The Mistress Files

“I like that,” Sheridan confessed as The Mistress caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

“Like that I’ve topped rich and famous people? Richer and more famous than you? Or liked that I watched your interview?”

Sheridan shook her head.

“I liked that you called me Little Miss.”

Once again, The Mistress was seized with a nearly unconquerable urge to kiss the girl. But she restrained herself. Just barely.

“Glad you like it. That’s what I’ll call you from now on—my Little Miss. Now my Little Miss needs to take a deep breath. I’m going to start touching more of you—arms, stomach, hips and breasts, in that order.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Sheridan nodded her nervous little head and The Mistress moved in closer between Sheridan’s open thighs.

First, as promised, she started with Sheridan’s arms at the wrists and stroked upward to her shoulders with dancing fingertips. Delicate shivers passed through Sheridan’s body at the lightness of the touch.

Second, she brought her hands down Sheridan’s arms to her wrists, again pressed tight to her sides and crossed over to the girl’s trembling stomach. The Mistress laid her hand flat under her rib cage and felt the muscles flutter underneath.

Third she tickled Sheridan’s narrow girlish hips with her thumbs, tracing the bones.

“You need to eat more, Little Miss.”

“I eat all the time, Mistress. I promise. I just can’t gain weight. I’m going to look fourteen forever.”

“There are worse fates—working for Kingsley, for starters.”

Sheridan gave a little giggle.

“I like him. Is he really that bad?”

“Terrible. It’s impossible to get any work done with him around talking French at you and being all suave and seductive. Sometimes I fuck him just to shut him up.”

“Poor you, Mistress.”

“Tell me about it.”

As Sheridan dissolved again into laughter, The Mistress slid her hands upward and covered the girl’s breasts with both hands.

Then the laughter stopped.

The Mistress smiled. Just the reaction she wanted.

At first, The Mistress did nothing but let the heat of her hands seep into Sheridan’s body through her breasts. Under her palms, she felt Sheridan’s nipples harden.

“You have beautiful breasts, Little Miss. Perfectly shaped. Beautiful nipples the color of pink roses.”

“I have no breasts. I’m an A-cup.” Sheridan sounded genuinely upset with her own body. “I should get implants. My agent says—”

“Fuck your agent. You get implants and you could lose sensitivity. Are fake boobs really worth never feeling this again?” The Mistress punctuated her sentence by gently pinching both of Sheridan’s nipples, a move that elicited one of the more erotic gasps ever uttered since the invention of gasping.

“No...I’d hate to lose that,” Sheridan confessed.

“Then don’t. Your body is perfect. Don’t fuck with it. That’s my job.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl. Now shut up and lay there. I’ve got a girl to get off.”

A new smile appeared on Sheridan’s face in place of the old, nervous smile. This smile was amorous, heated, sexy beyond description and exactly what The Mistress was going for.

For a good ten minutes (a very good ten minutes in The Mistress’s estimation) she focused her attentions on Sheridan’s breasts, nipples and chest. Men rarely understood the power of focusing attention on one part of the body at a time. A few lucky women could even achieve orgasm from breast stimulation alone. The Mistress doubted Sheridan had that power but she’d need as much foreplay as she could stand if the long-awaited orgasm was to come.

The Mistress moved slowly...tracing circles around Sheridan’s breast with a fingertip before spiraling up to her nipple and back down again. Pinches turned to gentle kneading and back again. Soon Sheridan’s chest moved in rapid pants and her nipples turned from pale pink to red.

“Are you enjoying this, Little Miss?”

“So much...you really know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve got a gift for giving women orgasms. I give myself an orgasm at least once a day.”

Sheridan giggled again and her blush deepened. Good. Flushed skin was one of the telltale signs of an aroused woman. But it would take more than just stimulating her body to get Sheridan to orgasm. The Mistress needed to get inside her mind.

“You know, Little Miss, this isn’t my only job,” The Mistress said as she ran her fingers over Sheridan’s collarbone, giving her breasts a moment to recover from all the attention. “I’m also a writer.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I write erotica. I love a good sexy story. Reading them, writing them, hearing them.”

“Me, too. I learned all about sex from my mother’s romance novels. I think that’s why when Rex came on to me that first time, I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t wait to try out all this stuff I’d been reading about.”

