[Massive]

Instructions

You wave goodbye to your colleagues and leave work.
Walking up to your car you notice a plain white envelope placed behind your drivers-side windscreen wiper.
Curious, you pluck it out, holding it in your hand until you are sat behind the wheel. No name, nothing but pristine paper, but it is sealed. You look around to see if you can spot anyone watching you, for a hint of where it could have come from. Nobody is looking your way. A friend from work smiles and waves as she walks past you, you return both smile and wave, successfully hiding the trepidation you have started to feel.
It could be nothing. You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, placing the envelope on the seat beside you and make your way home. You almost crash a dozen times as you drive, your eyes drawn back again and again to that small, folded piece of paper, its contents unknown.
You park haphazardly outside your front door, grabbing your purse and that damned envelope, dropping your keys on your doorstep in your haste to get inside and away from what feels like a burning pair of eyes, watching your every move.
You slam the door shut behind you, locking and checking the lock, once, twice, before you check it a third time you pull yourself away, through into the living room, dumping your purse in your bedroom doorway, still clutching the envelope.
You fling it down on the coffee table where it seems to stare back at you no matter how hard you try to ignore it.
You pick up the remote control, flicking through the channels before turning it off again and tossing the remote to the other end of the couch with a curse.
With trembling fingers you reach for it, your fingers finding purchase and tearing it open. You pause; fingers pinched around one corner of the single folded sheet of paper inside. What if it really is nothing? Some pamphlet placed there begging you to save your eternal soul? An offer for a free meal for two if you save X amount of coupons ... The endless possibilities race through your mind as you pull the paper out, each one becoming more and more mundane. You open the sheet of paper, your fingers freezing from smoothing out the crease as you see your name, in precise handwriting, at the top.
You lick your lips, your mouth dry as you read on.
There’s not much to read. Your name. An address. A time. A list of items of clothing. The final paragraph at the bottom of the page makes your heart start to race.
“It is your choice whether you choose to follow these instructions. If you do, be there at exactly this time, wearing the list of clothes you have been given and do as you are instructed by whoever approaches you without asking any questions.
Do this, or do not show up at all.”
You stand, walking through into the kitchen, feeling as if you are floating on air, your feet don’t feel attached to the earth, and draw a glass of water, drinking it in one go without taking the glass from your lips, until there isn’t a drop left.
You realise the sheet of paper is still in your hand, for some unknown reason you are unable to let go of it. You find yourself reading it over and over again until you can recite it, in a whisper, back to yourself, yet you still hold on to it.
“Do this, or do not show up at all.” Plays through your mind like a song stuck on repeat.
What do you do?
Do you follow the instructions from whoever it is?
Or do you stay at home and spend the rest of your life wondering; What if?
The choice is yours. It’s always yours. It’s always been yours.
You find yourself in your bedroom, the closet door open and the first of the items of clothing you have been told to wear in your hand.
You hang the camisole back up again, and sit down on the edge of your bed, placing that piece if paper that has captured your attention so completely down beside you, setting it down as if it is a priceless work of art to be cherished. Thoughts race through your mind, what are you doing? Are you really considering doing this? But then again, can you not consider doing this? Will you be able to live with knowing that something could have happened this night, can you deal with never knowing?
The decision made before you’re even aware of it, you rise to your feet, stripping off your work clothes and walking through into the bathroom. Time for a shower first. You start off leisurely, taking your time to wash your hair and condition it, but by the time you are washing the last suds off your body, you are rushing, wrapping a towel around yourself and marching back through into the bedroom. Forcing yourself to slow right down, drying yourself thoroughly, from head to toe. Carefully drying your hair so it doesn’t frizz. When you are done, you apply a lightly scented perfume and walk back to your closet again, taking out the skirt and camisole, forcing your mind away from how whoever it is that wrote you that note knew exactly what to tell you to wear, knew what you had clean. You step into your panties without thinking, then stop and turn back to the letter. No panties are mentioned on the list. You step out of them, frowning slightly when you see the damp patch you have left in them. Could it be? You stop and let yourself feel your body wrapped around you. Yes. You are. Your fingers slide down across your stomach, but you hesitate. What if touching yourself will lead to some form of punishment. The hesitation is enough to make you continue to dress instead.
You take the right bra out of the drawer, your favourite one, and pull it on, the fabric cold against your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. Your fingers slide briefly across them, making yourself moan as they tighten even harder at your touch. You sigh and reach for the white silk camisole named on the list. The touch of it makes you shiver all over again, and you stop for a moment before slowly buttoning it up. You sit down on the edge of the bed to pull on your stockings, attaching the clips to your garter belt, smoothing them out with the palms of your hands and stand again, taking the dress from its hanger and pulling it up over your hips, then sliding the zip closed. You step back to the closet and reach down for the heels on the list. You place them beside the dressing table to apply a light brush of foundation, some mascara and a pale lipstick. As per the list. You stand and slip your feet into the heels that make you feel so sexy and powerful, loving how they stretch your calf muscles just enough, adding those extra inches that make you stand up straight and tall, shoulders back, just enough to make you walk in that sinuous way that always draws attention to your breasts and arse.
You quickly check the time on the clock on your bedside table. You have enough time, you’ll be okay, you can get there with time to spare. Carrying your lipstick in one hand and the letter in your other, you walk over to your purse, taking out everything but your cell, your house and car keys and placing your wallet back inside, and as an afterthought retrieving the letter and placing it, neatly folded, beside the rest of the objects inside your purse. You check your hair one last time before unlocking the front door and stepping out and locking the door again behind you.
