[Fiction] Marty meets Mia and Charlie

[MarvHarvey]

Marty meets Mia and Charlie, Chapter 1, Part 1

Cycling was Thursday mornings. I worked late Thursday evenings, so I always took a nice long ride in the morning. This day I took the trail bike and headed into Hillside Preserve to enjoy the forest paths and the absence of weekend crowds. What happened was . . . it changed my . . . . Well, let me tell you about it.

I had seen no one at all until I rode up the hill and into the little overgrown field where the century farm used to be. Suddenly I came upon an older woman (I'm a man of almost 40, and she was surely 60+) picking green plants from a corner of the field. She stood up and gave a cheery but over-loud “Hello!” as I passed. Then a man of about her age stood up just beside the path ahead of me. He was wearing a hat, a t-shirt, heavy gloves, and running shoes. Nothing else. Clearly her call had been to warn him of my approach, but he had not heard in time to get out of sight. Now, he was about as embarrassed as I was – I really felt I was intruding on something.

“Charlie, how are your nettles coming?” she asked him before turning to me. “I'm picking nettles for my soup, but Charlie here is picking nettles for his pants, aren't you Charlie? My name is Mia,” she added as she held out a gloved hand to shake.

Seeing the glove she removed it and looked back up at me. As she did so I removed my sunglasses, and my face must have been displaying more than confusion although my gaping mouth probably helped. “Good morning,” I managed to croak. “I'm Marty.”

She laughed as she looked into my eyes. “Wondering what Charlie is going to do with them?” she asked. “I think you know,” she continued, an appraising look on her face. “Have you ever thought about nettles? Maybe I should ask how often you have wondered about nettles, about how they feel?” she added as she stared into my face, smiling lopsidedly.

The next few seconds had years of fantasies racing through my head. I had read of 'nettling' in England, usually by a delicious Victorian governess or other stern authority figure punishing a boy for masturbating – for abusing himself as they called it. I always wondered how they could be so bad, and once even thought about putting some in the seat of my pants, just to see what they were like. Were they really like a spanking? Much of this must have played out on my face as I stood with my mouth open.

It was clear to her, because she didn't wait for me to speak, rather she asked in a soft but firm voice, “Do you want to feel the nettles? Do you want me to nettle you?”

My tongue was dry already from my mouth hanging open, but I could get it going enough to confirm what she thought: “Yes.”

“Are you really ready to do as you are told?”

I was surprised, but my inner self was taking over. This was not a life goal, but it was one of many fantasies of being controlled, being managed, being obedient, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Yes, Ma'am what?”

“Yes, Ma'am, I will do as I am told.”