The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

  He thought back to the day Brian came to the Tower after a ten-year absence. Threatened to turn him over to the law if his father didn’t quit beating his mother. The law wouldn’t dare investigate a claim like that, and if some upstart prosecutor wanted to make a name for himself, that prosecutor would find himself on the unemployment line. Brian knew that. Surely Brian knew that. So Brian’s demand that Jerry get with Morgan meant something else. Maybe it was the only way Brian knew to apologize for his actions the day he left Abernathy and stayed gone for ten years. Maybe it was the only way Brian knew to tell his father that he missed him and the things they used to enjoy together.

  Whatever it was, Brian was back in the picture again, if only on the periphery, and it left a smile on Jerry’s face.

  Chapter Ten

  “Much better,” Morgan said, her voice full and lush as she closed the door on Abernathy’s office and locked it. She approached her new slave rapidly, closing the distance on sturdy legs. She grasped the erect penis in one hand and the balls in the other. “Much better.”

  Just as quickly, she dropped him and went to her briefcase. She laid it on the desk and then sat in his chair. Hurriedly, she opened it and then stared at him, her scowl as creased as his scrotum.

  “What made you think you could merely open my briefcase and rummage around?”

  “I never...”

  “You’re lying,” she shouted. Quickly, she tossed a bottle of oil and a ping-pong paddle across the desk. “How dare you lie to your Mistress! There was a piece of paper that should have fluttered from it when it was opened and that paper was on the floor under your desk when I came in.”

  Without awaiting his reply because none was needed, she went to one of the chairs before his desk. She bent over it, offering him a view of her lovely ass carefully contained in silk pinstripes. But he heard the creaking...of wood against wood. Only a moment later, she tossed the arms of the chair aside.

  Astounded, he stared.

  “Get over here,” she screamed.

  Quickly, he moved, unsure of what was happening. The only thing he knew for certain was that a woman just dismembered the chair. Yet she grasped the bottle of oil placed in his hand. Wantonly, he watched her raise her very proprietary skirt and sit in the now dilapidated chair. Her stockings were exquisite, clutched by garters. She wore no underwear, only a garter belt, leaving the softest of amber fur to cover her mound.

  “Gently, rub the oil between my thighs...now.”

  Still standing, he let it drip on her legs.

  “Into the palm of your hand first, you dolt,” she screamed.

  Her voice, like the thunder of spring, shook him from his trance. His hand full, it fell over the tops of her legs and then slid into the heat between them. His penis lurched to that sensation, the briefcase forgotten already. He smoothed the oil there, the hairless skin feeling like refined silk. He could smell her attraction to him from between her legs.

  “Lay down,” she growled.

  Curiously, he looked at her. But she only grasped his wrist and pulled on him. “The penis goes between my legs,” she screeched. “The penis belongs to me now, and I want it between my legs this moment.”

  His body teetered over her legs until she pulled the other chair under his knees. His arms stretched out to steady his upper body weight on the floor. Ridiculous. He felt nothing but ridiculous, his ass exposed to her. Yet his desire was between her legs being seared by the heat there. He was cradled in comfort until the first crack of the paddle he’d forgotten about landed square on his ass.

  His body tightened as he lurched hard causing the first delightful friction to the penis. She struck again, another lurch and he smiled. Every nerve in his body suddenly turned on, ready to receive whatever she had for it. Only moments passed it seemed, her grasp on the penis undeniable, her affect on his ass so ingratiating until he began to writhe with the orgasm she had intended. Only when he was fully drained did she stop.

  “Go get a cloth and clean me,” she ordered.

  His lungs finally drew breath as he slowly stood, dizziness pitched him forward. Yet he returned with the cloth graciously moistened and warm. He patted her spread legs, the scent flowing from there undeniable.

  “Wipe yourself off and then the floor.”

  Quickly, he did it, so very curious about this woman.

  “On your knees,” she hissed. Following her command, he dropped slowly, his aging frame no longer under his control. “What have you learned?”

  “You have my attention,” he said under his breath.

  She stabbed her finger into her mouth as if to gag herself. “Of course, I have your attention. I want to know what you’ve learned.”

  He shook his head, couldn’t rip his eyes away from her, so incredibly amused by what he was experiencing.

  “Not much, huh.” She grasped his head and forced it to her chest. Easily, she reached beyond him to grab a pen and scribble an address while pressing her breasts to his face. And then she reached for the phone.

  When the phone was answered with the function on speaker, she hissed, “This is your Mistress.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” came his wife’s voice. It was so fluent, so filled with energy, enough to make Jerry recoil. Cheryl was playing Morgan like the shark at the poker table. But to explain it to Morgan... Morgan wouldn’t believe him. How long would it take Morgan to understand?

  “I’m in your husband’s office at the moment and he needs work. He won’t be coming home tonight because he’s spending the night with me. I want to see you at nine o’clock in the morning.”

  Obviously, Morgan wasn’t aware that Jerry had moved to the Penthouse. But because Cheryl was interested in the information Morgan might let slip, she asked with a worried tone, “Is he okay?”

