But Karen34 managed to run that wonted and wanted tingle through my spine. We spent about two hours online, she patiently explaining to her aspiring acolyte what was expected of her, I listening, trying to comply. She never attempted to explain why I should show subservience: no true dominant ever would, it should be obvious from the tenor of the exchange. Once a master or mistress feels the need to justify, they have lost control and the dominated will have taken over the torture chamber. Not a consummation devoutly to be wished...

As our exploration of her superiority drew to a climax, one in which, through serving her to satisfaction I gained, and was permitted, a shattering release myself, I hesitantly enquired whether I might be permitted to speak to her again. My heart thrilled when she said she was pleased with my progress on this first occasion, and that she may be willing to grant me a further audience. Delight!

But, she enjoindered, to do so I would have to perform an act of obedience to demonstrate my willingness to serve her. Yes, I agreed, anything. The thought of not being allowed to serve this wonderful person was almost physically painful: to find, and then lose, such a mistress would be too much to take. Anything, I said.

My task, she relayed, was to dress in my shortest, sluttiest skirt, with no panties or tights. I was to go to a shoe shop, select an assistant I liked and ask to try on some shoes. As the assistant kneeled down I was to open my legs and flash at her. Many, I was warned, would simply look away or take offence, but eventually someone would show an interest. When that happened, I was to invite her for a cup of tea when she finished work. I had to report on my mission and, if she liked it, Karen34 would condescent to take me on as a trainee.

I took a few days to build up the courage to do this. On one occasion I dressed as required, and even made it in to a branch of Freeman, Hardy and Wills but, as a particularly attractive assistant approached to enquire whether I needed assistance, lost my nerve and quickly, shamefacedly, beat a retreat.

I wasn't going to be beaten though. I had to do this, to prove myself worthy of my mistress. I had to overcome my inhibitions, I told myself, I had to go through with this. Saturday afternoon, I decided, would be the time.

My heart was fluttering as I swung open the door of Clark's on Saturday afternoon. This was my third and last try, I told myself. The first attempt, back in FHW, had seen a humiliating rebuff. The same assistant who had spoken to me earlier in the week attended me and this time my nerve held. I asked to try on a particularly nice pair of loafers and as she came back with a pair of size fours I braced myself. She kneeled before me and gripped my ankle. As she made to ease the shoe on to my foot I splayed my leg slightly; if she looked up she would have a perfect view.

"How's that?" she asked, looking up at me. As she did so her eyes caught my legs and were drawn upwards. A look which could only be described as contemptuous spread across her face and she stared at me with ill-disguised loathing. My face exploded into a ball of reddened shame as I muttered that they weren't, after all, quite what I was looking for. I gathered my belongings and my composure and fled from the store, the assistant's glare stabbing at my retreating back.

My second attempt, some two hours and a vodka later, was less spectacularly unsuccessful, but a failure for all that. I knew as I sat in the seat I was going to get nowhere: the assistant was much younger than I had first realised, possibly just out of school, and would be most unlikely to take the bait. She didn't, and her face probably out-rouged mine of earlier in the embarrassment stakes as she caught a glimpse of my trimmed pussy. After that she could barely raise her gaze from the carpet, and I left empty-handed.

So it was that I came to my third and final try. There were two assistants, and I had to make sure I got the right one. She was about my age, with shoulder length blond hair. She had a beautiful, aquiline nose, which regular readers will know I can't resist, and amazing green eyes: they were pale and gave an impression of incredible depth, as though her eyes were entrances to her mind. She had quite a formidable smile, friendly but efficient; this was not a woman to take any nonsense, I thought, my hands trembling at the thought of what might happen. I lurked in the shop until she was free and the other assistant, a troglodyte with blue-rinsed hair, was ensconced with another customer; I was sure it looked obvious that I was hanging about intentionally, but by now I was past caring.

