The Dominatrix

by Becky Bell

  Paula was watching Angela's reaction. 'You're a natural,' she said. 'Do you want to stay for the denouement?'

  Angela wasn't sure what she wanted to do. Her whole body seemed to be trembling. She didn't think she had ever felt her sex reacting to anything the way it was reacting now. It was as though a small snake had crawled up into her vagina and was wriggling around, while its tail flicked against her clitoris.

  Paula took her silence for a yes. She slipped off the red silk robe and hung it on the back of the door. She was wearing a full-length corset in red satin with a three-quarter-cup bra. It covered all of her belly and her buttocks and had ruched satin suspenders that supported her black stockings, pulling them to taut peaks on her broad and milky thighs. Her big breasts were pushed into a deep and shadowy cleavage and billowed out of the bra cups on all sides. The bush of her pubis was partly hidden under the little skirt the corset formed above her mons but what Angela could see of it was covered in the same short, stubbly pubic hair that the nude in the oil painting had had. Seeing Paula like this, there was little doubt in Angela's mind who the artist's model had been.

  'Up,' Paula said, tapping Harriet on the back.

  Harriet straightened up.

  'As we have a visitor with us, I think we'd better have a bit of decorum. Condom.'

  Harriet went to the large walnut cupboard that stood in one corner of the room. He opened one of the drawers and extracted a condom. Again, he appeared to know what was required of him. He took the condom from the packet, then knelt in front of Bill and rolled it over the man's straining erection.

  'Pick a number from one to ten,' Paula said, looking at Angela.

  'Eight,' Angela said, in a puzzled tone.

  'Eight. Do you understand?' she said to Bill.

  Bill nodded, the leather of his helmet creaking.

  'Come around here so you can see,' Paula said.

  Almost as though she were in some sort of trance, Angela walked around in front of the suspended man.

  There were small zips in the helmet above each eye and Paula reached up and zipped them shut. She took hold of Bill's erection - and made a fist around it. Slowly, she began to wank it up and down.

  'One,' Paula said. 'Two. Three.'

  Her other hand sneaked behind the man's back, caressing his tortured buttocks. Bill reacted to this with a loud whimper.

  Paula stopped the wanking movements. She merely held her hand tightly around his cock while he endeavoured to buck his hips forward and fuck the ring her fist had made.

  'Four. Five. Six.' She left about three seconds between each number. 'Seven. Eight.'

  Exactly as she said the word, Bill's body went rigid. With all his energy, he thrust his cock forward through Paula's fist and Angela could see the thin rubber teat at the end of the condom - bulging with liquid. After two or three minutes, the man's body slumped into his bonds, all his rigidity gone, now hardly able to support himself.

  'My God,' Angela said, plunged back into further astonishment.

  'I've trained him to do it on command. Any number from one to ten. And if he doesn't obey, the punishment I would give him would make this evening seem like a mild case of cramp. Wouldn't it, Bill?'

  The man tried to say words that sounded like, 'Yes, mistress.'

  'Come on; I think you need a drink.'

  'What about him?' Angela said.

  'Cut him down, Harriet.'

  Paula plucked the robe from the back of the door, wrapped it around her body, then escorted Angela out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  'So now you know,' she said.

  Chapter Three

  Angela lived in a bedsit on the top floor of a large three-storey Victorian house at the back of Westbourne Grove. It was convenient because it meant she would walk to work and it was all she could afford.

  The taxi dropped her off outside. It was late and the street was quiet. She had felt a little drunk after finishing most of Paula's champagne on an empty stomach, but it was too late to eat anything now so she ran upstairs and let herself into her flat. In the single room of her bedsit, she grabbed her robe and headed straight for the bathroom she shared with the other two tenants on the same floor. Fortunately, for once, it was free.

  Her face stared back at her from the mirror over the washbasin as she cleaned her teeth. Her reflection appeared exactly the same as it had this morning but, if she looked carefully enough, she thought she could detect a change deep in her eyes, an awareness and knowledge that had forever altered her perception of how the world worked.

