The Gentleman's Confession Ch. 01

"For how long, my Lady...?"

She completely ignored my question, which gave me a strange delight. The delight of a prisoner who has had all of life's troubles and questions taken away from him, and has the whole pattern of existence set out before him in a manner so simple and easy to understand.

"After all, I do not feel that you have yet sufficiently apologised for your conduct this evening, disturbing me and dragging me to the door in this abominably cold weather. It is decidedly chilly, is it not? And don't you think you ought to apologise to a Lady such as myself, boy?"

Now this was the one point at which I was ready to protest, partly because I was so shocked at the sudden turn of her speech. There was no question that she was a Lady, even at her tender age, as... Well, you need only look at her. She was a perfect example of the blossoming of Womanhood. The prime example, I might go so far as to say. Of that there was neither doubt nor question.

But to address me, a fully-grown man, as a boy! A man who could put five and twenty years of age and experience between his years and hers; a man who had been in the prime of his life when she had not yet even been born. A man with grey hairs invading his head, a respectable man of profession and standing, to be called a boy!

"I must protest!" I said, my pride hurt, my face flushed.

Her own face was a mask of icy, innocent calm.

"No, you must not," she told me, instantly terrifying me that she was about to slam the door upon my face, and that I might never see her beauty again. "You will either apologise to me at once for that remark, or you will turn about and leave here this instant and never come back again. Now, which is it to be... boy?"

Her smile returned as she addressed me by the term again, but this time my resistance had crumpled. Her beauty was too beguiling; its effect upon me had been quite hypnotic. And besides all of that there was the degradation, the shame of being addressed so, by one so young, and a girl at that...

I nodded my head, a dumb servant now.

"I am very sorry, my Lady," I said, not knowing quite why. I spoke like a thing possessed. I suppose I was possessed. By her. "I meant no offence. Please, my Lady. Forgive me."

I had the best part of a foot upon her in height, but I felt so much smaller. I was standing, but I felt as if I were kneeling, looking up at her. Perhaps because I so wanted to kneel at her feet.

Oh I know, I know, I know! But if you had seen her, reader! If you could see her still! Oh!

That ghost of a smile... Those eyes... The exquisite figure clothes in deepest, darkest purple.

I was lost to her.

"I might consider forgiving you, boy," she said, with this strange power over me. "But it will take some persuasion."

"How..." I coughed, started again. "How... might I be able to convince you of my sincerity, my Lady?"

You do not think I had any thoughts for my poor wife at home? Of course I did! I loved her dearly. Still love her dearly. I was disgusted with myself for what I was doing, but my libido and my desire to serve this remarkable young woman had taken over completely, overruling any trace of common sense that might have remained.

She did not immediately answer my question. Instead, extending a hand with a single upturned finger to indicate that I was not immediately to follow, she stepped back some paces from the doorway. Then she did the most extraordinary -- and, you can readily suppose, the most exciting -- thing I had seen all evening, and indeed for quite some time.

She slowly, very, teasingly slowly, began to draw up the heavy purple skirt of her dress. She had it held very firmly in her hands so that the petticoat beneath, of the most extraordinarily fine white lace, was drawn up with it. All this time she looked squarely at me, challenging me perhaps to look down at what was revealed.

I am a weak and feeble man -- a boy. As you will have guessed, I looked.

Her left leg was extended forward, visible now stretching out from where she had finished drawing her dress up to the knee. The boot that she wore was extraordinary -- like some cavalryman's riding boot out of an adventure story of the Napoleonic age. It had a pointed tip, a shining silver buckle and was made of the smoothest, thickest, most expensive leather. To see it sheathing the shapely leg of such a wondrous creature as her...

Oh I ached for her again, reader. How I did ache!

"Does the little boy like what he sees?" she asked me, mockingly, for she knew very well that I did. I could only nod dumbly. She smiled.

"Kneel."

The word was very simple, very easy to understand. Yet I gaped at her for a moment not comprehending, before her look turned to steel once more and she frowned.

"Kneel!" she repeated.

I fell to my knees, thumbing them on the carpet just inside of her doorway. She smiled once more, a viciously cutting smile that made me want to weep with the joy of it.

"Now, come here boy," she said lightly, but still with such a commanding tone to her voice. "Crawl to me."

This time, I did not need telling twice.

Can you imagine such a scene? A fully-grown man, a banker, crawling upon his hands and knees across a carpet, with the doorway open behind for anybody to see. Prostrating himself before a slip of a girl as she shows him her boot, commands him to come to it, to debase himself in this way. But I did it. Oh God, with my head bowed in shame I did it.

And my... Reader, I must be frank with you, for I have told you this much, I may as well tell you all. My... member was fully-hardened! I could feel its wet, sodden tip leaking into my underclothes! Oh my heart was bounding and all my limbs trembling, for I was her slave and I crawled to her!

The shame!

