, you may keep the uniform, and I will present you the key to keep with the cuffs; they're made for your wrists, so they're no use to me.

"If when I return you are locked to the post I will take it that you agree to the arrangement. You will then be disciplined."

At this, your eyes widen and you must look a bit confused, because Mistress then clarifies: "I need to make sure you really want this. You need to know that I will give you six strokes with the riding crop if you choose to submit to me."

She looks hard into your eyes to make sure you understand, then without waiting for a reply she walks past you, opens the door and leaves the room, locking the door behind her.

FUCK. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?


Part 3 (added: 2020/10/04)

One month previously…

You stare out the window as the light of the setting sun gently washes the landscape with an orange tint, turned almost purple by the shaded glass of the bus. The truck in the inside lane with the silhouetted pole dancer tastelessly adorning its rear panel is thankfully receding in the gloom. Your phone buzzes. Email, probably. Figuring it's most likely work, you ignore it. Fuck 'em, it's half eight. It can wait til Monday morning. The soporific sound of tyres on tarmac sends you off to sleep, waking only with a start twenty minutes later when the lights come on.

"Last stop, all out, ladies and gents, please".

It's only when you slope in the door and stick the kettle on that you remember to check your mail. Pulling the phone out, you tap the little blue icon and wait for the stupid thing to load… finding network... You make the tea while you're waiting, and root around to confirm that there are, in fact, no biscuits. Piss. You totally meant to buy them at lunch time. Tea it is, so.
Oh yeah. Email. Right...

And it's from her! Holy shit! Fuck, I should have fucking checked it on the bus, shit.

"Hi A______,
I was delighted to get your mail, I'm sorry it took me so long to reply. I would love to meet up, but I will be away next weekend and the weekend after. Would this weekend be too short notice? I would completely understand if you can't make it, I know you may well have something scheduled already, if so don't worry, we can put it off for a while.

Let me know how you're fixed, I'm free tomorrow afternoon and evening, or else Sunday morning.
Regards,
M."

Ok, now your knees are knocking and you have to stand up and sit down again several times before you can think straight. You emailed her, what, ten, eleven days ago? Ok, ok, shit, ok... What do I say?!?

You'd been resolving to do something like this for an age, and finally you took the plunge last week, emailing the woman from the convention, and when she hadn't replied after a week you had kinda resolved right back again. But here she is. Ok. So. What to do? Well, do you want to meet her? Fuck yes. Maybe you're overthinking this, just reply, quick before she makes other plans.

"Hi M,
I would love to meet up. When and where suits you? I'm free all weekend.
A______"

Shit, the tea's gone cold. Fuck it, let's have some wine anyway, I know there's a bottle over here somewhere - and there goes the phone again:

"Hi A______,
That sounds great. I'll send you instructions shortly.
M."

Ok, that sounds... strange. Never mind, open the wine. Pour the wine. Drink the wine. Pour some more wine. Now let's recap a little. What did you tell her, and what does she know?
Well, she knows you're submissive, you made that clear. She knows you're looking for someone you can trust. She knows what you like, and what you've done up to now: some pretty unsatisfactory self-bondage in bed, and a few daring trips to the mall wearing secret collars etc.
And you're not looking for a sexual relationship, but you do want to explore this and see where it leads. And when you met at the bondage convention she seemed really nice, and more importantly she seemed to know what she was talking about, like she's been in this situation herself. Fuck, just talking about this shit like the two of you were normal human beings was a breath of fresh air. So, calm. This is good. This is exciting. This is what you wanted, right?

Bzzzzzz

"Hi A______,
Ok, I have been reviewing my file on you so here are your instructions.
Meet me tomorrow at the cafe in the museum, 12 noon. You are to wear your uniform you told me about, as follows: white shirt, black tie, black corset, black pencil skirt, lined stockings, shoes to suit, heel at least four inches. No jacket, no coat. You may bring a small handbag, to include small overnight supplies.
If you want to proceed, text "yes" to my phone, you'll find the number on the card I gave you. If I don't hear from you I'll assume you'd rather not. I look forward to hearing from you.
M."

Oh.

My.

Holy.

God.

Oh my holy god. Shit. This is real. Is this real?!? Aaaaaaaaagh ok ok ok breathe, A______, breathe...

What do I do? Is she serious? Uniform? In public? But of course you're already reaching for your phone. Shit, where's the card? It's in my handbag, I'm sure, bollox where did I put it... Zip pocket... Got it. Ok, 086... Uh huh hmmm... Uh uh uh mmmm and "Yes" and send...

Bing

Oh Christ I've done it.


When you arrive at the museum you can see the looks from out of the corner of your eye, and you scan the cafe quickly, hoping to find M. But you're a little early yet, so you just grab a table near the wall and order a latte. Your phone sits on the table in front of you, and you study it carefully, pretending to read something terribly important when in fact you can't even focus on the screen.

Without warning, M suddenly arrives and slides into the seat opposite you. "Hello A______" she says, "it's so nice to meet you this way!" and she smiles at you.

"Hi" you begin, and then it all comes spilling out. "I had no idea what to expect when you got back to me, I had actually kind of forgotten about my email, and I’ll be honest I don't know if I'm doing the right thing still, I have to say I'm really nervous about this -"

She puts her finger up to her lips to stem the flow. "Shhh. Don't worry, I know exactly how you feel. Don't speak. Just take a few deep breaths." Just then your latte arrives, and M orders tea. You take several deep breaths. M seems to look at you appraisingly.

"Are you ok now?"

You can't trust yourself to speak, so you just nod.

"Ok. And you meant everything you said in your email?"

Nod.

"I see."

Pause...

"A______, I think I would very much like to help you explore your submission, are you ready for that?"

Nod.

Pause.

"A______, when I ask you to meet me in uniform I expect certain things. I want you to go to the bathroom and straighten up. I want you to fasten your collar and fix your tie, it's all over the place. Do it again, neatly, and pull it up properly. I want you to tie your hair back and roll down your sleeves and close the cuffs. I expect you to be smart when you are in uniform. Do you understand?"

nod

"If you understand, say 'yes, mistress'"

Oh my holy god oh my holy god oh my holy “yes mistress” god oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck - and now you're walking to the bathroom, at once wondering why you are obeying this woman's orders, and also silently berating yourself for creating such a sloppy first impression...