A Case of Mistaken Identity

by Collette Thomas

  Jonathan hesitated, realizing where she might be going.

  "For tonight, you submit to me and to me only."

  Warnings flared off inside his brain making him suddenly question if he should continue the charade. That if by taking this first step, just how far was he willing to go, and would they reach that point of no return? Wherever this was going to lead, would they still be able to turn back, resume their normal lives? He doubted it.

  BD in anyone's term was not a normal activity for any night of the week. Yet, looking at her, especially in that tight fitting outfit and holding that scarf pretty much signaled the go ahead for this latest game they would play. He knew after this he'd never go back to plain ordinary living.

  "Do you trust me?” she asked, as if reading his mind. “Otherwise we'll forget the whole thing,” she added, her voice starting to sound impatient.

  He nodded. “Continue."

  "Remove your clothes!” she suddenly ordered.

  In silence Myrna watched as Flynt Adams aka Jonathan Wetherall the Third, unbuttoned and removed his white cotton shirt revealing well-developed muscles. When he removed the jeans, he stood in his briefs waiting for the next move; all the while smiling that confounded smile that told her wasn't taking any of this seriously.

  She would change that.

  Myrna smiled back, remembering Art Wagner that day, removing his jeans and revealing he wore not a stitch beneath.

  "Everything!"

  The brisk air from the air conditioning created goose bumps on their skin. When Jonathan took off the briefs, yet to respond, his cock lay shriveled. She suspected it would not be that way for long considering what she had in store.

  "Kneel,” Myrna ordered.

  Jonathan hesitated.

  "Kneel!” Myrna repeated, in a controlled slightly more commanding voice.

  Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, and suddenly felt quite unaccustomed to this subservient position.

  Myrna walked behind him and looped the scarf over his head. Jonathan realized she was blindfolding him with the silk black scarf.

  She said no words, and the quiet allowed thoughts to take over. Suddenly, Jonathan smelled something burning, and cocked his head to one side, sniffing the air.

  "Incense ... Jasmine,” she whispered in one ear. “Now ... stand and follow me!"

  Jonathan knew they were entering one of the back bedrooms. He also noted that the air was not as cool and he could feel sweat forming around his forehead and beneath his armpits.

  "Lie down ... here."

  Jonathan groped, and she impatiently pulled him toward the bed.

  Slowly he lowered himself to the bed lying on his back. Cool sheets greeted his warm body.

  "This won't hurt ... much,” Myrna reassured.

  The word ‘hurt’ sounded off another alarm inside his mind, producing the sudden inclination to run considering that he still could, giving her no further control than what she had so far enjoyed. Yet, the word ‘trust’ invaded his mind.

  Wordlessly she took one of his arms and pulled it over his head. He felt or more so heard what sounded like the clamping of steel, and realized the extent that she was willing to push this envelope.

  Before he could protest, she did the same with the other arm, locking his wrist with more cold steel.

  Handcuffed to the bed, he tugged at his bindings, which held firm. He tugged again and again, needing to know that he could free himself if he needed to. They still held firm.

  Helpless. Defenseless. Under the total bidding of this woman, no more a stranger to him, and capable of who knew what, making him realize he knew very little about her or her inclinations.

  Wordlessly she worked over him. He took in her musky fragrance, which blended with the incense that infiltrated the room.

  Suddenly, he felt her grip the arch of his right foot. Then pulling his leg to one side, again he felt steel clamp around his ankle.

  Quickly and quite efficiently she did the same with his other foot.

  He needed to trust this woman. He needed to trust her, his mind repeated and hoped the thought could alleviate some of the fear that now threatened to accompany that thought.

  * * * *

  Myrna stepped back to assess her work. Out of the corner of one eye she spotted all the playthings she had lined up earlier that she had taken from the armoire. Playthings she would get to play with now, among them the intimidating black leather switch. She had never purposely hit anyone in her life, and wondered if she would have the courage to use that thing on him.