It felt an age before I reached her. I was only an inch or two from her boot, I could smell the rich scent of the leather. I looked up at her, for a moment catching the briefest glimpse of the milky-white skin of her thigh as she adjusted the skirt she held. And was that, above...?

"I do hope you weren't being a filthy little boy and trying to look up my skirt, were you pet?"

I immediately shook my head, my cheeks reddened with my shame. I had never, ever tried such a thing before! Never... Not since... Not... When I was a boy...

Oh God, I still was a boy. I saw it then. All the vile fantasies and foul practices of my youth had never left me. It had taken the sight of such a Woman as Her to release them.

"Good, because I would be very disappointed in you boy if you showed yourself to be such a filthy little thing so soon. Now... time for your penance, I think. Kiss it."

I was confused.

"My Lady?"

She shook her booted foot slightly, to indicate what was meant.

"My foot, boy. Kiss it. Now."

I looked back down. It was so close. The smell of the leather and the shiner that had been used upon it were almost overpowering. Slowly, my eyes closed, I puckered my lips and bent forward to offer my worship like a Roman at the sacrament, but suddenly I found only thin air and then carpet, and heard the sound of the foot dragging back across it.

She giggled then, as I glanced up in despair, feeling foolish and humiliated. The giggle was a reminder of her youth, how she had only a brief year or two before been a little girl, and it shamed me all the more. To be reduced to this... By a child...

"Try harder, boy," she encouraged, smiling that beguiling, teasing smile of hers.

I shuffled forward a little on my hands and knees and bent down once more, but once again the foot was dragged back at the last moment, and once more she giggled.

"Please, my Lady!" I begged, my temper flaring for a moment. But I did not once consider getting up and walking out. Not with the pain in my knees and the ache in my back, because the ache within my soul and within my... masculine part, was all the stronger.

"No, no help boy. You must try again!"

And so we repeated this charade on three more occasions, until she had backed down to the end of the hallway and I had followed her all the way along, like some little puppy dog.

"Please?" I begged again. I felt the pinpricks of tears in my eyes. Why was she shaming me so? Had I not done everything that she had asked of me? Had I not tried my hardest to be a good little boy for her? I silently cursed her control and cursed her youth and cursed her feminine wiles.

"Very well boy," she said, with some magnanimity. "You may have the pleasure of kissing my foot. Go on."

For what felt like the thousandth time, I bent forward, under her watchful gaze. Finally, blessedly, my lips found the leather of her boot and I kissed the end softly. It tasted quite foul, as you can imagine, but the feeling of her toes moving just beneath the surface of the material made it so very thrilling, and more than worthwhile. I kept my lips there for some moments, before finally looking back up at her.

"My Lady?" I breathed, eager to be told I had done well.

Her face was as solid as stone, not a ghost of a smile nor a trace of pity to be found upon it.

"Stand up, you pathetic little creature," she said icily. As I hurried to obey, she allowed her dress to fall back, and crossed her arms, in a position that I could not help but notice was just below the line of her bosom, somewhat accentuating the curve there.

I was never usually one to look at women so. I felt I had been reduced to it. By her. By this... Goddess. A Goddess at all of nineteen years!

"I am pleased that you finally managed obey such a simple little task," she said. "But really, you ought to have done so much better. I would have thought a man of your age would have learned a thing or two down the years. I can see that I am liable to be disappointed by boys if they are all as dim as you by the time they have reached your age. There is nothing else for it -- as I do not have any further time to waste upon you this evening, you shall have to call upon me again tomorrow. Eight of clock, I think. See that you are not late."

"My-my Lady?"

I had intended to tell her that this was quite impossible, that there was no way I could ever come here again, but for some reason I could speak only those first two words. All else was lost.

"Plain enough instructions, are they not?" she challenged me. "And rest assured, boy, if you do not come tomorrow, do not even think of darkening my door again -- once you have changed your mind, it will be far too late."

I stood there, simply gaping I think.

"Well -- what do you stand there and gawp at me for? I have told you what I expect of you. Hurry along now. It is very cold in here -- do please close the door as you leave."

I opened my mouth to speak once more, but a look from her was enough to silence me without a single utterance leaving my lips. Instead I bowed clumsily, retrieved my hat from where it had earlier fallen upon the floor, walked backwards until I was safely out on the steps, and then pulled the door shut by the knocker.

I was so overcome by what I had done -- or what I had allowed to be done to me, perhaps -- that I almost stumbled down the steps and back onto the foggy street, only righting my balance just in time. I was reeling like circus ring boxer.

Had I...? Had I really allowed that girl to...?

I staggered along the street, looking for a taxi. All thoughts of the Colonel and our game of cards were gone. I simply wanted to get home to my wife, to my house, to try and get some sleep and to put out of my mind the shame and the guilt of what I had done that evening.

But reader -- oh reader! Can you guess? I am sure that you can. I am sure that you know that already, in the darkest pits of my mind, ideas were forming for what excuses I could possibly use to convince my wife that I would be away from the house the following evening.