He arrived promptly at the specified time.
The street was quite a bit different from what he pictured. Instead of high rise condos, he saw mostly single family houses, some duplexes -- trees, gardens -- sort of like an old fashioned neighborhood from a previous generation.
After ringing the doorbell and receiving a cheery "Hello," he headed downstairs as instructed.
Arriving at the door, he stopped, nervously aware of the butterflies in his tummy. Then he knocked. Authoritatively. He was, after all, a captain of industry. People did his bidding all the time -- at work, his private club, even at home. No doubt Miss Brigitte would recognize his natural air of authority at once!
Just then the door opened, and a warm, wide smile greeted him. She was, as he hoped, dressed like his favorite school teacher. Right down to her sensible leather shoes. He realized at once that she was wearing flats because she would soon be wearing her boots.
And then, she spoke:
He goggled, stunned for a moment. Then it hit home -- ego reduction, he had been sentenced to ego reduction. His knees softly fell to the floor. She smiled, a nurturing, empathetic smile and said "Try it again. Your knees didn't really hit the floor very hard at all."
He arose, slightly bowed to her, then fell once again to his knees. "Nice touch," she murmured, referring to the bow. Her voice was a tiny bit husky and he detected a French accent.
She walked behind him, then proferred a long, slim object -- seemingly a fibreglass rod wrapped in linen whipcord. "Kiss the dressage whip, boy." His lips hungrily kissed the length of the rod as he heard her say "This can be made to sting lightly, or remove your sotting ability for a week. Your behaviour tonight, little man, will decide your fate." "Yes Miss."
He only just got the words out when he was slapped -- lightly, but firmly -- across the face. "Call me Auntie B or Madam. Got that, boy?"
"Yes Miss." She leaned over him. He was unaware of his offence. Nerves, perhaps. She calmly removed his glasses, then slapped him much harder across the face. "You were told what to call me." "Yes Auntie B."
She smiled. This was going to be such fun. His primary interest was domestic discipline: corporal punishment in all its glorious forms, scolding, corner time, even hand strapping. And yet, there were the boots. He had a deep-seated need to lose his personal power, to end up on his knees licking her wellies until they sparkled.
She looked down and saw he was already erect. Perhaps some form of manipulation and denial therapy would be helpful, she mused. He did confess to masturbating far too much, while looking at women in rubber rain boots on the rainy streets of his home town. "Men always hate the taste of their semen.... maybe I can use that against him at some point" she thought.
"Boy, get undressed. Then we'll have a lovely chat before we decide anything. I need to know more about what misdeeds you have committed, and how I can help you be a better person. One thing though -- the strap-on is not negotiable. At some point in the next two hours, I am going to restrain you in the arm-binder, and take you from behind. Then when I see you Saturday I am going to do it again, but with a larger dildo".
He followed her into the room, head slightly bent. There were the boots, in need of cleaning, especially the deeply treaded rubber soles. A wooden hairbrush on the coffee table. A bar of Ivory soap by the looks of it. He instantly regretted telling her about his swearing problem.
"Yes Auntie B?"
"Before you leave tonight, remind me to give you some lines to write. I want you to be kept nice and busy between now and when I see you Saturday. An hour or two of repetitive writing will help focus your mind, boy."
He groaned. "You sure are strict with me." And then he smiled. She joined in, and they hugged for what seemed like minutes. Friends, instant friends.
And then she murmured in his ear