Darcy has all of the
qualities I like in a woman: she’s confident, intelligent,
witty and has a great sense of humor. She is the owner of her
own business, and is an active member in a subset of the Chamber
of Commerce known as the Women in Business Council or the WBC
as Darcy refers to it as. As the name implies, membership is limited
to women-owned businesses and women business leaders.
Darcy also has all
the qualities I like in a mistress: she’s creative, mysterious,
playful and has just enough cruelty in her to push my buttons
without being mean. She knows that my main fetish is humiliation,
and servitude. We’re really not into toys or severe pain,
although she doesn’t hesitate to take me over her knee when
she believes a “behavioral correction” is in order.
As busy as she is with
her business, we seldom have time for each other, and most of
that time is spent on developing other parts of the relationship.
She was actually apologetic, “Carl, I know you like it when
we play our games, but my schedule is really a bear. Even when
the clock allows it, I’m so tired that I’m just too
exhausted to give you what you want.”
I sympathized as I
sat on the ottoman opposite her massaging her feet, “I know
you are busy. I know what it takes to run a business, and I don’t
think I could keep up the pace you do.”
“I promise I’ll
try to make more time. In the meantime I don’t think I could
make it without you. You’re such a doll helping me keep
the place clean and cooking meals and doing the dishes.”
“Oh, that’s
just love,” I responded. I did what I could, but I had an
apartment a job and a schedule too. “I understand your predicament.
There are only so many hours in the day. Once your business grows
a little and you can hire some help, then maybe you can delegate
some of your duties and give yourself some more time off.”
“Mmmm,”
she responded. I had a difficult time determining whether she
was responding to the idea or my fingers gently prodding the tendons
on her foot.
-=o=-
It was Saturday morning
about 8 AM. Darcy went up to see her mother with her sister to
help her mom with moving. It promised to be a lonely and boring
weekend. I was up working on my computer when the door bell rang.
Who could possibly be wanting me at this hour? I passed the bathroom
and dragged a comb across my head to give some sense of style
to my Wild Man of Borneo coiffure – caused by brake dancing
in my mattress during my sleep, no doubt.
I peeped through the
viewer. It was a woman. She appeared to be in her 30’s.
I opened the door and said, “Can I help you, ma’am.”
Being with Darcy taught me manners if nothing else.
She handed me an envelope
with my name on it written in Darcy’s hand. I opened it.
In it was a replica of a check. Across the top it had in flourishing
script, “Bank of Darcy.” I had all the other things
you would expect on a check, except that the watermark wasn’t
of kitty cats or flowers or other things one normally sees on
a woman’s check. It featured a dominatrix in a bustier,
hip boots and opera gloves. In her hand was a whip, and she was
facing a gagged and bound man tied to a Saint Andrew’s cross.
The layout of the check was such that the midsections of both
people was obscured by the printing. It was both tasteful and
tantalizing.
On the line next to
“Pay to the bearer on demand:” was handwritten the
words “One naked housecleaning” in Darcy’s handwriting.
The check was suitably dated and signed by Darcy as well.
“What is this?”
I asked.
The woman responded,
“Read the note.”
I reached further into
the envelope and found it. It was a note from Darcy, “Dear
Carl,” it began. I could tell that this was no ordinary
salesperson who could be dismissed at the door. My manners kicked
in, “Hi, I’m Carl. Please come in. Do you want some
coffee?”
The woman took my extended
hand and replied, “I’m Patricia and yes, coffee would
be fine.”
I took her coat. “Are
you a friend of Darcy’s?”
“More of a business
associate. She’s my sponsor in the WBC.”
She sat in silence
in my living room watching me and sipping her coffee as I read,
“Dear Carl, I
got to thinking about what you said the other night. My business
is taking a toll on our relationship; at least the kinky part
of it. I entertained your suggestion about delegation. Unfortunately,
I am not in a position with the business to do that now. However,
that doesn’t mean that I can’t delegate in other areas.
I have decided to open
up an account at the Bank of Darcy. I will write checks, and it
will be your duty to cash them. I know that you have this fantasy
to have me dominate you in front of a trusted friend or two, well
now that dream of yours will come true in a fashion.
When the whim fancies
me, I will write a check to one of these trusted friends. I have
quite a number of them in the WBC. You’d be surprised at
how many like-minded women there are in the organization and they
know women who know women. As you know dear, I am quite a whiz
at networking. There isn’t a woman in this town I can’t
get connected with if I put my mind to it.
I will write the check.
The woman will present it to you. In order to redeem the check,
you must perform the duty written on the check and then bring
the check back to me. I have a register and I am keeping track
of the checks I write. I know what checks are outstanding, so
I know what duties you still have to perform and for whom you
have to perform them. Do not overdraw my account!
I will contact the
women who have redeemed their checks to get an evaluation of your
performance. I do want to make sure they get their money’s
worth otherwise you will pay the difference in penalties.
You will not know who
these women are until such time as they present the check to you.
Some checks will be for small tasks that can be performed on the
spot. Others may take scheduling a time and a place such as the
one that accompanies this letter.
Don’t worry your
pretty little ass off. I trust these women and no woman will get
a check without first pledging to honor your safeword. Most of
these women are experienced enough to know how things work, but
I do have a couple of curious first-time amateurs.
