The Birthday Boy

Thanks to online social networking everyone at work knew it was my birthday today. By 9 a.m. I had wanted to crawl under my desk and hide. I’m not good with people, hell, I’m not good with pets. I just don’t know what to say, where to look, when to nod, or mumble something sympathetic and pat the person, or animal, on the head… this day was torture. Somewhere in the bowels of hell Satan was pointing and laughing as I dodged awkward hugs and tried to avoid eye contact while dozens of people I barely knew wished me happiness and good fortune. I feigned a heavy workload and kept my stare fixed on my glowing monitor.

I fumbled through lunch, and the birthday song, and the obligatory saccharine sheet cake from the local grocery store bakery. The cake was emblazoned with my name in meticulous cursive letters. The roses were yellow, the color of friendship, but I felt so alone. I cringed as the inevitable vultures from other departments found their way into the break room, served themselves a slice of cake, and read my name aloud, thanking me with a vague wave for being born. I focused on my cake. Using my plastic fork I carved away the frosting revealing the sponge beneath. Once my excavations were complete I picked up the dry cake and popped it in my mouth. I chewed slowly and methodically timing my bites to deter conversation as my coworkers circled me. After fifteen minutes I threw away my paper plate and frosting-covered fork and headed back down the hall to my desk.

Something caught my eye as I slipped into my chair. There was a small silver envelope on my desk. I sighed, someone apparently felt the need to make themselves look even more caring by giving me a greeting card. It was addressed, ‘To The Birthday Boy.’ Disgusted, but curious I picked up the envelope and turned it over in my hand. As I slipped my finger under the flap I felt a strange twinge of excitement. For a moment I remembered the joy of birthdays celebrated with friends and loved ones. I let my mind float back to less lonely times when gifts and fun were guaranteed on your birthday. “That’s it!” I whispered to myself, “I’m outta here, I’m going home so at least what’s left of my birthday is less dismal.”

I stuffed the little envelope in my pants pocket and fired off an email to my manager. I blamed the sugary cake in the break room for upsetting my digestion and excused myself for the rest of the afternoon. As I stepped into the elevator I stuffed my hand deep into my pocket searching out my car keys, but instead my hand encountered the unopened envelope. I pulled it free and slipped my finger back under the flap and ripped open the shining paper. There was no card inside, just a purple slip of paper with three simple lines written in the same meticulous cursive letters I had noticed on my cake.

1542 Centennial Way Apt. #9

Come Here.

Now.

I stood there frozen, staring down at the paper in my hand. The words electrified my imagination and ignited my curiosity. Who was commanding me? My hands began to tremble, what was this supposed to mean? Was someone playing a trick on me? I didn’t have a single friend in this office, there was no one I would share a joke with, especially not a joke like this. I turned the envelope over in my hand, and inspected the slip of paper again, searching for any sign of where this message had originated. There was nothing, no signature, no return address, nothing. The elevator reached the ground floor and I stuffed the note back into my pocket and shuffled out to my car.

As soon as I sat safely behind the wheel I took out the paper and read it again. I traced the letters with my finger, and then guiltily searched the parking lot for prying eyes. I was alone, there wasn’t a single soul in the lot. What was I expecting? It was the middle of the day nobody else was going home for hours. I took a deep breath and considered the options; I could go home and pretend nothing happened, just celebrate my birthday alone as usual, or I could take a chance, I could drive to this address, knock on this door, and see who sent the message. Indecision tormented me, what if this was just a mix-up, or a cruel practical joke? Worse, what if this was some awful attempt to surprise me with a birthday party concocted by my lame coworkers? But who was I kidding? Nobody at work cared enough to bother with such an elaborate plan, and besides, they were all still in the office.

With a heavy sigh, I decided to continue the pity party back at my place. I started up my car and put it in reverse. As I looked over my shoulder and began to back out of my parking spot I was startled by a sudden vibration in my pants. I slammed on the brakes a little too quickly and my car stalled. Embarrassed I started it up again and pulled back into the parking space. I looked around nervously hoping nobody had witnessed my error and dug my phone out of my pocket. One new text, but I didn’t recognize the number. My parents had already called to wish me a happy birthday bright and early this morning, and my sister emailed me one of those ridiculous animated cards. Probably just an advertisement, but I opened it anyway. I stared at my phone in disbelief, three words stared back at me

I said NOW

My heart began to pound in my chest and I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. How could I refuse? This was no invitation, this was a command. This was what I secretly hoped for each time I spoke to a woman. What I listened for in every voice– at the market, in restaurants, even here at the office. Someone wanted to tell me what to do, and I wanted to obey.

