The Mistress Files (12 page)

“No laughing allowed. Just moaning, groaning and maybe gasping.”

“Gasping?”

She pushed in hard and deep, and he gasped.

“Right,” she said, giving his back a little bite. “Gasping.”

She did love doing this sort of thing, with him especially although she had a female sub or two she’d nearly fucked unconscious. Nothing in the world more empowering than penetrating another person and fucking them right to the dark and ragged edges where ecstasy intersected with pain.

“Had enough?” she asked as his breathing grew more and more labored.

“Never,” he panted.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll keep fucking you. I was going to blow you and let you come in my mouth but whatever. If you insist.”

“Can I change my answer?”

“I think you just did.”

She pulled out of him and removed her harness, tossing it on the ground with a flourish. Men should be so lucky to have a cock that indestructible.

An hour of pain-play, dominance and fucking had made her more than ready to have a cock inside her mouth. She stripped him of the bounds, pushed him onto his back and with her knees, shoved his thighs wide open so she could sit between them. She took him first in her hand and then into her mouth.

She wasn’t in much mood to tease him right now, and he was in no mood to be teased. Not anymore. Not after so much pain and erotic torture. He needed to come and she wanted him to come, hard and soon.

With her tongue she caressed him from base to tip and back again. With her lips she massaged him. Then she sucked long and deep on him as his hips rose off the bed, pumping into her mouth. She loved the warm taste of him, the size of him, the way he lost himself so utterly in submitting to her. He grasped at the sheets and arched underneath her.

Nudging his thighs a little wider, she pushed two fingers into him. She kneaded all his favorite spots inside him with just the right amount of pressure to bring his shoulders off the bed and send him coming into her mouth.

She received every drop of what he had to give her and took him in with one swallow.

“Feel better, slut?” She crawled up his body and straddled his chest, sitting on his stomach.

“Much.
Merci
,
Maîtresse
.”

“For you, anytime.” She grabbed his hands and pushed his wrists back into the pillows. “As long as you pay me, of course.”

“Of course.”

Bending down, she gave him one more kiss, letting him taste himself on her mouth.

“I suppose I need to clean you up.” She sat up again and gave him an appraising look. He was beaten, bloody and covered in lube. Pretty typical evening for both of them.

“I would appreciate it.”

“I could give you a bath. A nice long hot bubble bath. Maybe some vanilla-scented soap?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He grimaced at her.

“I might. You still have my mask on. You’re still my pretty submissive”

“I can’t take any more,” he said and she detected a rare note of sincerity in his voice. “Have you no mercy?”

“No. Not usually. But for you...maybe a little.” She winked at him and gave him one more kiss. “No bubble bath. I’ll get the basin and some warm water. I’ll clean the blood off. I think we’re going to need the first-aid kit.”

“If we ever have a session where we don’t need the first-aid kit, I’ll find a new Dominatrix.”

“I can’t have that. You’re my worst tipper and still my favorite client. Don’t tell the boss though. He says I can’t play favorites.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“And yours are safe with me. Always,” The Mistress said, tracing his full bottom lip with her thumb. She would guard his secrets with her life. It took so much courage for a man to admit to his submissive side. The last thing she wanted to do was betray him after he’d made himself so vulnerable to her. He kept her secrets as she kept his. He knew she still bottomed every now and then. At the clubs and in the scene, they billed her as a “former submissive,” an “ex-submissive,” even a “reformed submissive.” But there was no “ex” or “former” for her. And God knew she’d walk into Hell before she let anyone “reform” her. No, just like him, The Mistress was a Switch.

“
Merci.
” He kissed her palm and she smiled down at him.

“Bad boy. I’m going to add an extra hundred onto your bill for that kiss. You know the boss’s rule—I touch the clients, the clients do not touch me.”

“All apologies. I’ll never do it again.”

“See that you don’t.” She flicked the tip of his nose and scooted off the bed.

In the other room, she found her large metal basin and filled it with warm water. She grabbed soap and her softest towel before returning to the bedroom. When she went to set the basin on the side table, she made the mistake of turning her back to him for all of five seconds. In that five seconds she saw something fall to the floor at her feet.

The black mask.

“Don’t...” she warned but the warning went unheeded. Before she could turn back around, two strong arms encircled her and dragged her down to the bed.

“No mask. Not your sub anymore.” He pushed her down deep into the sheets, holding her by her wrists and the force of his body weight.

