The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

  * * * *

  “Hi,” Morgan said warmly as she opened the door of her condo to let her newest client in. “I’m Morgan.”

  “Hi,” an early thirtysomething with the Wall Street look said sheepishly. He extended his hand. “Dan Gregory.”

  With maternal affection, she took it warmly and offered, “C’mon in and have a seat.”

  He peered around the nearly vacant common room and spied only a massage table in front of the sliding glass doors. As he slipped onto a barstool near the kitchen, he attempted to force calm to steady himself. But there was no hope for anything casual. Uncontrollably, he fidgeted.

  “So you work downtown here, you’re married less than a year?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She’s older than me.”

  “Is she why you’re here?”

  “Well, uhh...yeah. Although this has been a problem forever,” he admitted full of embarrassment.

  “Your problem is just about solved,” she said softly, “because we want to keep that pretty little wife of yours interested forever.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Take your clothes off,” she mewed with a sweet little wrinkle to her nose.

  “What are we doing?”

  “First you’re going to get a very deep massage to get you relaxed as much as possible. And then I’m gonna jerk you off to see where you’re at.”

  “Oh, God,” he choked.

  “I don’t bite,” she whispered playfully.

  “Oh, Jesus.” Unconsciously, he wiped away the beads of sweat beginning to form.

  “It really doesn’t hurt. And you don’t have to be embarrassed. But I believe you’re here because you want to learn how to control the sexual stimulation you feel to prolong the pleasure as long as possible.”

  Through clenched teeth, unable to look at her because the embarrassment was too real, he mumbled, “That I do.”

  “Good. And three months from now when you can go all night long, you can tell your buddies about me and send them on.”

  “Seriously?” He was astonished that a life long problem could be resolved so soon.

  Easily, she nodded. “You and I alone for four or five sessions and then we’ll bring your wife in. There’s some things she could stand to know, also.”

  “She, ummm...she’s very patient.”

  “So am I. The good part about this is you can’t screw it up with me,” Morgan said to encourage him. “You’re not here to please me. You’re just here to learn. So think of me as the dowdy old school mistress. Take your clothes off, son.” She scowled playfully.

  Easily, he laughed and tugged at his tie.

  * * * *

  It didn’t seem to last long. He felt as limp as spaghetti soaked in water all night. Every muscle in his body had been rendered into ataxia, including muscles in his feet he wasn’t aware of.

  “You in the zone?” she asked as his eyelids quivered.

  Only a moan escaped his chest. Yet they shot open to the feel of her hot hand on his balls.

  “Stay as relaxed as you can,” she whispered, feeling his body tighten to the stimulation. But she merely rolled them tenderly in her hand. “Relaxed.” Her nails slid over the inside of his thighs, causing his penis to lurch.

  “That’s nice,” he whispered.

  “Take your time,” she mewed with a little smile. “For some reason, penises aren’t generally passive creatures. I’ve never figured that one out.”

  Her fingernails stroked his abdomen on either side of his lengthening penis without touching it, yet it set every nerve in it on fire. It lurched into the palm of her hand, but quickly she moved lest it touch her and spill. Ticklish little spider legs seemed to crawl up the sides of it and end with a bite on the glans, her fingernails the teeth.

  “What are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Uhh...self-conscious.”

  The biggest problem of all. “Let me rephrase. What is the penis feeling?”

  The penis. Not his penis but the penis, and it left him wondering. How to interpret the penis’ feelings. Curiously, he looked to her.

  Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as sex-education for penises.

  Gently, she held to the base and captured the testicles in her hand. The finger tips of her other hand pressed gently below the balls. “Does that feel good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s your prostate in there. Some men like it, some don’t.”

  “Apparently I like mine.”

  Feeling it swell a little more, she commented, “The penis does too.” But she merely continued to press at the root, working her way slowly upward.

  “Where’d you learn this stuff?”

