If it seems that most of these reflections start with a Wednesday, I would have to agree. After some careful consideration, I have come to believe that fact is because activities and experiences that were pivotal in the development of my relationship with Monique usually started on Wednesdays. That is not to say that important and far reaching milestones did not happen on other days - they most assuredly did. The difference was that those memories were more often the same discoveries that all people in love find together - a special spot for dinner, a favorite place to walk hand in hand or a secret look that means "I love you" and "I want you.".
Wednesdays, however, were the days that defined the part of our relationship that was unique in my experience. Those times together, locked inside her office or in her home, that seemed to become the cusps of crisis for our still fragile love. This had been such a cusp, and it had been a Wednesday, but that is the point at which any further comparison to earlier scenes ended.
It was nearly October, and Monique and I were in San Francisco meeting with some of the West Coast Hotel Managers. We had gotten into the City on a late Tuesday night flight after working a full day in Washington. We were both exhausted, and went to our rooms for much needed sleep.
When the wake up call came, I was still not ready to get up, but duty called and skills learned on long Navy nights got me up and moving. Showered, shaved and ready to get dressed, I walked out of the bathroom towards my suitcase in the closet just off the entrance when an envelope that had been slid under the door, caught my eye.
I picked it up, thinking that the staff had put someone else's express checkout under my door by mistake. The envelope was sealed with no address on it. I flipped it over and froze. Vermillion lips sealed the envelope - Monique's signature mark. I ripped open the envelope and read it quickly.
Hope you remembered that it is Wednesday, lover. I expect that you will still be prepared for your Mistress. I can't lock the door, today, but I do expect you to be properly attired and to be at my disposal tonight. I have a very big evening planned, lover. See you at breakfast.
Proper attire, of course, meant that I would be in panties today. I had anticipated this and was prepared with two pairs of tiger striped bikini panties. Wishing that I did not wish that today was any day other than Wednesday, I slipped my pair of satin tiger stripes on and finished dressing. I carried the gift wrapped box with Monique's pair down to breakfast.
She was already in the restaurant I arrived. She smiled up at me and motioned for me to sit as I walked up to her table. I wanted to kiss her, but we were in one of our hotels and already under scrutiny by the staff and management of the place. "Good morning, darling." I said quietly.
She smiled and gave me a flirty wink over her coffee cup. "Good morning, Nate. I like your suit. Are all your accessories as nice as your tie, dear?"
"I hope you will think so, Mistress." I slid the brightly colored package over to her. "That one is for you."
She picked up the package and gave me a moue of regret. "And I had hoped to catch you without." She gave an exaggerated sigh and slipped the box into her brief case. "I will check these, later, Nate. Now, what about today's meeting schedule?" And with that, we fell into the routine of preparing for the day, discussing agendas, known complaints from the attendees and other issues that might come up.
At the end of the day, we headed back to our rooms. In the elevator, just as we reached her floor, Monique turned to me, her face hard. "Go shave and see to any personal needs. I will expect you to meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes. We are having dinner with some friends of mine tonight." The door whooshed open and she was gone without a backward look and without giving me a chance to say a word.
I was two minutes early, but she was already waiting impatiently for me. I thought it strange that she was wearing a belted rain coat, but reflected that the weather in San Francisco was very unpredictable. She herded us into the first available cab, snapped out an address I was unfamiliar with, and we were off. When the cab stopped, in a not too reputable looking neighborhood, she paid the cabbie and all but pushed me out of the car in her haste to get where we were going.
The store front we went to was not fancy, and once inside the door, there was some type of entrance foyer with another door and a security camera. She picked up a wall phone near the door and spoke into it. The door swung open to reveal a very swanky dining room. Monique motioned for me to follow, and strode in. Once inside, she shed her coat to reveal that a leather jacket and skirt had replaced the power suit she had worn earlier. Although not revealing, it was out of character for Monique Sanderson, Executive V.P. - it was not out of character for Mistress Monique.
Monique spoke to the hostess, a lovely woman in a very clingy gown, who led us quickly to table where four other women sat sipping drinks. Monique directed me to sit at one end of the oblong table and she took the other available seat, at the head of the table. The women all conspicuously greeted Monique, and just as conspicuously ignored me. A waitress in a very short skirt and very tall heels hurried over and went to Monique.
