My First Miss and the Boundary I Didn’t Want to Cross

I waited standing in the open space that was the whole apartment, right where the entrance gave way to the living room. I was on edge and didn’t know what to do with my bag. Hold it in front of me with both hands? No, I’d look like I was shielding myself. Hide it behind my back? But then she wouldn’t see the sway of my skirt, and I had chosen that dress precisely so she would. In the end I let it hang from my shoulder and took a deep breath.

The whole place was warm, understated, the kind of home that doesn’t need ornaments to command respect. And like a blaze in the middle of all that dark wood, there she was, sitting on the sofa, dressed in burgundy silk. It wasn’t loungewear, but neither was it an obvious performance: a light camisole that barely covered her to mid-thigh and a longer robe, untied, falling open at the sides like a curtain drawn back. A very fine jeweled pendant hung from her neck and disappeared between her breasts. If all you saw when you looked at her was that, then you didn’t know how to look. What held my attention were her serene, almost amused eyes, and the barely sketched curve of her lips.

—What have you come for, sweet girl?

She sat up. The tapping of her heels against the parquet was the only sound for a few seconds.

—To obey you, Miss.

The words came out steady, calmer than I felt inside.

—And what brought you to me?

She was already at my side. I had to lift my chin to look her in the eye.

—The admiration I feel for you and the confidence you inspire in me, Miss.

She pinched the edge of my skirt between her fingers and, as she walked around me, brushed the fabric with the pad of her thumb.

—You’ve made yourself pretty —she said softly.

I barely nodded. For the occasion I had chosen my sleeveless black dress, two hairpins pulling my hair away from my face, and medium heels, not as high as hers. My owner liked that combination very much; he used to say that with my red hair I looked like a display-window doll.

—And what do you expect from me? What can I offer you? —she asked.

I took a couple of seconds to answer. Her long nails, painted crimson, slid over my nape and twined a lock of hair around one finger. I blushed despite myself.

—To learn from your knowledge. To explore and let myself be explored, Miss.

—You have beautiful hair. Thick, strong. Never tie it up for me.

She removed the hairpins one by one. My hair spilled over my shoulders and she arranged it with a patience that felt ritualistic.

—I’ll do that, Miss —I managed to say.

Her fingers began combing through my hair from scalp to ends. It wasn’t styling, it was contemplation. Then she swept it all over one shoulder, leaving my neck exposed, and I felt the heat of her breath very close to my skin. I held my breath without moving.

—Mm… Hypnotic Poison, by Dior.

I didn’t have time to confirm it. She traced my waist with one finger, completed the circle around me, and came back to stand in front of me.

—Would you be so kind as to undress, sweet girl?

She had stepped back two paces. She crossed one arm over her waist, rested the elbow of the other on it, and supported her chin between thumb and forefinger. There was no lewdness in her posture. Only a clean, almost clinical curiosity.

—Of course, Miss —I said as soon as I could react.

The question had shaken me more than I expected. Not because of the order itself, but because I hadn’t expected it so soon in the evening. My body rushed ahead with the nervous haste of someone who feels late, and I had to stop for half a second to breathe.

Mirror mode, Bárbara.

That was my private rule for the moments when I wasn’t quite sure what was expected of me. All I had to do was observe the other person and imitate their register. What did I have in front of me? A woman about ten years older than me, elegant, sensual without effort, serene. So I undressed exactly like that.

I set my bag on the floor gently. I took my hands behind my back and pulled the zipper down in one fluid motion. I slid my arms out one by one and, when the fabric fell to my waist, I bent —without bending my knees— until the dress dropped to my ankles. I folded it carefully and placed it to the left of the bag. Then the bra and panties, laid out over the dress and oriented toward her. Finally the shoes, perfectly aligned with the rest.

When I stood upright, I returned the kind smile she was offering me. I took my hands behind my back and shifted my weight onto my left leg.

The finger that rested against her cheek moved to her lips. I could feel her pupils moving over me with measured care, slowly, taking in every inch of skin.

It was the first time I had exposed myself like that before a woman and, curiously, the initial nerves had gone. I admired her: for her sophistication, for the security she radiated, for the exquisite treatment she maintained even in the smallest gestures. Being looked at like that by someone like her made me feel good. Very good. And it must have shown in my smile.

Without saying anything, she asked me to turn around with a circular motion of her finger. I obeyed, this time with my hands crossed in front of me. I didn’t want to cover anything. I didn’t want any gesture of mine to stop her from looking at me at her leisure.

The heels sounded again. When she stopped behind me, she lifted one buttock with her hand, then the other.

—You work out —she stated, not asked.

—I do, Miss. I go running.

And instantly I regretted the addition. Not for being honest, but for giving her information she hadn’t asked for.

—And do you eat well?

Her hands came to rest on my shoulders, barely touching me. She turned me gently so we were facing each other again. With the tip of one finger she lifted my chin. She was considerably taller than I was.

