Thriller
At first it had seemed that Spring had arrived. Temperatures rose, snows melted, the need to layer-up before leaving the house diminished. And it was sunny, warm, with little shoots of green here and there. But today was a little chilly again and Chris kept the door closed in his bookstore.
It was that quiet time around five o’ clock when she came in. She had visited the bookstore before—this mature, somewhat posh lady. He knew she was German but had learned her English in the UK, developing quite an upper-class accent. He liked it. They chatted briefly before she browsed—he tried his German but then when he began to flounder she switched gracefully to English.
Her clearly expensive clothes—a black jacket that caught the light when it moved—and shimmered, a cream blouse, slightly lower than the norm for a lady of her age, her knee-length skirt, the luxurious hose and the high-heels—combined with the posh accent—made Chris (a natural submissive) feel a little subservient to her. He wanted her to be impressed with him—to think highly of his bookstore—to recommend it to her friends. She moved to the back of the store to browse the thriller & mystery section and he set to making her a coffee.
When her coffee was ready Chris brought it to her. She had already amassed an assortment of books. He stood there looking at her for a second, a little unsure of what to do. He thought she was about to say something but instead she just looked at him. That was when he noticed her face and her eyes for the first time. She really was beautiful for an older lady and her eyes with the accentuating eye shadow had lost none of their sparkle—an amazing emerald green. He looked all the way into them. He thought, surely, she was just about to say something. Instead she just drowned him in green and strangely, he just stood there and took it in. Did she just smile a little?
“Uh,” he managed to say.
“You can just set it down there.” She pointed a long-nailed finger to the nearby table, where he had intended to set the coffee before he found himself looking into her eyes, unsure of what to say. He shook his head at his own weird behaviour—was it an awkward moment? It was definitely a moment.
He did as he was told and then turned back to her as if awaiting further instructions.
She handed him the pile of books.
“And you can bring these to the cash desk.” It was a little weird doing that, but he guessed a woman like her expected this kind of service and if it meant she had a better experience in his store than “why not?” he assured himself.
He went back to the front and laid her selections by the till. But instead of going back to his To Do List he simply returned to the woman at the back of the store. He began to think of her eyes and he wanted to look at them again.
There was a slight warm feeling spreading through him now, which he sometimes felt in these situations. He could never explain it until he stumbled across ASMR videos on the internet—“distinct, pleasurable tingling sensation in the head, scalp, back, or peripheral regions of the body in response to visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory, or cognitive stimuli”—and he realised this was something he definitely experienced.
Plus, he had noticed that her shoes were open-toed and there was now the possibility of spying some nice pantyhose toes—a secret little fetish of his—that would definitely enhance the nice feeling he had. He’d find some excuse for returning when he got there. Tidy some books and try to steal a few glances while he did it. She wouldn’t notice.?
She was standing facing him, cup of coffee in hand when he returned. And he absolutely could not help giving her a head to toe—literally—from the pantyhosed toes (complete with visible red nail polish) to those intoxicating green eyes—her shapely calves, the low-cut blouse and her perfect red lips in between.
“You just cannot keep away. Can you?”
He laughed nervously. “Oh, I just need to organise things in this section. Customers are always moving things around in here. Putting things back on the wrong-shelves.” He began to ramble.
“Are they?” She smiled—a whole face / eye smile, knowing, brimming with wisdom, superior, a smile he was beneath. It was infectious. He smiled. But like an idiot.
She arched an eye-brow.
“No, I mean. Not you, of course, you’re just... lovely.” Ugh, did he really just say that? “Other customers, ha.”
She watched him squirm.
He trailed off now. And his gaze fell automatically to those toes. The toe-nails were nice and long—not too long, of course—just nice. She pointed her right foot towards him. Had she noticed he was looking at her feet? Oh, what does it matter? It’s not like she’d guess he had a foot fetish—he could have been looking at anything.
“Weren’t you going to tidy the shelf here?” She pointed him for the second time in the direction of a task awaiting his application.
“Yup,” he said, feeling like a complete idiot, but also still feeling that lovely, warm tingling feeling.
He knelt on floor behind her to gain access to the books on the bottom shelf which were actually messy (in truth this was his doing that morning but his earlier laziness was paying off now). He selected a book laying atop the others and turned around to show her—as if to prove his point but she was sitting in the chair at the table now and engrossed in reading something. He put the book back and moved on to the next one. He had noticed that she had her legs crossed and was swinging one foot. He looked again over his shoulder at her toes. They were delicious. His cock hardened. Even though she was probably thirty years his senior he could see himself sucking those toes for all they were worth. For all he was worth.
There was some nice high arch to be viewed from the side of the shoes and he could see the pantyhose were reinforced on the sole. He wanted the stuff the whole foot in his mouth. Or somewhere else. He wanted to be entirely owned and fucked by feet like that.