  “No, he’s not. But he will be. Tonight, I want you to stand in the bathroom in front of the mirror naked for no less than thirty minutes, set a timer if you have to and inspect your body. Tell me tomorrow what you see.” Immediately she clicked off.

  Morgan pushed Abernathy away from her a little to look into his eyes. “The address is on your desk. Be there no later than five-thirty, because you’re going to learn about bondage devices tonight. Good day,” she said. Seductively, she stood, allowing her skirt to fall back around her legs. She grabbed her briefcase and smartly walked out.

  Still on his knees, he stared at the door. What the hell was that? He looked down at the deflated but ingratiated penis and the broken chair. Didn’t know women like her exist. And for the first time in his life he didn’t have to make the decisions. They were made before she even arrived. Curiously, he smiled. And then he rose to call his secretary and tell her he was leaving for the day.

  His first stop was the jewelers for diamonds, because love requires something special.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brian had only to walk across the street to get home from his current job site. He noted his mother’s car pulling from the driveway just then. It was to be another night alone, as he watched the chauffeur take her away.

  The first little fear that Morgan might have been correct in her assessment of his parent’s relationship caused his stomach to churn. She understood people and their motivations better than anyone he knew of.

  “Morgan, what have I done?” Heavily, he stepped onto the broad meandering pavement and then fell into the grass under a tree in front of the Mansion. “Why won’t you marry me?”

  To think he might have to live his life without her sapped his very will to live. A few quick phone calls to the Tower, to a few mutual acquaintances had told him she was still working...hard. She wasn’t as depressed about their break-up as he might have thought. But then he was working, too. Nothing else to do but get stoned...again.

  Maybe I should just go home and tell her we’re getting married and she doesn’t have to like it. Maybe I should get my whip out.

  He laughed at himself to even consider it. If Morgan knew he had some skills, she would run lik
e a scalded rabbit.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jerry kept the weighted box carefully tucked in his suit pocket and was dropped in the parking lot at her apartment building by his body guard. The note on the door told him to enter and lock it behind him. The note on the other side of the door told him to go to the bathroom and disrobe. The note in the bathroom told him to get in the shower.

  He turned on the water and stepped into the curtainless alcove, letting the warmth fill him. It soon turned to steam and the scent of something fresh swelled around him. Soap? Flowers? He couldn’t decide. But it was soothing, relaxing until he felt her presence like a vicious storm.

  Incredible woman. Wild woman, he thought. So easy to be dragged along behind her.

  Her naked body rubbed against the back of his, her soft down rubbing over his ass. “You’ll do everything I tell you to do.”

  “Yes.” Because he would. He would simply give into it, simply give himself over to it and follow her instruction, so curious to see where she goes. So easy to give into the lack of responsibility in the matter.

  Her arms wrapped around his body and her hands cradled his genitals. She rubbed there a moment, her hard nipples stabbing into his back.

  “If you’re a good boy, I have a special treat for you tonight.”

  He nodded, his lungs full of steam opening his sinuses, his throat.

  “You’ll open yourself to me, every bit of you.” Her hand slid over his hip and then his ass. A finger divided his cheeks while the other hand still clutched the penis.

  Only a second later he felt a rush of water there and then the unholy penetration.

  “You have to be clean,” she hissed, her voice a roar over the rushing water. With a terrible yank, she pulled it out of him.

  “Dry yourself off and come to the third door on the left.” She stepped out of the steam bath into the ethereal mist.

  He tried desperately to see through it, to see what she looked like. Had only seen bits and pieces until now. But it was impossible and he felt her leave him. Quickly, he dried, and emptied the contents of his rectum into the toilet. Not a care about his hair as he headed down the hallway.

  Third door on the left, and he opened it. Smiling, he stared at the black walls, the plethora of whips and other devices hanging there. Suddenly, he wanted grab her, drag her into this place, put her on the floor at his feet. It had been so long, an entire lifetime if he remembered correctly since he... Best to not think about that now. Just revel in the stark beauty of the Black Widow’s web. He looked closer to see the walls were upholstered in the softest of black velvet, deeply padded to absorb sound. The ceiling was the same, seemed a cave of wicked delight. But she meant to discipline him, he knew it.

  He turned...

  “I don’t think so,” she scraped. He stood motionless, staring wantonly at the end of the hallway, her frame filling the opening.

  Oh, shit, he prayed as he stared unabashedly, her thigh-high boots of black leather on four-inch heels raising her far above him. And finally her breasts were fully exposed to him, full luscious breasts thrust high by the little corset secured around her middle, leaving her nest also exposed.

  “Get in there.” The whip cracked on the wall.

  Quickly, he turned to hide a delighted smile.

  Her heels on the floor were the staccato rhythm of a machine gun as they followed briskly. She slammed the door behind him and then locked it so that he knew he could do nothing more than fumble to get out. She went for the cuffs.

  “Hands,” she ordered.

  “You’re gonna hurt me?”

  “You oughta know. You’re so damned good at it. Hands,” she snarled.

