Steve Evans

Steve Evans tapped his fingers nervously on the bar counter. He’d had two martinis in the hour he’d been waiting, and was seriously contemplating another. Anything to relieve the feeling of nausea steadily growing in his stomach.

She was late; maybe she wouldn’t show up at all. How would he feel then? 
Relieved? Maybe a little. Disappointed? Definitely. 

He decided to settle for a bottle of beer instead, and returning to his seat in a corner of the bar, sat and mused over the circumstances that had brought him to this downtown dump of a place.

Was it really only six months ago since he’d decided to explore his submissive side? He hadn’t known where to start at first, but of course the Internet answers all. Chat rooms led him to sex sites; they in turn led him ever deeper into the world of the specialised BDSM sites.

The stories posted by various authors, intrigued him the most. Everything he needed to know was written in them. His heart would beat faster with excitement when he read some of the tales of torment. Oh how he wanted to be that slave, anxious to please his mistress, begging to be allowed cum. His cock would grow rock hard at the thought of it.

His favourite authoress went by the name of ‘Miss Treat’. He would read her stories over and over again, rubbing his cock as he imagined himself at her mercy. He sent her countless emails, praising her work, telling her of his deep admiration, of his wish to be her slave in real life. 

He never got a reply, but then he didn’t really expect one. Just to know that somewhere, Miss Treat read his words, and was aware of his existence gave him satisfaction.

One day though, months later, he did receive a reply. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he read that email.

‘Hello Steve Evans,
So you want to be my slave for real, do you?
You had better be very sure about this.
Send me your photo.
Miss Treat’

His hands were shaking as he carefully picked a photo and typed,

‘Oh Miss Treat,
To serve you is something I dream about, I would do anything at all for that privilege.
Humbly yours,
Steve Evans’

He added his address and telephone numbers, and then taking a deep breath, pressed the ‘send’ button.

Every day he checked the inbox, but there was nothing from her.

He studied the email he had sent over and over again, had he somehow written something to annoy her? Perhaps it should have been longer, or shorter even? Maybe he hadn’t been quite servile enough? Had his photo not pleased?

Finally, one Wednesday morning his phone rang and a curt female voice snapped,

“Steve Evans?”

He knew immediately who it was.

“Yes, this is Steve Evans”

“I shall be in your area this weekend You will meet me in The Rocker’s Bar on Queen Street, 2pm, Saturday” 

“But how will I know you?”

“You won’t Steve Evans, but I will know you”

The line went dead.

Putting down the phone, his stomach lurched with excitement at the thought of finally meeting this Goddess.

He had no idea what she looked like, but that mattered very little to him. All he cared about was that he was going to meet his beloved Miss Treat; at last he would in truth be her slave.

So now he was waiting in the Rocker’s bar, and she was an hour late. That didn’t surprise him though, after all any dominatrix worth her salt is going to make a slave wait. He leant back into his chair with a sigh, and wondered how long he should stay.

People kept coming into the bar; they would buy a drink or two, then leave again. It was almost four o’clock now and the barman was giving him looks, he knew he would have to buy another beer very soon, or go.

Finally a tall, slender woman, wearing a long black leather coat entered the bar and paused, apparently looking for someone. She looked about thirty-five, her dark hair was scraped back into a severe ponytail, and her whole being radiated dominance. This had to be Miss Treat.

Then she was standing before him, her deep brown eyes bored into his as she placed her handbag on the table and opened it.

“Hello Steve Evans.”

“Um…hello Miss Treat.”

Smiling, she pulled out a collar that was already attached to a leash.

“If you are to be my slave, then I wish to begin immediately.”

“Well, I er…”

To his amazement, she leaned forward and snapped the collar around his neck, right there in the bar.

Giving the leash a jerk, she hissed,

“Get down onto your paws and follow me!”

Conversation in the bar stopped. People were staring and he could feel his face flushing with embarrassment, but realising he no longer had a choice, he dropped on all fours and began to crawl after her, out of the bar.

All he could see was the pavement, people’s shoes and their lower legs. He could hear well enough though.

“Oy! Look at that bloke ma!”

“Hey, I like yer dog, missus!”

“Here Fido! Here boy!”

God! Would this humiliation never end? They had only gone a couple of hundred yards, and his knees and hands were already grazed and dirty. 

He realised she had stopped and was unlocking an estate car. Going round to the back she lifted up the tailgate.

“Get in” she ordered.

“Wha…?”

Grabbing his ear, she gave it a vicious twist and said,

“If you’re going to constantly argue with me, you are going to be very, very sorry. Do you understand?”

“Yes”

“Yes what?” she asked, giving his ear another twist.

“Yes Miss Treat”

“That’s better, now get in!”

He climbed into the back of the estate, into that area usually reserved for luggage, shopping and dogs and curled up tight, trying to make himself as small as possible.