I could feel my erection straining against my slacks as I entered the address in my GPS. With shaking hands I drove myself across town cursing red lights and slow drivers. I arrived at a small apartment complex, maybe a dozen units arranged around a central courtyard. I parked my car on the street, got out, and stepped onto the sidewalk. I was flooded with fear and adrenaline, my erection had subsided halfway here, it wasn’t too late, I could still turn back. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets trying to calm myself and my fingertips brushed the slip of paper. I pulled it out and read it once more. There was no denying the command, she was waiting for me. I placed the crumpled slip back in my pocket and walked toward the courtyard.

The neighborhood was nice. Mature trees lined the street, the houses were all older, but well kept. The apartment complex was no exception, the landscaping was tidy, the stucco freshly painted, and each door had a gleaming brass number. A slight breeze rustled through the branches of the trees as I walked through the wrought-iron gate, it felt good. I was sweating, I needed that breeze to cool me down, and calm me, and carry me the rest of the way. I walked around the courtyard following the numbers as they increased; 1, 2, 3, 4. My footsteps echoed on the tiles. I felt as though every window I passed contained a spy, like everyone knew why I was here and they were all watching me. 5, 6, 7, 8. I slowed for a moment, I took a deep breath and I was there. Standing in front of apartment number 9.

The door was slightly ajar. I knocked tentatively on the wood, just below the polished address number. It was so quiet, maybe nobody would hear me, maybe nobody would answer and I would go home as if nothing had happened. I hung my head feeling defeated, knowing I was too scared to knock on the door and face whoever was inside. That’s when I saw it, I had been too focused on the door numbers before, I hadn’t looked down. But there, on the mat, was a small silver gift box with my name written in the same beautiful script as the cake and the note.

I felt a swelling of emotion, I took a deep breath and jammed my hands back into my pockets to stop them from trembling. I looked around the courtyard. All the doors were closed, all the curtains were drawn, nobody seemed to be watching me. These people were probably all still at work, it wasn’t even 2 p.m. Quickly I bent over and picked up the box. I gingerly opened the lid and found a second slip of the beautiful purple paper atop the tissue paper inside. This time the note was longer, and it took my breath away.

Come inside and shut the door

Take off your clothes

Put on these gifts

Come here.

Now.

Without a second thought I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. In the entryway there was a small bench and I sat down to remove my shoes. I fumbled with buttons and zippers, trying to remove my clothes while my mind raced and my eyes darted around the room. Finally, I stood naked, my clothes in a pile at my feet, staring at the contents of the silver box. Inside wrapped in tissue I found a simple pair of tight white underpants and a thick brown leather collar. I slipped on the underpants, they were snug and the pressure on my cock made it begin to swell once more. My erection grew as I wrapped the collar around my neck and buckled it into place. Above the bench there was a mirror, the kind a woman uses for final checks before she walks out the door, I stared at my reflection.

“Now.” I was startled by the sound of a woman’s voice coming from the next room. I immediately walked toward the voice, unsure but excited. The small apartment was only dimly lit, all the curtains were closed and no lights had been left on for me, only a few delicately scented votive candles illuminated the spaces around end tables and bookshelves. As I walked through the living room I could just make out the details of a very average apartment, not unlike my own. Most of the furniture appeared to be from Ikea and the Pottery Barn catalog. There were prints of the usual paintings by Van Gogh and Klimt on the walls, but no hints of the true personality of the inhabitant of the space. I walked toward an open door, what I assumed was the bedroom where I hoped the voice had come from.

“No!” she was behind me now, I stopped in my tracks and whirled around. “Here!” she commanded and I changed my course and headed toward the sound of her voice. She was in a dining area next to a tiny galley kitchen. She sat facing me in a straight-backed chair. I was mesmerized by the sight of her, there was something familiar in her face, but I did not recognize her. She wore a black bra and panties, a tightly laced black leather corset, and the most beautiful black leather boots that reached up above her knees. She had on long black leather gloves and in one hand she held a short riding crop. Looking at her made me ache, but I still didn’t recognize her, couldn’t place her face, who was this woman? As I drew near she pointed to the empty floor next to the chair. “Get down on your hands and knees,” she said, and I did. “You will not speak unless I request it. When I allow you to speak you will address me as Mistress. You will follow my commands and obey me without question. If I am unhappy with your behavior you will be punished. If you see me outside of this apartment you do not know me. Nod if you understand these rules.” Everything was happening so fast, I had so many questions. How did this woman find me? How did she know my deepest desires? What was happening? My mind raced. I turned to face her and began to ask. Her crop was swift, my buttocks stung from her blow, the pain was exquisite. I nodded my head, and an unexpected smile crept across my face.

