“I can’t see you. My Husband is home.” Lisa insisted.
“Please, I ache to be touched by you. You have made me wait so long…”
“I will make you wait further, if you speak to me like that…”
“I thought you wanted to meet today?”
“Well, he’s taken the day off, Sarah. There’s not much I can do…”

The line beeps continuously at me and the call ends. I look at the LCD screen on my Nokia. She’s hung up. My head sinks along with my heart. The bus stops near Queensway as my journey has brought me across town. I peer out as the heavens open and I disembark. Fucking typical.

I run a hand through my hair and yet more water falls down my cleavage as I grasp the shirt on my chest, in an attempt to drain the water from the material. I look around and think of Plan B, even considering dashing back to the nearby Hilton and drying off in the lobby.
I picture Lisa, wiping the condensation from the pane at her side of the luxury flat and looking down at the darkened street, hopefully thinking about the last time she saw me. Bloody rained then too. We had met a few times but it was that first night she initiated her power over me. We have been quite cautious since but God, that first night… he nearly caught us.

I was dressed in not much more than knee socks and a black leather bra. Lisa had bent me over the arm of their Ikea Klippan and struck me with (amongst other things) their telephone receiver. I had to gather what little I had brought as she pushed me towards their front door, upon hearing the distinctive purr of a V12 engine and seeing the darkened room engulfed in reflected headlights.

I found myself in her stairwell, half naked with a crumpled pile of clothing tucked across my front to save me from embarrassment. The shoes fell to the floor and I immediately became aware of the noise that they made, dashing up to the floor above. I scrambled what was left of my modesty together as his weight below me stomped up each tired flight. The door shut behind him and I skipped down, passing their door on the way. I have to admit, I felt rather foolhardy and used.

I made it down nearly as far as the street, until I heard motion from above me. Immediately, I thought the game was up. I imagined that he had noticed an unfamiliar item in his home, a trace of unfamiliar perfume or a suspicious look on his wife’s face. I stopped in my tracks and listened, before the sound of a mother and children debating the promises of spoils and treats after their journey ‘if they were to be good girls’ echoed through the building. I used it as a chance to make my escape.

My attention is caught by a vibration somewhere in my coat. I flip open my phone and the words that I desperately desire glares out to me like some neon gift. It reads:
“I have to see you before you go. Come to me. I’ll find a way to see you.”

I step out of the doorway shelter, some faux Italian ice cream parlour and ditch my idea to wait out the weather with a coffee and a fruity three scoop. Instead, my hunched shoulders hang as I power-walk the good ten minutes to their marital home through the driving rain. I glance up towards the list of unrecognisable surnames, as they stare down at me from the brick wall.

I know which one to press but realise that I cannot alert her that way. I dial her number instead to nothing. Great. Increasingly I think this is becoming a waste of my time and more importantly, a rare day off in the week.
That is until my phone vibrates again. Then everything changes. The message reads:
“Wait there. I will come down to you as and when I desire. But first, you must further prove your loyalty to me.”
Her words send a rush of excitement and anticipation through me and my flesh twitches as I recall the last time she had uttered those four final words to me, only a couple of weeks before.

She towered over me in her high stilettos as I crouched on my knees, her hair up and away from her business suit and bifocals. She’d asked me how and who I had wanted her to dominate and instruct her as and I had absolutely no second choice of what I wanted from her.

I told Lisa about the severe-looking Maths teacher I had when I was 15. She snapped at me, ordered me around and called me by my surname, Taylor. I often found myself late for English or Double Science after I was desperate between classes to detour into the stalls and whip off my unsightly cotton trousers and masturbate through my panties, while I obsessed about what she looked like under her sharply pressed work shirt. It worked a treat. Lisa worked me up into a panting frenzy by introducing a wooden ruler into the proceedings. She began to thwack my bum cheeks and rub it in between them, just I imagined Mrs. Chapman giving me the admonishment she never did. She lightly spanked my pussy until it completely cleared that morning’s migraine.

Stood there in the drizzle, I contemplate exactly how much trouble I had gotten in so far, just from joining Facebook. An ex-playmate had invited me a months back and after not really bothering with it that much I went on one day. After I managed to clear all of the Friend requests from strange Turkish men, I noticed that she had also invited me to a couple of London-based Lesbian groups and one in particular, bearing the curious title, ‘City Girls Who Like To Be Spanked By Older Women’, which is where Lisa came across me and introducing herself with a ‘poke’. She was an elegant, married lady. Ten years my senior and (according to her message to me) with both bisexual and BDSM tendencies (good), but also unsure about how to explain either of them to her husband (not so good).