  She had had a lot of time to think in the cab coming home, and she still found it hard to believe what she had seen. The wild imaginings the black room had provoked, that first day, were tame in comparison to the vivid reality she had just seen. She kept seeing Harriet, with his penis strapped painfully to his thigh, and Bill stretched out so tightly across the wooden frame. She saw Paula's large body confined by the tight scarlet corset and the glossy black stockings, the ample flesh of her legs shaped by her precipitous high heels. But she saw her naked body too, the oil painting as graphic in her mind as anything else. She had seen naked girls in the showers at school, but she had never seen a mature woman naked before, and the painted canvas was quite as vivid as the real thing.

  She showered quickly, pulled on her robe and walked back to her room. She climbed into the baggy white T-shirt she wore to sleep in, and threw herself into the narrow single bed. Without a moment's thought, she spread her legs apart and thrust two fingers, then three, into her vagina, screwing them up as deep as they would go, until her knuckles of her hand were crushing her labia flat. She was not surprised to find her sex was soaking wet. Like the night after the incident at the stables with Gregory, she needed to masturbate. She had an itch in her sex like nothing she had ever felt before, and she tried to find a way to scratch it. She moved her other hand down to her mons and used her middle finger to find her clit. It felt bigger and more sensitive than she could ever remember it feeling before.

  She moaned as she pressed her clitoris back against her pubic bone. She felt her sex contract around her fingers. God, how she wished she could go out and find a man, with a throbbing, gnarled erection like the two she had seen tonight. The thought made her whole sex pulse wildly.

  She began flicking her clitoris from side to side. It had never felt like this before. Each movement provoked a huge surge of feeling. She imagined herself in Paula's position, alone in that black room with those two men. What had she done with them after Angela had gone? Angela knew what she would have done with them. She would have used them both, laid them on the floor and forced them to take her, straddling their hips and sticking their cocks into her pussy one after the other. How odd it would have felt to have Harriet fuck her with his cock, while he was still dressed as a woman. That thought produced another strong pulse of feeling.

  She was coming. Coming like she had never come before. Breathlessly she pulled her fingers almost all the way out of her vagina, then crammed them back in with all her strength, wanting to feel the shock of penetration. She would imagine climbing on to Bill and slowly lowering herself on to that big, straining, tightly bound cock and feeling it lance into her. She'd seen his semen spurt out of him in a huge jet and imagined it shooting into the depths of her cunt.

  'Oh, God...'

  Her orgasm exploded, racking through every nerve in her body. She writhed from side to side, her fingers still jammed into her sex, her whole body shuddering. Somewhere in the middle of it all she suddenly saw Paula's eyes, that long steady stare that she had given Angela as though looking right into her soul. It was that look that gave the final kick to the endless convulsions she was experiencing.

  'Oh, God,' she muttered again when her orgasm finally subsided. She had never felt sexual pleasure like that. Never. She pulled her fingers from her vagina and held them up to the light. They were glistening with her juices and she could feel a wet patch on the sheet underneath her. She wiped
her hand on the sheet, then turned off the light.

  She was exhausted now and waited for sleep to come, trying to push aside the questions that crowded in on her. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to work out exactly what had happened to her. But, despite her tiredness, sleep didn't come. Instead, her mind insisted on replaying images of what had happened in Paula's treatment room. There were other images, too, just as lifelike, of the scene in the stables with Gregory Wilmott. She tried to sort out her reaction to what she had seen. It was not distaste or even disapproval. It was certainly fascination. But she knew it went deeper than that. Paula had said that she actually got pleasure from what she was doing, that it was not just a way of making what Angela was sure, judging from the price of the house in Holland Park, was a very good living. She was sure that whipping Bill had given her feelings that had affected her more deeply than any of the more normal sexual reactions she had experienced, with the single exception of that night with Gregory. She wasn't at all sure she liked that idea, but it would be stupid to try and ignore it.

