Chapter 3

I simply didn't know, during those days, what I should have been expecting. After the first time we'd "met" Miss had simply disappeared. I hadn't seen her on the street, nor had I even been able to find the storefront where I'd been displayed as some kind of fetish trophy. But she had come back, and she had had me prepared, I thought. Readied for something.

Replaying those scant two hours or so over and over in my head, it all felt so much more humiliating, degrading than it had in the moment. I knew I had felt the opposite of my current overwhelming ache of emptiness during each moment - her eyes had filled me, body and soul, with a sense of joy, fulfillment and destiny. Sure, I knew at the moment that spa employee looked back at me that I was not acting like a normal man but I still would have done anything she asked.

Actually, the "anything" part scared me for a while. Would I really have done anything? I didn't dare think of what "anything" might have been, or might yet be - though even that fear didn't for a moment dampen my wish that I could see her again immediately; that I could lose myself once more in those eyes.

I said "those days" but in honesty I went through life in a daze for at least six months. The memory of her eyes glowed in my mind each time I closed mine - sometimes I think they flashed into my subconscious with each blink.

I didn't bother to reschedule the date with Rebecca, my previously promising blind date. It wasn't because I still couldn't explain my new tattoo; it was because I didn't have a free thought to spare on anything or anyone but Miss.

Even recalling her previous disappearance, I fought to stay optimistic, thinking that she would come back for me. It might only be a day or two before I would again see her eyes twinkling in my doorway, before my own gaze would alight on her perfect silhouette, before I would hear the music of her exotic voice echoing in my ears.

It is embarrassing to admit, but I went so far as to keep myself ready for her. I started wearing women's panties instead of my normal boxers, having ordered quite a few and varied pairs in styles and colours similar to those she'd left me with.

I kept myself shaved as well. I tried it on my own at first, with razors or Nair (a painful mistake), before I resigned myself to the humiliation of returning to the spa. I became a regular client of Lucy's, the petit brunette who had first serviced me. She got a great laugh out of my tattoo upon my return to her, though she grew more like a sister to me over time. She seemed to appreciate my consistently generous tips and I think she sensed my deepening sadness as yet another session would come and go with no contact from Miss.

Rebecca stopped calling after a month or so and even my closest friends got tired of my malaise. Acquaintances at work would ask now and again if I was okay but that petered out as well, no doubt since my monosyllabic responses gave them nothing to work with. Perhaps they were afraid one day I would actually tell them.

I had been so sure she would return at first, but than certainty faded as the weeks went by. Hadn't I been good? Obedient? She had come back before so why not now? Was she testing me?

I didn't give up hope all at once, but rather as a very slow awakening - something akin to deep-sea divers floating slowly back toward the glistening light of the surface ever careful not to ascent too quickly, lest they succumb to the bends. Sometimes, by then, it would take me nearly five or six seconds to conjure up the detailed memory of her eyes.

My visits to Lucy became more infrequent, finally stopping altogether. I sent her another $200 in a sealed envelope addressed to her at work when I came to the realization I wasn't going back - realizing only then that I had never learned her last name, despite the fact that she shared some of my deepest secrets.

My collection of panties went into the back of my drawer, replaced once more with boxers. I didn't quite have the heart yet to throw them out but I knew that day would come. Three dial-and-hang-up phone calls later, I even managed to make an appointment to have my tattoo removed.

By now, my own mental reaction to what I'd been doing, how I'd been acting, and what I'd found myself contemplating doing for Miss had changed from excited, fearful anticipation to unbelief - almost to a kind of disgust at myself for allowing my wants, my desires, even the fabric of my life to fall under the sway of a woman I didn't know, no matter how lovely. It was like I was slowly remembering my own actions the morning after a night of drunken debauchery, feeling disgusted with myself. There were times that only the tattoo, now days away from removal, kept me from believing it had been a bad dream.

Somehow, though much begging and pleading, claiming a mental dark period due to a death in the family, I even managed to get Rebecca to see me again. I had to start over with a lunch date, moving up to drinks, then finally agreeing to a dinner out on a Friday night. I had splurged on her each time, choosing the finest establishment I could get us into.

The dinner date with Rebecca was wonderful from start to finish. The first time I heard myself laugh with her the sound from my own lips seemed so foreign, almost forgotten, that it took me a moment to recognize it. Rebecca's laughter was special too. It was it a joyous sound to hear and it lit up her face, as well as causing some wonderful tremors in the generous amount of cleavage her body-hugging dress exposed to view.

Dinner turned into drinks, and drinks turned into an invitation up to my place for a nightcap. The offer was accepted and let to a flirtatious cab ride with the adolescent high of making out in the back seat. I had to keep myself under some control, since my incriminating tattoo wasn't due to be removed until the next week, but I was definitely in the cocktail-fuelled mood for a little under-the-bra groping.

