MauerBarb

Kate woke to the sound of his radio alarm and lay in bed listening to the announcer's familiar tones: "Here is the seven o'clock news for Thursday the 24th of April ..." Still only half awake began the day with a few warm-up exercises, serenaded by the coffee machine bubbling in the kitchen. Once the caffeine had cleared the cobwebs from her brain Kate showered then checked her diary where she discovered a puzzling entry: 'Obedience Day'.

Adrenalin coursed through her veins as she recalled its significance. A date selected one wine-fueled evening, a promise to be kept. Would I remember? Could she possibly go through with it? True, they'd played similar charades before; but this would be the most elaborated. Alternatively, no one was forcing her; A late change of mind would not be catastrophic. But why settle for a humdrum existence when it would be a chance to live on the edge?

The postman interrupted Kate's reverie, the sound of the letterbox sending her hurrying to the front door. Excitedly she grabbed envelopes from the mat, anxiously discarding bills in the search for ... Yes! Here it was, in her master's handwriting: Nothing complex at this hour, just a few sartorial details. We shall not meet until this evening but I'll monitor your progress and send further instructions as necessary.

The clothing requirements proved simple enough: some of the scantier items from Kate's dress-to-thrill lingerie drawer, black stockings instead of the customary tights, a little black dress in place of her usual business suit. All the usual elements to light a male fire, Kate thought as she read the list. She balked only at the last edict. High heels were fine for wiggling across the bedroom, or a short walk between taxi and theater, but for a full day at work, no way. She owed it to her toes and calves to compromise and selected a pair of ballet pumps instead.

Forty-five minutes later, chestnut hair shining, impeccable makeup and season ticket in hand, she entered the meter. A ticket inspector stood at the barrier. "Morning, miss," he said with a brief glance at the travel pass and a much longer appraisal of Kate, "sure you have not forgotten anything?"

"Definitely not found confidently, and boarded the train.

Once at the office her day gained momentum; messages to answer, a meeting to attend. Throughout the morning Kate took care to tug down her skirt when sitting lest she treat male colleagues to an indecorous glimpse of stocking top. Until, engrossed in discussion, she forgot. Quickly correcting her posture, she glimpsed a good-looking young graphic artist swiftly avert his eyes. When I looked up Kate held her gaze, her delightful frisson of naughtiness enhanced by her obvious discomfort.

At lunchtime a courier brought flowers directly to Kate's office on the top floor. Spacious and airy it contained a sofa and drawing board in addition to the usual PC and desk. A bit of an extravagance, but what the hell, she owned company. With the rest of the staff out at lunch, she and a bored young lady down at reception were the building's only occupants.

Kate was about to reprimand this errant junior for allowing the man to enter when she noticed the card accompanying the bouquet. The motorcycle messenger waited diffidently while she read the message. Kate felt her chest tighten, and instinctively squeezed her thighs together. His face creased into a smile as hers reddened. She was mortified; Kate ran her own cutting-edge design company for goodness sake, she never blushed. However, the courier clearly already knew more than Kate wanted to reveal.

"I've other calls to make, I really must get on," he said.

"You know what's in the card," Kate stated - it was not a question.

"Of course," he replied easily, sitting on an upright chair, "so come here."

Meekly she obeyed. The wording on the card, after all, was brief and to the point: Well really, falling at the first hurdle. Did you think you'd get away with those shoes? Later you'll shop for replacements, but for now Rufus will reprimand you to obey in a rather more direct and effective way.

"Lift your dress, please," Rufus said softly, and mesmerized like a rabbit caught in a headlight beam, she did so. Rufus grasped her waist purposely as he pulled her across his knee.

"You will not take my knickers down, will you?" she whimpered, feeling both intensely vulnerable yet desperately aroused; what if her colleagues returned early?

"I will not need to," replied Rufus, tugging the skimpy fabric tightly into her cleft and setting to work. Clearly no stranger to the art of spanking I have applied firm methodical slaps to alternate cheeks leaving no part of Kate's bottom untouched; ears deaf to the entreaties that soon betrayed her initial vow of silence.

