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“Our shopping trip,” he said.
“What shopping trip?”
“The one you obviously need.” He invited himself inside, with no further explanation. Brushing past me he even gave me an unexpected peck on the cheek.
“My, you’re cheery,” I said. I was still dressed in my robe, a coffee mug in my hand. I was trembling too, seeing Reggie in ‘my space.’ He’d never been inside my humble surroundings, ones that I had just so recently shared with Will. To my dismay, Will had removed every trace of himself that he could find, quite a task considering that this had once been his apartment, and I’d moved in with him.
“You dressed underneath that?” he asked, nodding at my robe. He was sitting back casually on my couch, acting as if he owned the place. I was sure he was going to make me open my robe which would reveal my naked body.
“No,” I said.
“Wear something short today, you need to be accessible.”
“Yes, of course,” I agreed as if it were unnecessary for him to say so. The fact that he was sitting in my living room still seemed absurd to me. I could have protested, made up some imaginary event that would prevent my attendance at his command performance, but the truth was, I had the day totally free. There was nothing to command my time other than laundry, a little house cleaning, and a novel I’d been wanting to finish.
“Retreating to the bedroom, I quickly found a red shift dress with long sleeves, a round neckline and a very short skirt. It fit tightly around my hips, and should certainly please him. Assuming this was another chapter in my ongoing punishment, I wore nothing else but a bra. He asked for accessible, this was scandalous. Quickly brushing my hair back into a voluminous ponytail, I touched up my face with some light make-up, then found my black pumps, sure Reggie would insist on high heels.
Hoping for some indication of his approval, I was disappointed to find him coolly detached observing my attire, and totally non-committal. I assumed it was pleasing though because he didn’t ask me to change.
In the car, this time his yellow Porsche, we sat side by side, Reggie practically able to view my pussy, the way the skirt rode up high on my thighs. I took a deep breath and tried to relax, though under the conditions, relaxing with Reggie was a near impossibility.
“I think you’ll really appreciate this excursion,” he declared, as we roared erratically through the city streets. “You do like antiques, don’t you? I noticed several lovely ones in your apartment.”
“I do, but why antiques today?” I asked.
As I spoke, he pulled up at an antique store in the midst of a quaint city neighborhood, where the only other businesses were a corner grocery, a dry cleaners, and a small cafe.
Reggie had not answered the question, but instead hopped from the car and graciously opened my door for me. I’m sure he got quite a look up my skirt as I struggled to rise; though he said nothing.
Escorting me into the shop, I was as instantly transported to another time with musty smells and the pungent fragrance of old things greeting me. There was a bell on the door to announce our presence to an elderly proprietor, a jaunty man with a twinkle in his gray eyes. I imagine he was once a very dapper gentleman, still very well dressed. I would have expected someone more ‘frumpy’ than this shopkeeper.
“Ah! Mr. Harold, I’m glad you could make it.”
“Did you find the things I asked for?” Reggie asked.
The old man’s eyes lit brightly again. “Ah yes. I try always to have a few tools of the trade in the shop. You’d be surprised how many people ask for such things these days.” The man turned and slowly made his way between two ancient wardrobes, past several other pieces of antique furniture, all laden with fine glassware and china. I could have stopped and inspected the fascinating wares a dozen times along the way, but it was obvious that we were here for a specific purpose, casual browsing not an option.
It seemed the shop went on forever as we followed the old man on his winding path through the maze of treasures he had displayed there. At last, reaching a plain three drawer chest, he stopped. Turning, he looked first at Reggie, then at me, then at Reggie again. “For the lady’s discipline?” he asked, looking me in the eye.
“Yes,” Reggie replied.
I was still bewildered by the journey, though I wasn’t particularly surprised when the old man opened the top drawer and pulled out a smooth lean punishment paddle.
“This was an old reform school implement,” he said, handing the dreadful thing to Reggie. Eighteen inches long and three inches wide, made of hard wood. Reggie ran his hand along the smooth surface, a dozen coats of shellac and regular use had made the surface like glass, almost soft looking. Though I imagined I’d find it hard and unforgiving. I thought of a one room school house, this hanging on the wall for wayward students to contemplate. A reform school? That had even more ominous connotations. Of course, if anyone is supposed to be ‘reformed,’ it was me. Perhaps that was the point.
“Have you had one of these laid on your bottom?” Reggie turned to ask me.
“No,” I whispered my reply.
“Then, we’ll test it.”
Test, I wondered silently.
“What else do you have?” Reggie asked.
“There are standard hairbrushes,” the man offered.
“No,” Reggie said firmly. “This one isn’t so conventional that a hairbrush would do on her behind.”