"Would you like a drink, Ma'am?" she asked in a very breathy voice.
"Yes, I would like a white wine, please. My man there, will have water." I had not even been asked. Annoyance flared, but then I remembered that it was her night. I swallowed my anger, determined to see this through.
"Nathan, I would like you to meet my friends. We all trained with Mistress Sondra. This is Ruth, Hope, Clarrisse and Gretchen. Ladies, this is my man, Nathan Evans."
Manners took over and I stood, greeting each lady in turn, by name with a small bow.
The blonde, Gretchen, turned to Monique. "Well, Monique, I can't say much for his training. Calling us by our given names, without title and that pitiful bow is all the honor he does us?"
Monique looked at me hard. "Well, Nathan, you have evidently been found wanting by my friends. What have you to say for yourself?"
"No excuse, Mistress, Pardon me, please, Ladies." I repeated my greeting, using the title "Ms." with each name.
The black woman, Clarrisse, turned an angry face to me. "That is still inadequate, man." She had a Caribe-French accent that I would have found delightful in other circumstances. " I am a Mistress and you will kneel to greet me."
I stood there, realizing for the first time at least part of the game for tonight. I shook my head slowly, breathing deeply to control my emotions, then I spoke. "Ms. Clarrisse, you may be a Mistress, but you are not my Mistress. I kneel to her because I choose to. I do not choose to kneel to you because you are not my Mistress."
A strange look crossed the redheaded Ruth's face. "And if your Mistress ordered you to render such tributes to us?"
With more confidence than I felt, I answered her. "She would not, because she values the gift of my submission to her and would not cheapen it by ordering me to render those gifts to someone I do not know well enough to trust or respect that much."
Monique's face softened just for a moment, and then she spoke. "Very well, Nathan, you may address my friends as Ms.." Then she summoned the waitress and spoke to her friends " I am famished. Shall we order?"
They ordered. I was not given the opportunity to order. I was not given the opportunity to eat, either. Monique slid some scraps from her meal onto a bread plate and passed it down to me. I had no fork or spoon since I had not ordered. Utensils came with the meal. I was expected to eat with my fingers.
Unfortunately, I could not eat. Monique had ordered shrimp, and I am allergic to shellfish. "Nathan, I expect you to eat what I give you. Don't make tonight harder on yourself than it already is going to be, sir."
I shook my head. "I won't, Mistress."
She came bolt upright and every woman at the table turned to look at me in utter astonishment. "Or rather, I can't. That is, unless you want to see me in the Emergency Room in very short order. I can't eat shellfish, Monique." Her eyes went wide and she started to say something, looked around the table and reconsidered.
"Very well, then you won't eat tonight, that is all. I will check on this ... allergy" her voice dripped with a sardonic doubt that raised my blood pressure another notch, "when we get back to Washington, Mr. Evans, you may be sure of that." As if I would defy her over something as pitiful as this. But I was hungry, and that, combined with still being jet lagged had my emotions on a hair trigger.
Nor did it help that we were starting to draw the attention of other diners. Monique and the other women were not making any attempt to keep their voices down. Their voices were carrying to every corner of that damned place, and every other comment out of them was something derogatory or inadequate about me.
After-dinner coffee was served to the ladies. By now, every other diner in the room had given up any pretense of not gawking at our table. Monique reached into her bag and pulled out that damned gift wrapped box. She held it up like a trophy to show her friends.
"This is Mr. Evans' offering for today. He is wearing an identical item in the hopes that it pleases me. Shall we see what he thinks I will like?" The ladies all gave a disinterested affirmative and Monique shredded the paper. She pulled out the tiger striped panties out, holding them with a finger in each leghole to show them to the table and to the entire dining room.
Gretchen gave a shudder of disgust. "Rather trashy, Monique. I mean, I can see a male slave wearing such junk, but he actually expected you to wear that?"
Monique curled her lip in disgust and dropped my gift into her water glass. "He is already wearing them, Gretchen, and I can assure you, he is going to regret his poor taste greatly." She then pulled the now sodden mass out of her water glass and strode over to me. She dumped them in my lap, soaking my pants.
Ruth spoke up. "Well, Monique, if you are going to punish him anyway, why don't we go to my dungeon? Since he likes stripes so much, we can take turns giving him stripes directly on his butt. That way, he won't have to wear them either, and you won't have to look at those ugly things at all."
