Going Out
He had stopped wondering where the evening was going, which was usually the point.
His Mistress was stretched comfortably across the sofa, one hand resting lazily against the back of his head as he knelt between her knees. There was no urgency to it and no sense that she was trying to get anywhere in particular. He was there because she wanted him there, attending to her because that was what he had been told to do, and every so often her fingers tightened slightly in his hair to guide rather than correct.
He had settled into the rhythm of it enough that when she eventually pushed him back, he assumed she was simply done.
Instead, she looked down at him for a moment, then reached forward, placed two fingers beneath his chin and raised his face until he was looking at her.
“Finish me.”
He obeyed. When she was finally satisfied, he sat back onto his heels and waited.
She regarded him for a moment, then rose from the sofa.
“Go shower. You’re going out tonight.”
He looked up at her, the instruction taking a moment to settle.
“Tonight?”
She gave him a look.
“Yes.”
That was apparently all the explanation he was getting.
When he came out of the shower, he found his answer waiting on the bed.
Or, at least, part of one.
An outfit had been laid out neatly for him: trousers, shirt, socks, shoes waiting on the floor beneath them. His collar had been placed at the top as though completing the shape of a person.
Alongside the clothes were two things that made him stop.
The first was the plug.
The second was a pair of underwear which definitely weren’t his.
He picked them up and recognised them immediately. She had been wearing them earlier.
His Mistress appeared in the doorway while he was still holding them.
He looked from the underwear to her.
She looked back at him.
“Problem?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Good.”
Her gaze travelled over the things on the bed and then returned to him, apparently satisfied that the instructions were sufficiently obvious.
“Be ready for eight.”
He glanced back at the clothes.
“Are you going out too?”
She smiled.
“No.”
Then she left him standing there.
By five minutes to eight he was dressed exactly as she had intended. The plug was in place, her underwear beneath the clothes she had chosen for him, his collar fastened around his neck. At two minutes to eight he was still waiting, increasingly aware that his Mistress had made no move whatsoever to get ready herself.
At eight precisely, the doorbell rang.
He looked towards the hallway, then towards his Mistress. She was sitting on the sofa with one leg tucked beneath her, scrolling through something on her phone.
She looked up.
“Well?”
He stood.
“Answer it.”
He crossed the flat and opened the door.
One of her friends stood on the other side. Not merely a friend, exactly. He knew her well enough to know that she understood how things worked between them. She had visited before, had seen him kneeling, and had been present for enough conversations that very little about their relationship would surprise her.
What surprised him was seeing her now.
She looked him over slowly, then smiled.
“Well,” she said. “Aren’t you going to greet me properly?”
That answered at least one question.
He dropped to his knees. The ritual was familiar enough that he didn’t need prompting: he bowed, kissed first one nylon-clad foot and then the other, then pressed his lips briefly to each shoe.
“Good boy.”
Her tone was casual. Somehow that made it worse. Or better. He wasn’t entirely sure.
She stepped past him into the flat.
His Mistress looked up from the sofa.
“Hello.”
“Evening.”
Their guest glanced back towards him.
“Is he ready?”
“He should be.”
“What does he know?”
His Mistress considered the question for a moment.
“That he’s going out.”
The other woman looked at him.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all he needed.”
He remained where he was while the friend laughed quietly.
“Fair enough.”
His Mistress put her phone aside and stood.
“I left everything out for him, so unless he’s managed to get creative, he should be ready.”
The friend gave him another slow inspection and seemed satisfied.
His Mistress crossed to the sideboard and picked up the spare key.
“Do you want this?”
The other woman glanced at it, then at him.
“Oh no,” she said, smiling. “We won’t need that.”
His Mistress returned the key to its place.
“Fair enough.”
He stared very carefully at the floor, which only seemed to amuse the other woman more.
“So,” his Mistress said, “what have you got planned for him?”
“Enough.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Only if he misbehaves.”
His Mistress looked at him.
“He won’t.”
The certainty in her voice did something uncomfortable and pleasing to his stomach.
The friend folded her arms.
“And what are you doing with your evening alone?”
His Mistress smiled.
“Oh, I won’t be alone.”
He looked up.
“I’ve invited my boyfriend round.”
There was a brief silence.
Her friend’s eyes flicked towards him, then back to his Mistress.
“Have you?”
“Mmhmm.” She stretched lazily, entirely too pleased with herself. “I’m due a good fucking.”
He stared at her.
The friend laughed.
“Oh, that’s cruel.”
“I know.”
His Mistress didn’t look remotely apologetic.
He lowered his eyes again.
Her smile widened.
His Mistress crossed the remaining distance and adjusted his collar, smoothing it flat with both hands.
“Behave yourself.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And do what you’re told.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She kissed him once, briefly and affectionately, then looked at her friend.
“Enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
His Mistress opened the door.
He still hadn’t moved.
She looked at him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
He swallowed.
“Yes, Mistress.”
The friend stepped into the corridor, and he followed a moment later. Behind him, his Mistress gave them both a small wave before the door closed.
He stood staring at it for perhaps half a second too long.
The woman beside him was already walking away, and not slowly either. She moved briskly down the corridor with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no doubt that he would follow.
After several steps she glanced over her shoulder.
“Come along,” she said.
Her eyes flicked pointedly down towards him, and a smile appeared.
“Although perhaps we oughtn’t to get your hopes up.”
Then she turned and kept walking.
He followed.