The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

  “On my lap,” she ordered. She pulled a few huge down pillows near her that he might lie on.

  Without hesitation he sat down and stretched long over her lap. Yet she grasped the penis tighter and pulled on him. He wriggled as carefully as he could so that his ass would be exactly where she wanted it.

  But it wasn’t him she looked at as she gathered the penis in one hand and the testicles in the other. It seemed she found something fascinating as her nails traveled the twisted vias of engorged veins. Little pinching sensations shot up his spine, her nails biting as they worked their way up the shaft to the corona. The smooth pad of her finger swirled over the satin glans. To the sight of that first little emanation of semen forced through the penis, her stern facade cracked into a little smile. Quite deftly, she rubbed it tenderly over the glans.

  It seemed she enjoyed it, to handle him in any way she wished. But no more than he, just to be handled, just to be touched by someone who cared for him. He was sure she cared for him; it had to be love.

  In a single hand she gathered penis and testicles. And then she slid an arm under his legs and lifted them. Shoved at them a little to cause him to hold them up for her, his ass braced against her leg. She pulled them apart and seized control of it all.

  Her soft hand rubbed over the smooth flesh of his ass like a silken breeze. If he had thought about it, he would have felt ridiculous to be folded like this, his ass in her face, her hand rubbing over it, everything most precious about him awaiting the feel of her touch. But he didn’t feel self-conscious; his heart merely thudded to think he could please her and keep her with him. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms behind his knees to give her anything she wanted.

  Only then did he hear the rasp of a zipper. And then came the oil, warmed, it seemed, by her heart. It fell on the flesh that had never been touched between testicles and anus. But what a shivering delight to feel it rubbed there, soft fingertips swirling in delicate circles.

  How horribly subtle women can be! he thought. But when had he ever had a real woman? His wife was only seventeen when they married and beyond that, never a woman other than the prostitutes. Women who simply disrobed and let him have his fill. Never a woman, a real woman, in control of herself, her emotions, her will.

  She pressed at the anus, daring to penetrate. A sensation he never enjoyed, something no one had ever had...willingly offered. But she rent his will, breached the defense and slid into him the entire length of her finger. It was as if she joined to him, something he desperately wanted. Something he desperately needed and curiously as effective as if he’d slid into her. Curiously, as impossible to control, feeling her finger exploring within his body as if she could read the glyphs on the walls of his heart.

  But it didn’t last long enough. Easily, she retreated seemingly aware of how she could hurt him. Gently, she rubbed a little, as if she strolled through a park in the soft sunshine of a Sunday afternoon. He felt his legs tugged at and he released them only to feel them guided to lay straight again. Yet she parted them and slid into him again.

  What was that sensation, that pressure against the root? Whatever it was didn’t matter because it made the penis swell to Biblical proportions. Her closed hand slid up the shaft and crushed in on the glans.

  He gasped to the feel of it; his muscles tightened to the stimulation. He writhed a little as his torso stretched long, his back arched to thrust toward her. Her finger drove deep and another snuck in widening it more than it had capacity to stretch. Ah, but it didn’t matter. That sensation she created, her hot tight hand like satin, moist and warm.

  His arms stretched long over his head to hold on. How much more he could take without a finale, he didn’t know. But he loved her, knew that now and surely she wouldn’t desert him. Surely, she would take him to places he’d never been. Her hand tightened even further and he could almost smell the friction she created. Something that smelled raw, unrefined, something combustible to create a conflagration.

  Her voice was the slate against which the sulfur struck. “Do you defy your Mistress?”

  His body trembled with the stimulation; her voice slashed through his soul. “Mistress,” he cried out. It was a plea, a prayer, an oblation filled with incomprehensible longing. The heel of her hand pressed to that flesh behind his balls. Only then did every stimulation she create organize into a whole, as if the very heat of her hand caused the cauldron to boil over and offer its life-giving force into her palm.

  He writhed on her lap as if she started something she couldn’t finish. Ah, but what was it about men? She would never tire of watching them orgasm, the feel of their bodies as they flush and harden. The way they go limp in her embrace.

  Quite gently, she rubbed a handful of his nether tears into the stringy hair on his balls. Quite tenderly, she petted the penis as the dam once again opened and emptied the reservoir. How still he lay, comforted by her hands, panting to regain himself, for it was all too easy to dispatch him.

  Men. She smiled.

  “Mistress,” he breathed with such ingratiating reverence. With all of his heart, he wanted to offer his gratitude.

  But she only held up her hand to show him the mess he made.

  Outwardly, he smiled as inside he laughed. Yet he rolled off the sofa and went to the kitchen. Filled a crystal bowl with warm water and dropped a bar of soap in to return to her. Overflowing with a sense of worship, he knelt before her.

  A little surprised with his gesture, she dipped her hands in the water and rubbed the soap between them. It was quite flattering to see him on his knees with a crystal punch bowl in his grasp. Ingratiating indeed. That he wanted to capture her attention was certain.

  She took the towel draped over his shoulder and blotted the water. “My dinner,” she reminded.