Monique smiled evilly. "Wonderful idea. Yes. I think that will do nicely. Nathan, you have fucked up big time and you are going to pay the piper tonight, sir."
It was just too much. These women continually sniping at me, the people staring and Monique's seeming utter lack of caring - I just could not take anymore of it - not tonight and not after what I had already taken. Whatever else they had planned, whatever little scene they thought would follow this... this ignominy, they had already gone too far. Softly, I spoke. "Monique, soulmate, I think not, please."
Monique's eyes went wide, her nose flared and her face flushed bright red. Instantly, her nose right was in my face and she was practically snarling at me. "Oh, I think so, Mr. Evans, now get your sorry butt up and moving, Mister. And I" she gave the pronoun hard emphasis, "am your Mistress. Something you seem to have forgotten!"
Totally enraged myself, I stood and went right back into her face. "I said no, Monique! That is enough, do you hear me??" She evidently did, because her backhand slap caught me across the cheek. I fended off her second blow with a wrist block and caught her wrist in my hand to stop an attempted third strike. Squeezing down on her wrist to get her attention, I stared into her eyes. "I said that is enough." My voice was deadly quiet, now, barely above a hoarse whisper.
She shook her hand free and stared at me, breathing heavily, her lovely breasts rising and falling with emotion. Everyone, her friends and all the other diners, were staring at us in disbelief. Something warm trickled down my smarting cheek and I reached up to wipe at it. Blood. She had cut me with one of her rings. She stared at me for a few more moments, then turned on her heel and stalked off. Her friends rose slowly from their seats, and after moving away from me, careful to keep chairs or tables between me and them, followed her out of the restaurant.
I sat back down at the table, wiping at my bleeding cheek with one of the napkins, wondering what the hell had happened when the waitress came up to the table with a small black tray and a slip of paper. On top of everything else, Monique had stuck me with the bill.
Resigned, I got out my company credit card. Monique could damn well explain the charge. The waitress gave me a coy smile when she returned with the charge slip. "Bad boy. Your Mistress is going to be big time ticked off at you, blowing that scene that way."
That analysis jolted me abruptly out of my fugue. "What do you know about that?"
She actually giggled. "Maitresse Clarisse is my owner. The Mistresses have been setting this up for weeks, now. You were going to go to Ruth's, get your fanny warmed a bit so your Mistress could show you off a bit to her friends. After that we were going to have a party welcoming you as your Mistress's chosen. Nothing rough, just fun, but you blew it." She shook her head in wonder. "One thing's for sure, though. You sure gave everybody here their money's worth tonight. Usually the dining room scenes are not that intense."
"Scenes? here?" I had to remember to close my mouth, I was so surprised.
She gave me another smile. "Yep. This place is a club for people into dominance and submission. That's why they picked this spot for your introduction to the Mistresses in the first place. They could be as hard as they wanted on you and none of the patrons would be offended like in a regular place. Only referrals from members get in to this club, so the people here are real players themselves. Usually though, the play in the club dining room is really subtle, but you were really putting on a great show until you lost it."
I signed the check. "Yeah, well, let me tell you. It is the last time I will ever trust my safeword." I stood to rise. "If I ever am in any position to need one again, anyway." I muttered.
She looked at me in utter astonishment. "You safeworded??? When?"
I wiped my cheek again and tossed the bloodied napkin onto the tray she carried. "Right before I got this, and right after she told me that I was going to that other woman's dungeon." I stalked out, oblivious to the fact that in that one last exchange with the waitress, I instantly became even more of a spectacle to these onlookers than before. The waitress was so surprised that she did not realize I had stiffed her on the tip. She could damn well get it from her Mistress.
Getting a cab in that part of San Francisco, late at night no less, was a bitch. Finally, the Hostess took pity on me and called one for me. Her pitying look did little to improve my mood.
Arriving back at the hotel, I was not surprised to find out that she had packed and left. Whether she was flying back early or staying with one of her friends, I did not know. I cared, although I did not want to care.
She was not on my flight when I headed home the next day. I called Monique to make sure she was all right and got her answering machine. Finally, I called Roselie. She told me that Monique had arrived home on the Redeye that morning and was staying at the hotel. I thanked her and hung up. I did not go to work Friday and did not contact or hear from Monique all weekend.