You take a long, deep breath, trying to resist the urge to look around and see if there’s anyone watching you even now. The urge to look wins out, and you turn your head, looking up and down your street, but seeing nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that hasn’t always been there. With a sigh you begin the walk down the path to your car, checking the windscreen by reflex, but there is no other envelope there. You climb in behind the wheel and start the engine. With both hands gripping the wheel you pull away from the curb and drive away.
To try and distract yourself you turn on the radio, changing stations when you have to stop for a red light, finally finding something with a good beat and vaguely familiar lyrics that you can hum along to. Eventually a song you know comes on and you sing along at the top of your lungs, the simple act steadying you, helping you find your centre.
Before you know it you are pulling up at the address you were given, flipping down the passenger side sun visor so you can lean over and check your lipstick, you quickly reapply it before stepping out of your car and closing the door, locking it with the button on the key. You let your gaze move around and over the people standing outside the bar, which one of these people left the letter? Your curiosity is starting to burn now, eating away at you; Who are you? Why did you pick me? What is going to happen tonight?
A soft voice murmurs in your ear, “Good, you arrived on time, Hy will be pleased.”
You spin on your heel to face the owner of the voice, she’s about your height, flawless skin, a smirk on her perfectly formed lips, dark auburn hair, eyes that seemed to shimmer from dark gray to a deep-sea blue, sun-kissed tawny skin, a flash of white teeth as she smiles at you and you flush, embarrassed, when you realise how long you’ve been standing staring at her, with your mouth hanging open.
“Yes,” you stammer, “I came.”
She smirks at you again, “Oh, yes, you will do that ...” she slides her hand into yours, her fingers entwine with yours, sending a flush of heat rushing through you, making you even more conscious of how wet you are, as she leads you toward the bar entrance you hear her murmur, “Possibly even more than once.”
You smile nervously as you are led deeper into the bar; your new-found friend looks over to the bartender and raises two fingers to her, then leads you to an alcove and pushes you along the seat, before sitting herself down right beside you. You rest your hands on the table in front of you, she places on hand on top of yours, “Nervous?”
You nod in reply, before croaking out “A little.”
“Don’t be honey, you’ve got nothing to fear,” Her voice is warm and feminine and soothing to your ears, “Hy won’t hurt you, you’ve really got nothing to be worried about. Hy won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, just do yourself a favour?”
“What would that be?”
“Don’t argue with Hym, Hy knows best, trust me on that.”
“As you’re the only person I know here, even though we’ve just met, I kinda have to trust you, don’t I?”
She chuckles and waits for the two glasses the waitress brings over to be set down before you both before continuing, “Yeah, I suppose you really do, don’t you?” she takes a sip from her drink, “Seriously though, nothing bad will happen to you, and I know you don’t know me, but I can only say, that you came here willingly and will leave her willingly, if not a little bit wobbly legged, if things go as planned.”
Curiosity burns harder and faster inside you, “But ...”
“Yes?”
“Will I ever know who ‘Hy’ is? Why Hy chose me? Why now?” the questions rise from you in a rush like the bubbles in the glass before you.
“Perhaps, should Hy wish you to know, Hy may allow you to learn who Hy is, perhaps not, that is Hys choice. Hy may also indulge you in answering your other questions, but I wouldn’t recommend asking Hym until ... later.”
You take a gulp of your drink, slightly surprised to find it’s only a club soda, but then it occurs to you, that drinking alcohol before what you think could possibly be about to happen, would be a bad idea.
She smiles at you, seeing you’re acceptance of the situation become complete. She lifts her hand from the table and lets it come to rest on your thigh, her little finger grazing your inner thigh. You gasp again at the warmth rushing through you, you want to squirm as the throb between your legs grows more insistent, and you do finally squirm as she glides her fingers, slowly and surely, up your inner thigh, leaving a tingling trail as they move over your stockings, finding the tops and moving higher and higher until she stops them, as her fingertips find your lips, soaking wet with your desire and need, and then she presses her index finger deeper, grazing it across your clit, making you moan and try to press your hips further forward so that her finger will move harder against you. Her smile broadens as she watches your reactions to her fingers. She moves her finger around in a circle, barely touching your clit as you flush with intense desire, wanting more, aching for more, yet a part of you wonders how this woman, this femme, can be driving you so far, so fast, making you want to feel her fingers moving inside you. What would it be like? What would her tongue feel like as it slowly circled your clit, as she sucked it into her mouth, with her fingers plunged, deep inside you, fucking you ... before you can find out, her finger stops and withdraws, leaving your clit hard, wet and throbbing so strongly that you feel as though you will cum harder than you’ve ever cum before if you try to move.
She raises her hand from between your thighs and smiles as you moan and scowl, her finger, still glistening from playing with your clit moves to her lips and you watch as she slowly licks the very tip of her finger, a soft moan leaving her throat, “Mmmm, you do taste good,” she moves her finger to your lips and before you can stop to think about it, you draw her finger into your mouth and taste yourself, she leans forward to whisper in your ear, “Now, lick it clean.”
You obey instantly, sucking on her finger, removing all trace of yourself before she slowly pulls her hand away and you murmur, “Yes ... Mistress.”
“Good girl,” before she can say another word you see her look over and then nod, “Now, come with me.”
You rise to your feet, and walk along behind her obediently, you can’t stop your eyes from following the way her legs and hips move, so sinuously, she’s so confident in her own skin, you feel positively gauche in her presence. She leads you up a set of iron stairs, both yours and her heels ringing like staccato drums or gunfire, echoing up and down the stairwell, the steps open so you can see down to lower levels, the sight makes you shiver slightly, just how big is this place really?? She stops at a heavy wooden door, you can tell it’s one of those security doors, that only a person owning a key can open from the outside, or a person peering through the eyehole can open from the inside, once they’ve perused whoever is knocking.