The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

  “This is Jerry Abernathy, Renee.”

  “Jerry Abernathy!” It was nothing less than a screech through the phone. “No, really, who the fuck is this?”

  “Be at the penthouse in an hour and you’ll know for certain.”

  “Jerry?” The voice quivered with excitement. “For real?”

  “One hour or much, much less, Girl,” he warned. He broke the connection feeling a swell of something inside. It had been too many years since he had allowed himself to get lost in the flesh, the heart, the soul of a submissive. Why had he denied himself this?

  He went to his private elevator and rode to the next floor above. The door slid back quietly and he reached out to switch the lights, a soft blue effusion rolling over an expanse of silver carpet, the seafoam of serenity lapping at the walls.

  He went straight to the bedroom and shed his clothes. From the closet, he removed a pair of leather pants from the shelf, a little stiff with the lack of use through the years. The lingering scent of oil was trapped within, however, and he stepped into them, pulled them to his waist, only the least bit tight. A pair of leather boots slipped over his feet as if he wore them daily, but the feel of these things, the scent of them made him swell.

  He tried not to think of how long it had been as he laid an eight-foot bullwhip behind his neck, crossed it over his naked chest around his waist and tucked the tip and the grip into his pants at the front. Don’t think about that, just feel this, he reminded himself as he left the bedroom, returned to the living room and stood at the window peering down.

  * * * *

  Dan Gregory sat in the car with his wife a moment and then pulled out the card Morgan gave him. “You like that, baby?” he asked.

  “That’s beautiful,” Caroline whispered.

  He pulled out his cell and dialed the number. It was answered, “Brian Alexander.”

  “Hi, this is Dan Gregory. A friend of mine just gave me your number. You come very highly recommended and I’ve got ten very naked acres that need some help.”

  “Okay,” Brian said softly with a little laugh. “So you need some landscaping?”

  “Desperately.”

  “Ummm...I’ve got some time next week. Tuesday?”

  “Great. I can be there by four.”

  “Four it is, Mr. Gregory. Let me get your phone number and address...”

  * * * *

  As she was placed in the private elevator for a speedy trip to the penthouse, Renee huffed, “This is a fucking joke.” Has to be Brian, she thought and her excitement swelled all over again.

  The doors to the elevator slid soundlessly open. Quietly, she moved into the room that hadn’t been changed since last she saw it, luxuriated in it, fell to a delirious unconsciousness in it. It seemed empty, yet she could feel the presence of a predator, she the prey.

  A rush of adrenaline hardened her for combat. She studied the corners, the edges of a spectacular expanse, one that couldn’t be recreated anywhere because it didn’t have Jerry’s immensity bubbling beneath the surface. Carefully, she tottered down the two steps into the sunken living room, the sound of her heels swallowed by the lush carpeting.

  As if he suddenly appeared, there he was by the window, the snake around his neck and torso as if he commanded the very beast with his presence. Those leather pants were so distractingly tight, allowing her to study even the glans of the swelled penis and the balls crushed to his body. His stare was penetrating and unflinching and she could do nothing but stare back.

  He didn’t move. He was as still as death, yet upright and very much in command. Her bag seemed to slip off her shoulder of its own accord; her blouse, as if from this distance his vision could reach out and remove it. The skirt, the shoes, the bra laid in a puddle of satin and cream. Only the garter belt and stockings remained.

  Only then did he animate and walk brusquely toward her. It was as if the very winds conjured him from stone and steel to reside within him, to capture her up and whisk her away from her mundane existence. Quivering, she stood before him, her long thin arms at her sides, her chest heaving both in anticipation and fear.

  “Master,” she breathed, her voice no longer hers but his.

  He didn’t respond other than to raise his hand and stroke the line of her jaw. Fingers like Cuban cigars dusted over her throat and she laid her head back the better for him to play there, to crush it if he desired. But it only swept down her chest, circled the thin flesh of her breasts, ignoring the nipples as often he did, the better to stoke her fury.

