Author: Tiffany Reisz

“You want to come, don’t you?” Robert demanded as his wife’s hips moved in desperate undulations.

“Yes. Please, Sir,” she begged. The Mistress heard real need in her voice.

“I’ll let you. But not with this. You come on my cock alone.”

“I want it so much.” Cara’s fingers dug into the sheets and a series of barely articulate pleases escaped her lips.

“Keep begging and you might,” Robert said as he untied Cara’s ankles from the bedposts. He grabbed her arms and pushed her onto her stomach and then pulled her legs to the floor.

“Please, Sir...” Cara said as she spread her thighs wider and lifted her hips by way of invitation. Robert slapped her hard on the bottom again, and she inhaled in surprise. The Mistress could tell Cara wasn’t used to being touched by Robert without any sort of warning. She seemed to like it.

Robert opened his pants and gripped his wife by her hips. Every inch of him disappeared into her wet and waiting body. As he thrust into her, Robert ran his hands over Cara’s back, which was now marbled with red welts. He touched them lovingly, tenderly, even as he pounded deep into her without mercy.

After a minute or two he pulled out and forced Cara onto her back again. Her ankles met his shoulders, and his hands held her thighs as he entered her once more.

“Nice. Deep penetration,” The Mistress said, leaning casually against the bedpost and thoroughly enjoying the show. “Are you trying to give her cervix a black eye or just going for a blow job from the other direction?”

Robert took the hint and lowered Cara’s legs, letting her wrap them around his back. He slipped a hand between their bodies and teased her clitoris with his fingertips. Cara groaned with pleasure. She found his forearms and held onto them as he pushed into her.

The Mistress watched as Robert gazed down at his wife’s face through half-closed eyes.

“You have a beautiful piece of property there.” The Mistress inclined her head at Cara’s writhing body.

“I know it,” he said as he traced a faint scar on Cara’s stomach, the product of a long-ago C-section. The Mistress looked away a moment as Robert bent to kiss his wife on the mouth. The sex she didn’t mind watching. But a kiss, that was personal.

The kiss ended but Robert kept his mouth near her mouth.

“I want you to come for me. And I want to look at all of you while you come. Say ‘Yes, Sir.’“

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed. Robert gathered her close and lifted her as she wrapped her legs and arms around him. He sat on the edge of the bed and rolled back, Cara straddling his hips. She started to move against him, her hands searching his body until they found his chest. At first she moved slowly, clearly relishing the position, the angle, the pleasant press of his body against her clitoris. She ground against him, moving in ovals. Robert teased her nipples, tugging lightly on the clamps as Cara started to push faster. With hunger and frenzy, she rode her husband with animal need. Her breathing grew loud and came in short, quick puffs.

“Do it, Cara,” he said in a stern voice. “Come for me. Come right now.”

Her body rocked wildly. She dug her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Her head fell back and with a strangled grunt she came loud and hard. Hard enough even Robert groaned.

She collapsed onto Robert’s chest but she didn’t stay there long. Robert rolled over quickly and pulled Cara onto her hands and knees. He entered her from behind. He didn’t thrust. Instead he stayed still as he jerked Cara’s hips against him with bruising precision. The Mistress had seen true masochists who would have tapped out by now from the sheer brute force of the fucking. But Cara seemed to glory in it, groaning and gasping in pleasure until Robert let go and finally came inside her with a few final thrusts.

He pulled out of her and rolled onto his side with an exhausted sigh. Laughing, Cara joined him as Robert dragged her to him. As he kissed her shoulders, he untied the blindfold and tossed it aside. Gently he removed the clamps from her breasts and massaged her sore nipples. The Mistress picked up the discarded toys and put them in her bag. She’d clean them at the dungeon and put them to good and bad use again very soon.

Hefting her toy bag over her shoulder, she gave Robert a wink and left the bedroom. But she didn’t make it out of the house before she heard footsteps behind her.

“Mistress?”

The Mistress turned around to find a sweaty, happy, barefoot Robert coming toward her.

“You should be spooning your wife right now. Go. Scoot. I’ll send you a bill.”

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Congrats. I make a great wingman, don’t I?”

“The best. The blindfold...the lectures...I’m adding a big tip. You earned it.”

“Why yes, yes, I did. Speaking of tips...she’s just had her first scene ever. This is a big damn deal. She’ll need a lot of aftercare. Hold her a long time. Tell her you’re proud of her. Hell, rock her if she likes that sort of thing. Then give her a long hot bath. No more playing. If you want to fuck her again, fine. Just go easy—bondage at most. No more hitting. Also...tell her you love her and that she’s your prized possession. Tell her that a lot. Every day even...” The Mistress said and heard those words ringing in her ears. Someone had said that to her a long time ago, and the echo of them had never fully dissipated.

“I will. I promise. And I guess I need to get one of those,” he said, nodding toward her toy bag.

“No need. Neckties make good blindfolds. Garbage bags are great for tying up wrists and ankles. Spatula for a paddle. Well...I better leave this with you. Not easy to MacGyver a decent flogger.”

The Mistress took out the light flogger and handed it to Robert.