“Stop it,” she ordered, struggling underneath him. Her struggles were in vain. He might have a submissive and masochistic side to him, but there was no part of him anyone could call weak. Not anyone without a death wish anyway.

“Make me.” He forced her legs apart with his knees. With one hand he ripped at her corset, baring her breasts and savaging them with hungry kisses. The harder she fought back against him, the more viselike his grip on her became. He sucked on her nipples, kissed and bit her neck. Abruptly he released her but before she could get away from him, he grabbed her again, reached under her skirt and yanked her black lace panties. They came off after two hard tears and they joined the mask on the floor. Fucking him had made her so wet it barely hurt when he shoved his fingers into her. His cold, arrogant laugh stung more than the intrusion into her body. “I think you’ve enjoyed this little session as much as I have.”

“I
was
enjoying it,” she said through gritted teeth as he pushed a fourth finger into her. He stretched her with his hand and fucked her with his fingers. Her pride demanded she hate the penetration, but her body and her pride and her vagina were rarely on speaking terms. She grasped at the headboard, trying to find a means of escaping him. His thumb violated her anally while his fingers probed deep inside her vagina. If the bastard made her orgasm, she would never forgive herself. “Not enjoying it anymore.”

“Liar.”

He pulled his hand out of her, flipped her onto her stomach and held her down by her shoulders. When he entered her, she put up one more fight. A useless attempt because nothing could stop his thrusts now that he was inside her. Settling down, she gave up and let him have her. How could she fight anymore when every movement sent fissures of unholy pleasure shooting through her back, stomach and thighs. Underneath him she panted and moaned, writhed like a whore showing off for her best customer. She heard his labored breathing at the back of her neck, felt his teeth against her skin. And inside her she felt him filling her completely, so completely she could only spread her legs even wider to take him all in.

“You know you love submitting even more than I do,” he taunted. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“Then why are you so wet I can hear it?”

“It’s a water bed,” she said, and he laughed into her ear.

Even laughing he didn’t let up. He fucked her like she’d beaten him—brutally and without mercy and for what felt like eternity. He’d already come once so this time she was in for it. From personal experience she knew his second orgasm would be a long time coming. Part of her wanted to simply let go and let him win but every few minutes she’d remember that this was happening in her dungeon, where she was supposed to be in charge. Waiting until she could be certain he was lost in the haze of sex, she tried to raise up and force him off of her. But he clamped a hand down on the back of her neck, shoved her back down onto the bed and rode her even harder.

With his fingers digging into her neck with bruising force, that secret submissive part of her rose up and took control of every part of her from the waist down. Entirely against her will she came, loud and lusty. A few minutes later he reached around her hip, found her clitoris and stroked her to a second and even more humiliating climax.

At last she felt his thrusts slowing and growing harder. He pulled out but only long enough to put her flat on her back and push into her again.

“Oh, don’t you fucking dare,” she said, trying and failing to squirm away from him. But she couldn’t get away and she could do nothing but lay on her back, held down by his incredible strength as he pushed and pushed and pushed into her. He closed his eyes and pulled out of her. He ripped the condom off and threw it aside. When he came, it was on her, the warm fluid spurting onto her breasts.

With a sigh he collapsed on top of her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and rolled him onto his back.

“You realize I’m going to kill you the next time you submit to me. You know that, right?” She grabbed the towel off the nightstand, soaked it in the water that had gone cold and wiped his semen off her. “No more breath-play. It’s death-play next time. You come to my dungeon. I kill you.”

“It was worth it.” He grinned devilishly at her and she fought the urge to slap that shit-eating grin off his face.

“You know this is the reason why people don’t trust Switches. That little stunt you pulled just now?”

“Fucking you raw when you least expected it, you mean?”

“That one. That’s why normal kinky people don’t like us.” She tossed the towel into the basin and straightened her corset.

“I like us,” he said, turning over again, and resting on his elbows. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t like us.” She grabbed him by the back of the neck and gave him a bruising kiss and a skin-breaking bite to his bottom lip. “I fucking love us...boss.”

END OF SESSION

So there ya go, King. You wanted a recitation of one of our sessions together, and here it is. You are easily the most narcissistic man on the planet. Could you please make sure this file goes into the confidential coded cabinets? Or at least into your private porn collection? I’d really not like it if it got out that I fucked my clients. Or, more accurately, let them fuck me. I should have safed out right before you came on me just to piss you off. And I would have except you’re annoying good at rough fucking. Seriously. Do they teach you guys that in French high schools? If so I’m booking a trip to Paris tomorrow.

