My First Miss and the Boundary I Wouldn’t Cross

I was waiting standing up in the open space that was the entire apartment, right where the entryway gave way to the living room. I was on edge and didn’t know what to do with my handbag. Hold it in front of me with both hands? No, that would look like I was defending 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, restrained, the kind of home that doesn’t need ornament to command respect. And like a flame in the middle of all that dark wood, there she was, seated on the sofa, dressed in burgundy silk. It wasn’t loungewear, but neither was it an obvious performance: a light slip that barely covered her to mid-thigh and a longer robe, untied, falling open at her sides like a drawn curtain. A very fine jeweled pendant hung from her neck and disappeared between her breasts. If all you noticed when you looked at her was that, then you didn’t know how to look. What held my attention was her serene, almost amused eyes and the barely sketched curve of her lips.

—What have you come for, sweet girl?

She got to her feet. The clicking of her heels against the parquet floor was the only sound for a few seconds.

—To obey you, Miss.

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

—And what has brought you to me?

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

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

She pinched the hem of my skirt between her fingers and, as she moved around me, stroked the fabric with the pad of her thumb.

—You’ve made yourself look lovely —she said softly.

I gave the tiniest nod. For the occasion I had chosen my sleeveless black dress, two hairpins to sweep my hair away from my face, and mid-height heels, not as high as hers. My owner liked that combination very much; he said that with my red mane I looked like a display-window doll.

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

It took me a couple of seconds to answer. Her long nails, polished crimson, slid over my nape and wound a lock of hair around them. I blushed without meaning to.

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

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

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

—I won’t, Miss —I managed to say.

Her fingers began to comb 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 warmth of her breath very close to my skin. I held my breath without moving.

—Mmm… 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 appeared in front of me again.

—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 propped her chin between thumb and forefinger. There was no lust in her posture. Only a clean, almost clinical curiosity.

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

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

Mirror mode, Bárbara.

That was my private rule for moments when I wasn’t quite sure what was expected of me. It was enough to 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 that was exactly how I undressed.

I set my handbag softly on the floor. I took my hands to my back and lowered the zipper in one smooth motion. I slipped my arms out one by one and, when the fabric fell to my waist, I bent —without bending my knees— to let the dress drop to my ankles. I folded it carefully and placed it to the left of my bag. Then the bra and panties, laid out on top of the dress and oriented toward her. Finally the shoes, perfectly aligned with the rest.

When I straightened, I gave her back the kind smile she was offering me. I brought my hands behind my back and shifted my weight onto my left leg.

The finger on which her cheek had been resting moved to her lips. I felt her pupils go over me with deliberation, unhurried, taking in every inch of skin.

It was the first time I had exposed myself like this before a woman and, curiously, the initial nerves had gone. I admired her: for her sophistication, for the confidence she radiated, for the exquisite treatment she maintained even in the smallest gestures. Someone like her looking at me with that much attention 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 circling 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 keep 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 exercise —she stated, not asking.

—Yes, Miss. I go running.

And at once I regretted the addition. Not because I was being honest, but because I had given her information she hadn’t asked for.

—And you eat well?

Her hands rested 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 quite a bit taller than I was.

—Yes, Miss.

Silently we held each other’s gaze for two, three, four heartbeats. She was pretty. Very pretty. I thought that if I made it to her age, I would like to be exactly like that.

She moved away without saying anything. I followed her with my eyes: that sway of her hips that was so unmistakably 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 command, Miss.

She sat back down on the sofa and, with the flat of her hand, pointed me to a cushion on the floor beside her. I knew what it meant and I was dying to give it to her. I knelt 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 fitting 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 side table. Her face disappeared behind it. The rustle of turning pages filled the room. Expectantly, I sat there watching her in silence.

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

I’m an active person. A busy little bee, my people say, someone who isn’t good at sitting still. But not a complaint escaped me, not the slightest hint of annoyance. With nothing else to occupy me, I devoted myself to observing the little of her I could see: her long bare legs, her impeccable sandals, the exquisite pedicure on her feet. She took better care of herself than I did, and I felt a little ashamed.

She reached out and caught a lock of my hair between her fingers without looking up from the reading. She twirled it, stretched it, caressed the tip distractedly, like someone playing with something pleasant. I’ve always been fascinated by having my hair fussed over, and without realizing it I leaned my head a little toward her hand. She stroked it. I smiled with my eyes fixed on the floor.

—Would you be so kind as to pour me a glass of wine, sweet girl? In the kitchen you’ll find 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 side table on top of a coaster, with the label facing out. I cut the capsule below the neck band, inserted the corkscrew, and pulled the cork out in two clean movements. With my left hand behind my back, I poured the wine steadily, and a turn of my wrist kept the last drop from falling. I held the glass out 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 returned to her reading and I, at her feet, let her enjoy it.