I tipped the smirking cabbie generously and led her, arm in arm, up to my condo. I showed her the view, got her settled in the living room and showed her the stereo, suggesting some mood before heading into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.

I made my way to the kitchen to pour the wine, smiling as I heard that Rebecca had chosen a moody R&B album that was both soft and slow. As I turned into the room, my smile turned into shock.

Miss was there.

Black leather boots with spike heels stretched up to her knees, and the tight leather skirt she wore hugged her hips. Her matching corset top was laced tightly for full effect. Her lips glowed red, as though a light source powered them. She looked so out of place on the tile floor, half leaning against the countertop - out of this world, even.

And her eyes. In that fleeting moment, the months melted away. Gone was my depression, frustration, along with the resolve I'd built up. When I had gotten back with Rebecca, earning her trust once more, I'd made myself a promise to turn away from those eyes, should they ever return, but it was hopeless - I didn't even remember the desire to fight. All I wanted was to see them forever.

Her gloved finger on my lips silenced my attempt at speech. She had opened a bottle and poured two glasses of wine already, using a set of glasses I'd received as a gift years ago - they were a simple, classic shape, but each was a different coloured glass.

She leaned into me and whispered into to my ear. The touch of her breath was like honey. "Enjoy your drink with Rebecca, my Edward, and I'll be here waiting. Be careful to drink the right wine - yours is the pink one."

She turned me towards the living room and I moved out in a daze. It just couldn't be real. I needed to go back and see; surely the kitchen would be empty if I returned - besides, if she was there for real, how could I not simply stand or kneel before her, gazing into those eyes?

There had been firmness in her eyes, even as her tone teased me. I had been given a command, and I dared not disobey. I dared not disappoint her - would she disappear again?

I forced a smile as I saw Rebecca half-relined on the couch, waiting and smiling. Her dress, and her body in it, was truly dangerous but my thoughts had been redirected completely onto the beauty and power that was currently residing in my kitchen.

She giggled a moment when I handed her the blue glass, keeping the pink one for myself. I felt the heat rush to my face - I felt as exposed to her as if she could read the tattoo that marked me - yes, under the power of Miss's eyes, I was just a sissy slut.

I was fighting to concentrate on the beautiful woman in front of me as we talked and laughed. I couldn't stand to look at her face - her eyes seemed so empty and lifeless in comparison - so my eyes drifted over her body, from the cleavage that had fascinated me only moments before down to her smooth legs even more exposed as her dress rode up as she moved on the sofa.

She interpreted my looks as growing interest and leaned forwards even more, like she wanted to tease me with her assets. A giggle escaped her lips then a broad, almost confused smile spread across her lips. She managed to get the nearly empty wine glass to the coffee table before she slumped over sideways, though just like her, it slowly tipped and fell onto its side. Her eyes were wide and in their glassy wetness I saw the reflection of Miss approaching behind us.

I turned to her, almost standing for a second, but then sliding off the couch to kneel before her instead. I think I felt just a flash of anger - all the feelings over the last months bubbling: those miserable times of hope, depression, rage at how my life had been nearly destroyed - but then it all vanished, gone in one slow blink of her luxurious lashes as my knees hit the carpet.

I wondered for a moment if Rebecca was lucky enough to register the beauty, the power of those eyes - to gather up the pure joy and peace they offered - but then all my thoughts were of Miss.

She looked down on me, exposing no emotions, and in my trousers, tan shirt, loosened tie and summer sports coat, I felt completely bare before her. Finally, she spoke.

"I've been watching you, my Edward. Keeping an eye on you, and what you've been up to."

Even with these words of implied reprimand I could hardly feel the fear I should have, since watching her eyes move, slide over me and come to light with her words was sending warmth all through me. I felt like I had come instantly from winter to summer, without ever really knowing I had been cold.

"But we will discuss all of that later," she smiled, as though she had simply moved on to a more pleasant thought. "Go to the bathroom, take these and return with only them on. Oh, and my Edward, I think that based upon my conversations with Lucy that you had better touch up your legs while you're in there." She dropped a couple of items of clothing before me; I gathered them up quickly and raced to the washroom.

I decided to jump into the shower quickly, to best shave my legs, and while the water warmed, I examined the clothing she had chosen for me. It was a bra and panties, both were shockingly pink, but rather than fine silk or lace, they were made of thick, stretchy latex.

I had no time to think as I was quickly into a delicate job that I wanted to be thorough with. Even in my eagerness to return to Miss's view, I was in no mood to rush a razor around my privates. In minutes I stepped out of the steamy shower, once again as hairless below the waist as I could be without assistance.