“How did the reality of sex compare to the fictional version?”

Sheridan sighed. “It was definitely different. I was in my dad’s office for one thing. In the books, they’re always in a bed...or maybe a carriage, not bent over an armchair or flat on a desk.”

“Never fucked in a carriage. I’ll have to put that on my bucket list. Continue.”

“It hurt more than I expected. In the books there’s always just this quick stab of pain and then ecstasy.”

“Well, it’s the writer’s way of throwing in some drama to an otherwise simple and natural act. But too much pain and drama, and it turns into a horror story.”

Sheridan grinned and lifted her hips. Another good sign. Sheridan couldn’t seem to stop moving her lower body. That meant she was feeling something in the right spot.

“It wasn’t a horror story. Definitely. It just really burned going in. I was wet and excited but not ready. Not really. The next time was a lot better.”

“Can you remember your favorite time with him? The best sex? The best orgasm?”

“Yes. Like it was yesterday.”

“Tell me about it. I’m going to start touching your clit, by the way, while you tell me about the best sex you ever had. Don’t argue with me about it.”

“I wouldn’t.” She shook her head and took a quick, deep breath. “I was eighteen, just turned eighteen...about to leave Chicago and move to New York. I’d done some commercials and got an agent. My dreams were coming true. But...”

“But you had to leave Rex behind.”

“Right. I didn’t want him to know I was going. If he tried to talk me out of it, he might have. So I knew it would be our last time for a few months at least. I went to his house one evening. He wasn’t expecting me. My flight left the very next morning, but I didn’t tell him that.”

“What did he do?”

“He opened the door and saw him standing on the stoop. And he pulled me inside and without saying anything he kissed me.”

“Very nice.”

“I loved when he did that. Every time I showed up on his doorstep, I was afraid I’d make him mad. Maybe he’d have company over or something and wish I hadn’t shown up. I wasn’t even his mistress. I was just his dirty secret. But every time I went over there...yeah, just like that.”

“And then?”

“And then he was all over me...right in the foyer. I had on a plaid skirt—”

“How very Catholic schoolgirl of you.”

“Episcopal actually.”

“Don’t kill my lady-boner. I’m pretending it was Catholic. Go on. He was all over you how?”

“Hands everywhere. Mouth everywhere. He liked to bite when he kissed me. My lips and tongue and neck and ears. He’d dig under my skirt and shove his hand into my panties.”

“You wore panties around him? Such a waste of time.”

“Only because I loved hearing him grunt with frustration when he had to drag them off of me.”

“I like your style. And I’m about to touch your clit and vagina. Continue.”

Sheridan stiffened but kept talking.

“So yes...plaid skirt,” Sheridan said and inhaled right as The Mistress put her fingertip gently to her clitoris. Her whole body tensed but The Mistress did nothing and said nothing, merely waited. Sheridan continued. “And there was this table in the foyer—fancy table. His housekeeper always kept fresh flowers on it.”

“How nice.” The Mistress gently kneaded Sheridan’s clitoris with one finger. The attentions The Mistress had paid to Sheridan’s breasts had sent the blood flowing in the right direction. Sheridan’s labia had started to open and her clitoris had swollen slightly.

“Those poor flowers never knew what hit them. Everything on that table hit the floor when Rex bent me over it.”

“That devil,” The Mistress said as she lightly increased the pressure on Sheridan’s clitoris, increased the speed of her movements.

“He was.”

“Tell me what you remember feeling. Tell me in detail. And while you’re talking, try to remember every sensation he aroused in you....” The Mistress ran a single finger up and down the seam of Sheridan’s vagina. “While you remember, imagine yourself getting wetter and wetter, think of all the blood rushing to your labia and your vagina opening....”

Sheridan inhaled slowly and nodded her head. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Now keep talking. I might go inside you soon.”

The Mistress watched Sheridan’s thin fingers dig into the silk of the cushions. But she raised no protest.

“So Rex bent me over this table in the foyer. I remember the cool slick wood under my right cheek. I held onto the sides as he dragged my panties down my legs.”

Again and again, The Mistress ran her finger up and down Sheridan’s slit and felt it grow wetter and warmer to the touch.

“And once he had my panties off, he shoved my legs open. Practically kicked them open.”

