First Meeting Part One.
FIRST MEETING.
"So what the hell am I doing here?" You wonder to yourself for about the 50th time that morning as you nervously regard the door in front of you. Certainly there is nothing obvious to inspire the butterflies in your stomach there - it seems to be a nice enough place, set on a relatively quiet London road, once a large Victorian house now divided into flats and furnished with a modern intercom system.
You take another deep breath and push the buzzer corresponding to the address you have been given. Silence for a minute and then a male voice responds. "Hello?"
You lick suddenly dry lips and manage to say "Hi, is that FM?"
The voice still sounds pleasant, but a note of sternness has crept into it "Is that FM what?"
You search a suddenly blank mind and then "Sir! Is that FM Sir!"
"Well done" the voice replies "Now strip".
A cold feeling suddenly goes through you which has very little to do with the autumn breeze that has just got up. "S-Sir?" You manage.
"Please remove your clothes" says the voice and you hear the unmistakeable sound of the intercom being replaced.
You hesitate for a minute, but you have come this far already, so why not this also? You look around. You are behind a hedge and up a fairly long path, but anyone passing by will undoubtedly get an eyeful, and what about the other people living here? You sigh and slowly remove your coat, followed by your sweater. No one has screamed yet so your t-shirt and jeans
quickly follow. You bend over to remove your shoes and see a postman walking past the gate at the end of the path. Frozen in place you watch him go to open the gate and then look at you.
Your eyes lock for what seems like an eternity, then he obviously decides that he wants nothing to do with whatever is happening here, backs away and walks on.
Galvanised by this near miss, your shoes and socks are quickly removed, then your boxers follow them to the floor. Quickly, before you are arrested for indecent exposure or catch hypothermia you press the buzzer again.
"Hello?" Says the voice at the other end.
"Sir I am naked Sir" you say quickly.
"Good boy" says the voice. "Now look behind the flowerpot to your right"
something long and leather. You bring it out from its hiding place and discover a long black dog lead. Is this what he wanted?
"Sir? Is it a dog lead?" You say in a puzzled tone.
"It is" says the voice, whom you are now convinced is enjoying your predicament far too much. Put it on please".
You fumble with the unfamiliar catches but soon it is fastened around your neck, and you are able to push the buzzer once more.
"Sir, it is on, NOW can I come in please?"You whine.
"Well done. Now show it to me" commands the voice.
You look around wildly. Not only have you now been outside wearing nothing but a leather collar and lead for far too long a time, but you also have no idea what to do next. The clock is ticking and it is only a matter of time before someone else catches you and you are arrested for indecent exposure. You are already uncomfortably aware of the different windows that anyone could happen to take a glance out of and spot you and the constant sound of passing cars, all of which you hope are driven by people who have their eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.
You push the buzzer again.
"Sir? How??"
There is a sigh at the other end of the line. "Your phone? Send me a picture."
You frantically claw through your discarded clothing until you find your phone, wait for another eternity to switch itself on, take a quick photo and then send it off, hoping that the 4G is strong in this part of the world.
Silence and then...the unmistakeable sound of a text alert. It reads "Come inside".
The door buzzes and you can finally reach the dubious shelter of the communal hallway. You grab your clothes, take one final glance to check that you haven't left a sock behind, and step inside.
The hallway is dimly lit and comes with a worn carpet, several doors and a long staircase leading upwards, from which you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Hoping against hope that it is not some random person coming down to collect the mornings post you peer upwards.
"Is that FM?" You call, getting ready to bolt for it if it isn't.
"It is", says the figure, "well done". He walks towards you and pauses. He looks you up and down, noticing the slight erection that you have in spite of everything developed, runs his hand down your chest, picks up your lead and gently pulls you up the stairs, along yet another long corridor and into his flat, where the sound of the closing door behind you is at once both reassuring and utterly terrifying.
He takes your clothes off of you, folds them carefully and drops them by the door.
"Now" he says, "turn around and spread your cunt for me. Have you done what I asked?"
And yes, you have. On the train down to London, about 30 minutes into your trip, you paid a quick visit to the toilets, and in the swaying dimness of the cubicle with footsteps passing the door inches from you, you pulled out from your rucksack your buttplug to insert for the rest of the journey. You then made the horrifying discovery that you had forgotten to bring any lube so had to quietly dribble as much spit as possible onto its rubber surface and force it in, trying not to groan too loudly. You then made your way back to your seat, where you soon discovered that every jolt over uneven track was magnified several times and transmitted directly up your backside, although that discovery was soon eclipsed by the horror that was trying to make your way through the tube network, convinced that it was going to fall out and roll down the inside of your trouser leg where it would announce that you were a PERVERT and needed to be publicly shamed.
He pulls it out and looks at it before carefully placing it on top of your clothes.
"Good pet" he says, and gently rubs your hair.
He then leads you into a light and airy sitting room. He sits in a chair and you kneel submissively in front of him.
"Now" he says smiling, "what shall we do first?"
