Erica
from Robin's File & Story Archives
"Erica"
Somehow, subconsciously, I had her in mind when I wrote and placed the ad, but I just didn't know it at the time. She called me just after noon about three weeks ago on a Wednesday. I know that because I was sitting on my front porch, something I seldom do, watching the rain and smelling the fresh air. I work for myself, and my work ethic keeps me busy almost every day of the week. That particular Wednesday, I had car trouble and had to put it in the shop. So there I was, sitting on the porch, in the rain, wondering what I was going to do with the day. My phone began ringing and I was sitting there wondering why I should answer the insistent, annoying device. I am glad I made the right decision. "Hi, I am calling about the ad in the paper for models." "And a good afternoon to you. What is you name and what city are you calling from." "My name is Erica, and why do you want to know where I am calling from?" "I am located about thirty miles south of San Francisco, and I was asking about the city to determine how far away you are from me. If you were calling from outside the San Francisco area, for example, I might refer you to someone else." "Oh, that makes sense. I'm calling from Hayward," she responds. "Okay, so you're just across the Bay from me.. There is very little way of public transportation from Hayward to this side of the Bay. Do you have your own transportation?" "Why, yes I do." "OK, tell me a little bit about yourself: your age, height, weight, etc." "I'm twenty-three, five foot six without shoes, about one-thirty-five pounds. I have been modeling for about three years, having just moved here from Philadelphia. What is the job and what does it pay?" "I am writing a series of articles for the www.SM-201.net website. They will be about bondage, various forms of gags, and fetish clothing. I usually pay between fifty and a hundred dollars per hour, depending on the photos, and the number of hours we work." "Do you have examples of your work on line that I can see before coming all the way over there?" I gave her the link to the photo galleries of the BackDrop website file archives. She says that it might be interesting to work with me, but that she wants to check out my credentials. "May I call you in a day or two?" The call is ended with a polite goodbye, and I continued to sit on my porch looking at the rain, saying, "That was interesting. I'll never hear from her again," I say to myself. I make a quick trip inside the house, get a glass of iced tea, and return to my chair on the porch. As I sit down, the phone rings again. Now what? When I answer the phone, I hear Erica's voice again. "I've looked at your site, and I find it, well, intriguing. You took all of those photos?" "Yes." "And you wrote all of those stories on that page?" "Yes." "You're kidding, right?" Okay, I take a semi-defensive mode, and say, "I wrote all the stories, and I took all of the pictures. Is there some kind a problem?" "No, not at all. Actually, I rather enjoyed the stories and the photos. Although the stories showed the women as sexual slaves, I didn't feel they were being taken advantage of, nor were they being humiliated, but you seem to show them as being, well, controlled." I reply, "Thank you, I think?" "Would it be possible to come by this afternoon to talk about your project?" "Sure. What time would you like to come by?" "Would four o'clock work for you?" "Sure, sounds fine." She asks, "Should I bring or wear anything special?" "The first time we meet will be nothing more than an interview, so wear whatever is comfortable. As a matter of fact, if you want to make it at five, I'll spring for dinner." "It's nearly three, and I haven't had lunch. Dinner sounds fine, but can we make it at four-thirty -- I'm rather hungry!" I quip, "Being in a magnanimous mood, four-thirty it will be. What kind of food were you thinking of having?" "Could we have Chinese?" "Sure, no problem." "If it's not a problem, could you order it delivered?" "Well, okay." "You don't sound real interested in delivered Chinese. Did you want something else?" "No, Chinese ordered in is fine." "I'll make a deal with you. You order Chinese in, and I'll provide something special in return." "Okay, four-thirty, and Chinese," not wanting to push.
