The Mistress Files (4 page)

Fine. I’ll do it myself.

And now you’re taking your clothes off.

I love this damn job.

END OF FILE

The Mistress Files #2

The Case of the Diffident Dom

By Nora Sutherlin

Okay, client profile number two coming right up. This one should be a lot easier to write without that nymphomaniac Frenchman Kingsley hanging around. Big mistake trying to write these files at Kingsley’s house. The man just cannot keep his nose out of my business sometimes. And by “nose” I, of course, mean “penis.” And by “my business” I mean...

Well, you know what I mean.

Hello, dear reader. I’ll assume that if you’re reading this file you’re also in Kingsley’s employ as either a pro-Dom or a pro-sub. He has some ridiculous notion that I am the greatest Dominatrix working today and that all pros can learn a thing or two from my interactions with clients. All right, maybe it isn’t that ridiculous. I’m pretty damn good at this. What can I say? I learned from the best. But the less said about Him the better.

Back on topic. As you know, Fellow Minions of Kingsley, this job we do is really just a job. Most days at least. We show up. We kick ass—or get our asses kicked...I’m not forgetting you cute little subs out there. We yell, we flog, we insult, we beat and bruise, and then we send them home happy and hand off our 15 percent to Kingsley.

But some days the job is more than a job. And those are either the best days or the worst days. Some days I’m less a Dominatrix and more a therapist. A lot of people come to me already broken and only by breaking them again can they finally heal right. I like those days, although they scare the shit out of me. You try never to take the job home with you.

Although, on rare occasions, you go home with the job.

Client: Robert Bruce, age 45.

Wife: Cara, age 36.

Robert came to The Mistress on a Thursday afternoon during her office hours. Kingsley had scoffed at the idea of a Dominatrix holding a weekly salon for her clients. Anything that involved kinky people in the same room together keeping their clothes
on
baffled his poor French brain. But The Mistress understood that the dynamics with her clients changed and their bonds strengthened when they could interact as Domme and sub without the erotic stress of a scene looming. The subs brought her their bruises for inspection and applause. The Doms came to learn her secrets. One hour a week could breed a lifetime of well-paid loyalty. The Mistress, as always, knew what she was doing.

When Robert entered the room—Kingsley’s private lounge on the first floor—The Mistress couldn’t quite discern exactly what he wanted from her. He stood in the corner and watched as The Mistress rubbed the shoulder of her favorite female submissive. Her Little Miss had played too hard with a sadist the night before and had a pulled muscle to prove it. The Mistress loved to coo over her broken-winged doves. This Little Miss melted into her hands as the sub regaled The Mistress with the story of last night’s erotic adventure. Robert listened attentively but without any discernable lascivious intentions. He had the posture and the bearing of a Dominant. He stood straight with his chin high, and at no point did he shrink from eye contact. Although the Little Miss at The Mistress’s feet told a lurid story of pain and passion—and some double penetration while suspended facedown from the ceiling, via a leather harness and some elaborate Kinbaku, i.e. Japanese rope bondage, see attached diagram—Robert never once batted an eyelash. The story neither repulsed nor astonished him. He listened as if he’d heard the tale before. Or perhaps even lived it.

Curiosity got the better of The Mistress and with a quick kiss, she sent her Little Miss on her way. Alone with Robert at last, she lounged back in the black-and-gold embroidered armchair, crossed one booted ankle over her bare thigh and waited for him to speak.

He clearly sensed her interest in him and withheld his words as he sat across from her on the low sofa by the quietly burning fireplace. A handsome man in his forties, he looked just enough like Denzel Washington that The Mistress rather hoped she was wrong about the whole Dom thing. Robert was new to The Mistress, but he must not have been new to Kingsley to be inside the inner sanctum.

“I’ve heard of you,” Robert said as he clasped his large, well-manicured hands by his knees.

“Who hasn’t?” The Mistress asked, giving him a smile.

He didn’t take the bait and flirt or flatter her. Her estimation of him, already fairly high, inched up further.

“My name is Robert Bruce. I need your help.”

“My name is Mistress Nora. I sell help.”

“I can pay.”

“I know you can. Otherwise King wouldn’t have let you in the door. Let’s talk about the situation first. I’ll write up the invoice later.”