In conclusion you are the single most frustrating, annoying, dangerous, exhausting, overbearing, irritating client on my entire roster and that includes the medical fetishist who makes me dress like Florence Nightingale and speak in an English accent.

That being said...I’m free tomorrow night.

The Mistress Files #5

The Case of the Brokenhearted Bartender

By Nora Sutherlin

I’ll admit, this client was a weird one. Not her, she wasn’t weird. The job was weird. Never done that sort of thing before, and I’m fairly certain I’ll never do again. Not because I don’t want to, as I rather enjoyed it, but because my client was something of a one-of-a-kind despite her unofficial job title.

Very few of my clients are women. Perhaps only one percent of them are women who come to me alone. I see a few more with couples, but single women can usually get the kink they need at play parties without having to pay for it. This particular woman, however, was a special case. I only saw her in my dungeon once. I’ll never see her in my dungeon again.

After all, this client wasn’t kinky. And yet, she still needed me.

Name: Chris McKay.

Age: 23.

Occupation: Head bartender at the Möbius Strip Club, i.e. “The New Sam.”

Orientation: Lesbian (the sexy-cute androgynous kind that looks like a fourteen-year-old boy. I’m sure there’s an actual term for that but I left my LGBT dictionary at home).

When you have a sexual problem in New York City, and you don’t know who to ask for help, you go to Kingsley Edge. He might not know the answer but he knows someone who does. In this case, he knew me.

* * *

The Mistress headed to her dungeon and found her client waiting outside the door. The client wasn’t alone, however. She had a man with her—a handsome man wearing a grey suit, vaguely Regency-era, and black riding boots. The client and the man spoke in hushed tones back and forth to each other. It seemed the man was trying to comfort the woman or give her some words of encouragement. As The Mistress strode down the hall toward them, she studied her new client, Chris. The young woman wore skinny jeans, a white T-shirt, a black leather jacket and battered black boots, and her sexy short black hair had been artfully coiffed. From a distance, she looked a lot like a teenage boy circa 1956. Up close she looked like a stunningly beautiful woman who did everything she could in her power to look like a teenage boy circa 1956.

“So this is the New Sam?” The Mistress asked as she unlocked her dungeon door.

“She is indeed,” Kingsley, the man in the riding boots said with pride.

Chris rolled her eyes. Apparently this was a conversation she’d heard once too often.

“I’m Chris.”

“Very nice to beat you.” The Mistress shook Chris’s hand.

“Beat me? I didn’t think...” Chris began.

“She’s joking.” Kingsley put his arm around Chris’s shoulder like a protective older brother and ushered her into the first room of the dungeon. “It’s her line. It’s an old line, and she should get some new lines.”

“You start paying me more and maybe I can afford some new lines, King. Now shoo. We’ve got girl stuff to do.” She tried waving him out of her dungeon, but he didn’t budge.

“I’m not leaving until Chris tells me she wants me gone. I’ll stay the entire time if she needs me.” He gave The Mistress a pointed look, one The Mistress returned even more pointedly. If they didn’t stop staring pointedly at each other one of them was going to lose an eye.

“I’m fine. Seriously,” Chris said although she didn’t sound one-hundred-percent sure.

“I can stay out here if you want. You can have your privacy and know I’m only a room away.” He looked into her eyes as if trying to read them. Chris smiled.

“Seriously, I’m good. I can do this,” Chris reassured him.

“She’ll be fine.” The Mistress snapped her fingers in his face. “Stop acting all fatherly. She’s in good hands. I’ll get her back to you in one piece. Now this is personal shit she and I need to do. No men allowed. Skedaddle.”

“Did you just tell me to ‘skedaddle’?” Kingsley said, his French accent struggling with the word.

“I did. And I mean it. Chris?”

“She means it. We win. You lose. Shoo.”

“
C’est la guerre
. I’m going.” Kingsley didn’t sound like he wanted to leave but the man was smart enough to know when he was outnumbered. “I’ll be back in an hour to take Chris home. Is that long enough?”

“If it isn’t then you can wait in the hallway until she comes out.
Oui
?” The Mistress gave him an entirely insincere smile.

“You don’t have to escort me home. I’ll be okay.” Chris rolled her eyes again. The Mistress had a feeling this scenario played out fairly often. Kingsley did get a bit overprotective of his Sams. She had to wonder if the Original Sam knew what she’d done to the man.

“I know you’ll be fine. I’m taking you home anyway.”

“Fine. Fine.” Chris raised her hands in surrender.