At four-thirty, she was standing on my porch and ringing the door bell. She was wearing a white cotton dress with dark blue trim on the collar, cuffs and hem. It also had a dark blue stripe down the front from collar to hem with large white buttons space about every four inches, top to bottom. She was wearing white heels with about a five inch heel and white stockings. She was pulling a smallish suitcase on wheels, and when she entered the house, I felt as though someone had just turned on another bright light in the room. I was about to close the door when our food arrived. I exchanged cash for the food, and suggested to Erica that we should move to the kitchen. She asked if she could "visit the powder room" before dinner, and I pointed her toward the bathroom. I continued to the kitchen and put silverware and plates on the table. During dinner, it seemed that we talked about almost everything: my family, her family, schools, and life in general. We talked about my pet project, my career as a bondage and fetish photographer, and my plans for the future. We talked about relationships, past, present, and future --- real and fantasized. We talked about how each had come to this point in our lives. She had been in two relationships where she had been submissive, and both had failed. One failed because "her Master" that that being dominant meant nothing more that the idea that he could choose the time and place for her to sexually satisfy him. If, for any reason, she enjoyed herself then she was being granted a gift, but she should not be looking forward to more. Her second Master thought domination meant he could watch her having with sex with other men for money, all of which he kept. She asked me about my relationships, and why I felt each had failed. I explained to her about my sexual "proclivities", all of which included some form of bondage, slave training and fetish attire. I tell her of the other advertisement that I run:
"And people actually answer it?" she asks. "From time to time, but most are not of the caliber I'm looking for. A few meetings, but not much ahs come from it," I respond. She looks askance, "What paper do you run it in?" When I answer, I get an "Oh," kind of answer. When I ask her about her answer, she replied, "I've never seen that ad. Maybe I've been reading the wrong paper." "What does that mean?" "It means I haven't seen the ad because maybe I've been reading the wrong papers." The convoluted answer caused me to try and change the subject. "Tea is getting cold; time for a reheat?" "In a moment, let's clear the table and move back to the living room," she says. "Besides, I said if you would order in, I would provide something special." We walked to the living room, and she made another "powder room request". I was sitting on the sofa, trying to figure out where this was all going. I did a rerun of our conversations, not a clue. When she returned from the bathroom, the dress, shoes and stockings were gone. She was wearing purple lace panties and bra with a matching scarf about her neck. Her soft pink lipstick had been replaced with a dark shade of red. She had placed one side of a pair of handcuffs around her left wrist, the other side open and dangling free. I straightened and started to say something, and thought better of it. Wait for it, old man, wait for it --- She knelt on the floor in front me, ass on ankles, looking into my eyes. She asked if "soft music" was available, and, oh, by the way, could I turn the lights down just a little bit. I made the appropriate "ambiance adjustments" while she continued to kneel on the floor. When I returned to my place on the couch, she had a coquettish smile. You know what I mean: the female "I've got a secret" kind of smile. You know the one, the smile that cats try to emulate right after they eat your pet canary. About this time, I look around the room, looking for the hidden "You're on live TV" cameras. Wait a minute - this is my house, there are no hidden cameras here. Like an expert chess master, I waited for the next move. She straightened her legs, and leaned toward me. We kissed, ever so briefly, and ever so softly. She returned to her original position, and moving her hands behind her back and closed the other cuff around her right wrist. With a look that could melt the Artic icepack, she says, "If you wish to remove my scarf, you will find a surprise for you." As I untie the scarf, I notice a fine golden chain about her neck, with an open lock holding it in place. She looks into my eyes, and says, "A few requests, please. I am yours until tomorrow evening at seven pm. Please don't ask about this time constraint for now. I will explain it later if you wish. Since we have not been together before, I would like to use the red-yellow-green safewords that you talk about in your book. I prefer not to be marked, and I should warn you that I do mark easily. My scarf could easily be used as a blindfold or as a gag. If you wish to accept my gift to you, please close the lock. The keys for the lock and the handcuffs are on the bathroom sink, my.Master." As I reached up to take the scarf and roll it into a gag, she opened her mouth to accept it. She pulled her head back for a moment and said, "One more thing; in the morning, could we talk about me modeling for you?" |
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