“Wicked man. You must have loved it.”

“God, yes. I was scared, though. It was all happening so fast and Rex was pretty big. He could hurt me if he went in too fast.”

“I think most men need the word foreplay tattooed on their cocks. Like a Post-it note—just permanent.”

Sheridan grinned as she lifted her hips a few inches off the pillow. Squirmy thing. Another good sign.

“Truth. But that time Rex managed to control himself enough. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in me.”

“There might be some redemption for this man. Continue.”

The Mistress pressed open Sheridan’s labia. The girl was soaking wet inside. Gently The Mistress massaged her outer lips in an effort to bring even more blood flowing to her clitoris.

“He attacked me with his tongue, pushed it all the way inside me. It was weird feeling him at that angle. Usually when he went down on me I was on my back, not on my stomach sprawled across a table. But it was a good weird, a good angle. I got so wet you could hear it when he stuck his fingers in me.”

“How many fingers?”

“Three or four. Can’t remember. Couldn’t tell. They slid right in, I was so wet by then. Slid in deep. He traded off...he used his fingers on me for a minute or two...then back to oral—he loved to lick me. He’d spread me open really wide and just dive in face first.”

“If he loves going down on women, he can’t be all that bad.”

“He wasn’t...really, he wasn’t. And sometimes he was even good.”

“When he was fucking you?”

“Exactly. Yeah, so he fucked me with his fingers until I was dripping for him.”

“You’re dripping for me,” The Mistress told her with a smile. She still hadn’t gone inside Sheridan yet wanting to hold off as long as possible.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on.”

“I know my way around a vagina. Go on with the story.”

“So when I was dripping wet for him, he stood up and unbuckled his belt.”

“I love that sound.”

Sheridan murmured her agreement. “He was good at that, too...unbuckling his belt with one hand while his other hand got his cock out....”

The Mistress bit her lip to stifle a laugh. America’s Sweetheart had an exquisitely dirty mouth when turned on enough.

“I was dying....” Sheridan said as she moved her hands to her own breasts and began to touch her nipples. “I wanted him inside me so fucking much. No matter how fast he moved, it wasn’t fast enough. I think I begged. Out loud maybe. I know I said ‘Please.’”

“Did he please?”

“Oh, yeah, he pleased. He pleased hard,” Sheridan said with a giggle so amorous she sounded intoxicated. “He slammed into me in one stroke. My hips had bruises on them the next morning from how hard he went it. I kept going to the bathroom just to look at them. He owned me with that thrust.”

He owned me.... The Mistress had pegged Sheridan as a submissive. With three words she outed herself.

“On the opposite of the foyer was this big mirror. I remember turning my head and watching him as he fucked me.”

“I love doing that. Men think they’re the visual ones, but who needs internet porn when you’ve got a mirror at the end of your bed?”

“I should get one. God, it was amazing watching him. I’d never done that before really...watched him while he fucked me. He was almost out of his mind. He wasn’t even holding onto me, just the edge of the table. He just...” Sheridan paused for a breath and to open her thighs even wider. Good, The Mistress thought. Sheridan was close to going out of her mind waiting to be penetrated. “He just pounded me. It was brutal. I heard the table feet scraping the tile floor. And he was grunting and panting like he was in pain almost. You should have seen him...I did see him. I still can see him.”

The Mistress let Sheridan fall silent. The girl was no doubt lost in the most erotic memory of her life, the memory of a man so consumed with lust for her he nearly ate her alive in the foyer of his town house before he even could be bothered with a “hello.”

“What else can you see?” The Mistress asked as she opened Sheridan wider and stroked her inner lips. The girl was slick with desire and remembered passion.

“He grabbed the back of my neck and held me down hard against the table. He was absolutely ramming into me by that point. I don’t know...it was like he knew that would be our last night together even though I hadn’t told him.”

“Did you orgasm then?”

Sheridan shook her head. “No. He came first. Loudly. Usually he was so quiet during sex, really intense. But that time he just groaned. I usually couldn’t feel it when he came, either, but that night I did. When he pulled out, his cum dribbled down my legs and onto the floor.”

“I hope he had a forgiving housekeeper.”

