by Audra North
Coward. Bland, boring coward.
She ignored the taunting voice in her head and phoned back Michelle, who sounded happy to hear from her. “I know we had discussed receptionist duties, but this won’t require any active participation on your part, so you do not need prior training or experience. Usually, it wouldn’t even be an issue if Luisa couldn’t make it, but we have a special scene tonight and I’m in need of an extra pair of eyes.”
An extra pair of eyes?
“So I won’t need to, uh, do anything?” Like paddle a man who isn’t Warren or touch a man who isn’t Warren or—
“No, nothing like that. You’ll merely be required to sit back and watch. Of course…” Michelle paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say anything else, and she must have decided to do so, because she continued, “…it’s better if you’re actively watching during the scene. While passive observation is enough for tonight, clients can tell when you’re engaged, even while sitting still and watching.”
Being active and engaged, instead of just observing. That was what she’d been thinking about ever since her first meeting with Michelle. And yet, she’d been struggling to actually make that happen for herself. Maybe tonight was an opportunity to practice.
“I’d like you to wear appropriate clothing, as well. If you don’t own any, I have some extra outfits here at the office. I believe we’re not too far apart in size.”
“No, I read—” Beatrice and dropped her voice, finally remembering that her desk was not a place to be having a conversation like this. “I read Dominacracy. I have clothes that will work.”
The smile in Michelle’s voice was audible. “Very good. Six thirty, then?”
“Yes. I’ll be there.”
* * * * *
She arrived shortly after six o’clock because she’d been too nervous she was going to be late. The receptionist who had let her in last time brought Beatrice down the hall to a room she hadn’t seen before. It was like entering a luxury spa, the room decorated in warm tones with private showers on one side and a long vanity and wood-paneled lockers on the other.
Michelle was sitting on a bench in front of the vanity, applying makeup, when Beatrice walked in. Her gaze met Beatrice’s in the mirror, but she waited until she’d finished lining her eyes before she set down the pencil and rose.
“Good evening, Beatrice.” She put out her hands, clasping Beatrice’s for a moment. “You look well.”
Beatrice nodded. “Thank you. So do you.” Back to the polite, drawing room conversation. But this time, it felt genuine, like Michelle really meant she looked well.
“I’m glad you’ve come early. I’m getting ready for our client and can explain everything to you while I dress. Please show me what you’ve brought to wear tonight.”
From her bag Beatrice pulled the short shorts, bustier and boots that she’d worn the first night with Warren. Michelle nodded in approval. “Perfect. I knew you had the makings of an excellent Domme.”
This time, instead of demurring, Beatrice grinned and thanked Michelle. Maybe she wasn’t doing it all wrong, after all, even though this thing with Warren was leaving her so confused.
Michelle sat again and gestured for Beatrice to sit next to her while she continued putting on her makeup, watching Beatrice through the mirror the entire time. “Our client tonight enjoys being humiliated as part of play. You said you read my book. Do you understand what this will involve?”
Beatrice nodded. “I have an idea, anyway. But some of the things you discussed in the book, I’m not…I’m not very—no. I’m not at all familiar with them. I did research on other stuff, but only things that I thought were…relevant to my interests.” To Warren’s interests, she meant. Things like spanking, she’d known about, and she’d looked that up and used the information she’d found. But there were other examples in the book that went well beyond what she’d ever imagined, and she hadn’t bothered researching further, since she’d felt Warren wouldn’t be into them, either.
What would tonight’s scene entail?
Michelle turned to face her, a frank, assessing look in her eyes. “I did not want to share this information over the phone, since we take extra precaution with client confidentiality. But I do need to prepare you beforehand and obtain your consent before moving forward.”
That sounded serious. Beatrice swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course. I understand.”
“This particular client enjoys being treated like a dog. Quite literally. He will be led around on a leash and verbally abused, as well as punished for bad behavior. The more people who witness his humiliation, the better for him. The session will last like this for fifty minutes, during which time he might achieve orgasm more than once. Is this something you think you can handle? And please answer honestly. None of this is about coercion. Everyone is here because they want to be. We can always have you sit at the desk while Bella—our receptionist—fills in.” Michelle smiled. “But I think you might be surprised at how well you rise to this particular challenge.”
OhGodohGodohGod. She was being asked to watch a man being treated like a dog? To watch a man come from being humiliated? No matter how much she’d learned in the past few weeks through her experience with Warren, she knew she was still naïve.
She didn’t answer for a moment, and Michelle seemed to understand Beatrice’s uncertainty. “You are allowed to leave at any time if it becomes too much. It’s better if you don’t, of course, which is why I am preparing you beforehand. At Queen Dommes, we do not judge the way others express their desires. We do not bring our personal biases into a scene. Our job is to help others seize hold of their own pleasure. That is another reason why I need you to be honest.”