Please do a good job
for Patricia. She is a dear friend and I don’t want to disappoint
her. She is looking forward to seeing you clean her house while
wearing just your sneakers and pink rubber gloves as much as I
do.
Good luck, sweetie.
I’ve printed up a whole book full of checks to write. I’ll
see you when I get back from mom’s.
With Love and Respect,
Darcy.”
I could only sit there
in silence as I read the letter twice, trying to digest its contents.
It was Darcy’s signature, and that was the way she signed
off all our private correspondence.
I looked up from the
letter to Patricia. She smiled back at me and said, “My
car is outside. I can drop you back here when you are done or
you can walk. It’s only a couple of blocks away. I have
all the cleaning supplies you will need at my house.”
I was about to beg
off for a couple more minutes to get dressed, but I figured what’s
the point? “Let me get my keys and wallet.”
It was, indeed a short
trip to her house. In fact it was on my way to work and just about
everything else I need to do. It occurred to me that I would be
constantly reminded of this experience from now on whenever I
drove by.
Patricia had a nice,
two-bedroom apartment, laid out similar to my place. It wasn’t
all that large, and it was already neatly-kept.
She opened a small
closet door. Inside was the water heater, and shelves with the
promised cleaning supplies including, as I noted, a still-in-the-package
pair of pink rubber gloves. She simply swept her hand across the
view. “Get started! You can hang your clothes there,”
she said pointing to a hook on the back of the door.
She stood in the hallway
with one arm across her stomach holding her elbow with her hand
and the other hand curled up on her chin. I was reminded of Darcy.
That’s the pose she strikes when studying a painting at
the museum. Although I am in shape, I doubt that I measure up
to the subjects in some of those paintings. Nonetheless, I was
totally aware that I was under close scrutiny as I disrobed.
I was surprised at
how difficult simply getting naked was. I have been getting undressed
at Darcy’s command since the second date. Had I become too
complacent? Feeling this woman’s eyes burning into me made
this routine act uncomfortable. I remembered Darcy’s word
that she would be checking my performance, took a breath, tightened
my stomach and pulled down my underwear.
Patricia said not a
word except, “Start in the bathroom.”
I hate bathrooms. On
the surface, they appear easy to clean: it’s almost as if
you can take a hose to it and swab it down when done. However,
it’s the nooks and crannies that make the job the true chore
that it is. So there I am, naked, on all fours, head bent down,
arm reaching behind the bowl, butt in the air for Patricia to
see. The reaching and scrubbing rocked by body, causing my penis
and balls to sway as I applied elbow grease to where needed. I
am sure it was an amusing show for her.
The bowl itself was
not as bad as my own. Being a woman, Patricia was assured of putting
urine on target as opposed to spraying it in miscellaneous spots,
but there was still the humility of having to clean up after someone
else’s waste.
The vanity took extra
care. I have a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant, an
electric razor and a comb: period. Patricia’s vanity looked
like Darcy’s covered completely with bottles, and tubes
and lotions and all manner of cosmetics of which I have only a
vague knowledge. I knew that I had to remove it all, and restore
every bit of it to its proper place when done. At least with Darcy,
I knew where she kept her stuff.
It took quite a bit
of time, but in the end, the bathroom looked as something I had
seen in some of Darcy’s magazines.
Laundry was next. After
several spankings from Darcy for ruining some of her clothes,
I learned the fine art of laundry triage. For men, it’s
easy: white and non-white. For women, there’s more than
color. There is the entire range of materials to deal with and
I knew just how to do it. I probably looked like a frenzied octopus
as I quickly sorted her hamper into several piles. She was actually
impressed and applauded.
The only issue was
her panties. “Hand wash or delicate?” I asked.
I noted that I was
disappointed that she said, “delicate.” Washing Darcy’s
panties is an activity that always gives me an erection. I was
surprised when I looked down and saw that I actually had one!
The rest of the day
was spent with what I consider the easier aspects of housecleaning.
I vacuumed and Patricia appreciated that I had no problems lifting
the end of the couch off the floor to get under it. I also demonstrated
my macho furniture moving skills to get every bit of the carpet.
I knew I needed to do a perfect job.
Patricia had me don
a frilly apron to make lunch for us. We sat together and had a
most ordinary conversation. She was an account manager at one
of the larger firms in town and liked baseball. We quickly departed
into a heated discussion on our favorite teams. I like talking
with a woman who understands the infield fly rule.
After lunch; came ironing.
Ironing like vacuuming, takes a heavy hand and I demonstrated
my pumping iron technique to perfection as she sat and watched
TV, with an occasional glance in my direction.
By mid-afternoon, I
had the place spotless and I was dismissed with a peck on my cheek.
“You were really great! Darcy’s a lucky girl to have
you. Do you need a lift home?” she said, endorsing the back
of the check and handing it to me.
I shook my head, “No,
I think I’ll walk.” I needed the time to clear my
head. I needed the exercise to get the blood somewhere other than
my penis. I was thinking of the commercials for ED, “If
you have an erection lasting more than 4 hours.” The thought
of a cold shower wasn’t appealing, but I think it was a
necessity
