by Harper Bliss
Valerie jetted silently in front of me and the tapping of my heels were the only sound in the dark. I forced myself to walk ahead with confidence as my eyes adjusted to the night.
We ended in a cul-de-sac where the path formed a circle around a single patch of grass. We were granted privacy by the tall, manicured hedge. It was very dark, and very quiet. Valerie began a slow lap around the circle.
“For being so disinterested you certainly had no problems keeping up.”
I shook my head to slow the rush of emotions throbbing at my temples.
“You called my bluff. But, really, if you hate my work so much, why did you drag me out here?”
“Oh, dear, I don’t hate your art, and I didn’t drag you anywhere. If you didn’t want to be out here, you wouldn’t be.”
“So, what gives?”
“What gives is that you have fight but no claws. I wanted to talk to you because of all the personalities poured into oils and resin and pulp in that gallery, yours is the only one that resonated on more than a superficial level. But there’s something missing. You need help, and I think I might just have the power to nudge you along. I don’t do this for just anyone.”
“You don’t, huh? And here I thought I was going to be the one serving you.”
“We’ll get to that.”
My heart skipped into a faster pace.
“Shouldn’t we have like, negotiations and safe words, and… stuff like that?”
“You may choose a safe word if you would like, but I don’t think it is necessary.”
A list of artists scrolled through my brain and for some reason I spit out, “Francisco Goya”.
“Goya? Ick. How about Gentileschi, or at least Matisse?”
I let out a deep breath. “Kahlo.”
“Deal. But I don’t think you’ll need it.”
“Why won’t I?”
“Because I’m not going to touch you. If you want to do the things I ask of you, you will. If you don’t, you won’t. Simple.”
“Simple.” I let out a hot huff. “What would you like me to do?”
“Take off your shirt.”
My heart thudded three even beats. So, this was where she was going with this. Push me to the edge, make me take a risk. I shrugged. I paid for an entire semester of my undergrad as a nude model for a sketcher’s night class. I pulled the tee over my head and tossed it toward her.
“Step out of your shoes.”
I kicked them to the side with attitude, but the cold concrete flush against my bare skin made me squeak.
“Yes, it’s a bit cold, but you won’t die. Now your pants, and underthings.”
And underthings. I obeyed with quick motions, breathing against the bite of the cold air in intimate places.
A pale outline of Valerie’s figure was all I could make out in the dark. The line of her cheek, the curve of her hand resting on her left wheel. I wondered what parts of my naked body she could make out, if she saw the contours of my hips, the dark patch of hair between my legs, or the glints of metal rings in my rock hard nipples. I remained still, my arms at my side.
“Very well. Walk to the middle of the circle. The grass will feel nice, I’m certain.”
The grass did not feel nice. It was actually quite pokey and scratchy on my feet, but her next words revealed why she wanted me off the cement.
“Now kneel.”
I lowered myself to the ground, running my fingers through the cold grass.
“Get down on both knees. Lower your head. Lower your shoulders. Further. Tighter.”
I hunched down as far as I could, resting my head on my forearms. My ass was stuck in the air and I couldn’t believe I was in such a derogatory state. Until I remembered I put myself in it.
“Now, close your eyes and imagine…” There was a pause and when she spoke again her voice came from my other side. Valerie was circling around me. “Imagine what I could do to you in such a position.”
My mind exploded with possibilities with an ease that frightened me and for a moment I forgot where I was. I brought myself back, picking at the grass. She noticed my squirming.
“Don’t move.”
A surge of guilt stilled my fidgeting.
“What did you imagine, hm? Did my hands cup your breasts? Did my teeth graze the back of your neck? Or perhaps I took advantage of your submissive stance and ran my fingertips slick against your wet pussy, toying with your clit, dipping my fingers inside?”
I was breathless, the cold sinking in, heat rising. I had imagined all those things.