  He wanted badly for her to believe that he resisted. Yet he couldn’t help but smile inside to watch her deftly lock the stainless steel cuffs around his wrists, the kind of cuffs that would cut to the bone if he struggled within them. But he didn’t have the will to resist or the sense to flail because he wanted desperately to be overtaken by her, for her to learn to trust him so he could have her to himself.

  As if he were a cantankerous dog, she pulled him to the wall. She raised his hands over his head and looped the chain over a hook. He was trapped now, and any scream he issued would be absorbed by the upholstered walls and ceiling, the thick rug on the floor. But just in case, she dragged a cloth between her legs and then stuffed it in his mouth.

  What the hell did Brian get me involved with? So hopelessly enchanted, his heart thudded in his chest.

  He could only watch as she went to the door and opened it, as another woman, obviously younger but totally submissive, fell at her Mistress’ feet to kiss her boots.

  Mistress reached down to grab a handful of hair. She yanked that hair and pushed the victim toward a net of logging chain hung from the ceiling. The girl quite eagerly hooked her heels into it and reached up for the cuffs. Mistress strapped her into them and then stood back.

  Jerry watched intently, the particular twist of her ankle as she moved quickly and gracefully, almost a ballet of erotica before him. Never had he been a spectator like this, this something he could appreciate. The soft swell of her full hips, the flinch of her shoulder blades as the whip contacted the victim with precision accuracy. She was good, nothing to argue about that, he knew. A lot of years of practice required to gain the kind of control he could respect.

  That he and she could share something like this together sent a little flutter through him. It was another fantasy to dwell on. He could easily envision an entire room full of submissives, hear their whips thrash out in a syncopated rhythm so wholly attuned to each other they would be merely the percussion section to the choir of angels sobbing uncontrollably to the beat of their drums.

  The victim in this instance could no longer retain her tears, her pleasure in the pain her Mistress inflicted so freely. And wasn’t she a pretty little thing, too, those soft round breasts, that black hair tied so loosely letting it shiver with every thrust, every delightful flinch setting the chains from which she hung in motion.

  Moments later, Jerry saw a steady stream of fluid dripping between the girl’s legs as would gasoline from a pump ready to set her Mistress’ heart aflame. Mistress’ heels died in the rug as she closed the distance between herself and her victim. The victim’s moans increased in both duration and decibels to the feel of her Mistress’ hands at her breasts, softly kneading them, kissing them, licking them quietly.

  * * * *

  Hours later, it seemed, the girl lay on the rug, twitching uncontrollably, her nervous system short-circuited by the beating. Only then did Mistress approach him. “Do you know how to reward her?”

  “No,” he whispered. He wanted desperately to know what Morgan would want when she would soon find herself in that position.

  “I didn’t think so.” She reached up to release him.

  Instructed to pick the girl up off the floor and lay her on a horse, he did so. She was bent at the waist, her knees on platforms, her slit at the perfect height to be taken.

  “A whipping horse,” Mistress said as she came with the oil and poured it over the victim’s pretty little bottom. “Exactly where my Kitty likes it. But if you hurt her, I will fuck you up.”

  He knew to go slow, had done this thousands of times with the whores in the office. Liked it, in fact, better than over-used cunts.

  “And if you come, you will be punished severely,” she warned. “This is for her pleasure. So go slowly, and reach around her body for her clit. Stroke it hard for her all the while you tenderly take her to reward her for her service to Me.”

  But don’t come in this tight and heated place.

  Everything about him was so horribly turned on. He felt twenty again, not somewhere in the fifth decade of his life. This beautiful tight body with its welts, its moaning, its shuddering was exactly what he wanted and had always wanted. To hear the tears, feel the overwhelming passion in it as it began to orgasm, all he could have asked for.

  It throbbed,
the muscles around him contracting in arrhythmic spasms. If he didn’t pull out now, his own body would go with hers. No. Can’t. Too wonderful to feel it, to beautiful to see it, those welts, feel those heaving sobs and his own face contorted to the pain in the girl.

  Before he had sense, the whip cracked on his ass and he lurched away from the girl, causing her horrible pain. The girl screamed; she could do nothing more than clench her cheeks together to disarm it. But her very generous Mistress created another more immediate pain with the whip to disarm it for her and shouted, “Go get in the shower and then fix my dinner.” Another lash landed on the reddened bottom to get her moving.

  The door softly closed to leave Morgan alone with her little problem, a trainee of less than impeccable bearing. “Are you deaf or did you simply choose to defy Me?”

  He hesitated. Obviously, he wasn’t deaf and the only other she choice she offered was simple defiance. But he was enjoying this game, even if the defensiveness she created in him was part of it.

  “Please forgive me, Mistress.”

  The muscles in her face quivered as she studied him. “Then you defied me intentionally.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” he begged.

  “That’s what I’m here for. I’m going to help you.” Quickly, she stepped behind him and latched his hands together. “You know you have some serious problems. The money you control, the people you control, the lives you hold in the palm of your hand but you can’t even control your penis. You, you son of a bitch, are a mess. Your priorities are totally fucked up and you don’t even know it.”