The Cocktail Date

The man finishes my shoe shine as I watch the arrival board to the left. I like him. He is a young, muscular black man, who gives the appearance of being the most leisurely person on earth. He does not do anything that looks like work. He gives a few offhand licks with the brush, and the cloth, effortless. He turns between each action with his hands to scan the esplanade for girls, and give them a look. I don't even try to compete, this is his territory. But when he is done, my boots are shiny, better than she gets them, even if she gets a studious look and works hard.

She is about five minutes late. She can't help it of course, and I know that. Knew it when I wrote the schedule for her. I want her scared and anxious. I've set her up to fail because I know it will get her off balance. The Commuter Rail Service is southbound against the City's rush hour and I know from experience the nearly empty Southbound commuter trains are given lowest priority on the CSX right of way.

She could have taken the mass transit, the subway lines. They run to the same boarding point where I'd instructed her to leave her car. But I wanted her to take the regular passenger train. I did not want her crammed like a sardine into a car full of people I wanted her relaxing in the low light of the "quiet car," with easy access to a restroom.

The commuter rail also allows passengers to bring drinks on board. I'd told her to pack an airline bottle of vodka, and a mixer in a clear soda bottle. She would step inside the lavatory, mix it, throw the bottle away, then put her "public" collar on. She would also take off her panties and throw them away. She'd had the card since this morning with my instructions so I presumed she'd pick some panties she didn't like very much.

I'd stirred myself from the bar when the digital board showed her train arriving. I always loved the station. I focused on that to relax a little. Even after a drink there was a knot of tension knotted in my gut that wouldn't be gone until the night's scene was played through to conclusion. I had nerves and no amount of drinking was going to fix that. There was a chance that she'd hate me, even feel betrayed by me, after tonight. That would be the worst, was hard to take.

I took a deep breath and focused on the scenery around me. The station was built in a classical-nouveau style just after the turn of the century. It was about the same age as my house, but the plumbing worked better. In the 70s they had turned the place into an upscale shopping mall, and there were marble walkways and brass railings a flight above the main floor where you could have coffee, or walk and look down.

I watched for her to come through the main hallway. I could pick her out of a crowd in a moment. There were other girls that looked a little like her; young, petite, brunette. But when she was in her collar, she had a walk and seemed highlighted to me, with a bit of a glow. She was carrying a small clutch purse big enough for the airline bottle, her phone, and two twenty dollar bills rolled up in case of an emergency. I liked her to be safe, and sometimes I even let her know that.

It was a chain, heavier than most jewelry but within the range that was acceptable for a modernesque fashion. It was fastened by the tiniest lock I had ever seen, small but functional. She was entrusted with the key to both of her collars, a trust she had never violated.

I held a dark morocco folder. It was one of five I owned, all slightly different. Three were locked in an antique desk of polished wood, and seldom perused, except when I wished to draw lessons from the past. Or to remember. There were initials on the cover, and they were hers, her true name. It contained a synthesis of all I knew about her, and designated her as one of the special ones, so maybe that was why light seemed to attach to her when I watched her walk from a distance. I always felt a strange surge of pleasure a mixture of pride and ownership in the first sight of her, especially when I could observer her like this, not knowing that she was being watched.

It wouldn't be a disaster if I couldn't get a connection but my cell phone showed a signal, and it rang through. Good timing.

She almost fucked up. She started to keep walking. But I saw her catch herself and stop dead. She stepped slightly out of the line of traffic and answered the phone.

"Hello."

She used to second guess me by answering my number "Yes Sir," but eventually she'd had to explain that to her mother when she made a mistake. Her mother did not know about me. Her mother did not know about a lot of things her baby daughter did in the heat of the night. I knew this because I could make her wet by reminding her of the fact. I'd fucked her at their house once when her mother did not even know I was there. I'd had to shove the side of my hand in her mouth to stop her screaming when she came, and she'd left bite marks so deep they broke the skin.

