Friday Night Part 9 by Anonymous

The disclaimer:  Friday Night is an ongoing writing exercise. A series of episodes that take place between a mistress and her boy on Fridays, before a femdom play party.  Each features a different kink.  Earlier this week, the gauntlet was thrown in the courtyard to write about  hemorrhoids for confessions. The difficulty level was increased by the need to acknowledge the Dominion's Women's Leadership theme.

Friday Night, Part Nine

Dabbing leather polish on the surfaces of the mistress' causal but elegant messenger bag, he admired her choice of a streamlined toy bag.  Many of his fellow subs arrived at the Friday night femdom play parties, wheeling in suitcases.  He felt dashing with the bag slung over his shoulder, the long crop case positioned across his back.  It left him with a free arm to escort his lady.

 "I wish I had a free hand, now." he said under his breath. With a cloth in one hand and the leather paste in the other, he couldn't grab a Kleenex. The polish irritated his sinus.
He felt a tremendous sneeze coming.  Wrinkling up his nose, he tried to stave it off.

He set down the polish and the cloth on the newspaper he'd spread on the table, and scrambled towards the Kleenex box across the room.

"AhAhAh.... ker ker... Choo"   The sneeze exploded.  He felt the snot drip from his nose onto his upper lip. Grasping futilely at the empty slot of the tissue box holder, he cursed himself silently for not remembering to add Kleenex to his shopping list.

Startled, his mistress looked up from her desk.

"What's wrong with you, boy?  Are you catching a cold?"

He turned his face away, but she'd already glimpsed the drips rolling out of his nose.

"Oh my god.  Get a Kleenex, that's just disgusting"

Her eyes turned to the box.

"Empty? There's no tissues?"

He lowered his head and watched the drips fall from his nostrils onto his canvas apron.  The material was too thick to absorb them.  They rolled slowly down his chest.

"Sorry, mistress.  I must have forgotten to replace them."

She nodded.

"Well, we'll deal with that later.  Look in my purse, I think I have a packet of tissues in it."

She poked her own nose back into her papers at the desk, as he jerked his head up to stare at her in astonishment.

"Are you sure, Mistress."

He was not allowed to even touch her purse, let alone go inside it.

She waved a hand at him impatiently.

"Just get it.  I am running too slowly.  We can't be late tonight. I have to do the class at  8.  Did you forget that it's my turn tonight to do the new dommes intro class, before the party starts?  You seem to be forgetting a lot these days."

Her desk, usually a sleek shiny space, was massed with books, papers, old journals.  He'd had to replace the printer ink earlier in the day; she'd printed reams of notes.

"No of course not, Mistress.  Is it going well?"

She waved at him again.  Dismissively.

"When I finish tweaking the first bit, I'll let you listen to it.  You can tell me what you think."

Whenever she had to do a public presentation, she spent hours in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, practicing her delivery.  She's already forgone her practice time in writing and re-writing, so he knew she must be more nervous than usual.

He could feel another sneeze coming.  The remains of the first were congealing on his lip and beginning to stain the apron.  But he stood still, transfixed in front of the mysterious
compact doctor's bag that his mistress loved to use.

Whenever that style of purse came into fashion, she bought two or three.

"I refuse to carry a purse suitcase", she'd explained, early in their time together.
"I want everything neat and tidy."

It was the same strategy she employed with the toy bag.  Streamlined, Zen simplicity.  Quality over quantity.

He opened the purse.  He couldn't see the tissue packet.  Did the mistress have one?

He rummaged about, trying not to disturb the contents.  In spite of her insistence on tidiness, he could not figure out her organizational system.  Everything seemed jumbled together. There were compartments, several of them.  He guessed the tissues must be in one of them.  He unzipped open a side pocket, reached in, pulling out keys and a plastic tube.

Preparation H.  He read the label. Hemorrhoid cream.  He read it again. He stood transfixed.  Unable to remember why he was inside his mistress' purse.  He shook as head as though to clear his mind.