—Yes, Miss.

In silence we held each other’s gaze for two, three, four heartbeats. She was beautiful. Very beautiful. I thought that if I ever reached her age, I’d like to be exactly like that.

She turned away without saying anything. I followed her with my eyes: that sway of her hips that was so distinctly hers, that elegance that didn’t seem learned.

—Aren’t you coming, sweet girl? —she said without turning around, folding her index finger twice.

—At your orders, Miss.

She sat down on the sofa again and, with her palm, pointed me to a cushion on the floor at her side. I knew what it meant and I was dying to give it to her. I knelt down at once and settled my thighs over my calves. I didn’t know if it was the posture she preferred for her submissives, but it seemed the most suitable to me because it kept my head below her line of sight.

Without paying me any more attention, she picked up a folder from the coffee table. Her face disappeared behind it. The rustle of pages turning filled the room. Expectant, I kept watching her in silence.

And I waited. And I waited. And I waited.

I’m an active person. A busy little bee, mine say, not someone who’s good at sitting still. But not a complaint escaped me, not a trace of annoyance. With nothing else to occupy myself with, I dedicated myself to observing the little of her I could see: those long naked legs, the immaculate sandals, the meticulous pedicure. She took better care of herself than I did, and I felt a little embarrassed.

She stretched out her hand and caught a lock of my hair between her fingers without looking up from the reading. She wound it around her finger, stretched it, absently stroked the tip, like someone playing with something pleasant. I’ve always been fascinated by having my hair toyed with, and without realizing it I leaned my head a little closer to her hand. She stroked me. I smiled with my gaze fixed on the floor.

—Would you be so kind as to pour me a glass of wine, sweet girl? In the kitchen you have everything you need.

I found the bottle and glass on the counter. I came back with the Burgundy glass and the two-step corkscrew in one hand, the bottle in the other. I knew how to do it, and I loved being able to show her. Kneeling, I set the bottle on the coffee table on top of a coaster, with the label visible. I cut the capsule below the neck ring, inserted the corkscrew, and removed the cork in two clean motions. With my left hand behind my back, I poured the wine smoothly, and a twist of the wrist kept the last drop from falling. I offered her the glass by the base so she could take it by the stem.

—Thank you —she said with a smile I returned.

—The pleasure is mine, Miss.

She went back to reading and I, at her feet, let her enjoy herself.

—Tell me what you think —she said after a while, holding the glass out to me.

The mark of her lips was stamped in lipstick on the crystal. I pushed my hair aside and blended my coral lipstick with hers. The wine struck me as excessively sweet, almost like a gummy candy, with no trace of oak. It wasn’t my style and I’d had better.

—It leaves a good aftertaste of black fruit and its sweetness makes it ideal to drink on its own. But it lacks nuance. It’s flat, in my humble opinion. A wine for casual drinkers, not for trained palates.

I had no idea how my words would go down. It was the wine she had chosen. But she had asked for honesty and I had given it to her, minding my manners. I don’t like lying.

If I upset her, she didn’t show it. She only looked at me again in that calm, pleasant way. She took back the glass, set the closed folder on the table, folded her legs up on the sofa, and reclined a little on her side.

—In the box under the coffee table there’s a little surprise for you —she said before taking a short sip.

I wanted to contain my excitement, at least outwardly. But I’m far too transparent and I’m sure it showed. It was a lacquered wooden box. Inside, a pair of clamps linked by a chain and a metal anal plug set with a red crystal.

My eyes sought hers. With my lips pressed together to hide my smile, I looked at her while she silently traced circles with one finger along the rim of the glass. She didn’t hurry me. The surprise was invitation enough.

I picked up the clamps first. It was the first time I had held any like them. They weighed more than they looked. I was so excited I didn’t need to prepare myself: I held one breast with one hand and closed the metal jaws around the first nipple. Then, with the same ceremony, the other. They pinched, yes, but nothing I couldn’t bear without protest. The weight of the chain made my breasts tilt slightly downward.

Then I picked up the plug. It was medium-sized, not one of those small, comfortable ones my owner asked me to wear when I left the house, but not outrageous either. The only thing was, there was no trace of lubricant. It was going to cost me a little.

Mirror mode again. Without trying to arouse lust or turn it into theater, without losing elegance. I stuck out my tongue and ran the plug over its surface from bottom to top, my eyes fixed on hers. Then I took it fully into my mouth, closed my lips around the neck like a pacifier, and slowly turned it.

I turned around on my knees and rested one cheek on the floor. I offered the view without shame. I took the saliva-lubed plug to the opening and began to insert it. With my sphincter relaxed, and despite not being new to this, it gave way little by little. At the point of maximum circumference I paused for a moment before it finished swallowing itself. I let out a very soft sigh and returned to my original posture, on my knees, hands behind my back. My Miss had sat up again and was leaning toward me, the glass half hiding her smile.

—Kiss my feet.

