The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

  Sadly, she nodded. “Good,” she whispered. “It sounds like you’re committed, have your thoughts worked out on it, and that’s good. Too many people do too many things half-assed and then sit around and wish they hadn’t screwed themselves.”

  Easily, he laughed. “Yes, they do, my Sweet Lady Morgan. But like I said, you do whatever you feel you need to do. I’ll still pay the invoices because the truth is you just might reach something inside of her that I don’t even know exists.”

  “Alright,” she whispered. “I will. I just hate...giving up on people. Letting ‘em drown.”

  Gently, he smiled. Just another reason I love you, Baby. Rather than voice the deep and abiding sentiment, he took her glass and stood to refill it. As he handed it to her, the doorbell chimed.

  “Excuse me,” he said softly. He went to the elevator to send it down for dinner. And then he disappeared through another door. Only a moment later he returned, swaddled in a black silk ankle length robe.

  She watched his easy gait, the smoothness of the cloth wrapped around him. The color to set off his hair, blend into his eyes and gather it up casting a supernatural light there. Everything in this room the very masterly black, a black so pure it looked it alive, felt vibrant. Only the silvered carpet and sheers over the windows etched the contours and even the objets seemed somehow spiritualized in leaded crystal and ebony.

  “This is a beautiful room,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Thank you. I happen to think that my twin brother does excellent work. He’s our in-house interior designer who’s good enough to work on salary and keep everything in this building looking ready for a magazine shoot. I put him on the payroll years ago and his division has actually made money through the years. He does things like go to auctions and how does he say it... ‘mingle with the mutts.’ He bought some little table or something for twenty-five bucks,” Jerry said with a snarl. “It looked like a piece of shit to me. Sold it at auction for five hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Whoa,” she whispered.

  “He knows a fake when he sees one,” Jerry said, gushing with pride.

  She smiled as the elevator doors opened and the waiters brought in the food. Certainly loves his brother, she thought. But those thoughts were interrupted by, “Morgan!” from her regular waiter, astonished to see her with Jerry Abernathy.

  “How ‘ya doin’?” she smirked. She wished she hadn’t been seen here.

  Apparently, he got the message and headed for the dining room table without any further chatter.

  The table was set and the food placed. “If you need anything else, Sir, please just call.”

  “This is fine,” Jerry offered. He handed the guy a hundred-dollar bill. “Have them pick up the dishes in the morning.”

  “Good night,” he said respectfully. The waiter walked past Morgan without even a glance.

  Jerry stood and smiled at her a moment. “One of your submissives?” he asked.

  “Nooo,” she hissed. “I eat at Fontainebleau a lot, that’s all. Didn’t exactly want the world to know I’m doing Jerry Abernathy.”

  “You’re not doing Jerry Abernathy,” he reminded.

  She only smiled. That smiled stretched long. “How does Jerry Abernathy feel about that?”

  “Until Jerry Abernathy met Morgan McFaye, he didn’t know that there are just some things in life worth waiting for.”

  The statement was bathed in the light of sincerity. Quite easily, she rose for it and took his outstretched hand. Quite demurely, she sat in the chair he pulled out for her. “That looks wonderful,” she whispered.

  * * * *

  Through a leisurely meal, they chatted quietly about more current events and less about themselves. At the end of it she emptied her glass and dabbed at her lips. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That was delicious.”

  “No. Thank you. I never knew a slab of roast beef could feel like butter and taste like gold when eaten in the company of a beautiful woman.”

  She could feel his desire like a tidal wave ready to swamp the shoreline. “Did it never occur to you that some people are sorry when they get what they ask for? Like the man who asks to live forever and forgets about growing old...and older...and older still, his body deteriorating, yet won’t die and release him. Didn’t have the wisdom to ask for eternal youth and beauty.”

  “Alright,” he whispered. He perched on his elbows and leaned in a little to study her better. “I’ll live with it a while longer.”

  “I knew you were a bright boy,” she laughed with mocking sarcasm. “But I do have a gift for you.”

  “That’s very generous,” he said.

  “My bag,” she said pointing toward the sofa.

  Graciously, he nodded and arose. He returned with it to find her dishes set aside, the table before her cleared. She took her bag from him and pushed her chair away. “If you would lay over the table, please.”

  “As you wish,” he whispered. Without hesitation, he turned his back and lay down. He parted his legs to allow her anything she wanted.

  As if spiders crawled up his legs, her nails dusted over his skin, raising the hem of his robe. The cloth was laid over his back so she could have his ass again. Quite soothingly, her hand lifted his balls and gently massaged them a moment before he felt the orifice opened.

  “I know you think you want me,” she said. Carefully, she twirled a phallus in circles at his anus. “Unfortunately, you haven’t learned to obey me yet. I called a little while ago and you were in the midst of fury with a prostitute.”

  He cringed to hear those words, that admonition. He had been unfaithful to her and she knew it. He would have liked to dig his fingers through the tabletop to better brace himself for the coming punishment he suddenly desired, but he could only hear her displeasure resounding in his head.

  “Let’s see if you still want me after I’m in your blood.” Gently, she pushed it into his body.

