Overcome by shame

Dear Madam,

here we are, on the eve of our appointment. It's finally here! Such a long wait only to be frustrated tenfold. Since our last exchange, I've observed total abstinence in the hope that such a constraint would delight you. You know better than anyone the state of dependence and obedience this puts me in. And above all, what better spur to the imagination!

I can already hear the creak of the floorboard on your landing, betraying my presence. Then I can feel you behind the door. Your footsteps, busy with a final detail or perhaps making me wait a few more seconds. I love it when your perfectionism goes unnoticed. Then finally, the sharp sound of the latch, which makes me flinch again.
How can I be surprised by something I'm only waiting for with all my being?
Yet that's how it is. I then take a few steps into the hallway. Like an adolescent, I dare not meet your gaze, despite your welcoming smile. Your presence intimidates me to the point where I'm always wondering how I could have earned your grace. What will you be wearing? In one of those elegant dresses that suit you so well?
A carelessly fitted silk bathrobe?
A discreetly low-cut blouse whose image will remain etched in my memory for weeks after the session?
In the haughty attire of a skilled horsewoman?
In the end, it doesn't matter, even if you're wearing a gown, I don't think your power over me would be affected.

As I lower my eyes, I can feel you sizing me up from head to toe until I'm uncomfortable. You amuse yourselves by guessing what lingerie I've put on underneath my well-behaved exterior, to the point of staring at my misshapen pants.
I can hear you thinking in your head: "How did he manage to face the stares of passers-by? It's so obvious that he's wearing a cage! He's not naive enough to imagine that the protuberance is discreet enough, when it's not as obvious as the nose in the middle of his face! "Taking risks is the first sign of my allegiance.

Right now I'm already caught up in your dreams, so there's no point in struggling. Holding out my present to you helps me find my composure. Standing, kneeling, kissing your feet, I don't know what to do at this moment, but you always find the words to give me enough composure to make it to the bathroom.

Then, another door, the last one this time. Introducing myself to you, always with this hesitation: do you want me to be impeccable in terms of social norms, or already totally indecent to show you that I already belong?
It doesn't matter, because I can't control anything, not even the dripping from my cage. Another dilemma (what do you expect from a submissive?) when you hand me a tissue: I can't tell which wins out, the relief of finding a solution to my embarrassment or the humiliation of not having found a way of stopping the derisory product of my arousal. The more I'm overcome by shame, the more the excitement builds, the more the Kleenex soaks up.
Right now I'd like to hide in a mouse hole.

/…/
See you Tuesday, Madame.

Yours truly.

Testimony of E.