  She shook her head a little. “You need to concentrate on the penis and control its egregious hyperactivity. Watch.”

  “The penis loves your fingers.”

  Easily, she laughed. This guy was gonna be fun. “You must be a middle child.”

  Happily, he nodded yet he watched as her fingers looped lazily around it and swept up its length. He felt the contractions in his abdomen, the first tingling in his balls. She noted the response and clenched down on the testicles to create another sensation, something that drained the stimulation to the penis.

  But he didn’t complain, only lay passively watching.

  “You’re in good shape,” she offered. “I’ve had guys in here that spill as soon as they take off their clothes.”

  “No shit,” he whispered beginning to pant a little. It was going to happen...soon.

  She dropped the penis altogether and stroked at his thighs again.

  Relieved that this wasn’t over quite yet, he lay back a little and drew in a deep breath.

  “You paying attention?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “A lot of indirect stimulation before you get to the good part, right?”

  Quickly, he nodded, feeling her finger at his anus.

  “You like that?”

  “Sure, why not.” Truthfully, he didn’t know.

  Her finger pressed there as she kneaded his balls. But his entire body lurched as she opened him.

  “Hurt?”

  “A little. But not bad.” Actually, not bad at all, he thought.

  “Stay relaxed,” she whispered. Slowly she inched in a little and pressed on his prostate.

  “Oh, yeah...I like that.”

  Gently, she pushed his legs to fold the better to take it all. She swirled around a little in that virgin organ, even though it clamped tight on her finger. She massaged his balls. “Ten minutes and you haven’t spilled yet,” she said to encourage him.

  “Seriously!” Suddenly, he felt more in control than ever before.

  Her hand locked around the shaft as if to crush it.

  “It likes that, too.”

  “So easy to please,” she said playfully. “We want to teach it how to discriminate. But since it’s been good enough to play along with us this evening...”

  Her hand loosened as it rose so that it was barely touching at the glans. Tightened on the way back down. With her finger deep in his gut pressing on the gland, it withstood three good strokes before it spilled happily, leaving its owner in a pant.

  Slowly, she retrieved her finger and opened the door underneath the table for a moist warm towel to lie over the happy penis. “Very good,” she praised as her hands clamped over the muscles in his thighs to drain the tension toward his feet and out of his body. “Excellent.” Easily, his body drained of the tension as she pulled that spent energy into his calves and out his feet.

  “That was pretty...the best I ever had,” he gasped.

  “It will take a few sessions to learn to trust me and relax. But you have some exercises to do this week.”

  “Something that isn’t quite fit for the gym?”

  “Bathroom, baby. With the lights bright in front of the mirror. All these sensations I created for you I want you to recreate for yourself. I want you to do it for five minutes
tonight and tomorrow, six the next and the day after, seven for two days and then come back to me next Friday. You can let your wife watch you, but she can’t touch you and interrupt the sensations. And...a big and here,” she cautioned, “you have to watch yourself, not her, while she’s friggin’ herself.”

  He burst into laughter knowing exactly what his wife would be doing.

  “She’s a libidinous woman?”

  “Horny all the time.”

  “Good. We’ll teach the penis how to behave and then we’ll learn you how to keep a middle-aged woman interested into old age.”

  “Bless you,” he whispered.

  She grabbed the towel to mop up the semen and dry up the oil in the hair. “That’s all for tonight.” She threw the towel into another bin and turned toward the kitchen to wash her hands.

  “You married?” he asked as he slipped on his boxers.

  “No, baby, but I’ve got one seriously hot date waiting for me right now, so move it.”

  “Fortunate man. Have fun,” he said happily as he stuffed his tie into his back pocket and made for the door.

  * * * *

  She nearly ran the few blocks to their favorite French restaurant and stood at the door a moment to catch her breath. She was nearly perfect, best she could tell, with a black leather skirt merely a sheath over her hips and thighs, a plunging neckline on the fuzzy black chenille sweater. She opted for black leather boots to snug around her ankles. Silver bangle bracelets to create a little metallic diffidence to his come-on.