  The thought of actual flagellation made her smile. No one makes a fool of Myrna Dunbar. She eyed the man spread eagle, squirming on top of Adrienne's bed.

  No one.

  Myrna tapped into a part of herself that gave full permission to follow any and all inclinations, despite where they might take her. Coupled with the willingness to risk as well as push the envelope right over the proverbial edge.

  She took two small clothespins from the lineup, remembering a scene from a recent book she had read. Beauty's Punishment—a recommended read by Adrienne. She placed the clothespins on the side of the bed.

  She took another silk scarf and tied several knots into its center. She climbed onto the bed, straddled him, bent over and placed the scarf so that it covered his mouth and tied it at the back of his head ensuring the gag did what it was supposed to do—keep him quiet.

  Realizing what she was doing to him Jonathan arched against her, as if to try to throw her off, but her weight held him down on to the bed. With his hands and legs bounded he could do little but succumb to her ministrations.

  Unable to see, unable to speak, she took the clamp and clipped it against one of Jonathan's nipples. His body suddenly straightened, and he gave a low moan.

  Gently she stroked his chest as if to reassure him it was going to be okay, yet at the same time positioned another small clamp over the other nipple.

  Depending on what she did, the pain she could create could produce pleasure as well. She had heard Art telling Adrienne one night during one of their intense sessions, from pain came exquisite pleasure, but from pleasure, pain could also result.

  Lovingly, she kissed each of Jonathan's nipples that now held its own special clamp. She licked the skin around each one, circling them with her tongue, reveling in the moans from him.

  He struggled against his bonds. Yet, somehow she knew he did not want her to stop with this sweet torture, aptly called as Adrienne once put it—tit torture.

  She grinned. She wanted to laugh aloud. Celebrate the fact she had gotten this far, feeling a measure of untold power. Celebrate this sudden ability to punish, while at the same time produce inside that marvelous ache she suspected would eventually drive him crazy.

  She slid downward over his body until she came face to face with his cock. She took the engorged shaft into her hands, and with deliberate steady strokes, caressed it to full erection. When she felt a slight trickle of pre-cum, she immediately stopped the fondling.

  "Not yet,” she whispered. “Not yet."

  His rapid breathing told her he was about ready to cum.

  "Not yet,” she continued in a crooning whisper. “We have all night, and the night has only just begun."

  Jonathan yanked at his bonds, realizing the woman's determination to govern his torment. Again, he felt her take his cock, this time she drew it into her mouth and began to suck it to the point of explosion.

  Again on the fringes of ejaculation she stopped, leaving him in an intense frill of pure frustration.

  "You have been a very naughty boy,” she murmured, caressing his belly. “We must take our time,” she added. “You'll come when I say you can come."

  Her voice low and resolute, she possessed an arrogance that made him speculate further about her capabilities.

  "You are my sex slave tonight. You breathe when I tell you to breathe. You cum when I tell you to cum. Or you will feel my wrath."

  Jonathan tried to speak
but could only make nonsensical utterances behind his gag. He pulled hard at the cuffs, remembered the bars they were attached to—also made of steel.

  This control, this mastery produced a heady sensation inside Myrna, giving her the courage to dismount and pick up the menacing switch.

  She grasped it into one hand and suddenly felt a searing ache that shot up through her groin. Holding the whip was a turn on she realized.

  The secret to a satisfactory and safe whipping is to hit only fleshy muscled meat.

  A sentence out of one of Adrienne's books stuck in her mind. She looked at the whip with its three or so inch tails.

  "Did you ever think it would come to this?” she asked. “That day at the airport, when you decided to take on the identity of another?"

  Slowly, lightly, she drew the ends of the whip across Jonathan's belly. She pulled it back, and did this again and again over his chest. “Then again, neither one of us was willing to show our true selves, coming from boring uninspiring lives. Here we are reaching into that same self, digging out our darkest illusions."

  His body stiffened as he tried to make out what she was doing.

  Again and again, he felt the light touch of something flicking over him making him acutely aware that more was coming.