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

The mark of her lips was stamped in lipstick on the crystal. I tucked my hair back and merged my coral lipstick with hers. The wine struck me as overly sweet, almost like candy, with no trace of barrel. It wasn’t my style, and I’d had better.

—It leaves a nice black-fruit aftertaste, 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 didn’t know how my words would go over. It was the wine she had chosen. But she had asked for honesty, and I gave it to her, minding my manners. I didn’t like lying.

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

—In the box under the side 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 too transparent and it must have shown. It was a lacquered wooden box. Inside, a pair of nipple clamps linked by a chain and a metal anal plug set with a red crystal.

My eyes searched for hers. With my lips pressed together to hide my smile, I looked at her while she, in silence, traced circles on the rim of the glass with one finger. She didn’t urge me. The surprise was invitation enough.

I picked up the clamps first. It was the first time I’d held a pair like that. They were heavier than they looked. I was so excited I didn’t need to prepare: I held one breast in 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 took 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: there wasn’t a trace of lubricant. It was going to cost me a little.

Mirror mode again. Without trying to provoke lust or make a show of it, without losing elegance. I stuck out my tongue and ran the plug over its surface from bottom to top, my eyes locked on hers. Then I put it fully into my mouth, closed my lips around the neck like it was a pacifier, and turned it slowly.

I turned around on my knees and rested one cheek on the floor. I offered the view without shame. I brought the saliva-lubricated plug to the opening and began to insert it. With my sphincter relaxed, and not being new to this, it gave way little by little. At the point of maximum circumference I paused a moment before it had finished swallowing it. I let out a very soft sigh and returned to my original posture, kneeling, my hands behind my back. My Miss had sat up 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 leapt up and swept away every trace of submission from my veins. I did not do that. I had never done it and I was not going to do it. It was one of my boundaries. And the only daughter of my father doesn’t cross a boundary of her own for anyone.

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

I looked at her without blinking, my head slightly tilted and my jaw clenched so tight my molars hurt. If my gesture annoyed her, she gave it no importance whatsoever, and that indifference fanned the flame. She leaned in, 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 with my neck as hard as I could, but the chain was too long: all I managed was to hurt myself. A gasp escaped me. I pushed the chain farther into my mouth with my tongue. With the second tug, one clamp went flying. I huffed. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and repeated the operation with the other. My chest rose and fell at high speed, from the 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 the sore nipples. I threaded the chain under the edge of the side table and trapped it by resting one thigh on it. I shook my head to move my hair aside and fixed my eyes on her again.

—Take them off.

Like a spring I jumped and obeyed. The pain was much worse this time. I bounced in place, twisted, snorted, screamed through clenched teeth, and a single tear slipped from one eyelid.

—Fuck… —I muttered under my breath.

I set the clamps down on the side table with a sharp clack. In pain, I looked at her with more pride than real defiance. If she thought I was going to use my safeword to end the scene, then she didn’t know me at all.

—You’re a fierce little thing, sweet girl —she said in a tone I couldn’t quite read. Admiration? Pity? Impossible to tell. I was so numb with pain that my thoughts wouldn’t line up— You’ve made your point clear.

She knelt beside me and gathered up the tear with her thumb. Then she laid her hand over mine, moved it gently aside, took 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 chime of ice cubes knocking together. The tension began to ease and give way to fatigue. When the heels sounded again, I lifted my gaze and saw her jeweled pendant twinkling at my eye level.

She was carrying 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 fell shut, 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 had disappeared. I offered her the other one and received the same attention.

Little drops slid down my abdomen. She gathered them one by one with the tip of her fingers. A tender smile appeared at the corners of her mouth around the ice. With her thumb she tugged lightly at my lower lip and placed the cube in my mouth. I sucked it without biting down. 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 drawn me to being submissive.

—I promised your owner you’d be home by dinner time —she said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear—. And I’m the sort who keeps her promises. Time flies, doesn’t it, sweet girl?

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

I didn’t want to leave. The evening had been far too short.

She stood first and held out her hand to help me up. She walked with me to where my clothes were and helped me put on my dress and then my shoes, leaving my underwear forgotten on the floor. She took me by the waist and we looked at each other in the entryway mirror. We were both pretty: 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 necklace over her head and pass it to me, over the dress. It was beautiful. My hand went to touch it. My 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 the corners of our mouths brushed.

It was a magical evening.

***

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

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

She watched the taxi disappear into the distance and thought that that visit had left her with rather more questions than answers.