  Painfully erect, she strutted past the maitre d' toward the smoky cloud at the bar. But she stopped, stared, felt a flush rise to her face to see her precious Mouse at the end of the bar, another woman pawing him.

  Her eyes narrowed as the words fucking bitch seared through her brain. And Mouse never noticed her coming toward him, never turned his head away from the breast thrust to his face. Morgan felt an undeniable urge to retrieve her whip and order up a little discipline for that thing pawing at her man, someone she’d seen at the Club.

  Rather, she took a table and sat in the lounge chair, crossed one leg over the other and let her arms fall to her sides. Still, he hadn’t noticed she had arrived as she placed an order for a martini. He seemed engrossed in the conversation, or rather the flirtation he was being pounded with.

  Fucking bitch, as she watched intently, attempting nonchalance. A moment more and she would to have to rip the woman off the stool and throw her out back.

  Brian caught Morgan out of the corner of his eye, yet continued the melodrama of stroking Morgan’s fury. Morgan was jealous when it came to women. Horribly jealous if she didn’t know them and couldn’t command them. In their little club, an S/M place a few blocks over, Morgan would tolerate a Domina taking him if she knew her. But never a stranger. Morgan would fight a stranger.

  But Brian loved this game as much as Morgan. And tonight it was working particularly well. This was a little something to get her riled enough to seize control of the situation. Something to turn her totally on.

  You fucking bitch, Morgan thought, unable to watch any longer the machinations of the woman’s designs. Slowly, she unwound out of the chair and straightened, grabbed her bag and her glass to slither toward the Ladies Room.

  But she had to pass that woman.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?” Brian asked as she slid by.

  Quickly, she turned at the waist, a seductive tilt to her hips leaving her torso in profile. “Me?” she asked seemingly ambivalent.

  Studying her intently with a leer, he said surely, “Yeah, I know you from somewhere.”

  She took the few steps toward him and tripped. Her martini dashed down the woman’s chest.

  “You fuckin’ clumsy oaf,” the woman yelled as she grabbed for napkins.

  “I’m so sorry,” Morgan cried as she grabbed a few and dabbed at the woman’s breasts.

  “Get the hell away from me!” the woman screamed as she pushed Morgan off. “Baby, excuse me.” She jerked off the stool and ran toward the bathroom.

  Morgan’s vivid green eyes stared into the luscious pools of liquid fudge staring back. “Didn’t mean to run off your date,” she mewed.

  “She’s not my date. Truthfully, it looks like I got stood up.” With a devastating grin, he added, “So did she. Are you waiting for someone?”

  “Actually, I just stopped in for a drink to kill some time. Got a few things to do tonight.”

  “Too bad,” he said. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  Her eyes traveled the length of his body, carefully inspecting him. Finely dressed man, Italian finery, pinstripes, very fresh shirt and tie. Shaved his cheeks and his throat before he came out tonight. “Are you an out-of-town business man?”

  “No. I live here in the suburbs. Just hang around in the city a lot.”

  “What do you do for a living?” she asked.

  “Would you believe I don’t have to work for a living? That I’m a thirty five year old independently wealthy man? That I’ve never worked a day in my life? That my real name is Abernathy?”

  Laughter burst out of her along with mucus from her nose. She grabbed a napkin to dab at it inconspicuously. “No I wouldn’t. Never,” she finished with an amused smile.

  Coyly he grinned. “Brian Abernathy,” he insisted as he offered his hand. “I’m an accountant at Abernathy Acquisitions. Securities broker.”

  Sarcastically, she nodded as she took his hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Abernathy. Morgan McFaye.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say...Morgan le Fey, something about a spirited little wood nymph, or was that Morgan, a changeling witch who could capture men’s minds and souls?”

  “Whatever you’d like, Mr. Abernathy.”