I held my breath, waiting, unsure of what would happen next. For a moment the anxiety I always felt in social situations bubbled up in my mind. Was I supposed to do something? My palms began to sweat on the cool linoleum floor. The smallest audible whimper escaped my lips as I exhaled… and then her touch. She placed one gloved hand gently on the back of my neck. She used her palm to stroke down my back, trailing her beautiful fingers along my spine, and releasing all of my anxiety, all of my fear. I tensed with anticipation as she slipped one finger under the waistband of my underwear. In an instant she pulled my briefs down with that finger to expose my ass. I remained motionless as she slid her hand deeper into my underwear and took my balls in her hand. As if checking fruits for ripeness in the produce aisle she squeezed gently, and then slightly harder, a not-so-subtle reminder of who was in charge.

“It is time to begin your training,” she said. She removed her hand from my drawers and I immediately missed it. She pulled up my waistband, letting it snap back into place above my rump. “I am thirsty, you may rise and fetch me a glass of wine from the kitchen now.” I got to my feet and turned toward the kitchen, but the moment my back was turned there was the sting of her crop on my buttocks once more. I stood frozen in place unsure how to proceed, I had done something wrong, but what? “look at me,” she said. I turned to face her and she rose from the chair to stand in front of me. The boots made her tall, she looked straight into my eyes, and I immediately lowered my gaze to the floor. Her hand was instantly at my chin raising my eyes to meet hers. “You say, Yes Mistress,” she said. A smile twinkled in her eyes and flitted momentarily across her lips, the game was on. I felt the heat in my cheeks as I blushed.

“Y-y-yes Mistress” I stammered. She dropped my chin and I tentatively turned toward the kitchen once more. I made it into the adjoining room and scanned for wine. There on the counter sat a bottle of local syrah, a corkscrew, and a single glass. I took a moment to calm my nerves and steadied myself on the counter. Then I opened the bottle and poured a generous glass of the inky wine into her goblet. After replacing the bottle on the counter I gingerly lifted the glass by its slender stem and placed my hand below the foot as I had seen waiters in movies do. I carried the glass of wine back to her with as much grace as I could muster, hoping to please her with my proficiency.

As I approached the table and chair where she stood waiting I was able to see an array of intriguing items laid out on the top. Some I recognized; dildos and vibrators, a large paddle, and a belt that I could assume were for spanking. There was a pair of leather cuffs that looked like they might match my new collar. But there were also items I had never seen before; small clips and plugs, beautiful stone beads, and some sort of mask with a rubber ball in the middle. My eyes must have given away my curiosity and inexperience because she covered the lot up with a nearby tea towel and said “No, these are not for you, not yet.”

I held out the glass of wine to her thinking she would take it, but instead I watched as she slowly removed the glove from her right hand. She stepped closer to me and dipped her index finger into the glass swirling the wine in slow deliberate circles. I stared as she pulled her finger from the glass and I opened my mouth eagerly as she brought her delicate digit towards my lips. A single drop of wine splashed onto the tip of my tongue and I closed my mouth around her finger sucking softly. The feel of her fingertip on my tongue was intoxicating. The wine was bold with notes of smoke and exotic spices, I sucked her finger harder drawing her into my mouth as far as I could. I wanted her deeper in my mouth, I wanted her to penetrate me, I never wanted her to stop. But she did stop. She slowly withdrew her finger, caressing my tongue and lips as she pulled out. “Is it adequate?” she said.

“What?” I asked, caught off guard and confused by the question. My head snapped to the side as she struck me full across the cheek with her open hand. I recoiled, almost dropping the glass of wine.

“The wine,” she said, “you have tested it for me, and now I want to know; is… it… adequate?” she repeated, stressing each word as if I hadn’t heard her properly.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, realization dawning through the pain. The rules of this game were simple and I was going to master them. I was going to please her as much as she was pleasing me by doing exactly as she instructed-- no more, no less. There would be no trick questions, no antiquated etiquette, or bizarre new social norms to trip me up. I could do this and I had never felt so free. She smiled at me then and took the glass of wine from my hand. She retrieved a leash from the table and expertly hooked it to the ring in my collar with her free hand. Using the leash she gently led me to the living room where she sat down in an armchair with her wine. She gently tugged my lead and I dropped to my knees beside her. As she sipped she absent-mindedly stroked my neck until I felt so relaxed I thought I might melt into a puddle there on her floor. I had never felt this relaxed, this at ease in my own skin.

“You really should clear your internet browsing history on a regular basis,” she said nonchalantly. And that’s when it hit me! Linda! Linda, from the IT department. She had completed some routine upgrades on my system last month.

Marry me? I thought with a smile. But, “Yes Mistress” was all I said.