  She had feelings for Paula, too. That vibrant painting on the wall of the sitting room had been more than just a portrait. It had managed to capture Paula's personality, not only her grace and vivacity but her strength and vigour and her very strong sexual magnetism. Angela had never met a woman like her before: though, perhaps, considering her profession, that was not unusual. But what she felt was not just admiration. It was something else, though she wasn't at all sure what.

  It was hot and she threw off the duvet. There was enough light filtering through the curtains for her to see her body. Her sex had begun to ache again: a dull, relentless feeling that was almost like pain. She bent her legs at the knee and spread them apart, then covered the whole plane of her sex with her hand, holding it tightly, as if trying to numb the feelings it was generating. Her labia were hot and wet and her clitoris pulsed violently as her palm crushed against it.

  'No...' she said aloud, determined to ignore this new set of sensations. She tore her hand away but that felt worse, the open maw of her vagina contracting, like a mouth sucking in air. Her body had never behaved like this previously. She decided to be gentler, stroking her sex like a delicate little animal, the soft fur that covered it as smooth as any cat. But that only produced new shivers of feeling that made her moan.

  'No...' she said again, but more weakly. Her finger had found her clitoris and was circling it sensitively, creating spasms of exquisite pleasure. Angela closed her eyes and allowed herself to float in the sea of sensations that was rapidly surrounding her. The feelings began to coalesce. She knew she was going to come again. In her mind's eye she saw Paula standing by the side of the bed, looking down at her, an indulgent smile on that fleshy full mouth. She didn't need penetration, this time. She pressed her clitoris from side to side. She couldn't ever remember coming twice in such a short space of time but, tonight, her body was on fire, and it appeared the fire was determined not to be put out. She felt the waves of sheer pleasure coursing through her body and, as she arched her buttocks up off the bed involuntarily, a huge bolt of sensation shot through every nerve in her body.

  'Paula,' she cried out loud.

  It was ten o'clock in the morning when the phone on Angela's desk rang.

  'Good morning.'

  Angela recognised the voice immediately. It made her heart beat like a drum. It had been two weeks since her night at Paula's flat and she hadn't heard from her since. She tried to stay calm.

  'Good morning,' she replied.

  'Listen, I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. It was rude of me. But I've had the move to organise and you know what it's like better than anyone, I expect.'

  'Yes.'

  'But I thought, now we are practically neighbours, the house is respectable and I'm unpacked, perhaps you'd like to come over for a drink.'

  Angela stared across the busy office. There wasn't a day that had gone by when she hadn't thought about what had happened at Paula's flat, but she had convinced herself that it was one of those experiences she should try to forget. She had been tempted to call Paula and ask her if she could come round again but, despite her body's reaction to what had occurred, her mind told her that it was a very bad idea to get involved. But now, before she realised what she was saying, she heard herself replying, 'That would be great.' What's more, she found herself saying it with enthusiasm.

  'How about tonight? Say, eight o'clock?'

  'Oh... I...' Her mind had had a chance to catch up. It was ringing big alarm bells in her head.

  'Have you got plans?'

  'Ah... no,' she said decisively. 'I'll be there.'

  'Bye till then.'

  Angela put down the phone and immediately regretted what she had done. Why had she been so stupid? She was completely mad to see Paula again. She should have told the woman politely that she was busy. The world that Paula inhabited was so completely different from anything Angela had experienced before that it was like another country. Sex had never been high on Angela's agenda but, over the last two weeks, she had barely thought about anything else. Eventually she'd assumed she would calm down again, the experience would fade and she would return to normal - whatever normal was. Now she had committed herself to another voyage into the unknown.

  She thought of calling Paula back and making up some excuse, but she couldn't think of one.

  'Damn,' she said.