“Yes, it’s all fine. Now go, Dad. Time for the slumber party. Out.”

Kingsley raised Chris’s hand and kissed the back of it before giving The Mistress one last menacing look.

“Take good care of her,” he ordered. “
Non
. Take the best care of her.”

“She gets my A-game. You get out.”

With one more bow, Kingsley left the room.

“God damn, that man is such a mother hen sometimes.” The Mistress opened the door to make sure he’d really gone. She wouldn’t put it past him to wait out in the hallway the entire time.

“He is, and I have no idea why. He’s so weird.”

“He’s French.” The Mistress waved her hand dismissively.

“It’s not that. He treats me like a princess. Do I look like a princess to you?” Chris motioned at herself to indicate her short spiky hair, her boyish clothes and boots.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the New Sam. You might as well be royalty to him.”

“That might explain things if I knew what the hell that meant.” Chris looked around and nodded her approval. The Mistress did have a rather swank setup in the front room of her suite. But what they needed for their session was in the second room, the playroom.

“You don’t know about Sam?” The Mistress led Chris to the examination bed she had for her medical fetishists. She patted the seat to indicate Chris should sit. Across from her on a wheeled stool The Mistress sat and looked up at her.

“No. Everyone says, ‘Oh, you must be the New Sam’ when they meet me but no one’s told me who she or he or it is.”

“Take your shoes, pants and underwear off, get under the sheet and then I’ll tell you.”

Chris seemed just nervous enough that The Mistress decided she might need to try a little carrot-stick action to get her client to relax and undress. Stick—taking her clothes off in front of a stranger. Carrot—the answer to her long-held question.

“Um...okay. You gonna watch?” Chris asked, clearly embarrassed.

“I am. I’m a Dominatrix, not a doctor. Unless you absolutely need me to leave the room, I’m staying in here. I’m going to see what’s under the clothes anyway so I don’t know how not letting me watch you undress is going to save you some modesty points. And the sooner you get used to being naked around me, the better. You aren’t submitting to me, however, so you can ask me to leave if you need me to.”

Chris exhaled heavily and dangled her feet over the edge of the bed like a nervous child.

“Fine. Whatever. You’re right. You’re gonna see everything anyway,” she said, raising her legs to start unlacing her boots.

“Good girl.”

“Good girl?”

“Sorry. Habit. I’ll turn the heat up in here so you can relax more.”

The Mistress clicked the temperature up a few notches while Chris shimmied out of her jeans and underwear. For a young woman trying very hard to go the butch route, she had on remarkably pretty panties, white and lace-trimmed. Boy-short style, but still quite girly. And although she couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and ten pounds, she had some good curves on her. Nice hips, shapely legs. Her pubic hair had been close-trimmed but not shaved or waxed off. Nice to see a woman who wasn’t afraid of looking like an actual adult under her clothes.

“Okay, just lay back. We’ll take our time here,” The Mistress said as she sanitized her hands thoroughly. She raised the stirrups on the examining table and helped Chris get her feet into them. “I won’t touch you without warning you first. Cool?”

“Cool.” Chris took a slow breath and stared up at the ceiling.

“Cool. I’ll get the toys. Don’t be freaked out.” The Mistress pulled open a drawer and one by one removed six dildos of varying sizes and lined them up on the metal tray. Chris watched her the entire time, her eyes growing wider as dildos of impressive size appeared.

“Holy shit,” Chris breathed as she took in the array. “That big?”

“Never seen one before? I mean, an actual penis on a grown man?”

“Not in person. Only pictures. I’m a gold star lesbian,” she said with pride.

“Gold star?” The Mistress pulled out some gauze pads and a small bullet vibrator.

“That’s what you call someone gay or lesbian who’s never been with the opposite sex. I knew what I was in kindergarten. Never had any confusion about what I was so never fooled around with a guy at all.”

“Nice. I’m a gold star kinkster then. Never had vanilla sex.”

“Wow. I think that would be a lot harder than a gold star lesbian. Kinky sex looks like a lot of work.” She glanced around the dungeon, at the various ropes, floggers, single-tails and other implements of torture hanging on the walls.

“It’s probably more work than vanilla sex but completely worth is. You take sex more seriously when you have to plan it in advance and do equipment checks and have a medic on standby. It’s the price we pay if we want our gold stars.” She sat back down on the stool and scooted in closer to Chris.

“I guess I’m paying the price for being a gold star. This is probably the most embarrassing thing ever.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. Not allowed around me. Unless it’s one of your kinks.”