  Without warning, he quite roughly grabbed her wrist and forced the flat of her hand against his groin. So impossibly hot, wrapped in that heated leather and it felt as does a length of iron fresh from the forge, ready to do damage. The very feel of it, longer than the length of her hand made her wilt and she slid to her knees only to lay her head against his still ruggedly flat stomach, the better to smell the animal within him.

  “Down,” he hissed as if the very snake clinging to his body suddenly sprang to life. She slid even further, curled tightly in defense. The first crack of the whip got her moving.

  Moving--she found herself running on all fours as rapidly as she could. Her heart raced to match her willingness to please him, to keep him interested in her. The crack on her left hip instructed her to go left down the hallway, a place she’d been before. The panicked stroke to her orifice told her to open the door and move hurriedly into the darkness.

  A rush through the enveloping darkness. She would move through the twisted labyrinth of his dungeon until she bumped into the piece of equipment he desired at this moment. As if he could see in this blackness, the snake bit at the sole of her foot and caused her to stop. It hit the back of her neck and told her to rise.

  Blackness. Only the reflection of distant light against the clouds hovering around the fiftieth floor of heaven animated the scene. Her fingers wrapped around the bars of a cage and clung there. She heard the rattle of chains, heavy iron chains dragging across the naked concrete floor. Steadying herself against the bars of the cage, the sound rattled in her psyche stirring up visions of the dead, eternally locked in chains.

  She gasped to the feel of the frigidness within the thick links as he laid them against her throat. They wrapped around her body, clanked on the bars in their zeal to confound her. They divided her legs and then hitched again at her throat. With the incredible weight of them, she struggled to stand. Yet he yanked her hands from the bars, folded her arms behind her back and locked them there, his devices the most ingenious in all the world. Then came the hood of chainmail, equally cold as the chains against her heated skin. He dropped it over her head, blinding her for as long as he desired it, drew the smaller chains between her lips and locked them behind her head.

  * * * *

  Jerry was so lost in this already, the feel of the chains in his hands and the soft flesh throbbing within. He threw her to the table and only then did he switch the lights, the black lights to illuminate only the lateral surfaces of his torture chamber and the chains so deftly constraining his victim. But for her, because he harbored such fond affection and because he had missed her so much, he oiled the phallus when at another time he might not.

  The phallus, ice blue in the sultry black light aimed at the orifice. The phallus, two inches in diameter, eight inches long, enough to fill an overused organ, drove into her body with machined accuracy. The response was immediate, louder and more tortured than anything he’d heard in years, yet it only echoed the sentiments in his own heart. Her writhing under the force which held her down all the while she screamed with the pain of it was garbled but no less capable of capturing him.

  Quickly, he turned her over, her body still writhing with the pain he had caused her. He threw her legs over his shoulders, the better to press his problem covered in leather to the division of her body. Quite skillfully, he took the flaccid penis of this pretty little hermaphrodite and twisted it around his finger. She yelped with that sensation, writhed as if to g
et away from him.

  “You know what I want,” Jerry growled.

  Even as she felt his fingers at her breasts twisting the nipples unmercifully, she cried out, “Master.”

  * * * *

  Later that evening, they lay in bed, her arms entwined around him, her flaccid penis lying over his hip. “Where in the hell have you been, Jerry?” she asked.

  Jerry shrugged, his own flaccid meat as satisfied as it could get at the moment, having with Morgan’s permission to masturbate spilled into Renee’s mouth. He could only imagine what more Morgan could do for it. Morgan who put him in diapers and fed him. “Just working, Baby.”

  She stretched long to brush her lips against his cheek. “I saw Brian not too long ago.”

  Jerry drew in a deep breath. Maybe that’s it, he thought. The reason he no longer entertained Brian’s friends. They would ask about his son. But the thought that Brian had contacted Renee was such another positive omen. “Tell me everything,” he prayed.

  “He’s pretty messed up, Jerry. More messed up than the day he left us.”

