The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

  It made him stop...stop and think. He couldn’t control the penis and it’s roaming, yet he commanded thousands. Hundreds of thousands. He never had control of his wife or his children. He didn’t even have control of himself.

  Morgan watched as that idea took hold and the fright that swept over him nearly dropped him to his knees. Rather than allow him to get lost there because there would be time for reflection when she let him go, she spritzed the penis with rubbing alcohol and dried it. While he lingered in the haze of confusion, she placed leg irons around his ankles and a small ring around his testicles. By the time he awoke he found he was chained from ankle to balls and back to ankle, his hands tidily behind him and was utterly unable to defend himself.

  “If you take a step of more than six inches, I can assure you you’ll need a doctor. Now follow me.”

  The pain...the incredible pain of just the weight of the chains. Yet the door leading out of this little shoppe of happy horror was open. Standing on tiptoe only made it worse. Rather, he crouched a little and with the smallest of steps followed on.

  It was beautiful, her bedchamber. A massive bed big enough for four was draped in the softest black satin with huge down pillows looking like ominous storm clouds. The canopy was ruffled with that same black satin, and black sheers hung in the corners at the bedposts, ready to be closed. This exquisite black iron bed ornately turned with daggeresque finials and feet sat against a backdrop of purely white carpet, lush and thick. Black draperies at the sliding door leading to the balcony could be closed. Other than that, huge baskets of flowers in varied states of freshness sat around the room on iron stands.

  From her riverview chair with her legs crossed tightly, she commanded, “Over here. On your knees.”

  Easily, that was accomplished because of the pressure applied to his testicles. The only thing that could relieve him more was a fully prone position, curled as does a fetus.

  “These flowers are lovely,” he said of the softest thing in the room.

  “If I wanted your opinion I’d ask for it, wouldn’t I? But since you bring it up, they are all remembrances and gratitude offered for the many and varied ways I keep my clients in both pleasure and pain. Don’t say another word until dinner is over.”

  Just then, Kitty laid a plate before her with a glass of wine. He noted a delicately roasted chicken breast covered in parmesan lying on a bed of pasta in marinara. It smelled delicious, the aroma rising as sensual as that from between her legs. She tore off a piece of the garlic bread and said, “Open.”

  Dumbfounded, he stared.

  “Open your mouth.”

  He couldn’t but comply and she stuffed it in. The garlic was thick, heady with the feel of the butter rolling down his throat like liquid gold. He didn’t allow himself butter, the better to maintain his physique. But there it was, a wicked little delight.

  He watched as her lips parted and her tongue reached out to catch the drip of alfredo off the string of linguini, something as stringy as his penis felt. Before that bite was swallowed, she rolled another onto the fork. “Open,” she ordered. This time he didn’t hesitate. He’d never been fed before, never experienced anything so intimate as this. The sharpness of the cheese moderated only by the swell of garlic was utterly delightful. The wine, though it didn’t go with the meal, was cold and tart and fresh, the cleanest thing he’d tasted in years. Her breasts heaved with every breath, the nipples nothing but firm and hardened for passion as she sat painfully erect in the fully upholstered and skirted chair of black silk, the better to show off the creaminess of her flawless skin.

  Carefully, she dabbed the napkin on his face and then offered him a last drink of water. “Do you have to go potty?” she asked.

  Everything she asked, everything she did left him speechless. “Yes,” he murmured.

  Her features were now gentle, maternal in a way he never knew. “Do you understand that the penis belongs to me now, that I am your Mistress?”

  Simply speechless. He nodded, so entirely enchanted.

  “You never use the penis for any purpose, illicit or otherwise, unless I allow it. Should I find that it’s been buried in one of your whores it will be whipped within an inch of its life. If you so much as touch it to piss through it, it will be battered until it's purple. Come with me.”

  How the hell to stand? To raise off his knees with his hands behind his back and his balls twisted in chain?

  “You’re a relatively young man and you’ve lost your legs already, I see. Comes from sitting at a desk for thirty years and creating nothing but marks on papers.” She went to steady him, to help raise him. “Roll back on the balls of your feet and rise. Follow me.”

