Chapter 1

I gave you very explicit instructions to follow. The only concession I allowed you was the use of a mask to hide your identity, the remainder I expected to be followed to the letter.

I had booked a hotel room. I gave you the location, room number and instructions to collect an envelope from the front desk at a specified time. I also required you to bring a laptop with a web-cam and to leave your phone at home.

That was all I told you at first, but even that was enough to keep you wondering all week, as you arranged to have the day off. Your biggest worry, leaving behind your phone. But you'd told me you wanted to submit to me completely. If that was true then you would follow my rules. Consider it a test of sorts.

The day dawns and with it the nervousness begins.

You're aware that you have disappointed me lately. Unwilling or unable to meet my demands, wilfully disobeying explicit instructions and making excuses as to why you can't follow others.

You know this is your last chance. My "three strikes" rule means you're very close to ending this before you have even begun to experience it. So the question is, how much of yourself are you willing to give over to me? Today, you will find out the answer.

You arrive at the hotel half an hour early, laptop bag slung over your shoulder but mobile phone still in your pocket, unable to let go of that last link to your "real" life.

Approaching the reception desk, you nervously ask if anything has been left for you, then sigh in relief when they immediately present you with an A4 envelope. The receptionist giving you a wink as they hand it over. It throws you, that wink, and you retreat outside, finding a bench to sit on in a nearby park.

With trepidation you run your finger under the gummed flap, taking a sharp breath as the paper leaves a small cut on your finger, the blood welling up on the ball of your index finger before you shove it into your mouth, sucking to relieve the pain whilst you pull out the contents of the envelope, a key card, presumably for the room, and two sheets of A4, one covered in my neat handwriting, the other a pencil drawing.

You turn first to my words, a quick glimpse of the picture making you flip it over and push it back in the envelope.

There is no introduction, just a list of instructions, and they fill you both with fear and exhilaration.

The picture, I tell you, is what I want to see, how I'll know that you've followed my commands to the letter.

Pulling it back out again, you gulp. The idea is exciting but terrifying at the same time. You want to please me, but at the same time you're scared of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position. Risk v reward. Which will win?

At the allotted time you let yourself into the hotel room, leaving the door open as I instructed. You're a little surprised that it stays open, experience telling you that most have some kind of spring mechanism to make them close automatically.

Glancing up you smile, I've clearly thought of everything, the mechanism is hanging loose, detached from the door, you should have known I'd be a perfectionist.

Knowing you have very little time before I expect you to be ready for me, you look at the picture for guidance before setting up the laptop on the dressing table, making sure it's plugged into the power and positioning it so that the web-cam shows a clear view across the room to the door.

Nervously you remove your clothing one piece at a time, very conscious of the open door, keeping one ear listening for noises in the corridor as you neatly fold each item and place it on the shelf, you know I will not tolerate untidiness. You do not put on the mask, I was right, there is little point in concealing that small part of you from me, anonymity will not make this any easier for you.

Finally, you log onto the hotels internet, calling up the Skype program and dialling my name. The call rings for what seems like a lifetime before I answer, and when I do you're disappointed to see that I've disabled my camera in some way.

My voice is quiet as I speak and you strain to listen, turning the volume up to maximum before a sound in the corridor reminds you of the open door. You glance nervously over your shoulder, forgetting I can see every move you make...

"Having second thoughts, slave?" I ask softly, and you quickly shake your head.

"No Mistress, of course not, it's just the door ... people ... I could lose my job if this ever got out!"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Then why do you question me?"

"I'm sorry Mistress, I'm just scared."

"Then leave!" I say abruptly, the monotone timbre of my voice signifying that you have displeased me.

"No Mistress," you whimper, "I don't want to leave, I'm sorry, your slave is unworthy of your attention. Please forgive me?"

"On your knees, slave! Face away from the door and grasp your hands behind your back!"

You rush to follow my instructions and I grin with anticipation as I see you kneeling by the bed, the camera giving me a clear view of both you and the open door behind you.

"Eyes down, slave. You will look at the floor unless I tell you otherwise. Do not move. And remember, I'm watching you now..."

I take one further glance at the laptop, before switching off the microphone and turning up the car stereo. I can see you, but you can't see me. I can hear you, but you can't hear me. I am in complete control here and you know it, at least I hope you do.

Without your phone, unable to look at the laptop screen for fear of me seeing, you have no way of telling how much time has passed.

Your legs are starting to ache from being in this position but you don't dare move without permission. Gently you flex your toes, trying to gain some feeling back, but all it does is start tingling pins and needles up your calves and you wish you'd stayed still!

Drawing in a sharp breath at the pain you wonder if you can risk a quick look up at the computer screen but think better of it, what would it help anyway? If anything it may cause me to leave you here longer as punishment and you've disappointed me enough these last few weeks.

For a second you worry that maybe this is your punishment, that I'll just leave you here without any further instructions, waiting to see how long you'll stay before you give up, testing your commitment to me. You hope I would not be that cruel...

The sun is beginning to set and your legs are now almost completely numb. You calculate that you've been in this position for over an hour now with no further contact from me.

Outside the door, the hall lights flicker on and cast eerie shadows around the room. I watch your image on the screen in front of me and see your head jerk up at the sound of something in the corridor, your breathing coming faster, but still you keep your eyes directed to the ground and you do not turn.

The noise comes closer and I see your shoulders tense as a shadow crosses the doorway before falling over your body.

I watch as the person stands in the doorway, staring at your back as you kneel there, shivering in terror and anticipation. I drink in the look of fear on your face as they take one step into the room, then another.

I grin as I see you struggle not to move when all you want to do is run, the adrenaline making your heart beat loudly in the room...