My target approached and politely enquired what she could do for me. If only I could tell you, I thought, if only I could. I quickly identified a pair of dress shoes, black with long, delicate heels, which were gorgeous and which, I realised, I quite fancied buying. That's a bonus, I laughed inwardly. She directed me to one of the low chairs and went to the storeroom to fetch the appropriate size. I settled into my chair and waited nervously.

She returned and settled on her heels in front of me. Her hands were soft and gentle, with long, delicate fingers. Her left hand gripped my ankle as she eased my shoe off and with her free hand she fumbled behind her for the new one. Now, I thought.

As her head turned round towards me again I slid my left knee away slightly, opening up a gap between my legs. My short skirt was not sufficient to conceal anything, and the assistant's gaze, as she looked up at me, could not miss it. My heart stopped with a jolt as I saw a wave of surprise cross her face. She quickly composed herself, however, and continued to talk to me in that friendly, competent fashion. Was that too tight? Could I move my toes? Pinching at the heel? I was beginning to get discouraged, thinking that she, too, was not interested; but then I caught her look stealing upwards again, only for an instant. And again, and again, I was sure of it. She was looking.

The shoes fitted perfectly, but I suggested they were too tight and asked for the next size. As she went to fetch them I prepared, rearranging myself in the seat so I was more slumped, my bum closer to the edge. She returned and began to slip the shoe onto my waiting foot. The feel of her smooth, cool hands on my bare ankle was thrilling. She had a very gentle touch and I was convinced that as she eased the shoe on her fingers stroked deliberately across my skin. My mouth was dry, my hands were shaking. The moment of truth was coming.

The shoe eased in to place and she began to look up at me again to ask what I thought. My legs were parted, and she would have another clear view. Yet again I saw her linger as her eyes caught the view and this time I clearly and deliberately widened my legs further. Now there was no going back. Up till now I could have argued that I was simply an unselfconscious and careless slut; now it was clear that I was intentionally flashing at her. My legs were wide apart, and I watched her face as she stared up my skirt to my thighs and, beyond, to my lightly trimmed pussy. I was excited, and I knew my lips would be puffy and moist. How I hoped she liked the what she saw.

She stared for some moments, then she looked up at me, her voice catching as she tried to formulate another business-like question. I smiled at her, as though to acknowledge what I had done.

And she smiled back.

Yes, I thought. Yes, yes, yes, I've done it. I almost came at that point with the excitement. I looked for ways to spin out the moment. I asked to try on the other shoe, thrilling as her hands caressed my ankle and foot, all the time exhibiting myself for this exquisite creature before me. I came to the realisation that I really wanted the shoes, and I also wanted the assistant; for which I held the greater desire is a moot point, but at that moment I realised that when I left the shop I wanted nothing other than to have one in each hand.

"What time do you finish?" I whispered.

"About an hour, five o'clock," she replied.

"Could I buy you a cup of tea?" I asked, the words falling out breathlessly, expectation lurching in my stomach.

"That would be nice." Yes! Yes! Yes!

And so we came to be sipping tea in a cafe an hour or so later. Neither of us made mention of what had happened, what had brought us together, but it lay there, a backcloth to our tentative conversation, our probings for common interests, points of contact. Her name was Amanda, and she was very friendly. Away from work she lost her peremptory speech patterns and displayed a generous wit and a spirited sense of humour. We sat for an hour or so, the moments sliding easily past, like a stream on a gentle spring day. For all the artificiality of the events that brought us together, we fashioned a natural bond. I quickly realised that I was besotted with Amanda and, I felt, she was similarly intrigued by me.

"Would you like to come back to mine?" I asked. I wasn't nervous, as I normally am in this situation, because I was convinced she would agree. And she did. There was an inevitability about this day, which was destined to end with Amanda in my bed.

Accordingly, we wasted little time with small talk and chatting up when we got home: the pass had already been made and accepted, and it was clear what we both wanted. I slipped the buttons off her blouse and eased it from her, my fingers tracing across her back as I did so. Her arms stretched back to allow me to remove it fully, projecting her delightful breasts towards me, small and proud, with nipples already prominent. I reached out to cup her right breast, feeling the nipple swell beneath the fabric of her bra. Gripping it gently in the palm of my hand I pulled her towards me and kissed her. She had full lips, moist and inviting beneath her imperious nose and well-defined cheekbones, and I felt a jolt of electricity as mine made contact with them. Her lips parted and my tongue eased inwards, into that dark, exciting new territory.