  Somehow it was accomplished, but only with her help. His lack of balance was an unimaginable embarrassment. By the penis she led him to the bathroom, the one in which he showered and where the black porcelain toilet sat against a wall with nothing near it. She raised the lid and then unhooked his arms.

  “You don’t touch the penis. If anything in your bathroom impedes you from lowering yourself over the bowl and letting the penis dangle in it while you relieve yourself, I suggest you get rid of it. The penis is mine.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am very serious.” Hurriedly, she grabbed a nearby riding crop. It struck out and the sting left boiling on the glans was impossible to fend off. He could only melt with it.

  Carefully, he lowered himself and grasped the edge of the bowl. A bit of contortionism, calisthenics involved in this. With his toes on the floor, his hands once again balancing his weight as in the chair in his office, the penis hung toward the water. But he knew how ridiculous he looked. Consciously, he stared at the pointed toes of her boots, toes he could somehow feel driven into his ass. So engrossed he was in the boots, the muscles wouldn’t open and let the urine flow.

  It surprised him, the sound of it heard before the feel of it. Somehow, he was losing control of his body. Systematically, she was taking it from him. Did she also have his mind? A little fright swelled up to think he couldn’t stop the freight train that rolled through his door quite recently.

  “If your hands are free, take a bit of paper and dab the orifice without allowing your hand to contact it,” she said demonstrating for him. “Go get in bed.”

  Quickly, he escaped her and returned to the bedroom. Whatever she had planned tonight was impossible, he knew that. Fifty-five years old, two orgasms already that day which on any other would have been impossible. Yet he drew back the sheets and laid down, the satin so decadent and cool.

  He waited. He didn’t wait long. She appeared in the doorway wearing a gown of pure white adorned in lace and ribbons. Tiny pastel flowers sprinkled throughout the embroidered vines. A virgin bride, something he’d never had before. Yet the penis stirred a little at the contrast of her hair, her vivid green eyes sparkling like flawless emeralds in the last light of day.

  She turned from him and opened the door on an armoire. When she turned again she held...a diaper!

  Oh shit...a diaper. She merely pulled back the covers to expose him. And then she grasped the chains near his ankles and lifted his legs. In utter confusion, he felt the cloth slide under his ass and then his legs were laid down. The cloth was drawn between his legs and locked to each hip.

  “What are we doing?” he gasped.

  “You need to be voice trained. You don’t speak until I tell you to speak. Kitty is fixing your bottle now. Until it's ready...”

  She pulled the sheet to her thighs and tugged at the thin ribbon closing the gown. A magnificent breast spilled out of it and she took the nipple in hand to firm it. And then she held out her arms for him to fall into.

  What are we doing? he wanted to ask again. Ah, but it obvious, wasn’t it? Carefully, he slid over the satin and moved to face her, the diaper such an aggravation now. Yet the beckoning, succulent flesh on her chest was too much to resist. His head laid in the crook of her arm. His mouth opened on that delectable morsel
.

  “Take all of it,” she whispered softly. The backs of her fingers stroked softly over his cheek.

  What magic is this? he wondered. Yet the answer was lost...if there was an answer. The soft flesh in his mouth emptied his mind. He could feel the calm, measured beat of her heart, something that seemed a pendulum of perpetual motion. Something that would never stop, always beat for him in the most steady rhythm. He felt the rise of her chest as it pressed her breast into his face and then retreated only a little.

  * * * *

  Men. She smiled, trailing the curve of his ear with a fingernail. It’s so easy to turn them into babbling babies ready to acquiesce to every desire. So very easy, and she could think of no one but Brian now. How many hours in the last ten years had they laid in bed like this, the sound of his suckling drawing her ever deeper into him, she unable to resist his varied charms. His surrender, his obedience, his effusions of love.

  But this man tortured her with the same soft effusions, a soft gurgling from his throat. She studied the porous skin, a little dark just like his father. But there was something so different about Jerry, something tortured and she didn’t have to wonder why. He was raised by a monster.