  Fortunately, Angela had little time to dwell on the subject. The day passed quickly. After selling the house at Park Drive so rapidly, Josephine had decided that Angela did not need a chaperone any more and gave her a full measure of responsibilities, letting her deal with both buyers and sellers on her own. Angela had a list of appointments to fulfil, mostly dealing with people who wanted to put their house on the market, the spring being regarded as the best time to sell.

  After measuring up and preparing the pro formas on at least a dozen new houses, it was well after six when she finally got back to the office and started typing up the details, and seven before she eventually got home.

  She hadn't even thought what she was going wear. She had a quick shower, put on the first thing that came to hand - a plain black dress with a box neckline and a comparatively short skirt - and rushed out of the house again, glad that she hadn't had a chance for second or even third thoughts about her evening.

  As she walked towards Park Drive, she decided on her strategy. She would be polite and noncommittal, and make no reference to what had happened, treating Paula as if she were a client - which, of course, she was. If Paula brought the subject up, Angela would tell her courteously but firmly that, though it had been an interesting experience, it was not something she wanted to repeat. She rehearsed a little speech along those lines and it made her feel better. By the time she reached the house, she was feeling positively upbeat, her apprehension all but disappeared.

  She rang the doorbell. The front door had been repainted a bright Oxford blue.

  'Hi, how nice to see you. Come in.'

  Paula Divine stood in the doorway, her large mouth creased into a broad smile. She was wearing a clinging white fitted top with a deep V neckline and a black silk skirt, her long meaty legs sheathed in gun-metal grey nylon. Under the top Angela could see the outline of a lacy black bra, which pushed her big breasts together into an impressive cleavage.

  Angela had forgotten the force of her personality and it took her by surprise, the woman's brown eyes boring into her like lasers.

  'My God,' Angela said, as she walked inside. The house had been completely redecorated, the walls of the hall painted white to show off the paintings she had seen in the flat.

  Paula showed her through into the living room. Angela recognised the two sofas and the large burr walnut coffee-table. But some internal mechanism had failed to warn her that Paula would undoubtedly rehang the oil painting that had affected Angela so much before. And there it was, Paula's vibrant and bounteous body displayed in detail above the fireplace.

&nb
sp; 'So what do you think?'

  The painting had changed Angela's agenda. She stood staring at it, feeling once again all the complex emotions she had worked so hard to suppress.

  'It's marvellous...' she stammered, tearing her eyes away from the picture. 'How did you manage to get it done so quickly?'

  'Oh, I made them work overtime.' She tapped the end of her nose. 'I have ways of making men do exactly what I want. As you may have noticed.'

  That should have provoked Angela's carefully prepared little speech. But her eyes were back on the picture again.

  Paula followed her gaze. 'You realise it is me?' she said.

  'Yes. It's beautiful.'

  'Thank you. He's a clever man. He's also got a rather peculiar hang-up.'

  'He's one of your...' she searched for the right word, '...clients?'

  'Yes. He's done another painting of me, not that you'd recognise it. Here.'

  She indicated a much smaller picture hanging on the opposite wall. The view was painted from the back and showed a pair of long fleshy legs, undoubtedly Paula's legs, sheathed in shiny champagne-coloured stockings, the thick welts plucked around the suspenders that pulled them into chevrons on the ample and creamy thighs. She was wearing heels so high that they forced her feet into an almost vertical stance, the black patent leather heels tapering to an almost needle-sharp point. She had one foot raised and the sole of the shoe was pressed down on a man's neck, crushing his face into a soft black carpet.

  Angela shuddered. The painting was an exact representation of everything she had seen at Paula's flat. Though she could not see the man's eyes or Paula's face, the painting portrayed perfectly the complicated nexus that existed between them, the emotions and the need.

  'Good, isn't it?'

  'Is that him?'

  'Yes.'

  'It's very good.' Angela felt a strong surge of sensation from deep inside her body. Her resolve, her well-intentioned plans, were melting away.