Short, Short Story: "Last Day at Dom Brett's"

Search "hot flash" to find more short shorts. An excerpt from a short story that should be available in January or February:

Dom Brett’s apartment was a college student’s mess of a studio but the way he handled my body and my brain made me forget how much younger he was, how little understanding of the real world he had. He knew what he wanted and made it so easy to accept it as what I wanted, too. We had a standing “date” once a week. By the end of two months I was cleaning up the studio at the end of each play date, enlarging my scope of service and happily unhappy doing so. There’s something about leather cuffs attached by a 12” chain -- and the promise of a bullwhip if I didn’t do it right -- to make folding laundry that much more exciting. . .

I didn’t know it would be my last day at Dom Brett’s when I rang the bell to his apartment. I knelt at his door like I always did, somewhat self-conscious, hoping no one would walk by, but also hoping someone might. No one ever did; we timed our meetings to maximize the amount of time I’d have to make a lot of noise.

When he opened the door I immediately noticed the dog crate in the far corner, with a nude girl in it. She looked at me, unsmiling.

I wanted to ask about her but one of the rules I’d agreed to was to not speak unless spoken to. I was allowed to moan, scream, or whimper, but it was rare that Dom Brett allowed me to use words.

The moment he closed the door I undressed. I never wore underwear or a bra to our trysts, just a short skirt, a top and, if it was cold or rainy, a sweater. I folded my clothes neatly, then knelt again, knees apart, hands behind my head, holding my hair out of the way for my collar.

It was a simple but beautiful collar: a dark tan leather with cream-colored wool lining, four brass rings set around it and a heavy brass buckle in the back with a lock. Once Dom Brett had locked me in he also locked on the matching wrist and ankle cuffs.

In my collar and cuffs my mind was changed. I was no longer Miriam the divorcee in event planning, I was Miriam the slave, and Dom Brett was the master I longed to serve. I do think he waited for that mental switch before saying, “Slave Anna is here today to watch how you serve me, and to see what happens to slaves who do not follow direction.”