“Do I fuck you hard or do I lick you slowly, lovingly? Do I pull your hair or do I caress your curves and tease your nipples? Do they plump and pulse between my lips? Do we kiss, Delilah? Or do you crawl to me and beg me to take you over my knee and show you where you’ve gone wrong?”
I took in each suggestion wilder than the next, each more sweet, each more enticing than the next. Yes, I wanted her domination, I wanted her to take me, to shake me, to punish me. I wanted to give that part of myself to her for her to handle however she knew was best.
“Tell me.”
My lips were parted, my tongue daring to release the request and when I finally gave in, my voice held the tone of a plea. “I want you to spank me.”
A crack popped behind me and I gasped.
She had—but she couldn’t have. I felt a blossom of pain, a jerk of my body against the impact, and a swell of desire for more. But she had not touched me. In the next moment a clap popped off in front of me. I imagined her firm hand and my awaiting flesh beneath her rule. I moaned.
“Again,” I implored.
Crack.
“Again.”
“Now, now. Ask nicely.”
An ache stretched between my legs.
“Please… please, again.”
Another slap echoed in the night. I rocked forward, my toes curling and my ankles tense. I let out another gasping moan.
“Yes, thank you. Thank you.”
“Touch yourself, Delilah. For me.”
I plunged my hand between my legs and began to soothe the agony of want with my fingertips. I stroked my vulva with three firm fingers, rubbing the searing pleasure as hard as I could. I wanted to scream. I wanted to feel the weight of my breasts against her lap, to feel the force of surrender, the unrelenting rhythm of release.
There was one more pop in the dark, a clip of surprise and I was gone. Orgasm shot up my spine and I came undone. I felt like all the little pieces of myself I had been trying to hold in, tight, secret, suddenly cascaded to the ground like an upset jar of marbles. A million pieces of my soul scattered like the stars in the night sky. In that moment I saw all my deepest fears and felt all my deepest shames and floated in a weightless realization that I had managed to let it all go.
When I surfaced I was clutching a fistful of grass and had tears in the corners of my eyes. Valerie’s voice was soft when she spoke.
“There. Now, why don’t you get dressed and warmed up before we go back to the party.”
I crawled to my pile of clothes and fumbled like a toddler in a Halloween costume to get put back together. As I dressed myself, I noticed for the first time how well my clothes conformed to the shape of my body, returning me to the comfort and security of my own skin. All the defensiveness of my image seemed to be melting and my clothes enveloped me in a simple kind of contentment. I looked up at her in the dark.
“Come here. I can hold you if you would like?”
I sniffed. “I would.”
“You can sit on my lap, here.”
Climbing into her she was so soft, with curves I had neglected to notice beyond her calculated demeanor in the gallery. Her rounded cheek rested gently on my forehead. Before I could stop myself my confession bubbled from my lips.
“My name isn’t Delilah Max. It’s Deana Maxwell. And I’m not from St. Louis. I graduated from a state college in the middle of nowhere in Missouri and I have no idea what I’m going to do with my art ca
reer after this residency is over.”
She caressed the side of my face and pulled me into her embrace. “You will make more art and go places you haven’t even dreamed of yet. You have skill, talent, and a perspective—when it breaks through, you’ll be unstoppable.”
I buried my face in her silkiness, just above her breasts. “Is that your version of telling me good girl?”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure you’re quite ready to appreciate those words just yet.”
A few moments of silence passed and I built up the nerve to finally ask, “Are you seeing... er, uh... Dominating anyone right now?”
“That’s a conversation to be had when you are in an entirely different head space. Perhaps over coffee. I read you are scheduled to be here for another five weeks, so there will be time for that.” I felt her body stiffen, then relax. “But the answer is no. Not right now.”
We sat beneath the cold night with each other for several minutes.
“I like your shoes,” she said, breaking the silence. “Perhaps you will leave them on next time.”
I dared a mischievous tone. “Will next time be soon?”
