|
StrictlySussex -> An Indecent Proposal – Fiction Until You Contact Me. (11/26/2013 6:38:43 AM)
|
An Indecent Proposal – Fiction Until You Contact Me.
Annabelle had just celebrated her 30th birthday, single and confident; she was successful at work, though bored with the office politics and dull routine, to be honest who isn’t.
She was blonde, some days more of a hindrance than a bonus – “Blondes have more fun” she thought, not in this dull office.
Annabelle wanted excitement and for a few years she had come to realise that the excitement she desired couldn’t come from the boys in the office. She wanted to feel alive, to feel her every nerve ending electrified, to feel that she had no control over her emotions.
She was living an almost 24/7 vanilla life, which had suited her most days, but this week that nagging feeling was back. She wanted to hand over control, she wanted to be taken out of her comfort zone and become an objectified item. She wanted to feel free to scream out loud, just for a short time.
Scanning the personal classified adverts in the Metro free paper, at lunchtime, she skipped the usual dating blurb, you know the type; 30s something Male seeks attractive female for barefoot walks on the beach, wine and a DVD. GSOH.
Bored, she turned the last page to the “Adult Classifieds” and started scanning the page, the Dommes, the foot worshipping, the swinging couples; then she spotted it. The advert that would change her life.
42yr old Dom. Seeks female companion for punishment walks on the South Downs. Contact: 01234 567890
Annabelle read the advert again, intrigued. Being a country girl at heart, she had always loved watching the sunset over the South Coast and she knew the rolling hills of the South Downs well, being clearly visible from her office window.
She smiled as she looked to the distance, “I wonder what’s going on up there right now” she mused to herself. After lunch back at her desk, she sent a text to the number; “Hi, I’m Annabelle, love the countryside, enjoy walking. Am a bit rusty when it comes to kink, would love to learn more.”
To her surprise, she received a text back almost instantly with his contact details; a Skype address, with clear instructions that she was to make contact at exactly 6.45pm that same evening or else there was no further contact.
The rest of her afternoon at work passed in a blur, paper work, phone calls, spreadsheets all seemed immaterial now. She wanted it to be 6:44pm, she wanted to feel her body trembling as she clicked the Skype connect button.
6:45pm she clicked to connect; she felt alive, she felt a sense of guilt, she felt a wave of electricity through her core. Annabelle was taking control of her life once more. The Skype call was business like, the Dom obviously kept himself fit, he was articulate and he was intelligent but that was it.
There was no flirting, no sexual innuendos, no small talk. It was a business call. Annabelle liked that. She had no time in her life right now for dating and the pitfalls that can bring. She knew what she wanted. She wanted someone to take full control.
As she hung up at the end of the Skype call she looked at the email she had been told to print off. It was a short list of requirements.
1) You will be collected from your place of work. The time is non negotiable.
2) You will be wearing a business suit, skirt and stockings. Black high heels.
3)You will be returned safely to your place of work and will return straight to your desk.
4)You will be issued with a contract to sign, acceptance gives your full consent.
5)You will address me as Sir.
6)You will use a safeword. Upon speaking the safeword you will be taken to a safe place.
7)You will at all times keep your feet, smooth, clean and take a weekly pedicure.
8)Text “I submit” to begin.
Annabelle held the print-off in her hands, trembling. Reading item 8, she fumbled for her mobile. She tapped in his number and typed, “I submit” she paused for a second, then hit send. She watched the icon, message sent.
She dropped her phone, kicked off her shoes, took down her stockings and masturbated on the sofa. Hard.
12pm Tuesday 26th November 2013.
Annabelle was wearing a navy blue business suit. Normal office attire for a woman of her position. Black 3” high heels, knee length skirt, slightly pleated, white blouse, tailored jacket and stockings. The only deviation from her normal routine was her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail.
She doubted the boys in the office had noticed the change. Too busy comparing iPhone Apps and football scores. I’m a trapped office girl, get me out of here! Annabelle looked out of her office window across to the Downs, she could barely see the hills for the lashing rain. What a thoroughly miserable lunchtime this will be, she thought.
Her mobile beeped, she had a text. Her heart thumped hard, it was from the Dom. “In your car park now, red Ford, boot lid open.” She nearly sent her coffee flying from her desk as she looked out of the window. She saw it, parked in the visitors bay, boot lid open, engine running.
Annabelle grabbed her mobile called out to her colleagues, “off to lunch with a friend, got my phone with me” and walked down to reception. She smiled at the security guard on the desk and pushed the glass doors open; the rain hit her squarely on her face; ice cold, horizontal.
She hurried to the red car, desperate to escape the cold rain. The Dom got out of the driver’s side as she approached. He opened the passenger door and held it wide. She thanked him and sat down in the warm car.
He walked around the car and got back in. Closing his door. She went to speak but before she could say the second word he held up his finger and motioned for silence. Annabelle bit her lip softly. Reaching behind him, the Dom produced a black brief case and popped the latches. He opened the lid and produced a printed document and a pen. Closing the lid; he offered the briefcase to her as a table to use. Annabelle noticed faint imprints of names and signatures scratched into the leather of the case lid. This had been used before.