  “Have dinner with me,” he murmured seductively as he stroked her hand.

  Her salacious grin stretched into a smile. “Of course.”

  The woman came out of the bathroom to see Morgan’s hips swaying seductively away, her arm looped around that guy’s. “I owe you one, Morgan,” she whispered and resumed her vigil at the end of the bar.

  * * * *

  He was terribly proper as he pulled out a chair and held to it while she sat down. Filled with gallantry, he pushed it in just a little to ensure her comfort. He took the chair opposite and opened his jacket to relax into it. “So what do you do for a living?” he asked.

  “I’m a doctor,” she whispered. “An urologist.”

  “Ahh...” he choked. “I bet you’ve seen some interesting things.”

  “They all look alike after awhile.”

  Easily, he laughed. If he lived forever, he would never tire of Morgan.

  This little game they played was not only for the fun of it, but a way they could work out their issues without directly talking about it. But it was mostly for fun and they could be frank with each other like this, without getting too close.

  “Married?” he asked to keep the conversation going.

  Her expression immediately dampened, trying to remember this was just for fun. “No,” she whispered. “It’s not that one incredible guy hasn’t been begging me to marry him for a few years now. And I do mean incredible. If the circumstances were different...”

  “Known him a long time?”

  “Ten years,” she whispered. “I know he’s getting anxious, I can feel it. I just need him to understand. I can’t get married.”

  “What, you already married or something?”

  “No,” she said with a bitter grin. Tears puddled in her lower lids as she looked away from him. “Sometimes I think I love him too much. We are so close, you know.” Returning her fixed stare to him as if to plead, she insisted, “I mean...why fuck it up when it’s perfect. Maybe because I’m looking at penises all day, he needs that. To feel secure. I just wish he’d understand.”

  “If he were sitting here right now, what would you want him to know?”

  Nervously, she shook her head. “In my line of work, I’ve met a lot of wife-be
aters, you see. The operative word there is ‘wife.’”

  Ohhh...it finally made sense...finally. With a vivid kind of clarity, he drank it down like acid. That her mother was murdered by her step-father, he knew. That she spent her life punishing the men who do the beating. “I get it,” he gasped as he grabbed the champagne bottle and refilled their glasses.

  “Do you? A lot of men would think I’m full of shit.”

  He reached into his jacket for a cigarette and then dragged his hand over his eyes. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you...desperately,” Brian whispered. Rather than delve deeper into this painful and almost debilitating topic, he changed it. “Kids?”

  “God, no,” she gasped, knowing kids were nothing but a pain in the ass. She was a pain in someone else’s life until she was orphaned at sixteen. “You?”

  “Baby, where I come from, ‘kids’ is a four letter word.”

  * * * *

  She dabbed her lips and drank the last of the champagne. “Thank you, Mr. Abernathy. That was delicious.”

  “That sounds like you're leaving me already.”

  Casually, she pushed the sleeve of her sweater up to glance at her watch. “I’m about an hour late for a dinner date.”

  “Call him and tell him you found a fascinating penis that requires more study.”

  Her lips pursed with that come-hither look in her eyes. “What makes you think it’s a man?”

  Easily, he choked on her reply. “Ahh, excuse me,” he whispered forever one step behind and chasing after her. “Then please...tell whomever that you’re tied up in your office because I would like nothing more than to see the city in a horse drawn carriage at night...with you.”

  Her tongue washed over her lips to reignite the shimmering bronze lipstick that matched her hair. “Not necessary. I think my sister will get over it.”

  His hand rose to cover his mouth, smiling about a non-existent sister. His vision danced across her playful face. He stood, reached out his hand for hers. She laid hers in his and together they departed.

  Outside he merely snapped his fingers at the next carriage in line. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and placed it in the driver’s hand. “River,” he ordered and then plopped down in the leather seat next to Morgan. “A little chilly tonight.” Carefully, he placed his around her shoulder and pulled her close.