Robert sighed and sat back on the sofa. A tall man, he carried himself with dignity, but still The Mistress sensed a struggle within him. Men often came to her at war with their consciences. Society had taught them, and rightly so in most instances, to never lay a hand on a woman. So when dark desires crept into their dreams, desires to tie up a woman and flog her or spank her, beat her and bruise her even as she begged for more...they came to The Mistress for absolution. Absolution wasn’t her area. But she could show them how to throw a flogger like a pro and that was the next best thing.

“I’m married,” Robert finally said.

“My sympathies.”

He laughed then, a rich warm laugh, and The Mistress wrinkled her nose at him by way of apology.

“I actually like being married, Mistress. Love it even.”

“Fascinating. You’re here because of your wife?”

“Yes, she...she’s something, my Cara.” The smile left his mouth and moved to his ebony eyes. The Mistress saw love in that smile, love in those eyes. Married and in love? The Mistress was half-tempted to take a blood sample from the man and send it to the labs.

“She must be to put that rise in your Levi’s.”

Robert sat up straighter and gave The Mistress a wide-eyed stare.

“Don’t worry, Robert. If there aren’t at least three men in this house at any one time walking around with full erections, Kingsley calls a staff meeting. You love your wife. She must be incredibly beautiful to get you in a manly way by just thinking about her. I might have to meet this woman.”

“I want you to meet her.” Robert pulled one of the gold pillows across his lap. “I can’t really bring her here. Not yet anyway.”

“Do you want me to meet your wife? Or do you want me to beat your wife?”

Robert exhaled heavily. He rubbed his forehead and gave a short rueful laugh.

“She wants me to beat her, not you.”

“And you don’t want to do it?”

“No. Hell no. I’d love to. It’s just...”

The Mistress waited. From the moment she saw Robert standing in the corner, she knew her day was about to get interesting. She did so love interesting days.

“Just what, Robert?” The Mistress leaned forward and let one lace-encased arm drape over the other as she studied him. Her breasts were on ample display in her black-and-white striped corset. But Robert only looked into her eyes.

“Just...I’m afraid to ask for this. It’s crazy. I know you’ll say no.” He paused for a breath. Whatever he was about to ask clearly required as much courage as the man had within him. The Mistress couldn’t wait to hear what perverted, sadistic, terrifying plan the man had in mind. “Will you come home with me and meet my wife?”

“You sick twisted motherfucker.”

Robert blanched. The Mistress laughed.

“Come on,” she said as she stood up and threw her toy bag over her shoulder. “I’ll drive.”

* * *

The Mistress drove and Robert sat in the passenger seat, eyeing her warily.

“What? Did you think I’d say no?” The Mistress asked.

“I assumed you would. Isn’t coming home with clients a little...”

“It’s not usually done, no. But I’m not your ordinary Dominatrix. I make ten times what my sisters in sadism do because I do the stuff they won’t. Like...”

“Go to client’s houses?”

“For starters. Now tell me how you know Kingsley. You must know Kingsley somehow.”

“I know Kingsley.”

“Carnal knowledge?”

“He wishes.”

“I like you, Robert Bruce. Keep talking.”

Robert toyed with his watchband as The Mistress took them to the edge of Manhattan.

“Don’t do that. You’re not the fidgeting type. It hurts my soul to see a dignified Dom fidgeting.”

“Sorry, Mistress. How do you know I’m a Dom, though?”

“I’ll eat my own underwear if you’re a sub. Switch? Maybe although you seem like a man of hard and simple desires. Switches are much more flighty and fucked-up. I know this from experience. So Dom?”

“Yes. Ex-Dom.”

“Future Dom. You’ve topped before?”

“Old girlfriend,” Robert explained. “She got me into it back when I was in grad school. MBA.”

“MBA? I stand corrected. You’re obviously a masochist. Continue.”

“Not much to tell. She was one of Kingsley’s crew back then. That’s how I know him.”

“True love?”

“Yeah...for about six months. Loved her with all my cock and soul.”

“How romantic.”

Robert laughed at himself. “She was kinky as hell. Been in the scene since she was a teenager. Told me I couldn’t lay a hand on her without tying her up first. She gave me the basic tour of BDSM. After a couple nights, she called me a natural.”

“I can see that. So cock-and-soul girl? She went by the wayside?”

“Wasn’t meant to be. Met my Cara a few years later. Real true love. Married. One little one. Not so little really. He’s nine now.”