Kisses sweeter than honey, embraces longer than time. In the dark of my bedroom we cruised, two lovers on a journey of adventure and passion. The feel of her skin, aroused and flushed, as my tongue wrote its love letters on her breast; the caress of her breath on my cheek, flitting through my hair and breezing excitedly around my ear as I nibbled on her proud areola; the sound of her sighs and moans, husky and earthy, as my hand slipped between her thighs and sought her damp pussy; the sight of her tummy, heaving and panting in anticipation, belly button rippling and dimpling as I quicksilvered a cascade of kisses from her breast to her hip; the moment, the moment. The moment was everything, a cloak enveloping us, shielding us from real life, capturing us, captivating us in this brief idyll.

My tongue continued on its mission to map her body. Sliding downwards, my hand gripped her thigh as I lowered my head and rested on her bush, inhaling her musky, erotic aroma. Tentatively, I stretched my tongue out, feeling her bush hairs tickle against it, exploring outwards, downwards. I felt Amanda pull at my leg and I drew myself over her, one leg on either side of her body. As I flicked my tongue gingerly towards her pussy I lowered myself onto her, and with a delightful synchronicity, each of us found our holy grail at just the same moment.

She was wet, and I lapped contentedly at her juices, savouring their taste, delighting in their viscous texture. I sucked on her lips, one at a time, grazing my teeth gently against them, drawing sighs of pleasure from her. My tongue pressed into her, senses overwhelmed by her heady aroma. As I licked and caressed her pussy I rested my chin against her clit, pressing against it, rubbing it, stimulating it. I changed my position and drew my mouth towards it, homing in on the seat of her sexual being. My nose burrowed between her puffy folds, embedded deep within her pussy as my mouth bore down on her clit, drawing it in, holding it, sucking and teasing it. I could feel it swell in my mouth as my tongue drew circles around it, probing at its hood, flicking momentarily directly against it and then reversing the direction, drawing the circles counterclockwise round and around, round and around, round and around.

Meanwhile I could feel her mimicing my every action, her tongue gnawing at my pussy lips, pressing inwards, snaking up my vagina and slurping at my own juices. As I burrowed myself deep within her, so she did to me; as my tongue tracked towards her clitoris, so she sought out mine; and as I teased it, played with it, rolled my tongue around and around, my grip tightening, sucking harder and harder, I began to experience the same intense waves of pleasure crashing through my body. It was an incredible experience, giving pleasure and being simultaneously pleasured in identical fashion.

As my own excitement mounted I increased the intensity of my ministrations to the heavenly Amanda. I knew I was going to come soon, and I wanted to take her with me. I could feel the start of my climax, the forces gathering in my womb, tumbling and tossing in an exult of passion, gradually spreading outwards, taking control of my senses, infiltrating every nerve end, gradually taking from me any influence over my own body. I gave myself up to the moment, released myself to the power of my senses. Amanda's mouth was clamped to me, sucking deeply as her tongue pressed firmly against my clitoris. With a force which was almost painful my body exploded, the climax shattering through me. Automatically I continued to suck at Amanda, wave after wave of intense excitement jolting through me, and I felt her legs quiver and shake. She gripped my waist, her nails digging into me, as she, too, came, her pussy hot and wet, juices flowing excitedly from deep within her. For a few seconds I had no idea where I was, or even who I was, or what I was; Amanda and I were no longer two individuals, we were one single mass of rapturous emotion. We existed only as senses, as impulses, as a synaesthetic bundle of nerves. For those few seconds we existed in heaven.

And as we passed through the eye of the storm back to reality we lay together, hugging one another, sighing contentedly. I was confident my mistress would approve of this story. What do you think?