“I hope so. If I can do that to you just by talking, I am interested to see what will happen if you let me set my hands on you.”
“Oh… I have an idea.”
“I’m sure you do. But first, let’s go back in. I have a few things to add to our lesson, and it includes a discussion of that horrid wallpaper in your piece. Are you ready?”
I nodded. I slipped off her warm body and stretched my rejuvenated muscles. As we made our way back to the gallery, the heels of my shoes tapped with an echo I had never before noticed. I was ready to work. I was ready to break down and rebuild. I was, finally, ready to get inside.
Vegas Mistress
Samantha Luce
What happens in Vegas… when you never want to leave?
Anticipation. Carly Simon wrote a song about it. She knows my struggle as I sit cross-legged on the small white sofa with the garish red pillows. I’ve been doing so much anticipating in the past couple of months. This trip should have only lasted two weeks. For two weeks I could go without a visit to Lady Victoria’s Pit. I could satisfy my own needs or just deny them. Denial is one of the best aphrodisiacs I’ve discovered. The longer I go, the greater the reward when at last I am allowed the sweet release.
Nine weeks though, that is a bit much. Especially since that period of time has been chock full of mergers, take-overs, acquisitions, and terminations. If I have to look at another spreadsheet or PowerPoint presentation I think I might just go postal. At this moment, sitting with my back rigid and my hands folded demurely on my lap, I am a bundle of heightened nerves laying on a bed of unstable dynamite that could ignite at any moment. I shift my legs, hoping to feel the thrill of my panties tightening over my pussy. I’ve been performing this move repeatedly during these last few weeks. It was barely enough at first. Now, it has completely lost its powers. I am too far gone.
Aside from the sofa I am seated on, the only other furnishing is a foot long rectangular clock with large neon numbers. It is one minute from the witching hour. I have been wavering between watching the clock and the two doors. The plain door I originally entered just ten minutes ago, which could allow me a coward’s escape. Or the ornately carved door across from me, behind which should be my new mistress and God only knows what sorts of games and pleasures.
Three things happen almost at once. The numbers on the clock turn from 11:59 to 12:00. The door full of promise snicks open. All light is extinguished. It is so dark I lift my hand and cannot see it. I hear the click and clack of my mistress’s heels on the tile floor. My breath catches.
“Don’t move.” A commanding voice near my left ear. I am unable to catch it right then with just two words spoken, but later I will fall in absolute lust with her regal British accent.
The total darkness, anxiousness over what is to come, and her nearness have my heart thundering at a rapid pace. My breaths have become shallow and quick. There’s a hint of spice and leather in the air.
She collects my hair in her hand and draws it forward over my right shoulder. Warm minty-fresh breath teases the hairs on the back of my neck. “You have already committed one punishable infraction by being on the furniture without permission.
My faux pas shames me. I start to get up. Her soft hands grip my shoulders firmly. “I just told you not to move. That’s two infractions. Keep track of them.”
At that moment I am torn. I want to answer and tell her yes, Mistress, but she has not given me permission to speak. Nodding would mean more movement. I do not want to risk displeasing her any more during the first minutes of our meeting.
Her hands come around and she begins unfastening the buttons on my silk blouse. “I have spoken with your mistress, Lady Victoria,” she says in that soft, fancy voice of hers as she continues to slowly unveil me. “I know everything you crave the most. Once I have granted you permission to speak you will address me as Mistress or Lady M. Any deviation will result in more punishment.” On the last word she pinches both my nipples through the silk and lace.
A small moan escapes my lips.
“Lady Victoria calls you slave. You are not yet worthy of being my slave. I shall refer to you as Pet. Moaning without permission and moving your lips are two more mistakes. You may tell me how many transgressions you have made so far.”
“Four, Mistress.” My crotch is moistening with every word she utters. If not for my panties, my wetness would be dripping down my thighs.