  "Yes, you have been a very naughty boy,” Myrna declared. “And so here we are playing out this little game to the fullest. Before I proceed, I want you to shake your head if you want me to stop."

  Jonathan remained motionless.

  "Just as I thought. I'm taking it you want me to continue.

  Suddenly, there was a sting to his right thigh muscle. He tried to coil away, instantly feeling the instrument of his torture.

  Myrna slid the ends of the whip over his stomach. He flinched, feeling it started to crawl over his genitals. Would she dare hit him there? he anxiously worried.

  He never knew where the switch would strike next, yet sensed her presence as she walked around the bed, deliberately, calculating each flick to his body like some pesky fly, the intensity of the whip increasing.

  His cock was again fully erect, yet he was unable to cum. He moaned as she continued to inflict this exquisite pain.

  "We put all deceit aside,” she suddenly said. “Here we reveal our true selves."

  Jonathan tried to say something.

  "Don't bother,” she said, her voice low, fierce, making Jonathan wonder what else she had in store, how far she could go.

  "No longer will you make a fool of me,” she crooned, snapping the whip against his right shoulder. “After tonight, no longer do we play out this charade.” She cracked it against his left shoulder. “You must know by now that I am not your former friend, Adrienne.” She bent over, brushing the side of her sweat-soaked face against his.

  Jonathan fought against his bindings, sensing this woman's rancor, telling him this might no longer be a game.

  "All my life people have laughed at me because of my naiveté. Are you still laughing?"

  Jonathan shook his head.

  "I don't believe you.” Another flick of the switch, this time against his right hip.

  "Perhaps you prefer Adrienne, except Adrienne is not here. So you have only me to contend with, and as we play out this little game to the fullest, you will learn and obey."

  Jonathan's cock pulsated and hardened again, engorged with blood, needing release.

  She mounted him again and took the cock fully into her mouth. She tasted him, sucked him, and stroked his shaft. “Doesn't this feel good? Really good? I can make you cum.” She licked the head of his cock with her tongue, flicking it lightly across like a whip.

  Jonathan felt himself grow hard in her mouth.

  Again she stopped at the point of his climax, decreasing the intensity, fully aware of his point of no return. She gently grasped his testicles now enlarged, wrapped around his penis.

  "Relax,” she ordered, knowing the impossibility of that happening.

  A low frustrated groan came through the gag, signaling her that he was completely under her submission, completely under her domination.

  Suddenly, she dismounted. The room grew quiet. Jonathan realized she was no longer in the room. Had she left him there—a no-no rule by all standards—left him to think over what had just occurred?

  He strained at the bindings, yet despite his strength was unable to free himself.

  With the darkness caused by the blindfold, he felt as if he had entered a world where reality—his former reality—had been suspended. She had conquered the beast. Yet, he felt she was not finished, not by a long shot. Fear edged his thought, along with something else ... sheer anticipation.

  * * * *

  Jonathan wasn't sure how much time had passed. An hour. A half hour. He suddenly heard voices—female voices. He tried to call out, but failed to make any distinguishable sound. Instead he listened. He was still turned on. She had left him aching for a damn good fuck. Then he started to think. Think of what he would do to his torturer once he regained his freedom.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Myrna sat at the kitchen table, sipping honey lemon tea. She glanced up at the wall clock. She and Jonathan had been going at it for the better part of two hours. Seemed longer, she thought carefully sipping the steaming hot tea. She knew she shouldn't have left him alone. Not like that. She wouldn't leave him there much longer, planning to go back and finished what she started. On her time, seemingly unwilling to let go of that control that served more like an aphrodisiac than anything else she had ever experienced in her life.

  She heard something at the back door and noticed the turning knob. Seconds later, the screen door opened and in walked Adrienne. “What in the hell...” Myrna said, “What are you doing back so soon?"

