Desire (8 page)

The catsuit came with a bunch of accessories. There was a transparent plastic rope for tying up willing victims and a ball gag of the same see-through material, but my favorite piece was a whip with a smooth glass handle attached to long, thin plastic lashes also studded with crystals. I swished it this way and that, bewitched by the way the whip caught the light and refracted it into tiny rainbows on my skin. All whips, I was beginning to realize, have their own voice. This one had a high-pitched
swoosh
that sounded beautiful as I brought it down onto the backside of an imaginary slave. Just the sound of it was enough to get me wet between the legs. I felt my juices pool in the gusset of the catsuit and I thought to myself with a secret smile that I would definitely have to do a good job cleaning up this one for Charlotte.

I parted my legs, held my arms aloft in a real don’t-fuck-with-me stance, and sneered at my reflection in the mirror. I closed my eyes and imagined what I would do if I had a slave here. I began to picture a faceless man prostrate at my feet, licking my boots, trembling under the force of my whip. I was just beginning to lose myself in the fantasy and feel the first familiar stir-rings of orgasm when I heard the footsteps descend the steel staircase. My flesh turned to ice. I realized with a shock that in my haste to get down here and raid the dress-up box I hadn’t actually locked the door behind me. The footsteps could belong to anyone—a client or, even worse, someone off the street. I was petrified in my pose.

“Hello? Charlotte?” came a voice I recognized. “Mistress? Are you there? I know I don’t have an appointment, but I need to see you. I’ve been bad. I’ve done some terrible things, and I really need a dose of your punishment.”

Howie. That twang was unmistakable. As he got closer, I still had no clue what I would do when he came in. For a few seconds we locked eyes, and I saw him gulp in surprise. I thought quickly. I could do this in one of two ways. I could beg Howie not to tell Charlotte, plead with him to keep this secret, and let me keep my job. But his voice had been trembling and his words highly charged. I wasn’t sure Howie was in any state to be reasoned with. Or—and the thought of this option made my plastic-clad pussy pulse a little faster—I could just go for it. I was in the right clothes. I was in the right frame of mind. I could do this. I stamped my stiletto heel on the ground so hard I thought the shoe would shatter and gave Howie the withering look I’d practiced on all the imaginary slaves in my fantasies.

“Did I give you permission to speak to me?” I said, my voice pouring contempt on him.

“No,” he said, bowing his head.

“Look at you,” I continued. “How dare you enter my dungeon dressed? Where is your respect? Take your clothes off. Quickly!” Now it was Howie’s turn to undress with trembling hands. He removed his expensive work clothes and hung them on the hook on the back of the door. The body that lay beneath was impressive: tall, broadly muscular without being too defined. His dick was thick and semi-erect between his legs, his balls shaven. I’ll soon stiffen you up, I thought, as I squeezed my legs together.

“Tell me what you’ve done,” I said, pretending to inspect my nails. I kept my voice harsh and controlled, but inside I was going mad, my pussy pumping so hard I was sure it must be visible to Howie in my catsuit, a garment that gave a girl nowhere to hide. “Tell me why you’ve been so bad, and I’ll decide whether or not you deserve to be punished. Now, get down on your knees.”

He didn’t obey me quickly enough, so I brought the whip down on the floor, inches away from his body. I noticed again how good his physique was: lean, gym-honed, he was obviously a strong, powerful man. All the more reason why having him in my thrall was the biggest kick I’d ever experienced in my life.

“On your
knees
, slave,” I snarled, enjoying the sight of this six-foot-six man prostrate before me. Even in the flickering candlelight I could make out the scars on his ass and thighs from week-old lashes. As the whip came down, he closed his eyes, and I heard him let out an involuntary whimper of pleasure.

“Confess,” I hissed like a snake, kicking him over so that he lay on his back, utterly defenseless. I considered using the rope to tie him up, but instinctively I knew there would be no need. The power of my presence would be enough to bind him here until I chose to release him with a single word.

“I have bad thoughts,” he said. “I want women to hurt me. There’s a woman at work who treats me like shit and takes all my clients away. She lost me a small fortune today, and as soon as I heard about it I had to go into the toilet and jerk off.”

“That’s disgusting,” I sneered, even though I thought it was sexy as hell. “You know what?” I continued, bending down until I was so close to Howie’s head that I could smell the shampoo he used and identify it. He shook his head. “I’m sick of listening to your fucking shit. I’m gonna shut you up.”

And with that I put the ball gag on him. He looked so vulnerable there with that big marble stuffed in his mouth that I wanted to put my groin on his face and grind it into the gag, letting his muffled mouth bring me to orgasm while stifling his nostrils with the folds of my cunt. But I didn’t, because I had power and control beyond anything I had ever experienced, and the wetness between my legs was growing stronger by the second.

“I can’t think of a punishment bad enough for a sad little prick like you,” I said, watching his dick come to life, my words caressing him to an erection as surely as any hand job would.

I picked up the crystal whip again. I wasn’t going to use it on Howie’s skin, but he didn’t know that. The idea of being whipped, the thrill and fear of what I might do to him, would be more arousing than the experience itself. I trailed the diamante tips over his stomach and his inner thighs, then gently flicked the underside of his dick and his balls. He was trying to shout something, so I decided to take pity on him and whipped the ball gag out of his mouth. He took a couple of sharp breaths and then resumed his pleading.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, but I need to come. Please let me come. Oh, God, I need to come.”

“No,” I said. I had one more torture in mind before I was prepared to let him go.