  A sudden and immediate attack of sympathy swelled in her and she hugged him closer to her. Something that wanted to defend, destroy if need be the very thing that assaulted him. The backs of her fingers swirled delicate circles over his cheek and brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. Maybe it was only the reputation of the father that was visited upon the son...not the sins. Whatever it was, he was drinking her down as if he starved.

  * * * *

  Jerry awoke as if from a soothing dream when he felt the few drops of warm liquid on his cheek. His eyes fluttered open to see that it was a baby bottle sized to adult proportions. She dragged it across his lips, he unsure what to do. Gently, she forced the huge nipple between his teeth. Instinctively, his tongue drew down on it and he tasted the hint of wine. Watered wine, mulled with a touch of sugar.

  He tried to smile with the pleasure of this, but the suction of his mouth refused him that. He merely lay in her embrace, her heated breasts pushed against his face, closing an eye with a nipple. He slurped as if famished.

  “Good boy,” she whispered as she kissed his forehead. “It’s empty now. Good boy.” Her muscular arms held to his limp body and raised it over her shoulder. Gently, she pounded his back until he burped. “Good boy.”

  Never had anything felt so good in his life. The simple release of an air bubble in his stomach. The limpness of his body, every bit of tension gone from it. He’d never felt so loved or cared for. So easy to just exist so distant from himself.

  Suddenly, he felt a warm gush of fluid in the diaper. He almost died to think he was pissing himself! He was pissing still and he couldn’t control it. And it felt so damned good, to just let go of it and be so totally relaxed and not care.

  With a tender smile, she whispered, “Ah, you need a new diaper.” She went to the armoire for a fresh one and changed him. He could do nothing but stare up at her, had fallen hopelessly in love, he was certain of it. Didn’t ever want to be away from her again. The wet, smelly thing was removed from him and discarded and the new one was installed quite deftly. When she reached for his hands with a leash, he offered no protestation. She drew the strap between his legs and hooked it to his ankles.

  Carefully, she slid into the bed and wrapped her soft silken body against his. Gently, she stroked him, her hand on his hip sliding down his thigh. But it wasn’t sexual, it was only love, he was sure of it. “Go to sleep,” she murmured.

  “But it’s still daylight,” he mewed.

  “And we have to get up very early for another lesson because your wife will be here at nine.”

  “My wife,” he repeated. He hadn’t thought of her all day. But that was ridiculous. He hadn’t thought of her for years. Insufferable bitch, and the tension rose again. “How is my wife?”

  “Your wife is not your concern. She’s mine. Go to sleep.”

  Good. Not his concern. Just the way he wanted it because this...this was a one-way portal to Xanadu.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was the soundest night of sleep he’d had the pleasure of since he was a kid, though it cost him ten thousand dollars. He awoke to the feel of her busy hands on his body, loosing the chains that bound him, removing the diaper. He was in love, this had to be love and the penis hardened at the sight of her through the dim recessed lights.

  “I need you to wake up as quickly as you can. We have many things to do in the next two hours before I let you away from me.”

  “I can stay today,” he pleaded.

  “No. You go to work when I’m through with you. Go shower, clean yourself out and come to me.”

  It was a disappointment, but still groggy, he rolled out of the bed and went to the shower. He wouldn’t dare insult her with a body fluid still clinging somewhere. But what a night. While he shaved, he luxuriated in the most peaceful sleep he could have never imagined in the arms of the most exquisite woman out of his fantasies.

  But what was it about her? Haughty bitch sometimes. Domineering bitch definitely. And yet a sweet angel, a mother, a blessing surely. Yet he was paying for her when he wanted forever with her.

  Quickly, he dried and went in search of her. It seemed they were alone, that other girl gone now. He found his sweet angel on the balcony with a cup of coffee overlooking the river.

  Overwhelmed. It rose like a seaswell and swamped his reason. From behind her, forgetting his nudity, he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Don’t ever put your hands on me unless I tell you to,” she warned as she turned. Quickly, he backed away. “If you need to express something, you do it on your knees. Get in there.”

