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The afternoon of our appointment, I left my hotel and made my way to the address given to me by Miss Monica. I had finished my business dealings much earlier in the day, and the time in between then and now had passed maddeningly slow.

When I arrived, a pleasant woman greeted me in the reception area of the building. I asked for Miss Monica and the woman nodded, then without speaking a word, led me up to the second floor. I followed her down a hallway to a closed door. She pointed to the door and disappeared.

I quivered, alone now and uncertain. Am I to go in? Am I to knock? There had been no instructions.

I decided to knock, and as I waited for response my insides twisted. I jumped a bit when someone called, "Come in." I recognized the voice immediately, familiar after many phone calls, and that reassured me.

I opened the door to finally meet Miss Monica in person. She walked straight to me with a big smile and we hugged. I couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh. It had been a long road to this point.

“Sit, please.” Miss Monica directed me to a small couch and sat next to me. Close to me.

“Would you like a beverage?” Her hand grazed my arm.

“Water.” I chose water because my mouth was parched from nervousness and excitement. Almost as if by magic, a tumbler appeared in my hand. I gulped it.

“How is your trip going?” she asked, again settling close to me.

I’m not sure what I said. All I could do was look at her. She was glamorous and glowing. As with all her pictures, she was perfectly put together. Today she wore a deep red blouse and black pencil skirt, which hit above the knee. Black stockings and heels. Her scent was something tropical and natural. A subtle fragrance, not perfume.

We chatted and just as I began to relax she sat up straight and leaned toward me. “Go sit in that chair opposite me.” Her tone had shifted and it put me on edge. I eased into the designated chair.

"Good. Now we're going to go over the rules." She was still the sensual Monica, but the vibe had shifted toward stern. "You understand that once we enter into our session I am in complete control. You will follow my instructions implicitly. Is that understood?”

Still taken aback, I mumbled something incoherent.

"That won't do at all, will it?” Her tone became firmer. “Do you understand or not, my boytoy?"

I shivered at the use of the term. Boytoy. Yes, that’s what I was for her. A toy, a source of amusement and pleasure.

“Yes,” I blurted. “Yes, Miss Monica.”

"And why are you here, my boytoy?"

“Because I obey and it gives me pleasure that it pleases you, Miss Monica.” The response was already ingrained in me from all our calls together.

"Good. In a moment I'm going to let you into that room over there.” She pointed to a door across the way. “You will undress completely. You will then stand looking at the cross, with hands clasped behind your back. You will wait for me. I will enter when I choose to enter. Understand my boytoy?"

I let out a nervous acquiescence, what else would I have said. Miss Monica stood and motioned me to the door. I watched her hand clasp the handle and then she led the way forward. As I stepped into the room, I heard the door shut behind me and then a dead bolt close. I was completely on edge.

The room was a classic play space, including a St. Andrews Cross on the wall, and it shook me to my soul, for I had fantasized about this forever. The room gaped back at me and I shuddered inside. A sudden jolt then reminded that I had to stop gawking around the room and get naked. After laying all my clothes on an appropriate bench, I stepped forward and oriented myself facing the cross with my hands clasped behind my back, just as she had directed. Standing there my body felt the warmth of the air, but also the chill from the internal quiver that goose bumped my skin.

Here I was. Naked. Waiting for....Miss Monica!

Visions and fantasies rolled through my mind. Then there would be an injection of fear of the unknown which sent the urge for flight coursing through me. Flight, however, was an impossible and more importantly, a completely undesired action. Yet the unknown tormented my brain

I was lost in the thoughts when the dead bolt spring into action. I’d not even heard footsteps coming to the door. I felt a rush of cooler air entering the otherwise warm room. It was a moment I had been waiting for for what seemed forever, but in reality had only been a few minutes.

It was a moment though that my yearning had agonized over for a year. My first real live session with Miss Monica, the one who owned my fetish soul. The one who had guided me on this journey of submission to her. Now the click of her heels crossed the floor and with each step a ribbon of excitement travelled through my body.

“Don’t turn around my boytoy. Stay still.”

Her voice electrified me and I felt my buttocks twinge. Purposely Miss Monica stepped toward me until I could feel the warmth of her body and her fragrance close to me. And no sooner had I taken that in than a resounding “SLAP” landing on my right buttock, jolted my senses.

“Are you sure you’re ready for what I have in store for you, my boytoy?” she mused

“Uhhh...”

“I think not.”

I gulped.

“You’re not allowed to see me just yet my boytoy,” she said as she placed a blindfold over my eyes. “Soon you’ll be begging for that little privilege. Now, feet apart. It’s time to inspect my boytoy and see just what I’ve been waiting to play with.” She stepped closer. “Who owns you?”

I felt the submissive wave run deeper over my body. “You own me Miss Monica. I belong to you.”

Miss Monica shifted, and I felt something tapping on the inside of my leg. Tap, tap, tap. It was a crop with a small leather slapper. She concentrated on my inner thighs - tap, tap, tap - then suddenly stopped.

“Hmmm what have we here?” The leather tapped the underside of my balls then moved around the penis. “Something’s growing?” Miss Monica let out a mischievous giggle. “Yes, you seem to be in good working order.”

I sensed her moving away, and heard the click-click of her heels. “I need to pick out one or two things I need,” she murmured more to herself than to me. Some rustling came from behind, then the same purposeful, slow steps returned toward me. “I think you need a little warming up, my boytoy.”

I felt a swish of air then a long tailed flogger swished across my back, my buttocks, and then down to my calves. It moved up and around, across my thighs, my chest, my arms. Every inch my skin began to tingle as Miss Monica moved from my front to my back. She giggled the whole time.

“Mmmmm I love a good flogging,” she said more than once.

I was breathing heavy before the flogger stopped. “Now, how do you feel my boytoy?” she asked.

“Warm, Miss Monica. Warm and tingling all over. “

“And what else might you want to say now that you are warm and tingling all over?”

“Thank you Miss Monica,” I gushed.

“Good toy. Yes, but I wonder if you’ll be thanking me after I’m done with you. One thing is for sure, you’ll be begging my boytoy, you’ll be begging. For what, we shall see.”

Miss Monica took me by the wrist and expertly guided me into a new position a few paces forward.

“Stand still. You need a few accessories,” she said, and I felt thick leather cuffs being strapped around my wrists and then my ankles. “Ahh yes, much better, don’t you think.”

I wasn’t sure if I was to answer or not, so I stammered out, “Y-yes.”

I felt a tug at my wrist, and my arm lifted up and forward. When I heard the sound of a clasp locking into place I realized I was at the St. Andrews Cross. One by one my four limbs were attached to the cross.

“Mmmmmm now that’s a posture I like!” Miss Monica said, glee and excitement dancing in her voice. “Here’s a sample of what’s to come.”

I quivered.

WHACK!!

I’m not sure what hit me first, the gasp from the pain or the gasp from the shock. I was wholly unprepared for the sting shooting through my buttocks.

“Stand there and think about it. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” Her shoes click-clicked twice then stopped. “Or maybe it will be fifteen minutes. Or maybe fourty-five.” I swear she laughed.

“But...but, Miss Monica. Please, please….” I was already begging.

The door closed and the dead bold slid into place. I heard Miss Monica’s footsteps walking away.

Purposefully.

Slowly.

I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.

Next Story - The Agony & the Ecstasy - Boytoy Part II
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