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Chapter
3
Day after day, the phone
calls came. I had to say this about her, she was consistent. The
calls always came in between 3:15 and 3:35, and they were always
over before 4:00. I also noticed that she seemed to enjoy her weekends,
since I never got a call on a Saturday or Sunday. That seemed to
indicate that there was someone present like a husband on weekends,
or maybe she worked only on weekends.
Just when I thought
I got this schedule figured out, it changed. All of a sudden, one
Monday, she calls me at 9 AM! That hour of the morning was like
the middle of the night for me. She kept me playing with myself
for her all day long. At least one thing was the same. She stopped
calling at 4. This lasted for a week, and then she returned to her
normal schedule.
She was so punctual,
I was able to set up a tape recorder and get her voice on tape without
her knowing it.
Suddenly, one day, I
received another "drop" package in the mail. This was a video tape.
I could hear her voice as she dubbed over the video, "I've had the
time to copy the tape I've been making. You're pretty good. You
ought to be in movies. I know some girls who would come from all
over the city to pay good money to see you."
"You know, if I'm going
to keep sending you presents like this, I'm going to need your credit
card number. Have it ready for me the next time I call. Don't ask
any questions, and I'll make sure none of your friends get a copy
of this tape."
On the tape were scene
after scene of me jerking off. The quality wasn't all that good,
but it was enough to see that it was me. The tape at least gave
me something else to work with. I could guess the angle at which
the pictures were taken. The dozens of possible apartments were
now cut down to a handful. I still really had no idea of who actually
lived in those apartments.
I waited until she called
again. "Did you get the tape," she asked.
"Yes I did, mistress."
I told her. "You know, you're not getting a really good view. Would
you like to see more? Why don't you come over here and I'll play
with myself right in front of you. I'll even let you touch it yourself?"
She laughed, "I'm not
that crazy. Do you have your credit card number?"
"Linda," I protested,
"Look, you've had your fun, but this is taking it a little too far."
"Don't 'Linda' me!"
she barked, "That's 'Mistress Linda' to you. Don't worry about it
little boy. I won't run up your bill too much. I just want to get
a couple of things."
I decided to trust her.
Not that I had any choice in the matter. Besides, her purchases
might lead me to her.
As the days went on,
she became even more jaded. Masturbation alone apparently became
too common place for her. She started asking me to do things with
my ejaculate. She asked me to run my fingers through it and spread
it around my nipples. As she got braver, she asked me to lick my
fingers clean. She had me smear it around my ass and had me insert
my finger up my anus.
She had me buy one of
those paddle ball toys, and use the paddle to spank myself as I
knelt face first in my chair. She lamented a number of times that
there was no way I could tie myself up and still do things to myself
to amuse her.
Two weeks after giving
her my credit card number, another package arrived in the mail.
This one came from one of the companies advertising in one of my
magazines. I opened it to find a 12 inch long dildo! I had no doubt
who ordered this toy, and I was afraid to let her know it arrived.
I wanted to keep it
a secret for as long as I could. In the meantime, I bought some
KY-jelly. I knew what she would make me do with the dildo as soon
as she knew I had it. I'd already been trained to finger-fuck my
asshole. Now she wanted more. She had plenty of examples of male
dildo play in the magazine.
Later on that day, she
asked me if I received a "package". I lied and told her "no".
"Don't lie to me, boy!"
she yelled. "Like look, I checked your mailbox. OK? It was like
there. Don't fuck with my mind or I'm going to put the tape on TV."
"How dare you!" she
raged on. "I going to ... You are going to have to be punished for
this."
She was so angry, she
was panting. She regained composure and lectured on, "You are going
to have to learn discipline. If I am your dominatrix, you will have
to obey me, OK?"
"Now, you do have it
handy, don't you?"
"Yes I do."
"Yes I do, MISTRESS,"
she corrected me.
"Yes mistress," I replied.
"Good," she said huskily,
"Take it out and show it to me."