  “Drugs?” He rolled to his side and propped his head in his hand the better to peer into her.

  “No more than usual. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Even wondered if I should come to you with it. It’s pretty personal.”

  “Renee, I need to know.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t want to piss you off, you know that,” she whispered. “I adore you. I’m jealous as hell of Brian that he has a father like you. And this is probably none of my business, but it’s something that’s on Brian’s mind.”

  “Get over it,” Jerry scowled. “I need to know.”

  “The day he left us, Jerry...he went back to the Mansion when he got done with me. That crazy woman of yours told him...”

  A vibration of horror swept through Jerry to think of what Cheryl could tell Brian. “What already, Renee! I know she’s crazy. Unfortunately, Brian doesn’t.”

  She lay on the soft satin pillows staring unabashedly into his dark eyes. “She told him that he didn’t have to care what you think. That you’re not his father.”

  “Oh, God,” Jerry screamed. He launched out of the bed with the sheet wrapped around his legs. With a single thrust, he threw his leg and ripped the sheet down the middle. Barely able to breathe, he clutched his chest, his aching heart and bellowed with the pain of it.

  Of course. It all made sense now. Cheryl was trying so desperately to convince him that Brian didn’t know. And that was the reason Brian stayed away for ten miserable years.

  “Jerry,” Renee cried. “Jerry, I’m sorry.” She ran out of the bedroom for water to cure his vivid color, his anger so rash. “Jerry,” she whispered. Filled with anxiety, she grasped his arm and placed him in a chair.

  As angry as ever he’d been about anything, he gasped, “Brian knows.” Yet he was almost relieved.

  Quietly, she put a little distance between them and sat on the far side of the bed. “I reminded him that his mother could be jerking him. Like I said, she’s half-tetched but Brian never saw it or believed it. Apparently still doesn’t.”

  “She’s a manipulative selfish bitch, Renee.”

  “I hope I haven’t overstepped,” she whispered.

  “No, not at all,” he said surely. He gulped the water, his brows still furrowed. And then his face brightened thinking of what he had in mind for Cheryl.

  Wondering if she looked upon a lunatic now, she asked, “Jerry?”

  “So how did Brian seem...knowing I’m not his father?”

  Renee’s brows raised. Obviously, it was true. “Actually...disappointed.”

  Quickly, Jerry looked at her in disbelief.

  “It’s really all about that Genlabs thing, Jerry. Brian doesn’t have what it takes for big business, but you know that.”

  “I know that.”

  “I guess he’s running his own business now but its penny-ante stuff.”

  Easily, Jerry nodded.

  “He doesn’t realize that total annihilation is as close as the next quarterly report.”

  “I know, I know already.”

  “He got hurt bad that day, Jerry. A hell of lot worse than you and I did because Brian is that much more sensitive to what goes on around him.”

  “Did the bitch happen to mention who his father is?”

  “Something about Alex.”

  The air drained out of Jerry’s lungs along with the vivid color of his face. Renee could easily see the sweat pouring out of him, even though it clung to his skin.

  Wondering if she should close the distance between them or retain it, she pleaded again with him. “Jerry,” she gasped. For the longest moment it seemed he was in shock. And then without prelude, he dropped the empty glass to the floor and went to the bathroom.

  She waited. She expected to hear the sound of his guts heaving into the toilet. She hadn’t expected him to take it this hard. But it was devastating to him, obviously devastating. And then she thought of the industrial hazards all CEO’s face. And razor blades.

  “Shit.” She ran to the bathroom.

  He sat as still as death on the edge of the whirlpool, lost in the vision of twisted black arteries coursing through white marble walls like lightening. His hands clasped together as if in prayer. “Brian knows,” he whispered. Tears streamed down his face and puddled soundlessly on the marble floor.

  “Brian thinks he knows, Jerry.”

  “Brian’s trying to figure out why everything around him is so fucked up and what he can do to change it, isn’t he?”

  “That sounds like Brian.”