Chris peeled his eyes away and turned back to his messy shelf, but not before noticing that she wasn’t reading anymore but looking right at him. Busted. He made a big show of shifting a few books around and then went back to the counter. He didn’t look at her as he left, his pants bulging, his face beetroot.
A short while later she arrived at the counter. She didn’t return her coffee mug. The store had emptied of other customers now. The last quiet moments before the evening rush. Chris was determined to finish the transaction without making a fool of himself anymore and as she approached he cleared his throat, readied his business voice.
He heard her heels clip clopping as she got closer and of course his mind’s eye pictured instantly those delectable toes, the shiny heel, the ankle strap, the calves. He was again lost in thought as she reached the counter. He looked up into the green eyes and gulped. They overtook him, overpowered him, swallowed him, drowned him and he loved it.
She had extended her hand and he had taken it.
“You forgot to introduce yourself,” she told him. Her voice really was lovely, slidy, like silk or pantyhose, or silk pantyhose. Those toes.
“Yes, I did. I’m Chris,” he said shaking her hand lightly. Feeling it’s smoothness.
She just smiled at him and drowned him further in those eyes. She didn’t let go.
“Easy to forget things isn’t it?”
Chris found himself agreeing as a beautifully warm tingling sensation trickled down his spine.
“That’s right,” she purred, still holding his hand.
“You can forget just what you were doing. What you were thinking, if anything. You can just drift.”
Chris thought this seemed reasonable. A bit strange for chit chat, but rather pleasant to hear.
“Yeah.”
“That’s right,” she said again, assuring him.
“You can forget all kinds of things when you allow yourself to drift, your mind wandering wherever my voice takes you.”
“Floating,” she suggested as she let go of his hand.
He didn’t move it. He just left it there, in the air, floating, like she suggested and he kept gazing into her eyes.
“But you don’t forget to breathe, do you? Take a nice deep breath.”
He did.
“And let it out.”
He did.
“And relax deeper.”
He did.
“That’s right.”
“And you’ve forgotten to ask my name, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” he realised.
“You’re wondering what it is. Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s right. It’s a very special name. Because I am a very special person.”
Her eyes devoured him. Her voice slid over him like a sheer sheet. Enveloping him. Encasing him and he had no idea what was going on but it was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.
“And the sound of my name is very special. Just like how the sound of my voice is special. You love to hear my voice. Don’t you love my voice?”
“Yes.”
“That’s right. Deeper now. Relax deeeeper for me now. That’s right.”
Chris took another deep breath.
“And you can forget about your hand.”
Chris realised that he had forgotten about his hand at the same time he realised it didn’t matter about his hand so he didn’t do anything with it—he just left it there.
“Floating,” she suggested again.
“And forget even whose hand it was.”
Chris didn’t know what she meant but he was sure if he just kept listening she would tell him.
“It’s my hand,” she told him as she reached out and brushed his floating hand.
He looked at it, not really recognising it and beginning not to feel it. Had he ever felt it, he wondered as she moved the hand upright, pointing the index finger towards him.
“And my hand does what I want as it moves up towards your face,”
And sure enough the hand she told him was her hand but that he couldn’t really remember being his hand started to move slowly towards his face. It didn’t matter. He’d much rather look at her…
“And you haven’t forgotten to keep looking into my eyes, have you?”
He didn’t bother answering, she knew the answer, because he was looking into her eyes again.
“That’s right.”
It was.
The hand moved closer.
“And you haven’t forgotten about my special name, have you?”
She reached out and stroked the side of his face and it felt blissful. “The sound of my name will be so wonderful to hear. It will mean something powerful and beautiful to you.”
She stroked his face with her long white-painted finger-nails.
“That’s right.”
“Do you want to hear my special name, the name that will make you feel so gooood?”
This time Chris felt it was important to speak.
“Yes.”
“Mistress,” she told him.
“My name is Mistress.”
Chris knew it was true.
“What’s my name?” she asked as she stroked his face again, drawing a line with her fingernail.
“Mistress,” said Chris.
“That’s right,” she said and it was. The rightest thing Chris had ever known. It filled him with a wonderful blissful feeling. He hoped she would say it again.
“Mistress,” she said as he exhaled.
“Mistress,” she said as he inhaled, the wonderful heady scent of her perfume,
“And you can forget your name, can’t you?” She suggested as she waved a finger in front of his eyes.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Did you have a name?”
He didn’t feel sure. She would tell him.
“Your name is slave.” That was it.
“Isn’t it, slave?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“That’s right.”
“Your name is slave. And I am Mistress. And the hand is still moving towards your face, you’d forgotten about it. But that’s all right. And when it touches your face you will go down, into a deep, deep, sounds, hypnotic, blissful sleep. Where you will hear only my voice. Mistress’s voice and follow my instructions.”
The hand, that maybe once was Chris’s and now that surely belonged to Mistress touched Chris’ face and he knew no more.