I did. I held it up
and twisted it around according to her instructions.
"Now, I want you to
suck on it. Make love to it with your mouth."
It was really turning
me on to hear her command me this way. I decided that I really didn't
mind being under the control of my mistress. In fact, I was beginning
to enjoy it. As I sucked on the rubber cock, I realized this.
"Now," she continued,
"take it out of your mouth, and rub your cock with it. Kneel up
and turn to the side so I can see you do it. Do it head to head.
Go ahead, rub your cock with it."
I started dueling with
the larger mirror image of my penis. What a show I must be putting
on for her! I wondered what she was doing at this time. Was she
recording the event? Was she looking through binoculars and playing
with herself? I thrust my hips back and forth violently. I ran the
dildo round and round my prick until it was slick with precome.
Apparently, Linda could
see I was having good a time, because she was cheering me on, chanting,
"Rub it. Rub it. Make it come!"
And come I did, much
to the squealing, giggling delight of Linda.
When we both calmed
down a bit, she advised me, "Oh, by the way, I ordered a catalog
from your magazine. Make sure you let me know when it comes. I might
want to get you some more toys."
For a finale, she had
me insert the dildo at the opening of my ass. She wanted me to fuck
myself with it.
"Mistress!" I exclaimed
with earnest sincerity. "It'll rip me apart. Please. Ask anyone.
You can't do this without practice. You have to work up to it."
Silence.
Over the silence on
the speakerphone, I could hear her evaluate my plea.
"OK," she said, "You're
off the hook for now. You said you wanted practice, I'll give you
practice. Put it in as far as you can."
She had no objection
to my lubricating the dildo profusely. I placed the rubber phallus
at the opening of my anus and pushed it gently.
Slowly, millimeter by
millimeter, I managed to push just the head in. I was sweating heavily.
Fortunately, we ran out of time before she could expect more.
"That's good enough
for now," she acknowledged. "I want you to practice. Next time I
want to see you do it faster and get it in twice as far. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, Mistress. Thank
you."
-=o=-
That night I reviewed
the tape recording listening for any clues. I was surprised at the
change in her tone when she got angry. She used some jargon that
seemed out of character with your typical housewife or secretary.
I also vowed that I would watch my mailbox.
Several days of watching
the mailboxes yielded no results. I saw no one except the mail lady,
some non- descript visitors and people who apparently lived in my
apartment. I started to fantasize about the mail lady. It occurred
to me that the all-day sessions with Linda were mostly days the
mail didn't get delivered. Well, almost, for the most part. OK,
maybe she took vacation on the other days.
That theory had merit
and was attractive as far as it went. It explained how she could
have such easy access to my mailbox. It didn't explain why she needed
me to give her a copy of my mailbox key.
That afternoon, I got
another call from Linda. "Do you think I'm stupid?" she opened the
conversation. "You think I'm going to open your mailbox with you
looking?"
"No, mistress," I murmured.
"I'm sorry."
"That's better. Don't
let me catch you trying to do that again."
After the session I
had time to reflect that I had seen her! I probably had seen her
more than once, and she slipped by as just another face in the crowd.
I tried in vain to remember the faces I saw in the lobby in the
last two days, and match them, possibly with the faces on the street
that first day. It proved to be an impossible task. Many of the
faces looked familiar. They should! These were people who lived
and worked in my neighborhood.
I began to wonder how
many times Linda and I passed in the course of a week. Whoever she
was, she was cool. I looked into the face of every woman I met searching
for the slightest hint of recognition, some inner smile that might
make its way to the surface. For my part, all I could do is blush
knowing somewhere out there was a woman who dominated my sex life,
and I didn't know if it would be the next woman I met. It could
be my bank teller, my barber, or even the check-out clerk at the
market.
I got an idea prompted
by her video tape gift to me. I took a guess that the reason she
waited until 3:15 or so to call me is that she worked an early shift,
and didn't get home until then. Perhaps she was a nurse on the 7
to 3 shift. The nearest hospital was about 10 minutes away by bus.