I took one breath to steady my voice. Wouldn't do to let her hear me sound excited, even if I was. "Good Evening." My voice came out slow and steady. Good.

"Is there anything Sir requires of me."

"Yes. You have a change from your default plans. In your purse you have three dollars in change from your on board ticket purchase."

"Sir is correct."

"I want you to fumble in your purse right now and drop one of those dollars to your left. Then I want you to turn and bend over and pick it up. You will do this the way you have been shown."

Her posture training did not allow her to bend her knee. To retrieve an object she'd dropped, she'd be expected to bend from the hips and reaching out her fingers to the ground. There was only one time when she was allowed to be on her knees.

I watched to see if she shook her head as she put her ass up in the air. She was good. A month ago she'd have given a little ironic shrug. Of course by now common sense told her that I was watching her. She wasn't allowed to look up to see where. She wasn't stupid. She was anything but stupid.

I loved this part of the evening. The big stuff was still far enough off I had some breathing room. These were the easy points, the freebies, the ones that started her on the roller-coaster ride and that were pretty much foolproof. I already knew what her responses would be like, could feel them even at a distance, from familiarity, could savor them without having to worry very much.

"Good" I said. "Now I want you to go to the lockers. They are coded so you don't need a key. You will be going to Locker 78, and the four digit code would be the year the Hundred Days took place." The new lockers allowed you to key in any combination you liked, so I'd taken advantage to give her a little something to think about.

She would enter it correctly the first time. She was anything but stupid. It was a date she'd know in her sleep, or at very worst could calculate quickly. But it reminded her why I valued her, while giving no real chance of failure.

She repeated the code back to me – "one eight one five." I couldn't quite see the locker area, but I wasn't worried. I had a few minutes while she dealt with what she would find there.

If being without panties had made her feel vulnerable I was pretty sure that taking off her clothes in a stall, packing them in the small handbag I'd provided, and putting on a black women's coat with a thin blouse and nothing else would make it worse.

She phoned me when she had finished and was outside the bathroom. "Does Sir have any further instructions?" she asked. I could hear that she was breathing a little fast.

"Join me at the Centre Café. You will arrive before me, so you will order my usual. You are having a Cosmopolitan, and we are having the Calamari. Ask for a table towards the back, you'll be happier that way."

One of the features I adore about the station is the Centre Café. It stands in the very middle of a vast atrium at the front of the station, and is a raised dais two stories high which has a full bar and café. It's not particularly pricey, but is seldom crowded because people assume that it is. It can only be accessed by two steel staircases at the outside edge. I suppose it's in my nature to enjoy looking down.

I could have walked there in half the time that it took her, but I wanted her to walk up those stairs alone, and be seated by the waiter. It was early fall and in fact she'd look no different than any other woman at the Station who was still wearing a shortish skirt and top, but a coat for the slight evening chill. But she would feel every single passerby staring up into her cunt, and that was what I wanted.

"Sir...may I have permission to speak freely?"

"Of course."

"Sir is a bastard."

"Yes..."

That was allowed. It was her one outlet. She knew I liked to hear it, as much as she liked to hear that she was a slut.

I'd brought a couple of things to give her at dinner, but when I walked down the spiral staircase and made my way towards the front, I passed the Godiva Chocolate shop and had one of those momentary bits of malicious inspiration. I made an impulse purchase of one of the small four piece boxes. It was gold and tied with a neat little elastic string that came on and off quite easily.

Stopping at the railing outside the store, I opened the box and took the chocolates out, and rolled them up in a plastic bag that I was carrying for later. Then I slipped my gift for her inside to make it a surprise.

There were two stairways up. She'd managed to be seated next to one, so I actually was able to approach behind her and tap her on the shoulder. I smiled at sat with her. (typo here) We made a pretty couple. She was small and young but energetic, a pretty brunette. I was at least well dressed, and could pass for handsome. I was old enough to take her in hand, and not so old as to be mistaken for her father. When I was in Junior High, I looked younger than I was, and that made it hard on me, but the same looks that had been a curse then had served me well in adult life.