“Hope he’s not home. I tend to scare children. On purpose.”

“No, he’s not home. At his grandmother’s. Thursday night is our night. Cara and I always make sure we have our private time.”

“You two are so damn cute. I can’t even guess what the problem is here. Is there really a problem or are you just trying to trick me into participating in some sort of unholy threesome with whips and chains and butt plugs as big as bugles? I’m fine with either, really.”

Robert chuckled again, nervously this time, and The Mistress heard a note of real distress in that too-casual laugh.

“There’s a problem, I promise.”

They arrived at Robert’s building and took the elevator up to a pleasantly understated penthouse apartment...or as understated as a two-million-dollar penthouse apartment could be.) The Mistress watched as Robert took off his shoes and sat them on a bench by the door. The furniture, plush and monochromatic, sat arrayed in symmetrical lines. Nothing seemed out of place. She’d never seen a home more scrupulously tidy before. Not even a stray shoe littered the floor.

“Your wife is either OCD or some sort of serial killer. I can’t wait to meet her.” The Mistress hoisted her toy bag high on her shoulder.

“The wife can’t wait to meet you, either” came a voice from the kitchen. A lovely woman of about thirty-five emerged from an open doorway and smiled blankly toward Nora’s voice. She had sleek red hair cut into a simple bob and wore no makeup other than a splash of pale pink lip gloss. “And I promise the wife is neither OCD nor a serial killer.” Cara, the wife, held out her hand in The Mistress’s general direction as her eyes looked past, not at, The Mistress’s face. “The wife, is, in fact...”

“The wife is blind,” The Mistress said.

“That she is,” Cara, the wife, said with a wide grin.

Robert put his arm around Cara’s shoulder as The Mistress released her hand.

“Now do you see the problem?” Robert asked.

The Mistress looked Cara up and down. Beautiful woman—pale skin, ample curves, a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth...and pale hazel eyes that stared unseeing at nothing and no one.

“Nope. I don’t see a problem at all,” said The Mistress.

“I definitely don’t see a problem,” Cara added.

“Funny and blind. I like this wife of yours. Now...is there any booze in this house?”

Ten minutes later the three of them sat around the kitchen table with glasses of white wine before them and awkward silence between them. The Mistress loved awkward silences. She’d create them on purpose sometimes just to see who would break the silence first. Tonight she put her mental money on Cara.

Cara was smart money.

“He worries too much about me is the real problem.” Cara took a sip of her wine only after speaking, as if to prove she didn’t need the liquid courage.

“Cara, you’re blind. I feel like I have to remind you of this more often than I should.” Robert laid a large hand on his wife’s thin forearm before reaching up to touch her face. The Mistress noted the gesture. He’d done the same thing earlier before putting his arm around her. He must touch her arm first to give her fair warning of his proximity before touching more of her. Overprotective indeed.

“I wasn’t born blind,” Cara explained, turning her head, if not her eyes, toward The Mistress.

“What happened?” The Mistress asked and Robert shifted in his chair.

“Accident,” Cara explained. “I was nineteen. Standing on a street corner—”

“Prostitute?”

“Hey—” Robert interrupted angrily, but Cara only laughed and patted Robert’s hand.

“Yes. I was turning tricks on the way to class,” Cara continued with a grin. “And someone bumped into me. Just an accident. No malice. Went down and hit the back of my head on the curb. Slammed my occipital lobe. The lights went out and they never came back on again.”

“Incredible...” The Mistress exhaled. “One question.”

“Of course.”

“Did that help or hinder your prostitution career?”

Cara burst out laughing as Robert buried his head on his wife’s shoulder.

“She’s fun, Robert. Let’s keep her.”

“She’s a little out of our price range for full-time employment.” Robert kissed Cara on the cheek.

“Is she pretty?” Cara asked Robert. “She sounds pretty.”

“I’m hideous. I look like a shaved Muppet.”

“Robert?” Cara prompted.

“She’s the second most beautiful woman in the entire city,” Robert said. “White girl. Long black hair. Wavy. She’s got part of it pulled back but it still looks a little messy—sexy and wild. She’s short, although her boots put a few inches on her. Curvy but muscular. Fantastic breasts especially in that corset. Green eyes. About thirty. Total goddess.”

“Thank you, darling.”