Patsy

If this story is poorly written and lacks the plot points to make it even more erotic and kinky, it is because it's a true story, and this is the only way I can tell it. Here goes:

This happened in the late Eighties, before the Internet and Craigslist made it so easy to post and read personal ads. This was the era of cheap, pulp publications that could only be found in adult bookstores. Just the act of buying the magazine took all the courage I could muster. At thirty, I still hadn't experienced my desire to be dominated by a strong willed woman.

I'd placed ads in the now defunct Southern California Swing, but because of my shyness and fear of doing the very thing I'd fantasized about for as long as I can remember, I never answered a single response. It was just as well; most of the ads were from pros or people who apparently hadn't read my ad before responding. This was frustrating, because communicating by Post Office box numbers was a time consuming hassle.

But one day in August, I received a letter from a woman named Patsy. She said she liked my ad, and suggested I check out her own ad. It read like this:

Assertive woman, looking for naughty boys to amuse me. Answer to... There was a photo, but it was too blurry and grainy to be of any use. I answered the ad, and waited impatiently for her response. When she did, she included her phone number, something only the pros would do, but there was something about her letters and her ad that made me take a chance. My hands and voice were shaking as I placed the call.

She said her name was Patsy and she lived out in Riverside, about thirty minutes on the 91 Freeway. She told me to meet her at a bowling alley the following afternoon. She had a beautifully melodic voice, but she never really addressed the purpose of our visit. It was as though we were meeting for lunch.

Nerves and old habits found me sitting in the bar of the bowling alley long before our appointed time. The bar was empty, save for two old geezers and the bartender at the far end of the bar. I sat close to the entrance and wondered if they knew why I was nursing a cola and anxiously watching the door.

Twenty minutes later, a beautiful woman came in. It was a very hot day, and she remarked to no one in particular that she needed something cold to drink. She glanced over at me and said, "Do I know you?" "I'm Jack," I replied. Are you Patsy?

"Hi Jack," she said as she methodically made herself comfortable on the stool next to me. I called for the bartender, and then asked her what she would like to drink. She took her time, deciding on an iced tea. I was happy to know that she didn't drink.

It was no wonder why she was so hot. She wasn't dressed for the 95 degree weather of the Inland Empire in August. Her top was sleeveless, but it was a salt and pepper knit sweater that buttoned from her neck to her waist. She wore a black wool skirt that was well above her knees. Her skirt had ridden up enough to see that the black nylons she wore were pantyhose. I'm not a big fan of pantyhose, nor am I really interested in woman's shoes, but her black pumps were tasteful and conservative, with realistically high heels. I can't stand those six, seven or eight inch heels that the Mistresses on the Internet seem to prefer.

I want to pause here and explain a little about Patsy. She was obviously older than me, but she had a knockout figure and a pretty face. The only thing to reveal her maturity was her neck. The skin had lost its youthful tightness, but was not unattractive, just a dichotomy of her face and figure. Otherwise, she could have passed for thirty.

I also want to emphasize that her black attire in no way implied that she was a professional dominant, just an attractive woman inappropriately dressed for summer. I have since learned that many women who work in large buildings dress for the air conditioned inside, rather than the heat of the day.

As I said, she had a soft, melodic voice that I had to strain to hear. We spoke for about twenty minutes, never addressing the purpose of our meeting. When she remarked that she was famished and needed something to eat before she fainted, I suggested that we go to lunch. By this time, I was beginning to relax. I still wasn't sure if she wanted money, but I doubted it. By the time we left the bar and out to the heat and the parking lot, I felt as if I'd known her for years. She was a very nice lady with a sweet disposition. She explained that she liked to meet at the bowling alley, so no one could eavesdrop on her conversations.

She also had a very fast Corvette. It needed a new paint job, but that didn't keep me from running a red light and a stop sign to keep up with her in my pickup truck.

It was lunch hour and the restaurant was crowded, but cool. When we finally got a table, she took forever making up her mind what she wanted to eat. While we sipped iced tea and talked, I got my first taste of Patsy's method of domination. Patsy was adept at catching me off guard. One minute, she was making casual conversation, and then abruptly saying something to make me shiver.

"I wasn't expecting someone so handsome," she said. Before I could reply, she told me to stand up so she could look me over. Even though I was extremely embarrassed to stand in the crowded restaurant, Patsy seemed oblivious to my discomfort. It wasn't like she was playing the role of the dominatrix. she just wanted to critique my backside. She had me sit and she asked me if I liked her outfit. I told her she looked lovely and without missing a beat, Patsy said, "So your ad said that you are obedient. Just how far are you willing to go?" I fumbled to tell her that it was important to me that she would be the one to make all the decision in our relationship. Before she could answer, our salads arrived, and the rest of the dialog was just small talk, nothing kinky or sexual.

We'd barely started on our entrée when she asked if I was available to see her the coming weekend. I was ready to burst into flames. I couldn't stand the thought of waiting to see her, so I broke my own rule and said, "I was sort of hoping that we could do something today." She didn't say a word. She stood up, grabbed her purse and tossed some bills on the table. I admired her firm bottom and slim waist as I hurried to keep up with her. She slipped into her Vette, leaving me to wonder if our relationship had come to a screeching halt. She lowered the window and told me that she would try to slow down so I could keep up. Even so, I had to shift without the clutch to stay behind her.

She turned into a residential district and parked her car in the driveway of a modest Fifties style house. I parked at the curb and waited impatiently while she moved the lawn sprinkler, checked her mail and watered the hanging plants on the small porch. Finally, she opened the door and entered her home. I followed tentatively behind her.

The house was cool and dim, shadowed by the heavy curtains on the windows. After a brief tour of her home, she told me to take off my clothes. She said it with the same inflection one would use to say, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.