Of course, I've never heard of a nurse who got off at exactly her
change of shift, but it was a possibility.
I set up a camera in
my bathroom and aimed it at the entrance to her building. I turned
it on and used the time display to record exact times. I figured
that anyone entering or leaving the building after the call could
be dropped from consideration. Women entering in the half hour before
the call would be my prime suspects.
I looked at each tape
after I made it, but it wasn't until my weekend break that I had
time to corroborate all the evidence. I had a dozen suspects that
fit my broad criteria, and I called them Linda-1 though Linda-12.
By the following week, the list was down to four "Lindas." This
first cut was a boon as I could ignore all the other people going
in and out and concentrate on just these three.
Linda-3 was an elderly
woman -- I was tempted to strike her off the list off hand, but
I kept her as a matter of objectivity. Nonetheless, it was difficult
to think of her as a dirty old lady.
Linda-5 was in her 30's
and professionally dressed -- a definite possibility.
Linda-7 was very plain
looking, about 25, 5 ft 4 in and maybe 180 pounds. This could be
the type of woman out to make up for her lack of attractiveness
by dominating a man. I didn't strike her from the list, but moved
her from the prime suspect position based on the fact that she didn't
look like she'd fit the blue underwear and size 7 shoes.
Linda-9 appeared to
be the youngest of the group. Perhaps 20. Very innocent looking.
Not at all a prime suspect. Probably still a virgin and not very
knowledgeable in sex.
Linda-5 dropped off
the list the following Monday as the tape showed her leaving the
building while the call was still in progress. That left grandma,
the sumo wrestler and the kid. All of them my least likely subjects.
Another brain flash
hit me. I gathered up my tape collection and reviewed them looking
for patterns in Linda-3's, Linda-7's and Linda-9's activities. I
found them. They did leave the building at more of less the same
time every day.
I stalked Linda-3 to
the supermarket where I confronted her at the produce section and
asked her advice on selecting melons. She was the stereotypical
grandmotherly type calling me "young man," and giving me the finer
points on selecting my fruits and vegetables. I thanked her for
her efforts.
She was a sweet lady,
but she was not my Linda -- the voice was all wrong.
I managed to track Linda-7
to the local park where she walked daily. I jogged up from behind
her and fell in step with her. "Hi," I smiled, "is your name Linda?"
No point in not being blunt.
"No," she smiled back,
"I'm Karen, and you are?" I gave her my name, and we passed some
small talk. In spite of her outward appearance, she was a nice woman,
and given another time and another place, I would have liked to
have gotten to know her better.
She could have been
playing dumb. She could have disguised the voice. She could have
been acting in anything but a dommish manner and still be my Linda,
but every one of my instincts were screaming, "no."
I had little to go on
with Linda-9. She was out of the house before I woke up apparently.
She did show up just before the calls every day. With the other
women, I could track them to. There was no way for me to track Linda-9
from.
Where did I go wrong?
Monday, 3:15 rolled
around, and the inevitable phone call came through. "Linda, can
we talk?" I asked before she started putting me through my paces.
"Sure," she responded.
"Look, I confess, I've
been trying to find out who you are. I don't care what you do to
me, I just want to know who you are. I promise to still be your
slave and do what you want me to do, but I can't take it anymore.
Please. Tell me who you are?"
She giggled and that
unmanned me more than anything else she could have done. "If I told
you, it would take all the fun out of it. It would take the fun
out of it for me. Do you know what a thrill I get when I see you
on the street? Knowing that I know who you are, and that you are
my slave, and you don't even know who I am."
"Besides," she continued,
"You get a thrill out of being ordered around by your `mystery dominatrix'
don't you? Not knowing adds suspense and excitement to the whole
affair, don't you think?"
I had to admit she was
right. I erased the tapes, threw away my notes. No longer do I make
the attempt to find out who she is. Now all I do is report to the
window afternoon after afternoon and submit myself by remote control
to my telephone mistress.
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