“He left me laying on table while he zipped his pants back up. Then he grabbed me and picked me up. I laughed out loud at that. Crazy... It was so Gone With the Wind, him carrying me up the stairs. I told him I could walk.”

“You look like you weigh about ninety-five pounds. Let the man carry you.”

“I did and I loved it. I loved it when he threw me onto his bed upstairs. And I loved it when he took his belt and whipped the back of my legs with it.”

“Ohh...masochistic streak. I can work with that.”

“I hope you do, Mistress,” Sheridan said, her voice dropping an octave. “He didn’t hit me very often. Didn’t want anyone seeing the welts.”

“Occupational hazard in my world. Our world,” The Mistress corrected. The sooner Sheridan accepted her kinky side, the sooner she’d be able to enjoy sex again.

“Exactly. But I was eighteen then and we were wild that night. He whipped me from ass to ankles....”

“I’m putting that on my to-do list.”

“And then he tied to me to the bed on my back. He was already hard again. He crawled on top of me...I loved looking at him. I don’t know why but he always wore his suit during sex. Never undressed. He’d take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves, but that was it. He’d leave on the vest or his tie... I loved it, though. It felt so dirty being naked while he was fully dressed in his sexy business suits. Maybe that’s why he did it.”

The Mistress kept her mouth shut. A man in his late thirties, early forties, having an affair with beautiful a teenage girl? She knew exactly why he kept his clothes on during sex. Sheridan’s lover didn’t want her seeing his aging body. But The Mistress didn’t tell Sheridan that.

“What did he do then?”

“He fucked me again. Not as hard this time. Slower...much slower. It was always slower the second time. And he finally kissed me. And while he was kissing me he started rubbing my clit. That was my favorite...when he touched my clit while inside me. I came every time when he did that.”

“Like this?”

The Mistress turned her hand and pushed three fingers deep into Sheridan’s body as she carefully rubbed her clitoris with her other hand. As the first penetration, Sheridan gasped and dug her hands back into the cushions.

She nodded mutely. Just like that.

“Keep remembering, Sheridan,” The Mistress ordered. “But don’t talk. Just remember how good it felt, this man on top of you and inside you, and how it felt when you hit that moment when the pressure starts to build and you know if he just keeps doing exactly what he’s doing you’re going to come and come hard....”

The Mistress pushed the knuckle of her thumb into Sheridan’s G-spot and smiled as the girl flinched with pleasure. Sheridan’s head fell back and the heels of her shoes dug so hard into the silk cushion that the fabric started to rip. Lost in ecstasy, Sheridan didn’t even seem to notice.

A lifetime of experience with the female orgasm had taught The Mistress that all she had to do now was not stop. A red flush spread across Sheridan’s chest. Her breathing had quickened wildly. Every muscle in her legs had gone taut. The Mistress pushed in another finger and the girl’s body opened to her like a flower. With a little lube, she could have shoved her whole hand into the girl. But they’d save that for next time. Now all that mattered was getting Sheridan to the edge and pushing her over it.

“I want you to come for me, Sheridan. I’m ordering you to come for me. I’m not taking off that blindfold or letting you out of this room until you come for me. I don’t care if takes all night. You can do this.”

“I don’t know...it’s been years...I—”

“It’s not you, Sheridan. It’s them. The guys you’ve been with who didn’t understand who you are and what you are. You can orgasm. There’s nothing wrong with you. They didn’t know what they were doing. Vanilla sex with a guy who treats you like his best buddy isn’t going to do for it. And it shouldn’t. You deserve better sex than that. You belong at the feet of a man who owns you and treats you like his property and inflicts orgasms on you like a punishment....”

“Oh, God...” she panted between breaths.

The Mistress pushed harder onto her clitoris, moved her hand faster and deeper insider her vagina....

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Little Miss.”

Sheridan’s hips rose again off the cushion and hovered a few inches in the air.

“This nothing wrong with you at all,” The Mistress said and shoved in once more.

With a loud and lusty cry, Sheridan’s back arched, her body froze, and every muscle inside her fluttered wildly, almost painfully around The Mistress’s hand as an orgasm years in the making ripped through the girl and sent fluid pouring out of her and onto the red silk.

When the last contraction subsided, The Mistress carefully pulled out of Sheridan and let the girl take a few minutes to breathe.