  What could he have possibly done to anger her? Don’t all women like that? To be touched and loved?

  “In my presence, unless I tell you otherwise you are to stand erect, your hands behind your back, your gaze averted to the floor, the penis hardened for my pleasure, not yours.”

  It was limp, horribly limp and she wanted it hard. Maybe she would let him have her? Finally.

  “Use your mind. Do you want me?”

  He willed it to rise, but it refused him. It merely hung, so utterly limp and relaxed as he had been all night.

  “You may ask for my help now,” she said.

  “Please, Mistress, I desperately need your help.” He wanted nothing more than the penis to get her attention now.

  “Very good.” She went to the kitchen. He couldn’t see what she was doing or what she held in her hand as she came to him, her bare breasts filling his vision. Rather roughly, she pushed him to the stationary table in the center of the room. “I want you to look up at the ceiling now and do not move.”

  His head fell back but he closed his eyes to the feel of her hand stimulating his cock.

  “Don’t move, I’m warning you,” she said. And then he felt a pinprick to the root. A warm gush of fluid like fire filled it.

  “What are you doing?” he gasped.

  “Making certain you have a hard-on for the next three hours. You wanted my help. You’ve gotten it.”

  The penis throbbed, burned with a preternatural light. It wasn’t human any longer; it was the weapon of a animal as he looked down at it. He knew of these anti-impotence drugs, but never knew they could be so terribly effective, never before needing them.

  “That’s wonderful,” he breathed.

  “Of course, it is. You still don’t trust me to know what’s good for you, do you?”

  “I’m learning,” he whispered. “You said we’ll be busy this morning.”

  “Quite busy,” she assured him. She grasped the organ in her hand and led him away from the table. “I know what’s best for you.” She adjusted a rather curious piece of equipment attached to the floor. Quickly, she captured the penis in it and locked it in a long hinged shaft, drew a chain around the testicles and pulled tigh
tly.

  “What is this?”

  “A cock stand.” She hitched his arms behind him. And then she left.

  For the longest time, he stood and watched for her return. He heard the shower water. A blow drier. Positioned as he was he couldn’t see her but rather heard her rummage in the kitchen. Nothing to do but be with himself and the concept was impossible, even as the last of her subtle sounds died away.

  He was captured, standing with his legs parted, his arms useless to him, his precious genitalia in her trap. Not a sound, not so much as the honk of a horn. The thought that he was abandoned, had angered her past the point of repair swelled from of his heart. He was alone. Horribly alone.

  Some kind of woman, he thought. So subtle, so soft. So genuine even in her wrath. To leave him standing here naked, trapped in this device which was quite ingenious and totally alone made him want her more. Years ago, when he still maintained submissives, his were only beaten harder for their refusal to please him. But this...this psychological thing...leaving him alone to think only of her, left him enraptured.

  * * * *

  Hours later, she returned wearing only a robe. Gently, she dabbed at his tears with her sleeve. “It didn’t take you long to realize that you hate being alone because you hate yourself, did it? But I knew you were bright.” Quietly, she released him.

  But the tears weren’t for his loneliness...or maybe they were.

  “In the first room on the right, you’ll find the clothes you wore last night freshly laundered and pressed. You may leave now.”

  It left him simply speechless. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? The passion that had swelled up in him the last two hours was simply to be ignored? Was just suppose to dissolve? He trudged down the hallway and opened the door to find that pretty little Kitty he had last night with his underwear in her hands.

  What a gorgeous smile. What eager eyes as they swept the length of his body. How gracefully she descended to hold his boxers open that he might step into them. The feel of the silk as they rose up his legs. The heat of her cheek as she laid it on the silk covering his member. The woman dressed him completely. He didn’t even do that anymore. Starting with his underwear all the way to his tie and then she held out his jacket for him to slip his arms into. He patted the breast pocket and felt the box from the jewelers. His wallet was in the other pocket.