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I have arranged to meet and have a drink with a certain Mistress V with regards to my suitability to become her sub – it’s only a preliminary meeting and I haven’t brought along my favourite plastic beach shoe or garden cane.
For some reason I recall a paragraph I once read many years ago in a book about sexual perversion something along the lines that: The whip cracking, leather clad, fierce, obedience seeking woman of the male masochists fevered imagination is just that… imagination. These women do not exist in reality except perhaps in the garb that prostitutes put on to satisfy their clients.
Despite the fact that she stated in her letter that she was ‘lifestyle’ I have nevertheless bought along a fair amount of money – you can never be certain of anything in this game.
The train pulls in at Haslemere and I alight from the carriage, I ask one of the platform staff about the next train to East Croydon and I am directed to another platform. I get into the carriage and wait for it to move off.
Waiting.
Waiting.
I get out of the carriage and have a look along the platform – it appears that there were TWO trains at the platform and the front one was for East Croydon… it isn’t there any more!
For fack’s sake! Trust me to get in the wrong facking train.
I make more enquiries and to my relief there is another train due shortly – I don’t want to be late.
Safely settled in the train I reflect back on the circumstances that are leading to this encounter – slightly nervous as I am. I had advertised recently in a fetish magazine called Axis for a dominant woman – only really expecting responses from professional mistresses – when I had received a letter and a photo from a Mistress V. In it she had told me that she was forty and had just divorced her third husband – he couldn’t take the pain any longer. She was Russian and working over here giving seminars to business men. Over the last few years she had given in to her previously suppressed sadistic and dominant impulses and was now looking for a male sub.
The photo showed a smartly attired slightly overweight woman with blonde hair possessing Slavic features – she was average looking.
After I had sent her a photo of myself she had phoned me and kelsie monroe agreed a time to meet, during her long lunch hour, and for her to assess my suitability – that appointment was now drawing close.
The train draws into East Croydon, slows and stops. I step out onto the platform and then make my way to the wine bar where we had agreed to rendezvous – I was okay for time. The streets are crowded… and not a little rough for a small town boy like me. I find the bar and make my way down the steps – it’s busy but I can’t see her. I buy myself a drink and sit down keeping a lookout for her fozy tube.
Whilst there I am momentarily startled to see my ex wife there but on closer inspection it isn’t her though extremely similar… I can imagine the conversation: ‘Hi Jules, fancy seeing you here of all places… what you doing?’
‘Ummm… well Moody and I are splitting up and as you know I am into S
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