She started to read the document in her mind. She jumped suddenly as the Dom spoke “you will read the contract out loud.” Not wishing to further annoy the Dom, she started to read the terms aloud.
It was strangely, not too dissimilar from the types of documents she had prepared herself at work. A contract of business. Upon reading out the last words she calmly signed the document and handed the paper and pen back to the Dom. He took them from her, opened the lid of the briefcase and closed the lid, snapping the locks shut with a firm click.
“Take your shoes off and place them in the boot of the car. You will see where to put them. Then close the boot lid and return to the passenger seat.” She did as instructed. Slipping her high heels off she felt relief as her stockinged toes were able to flex in the passenger footwell of the car.
Holding both heels in her hand she stepped from the car, the shock of the cold November rain soaking into her stockinged feet was a wake up call she did not need. She briefly looked back into the car, “NOW”. Yes Sir.
Annabelle looked in the trunk of the car; a solitary silk lined shoebox was waiting, lid off. She placed her pristine high-heels into the shoebox and slipped on the snug fitting lid. She closed the boot lid as instructed and tip-toed back to the passenger seat and closed her door.
The Dom and Annabelle drove, a short but steep drive up onto the rain sodden hills of the South Downs. Needless to say the public car park was empty. Huge muddy puddles filled the car park, the rain seeming to beat down on every window of the car simultaneously.
The Dom parked the car and got out, opened the back door of the mud splattered Ford and reached in for his warm raincoat and rucksack. She heard the bag clank and clunk as he picked it up from the back seat. “Get out” he ordered as he opened her passenger door.
Annabelle did as she was told. Standing straight into a pool of brown muddy rain. Her pedicured toes sinking into the mire. The soles of her stockings wrinkled and filthy. She kept silent. The Dom closed the car doors, locked them and pointed towards a footpath sign. Walk. Yes Sir.
She felt the sharp flint beneath her soles, pricking the once warm pads of her soft toes. The Dom pushed her firmly from behind, walk faster. Yes Sir. She padded forwards, her feet squelching as she compacted the sodden earth. The cruel rain soaking into her tailored suit jacket.
She heard the Dom laugh as she shivered.
She stumbled again as her cold dirty toes struggled for grip in the mud. The Dom caught her as she slipped. Holding her firmly, safely. She thanked him “thank you Sir.” There was silence. The Dom dropped his rucksack and opened the drawstring at the top. Reaching in he brought out a black leather collar, with worn holes punched in the belt. Put this on.
Annabelle shivered, drips of rain fell from her blonde ponytail, her delicate fingers held the collar as she shivered. NOW. Yes Sir. She placed the collar around her pale neck and fed the free end into the buckle, the well worn holes allowed her to easily select the correct tightness.
Annabelle knew this wasn’t the first time. With collar fastened tightly she looked back up to the Dom. Her head now held slightly higher in posture. The Dom adjusted the collar slightly, turning it round so that the welded D ring was at the front.
Annabelle could not see what was happening but the sound of metallic jangling made her think of her old dog lead. Funny how life imitates itself. She felt a sudden jolt on her neck as the Dom dropped the heavy dog chain down. The leather leash handle swinging by her knees.
Picking up his rucksack the Dom ordered Annabelle to pick up her leash and present it to him. You will ask to be walked. She did as instructed. Picking up the thick leather leash handle she coiled the excess chain in her hands and held out both her arms, chest high at full reach.
The Dom stood there, the rain pouring, running off his waterproof coat. Her arms trembled. She shuffled from foot to foot. Stand still. Yes Sir. She stood still, her toes scrunched up in the mud for balance. The rain pouring off her face, soaking her blouse, her skirt, her stockings. She shivered. “Please Sir, please walk me” she asked softly.
The rain continued unabated. Why?
“Please walk me Sir, I am dirty Sir, I deserves to be punished. I am a dirty girl Sir.” She thought she saw a faint smile from the Dom. Her thought ceased as she was jerked forwards. Her toes slipping, she stumbled forwards.
They walked.
After several minutes of walking they stopped, Annabelle’s stockings were ruined, the reinforced toes ripped from the endless flints on the ancient footpath. Her once bright red toenails were now ingrained with mud, clay and chalk. She looked down as much as her collar would allow.
10 toenails, a dark muddy shade of red, mud squelching from between her soft perdicured toes. I am a filthy girl Sir. “You are” his voice replied. They walked on a little and then stopped. She saw a fallen tree to the side of the path. A once ancient oak now stripped bare of its bark. Waist high.
The Dom released her leash handle. Wait. She stood still, her bare soles now connected with the cold cruel earth, the very nature that she had admired from the sanctuary of her office window. She looked, he hammered.
The Dom took from the rucksack two iron spikes, the kind that would have been used to peg down an old WWII army tent. The Dom hammered them into the ground, in front of the fallen tree trunk. Leaving just the top of the spikes above the soaked flint strewn ground.