  It was soft and smooth like her, not stainless steel like the ones he left his own adoring submissives with when he still kept them. He moaned to the feel of that emptiness filled so congenially as her fingers kissed the ripening penis. He could have cried to feel the robe returned understanding that’s all she wanted with him now.

  Slowly, he stood up to feel her in him. She was definitely in him, had penetrated to his very heart. He turned and peered down, her gaze intent upon him, and he soaked in the generosity of her soul.

  Yet something swelled up in him, loosed from where he knew not. Suddenly, he fell to his knees. His face buried to her lap and he burst out with the most tortured sobbing she’d ever heard.

  To hear the agony in it might have defeated her. There had been times in her life she’d felt it herself. Quickly, she wrapped him up in her arms and he clung to her, helplessly weeping against her chest.

  Where it came from didn’t matter, only that it needed to be released. Hostility, rage, rejection or loneliness. He had to drain it rather than contain it before he could live again. And it wasn’t so much about her or the thought she would reject him after a few scant months. It was thirty-five years of it.

  Such horrible heaving sobbing and she clung a little tighter. She laid her cheek on the top of his head, his tortured soul in her embrace. She’d never met a wife-beater who wasn’t beaten as a child. Never met one that felt lovable or loved. Knowing what she did now, not only about his father, but also his wife, she knew she held, not the abuser but the abused.

  Only in time did the echoing slow and he gathered himself best he could. “I’m sorry,” he whispered unable to contact her. “I don’t know...I’m sorry.” Carelessly, he dragged the sleeve of his robe over his face.

  “It’s alright,” she whispered. Tenderly, she cradled his face in her hands. “Human beings aren’t made to live alone in a vacuum.” She felt his desperation in his heavy breath.

  Still unable to look at her, he begged, “Would you please, please stay with me tonight?”

  Tenderly, her fingers s
troked through his hair, his guilt in the matter of his unfaithfulness needing a little absolution, also. Shit, she thought, feeling like she needed this, too. “Yes,” she whispered. “Tonight you won’t be alone.”

  * * * *

  She was led to a guest room because the sheets hadn’t been slept on since they were changed. He laid back the generous covers that she might get in. Quite naturally, she rested against the headboard and held out her arms to take his body from his control.

  Holding his head in the crook of her arm, she whispered, “Take all of it.”

  “You are a generous woman,” he gasped.

  “Let it go for now,” she commanded. She grasped her breast to let him feed.

  Her nipple no sooner passed the threshold of his lips then his mind emptied of its tortured thoughts. He nuzzled a little closer, curled his body to a fetal position; the better to die if need be. But he didn’t have to die, he believed; he had only to live finally. The soft forgiving flesh in his mouth, the soft and ingratiating phallus in his body, something he would retain as long as he lived.

  “You’re okay now.” She curled a little to kiss his cheek, to let him rest in comfort and to not be alone.

  Hours later he awoke, his mouth still suctioned to her breast. He stirred a little and then sat up with a start.

  “It’s me, Morgan,” she whispered in the dark. “You’re okay.” Somehow, she seemed confident of that.

  A deep breath expelled softly and he laid back down, his head forced to a pillow, that pillow cradled by her arm. She urged him closer and still closer until he felt that ripened nipple again brush his lips.

  But this time he had hands, hands that weren’t locked together or behind him. Filled with greed, those hands grasped her breast to squeeze every bit of salvation from it he could.

  “Just rest,” she whispered. She knew that whatever it was inside of him could be stilled because he wanted rid of it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Quite curiously, Jerry awoke feeling quite rested and ready for the world. He could feel her immense energy behind him and like an animal, the penis engorged to feel it pulsing around him. Without reservation, he turned and saw her vivid green eyes sparkling in the low light.

  What is it about her? he wondered as he slid into her open arms and lay against a beautiful breast.

  She was warm, intoxicatingly tender. Yet he had watched her beat Kitty damned near into ataxia. Two personalities in there, maybe? Or just one incredible woman capable of both ends of the spectrum?

  As his body shifted in her embrace, she felt the swelled cock against her leg as if it were Brian. If Brian were home she wouldn’t even be here. But Brian wasn’t home, Brian left her. Brian left her feeling old, past her prime. Brian left her for someone younger, with more money, and probably more energy.

  “On your knees,” she ordered.

  It was no sooner said than done. His still muscular legs held him upright, his penis thrust forward for her pleasure. Her fingertips trickled over his thighs feeling the density of the muscles and then rose to capture the balls.

  “You may masturbate now,” she ordered.

  A sigh of gratitude warbled out his chest. Carefully, he cradled his balls in one hand and took control of the penis with the other. He watched only her, the delicious mounds of flesh on her chest rise with her measured breath. The color of the nipples, as deep and luxurious as her hair, her eyes.

  It seemed she liked this, to watch him masturbate, her eyes refusing to tear away from the sight of it. He could draw this out for her, entertain her, keep her with him a while longer.

  His hand rode the shaft quite loosely for a while. His other hand opened to allow her a view of his balls while he massaged them. What was it about this? An audience? Her approval? That she accepted everything about him without reservation?

