Jenny, Pt. 1 – Jenny’s Bad Day

The phone rang. Jenny didn’t bother to check her Caller I.D.—she knew who it was. She stood very still, waiting for her instructions.

Her answering machine beeped as it began to record.

Hello, Jenny—I’m on my way over. As soon as I finish speaking you’re going to do three things. First, you’re going to unlock and unlatch your door—I don’t even want to have to turn the doorknob, understand? Next, you’re going to get out all of our toys and arrange them in a semi-circle just inside the doorway so that the door doesn’t touch them when it opens. And when that’s done, the last thing you’re going to kneel inside the semi-circle, facing the door. You will be wearing only bra and panties—something nice. You will be resting on your heels. Your legs will be fully spread. Your hands will be locked behind your head and your mouth will be open to receive me.

I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that the last two times we were together you were careless about following my instructions to the letter–and I’m sure you remember how I had to discipline you because of that. The second time was much more severe than the first, wasn’t it, Jenny? So this time everything’s going to be perfect…isn’t it?

I’ll see you…soon.

There wasn’t a lot of space in Jenny’s small apartment. Nevertheless she began to run. He’d probably been calling from home, which meant she had at least fifteen or twenty minutes to prepare, but He might have been calling from downstairs for all she knew, and God help her if everything wasn’t exactly as He wanted when He arrived.

So she ran.

First she dashed to the door to set it as He had instructed.

It was a Wednesday afternoon. Jenny often had to work a split shift at her job—she dutifully kept Him informed of her schedule—and He telecommuted from home and could come and go pretty much as he pleased. Which meant that He would call her out of the blue, night or day, any time he knew she wasn’t at work (and sometimes even when she was) on her home phone or on her cell, and expect her to drop whatever she was doing (she’d once had to abandon her shopping cart in the middle of the supermarket) and prepare herself to humbly fulfill His slightest sexual whim.

It drove her absolutely crazy. And never failed to make her weak-kneed and wet with anticipation.

He often called with specific instructions for her before coming over—sometimes a role He wanted her to play but generally just what she was to wear–if anything. And on occasion, as today, He would tell her how she was to be posed when He arrived. She’d long since given Him a key to her apartment so the instruction about leaving the door open was no doubt meant to further test her preparedness and obedience.

But there were also on-going rules, preferences she was expected to anticipate without being told. Today, for example, He hadn’t designated a role for her and had specified just bra and panties. But it wasn’t just a matter of knowing what kind of lingerie to He’d prefer this time (something extra-frilly and feminine, she thought as she rushed into the bedroom to change and gather all the things He’d ordered —hmm…the lavender lace with satin ruffles, she decided). She also had to think about her make-up—sometimes He liked her entirely without it, fresh and innocent-looking, and sometimes, for certain roles—the executive or the schoolteacher, for instance, He wanted her looking professional. As she hurriedly shed the sweat-clothes and underwear in which she’d been cleaning the apartment and kicked them into the closet she decided that today, in keeping with the girly lingerie, He’d want the whole works: long lashes, full eye-make-up, blush, lipstick and all.

She also had to think about how to wear her long, blonde hair, but that was simple: always down around her shoulders unless specified otherwise. It was pulled back into a high ponytail at the moment and she started to reach up to remove the elastic, but paused, her attention drawn by the role-playing costumes she kept in a special section of the closet.

Oh, she so wanted to put on one of her “li’l girl” outfits, as she called them. Maybe the checked gingham skirt with the bib front, with a white blouse and the shiny black Maryjanes with white knee-socks and, oh, the frilly little white panties…mmmm. But He would only let her do that when she had been extra good. Then He’d play Brad-the-babysitter with her, or Mr. Brown, the teacher who kept her after school for touching herself in class, or…

Oh god, what was she doing? If she wasn’t ready when He arrived she might as well burn her “li’l girl” clothes! She quickly sat down at her make-up table and went to work, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

When she had done the best she could with her make-up, she glanced up at her bedside clock (Jesus, she’d taken too long!) and dashed into the bathroom, where she frantically cleaned herself as well as she could with a wet washcloth and re-applied her deodorant –God help her if He thought she wasn’t clean for Him. Then she quickly searched her lingerie drawer for the lavender bra and panties and wriggled into them before yanking out the entire lower drawer of her dresser, which was so crammed with sex-toys that she had push some of them down before the drawer would come free.

Hurrying, but trying not to break into a sweat now that she was clean, she carried the entire drawer into the living room and dumped it onto the rug in front of the door. Then she returned the drawer to the dresser, ran back, fell to her knees and frantically began arranging everything in a semi-circle around her as He’d ordered, trying to create an aesthetically pleasing pattern while praying that He didn’t arrive before she was done.

There!

Oh god, was that the downstairs door opening? Quickly! Knees apart, hands behind the head, mouth open! She tried to calm her breathing, to look serene and welcoming for Him. She smiled inwardly—everything was perfect, and He would be pleased with her.

She strained her ears, listening for His footsteps on the stairs. Her apartment building was a once-elegant three-story house that had been converted. The elderly landlady/owner lived on the main floor and had divided each of the upper floors into three smallish but comfortable apartments. A dusty glass chandelier still hung above the echoing stairwell at the center of the building. The steps and halls were carpeted but wooden and creaky underneath. She should be able to hear Him climbing the stairs, especially since her door was unlatched.

She held her breath, listening…

Nothing. Only the usual TV soap opera blaring from the floor below–her landlady being more than a little deaf.

Jenny let out her breath in a sigh. False alarm. She started to relax, bring her arms down… And caught herself. The fact that He wasn’t here now only increased the probability that he would be, any second now. Everything had to be perfect this time, she reminded herself. If she displeased Him again… Back straight, hands locked behind the head, mouth open!

She waited.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Her jaw began to ache slightly. She flexed it a few times, but it didn’t help. She started to let it relax, to close…then forced herself to open it again and held it that way resolutely.

Time passed, but just barely.