As much as I wanted to be elsewhere, I was not going to start hiding this late in my life. I was at work on time Monday morning. It was the beginning of a hellish week of very dark times. Monique was coldly, formally correct at all times she could not avoid being with me. Meetings that could not be avoided were ended as quickly as humanly possible with absolutely no unnecessary words exchanged. She would not speak to me at all outside the confines of work or about topics unrelated to work.
Most distressing was that I could not even get her to talk to me about it. More than anything else I wanted to know what had caused her to deny my safe word. Was there some protocol or convention that governed when a code word could be used? Was its use in someway inappropriate for that situation? Something that neither all the reading I had done, or my limited experience with had Monique had taught me? The night seemed like a bad dream to me. The apparently public humiliation (even though it had not actually been quite so public as it had seemed to me at the time) had been too much, it had gone too far, so I had used the safeword. Is that what was wrong? Was the purpose of a safeword physical safety only? I needed to talk about it with someone who was more knowledgeable than I, but who? I could not talk to Roselie, and Monique all but threw me out of her office if I entered on anything other than business. When her office was not locked against me in the first place.
Sudden changes in behavior do not go unnoticed. Monique's premature and solitary return had told Roselie something was wrong. Even she was shocked at the frigid atmosphere around Monique when I was nearby. Wednesday, Monique did not even come to the office, a first for her since we started having Wednesday mini-scenes. She called in saying she was taking a personal day. By noon, Roselie could not stand it anymore and was in my office demanding to know what was going on.
"Darn it, Nate, this is wrong. You two love each other and I am getting frostbite just being in the same office with you. What the hell happened out there in California?"
I tried to pass it off as nothing, but Roselie would have none of it. "We had a very bad scene in San Francisco, Roselie. I did not meet her standards and she is very angry with me."
"This has to do with those friends of hers who live out there, doesn't it? I knew she was planning something. She sprang it on you, you could not handle it and now she is upset with you for not showing well to the other dommes? Damn! I knew I should have warned you, but I thought she had finally figured out she had to go slowly with you. I mean, after that Saturday at her place, I thought she finally figured out that she could not anticipate your responses the way she did with the subs she has played with in the past. You are too much the Navy Dom for that and don't think I won't tell her that, too. Mistress or no Mistress, this is just stupid." Roselie's nostrils were flaring in her righteous wrath.
The last thing I wanted to do was cause more tension in the office, particularly between Monique and Roselie which would not be confined to the office. All I needed was for Monique to have that to hold against me, too. "No, dear. I am not going to discuss it with you, but, please, accept that the blame and the fault is mine. Don't get involved, please." Roselie looked at me strangely, but ultimately, she acquiesced to my request.
Thursday, Monique returned to work, but the icicles remained well established. God knows how I got through the remainder of the week. I sure don't. It was awful - easily as bad as the worst of my previous experiences in and out of the Navy. My work suffered, partly from the tension, partly because much of my ability to get things done derived from my position as Monique's PA. Office water cooler intelligence gets the word out really quickly. Once it was commonly known that I was on the outs with my boss, the office political infighters quickly became less interested in complying with any requests from me.
Friday afternoon finally came. Monique left early hoping to avoid, I am sure, any chance of having contact with me. If this treatment continued, I would have to do something. I could not take many more weeks like this. Bosses had been pains in the ass in the past, and I had lived with it. The difference was that I had not been in love with those pains in my ass. I was in love with Monique and it was eating me up. Melancholia weighing heavily on my shoulders, I faced the drive home with complete disinterest. I called the reservation desk and got them to set aside one of the available staff rooms for me.
By nine o'clock, I gave up any pretense of resting and went down to the hotel's bar. Too far gone to stop and think about what I was doing, I threw down two double scotches like water.
I ordered a third. The bartender, a tall, busty redhead whose hair color was a gift of modern chemistry, put a drink in front of me. It was not scotch. "You have had enough, Nathan. You've the look of someone in recovery and your answer is not in a bottle. If I had been here when you arrived, you wouldn't have gotten this far."