"Tissues. I am looking for her packet of tissues," he said to himself.

He shook his head yet again.

"Why does she have Preparation H?"

He tried to remember if she'd mentioned anything about discomfort in the nether region.  He tried to recall if he'd seen or felt anything different the last time she'd allowed him a lengthy, lovely visit there.

"Oh god no.  What if it's for me?" he wondered.
"What would mistress do to me that would require Preparation H?"  

The minutes passed.  He gripped the tube, the tissues forgotten, his nose twitching, his  mind reeling with images of himself writhing in pain, tied tightly to a table, his asshole exposed. His mistress standing over him clutching the Preparation H.  What was she planning?

"What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?"

He snapped to attention. He pushed to tube back inside the purse.

"Nothing, nothing. My lady.  So sorry. I couldn't find the pack of tissues.  Please excuse me for a few minutes."

He rushed into the bathroom. Cleaned up his face, dabbed at the mess on his apron, blew his nose with toilet paper and returned to the study, where his mistress was stapling
a sheaf of papers together.

She smiled brightly at him.
"All done" she said.
"At last."
"Now listen up and tell me what you think."

He gazed at his mistress.  Standing tall and straight behind her desk.  Her russet hair curling around her shoulders.

"Shall I kneel?" he asked.

"Of course not, you twit.  You're supposed to be a domme.  Pretend you're a new domme and sit down on the chair.  Listen and tell me if this is ok."

 He tried to banish the Prep H images from his head.  He lowered his butt to the seat.

"Oh my god, my asshole is itching?"

He could feel it itching.  How could he scratch it?  He couldn't.

He tried to listen carefully.

She began to speak. With a tone authority, with a lilt of compassion.

"Our theme this week is women's leadership.
We're exploring our memories. We want to know.
Who has inspired you?
What women were your heroes as you were growing up?
Was there one special woman who helped you become the person you are today?"

He decided it must be hemorrhoids. Hers. She must be suffering. Was she?  He tried to remember if she'd been sitting gingerly, did she show any sign of irritation as she sat on that hard chair all afternoon, working on this presentation?

"What do you think?  Did you like the woman I chose for myself. Is she the right role model for this group."

He was aghast.

"Oh shit shit shit." he moaned.   She'd done the entire introduction to the class discussion and all he could remember were the first few lines."

"Shit?" it's really that bad?"  she asked.

He knelt in front of the desk.

"Mistress, please forgive me.  I have been a bad boy.  I forgot to get the Kleenex, I went inside your purse. I found Preparation H.  I can't clear my head.  I missed most of your introduction to the discussion."

He leaned forward as far as he could and touched his forehead to the floor.

She didn't say a word.  He couldn't see her, but she'd thrust her shoulder back even farther than they had been, her posture now ramrod straight.

Finally she said, "What exactly is the problem here?"

He whispered, "Preparation H, Mistress. Why?  Why do have a tube in your purse."

Another long silence.

Finally she gave the command for him to raise his forehead from the ground. He settled back onto his heels in the position she desired.

"Look at me" she said.

He raised his eyes to her face.

"Laughing? How can she be laughing?" he asked himself as he saw the tears in her eyes and the wide grin. The deep shadows of her dimples creasing her cheeks.

"You silly silly boy."  It's for wrinkles  The Preparation H is supposed to plump up your face.  I was going to try some for tonight, because the lights in the room we use for classes are so bright. They're too harsh.  My face is going to look like a road map."

"What did you think it was for? Hemorrhoids?"

"Er, yes, well no.  I don't know Mistress. I thought maybe you were going to surprise me with it.  Maybe something very sadist for the play party tonight."

This time she laughed out loud.

"Oh you wish, don't you?  A Preparation H treat for you!"

She walked over to her kneeling boy. Smacked him on the head with her sheaf of papers and laughed again, as she went off to the dressing room to get ready for the party.