She leaves my shirt hanging open. She doesn’t bother with unclasping my bra. Instead she pulls the lace cups down and lets my breasts pop free. My nipples are so tight and hard the exposure to the air borders on painful. She gives each of them a few tweaks before her nails graze the delicate underside of my breasts.
I gasp and shudder involuntarily. Being at her mercy with no light source is driving me past the brink.
She clicks her tongue near my ear. “That’s two more infractions, Pet.” Her tongue flicks out and licks the back of my ear, her mouth slowly lowering until she has sucked the lobe inside. I struggle not to squirm. Victory is within my grasp until she uses her teeth on me at the same time her hand snakes lower inside my skirt.
I moan again. The moment she called me Pet I felt a jolting tingle spread from my core to every extremity at once.
“One more,” she whispers while running her finger inside the waistband of my underwear. She moves quickly. Her whole hand dives lower, cupping my mound. The sensations make me sway against her.
“And another,” she murmurs. “You’re so smooth and wet. It feels as though you want to be good, but you keep breaking the rules. Naughty Pet. How many now?”
“Eight, Mistress.”
“It seems as though my new pet has a fondness for pain. Is that correct?” She spreads my folds until she finds my clit. Long fingers stroke my hard nub.
How do I answer that one? I do not like pain. I like the rewards which sometimes come after.
“Failure to answer. That’s another. If you make me ask again you will reach double digits.”
“No, Mistress. I do not enjoy pain.”
She squeezes my clit until I moan again. “I think you lied to me, Pet. That’s two more. What are we up to now?”
“Eleven, Mistress.”
“Eleven?” she repeats with a note of disbelief. “That’s more than one error per minute. By the end of the first hour you could be at sixty or more. Is that what you want?”
“Only if it pleases you, Mistress.”
She laughs softly. Her laughter is warm and full of promise. She rubs my clit one last time before slowly dragging her fingers up, dipping briefly in my navel, then continuing upward, circling my breasts, past my collarbone, along my chin, and finally pressing at my lips. “Open.”
I open quickly and begin to lick. She presses her fingers deeper and I suck them clean.
She withdraws them too soon an
d clicks her tongue again. “Such a bad pet. Did I give you permission to lick or suck?”
“No, Mistress. That’s thirteen.”
“Did you just give me your present tally without being asked?” The teasing breathy sound of her voice is gone in an instant. There is a sharpness to her tone now.
Damn, damn, damn. How could I have been so stupid? I keep mucking things up when all I want is to get something right for once. Instead I just make it worse.
“And now you choose to shut up so that I’m forced to ask my question again?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“Eyes forward. The lights are about to come on. I need to see what belongs to me for this night. You, however, haven’t earned the right to see me yet. If your eyes stray I shall double your count. What’s your total now?”
The lights come on. I blink several times as I try to remember.
“Oh, Pet. You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?
“Fourteen, I think.”
“That is incorrect. The number is fifteen. However, not following direct orders is a grave offense. Your number has just doubled to thirty. Now, stand up. Remove your clothes. Then, go and stand with your nose to the wall.”
I hurry to comply with her instructions. The number thirty echoes in my brain. Thirty what? Smacks with an open palm, a crop, a whip, a paddle, or… I shudder and remove my last piece of clothing. I fold it and set it atop the small pile in the corner. I feel her eyes on me the entire time. She has a way of making me feel desired and just a tad uneasy.
I walk to the wall and don’t stop until my nose is touching it. The sound of Lady M’s heels striking the tile floor as she nears me is making me wetter.
“Arms straight out to the side.”
I lift my arms and hold them in place.
“Legs spread. Shoulder width.”
I do exactly as she commands.
“Mmmm,” she expresses her contentment like a purring kitten as she presses herself to me from behind. She’s still clothed. Her beautiful curves, covered in soft leather, slide against me. “Very nice, Pet. I see you can follow orders.”
I swallow a lump of desire and will myself to remain still and quiet.