I wanted to scream at her, to demand my drink, to tell her to let me... .. let me...... let me what? Drink myself back into a hole? I looked at the two glasses beside the one she just put in front of me, amber dregs in their bottoms, and shuddered. I inhaled deeply and took a sip from the glass. Seven up. Carefully, I set the glass back on the bar. "Thank you." I said gravely.
"You're welcome." She said with equal formality. We both knew I was not thanking her for the drink. "Wanna talk about why you are trying to hide in a bottle?" I shook my head. She smiled sadly. "Then I will guess. You got woman problems. Hell, everybody in the house is talking about how the front runner for the next V.P. slot here is now in the doghouse with his bosslady. Given how you look, I would say that she is more than your boss."
I smiled sadly. "I love her. It is why I took the job in the first place, to be near her, to have a chance to win her. Now, it may all be over."
"So, go beg her forgiveness."
I looked up at her. "Even if I am not the one in the wrong? I'm not, you know. Only she won't speak to me long enough for us to work through that."
"What is more important, being right or being together? If being together is more important, then you need to get forgiven so you can start communicating again."
"Even if I am in the right?" I asked again.
She snorted derisively. "Hell, man, get your priorities straight here. You are dealing with a woman and she is not thinking about right and wrong. She is thinking about being hurt, probably by you, and how that felt. She is thinking about not being hurt again. You wanna be right and do you wanna be alone?"
She made it sound so simple. On reflection, it probably was that simple. I tipped her, kissed her cheek and headed for my room. Her words haunted me long into a dark, sleepless, lonely night.
God, but I was so very tired of being alone.
That morning, I wrote her a short letter.
In all honesty, I tell you that I sincerely regret my behavior that night in San Francisco. Whether warranted or not, my feelings should have been dealt with differently. I sincerely apologize for shaming you in front of your friends. I know this apology, in itself, is inadequate. I therefore offer you whatever restitution you desire, without safeword, without reservation.
I love you. I hope you one day believe that again.
I posted it by special messenger, and prayed she still cared enough to read it once she realized what it was.
Her answer arrived back at my house, again by special messenger, late Sunday afternoon.
I have received your note and am considering what action to take on it. You shamed me in front of my friends. Your behavior called into question my training of you and your commitment to me. I will tell you that I cannot remember when I have been hurt so badly. I want you to have some inkling of how badly I hurt, so I will accept your offer of restitution.
This will not be dominance and submission, Mr. Evans, I will not degrade my art that way. This will be reparation made to me by you. The trappings will be the same, but not the intent. Think carefully, sir, before putting yourself in my hands that way.
I still love you, too, Mr. Evans. I just do not know if I can ever forgive you.
Another message will tell you what to do should you decide to follow through on your offer to give me restitution. Be very sure, Mr. Evans. I promise you a glimpse of Hell itself.
Everything else in the letter was meaningless. She still loved me. There was still a chance. As for Hell, well, I already knew all I needed to of that place - it was a future alone without her. I would pay her reparations, and I would continue to hold to her love and I would continue to hope.
Monday, I was waiting in the office for her. She never arrived. Roselie arrived to tell me that Monique had decided to take a week of vacation and would not be back until Sunday. Another week of black loneliness loomed and I felt momentarily ill. I had hoped that we would deal with this quickly, but I should have known better. Monique would take her time and whatever happened, it would be when she was ready, not before.
Monday and Tuesday passed slowly. On Wednesday, I was working through the pile of paper on my desk, trying to pretend it mattered when Roselie came in. "Nate?" Her voice was little more than a cracked whisper. She swallowed and tried again. "Nate, the phone. It's Monique."
My hand shook as I picked up the receiver. "Yes, Mistress. How may I help you."
"Hello, Nathan. Are you still committed to giving me restitution?"
I nodded, then realized that she could not see me, and repeated my answer, verbally. "Yes, Mistress, I am."
"Then I am not your Mistress, at least for the interim, Mr. Evans. You have forfeited the privilege of calling me that, as you have forfeited the right to my protection. A Mistress is concerned with the safety and well being of her submissive at all times, something that you forgot in front of my friends and colleagues, sir. Now, I am concerned only with my needs, sir, and those needs are to see you broken the way you seem to think I wanted that night." Her voice was so cold, I shivered. "This will not be dominance, Mr. Evans, if you come, you will be hurt. You will be hurt badly. Do not expect any other outcome, sir."