Normally, I wouldn’t get involved with a married woman. Especially one who is being unfaithful to her husband, but something struck me about the exchange in our correspondence. I appreciated and felt a certain sense of intimacy with her straight away, not to mention making it clear to me that she was more than able to satisfy my desire to be dominated by an older, more confident woman. Besides, I had gone through a period of disappointment and wasted hours stood waiting for non-existent meetings to happen in overpriced, Soho bars. Twice I have turned up to find that the cute 19-year old Philosophy student with the ginger bob and specs or the power-dressing Docklands exec were actually, very much male.

About ten minutes into my instruction, I get another message:
“Kneel…”
I understand fully. It is where she preferred me to be, after all. It was also where I too, felt the most comfort within her hold over me. Without thought of what would happen next, I sink to my knees on the wet concrete steps as the world continues to pass by behind me. I even subconsciously put my wrists together and bow my head slightly in respect for her, eager and submitting to her power. A man opens the door and cautiously steps around me as he discovers me in his path as he pulls the door open. He asks after me, but only as he has already passed me. I imagine what Lisa would want and I stay silent. My stomach rumbles and my breasts cling to my t-shirt. The rainwater covers my face and drips from my mouth and the end of my nose.

She makes me wait. Half an hour after that first text, I am still there waiting. Sodden.

I lift my head up into the falling rain and squint at the door, as the mechanical din of the buzzer rings out. I gasp as I push the door into the warm confines of the hallway in front of me. I imagine Lisa by the buzzer in the lush-carpeted flat two floors above me and wonder if she had the intention of introducing us after all. Instead though, I hear a pitter-patter of stockinged feet on the ornate, spiral staircase above me and the hushes and whispers that accompany them.
“Shhh, he’ll hear you…” she pleads, hanging over the middle of the stairwell. I guess not then. Not wanting to sneak around further, I try to give her a get-out clause. I don’t want her hubby getting too curious and following her out.
“I should probably…” I started.
“Wait!” she hisses, in a loud whisper.

She appears at the top of the flight with a half-full bin sack tied up in her hand. I raise an eyebrow. This deception wasn’t part of the deal and my look alluded to that. It wasn’t though. Ok, maybe it was if it was going to be a one time thing, but I thought we were really connecting online. We may have only met the once but the intensity and the boundaries that we had surpassed through just conversations on MSN were astounding to me. But then, I doubt that she ever considered getting so close to a younger female. The only reason that I was here and that I had continued to agree to this affair was because of the rare moments of companionship she displayed online that I was so eager for her to replicate in person. I was dying for her to fall into my arms (in a way) and pour out the insecurities that she was happy to confess when we were not face to face and putting on the Mistress front. Plus, she had hinted that there was room for manoeuvre at home.

“Don’t go,” she giggles. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
Lisa jumps into my arms as she reaches the bottom and pushes the jacket over my shoulders, tossing it to one side. She plants her lips onto mine. She tugs at the now skin-tight Wonder Woman t-shirt I had picked up in Camden Town, the previous day and pulls it over my head along with my bra. This leaves me completely bare-breasted.

“Keep quiet, I don’t want to disturb the neighbours…” she whispers, as she buries her face into my neck and nibbles at my earlobe. Lisa grabs my hands and holds them above my head. She reaches a hand down the front of my jeans, diving past my shoddy, canvas belt which is really the sash to my short, silk kimono, while the other pinches my nipple hard.
“I am going to give you your reward, young lady.”
“Please,,,” I purr.
“You have to stay quiet though,” she demands. “I have a reputation to uphold in this building.”

She robs me momentarily of my inner-self as I nod slowly at her machinations, our eyes caught. I get it. I fight hard to hold back the scream she normally demands from me in this position. I squirm and grunt inside, my hand full of her ass as she flicks a finger inside my knickers, teasing my button and stealing the joy from me like some burglar in the night. I let out a silent gasp.

She grins as her face meets mine, satiated. She moves close to me and I feel her breath on my face. The distant sound of a grand piano emanates from one of the First Floor flats. At a guess, the one below my lover. She giggles and looks on with awe as we both glance at the stairwell. I feel a special moment.
She turns back to me and gives me a longing, tight embrace. She only pulls back to give me a deep kiss. All the while, I obediently keep my hands above me, as if pinned to the wall with an invisible nail. My bosom is clearly exposed if anyone were to enter through the front door and catch sight of us.
She takes a step back and grins proudly once more.
“You are so subby…”
I was. I shrug and look down at my feet. After some mutual fondling, I shuffle myself out into the night. I know that I will be back for more.

It didn’t take long. In fact, there was an email waiting in my inbox that night.
“Hey you. You left me feeling fantastic. Maybe this could work, after all.”
I wondered about the idea of opening up our affair to her partner, but decided that I couldn’t go on hiding. I mean, her stairwell is really cold for one thing. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea , her and him. Assuming he didn’t want intercourse, of course.
But, perhaps the idea of that wasn’t such a bad thing, I wonder as I refresh my email idly and search for Tori Amos B-sides on iTunes. He wasn’t bad to look at.