It was a shock. I froze. I wasn’t processing the request: it was pride, which had shot up and swept any trace of submission from my veins. I didn’t do that. I had never done it and I wasn’t going to. It was a boundary of mine. And the only daughter of my father doesn’t cross her own boundaries for anyone.

—No —I said firmly. After a very brief pause, I added—: Miss.

I looked at her without blinking, my head slightly tilted and my jaw clenched so hard my molars hurt. If my reaction bothered her, she gave it no importance, and that indifference stoked the flame. She leaned over, caught the chain between the clamps with one finger, and brought it to my mouth.

—Then take the clamps off.

I bared my teeth and pulled back as much as I could with my neck, but the chain was too long: all I managed to do was hurt myself. A gasp escaped me. With my tongue I pushed the chain farther in. On the second tug, one clamp flew off. I huffed. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and repeated the operation with the other. My chest was rising and falling rapidly, from adrenaline and from the searing pain spreading from my nipples. But with my chin held high and the chain still hanging from my mouth, I held her gaze.

—Kiss my feet —she repeated, in the same tone as the first time.

I didn’t bother answering. I took the clamps myself and put them back on, letting out a growl each time the jaws closed over my sore nipples. I threaded the chain beneath the edge of the coffee table and trapped it by placing one thigh over it. I shook my head to get the hair out of my face and met her eyes again.

—Take them off.

Like a spring I jumped and obeyed. The pain was much worse this time. I bounced in place, twisted, huffed, shouted through clenched teeth, and one single tear escaped from the corner of an eye.

—Fuck… —I muttered under my breath.

I set the clamps down on the coffee table with a dry thud. Hurt, I looked at her with more pride than real defiance. If she thought I was going to use my safe word to end the session, she didn’t know me at all.

—You’re a fierce little one, sweet girl —she said in a tone I couldn’t quite interpret. Admiration? Pity? Impossible to know. I was so numb from the pain that my thoughts wouldn’t arrange themselves—. You’ve made your point clear.

She knelt beside me and used her thumb to gather up the tear. Then she laid her hand over mine, gently moved it aside, picked up the clamps, and put them back in the box.

—Wait here for me.

She stroked my cheek and kissed the top of my head before getting up and going to the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door, the clink of ice cubes hitting one another. The tension began to ease and gave way to fatigue. When the heels sounded again, I looked up and saw her glittering pendant twinkling at the height of my eyes.

She came back with an ice cube trapped between her lips. She lifted one breast with the back of her fingers and began rubbing the ice over the wounded nipple. First the areola, then the tip. A sigh escaped me, my eyelids closed, and a shiver of relief ran all the way down my spine. I was going to melt. I tipped my head back. When she finished with that breast, the pain I had inflicted on myself was gone. I offered her the other and received the same attention.

Small drops slid down my abdomen. She gathered them one by one with her fingertips. A tender smile appeared at the sides of the ice cube. With her thumb she tugged lightly at my lower lip and placed the cube in my mouth. I sucked it without biting. A few inches away, we looked at each other. I connected. I don’t know about her, but I did. That feeling of being exposed and cared for at the same time was exactly what had always attracted me to being submissive.

—I promised your owner you’d be home in time for dinner —she said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear—. And I’m one of those who keeps her promises. Time passes so quickly, doesn’t it, sweet girl?

—It does, Miss —I murmured, lowering my gaze despite myself.

I didn’t want to leave. The evening had tasted like far too little.

She got up first and held out her hand to help me. She walked me over to where my clothes were and helped me put on the dress and then the shoes, leaving my underwear forgotten on the floor. She took me by the waist and we looked at each other in the hallway mirror. We were both beautiful: she in red, tall, streamlined; me in front, shorter, in my discreet black dress.

—The plug is a gift for your owner. I’m sure you’ll find the perfect moment to give it to him —she said—. And as for you… here. Don’t take it off.

In the reflection I saw her lift the pendant over her head and pass it to me, over the dress. It was beautiful. My hand moved to touch it. The excitement must have shown on my face.

—A taxi is waiting for you downstairs.

She took my cheek, turned my face, and gave me a goodbye kiss so close to the lips that our corners brushed.

It was a magical evening.

***

From the darkness of the room, with his forearm resting on the window frame, he watched his little sweet girl get into the taxi, not before lifting her gaze to the building. Hanging from his other hand were the bra and panties of his candidate submissive, while the city’s reflections bathed his face.

On the bed, strewn over the sheets, was the open folder with Bárbara’s dossier. Age, measurements, job, experience, tastes, kinks. Underlined in red, two phrases: “Heterosexual” and “Already owned,” like a warning. In the “Limits” section, the fluorescent phrases “Doesn’t kiss feet” and “Does not tolerate collars as a sign of ownership or submission” stood out. A small handwritten note beside the latter said: “Even a pretty one with rhinestones?”

He watched the taxi disappear into the distance and thought that this visit had left her with far more questions than answers.