I swallowed, hard. I looked up at Roselie to see her eyes wide in concern, her hands shredding a paper tissue as she stared at me. "I understand, Monique. I accept your terms. I love you and I will do whatever is necessary to restore what I took from you."
"You have also forfeited the right to profess your love, sir. I am not sure I can believe a man who hurts me like you did. Very well, then, Friday is the Columbus Day holiday. You will present yourself at my home after work on Thursday. Arrangements have been made for your...." her voice became dark, frightening, evil, "entertainment until I arrive home from Aruba on Sunday Afternoon. Sunday Afternoon and evening, I will take my pound of flesh out of your ass, sir. Take the next week off, Mr. Evans. I will be back in the office, and you will need every minute of it." her voice seemed to break for a minute, then became hard again. "to recover. When you are able to return, we will decide your future with the company. Good bye, Mr. Evans. You should be afraid. You should be very afraid." I hung up the phone, very slowly.
I sat in silence, staring at the phone for a very long time. "Nate?" Roselie's voice broke through my dark thoughts. I looked up at her. "Nate, tell me what this is all about."
"I can't, love. Trust me, I can't, and I won't."
"But, I need to know what this is all about. Monique said you would be staying at her place, waiting for her?"
So, Monique had told her that. "Yes, I am. She said something about entertaining me for the weekend until we can get together and work this out. Don't worry about it, dear."
She shook her head. "I have to, Nate. You see, I am the entertainment. She talked to me before she talked to you. There will be directions for us when we arrive Thursday night. Nate, tell me what this is all about. I don't like this - this feels wrong. What is going on?"
Roselie had turned the tissue into fragments. She would never be able to handle what was going on. She could never be a party to what was to come. She would never forgive or trust Monique again. "Retraining, love. I screwed up and Monique has decided to make me pay by putting me through a long session. I expect it to be rough, but nothing I can't handle and nothing I would not willing give her. Trust me, it will be okay."
She wanted to be convinced. "You are sure?" I nodded and she looked happier immediately. "Well, then, I get to be the Mistress till Monique gets home. Won't that be fun?"
I gave her mock grimace she expected and hoped for. "Oh, loads, I am sure. I can't wait..... not!"
That made her laugh more easily. Mission accomplished. Then she became more pensive again. "Nate?"
"You wouldn't know why Clarisse, Monique's friend from Oakland, has been calling her, do you? I told her today that Monique would not be back until Monday. I told her you were here, but she said she only wanted to talk to Monique and would call back. You know what that is all about?"
Clarisse, the black domme with the lovely French accent and the cute blond slave girl. I shook my head. "No idea, love, but I am sure she will call again when Monique is back if she still needs to talk to her."
Roselie shrugged. "Guess you are right. So, Nate, you gonna tell me what you did to piss Monique off enough to let me domme? She never lets me top folks. Says I don't have enough discipline to be a good Mistress. Personally, I think I am just a little gleeful, but there it is. So, give, Evans!"
I smiled at her teasing and shook my head. "Nope. You wanna know, you ask Monique. Hell, it would probably give her pleasure to tell you in exhaustive detail and in her current mood, I will do nothing to deprive her of the least ounce of enjoyment."
Roselie sniffed and stuck her nose imperiously in the air. "Well, I will have almost three whole days and nights to worm it out of you. Think about that, Nate. I get frustrated very easily." she warned as she strutted out of my office.
That night, I readied the house for long term absence. I paid any bill that might come due in the next two weeks, and stopped my mail until further notice. Since I took Monique at her word, I did not know when I would be able to return.
I parked in my usual spot at her house in Great falls. Roselie's car was already there. She had left an hour earlier than I had, consistent with Monique's orders. Evidently, some of Monique's plans for me required some preparation and I was not to see them. I sat in my car, wondering if I was obsessing with Monique. There was not a doubt in my mind that the next four days, and on into the next week, were going to be terrible. I sighed. It really did not matter.
I got out of the car, and locked my wallet in a hiding place in my trunk. I hid three keys to the car in magnetic boxes throughout the car in the event that Monique tried to deny me my keys again. Why I bothered was a mystery - it was not like she really wanted me here. I was here because I had forced the issue. I wondered how many more times I would find the strength to come back, like I had after Boston, like I was doing now.