Sheridan’s breathing slowed. The Mistress grinned as a laugh, a beautiful tired laugh, escaped Sheridan’s lips, and a smile as wide as the sky spread across her face. Nowhere on the girl’s face did The Mistress see shame or self-loathing or fear.

The Mistress reached behind Sheridan’s head and untied the blindfold. Sheridan blinked a few times and looked up into The Mistress’s eyes.

“I can’t believe that happened,” she said in a faint whisper. “I haven’t come with another person in years.”

“Welcome back. Next session I’ll give you two orgasms. But you better tip well.”

“God, you’re good at this, Mistress.”

And for reasons that The Mistress couldn’t explain—and wouldn’t explain—and certainly would never apologize for, she gave the girl the quickest of kisses on her lips.

“Told you so.”

End of Session One

Jesus H. Christ, Kingsley. Stop reading over my shoulder. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with you breathing in my goddamn ear? I can hear your erection.

Kingsley...what are you doing? Stop biting me. I’m still typing here. I’m typing all of this. I want your biting me in the permanent record.

Could someone tell Kingsley to please stop biting me?

Fine. I’ll do it myself.

And now you’re taking your clothes off.

I love this damn job.

END OF FILE

The Mistress Files #2

The Case of the Diffident Dom

By Nora Sutherlin

Okay, client profile number two coming right up. This one should be a lot easier to write without that nymphomaniac Frenchman Kingsley hanging around. Big mistake trying to write these files at Kingsley’s house. The man just cannot keep his nose out of my business sometimes. And by “nose” I, of course, mean “penis.” And by “my business” I mean...

Well, you know what I mean.

Hello, dear reader. I’ll assume that if you’re reading this file you’re also in Kingsley’s employ as either a pro-Dom or a pro-sub. He has some ridiculous notion that I am the greatest Dominatrix working today and that all pros can learn a thing or two from my interactions with clients. All right, maybe it isn’t that ridiculous. I’m pretty damn good at this. What can I say? I learned from the best. But the less said about Him the better.

Back on topic. As you know, Fellow Minions of Kingsley, this job we do is really just a job. Most days at least. We show up. We kick ass—or get our asses kicked...I’m not forgetting you cute little subs out there. We yell, we flog, we insult, we beat and bruise, and then we send them home happy and hand off our 15 percent to Kingsley.

But some days the job is more than a job. And those are either the best days or the worst days. Some days I’m less a Dominatrix and more a therapist. A lot of people come to me already broken and only by breaking them again can they finally heal right. I like those days, although they scare the shit out of me. You try never to take the job home with you.

Although, on rare occasions, you go home with the job.

Client: Robert Bruce, age 45.

Wife: Cara, age 36.

Robert came to The Mistress on a Thursday afternoon during her office hours. Kingsley had scoffed at the idea of a Dominatrix holding a weekly salon for her clients. Anything that involved kinky people in the same room together keeping their clothes on baffled his poor French brain. But The Mistress understood that the dynamics with her clients changed and their bonds strengthened when they could interact as Domme and sub without the erotic stress of a scene looming. The subs brought her their bruises for inspection and applause. The Doms came to learn her secrets. One hour a week could breed a lifetime of well-paid loyalty. The Mistress, as always, knew what she was doing.

When Robert entered the room—Kingsley’s private lounge on the first floor—The Mistress couldn’t quite discern exactly what he wanted from her. He stood in the corner and watched as The Mistress rubbed the shoulder of her favorite female submissive. Her Little Miss had played too hard with a sadist the night before and had a pulled muscle to prove it. The Mistress loved to coo over her broken-winged doves. This Little Miss melted into her hands as the sub regaled The Mistress with the story of last night’s erotic adventure. Robert listened attentively but without any discernable lascivious intentions. He had the posture and the bearing of a Dominant. He stood straight with his chin high, and at no point did he shrink from eye contact. Although the Little Miss at The Mistress’s feet told a lurid story of pain and passion—and some double penetration while suspended facedown from the ceiling, via a leather harness and some elaborate Kinbaku, i.e. Japanese rope bondage, see attached diagram—Robert never once batted an eyelash. The story neither repulsed nor astonished him. He listened as if he’d heard the tale before. Or perhaps even lived it.