“Thank you...for everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” The Mistress said as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “The flogger’s going on your bill.”

END OF SESSION

     Whew. Robert and Cara. I never saw them again after that. Not together anyway. Robert could handle Cara just fine on his own. But every now and then he’d show up during my office hours and ask for some suggestions. I taught him my trick for the perfect zipper, gave him some hints on how to tie better knots, helped him trade up to a heavier class of floggers.

I never went home with them again. Never had to. But sometimes when the job gets too dark, too difficult, too ugly, I unpack my memories of them and bring them home with me.

The Mistress Files #3

The Case of the Reluctant Rock Star

By Nora Sutherlin

Okay, King. You’re going to love this one. Don’t pretend you weren’t drooling over this guy when he walked into Headquarters. We all were. Lean but muscular, perfect bed head, two full sleeves of tattoos, big damn smile...remember him? He came to you with a stack of Benjamins an inch high and a request for “a couple hours with your hottest Dominatrix.” I remember it well. Not that I was eavesdropping from the next room or anything. I just happened to be in the next room standing by the door with my eye at the keyhole. What? I was practicing picking locks. You told him that you had the perfect Dominatrix to meet all his needs. Beautiful, intelligent, dominant, extremely experienced, and ready and willing to perform any sort of sadistic service for him.

Of course you were speaking about me.

Name: Dante Burns...if that’s his real name, I’ll eat my riding crop.

Age: 29.

Occupation: Rock star, lead singer of The Black Sheets.

Dante said he merely wanted a tour of the Underground. “We’re making a video,” he said.

“It’ll be kinky, something like old Nine Inch Nails. Like the vid for ‘Closer’ but with fewer dead pigs,” he said.

“I’m not into the stuff but it makes for good visuals,” he said.

“Seriously...I’m not one of those guys,” he said.

“We’re just scouting locations,” he said.

Yeah sure, kid. And I’m the Virgin Mary.

The Mistress had every right to be skeptical. First of all, while she didn’t know much about the music industry, she was fairly certain the lead singers of world-famous, award-winning, many-times platinum-selling bands didn’t do their own location scouting for music videos. Maybe Dante was something of a diva who demanded control over every aspect of his band’s career trajectory. Certainly plausible. Perhaps he genuinely did want to try his hand at directing and producing, which is why he’d taken this task upon himself.

Whatever the reason he’d come knocking on Kingsley’s door, The Mistress really didn’t care. He’d paid twice her usual rate for nothing but a tour of the dungeons, the clubs and a couple hours of picking her brain about the job. Easy money, right?

Not quite.

The Mistress met Dante in Kingsley’s office. From the moment their eyes met and she shook his hand, she had a hunch about him. The second she appeared, Kingsley seemingly disappeared to Dante. Not once did Dante glance at Kingsley after The Mistress made her entrance.

“So you’re the Mistress?” Dante’s eyes grazed her body from head to boot and back again. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Very nice to beat you,” she said, giving him her most dangerous sort of grin.

“No beating.” He wagged his finger at her like a teacher to a naughty pupil. For a split second she considered how much force she’d have to exert to break that finger. “Here for the tour and nothing more.”

“Yes, for your music video, you said. How nice. We lifestyle Dominants love it when outsiders take our entire world, our culture and our people and turn them into a fake Hollywood bubblegum backdrop for a pop song.”

She said the words with a smile and enjoyed watching Dante squirm in his punk boots.

“It’s more alternative than pop,” he said sheepishly. “Really good alternative. My band’s hard-core.”

“Hard-core? So am I. Poured scalding candle wax on a client’s balls yesterday. Your band does that sort of thing?”

“Um...” Dante went pale underneath his tan. “We say ‘fuck’ a lot.”

“Yeah, so did my grandmother.”

“Maîtresse?” Kingsley gave her a stern stare. She only winked at him. “This is Dante Burns. He’s been hailed as the next Trent Reznor.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know who Trent Reznor is?” Dante sounded aghast.

“Is he a client, King?”

“Non.”

“Have I ever fucked him?” she asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Kingsley said.

“Then no, I haven’t heard of him. So you’re the next Someone-I’ve-Never-Heard-Of? Congrats.” She shook his hand.

“I promise, he’s really famous.” Dante sounded heartbroken. Poor baby.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said. “I’m just giving you shit because you deserve it. King? We good to go?”

Kingsley only nodded and waved her from the office. She had a feeling that Kingsley had decided that tall stack of hundreds on his desk wasn’t close to paying for the headache she’d given him.

“Ready, Mr. Burns?”

“Sure.” He sounded doubtful now. Gone was the cocky rock star. “I’m all yours.” He said the words casually, too casually. Behind them she heard something. Something hungry, something wistful, something true.

“This is HQ,” The Mistress said as they left Kingsley’s office. “Kingsley lives here, works here and reigns here. He takes the King part of Kingsley very seriously. You should, too. You might be more famous than he is and you might even have more money, but there’s no one in the house who would take your side against him, who would take an order from you that he had contradicted, who would even take a step out of this house with you without his permission.”