Seated in public she would not call me "sir" within anyone else's hearing, and any of the variety of pet names I had for her would be kept to within standards that the Motion Picture Board would find acceptable. "Plaything" was pushing the boundaries, but "My Little One" was not so bad. I had a lot of names for her, depending on how I felt at the moment. She answered to "slut" at all times, and I often called her by her given name, sometimes with exaggerated courtesy. "Miss C____." She was seventeen years younger than I was, and unlikely to marry anytime soon. We both knew that she would eventually, both knew that what she was learning from me would in some ways prepare her for that. I was not a dead end but a finishing school. She said she was in no hurry to move along.

She'd already placed our order. She was apologetic. "I must apologize to Sir that this one is late," she said, in her most formal tone.

I knew she was nervous about that. Being timely was one of the first things I had to teach her. She was very young, given to doing what she pleased when she pleased. Time was valuable to me, more precious than money. It was necessary that she learn that when she paid no attention to time, or planned poorly in regards to me, she deprived herself of our time together.

She hated the discipline at first. It was the first thing that had taken us beyond the bedroom, or dungeon. I was not out to reform her life. But with me, she would have discipline and I secretly suspected it would trickle down to other parts of her life with no poor effects. She suffered from lack of focus and I saw it hurt her daily.

She had jealous lovers before. And that made her suspicious. Demands for time often became demands for attention and then a push to control her with others. Her previous relationship was with an immature boy who left her expecting the worst, and it was almost a breaking point with her – she had no idea of waiting around to be hurt, and nearly walked away without giving it a chance. But the days rolled by and I made no demands. The more she told me of her schedule the better I was able to give her what she wanted, but I never demanded, and never asked questions about her other lovers. I drew a strong line between what happened between us and the rest of her life, and refused to step across it. At times she wanted me to, but I knew she'd regret it. By the time I eased slightly she had learned what she really wanted.

At first she was secretive, eventually she wanted to talk to me about them, and finally she came to me for advice and counsel. The intimacy of that trust in me gave me more pleasure than anything I might have gotten from giving in to jealousy and making demands of her that weren't mine to make. What we had was delimited, and that gave her a safe place to be, and a light in her eyes when she was with me that gave me something I needed in return.

Which had led us to this night.

For now she was scared. She had violated a major rule. She had not been punctual. She was a little afraid and that meant she was excited.

"Did you follow the transportation plans laid out in your card?"

"Yes sir" she looked even more concerned. I watched the faint movement of her throat as she swallowed. I kept my face impassive. What she was feeling was delicious to me and I wanted to draw it out.

"Were you late because of any act of neglect on your part. Is there anything you could have done to have arrived more timely?"

She looked worried. "She does not think so, sir, but it may be that there is something she is missing."

Watching her struggle like this was in a way much like watching her take a flogging. There was a suffering and a focus I could see in the set of her jaw, and arch of her back. I was in no hurry to answer her. Her anxiousness was beautiful and I wanted to watch it for as long as I could. I waited a long time watching her breast rise and fall her mouth slightly open.

"I believe, little girl, that the Commuter Rail always runs a bit behind. It was taken into account. It pleases me however that you gave full attention to the matter."

I watched her come down. "Little girl" was an endearment to her. She was little, though she was no girl but a woman. Her body fell a little and her breathing relaxed. She had changed much in a year. As much as I enjoyed watching her writhe, it was a catharsis to me to let her off the hook. I suppose maybe I felt good about myself, as I watched the relief flood into her. I had taken her away from every other concern in life. She was happy because I was not displeased.

I chatted with her about her day, and the train ride. I looked into her face and she tried not to look at mine. Eye contact rules were always hardest on her. She was naturally social and curious and it was hard for her not to make contact. We talked about the upcoming season at the Folger, and a mutual friend who was an actor in New York.

"I brought you something" I said. "But it may cause you a bit of difficulty. It's something that goes inside your body."