Five minutes later Rufus stood up, setting Kate on her feet where she stood, hands clutching her blazing bottom, eyes brimming, voice full of emotion. "Oh, that's sore," she complained.

"Face the wall, hands on head, no rubbing" 'I have commanded calmly, and took out his phone. Within minutes the recipient of a series of snapshots would delight at the contrast between white silk knickers and crimson skin.

"I'll let myself out," said Rufus. "Your next instructions will come by phone."

Kate sat at her desk, immediately regretted it - ouch! - and instead stood to brush her tousled hair. A little calmer now she shoved the flowers into a vase and reluctantly turned her attention to more mundane matters. But try as she might, Kate could not concentrate. Two hours later very little work had been done and beneath the clinging dress her hot bottom still smarted cruelly. Suddenly it dawned on her. The phone had not rung in ages. Furious at herself for being so stupid she buzzed the temp. "Why did not I have any calls?" she demanded testily.

"You said not to disturb you," replied the perfect girl in lingerie, with sulky self-justification.

"I said no such thing," retorted Kate.

"No," agreed the girl, "not in person,

"Well, put any calls from immediately from now on, please," she said, she love sexy stockings petulantly replacing the receiver.

Just half an hour until the office closed. During that time two calls made her jump, anxiously grab the phone, struggle to contain her disappointment, then force her voice back to normal and speak with a client. Eventually, with five minutes to go, her usual bright professionalism reduced to the anxious state of a teenager who suspects she's been up on a date, Kate heard her familiar voice at the other end of the line.

"Took you a while to catch on," I chuckled. "Now listen carefully." There's a little shop in Poland Street called "Mata Hari." Oh, and Kate, this time, just as you, you'll be served some shoes, further instructions and something to think about. 're told. " With a click he was gone, and the only word he got in edgeways were a slur on his parentage. Fortunately her anger gradually dissipated, replaced by a buzz of anticipation as she made the short walk through the teeming city streets.

The sign on the door of 'Mata Hari' told Kate it was closed but she'd now at least grasped the rudiments of this game and knocked firmly. With a brief rattle of bolts it was opened. Situated in a trendy part of town the shop was owned by the son and daughter of an enfant terrible designer of the 1960's. Their stock in trade was exotic; a pricey, niche market where fetish wear and original '50's glamor merged to produce the sort of look beloved of style magazine editors.

Kate took in the surroundings; a clothing cornucopia, original 'New Look' dresses scrounged from the flea markets of Europe vying for attention with high-heeled fluffy mules.

"Have a seat," said the young assistant who'd let her in. "May I get you to drink - red wine perhaps?"

"No alcohol, some fizzy water please," replied Kate, who'd not desire to blur her senses. Right now reality was thrilling enough.

The assistant disappeared towards the back of the shop; Kate continued her look around and was admiring a beautiful, full-length 1950's cocktail dress when she returned, glass in hand.

"Gorgeous," she said in an American-accented voice, "but it's shoes you're here for."

"That's right," confirmed Kate, sitting down, "Some have been put aside for me?"

"Indeed," agreed the girl, "she was very specific, very good-looking, too," she added with a mischievous smile. "All the same I think I'd better check the fit. I'm Jo-Jo, by the way." Fetching a box from the counter she crouched at Kate's feet motioning her back to the chair with a wave of her hand when she leant forward to help.

"That's my job," she said, slipping Kate's feet into the new shoes with practiced skill. From her brief survey of the stock's shop Kate had been in some trepidation as to what to expect: Westwood platforms, dominatrix spike heels? To her relief, she was fitted with classic black leather courts in beautiful soft leather with a high heel and single elegant strap across the instep.

Jo-Jo's hands, tentatively tracing the contours of Kate's slender nylon-covered legs, following the outline of the gym-toned muscles, fingers softly sliding up towards her knee. Her sensual touch felt shiver of guilty desire through Kate, who sighed and parted her legs a fraction, mutely allowing the girl's caress.

