None of the neighbors knew what took place behind the ornate cherry wood doors of 511 Locker Lane. From the outside, with its trimmed hedges, neatly placed shrubs, perfectly manicured lawn, the house looked like all the others lining the quaint and quiet street. A bicycle laid up against the garage, waiting for the little girl who owned it to get home from school and ride it down the road to her best friend’s house to play. A soccer ball sitting on the grass, a reminder of the rousing game that the little boy and his dad had played the night before till the street lights came on.
The kids were at school, the husband at work, and the only occupant inside was busy getting ready for her guest soon to arrive. Mrs. Rockford, as she was known, was a sight to behold. 5’8 with legs that reached to the sky, her waist trim and small. Her hair was long and brown, cascading down her back. When her family was home she wore it in her usual messy bun atop her head, her “mom” uniform complete. Today, however, she wore it down, only the sides pinned back to keep it out of her face. She was finishing putting on her makeup, her transformation from housewife almost complete. Her green eyes shimmered under the carefully placed eye shadow and eye liner that adorned her face. Her lipstick was a dark shade of red, lending a mysterious air to her pale face.
She moved to her bedroom, the very picture of middle-class bliss. A large four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room with small nightstands on either side. In the corner was the large, oversized chair made of buttery soft leather. It was her compromise the room was not so “girlie”. In turn, she got the matching throw pillows she wanted for the bed. A win for both.
She walked into her walk-in-closet and found the trunk she kept hidden behind her vast collection of shoe boxes, neatly lined in a row. Inside where the things she needed for today and she pulled it out into the center of the room. She removed her ratty sweat pants and t-shirt and began to get dressed.
First came a black lacy thong, then leather booty shorts on top. A black and red corset cinched in her waist. A black leather bra came next, then a think choker chain around her neck. Knee high leather boots covered her feet. She threw a sheer, silk, black robe on top; she was ready for her session to begin. She went down to her basement, the sound of her high heeled boots clicking on her hardwood floors.
A timid knock signaled he was there. She opened the door to let him in; playtime started the moment they entered the door. He was a tall and foreboding, with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes. At 6’3 and packed with muscle, he was the kind of man you noticed walking down the street. He stood in her doorway, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, waiting for permission to enter her domain. “You may come inside,” she told him, “Remove your clothing in the changing room then come back out immediately,” she said. “Yes Mistress V” he replied, knowing that this was the only acceptable response. He did as told and came back into the room, naked save only for his blue boxer briefs. “Kneel” she commanded, attaching a large, spiked dog collar around his neck. She clipped a heavy chain to it and then began to walk him by it into the playroom where the fun would begin.
She punched in a key code next to a sturdy metal door off of her laundry room and listened to the locks unlatch. This room was nothing like the rest of her tidy, suburban home. An old root cellar, the walls were still concrete, the air musty and damp. A single red light bulb cast an eerie glow, lending to the ambience, setting the mood. She walked him to the large leather table that dominated the center of the room, laying him down on his stomach before strapping his hands and feet into the attached cuffs. Slowly she walked over to one of the walls, taking her time on selecting what instruments she would use today.
This particular man liked pain; liked to lose control. Her clients ranged in degrees of what they wanted and her shop accommodated their needs. “Our safe word today is Flower,” she told him, as she ran her fingers across her wall of toys. He blinked his eyes in agreement, the ball gag she had shoved in his mouth after tying him up, making it impossible to talk. She would remove it before the harder core play started but she knew he liked the initial few minutes of being completely helpless on her bench, it wound him up.
Satisfied with her selection, she moved back over toys in hand. His eyes grew wide as he saw what she held in them. She had selected the Humbler today; he was in for a treat. She took her riding crop and smacked him hard on the ass. “I’m going to remove the restraints on your legs,” she said. “I want you up on your knees. Do you understand?” He nodded his head yes and climbed onto his knees when she released his legs, ass up in the air. She took the Humbler, attaching the testicle cuff to his balls, the metal lip resting against the back of his thighs. He would have to sit perfectly still for the remainder of their session, or he would be in a world of pain. She rubbed his bare bottom gently at first; then she began to spank. First with her hand, leaving red fingerprint shaped marks, then with her riding crop. His ass became red and raw, streaks running up and down his milky white skin. She took a butt plug, and inserted it into him, thrusting in and out of him while she ran a metal comb up and down his back. His eyes were wide with the mixture of pleasure and pain, and he wanted desperately to thrust his hips, the Humbler keeping him firmly in place.
The timer went off through her speakers signaling their play session had come to an end. She took a jar of cream she kept on her shelf, rubbing his skin, soothing his sore spots. Gently she released him from his restraints, reminding him to stand slowly. He stretched getting his bearings as she began to clean up. He left her payment on the bathroom counter after he got dressed. He kissed her on the cheek, thanking her as always for her time.
She hopped in the shower and changed back into her mom mode once more. Her hair once more in its classic bun, her face once again makeup free. She had two clients coming in tomorrow, but she would worry about that then. Today her kids had requested her famous meatloaf. Just outside her doorway, a school bus rumbled down her street. The door opened, and the sounds of laughter and squealing filled her halls. “Mom were home” She made her way into the living room hugging her children tight. “How was your day?” her son asked. “Oh you know,” she said, “same things different day, not much happens when you’re a housewife.”