To actively engage. To own your own life…
Beatrice could respect that. She nodded. “I think I’ll be fine. I’ll only be watching during the session?” That’s what Michelle had meant earlier, by needing an extra pair of eyes.
Michelle nodded.
She took a deep breath. “All right. I’m in.”
Michelle let out a loud laugh at that and the two finished getting dressed, then Michelle led her out into the hall and down another one with four heavy doors, arranged two on each side of the corridor.
“These are our session rooms. Each one contains slightly different equipment, and that one—” she pointed to the last door, “—is the dungeon. I’ll show you another day, when we have more time.”
Another day? Beatrice was pleasantly surprised to find herself feeling excited, rather than nervous, at those words.
“However, since our client tonight is usually very prompt, that gives us only a few minutes to go through the scene.” Michelle opened the door to the room immediately to their left and gestured for Beatrice to walk in.
The room was bigger than what she’d expected, but still felt intimate enough not to be clinical. The walls were painted a rosy purple, the floor tiled in a deep brown stone. There was a thick velvet curtain along the far wall, and hanging on the adjacent wall was an array of whips, floggers, chains and other items that Beatrice didn’t recognize.
Wow.
“During the session, I will ask you to stay seated here.” She patted a bench that was oddly tall—so tall that Beatrice would have to use the footrest beneath the bench to climb up on it. “I do not anticipate needing to speak to you, but if I do, then your only response should be ‘Yes, Mistress’. Understood?”
Beatrice nodded, but then caught herself. “Yes, Mistress.”
Michelle smiled. “Well done. And like I said on the phone today, it is enough if you decide to simply sit and passively observe. But it will be even better if you take hold of the scene in your own way and be an active watcher.”
She still wasn’t sure what that meant, but Beatrice nodded anyway.
“One more thing. Starting five minutes before the scene begins, yo
u must only call me Mistress, and continue doing so until after the session is over. But I think you already have some experience with this.”
It wasn’t a question. Beatrice blushed, thinking of Warren, of how she had used Michelle’s advice in her sessions with him.
“There is no need to be embarrassed, Beatrice. Like I’ve said before, there is nothing wrong with a woman acknowledging who she is and what she wants.”
The words made Beatrice straighten, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin.
Michelle smiled. “Good. That is the posture you will need to hold for the entire time with the client. Remember. You are in control.” She checked the clock that hung discreetly on one side wall. “We have only five minutes now, so it is time to stage the scene.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Beatrice responded as she was supposed to, and kept her back straight as she walked to the bench and climbed up. Though it felt awkward, she didn’t bother to be embarrassed.
After a few minutes, the door opened and another Domme walked in, trailing a man on a leash. Beatrice forced her face into a haughty expression, but inside she was trying to keep herself from yelping and covering her eyes.
No judgment. No personal biases. And she had to admit, a part of her was jealous of this man for knowing what he wanted and embracing it.
She looked at him with new eyes while retaining the haughty expression on her face as he passed by her. This client was a thickly muscled, attractive man in his late thirties or so. He was good-looking enough that, if she’d passed him on the street, Beatrice might have stared at him a little longer than was polite. But at the moment, he was moving forward on all fours, and as he moved farther into the room, she could see that he had tucked his penis between his legs.
Interesting.
A humiliation scene, Michelle—or, Mistress, at the moment—had told her.
She watched as the new Domme presented a box to Mistress Michelle, who opened it and pulled out something fuzzy with a—oh, goodness. Was that an anal plug with a tail coming out the end?
Now that she was here, what Michelle said was making more sense to Beatrice. She could sit like an accessory—a bland shell—on the bench, or she could engage with the scene. She could frown or be haughty or curl her lip in disgust. She had a choice now: she could be a passive observer and do the bare minimum to get through this scene, or she could engage in her own life and maybe learn something that would make Warren happy too.
She wanted to make Warren happy.
She wanted to be somebody.
At that, Beatrice leaned forward, engaged.
* * * * *
It was nearly ten o’clock when Beatrice got home. After the scene in which the good-looking client had been called a “bad doggie” and spanked, and had his “tail” pulled for being such a useless mutt, the Dommes had given him a large plastic tube to hump. He’d done that eagerly, the whole time being called a naughty mongrel and a dirty animal, and after he’d finally come, barking and growling the whole time, Mistress Michelle had ordered him to clean up the mess with his tongue.
It had been educational, that was for certain. The power exchange had turned her on a little, despite that she’d found the dog act more annoying than arousing. She couldn’t see Warren enjoying that kind of play, but she’d done her best to keep her own preferences out of it and managed to engage in the scene the entire time.
Plus, she’d learned one important thing: how to properly insert an anal plug. Which was useful knowledge, because after the scene, Michelle had rewarded Beatrice with a “bonus” of a pair of nipple clamps and an anal plug for doing such a good job.
She’d definitely never received a bonus like that in her years working at the paper. But she intended to put it to good use.
