Author: Tiffany Reisz

“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.