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nature
was reflecting my emotional situation, I know that nature was putting me in a mood that matched its wildness. Because I
was certainly feeling dark and stormy that night, trudging up
the hill with the wind whistling and the rain falling around
me, wondering why the hell I was out there just to get my ass
whipped.

    I can't speak for Jonathan, though, meticulous Jonathan
who probably never strayed from his lesson plans, no matter
what else was going on. I suspect that any correspondence
between his emotional situation and the weather is total coincidence. Or maybe not.
    In any case, I was as wet, dark, and stormy as the
weather when I rang the kitchen doorbell. Mrs. Branden
came to the door, cool, friendly, and quiet, as usual. I took
off my clothes, shook off the water, and hung them on a hook
in the corner. Then I went to the little room off the kitchen,
turned on the very bright light near the little table, and made
up my face, very, very carefully, as usual.
    I came back into the kitchen and sat down on one of
the chairs, and she knelt down to lace up my boots. They
were little brown ankle lace-up boots, with hooks at the
ankles so I wouldn't need ankle cuffs, and crazily high
spool-shaped heels. I could have put them on myself, but
the rules were that she was supposed to do it. Then the
collar, with its awful name tag, and matching cuffs around
my wrists. The collar and cuffs were so stiff that I felt them
all the time, even when I wasn't wearing them. She hooked
the cuffs together behind my back, attached a leash to the
collar, and, as usual, led me down the hall to the study. But
this time, instead of leading me to the usual spot near the
hook in the wall, she led me to a leather ottoman placed in
front of the fire.

    "Kneel down on it, put your head down. Get your ass
up and spread your legs way apart," she said, in an entirely
neutral voice (her deadpan delivery was every bit as good as
Jonathan's, probably better). And when I did, she attached
the collar's loop to a hook attached to the ottoman, so my face
was against the leather. She pushed my knees apart some
more and attached the loops at my ankles to two more hooks
in the ottoman. Then she put her cool, capable hands at the
sides of my hips and angled up my ass a few degrees, lifting it
up a little too. And then, silently, she left.
    From experience, I knew I'd have to wait for Jonathan.
Maybe two minutes, maybe twenty. I always felt fortunate
to have this room to wait in-leaded windows, brilliant oriental rug, real art on the walls, books and books and books,
though of course I never touched them, and the fire. The
room was perhaps a little phony-a little too Bride,ohead
Reri,iited or something. I mean, the rest of the house was
airy, simple, some Arts and Crafts and some high tech, more
like a house I'd expect him to live in. This study was definitely a stage set, and I liked its hyperreality, its surfeit of
deep colors and textures, its thickness, perhaps you could
say. Even this evening, with my face pressed against the soft
leather, I could still more or less see the fire, hear it crackling. I concentrated on it, partly to drown out the sounds of
the wind, the rain, and the evergreens blowing against the
windows, not to speak of my thoughts about what was going
to happen next. So I missed the sound of Jonathan coming
in behind me and started when I felt his hands unhooking
my wrists.
    "You can use your hands to part your ass some more,"
he said.

    I grabbed the cheeks of my ass and felt a rush of coldness
as he pushed some cream all the way up. "Open," he repeated
very softly and began, slowly, slowly, to push in a big rubber
dildo, the size, I guessed, of his erect cock. He pushed so
slowly and so relentlessly and seemed to be tracing such a tortuous, meandering path, that even though I wanted to resist,
I couldn't quite find the moment, or the muscular center, for
actually doing so. Instead,