  He rose and bowed a little and thanked Providence for the best piece of ass he’d ever had. But she wasn’t just ass, couldn’t even think of her that way. She was she and he was in love.

  He picked up the phone and said, “Jerry Abernathy in the penthouse. Chateaubriand for two, please.” It would require a good hour to prepare. And then he turned to her. “Wine? Bourbon? Scotch?”

  “I’ll drink a glass of wine,” she said. Since his satisfaction wouldn’t force him into anything animalistic at the moment, she could relax.

  Holding the glass by the stem, he handed it to her. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Plenty, Baby, if your e-mails are anything to go by. “This is fine.”

  Carefully, he sat beside of her, turned toward her. His eyes darted from her gaze. But then he peered up to meet her, to be swallowed up by her strength. “You know just about everything there is to know about men, don’t you?”

  Her lips parted into a smile and she turned to prop against the thick back cushions the better to face him. “Maybe. I’ve got a lot of experience,” she admitted.

  “It shows,” he said forcefully, comparing a woman of her caliber to the one he left in his office. “I’m grateful you put the effort into becoming a master of your craft.”

  She broke into a soft animated laughter appreciating the assessment of her skills. “Men are a little more fragile than they let on. More than they ever realize sometimes. Sometimes it takes awhile to coax a little emotion out of them, but they all give into me eventually.”

  Hopelessly trapped in her gaze, he stared into her sparkling eyes. “Do you ever give into them?”

  “Now that’s entirely different matter,” she playfully warned. “I haven’t met but a handful of you gorgeous things that makes me want to get mine out.” Coyly, she tickled his deflated penis.

  “What would it take?”

  “Ummm.” She seemed to study the richly deep suede finish on the walls. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?” he said smiling delightedly.

  The irony in that broke into laughter deep in her chest. She was a prostitute. To think she could make any of them earn her was foolish.
Yet she whispered, “Yes.”

  He raised her hand and rubbed his cheek over the softness of it. He could wait. Wait forever if she required it. She was worth the wait. And he ended with her fingers pressed against his lips, his tongue to kiss her gently.

  Damnit, why did she feel this strain with him? This desire? She was in love with Brian, she reminded herself and drew her hand away and placed it back in her lap.

  “So,” she started, “I didn’t ring you up just to run up your bill tonight. There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Anything,” he whispered adamantly.

  She hesitated and looked away. “I shouldn’t be doing this...promised her I wouldn’t talk to you about her and vice versa.”

  “Cheryl? Then don’t talk. Just listen,” he commanded softly.

  Easily, she nodded. He was making this very easy for her.

  “You’ve only seen her five times now and already you realize you’ve gotten tangled up with what we in the business call a smart-ass masochist.”

  Morgan grimaced and shook her head, aggravated by that.

  “But it’s not your attention she wants, it’s mine. She’s done every fucking thing she can think of to get it over the years, too. The problem is, she’s not too bright and she loves contention. The more she can keep shit stirred up between people, the more she enjoys getting out bed in the morning.”

  “Damn,” Morgan breathed.

  “She’s laughing at you, baby. The first day you met with her...me for that matter...she stormed into my office later that day. Told me I really ought to warn you. That you’ve got it hilariously backwards if you think you’re gonna make her submissive to anything I want.”

  “Yep,” Morgan whispered. She’d figured that out already. “So uhh...she likes hospitals?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

  “But you do work her over when the spirit moves you?”

  “No, honey. To say that I’ve never beat her would be a bold face lie. I put her in intensive care...” He rolled his eyes thinking about it, “twenty-nine years ago. But she survived, better than ever. The only difference between now and then is that now I can get up and walk out. What she thinks, what she feels has no bearing on me whatsoever.”

  “But you’re married to her,” Morgan protested.

  “And I’d give her anything she’d ask for if she’d walk out the door today and never return.”

  “Are you saying that you don’t love her anymore?”

  He hesitated. “I’ve never even said those words to her, Morgan. I’ve been married for thirty-five years because my father tossed her through the door of my office one day and announced that the wedding was going down Saturday.”

  Quite astounded, Morgan studied him searching the evidence of the truth in his stance. “Then why did the hell did you marry her?”

  The laugh lines, the few creases at the edges of his cheeks deepened immediately. A film of tears washed over his eyes. “Because she was pregnant with my brother’s boy,” he said sadly. “I would have challenged Satan himself to keep that boy with me. You see, my brother is gay and wasn’t about to marry her. As it turned out, all I had to do was get married.”

  “You must love your brother.”

  “I do.” That film of tears collected and began to drip. “I love all of my brothers, but my twin, in particular. I mean, uhhh...if we hadn’t have had each other growing up, I don’t think we would have survived. We trust and depend on each other now like a Roman legion. It’s what makes the company so successful. But uhhh...you were asking about Cheryl, and I’m sorry, Morgan. You’re getting played.”

  “She told me your brother’s boy was birthed by a prostitute.”

  He only raised his eyebrows to prod her into the obvious conclusion.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. As if propelled by explosives, she raised off the sofa to pace the room for a moment. “A professional?”

  Slowly, Jerry nodded. “My dad picked her up off the street when she was seventeen and she’s never left.”