Roselie met me at the door and ushered me into the foyer. She was dressed in a plain grey house dress. It was so unlike her normally flattering garb that it surprised me. She was frowning as I put my coat and sports jacket into the hall closet. I turned to her and raised my eyebrow in question. She beckoned me into the den and indicated that I should join her on the couch.
"Nate. Please, tell me what is going on. I have read the instructions Monique has left, and I don't like this. I don't like it at all. Make me understand. Make me believe that this is something I want to be involved in."
I hesitated. "What did Monique tell you about it, Roselie?"
"Nothing, other than how to make your life a living hell for the next two and a half days. Dammit, Nate, some subs would find what she has planned for you unbearably exciting, but you are going to be absolutely miserable. This is completely out of character for Monique, Nate. She has made errors with you, but she is not this... this.. this damnably insensitive. She has to know that the scenario she has planned is completely wrong for you. My God, it is not even scene type humiliation. This plan looks like she set out to make it as personally degrading for a man like you as she possibly could. Nate, this is wrong! How can I participate in this? Make me understand or else I am leaving right now."
In my heart, I knew that Roselie was absolutely correct. Monique had done her level best to find ways to bring me down, to hurt me as she perceived herself to be hurt. What Roselie had not considered was that her presence, her participation in this was very likely integral to the plan. Having Roselie see me mortified this way was part of my reparation. Monique would probably not consider my sacrifice adequate if Roselie did not participate. "Roselie, do you want to see me and Monique make up? Get back together?"
She nodded. "Well, then do as she asks. I will get through it. Heck, knowing you did not want to do it will make it easier for me to take. She thinks I need training, and I need her. Help us both, sweetheart. Help her, and in so doing, help me get through this hurdle to get back in her good graces."
"You're sure?" her voice was small and very quavery. She really was upset. "Once we start, there is no going back."
"I have no choice, dear. Let's get started."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then nodded jerkily. "Follow me, Nate. You have never been where she told me to take you before." She stood and lead the way toward the back of the house. Once there, she unlocked a door and led me down stairs into the basement of the house. A hallway ran back toward the front of the house. The hall was long, perhaps longer than the house it self. On each side of the hall was a six closed doors that opened into the hall. Behind us, at the rear of the house, was another door.
Roselie opened the first of the doors and beckoned me to precede her. The room was empty, and starkly white. On either side of the room were closed doors. Roselie walked to one of them and opened it to reveal a small closet. "Strip, Nate. Everything, including any jewelry. Make sure you hang everything neatly, as I am required to inspect and assess demerits for failures of that nature. I will be back in ten minutes to prepare you for the weekend." She hurried out the door into the hall, shutting it behind her.
Twenty years of being ready for inspections had some uses. The closet would have passed a Marine white glove inspection when I was done.
Roselie returned and after examining the closet carefully, she shut the door. A loud click announced that something had latched. "Only Monique has the key to that door, Nathan. The only way you get your clothes back is if she opens that door." She led me to the facing closet on the other side of the room and opened it. I looked inside and groaned inwardly. I should have known.
A dress form stood in the closet. On it was an old fashioned Victorian corset. Shoes sat on the floor beside the dress form's base - high heeled shoes. High heeled shoes that were easily and inch higher than anything I had yet worn for Monique or for Maria and her women at the Boston school.
"Well, let's get this over with, Nathan. That corset was ordered with Maria's measurements, so it is designed just for you. According to Monique's note, the one you wore at Maria's place took four inches off your waist. This one is designed to take up to eight inches off your waist. I am to tighten it every six hours for the time you are there."
Getting into it was painful. Eight inches total meant it had to be laced to take off at least the four inches Maria's corset had taken off me. Roselie had to use the belt straps to get me compressed enough to get the lacing done. The front of the corset was made of two boned panels that were tied permanently together up the center of my front. Lifelike prosthetic breast forms gave me the image of cleavage to fill the cups.
Roselie knelt in front of me and rolled the provided stockings up my leg (I could not bend over enough to do it). I stepped carefully into the shoes and heard a click as she buckled up the ankle straps. I looked down at her between the twin mounds of my fake bosom. "They lock, Nathan. The keys to these, however, are available, for use in an emergency. Regardless of her orders, I would not lock you into those stilts without access to the key, and I don't care if she knows it!"