She was proud of what she’d done tonight. Michelle had praised how involved and interactive Beatrice had been, and she’d complimented Beatrice’s willingness to improvise—something she didn’t think she could have done if she hadn’t made the conscious decision to engage with her own experience in that moment. It might have been unconventional, but it was an accomplishment that made her more powerful. It made her feel less afraid of taking a chance and actually living her life.
And it made her want to see Warren.
She was too keyed up to sleep, but even so, she slipped out of her clothes and was about to put on a nightgown when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Nana had said that Beatrice was always looking at life through the lens of a camera…
But after tonight, after making up her mind to step away from being a passive observer and actually be a part of something, it made her wonder what it would be like if she turned the camera on herself.
She pulled out her equipment and set it up, arranging the lighting as best she could in her tiny studio. She sat on the couch with the shutter remote and took a deep breath.
If she took a single photo of herself, what kind of person would she see in the frame? What did Warren see when he looked at her?
God, he was sexy. It had been almost impossible to stop touching him today in the restaurant. She’d wanted him to come. She’d wanted to take him home and let him slip between her thighs. But in the end, she’d wanted to know him more than anything, and she’d been annoyed he wouldn’t share himself with her despite their increasing intimacy.
Still, she regretted the missed opportunity. These past encounters with Warren had been heady, but had left her in need of her own release.
If he were here now, with no agreement between them, she’d want him to kiss her.
She leaned her head over the back of the couch. She would offer him her neck, like this, and he would kiss a trail down it…
She hit the button on the remote that released the shutter, and she heard the click of the photo being taken.
He would slide back up and kiss her mouth, gently, before continuing down to her breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth. She lifted her free hand to one breast and gently massaged the plump flesh, imagining his tongue there, slipping over her skin…
Click.
Her hand roamed down, over the soft skin of her belly. Click. A finger dipped into her navel. Click. Teased at the top of the curls between her thighs. Click.
She began to touch herself, fingers sliding between her legs as she continued to take photos, pretending it was Warren’s gaze she was capturing, thinking about the way he would touch her that would show him the parts of her he wanted most to see.
That she wanted so much to show him.
“Warren.” She rasped out his name to the empty room, but the sound of it alone spurred her to move her fingers faster, slicking them with her own arousal as she moved them over her opening. What if he were here, touching her like this? Would he slide one finger inside? Two? Or maybe he would tease her for longer, drawing out the need.
No matter what, he would be focused on her. She knew that at least. Warren Davis didn’t do anything by halves. But maybe he’d want her to be above him, taking the lead as he watched her from below. As she sank down on his big cock and—
Ring!
Beatrice gasped at the sound of her phone, pulling a couch cushion over her body to cover herself by reflex.
Ring!
Goodness, she was ridiculous. She dropped the cushion and stumbled to her phone, still trying to get her body to catch up with reality.
Who was calling her at ten o’clock on a weeknight?
She grabbed her phone and looked at the screen. It was a local number, but it wasn’t anyone she knew. Not that that meant much. Sometimes, when there was a breaking story that needed camera coverage, the editor-in-chief would call her from any available phone.
Though she wasn’t quite in the mood to go chasing down a story right now.
She swiped the call and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Beatrice?”<
br />
Oh God. She recognized that voice. All the things she had been imagining crowded back into her mind, making her hot and breathless.
“Warren.”
There was a moment’s pause. “Am I getting you at a bad time?”
“No. I was…” Don’t lie. “I was thinking about you.”
A sound like a muffled groan came through the receiver. “What were you thinking?” His voice had dropped, like earlier today, and she felt her nipples harden at the thought that he might be as turned on right now as she was.
“First tell me why you called.”
There was a pause, but he must have realized he wasn’t going to get her to budge, because he spoke again. “I, uh—I know we talked about pushing out the Wednesday evenings, but my schedule got a little more complicated. I wanted to see if we could get together this Friday, instead, since I was…busy…tonight.”
The way he said it made it sound like he was preemptively avoiding telling her anything personal. She hated how he wouldn’t tell her what was going in his life. Usually, she could ask Nina for information, but Nina was on her honeymoon.
Besides, now that she knew him, cared about him, it felt too personal to be prying in Warren’s life. She wanted to hear it from him.
She wanted him to trust her.
And she didn’t think giving in and seeing him tomorrow, the way he framed it—if we could get together on Friday—would bring them any closer.
“No.” She walked back to the couch and sank down, imagining again that Warren was there, and she was commanding him in a way that she couldn’t do in real life. But this time, she could hear him too. His real voice, that sexy baritone…
She stared at the camera for a second, then put the phone on speaker and set it on the cushion next to her. Then she picked up the remote from the cushion where she’d set it before, and spread her legs wide.
Then clicked the shutter.
Oh God, did I really do that?
She felt emboldened and alarmed at the same time by her daring.