"You've gorgeous pins," said Jo-Jo as Kate observed her closely for the first time: mixed race, petite and pretty, pale lipstick her only make-up. Dark shoulder-length tresses, several silver rings in each ear and a stud on one side of her nose. Small, firm breasts, intricate tattoos circling each upper arm and another just visible at the top of her cleavage; a narrow waist to die for, tight leather miniskirt and bare legs.

Looking down, Kate enjoyed the voyeuristic pleasure of viewing the small triangle between Jo-Jo's thighs, and felt her own sex dampen as the cute girl's hand slid even higher, stroking the naked skin of her upper thigh. Then, abruptly, Jo-Jo stood, holding out a hand to help Kate to her feet.

"You'd better try walking in them," she said, as if the last few minutes had never happened.

Nonplussed Kate took an experimental trip around the shop floor and found the shoes surprisingly comfortable, despite the radical change they made to her stance; pushing her bottom out and forcing her to draw back her shoulders in order to remain poised and balanced.

"They look good," said the girl. "I helped him choose," she added impishly.

"Thank you, how much ...?"

"Oh no, the financial side's sorted ..." explained the girl, then adroitly changed subject in mid-sentence, "... but you realise I have to punish you?"

"Punish me?" gasped Kate. "But I've already been ..." "Spanked, yes I know," the girl cut in. "By the courier, lucky you."

"Then why?"

"Because you're arguing with me, for a start And because of your rudeness; your master says to tell you his parents were definitely married when he was born."

Kate ruefully remembered her ill-advised telephone insult and his subsequent threat.

"Time's passing and I do not want you missing your train. Stand there against the wall, hands above your head and lean forward," commanded Jo-Jo. "It'll make a change to dish out for eleven," she so sexy added enigmatically, lifting Kate's dress to her waist. "Now, where's my hairbrush?"

Kate bit her lip in apprehension then inhaled sharply as Jo-Jo yanked her knickers down to her knees. "Hmm," observed her tormentor, "things are getting a little hot and damp down there. I guess in your position my pussy would too."

Kate's ordeal began, her stance positioning her pert later perfectly as Jo-Jo maintained a steady rhythm, allowing just enough time between each expert flick of the wrist for the smart of the previous impact to be fully absorbed. Gradually Kate's bottom turned bright, blush-red the hard wooden back of the brush hitting the same spot a second and even third time. Stealthily Jo-Jo's hand slid downwards until her fingers touched Kate's pubic mound, every subsequent smack forcing her throbbing sex closer to these digital explorations. Gasping and moaning at the conflicting sensations pulsing through her lower body Kate's movements began to lewdly echo those of more conventional sex,

"Oh that hurts," Kate whimpered caught between agony and ecstasy, "oh yes, my clit, oh do not stop."

"Let yourself eat," cajoled Jo-Jo, "you've been wanting this ever since that courier took you across his knee."

The memory serving as a catalyst with a shuddering gasp Kate climaxed.

"Boy, you make a noise," observed Jo-Jo. "I did not make so much fuss when my guy last whipped me."

"You get punished as well?" Kate asked, taken aback.

"Do not be fooled by the piercing and tattoos," revealed Jo-Jo. "I'm usually sub, not that seeing you have not got me very turned on," she added. "Typically though, I'm in your predicament, look," she turned, tugged up her skirt and pulled aside scanty knickers to reveal a behind liberally striped with red wheals. She shivered at the memory. "Mind you, it was worth it; I screwed me senseless afterwards."

A car horn sounded outside. "Better get your stuff together, that's your taxi," Jo-Jo steered Kate towards the door.

"B-but," Kate stammered, "where am I going?"

"To the station miss" replied the cabby and, flustered and bewildered, Kate was on her way. "You'll just about be in time," I added,

"But I have not a ticket, and I do not even know my destination," Kate complained. Without taking his eyes from the road the cabby reached back and handed her an envelope. "One single to Oxford," I said brusquely. "A car will take you on to Melton Towers."

Melton Towers; the name was familiar, yes, now Kate remembered. A large Georgian pile a few thousand outside of the 'Dreaming Spiers' where she'd attended university, in fact the railway line ran right past it. The cab reached the terminus, and scarcely had she alighted when it was off.