She looked concerned. I passed her the gold Godiva box. She smiled and laughed at my little joke. In fact I never put chocolate up a woman's cunt. There are places that sugar has an odious effect and that is one of them. But she didn't know that or wasn't thinking of it.

Then she opened it.

"It is most interesting...may I put it in my purse?" The waiter was nearby and she omitted the honorific.

I looked steadily into her eyes. "You may put it inside you. Now. I think it's clear which orifice it is meant to go into, but I can explain if you have any questions." I put a little of an edge into my tone. She had not been down for long and now the roller coaster was going up again.

"I am not sure precisely how Sir intends me to manage this," she stammered, forgetting several of her rules.

I smiled. "I thought you might need some help." I slid a small glass phial across the table to her. It had a black top and said "Eros" I was pretty sure that there were cheaper lubricants but this one was very photogenic. Her eyes widened in a satisfying way.

"If I were you I would palm it off the edge of the table, and try to navigate it into my lap....then I'd slide it back between my cheeks, and push it into place with my fingertips, screwing my body down sitting on it, pretending to adjust my skirt. Of course the act might be more convincing if you were wearing a skirt, but I think you'll manage." She didn't really need the advice but to tell her what to do in this detail while she was still getting her bearings was just slightly degrading to her, and I knew that would raise her excitement. Every little bit helps.

She pursed her lips and sighed. The way she tried was the thing that made me love her the most. She slid the plug into her lap, and then without too many funny looks managed to get it through the front of her coat, between her legs, and slip her hand in, pushing it up.

I kept up a stream of small talk, occasionally requiring her to answer. Eventually she made a half standing motion, sat back down, then repeated it. She finally settled back down. I've worked around stages and visual art for a long time. From my point of view I knew that diners on the centre platform were virtually invisible, since very few people looked up and if they did they were distracted by the statuary. However to her it must feel as if she were on a giant stage, with every single person staring up at her.

"You will be happy to know that it is in place."

There was no-one else around.

"What is in place."

"Your anal plug, Sir..."

"Where is it?" I wanted to make her say it aloud.

"Your anal plug is in my ass sir."

"Good."

The Calamari came. Afterwards I gave her another small box. I had already prepared this one.

She took the clamps and smiled.

"I am certain they're not earrings."

I shrugged. "If you would care to wear them around on your ears, I am willing to indulge that." This would be easy for her. I wanted to level her out a little in preparation for what was going to come next.

She shook her head with a slight smile. The clamps were elaborately mechanical and it was passing obvious what they were. It wasn't going to be a real trick for her to slip them under her coat without exposing herself, but again it worried her. She took this one in stride and managed with not too much trouble. She thought it was getting easier, and that's what I wanted.

While she maneuvered, I pushed the folder onto the table. To her it was as much a symbol as her collar, maybe more. I'd had a storied sex life, and it was not until I showed her the folder I'd had made for her that she she'd first fully understood that she had become one of the special ones to me. I could still remember the way her face looked when it hit her. We didn't use the word "love" very often, but I could see it all the same.

"Yes. I was reading your questionnaire while I was waiting for you."

The way I said it made it seem that tonight's activity would be an offhand thing, as if an idea had just occurred to me as I sat sipping coffee. She knew this wasn't the case. I was nothing if not a careful planner, and when she had received the card, she knew that signified something major. My offhand tone was understatement, and she knew it. I watched her eyes grow a little wider.

"I think we're going to try a little something new. Something from the pink column...you remember that don't you? "

I saw her swallow and thought how I loved watching panic rise in her. That was the trick. She wanted, needed, to feel the fear. The key was for her to trust me enough that it did not kick over into "real life" and bring her down. That was a constant low level anxiety. Keep her safe. Keep her trust. There was a world of writing on these responsibilities, most of it pretentious. To me it was like driving a car fast. There was little margin for error and you kept it under control. It was exciting and demanding and that made it rewarding. At times like this her emotions fed it and made it worthwhile.