I’d had a good view of their framed, happy couple shots as I faced her oak writing table. She had me bent over a futon and smacked my cheeks with her open palm last week, before we retired to her bedroom for a couple of hours. It was one of our breakfast dates that involved me diverting my tube journey to work to coincide with her husband leaving and her return from the school run, before she spent the rest of her day churning out her new bestseller. I stared at the pictures and wonder what it would be like to be between them, as each of her strikes registered through me.

I don’t hear from Lisa for two weeks and begin to wonder whether that was it. The end. She’d either broached the subject with him unsuccessfully or hadn’t and decided not to contact me anymore, what with me showing continued restraint about deceiving someone. But then an email comes through;
“Friday night. 8pm. Bring usual attire and an open mind.”
My mind raced at this. Wouldn’t he be at home? Had she told him of our affair? If I went, would I have to fuck her husband? I sent a request for more information but my query was duly ignored. I would just have to make the journey over from Stoke Newington to discover the answer for myself.

I am buzzed straight up. As I ascend their staircase, I wonder what is awaiting me. As I reach their door, I notice it is already ajar by way of a welcoming gesture. I push the door further slightly and nudge my head through the crack. The hallway (which leads to their lounge) is dark and empty, save for one of their high wooden stools from the kitchen, a few feet away from me. I immediately catch sight of the note, adorned with my name in elegant, swished handwriting and lit by a number of burning tea lights on a rose petal base. I unfold the note. The thick paper crackles and echoes through the hall as I open it. I look up as the silence responds with the sound of a thin heel stepping onto a stripped hardwood floor, in a hidden corner close by. I feel myself grinning with curiosity. A subtle smell of sandalwood engulfs the scene as it burns in the distance.

“Change in the bathroom and then meet us in the lounge. Wear this.”
There lay an ornate eye mask, which covered everything from the nose upwards. They had left me with a choice. Turn around and leave or join them. I tap the note against my lips and ponder my options. Should I get out of there or submit myself to this couple, without guarantee about what either would do to me?

I shut the door of their bathroom quietly behind me and dump my satchel onto the seat. I hear steps in the hallway and I turn to see two figures on the other side of the frosted glass appear. I peel off my street clothes and rummage for the outfit that Lisa had requested, the ‘usual attire’ being my long, white sock stockings, my black stripper heels, pleated skirt with no knickers and a leather handkerchief top. She loves the ease of access, what can I say?

I wait for the eager figures to disappear and then step out into the hallway and into their lounge. I wasn’t the only person to be shrouded in an air of mystery it seems, as a sharply dressed male figure stands in the corner, smoking a cigarette. He too has his face covered like mine. Lisa has not, and is lounging on the futon in a black corset and thigh boots. She vaults up to greet me and leans in to taste my mouth. I linger for a second and she takes my chin into her hand and pulls away clean. She puts a finger to my lips and looks around to her husband. She unties my top from the back and grabs it in her fist from the front, tossing it to one side.

“This is David…” she presents. The figure half-waves in greeting. I nod slightly in reply, as she introduces me. “…And this is my little Sarah…”
“Are you willing to completely submit to us?” she asked me.
“I guess…”
“Pardon?” she snaps.
“Yes…” I whimper.
“Yes what?!”
“Yes, Mistress…”
“That’s better. Assume the position.”

I lower myself, sit upright on my knees and wait for further instruction. She pulls both arms around my back and produces one of David’s ties from nowhere and secures my wrists at the base of my spine. The leather of her corset creaks as she adjusts her bosom. Lisa reaches down and massages my smooth crack and rubs me until I wet her fingers. She looks up at David, either showboating or looking for permission to go further.

He stubs out his cigarette and wags his finger at her. She leaves me kneeling on the hard floor and crosses the room. She offers her soaked fingers to his mouth and he laps happily at them, taking his time with each digit and perusing my scent. He pulls at his trouser belt and it hits the ground with a clink. She grins back at me, all secure and waiting as she too falls to her knees and gently pulls at the waistband of her husband’s boxers. She produces a taut length that proudly sticks out in front of him and immediately goes to work on it with her mouth.

It sends a sharp pang of excitement through my chest that leads its way and settles down below, like an eager addict hoping for a fix. I sink my crotch down onto my heel and rub my clit with the rough skin, toughened by living in heels the past few years. I enjoy the view and buck back and forth onto myself until a shudder goes through me. I suddenly find myself desperate for a piece of the pie on offer.

Hell, this arrangement seems promising, after all.