FIRST MEETING.
"So what the hell am I doing here?" You wonder to yourself for about the 50th time that morning as you nervously regard the door in front of you. Certainly there is nothing obvious to inspire the butterflies in your stomach there - it seems to be a nice enough place, set on a relatively quiet London road, once a large Victorian house now divided into flats and furnished with a modern intercom system.
You take another deep breath and push the buzzer corresponding to the address you have been given. Silence for a minute and then a male voice responds. "Hello?"
You lick suddenly dry lips and manage to say "Hi, is that FM?"
The voice still sounds pleasant, but a note of sternness has crept into it "Is that FM what?"
You search a suddenly blank mind and then "Sir! Is that FM Sir!"
"Well done" the voice replies "Now strip".
A cold feeling suddenly goes through you which has very little to do with the autumn breeze that has just got up. "S-Sir?" You manage.
"Please remove your clothes" says the voice and you hear the unmistakeable sound of the intercom being replaced.
You hesitate for a minute, but you have come this far already, so why not this also? You look around. You are behind a hedge and up a fairly long path, but anyone passing by will undoubtedly get an eyeful, and what about the other people living here? You sigh and slowly remove your coat, followed by your sweater. No one has screamed yet so your t-shirt and jeans
quickly follow. You bend over to remove your shoes and see a postman walking past the gate at the end of the path. Frozen in place you watch him go to open the gate and then look at you.
Your eyes lock for what seems like an eternity, then he obviously decides that he wants nothing to do with whatever is happening here, backs away and walks on.
Galvanised by this near miss, your shoes and socks are quickly removed, then your boxers follow them to the floor. Quickly, before you are arrested for indecent exposure or catch hypothermia you press the buzzer again.
"Hello?" Says the voice at the other end.
"Sir I am naked Sir" you say quickly.
"Good boy" says the voice. "Now look behind the flowerpot to your right"
something long and leather. You bring it out from its hiding place and discover a long black dog lead. Is this what he wanted?
"Sir? Is it a dog lead?" You say in a puzzled tone.
"It is" says the voice, whom you are now convinced is enjoying your predicament far too much. Put it on please".
You fumble with the unfamiliar catches but soon it is fastened around your neck, and you are able to push the buzzer once more.
"Sir, it is on, NOW can I come in please?"You whine.
"Well done. Now show it to me" commands the voice.
You look around wildly. Not only have you now been outside wearing nothing but a leather collar and lead for far too long a time, but you also have no idea what to do next. The clock is ticking and it is only a matter of time before someone else catches you and you are arrested for indecent exposure. You are already uncomfortably aware of the different windows that anyone could happen to take a glance out of and spot you and the constant sound of passing cars, all of which you hope are driven by people who have their eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.
You push the buzzer again.
"Sir? How??"
There is a sigh at the other end of the line. "Your phone? Send me a picture."
You frantically claw through your discarded clothing until you find your phone, wait for another eternity to switch itself on, take a quick photo and then send it off, hoping that the 4G is strong in this part of the world.
Silence and then...the unmistakeable sound of a text alert. It reads "Come inside".
The door buzzes and you can finally reach the dubious shelter of the communal hallway. You grab your clothes, take one final glance to check that you haven't left a sock behind, and step inside.
The hallway is dimly lit and comes with a worn carpet, several doors and a long staircase leading upwards, from which you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Hoping against hope that it is not some random person coming down to collect the mornings post you peer upwards.
"Is that FM?" You call, getting ready to bolt for it if it isn't.
"It is", says the figure, "well done". He walks towards you and pauses. He looks you up and down, noticing the slight erection that you have in spite of everything developed, runs his hand down your chest, picks up your lead and gently pulls you up the stairs, along yet another long corridor and into his flat, where the sound of the closing door behind you is at once both reassuring and utterly terrifying.
He takes your clothes off of you, folds them carefully and drops them by the door.
"Now" he says, "turn around and spread your cunt for me. Have you done what I asked?"
And yes, you have. On the train down to London, about 30 minutes into your trip, you paid a quick visit to the toilets, and in the swaying dimness of the cubicle with footsteps passing the door inches from you, you pulled out from your rucksack your buttplug to insert for the rest of the journey. You then made the horrifying discovery that you had forgotten to bring any lube so had to quietly dribble as much spit as possible onto its rubber surface and force it in, trying not to groan too loudly. You then made your way back to your seat, where you soon discovered that every jolt over uneven track was magnified several times and transmitted directly up your backside, although that discovery was soon eclipsed by the horror that was trying to make your way through the tube network, convinced that it was going to fall out and roll down the inside of your trouser leg where it would announce that you were a PERVERT and needed to be publicly shamed.
He pulls it out and looks at it before carefully placing it on top of your clothes.
"Good pet" he says, and gently rubs your hair.
He then leads you into a light and airy sitting room. He sits in a chair and you kneel submissively in front of him.
"Now" he says smiling, "what shall we do first?"