I stood naked in the middle of the small living room as she bustled about, doing the simple things people do when they come home. She ignored me as she set about her tasks, pausing only to put her hand on the top of my head and gently pushed me down until I was on my knees. She patted my head, ruffled my hair, and then went to the kitchen to check her phone messages. The first message was the cable company, but she closed the swinging door to the kitchen to listen to the rest of her messages.

Without warning, Patsy emerged from the kitchen and stood with her ass in front of me and raised her skirt. She grabbed my hair, bent over from her waist and pulled my face into the cleft of her ass. Her pantyhose had an opening at the crotch, with a delightful tuft of hair protruding. She jammed my face into the moist hair of her pussy. She didn't have to tell me what to do.

I held her by the sides of her hips as I greedily lapped her pussy. She was grinding her hips, covering my face with her sweet juices. She asked me if I liked the taste of her pussy. She wouldn't let go of her hold one me, so I could only moan and mumble.

I found myself licking the air when she abruptly stepped away and lowered her skirt. She gently took hold of my ear and led me, crawling on hands and knees, into her bedroom.

I was learning to understand Patsy's unspoken instructions. She merely pointed to the foot of the bed and I took my place on the hardwood floor. Without being told, I put my head down and offered my ass up to the cool air of her bedroom.

I waited for several minutes until I heard the sound of her heels on the floor behind me. I yelped in more surprise than pain as she delivered a dozen bare handed smacks to my ass.

"I wasn't planning to bring you home today," she said. "This is the last time I grant you a request. Now, I want you to play with yourself while I spank you." I supported myself with one hand while I toyed with my cock and balls. I was surprised that she made no comment on the diminutive size of my genitals. Throughout our relationship, Patsy never voiced her opinion of my slender, five inch penis. I'm tempted to make my cock even smaller for the sake of the story, but I'm sticking to the facts. This is a true story, don't forget.

It was a light spanking, so it took a while before I felt the heat from her bare hand. Just as it began to change from discomfort to pain, she stopped and sat at the foot of the bed beside me. I looked up, expecting her to take me over her knee as I'd requested in my own ad. Instead, she merely held her hand out, palm up. I knew what she wanted and began furiously beating off until I filled her palm with my semen. Usually, my submissiveness dissipates immediately after an orgasm, but I would have gladly licked my cum from her hand, had she ordered. Instead she got up without a word and left the bedroom. I heard the water running in the bathroom when the phone rang. I could hear her talking to someone regarding the cable company.

I stayed there, kneeling on the floor and wondering what she wanted me to do. I heard her excuse herself from the phone and she appeared a moment later with my clothes. She dropped them on the floor and went back to the phone in the kitchen. I dressed and was heading out the front door when she called out to me.

"Be a good boy, Jackie. I'll call you."

And that was the end of my first meeting with Patsy. Again, I apologize for the awkward syntax and remind you that this really is a true story. If it weren't for Patsy, I would be convinced by now that there is no such thing as a truly dominant female. It's because of her that I still look for someone who would know me as well as Patsy.

The time I spent with Patsy can be described in three parts. Most of the time, we were close friends, gabbing on the phone or going to movies. The second and third parts consisted of super heightened sexuality and severe anxiety in anticipation of what she would make me do next. The third, of course, were the times she held me in complete submission.

She never barked orders or yelled at me. Patsy never used profanity, either. Most of her orders were phrased as a question. For example, she might say, "Jackie, would you please come sit down here in front of me? I have to make some calls." This meant that I would crawl between her legs and lick her pussy while she talked with the men who answered her ad.

The thing she did that still makes me shiver was her silent instructions. I was vacuuming her living room once and turned to see a pair of coral green satin panties lying on the ottoman. I knew this meant I was to strip and wear the panties while I vacuumed and dusted.

She had a way of pointing to the floor while her attention was turned elsewhere. I didn't have to be told to assume the doggy position right where she pointed. I would wait until she'd eventually get around to me.

I can still remember the time she led me up the elevator of a posh hotel. She'd obviously been there before, because she knew to open a door that opened to a very small balcony that overlooked the front of the hotel. Patsy was like a little girl showing me her tall building and its breathtaking view. She loved the fact that this ledge was unknown to the countless guests who'd stayed at the hotel, and that she could enjoy the view for free. We were practically bumping heads as we gazed down at the people below. I was more than a little nervous about not only being caught on that balcony, but also the chances of being spotted from below. I imagined a security guard watching us from his video console.

"Look down there," she said and as I looked down I saw her finger pointing to the cement behind her. I dropped to my knees and ducked under her skirt the way she'd taught me. I have a fetish for pretty bottoms and Patsy's was perfect. I loved being allowed to kiss and hold my face against her smooth skin. This was a reward, a treat for me to worship her bare bottom while she gazed out at the night sky. This was much like the times she would have me kneel behind her while she did her hair and fixed her makeup, except that I never worried about being arrested for kissing Patsy's ass in her bathroom.

When I asked her about her unorthodox lifestyle, she told me that she was a happy homemaker for twenty years when she woke up and realized that she was denying her heart's desires by staying in a loveless, sexless marriage. She divorced her husband and bought the Corvette. She learned, as I had noticed, to stop and smell the roses. She once halted the line at Sizzler's because she had to examine a rusty old pot that was part of the restaurant's décor.

Patsy and I parted ways when she began coaxing me into having sex with other men. I didn't mind doing some of the things she wanted, but I will always be extremely cautious concerning STDs and we drifted apart. I married and she moved out of state. I have a dozen pictures and a few letters to remember the pretty lady that brought me to my knees by merely pointing to the floor.