  “Oh, my God.” Her eyes rolled away considering the implications. Jerry’s father had been a subversive, a control freak, definitely a murderer and probably psychopathic, if anyone had ever studied him. And he had a thing for prostitutes, Morgan knew well. Her eyes narrowed on him as she studied him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He shrugged. “There’s not much left to say or feel about it.”

  Heavily, she sighed. Feeling sorry for Cheryl, she had to stop and think a moment. No wonder Cheryl didn’t want to be submissive to Jerry, having been used all of her life. And if Cheryl had been the old man’s personal whore for the rest of his life... What would Morgan be feeling by now if she had accepted that job? But what the hell has this done to Jerry? Why didn’t he get rid of her when the old man died? Rather her questions stayed with Cheryl. Full of sadness, she whispered, “I’ll never understand what makes women stay with men who beat them.”

  He remained quiet, bowed his head before her. He never expected her to understand his reasons. That he just simply should have walked away when it was about to go down, and her expression made him wish he had. That he wouldn’t have to sit here before her filled with self-recrimination.

  Finally, she sat beside of him again and looked up at him feeling his respectfulness but no guilt, it seemed. Solemnly, she asked, “Did you beat her in self-defense?”

  Wholly saddened, he smirked. “The first time it was in defense of my son. The second time it was rage. The third time it was vengeance. I meant to kill her and I managed to fuck that up. It only made her stronger.”

  “Twenty-nine years ago?”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “Since then my only thoughts have been to preserve my children.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “You’ve seen a lot of it in your day, haven’t you?” he asked.

  Her lips locked tightly together could have spewed venom if it broke loose just then. “More than I care to comment on.”

  “Honey, I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “In the last four weeks you’ve spent more time with the woman than I have in the last thirty years. I’ve also got the insurance documents to prove that she’s been beaten many, many times in those thirty years.”

  “It seems incomprehensible, but I have met a group of women who stay in situations like that even though they don’t have to. Your wife for one, who would have to pay more in taxes on the alimony she receives than I make in a year. Why the fuck would she stay with a man who beats her?”

  “Honey,” he whispered about to issue a moral imperative. “I don’t beat the woman...any more. Not after the time I almost killed her. She goes to France to be with her boyfriend and he beats her quite regularly. I had to lease a hospital plane the last time and still, she goes back to France to be with him.”

  “Incredible,” Morgan snarled, shaking her head. “Where the hell is the payoff in that?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell you anything about her or any woman who puts up with it. But I can be brutally honest with you. I’ve been waiting for this guy to kill her so I don’t have to put up with it anymore. The problem is...my son feels sorry for her, wants to protect her. So now I’m trying to keep her alive because he’ll think I set her up.”

  Wholly saddened, Morgan shook her head.

  “Listen to me,” he said softly. Gently, he took her hand. “You’re a sex therapist. What do sex therapists do?”

  “Well, generally try to help people get comfortable with their sexuality so they can express it to others in a congenial way. This is a totally uptight world we live in and people don’t know that it’s alright to enjoy it. Don’t begin to understand the depth of communication that can take place.”

  “You can’t know how grateful I am for that. When you’re with me I can feel your concern about, not only my physical well-being but also my emotional state. You take things real slow, don’t rush anybody through anything, I’ve not
iced. Let ‘em move at their own pace. And I know you think there’s something deeper in Cheryl that you can contact and resolve for her. Just don’t bet the bank on it.”

  “So you’re saying if she handed you divorce papers, you’d sign them without reading them?”

  His only reply was the snap of his fingers echoing into the expanse.

  Quietly, she huffed. “I don’t have any desire to give up on her quite yet.”

  “Then don’t. You write the invoices and I’ll write the checks. If you think there’s something you can do to get her smoothed out, I’m all for it. If she actually does smooth out, I’ll double your money,” he said with a sarcastic grin. “Just please don’t be disappointed if she gets up off the floor and kicks you in the teeth. But there’s one more thing you need to know.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I think it was about the middle of March I told her that she had exactly six months to make other living arrangements or I would make them for her. She fucks with my kids...real bad,” he snarled. “I can plainly see her twisted thought patterns in them and I’m not gonna put up with it anymore.”

  “That was before you and I met,” she noted.

  “Yeah, by maybe only a week or two. But you can see how she’s trying to figure out how you fit into all of this. She's not capable of cause-and-effect reasoning. She probably thinks I’m leaving her for you and I don’t give a fuck. She’s messing with my kids and I want my kids to know I don’t approve of it.”

  “So after thirty five years of it...”

  “Yes,” he said adamantly. “We’re finished. Finally. If my kids want to maintain a relationship with her, that’s their problem. If they need to take sides like she does...” He threw up his hand. “But I believe that this is the only way they can know for certain that I don’t approve of her shit. They’re in their thirties now and hopefully they can make rational judgments about how things really are instead of believing what she tells them to believe.”

  “That sounds like a sensible thing.”

  “I hope so,” he whispered. “Sensibility has been sadly lacking in my life and I’m hanging over the edge of a cliff clutching to it right now. But I know it’s the right thing to do.”