  Suddenly, Jerry’s head dropped into his hands and he began to sob. All these years Brian and Alex have been seeing each other and Brian knew Alex was his father. But it didn’t seem that Alex knew. Surely Alex would have heaped the recrimination upon Jerry for that. No, Alex didn’t know, but Brian did and still Brian was taking baby steps toward home. Or maybe...maybe Brian sent Morgan to punish Jerry and his sobbing redoubled with the thought of that.

  Renee shook uncontrollably to see the shadow cast by Jerry Abernathy, usually looming, imposing and obliterating reduced to a thin line on the floor. Quickly, she turned on the shower and gently urged him to it. She never thought the man could be reduced to this. The heated agony in him seemed to drain as he stood under the rushing flow, as he felt the soap slide gently over his skin.

  “Jerry, I’m sorry,” she whispered. Agonized over his reaction, she slid into his arms.

  Enfolding her, he whispered, “I don’t want you to be. It was just a shock. I’ll figure out what to do with it.”

  What could that mean?

  “Please don’t tell Brian I know about this, though. Cheryl is using this very thing against me in this upcoming divorce, you understand.”

  “Alright. But I hope that someday soon you’ll be able to explain to Brian what went down, Jerry. Surely, you understand he’s confused. He doesn’t know where he belongs or who he belongs to. Can’t begin to understand why the gayest of them all screwed her and then you married her.”

  “Of course,” Jerry whispered.

  She’d never seen him like this and it frightened her. To think that Jerry Abernathy could be reduced to this. Something introspective, almost broken. “Let me stay with you tonight,” she pleaded.

  “I’d like that. In fact, I’ll order dinner.” Tenderly, he kissed the top of her head and he slipped out of the shower.

  She fell against the cold stone wall and slid down its length. This was bad. This was really bad. Even worse it was true. The man whom Brian adored in his youth more than anyone wasn’t his father. And Brian knew it.

  * * * *

  Fresh from the shower, her skin glistening with the moisture beaded there, she moved slowly through the low light toward the dining table near the glass wall. Jerry was looking down, the old Waterford Hotel in his vision.

  Soundlessly, she moved across the thick silver carpet and slid her arm around his waist. Instant
ly, his arm wrapped around her to crush her to his body. That Alex lived in the Waterford, she knew. That Jerry stared directly at the window with Alex’s signature swags and cascades was obvious. What was between Jerry and Alex was impossible to understand.

  “Let me go make a phone call and then we’ll eat,” he whispered.

  “Certainly,” she whispered.

  With a passionate kiss, he left her.

  * * * *

  Morgan’s cell phone was answered with a meager and miserable, “Hello.”

  “Kitty, it's Jerry Abernathy.”

  “Master,” she whispered with affection but it was still miserable.

  “Honey, can I talk to Morgan?”

  No reply was forthcoming, but the next sound was of Morgan snuffling.

  “Mistress Morgan.” His voice was clear and firm.

  He heard a choked sob and more snuffling. “I see. You must be in dire straits, a hell of desperation to interrupt my evening,” she concluded.

  “Truthfully, I am. It sounds like you are, too.”

  She cringed. She was never going to turn this one into a submissive. “What’s the matter?”

  “The trouble is, I have to see my daughter tomorrow. I was really hoping that you would come to St. Maarten with me.”

  “St. Maarten!” she gasped.

  “My corporate jet. Separate suites, if you like. All expenses paid. Bring Kitty if you’ll be more comfortable. I have to spend a few hours with my daughter, Morgan. And she’s either going to be my daughter again or she’ll kick me out of her life for good.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My daughter...is not biologically mine.”

  Morgan hesitated. She thought she heard correctly, but his statement was garbled. It was the desperation in his voice that startled her. That he desperately needed her support was evident. Wielding more compassion for this kind of desperation rather than the sarcastic ambivalence if it were only the penis acting up, she said, “And something is telling you that now is the time to confess to that. To get everything straight between you?”