“I’m twenty-three, and I’m not a virgin. I’ve been having sex with girls since I was sixteen.”

“You don’t have to feel bad. An intact hymen isn’t a badge of shame.”

“It’s a pain in the ass is what it is.”

The Mistress looked at Chris over the sheet.

“If your hymen is a pain in the ass, then we’re going to rethink our hymen-breaking strategy here. That’s okay. I have butt plugs galore.”

Chris covered her face with one hand and laughed ruefully.

“Sorry,” she said, leaning up on her elbows. “Pain in the vadge? Is that better?”

“I don’t know if it’s better, but it certainly makes more sense anatomically. You want to get started?”

“Not really. But I’d rather get it over with as soon as possible.” Chris lay flat on her back again.

The Mistress pulled her stool up even closer and adjusted the sheet and her light.

“I’m going to touch you now. Just one finger inside. Want to see what you’ve got under the hood so to speak.”

“Go for it,” Chris said with a heavy sigh.

“You know, usually when I finger bang girls, they sound a lot more happy about it.” The Mistress spread Chris’s folds open and slipped one finger into her. “Does that hurt?”

Chris shook her head. “That’s fine. I use tampons so I’m used to something finger-sized.”

“But not much more than that. Jesus, you are tight. I thought I had the hymen from Hell. No wonder you’ve been putting this off.”

“I’ve tried breaking it a few times myself, and I just can’t. Hurts too much.”

The Mistress pressed down against the layers of tissue at the opening of Chris’s vagina. Breaking that killer hymen would take more than just a couple minutes with a vibrator.

“I don’t blame you. In my world there’s good pain and bad pain. Getting your vagina ripped is of the ‘bad pain’ variety. Are you sure you want to do this? Sober, I mean? I can get some booze or drugs. God only knows what’s in King’s medicine cabinet right now.”

“King gave me a Vicodin to take after if I needed it. I better not take anything else.”

“You sure about doing this?”

“I’m sure. I need to do it.”

The Mistress heard a note of sadness in her voice.

“Need to?”

Chris nodded. “Need. My girlfriend...ex-girlfriend now...she accused me of being stone-cold.”

The Mistress looked up over the sheet at Chris.

“You’re going to have to explain that one to me. I can barely keep up with all the different permutations of kinky people. I’ll need the Cliff’s Notes on the lesbians.” The Mistress moved her finger gently in and out of Chris simply to get her accustomed to being touched so intimately.

“Stone-cold? It’s um...” Chris paused to think. “There are some of us who are really masculine. Almost borderline transgender. So a stone-cold lesbian, she doesn’t want her body treated like, you know, a man would treat a woman.”

“So no penetration?”

“Right. Exactly.”

“And your ex-girlfriend called you stone-cold because you don’t like being penetrated?”

“It was more than that. I never even let her try. Being twenty-three and sexually active and having the hymen of a ten-year-old girl is humiliating. I didn’t want to deal with her having to deal with me. More than one finger hurts so what’s the point? Anyway, Theresa said she couldn’t be with someone so closed-off. We started fighting a lot. I thought everything was great between us...except in bed. Apparently sex mattered more than everything else to her.”

“Sex does matter in a relationship. Anyone who says differently is fooling themselves because they’ve never had good sex.”

“I know it does matter. But I didn’t think it was the be-all end-all of our relationship.”

“Chris...listen to me.” The Mistress pulled her hand out and held up two fingers. Chris nodded her agreement and The Mistress pushed into her again gently. Chris winced only once. “Sex in a relationship is a partnership. One person can’t do all the work. And you’re being fingered by a woman who used to submit to the Dominant of all Dominant men. He’s not an alpha male. He’s the alpha and omega male. He met the president once and the president called him ‘Sir.’ Even in that relationship with Captain
Über
-Dom, we both did the work in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the living room. Or the dungeon. Or under the piano...”

“Under?”

“He wouldn’t do me on top of the piano. He didn’t want me scratching the finish.”

“Makes sense.”

“The point is...I told him things I enjoyed, and we did them. He told me things he wanted to try and we did them. I loved his body so he let me touch him any way I wanted. He loved mine and no part of me was off-limits to him. I’m sure Theresa wanted to give you the sort of pleasure you gave her. One partner doing all the work while the other one lays there is nice for a night or two. After that, it gets old. And you start to feel like, ‘What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t he/she/it want me to touch her?’ Any chance Theresa felt like you didn’t want her touching you?”