He grabbed her leash and walked her to the tree trunk. Standing with her stockinged shins touching the horizontal tree trunk she remained silent. Compliant. The Dom opened his rucksack and took a third tent peg from it; just as solid and used as the previous two. He hooked her dog lead handle over the curved end of the spike.
Annabelle found herself falling forwards as the Dom pulled her leash swiftly over the top of the mighty fallen oak. She looked to the ground as she saw the hammer swing. Thud, mud splattered her nose. Thud, she blinked as mud spat at her pretty eyes. Thud.
Her leash and by association her compliant neck were now staked to the ground. She was bent over the oak, tethered by her dog lead to the ground on the far side of the girth. She felt a pain in her ankles, the Dom kicked her legs apart again. She slid her feet across the mud, spreading her legs as far as her office attire allowed.
Annabelle felt him, his warmth. The remains of her stockings were ripped off. Her legs bare, stark white to her filthy feet. Dirty girl. Yes Sir. The nylons useless. He placed them over the tree trunk, laid out to dry in the relentless deluge from above.
The remaining items in his rucksack released their coils as he dropped them to the barren ground. She felt the rope, coarse, rough. The Dom coiled it around her shapely ankles, taking his time. Each coil not over lapping. Her feet felt confined. Secure. Annabelle stretched her legs wide as the rope dictated.
Bound, barefoot and dirty. She smiled. He secured. Her bare feet bound by her ankles to the tent pegs. Legs apart. Yes Sir. She flinched. Her skirt lifted high. The rain falling on bare buttocks. Bent over for inspection, by who? The dreamy girl in the office 5 miles away?
“You are a filthy barefoot girl.” Yes Sir I am. She wriggled her toes, sharp flint scratched her toenails. Grit under her square cut nails. “Please punish me Sir, I failed in my task. I am sorry.”
Rule 7. You will at all times keep your feet, smooth, clean and take a weekly pedicure.
The Dom spanked her rain sodden buttocks, right across her thong. The sweet spot. She cried out. “Thank you Sir.” The rain was oblivious. Thwack. Still it rained. Her sweet arse running with rivulets of water. Thwack as the Dom landed his hand on her white flesh. “Oh thank you Sir.”
20 to start with, a healthy pink glow brightening up an otherwise miserable day. She panted, her breath misting. I need this. He enjoyed this. Still it rained. 20 more until she wept, “Thank you Sir, thank you.”
Her buttocks pink, red. The rain drops stinging as they arrived on her goosebumped flesh. Each drop of rain an ice needle of pain. Soothing, cooling, punishing. The Dom lowered her soaked skirt. Untied her aching ankles, softly lifting each bare foot as he removed the rope. She smiled from his soft touch.
She moved her legs, her toes filthy, her soles imprinted with flint marks. She flexed her feline pads. Content, dreamy, punished. Her neck was jolted again, this time upwards towards the dark sombre heavens. The spike released, her leash free. She stood still. She did not want to be free from this.
The Dom collected the hardware. Coiled his wet rope with attention. The iron spikes back in darkness, until called for again. He took Annabelle’s leash and walked her away from the oak. A dry patch marked her existence on the ancient fallen giant.
They walked. Bare legs, bare feet, bare soul. She felt alive. Punished for being vanilla. Her ponytail hung heavy from the rain, her face spotted with mud from her shackling. Cotton soaked threads. She placed each barefoot with confidence, now free to observe the oozing mud with purpose.
Too soon, she saw his red car. Parked. He opened the read doors and dropped his rucksack and raincoat on the rear seat. He walked her to the passenger door, opened it and she sat down. He closed the door. Inside of her another one had opened.
They drove. A short downhill journey. They reached the edge of her office car park. He stopped. She looked at him. “Collar” he demanded. She fumbled fingers still numb. The leather relented and she handed the collar and chain to him. Thank you Sir.
The Dom placed the collar and dog chain in the rucksack. United with the rope once more. Good friends. He stepped from the car, walked to her door and opened it. She looked frightened. Barefoot, filthy dirty bare feet. Chipped toenails, guilty rope marks around her elegant ankles.
Her buttocks, stinging, stinging of icy wet pain.
Walk to the boot of the car. Pick up the shoebox. Do not wear your shoes. Close the boot lid. Walk to your office building, barefoot. Shameful. Take the stairs to your office level. Walk to your office desk. Open the shoebox, hold the box to your office window and show me the contents.
“I do NOT want to see mud on the inside of those shoes until you are at your office desk!” Yes Sir.
Annabelle padded barefoot across the wet office car park, leaving muddy footprints as she walked. The puddles washing her humiliation away, traces remain. Her ankles rope marked, her buttocks, hidden by the thinnest of office skirt, red raw.
Somewhere high on the hills of West Sussex are a pair of stockings....drying in the sunshine over a fallen broad oak.
Only ever a story until you make it reality. Contact me.
|
|
|
|