I was surprised at the vehemence in her voice. "What does that mean? How would she know?"
Roselie rose to stand beside me as I balanced carefully on the impossibly high, impossibly comfortable heels. "This entire floor is under constant video surveillance, Nate. Nothing you do or say here for the next three days will escape being recorded. She did not say not to tell you that, but I would have anyway."
Roselie's increasingly vehement reaction to what was planned was comforting - I was pretty sure she would be more of an ally than a tormentress. But, I needed her to back off a bit. If she got too upset and left, or worse, actively defied Monique, it could only serve to make things worse. I reached over and pulled her into a tight hug (which felt really strange with boobs, even fake boobs). "Hey, calm down. It will be okay. I asked for this chance, all right? Let's see how it goes. Be my friend, Roselie. Be Our friend, Monique's and mine both, and we will get through this just fine."
She stood very still in my arms, then nodded. "Okay. Well, the easy part is over, then." She went back into the closet and came back with that damned chastity. Efficiently, she had me buckled up and my penis pulled back between my legs. "I don't know whether to be insulted or not, Nate. No hardon?"
"Guess not, sweetheart. Maybe it just belongs to Monique."
She gave the belt another pull and the buckles clicked locked. "Well, it sure does, now." she said with a hint of her usual mischievous nature. "I don't have the key for that. You either cut it off, or she takes it off. Now, hold still and relax, or this will hurt." A pressure on my ass told me that I was to be plugged. It slid home easily. Recent practice during scenes with Monique, combined with a relatively small device, I guess. "That does it, Nathan. Now, follow me."
Easier said than done. It was pure hell moving in those heels. The addition of the restrictive body corset and the intrusion of the butt plug did not help my mobility, either. Roselie led me back into the hallway and closed the door behind me and then locked it. "Nathan, all of the doors down here, except to the room you were just in, or to the upstairs house are unlocked. The only bathroom available to you is in the room we just left, and your time in the bathroom will be restricted to when I let you in, per Monique's instructions. You are free to enter any of the unlocked rooms and explore. You will be in most of them over the next few days anyway. Nathan, this basement is Monique's dungeon; the place where she fully indulged her not insignificant personal wealth and her taste for kinky sex. The only door that you should not open is that one." She pointed to the one at the back of the house and then went and opened it.
She stood aside for me to walk up and look outside the opened door. It took me a bit to get there, moving in those damned shoes was a very uncertain process. I was surprised to see my trenchcoat and a pair of shower shoes in the little alcove. "Your keys are in the pockets. I could not find your wallet in your pants pocket before I locked the closet, so i assume it is still in your car?" I nodded. "Probably a smart move in her current mood." she muttered to herself. She shook off that observation and returned to the task assigned by Monique. "Anyway, I am directed to inform you that this entire scene, from now until she personally releases you, is one of her go-no goes, Nate. And that is the part of this I do not like being a part of. I am directed to tell you that if you can't handle what she has planned, then your only way out is to walk out this door. Use this." she pointed to a very dangerous looking knife lying on the floor, "to cut the center seam of that corset and the locked ankle straps of those shoes, then put on the coat and the shower shoes and leave. The door will lock behind you." She pulled the door shut. "The only time you may use that door without the go no-go penalty is if there is a real emergency, like a fire."
"Nate, I have to leave you now. She wants you to face this alone, without the support and comfort of another person. I am to be your safety valve and I will supervise your daily program for Monique. I will be back on a schedule that I cannot share with you to perform some .... activities for Monique's entertainment and your training. Sleep when you can, but when I arrive, you have got to do as I say, or she will know. There are red intercom buttons in every room. I will hear you if you need to call for help. Make sure it is really an emergency, Nate. Her orders. Just as I am to inform you, that bodily functions are not an emergency." She sighed. I knew she was going to complain again and forestalled it a hug.
"Thank you, Roselie, for caring enough about us to do this, even with your reservations. I will be fine."
She smiled, or at least tried to smile. "I hope you will still be thanking me in three days. Move carefully in those shoes, and get some rest. You will need it." With that, she ascended the stairs and left me in Monique's version of Dante's Inferno. Problem was, I was too damn stubborn to abandon hope. It was all I had left.