  He watched as her hand disappeared between his legs. It parted the flesh behind and went for the small ring buried there. The first tremulous flutter in her phallus assaulted him and he changed the rhythm to entertain her a little longer.

  Oh, Morgan, he prayed as he felt it pulled partially out of him. But she returned it to him, so full of generosity and love.

  Only moments more and he could no longer withstand it. A thought about premature ejaculation passed through his mind and out of it. Her beauty before him, the feel of her in him and he let go of his balls to capture the prize in his hand.

  Her fingers stroked the inside of his thighs as he shuddered, his muscles so hard and defined. Virile men just turn her on, she decided, little more to it than that.

  “You may thank your Mistress now,” she ordered.

  The clean hand gathered her breast. Still on his knees he bent to kiss it, to revel in its heat and generosity. His tongue slid over the terrain of such delectable softness; his lips closed on that morsel of ambrosiatic scent.

  “Now...” Her voice was low and commanding as she took his dangling balls in her hand and squeezed just a little, “...hopefully you have more to do with your life than chase women around your office.”

  He deflated entirely to her subtle recrimination, yet he stayed connected to her, his head on the flat of her abdomen. To chase women around his office was in reality, a meaningless pursuit, he suddenly realized. The only thing about it was the physical pleasure he could enjoy.

  Tenderly, she rattled the phallus a little. “You want me in you and now I am. If you find yourself in desperation, you may call me if you wish. If I’m not available you may go to my website and masturbate as you feel you need it. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I’m not a heartless woman, but I mean what I say,” she said glaring a little.

  “Of course you do.”

  Her hand closed on the deflated organ hanging between his legs. “This penis belongs to me. You will maintain it for my pleasure.”

  “I will. May I explain?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “There is no explanation. There is no excuse. The fact is you let it be used for your pleasure rather than mine. I can let this indiscretion go this time because perhaps I hadn’t made myself fully clear. The penis belongs to me now! And since you’re having trouble with that concept, we’re going to do something to make you understand.

  “Every time you so much as feel it rise for any reason...maybe a beautiful women just walked into your office and took her clothes off, maybe you merely thought of me, from now on you’re going to keep a journal. Every time my penis stiffens even a little, you’re going to write it down. The day, the time, the cause you perceive, your actions to relieve it. You’re going to rate its erection between one and ten.

  “I will inspect this journal as I see fit. If yet another woman needs to be interviewed for employment, you may watch but you will not allow the penis to participate. Do we understand?”

  “Yes,” he replied quite strongly. He had a feeling he would enjoy this. “But if I need you...?”

  “You may call me,” she reiterated. “That doesn’t mean I’ll give you permission to care for it. That only means that I’ll be aware of its desperation and your inability to control it.”

  “You’re a very generous woman,” he gasped.

  “Yes, I am,” she said heartedly. “You might have found yourself a Mistress that would have literally nailed that son of a bitch to your belly on the first offense. I can wait until the second. Has the penis ever been glued to your body so you can better control it?”

  That little picture burned a hole in his mind. “No,” he said adamantly. Yet he was enjoying this little game more than anything in his life and he nuzzled between her breasts. “Please forgive me. I certainly didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you.” A quiet tear fell on that profusion of flesh.

  “Do you have any questions that you might escape a furious punishment in the future?”

  “None. None, my Sweet Lady Morgan.” Happily, his tongue kissed her throat.
/>
  “Alright,” she said a little softer now. “We’ll see. Get up.”

  He removed his body from hers and returned to his knees. Spellbound, he watched as she stood and then reached for her clothes. Each piece was so seductively returned to her body, her black satin panties slid over her thighs, the matching bra hooked and turned. Even her hands slid into the cups to straighten her breasts.

  But her expression was stern as she watched him watch her.

  “You understand?” she asked again. Quickly, she slipped the shirt over her head.

  “I do. You don’t realize how much I need you.”

  Standing on the edge of the Mistress/slave thing and a little closer to humanity, she said a little softer now. “Yes, I do. I do know how much you need me. That’s why you have my permission to call me rather than e-mail me.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered feeling a little buoyed by her strength. He reached out and took her hand to kiss it, his heart overflowing with gratitude.

  “Be good,” she warned.

  The door soundlessly closed behind her and he fell to the bed simply vibrating with her attentions. Generous woman. Beautiful woman. But she was more than that. She was a psychologist who could use every part of a human being to heal it rather than just its mind. She had stayed with him while he quite rapidly deteriorated in her arms last night, feeling the weight of thirty five years of horror on his back. This morning he felt stronger.

  The phallus inside of him rattled with a muscle spasm. Oh, she was in him, in his blood, no doubt. The penis surged a little to think of it and he smiled. He looked at the clock and he would write that down for her so she could inspect it and know exactly how many times a day it rose to greet her in his mind.

  But maybe it was even more than that. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in lust. Sometimes just boredom and sometimes...sometimes in love. This wasn’t an exercise for the penis so much as it would be a little journey through his emotional state...with pictures.