  "I couldn't wait. I needed to know what was going on here. I couldn't call my father and ask or else give away our charade. Plus,” pulling her two suitcases over the kitchen floor, “I didn't want him getting on my back afterward about it. God, that flight was a long one, with one stop over. The ride from the airport was as long. All I want to do now is to get this body into a hot shower, and then you can fill me in on what's been happening.” The gleeful look in her eye lessened when she saw the cup of tea in Myrna's hands. “I gather you and Jonathan aren't seeing each other tonight.” Adrienne took a closer look at Myrna.

  "What the hell? Is that my Dominatrix outfit you're wearing?"

  Guiltily, Myrna only grinned.

  "Damn ... it is my Dominatrix outfit. What the fuck HAVE you been doing Myrna? Why the get up?"

  Myrna reached over the counter and put on her glasses. “Look you said I could use anything in your room. So I thought I'd try this on ... and well ... fits pretty good, don't you think?” She fumbled for the words, struggled to come up with a reasonable explanation why she was wearing the thing. Except nothing she could ever come up with would make any more sense than the truth.

  "Hell, Jonathan is here, isn't he?” Adrienne said, suddenly guessing the full reason why her roommate was dressed in full leather accouterments as it meant only one thing and one thing only—Domination.

  Myrna gave a heavy sigh, realizing she had become worn out by the earlier activities. “Yeah, he's here ... in your bedroom."

  "He's in my bedroom? No fucking way! Geezus, Myrna, don't tell me you got him tied up there, too."

  Again, Myrna stared at her roommate, not bothering to respond as she sipped her tea.

  "No fucking way!” Adrienne repeated sitting opposite her. “My, oh my, oh my, you have been a very busy girl, a very busy and naughty girl. Does he know yet? About us? That you're not you; I mean you're not me. That you've been playing a charade? That it's not me giving him his jollies in that get up?"

  "Oh yeah, he knows all right ... but—"

  Ignoring the but, she continued. “I should go in and say hi.” Adrienne suddenly laughed out loud. “I hope he's decent enough?"

  "Adrienne, wait,” Myrna said. “Don't go in there just yet."

&nb
sp; Adrienne turned. Her roommate was wearing a very short red skirt, and as revealing halter blouse, looking as sexy as anything especially with her fake tropical tan and fiery red hair piled up on her head. “Oh don't worry; if he's asleep I won't wake him."

  "I doubt if he's asleep. Look, Adrienne, I wanted Jonathan to know he couldn't make a fool out of us ... out of me."

  Adrienne's eyes narrowed her smile fading a notch. “What are you trying to say? That you've done something out of revenge? That's not the way you play the game. It can turn dangerous."

  "Look, I know. And I may have gotten carried away a bit, but he was quite willing. I kept asking if he wanted to stop, told him to shake his head—"

  "Shake his head? Is that why I'm not hearing sounds coming from that room. You actually gagged him? You don't mean. Geezus, don't tell me you fucking tied him up?"

  Adrienne caught on fast. “Well, yes, considering you had everything I needed to play this out. I thought, since he was willing enough to go into the “kinky” part of it, why not pull out all the stops?"

  "You actually pushed it that far?"

  Myrna suddenly giggled. “You and Art don't have a monopoly on this stuff. You gotta know, once you put on that outfit makes it easy to forget everything else about your life. And let me tell you, Flynt Adams made it easy enough."

  "Flynt Adams?"

  "Yeah, that's the name Wetherall took on when we first met.” Myrna clenched her fist on to the table. “In order to fool me into believing he was someone else. Actually to fool us,” Myrna reminded her, letting her know what Wetherall got he deserved.

  At first Adrienne didn't respond, and silence filled the room. “So now he's in there?” Adrienne asked, looking toward her bedroom. “Hog tied like a pig ready for slaughter."

  Myrna winced at the analogy. “I guess that's one way of putting it."

  "And have you two fucked yet?"

  Myrna straightened. “Uh ... no ... I mean not tonight. I mean we've fucked. And I have to say he's not bad ... not bad at all.” A wide smile crossed her face. “Tonight I just gave him a blow job ... well almost..."