Using the whip as a pointing stick, I trailed it along the shelf of dildos, vibrators, and shafts that Charlotte used on her clients. I knew where each one was; I cleaned and disinfected them all every night.

“Which one do you want?” I said, as if I didn’t know exactly which one I had in mind. “This one?” I held up a sleek chrome dildo a few inches thick. Howie nodded eagerly.

“Well, it’s not up to you which one you get.” And I picked up a black rubber vibrator that was twice as thick and twice as long as Howie’s own dick. His eyes widened, in pleasure or fear I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter—in the dungeon, pleasure and fear are one and the same. I poured a few inches of lube over the vibrator, ran my hand over the shaft, fought the temptation to turn it on, hold it against my clit, and get myself off.

Instead, I held the black rubber vibe in the crease between his twitching balls and his throbbing penis, using my hand to stimulate the length of his hard-on. When he was as hard as he could possibly get, I rammed it up Howie’s ass, noticing as I did that his tight little hole was shaven. This made him seem even more vulnerable, which got me even wetter. As he screamed for mercy, I varied the stimulation, knowing that I was plea suring his secret hot spot, deep inside him, right behind his dick. He must have wanted to come so bad because he was almost in tears, but I would not allow him to submit to his bodily pleasures without my permission.

“Please,” he begged in a pathetic little-boy voice that made my pussy swell even more. “Please, mistress, let me come.”

“Not till I say so,” I shouted, stepping up the stimulation even further, wondering how long a man could possibly hold out. I waited until his body began to buckle and convulse, then bent down and whispered in his ear, “You may release your juices
now
,” and gave the head of his dick a sharp tug. I could barely breathe as his soft, naked balls rose up into his body and his hot penis spilled forth a fountain of white milk that trickled all over my arm. I decided to give him one last punishment.

“Look at the fucking mess you’ve made,” I said. “Lick that off.”

The sight of Howie’s spent body in a heap on the floor, his head straining up and his white teeth and pink tongue slurping and sucking his own come from my arm was more than I could take. I squeezed my thighs together, rocked back and forth a few times, and experienced a silent orgasm that rippled through me like white heat. I glanced down at my body. My darkened nipples and flushed skin made it obvious I’d just come, but I gave nothing away, waiting for a minute or two until Howie had licked every salty droplet off my skin.

“That’s the end of that,” I said, partly because I wasn’t sure what to do now.

“I don’t think so,” said a familiar female voice behind me. I whirled around. Charlotte! The blood ran from my cheeks, and I felt dizzy with shame and panic. Shame that I’d let myself get caught—panic that the best job I’d ever had was now over. Now that I’d climaxed, I didn’t feel like a powerful dominatrix anymore. I just felt like me, a cleaning lady with ideas above her station. And there was nowhere to go. I was acutely conscious of my nakedness beneath the thin, transparent garment.

But Charlotte wasn’t angry. She was smiling. And, now that I looked down, so was Howie.

“I knew you had it in you the moment I saw you,” she said, looking approvingly at my body in the form-fitting catsuit. “That’s why I gave you the job. I guessed as soon as we spoke that you wouldn’t be able to resist trying the whip on for size. And it suits you. You’re a natural. Don’t you think, Howie?”

Howie, still naked and lying curled up on the floor, nodded through his blissed-out haze. At that moment, I understood that it had been a trap, a setup to see how I would react when Howie turned up unexpectedly. I couldn’t believe that Charlotte would be so devious or that I had fallen for it.

“Are you going to fire me?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, I am going to have to let you go and get a new cleaner,” said Charlotte. I bit my lip, trying to hold the tears back. “After all, you can’t hold two jobs down at once, can you?”

“I don’t understand,” I replied.

“Tina, you’ve seen how business is booming. I can’t run this place all by myself anymore. I need a new assistant. A young, eager, beautiful dominatrix I can teach the tricks of the trade to and who can look after the clients I can’t fit in. The job is yours if you want it. Do say yes.”

“Yes!” I said, tears of frustration turning to tears of pleasure and spilling down my cheeks. “But there’s just one thing. Who’s going to clean this place tonight?”

“Howie!” barked Charlotte, suddenly in the mistress role again. “You will spend the rest of the evening washing up this room as punishment for your disgusting thoughts.”

Howie looked at me and then at Charlotte.

“Yes, mistresses,” he said.

G
oing for a drive in the car is my favorite way to spend time with Paul. We work together, live together, and play together, so that a major part of our lives is spent driving the country’s roads in our vintage sedan. I like to watch him as he drives, with his slightly muscular forearm resting on the gearshift and his other hand on the steering wheel. Sometimes we find a local radio station and sing along with the tracks they play or listen to the local news. Other times, we’ll stock up the car with our favorite CDs and create our own sound track.

Mostly we just talk. We talk for hours. We reminisce about the good times we’ve had and discuss our hopes and dreams for the future. We also swap sexual fantasies in which we imagine doing depraved, delicious things to each other and then describe them in explicit detail. We really get off on some of these scenarios, like the story I made up about me being with another woman or the one about my tying him up and going down on him.

There are a few we return to time and time again, and there’s one in particular that gets us so hot that we’ve had to pull over and make love on the side of the road. It’s the one where Paul describes how he’d like to see another man fuck me while he stands there, tugging at his own cock and balls, watching me flat on my back with another man’s dick sliding in and out of my pussy. And how during these proceedings I talk about feeling that dick while I watch Paul frantically masturbate himself until one dick shoots a load of spunk into the air and the other pumps its load inside me. We’ve shared this fantasy so often that it’s now my favorite.