The Mistress and the Mouse: Honeymoon Blues

by JJ Giles

  “It grows on you,” Jerry offered with a smile. He was very aware of Bryant’s distress to have such beauty in his grasp and merely hold to it. “These gorgeous boys are very employable, you know.”

  “Excuse me?” Bryant asked a little confused.

  “Think on this, my brother...and I know you like blondes, so let’s just give him shocking blue eyes like Cherry’s while we’re thinking about it. Your personal assistant,” Jerry murmured. “He already had your clothes laid out the night before...but you get up, everything in the bathroom is ready for you, a fresh blade in the razor, the water is already steaming. He steps into the shower with you to wash your body while you’re shaving. And then he dresses you starting with softly scented silk boxers, fine cotton socks, your shoes are, of course, polished. He fixes the tie around your neck. While you’re looking over the morning paper, he gets dressed, eats quickly and then you go to the limo.

  “But you got a shitty day ahead, you know that. You drape him over your lap because you’re nervous. You pull out a gorgeous organ and play with its softness to dull the anxiety a little. In no time at all, it swells in your hand.

  “Ahh, but now you’re at the Tower,” Jerry teased. “Ever the adoring slave, your boy takes your briefcase and follows you into the elevator. The doors no sooner open on your damned office and the fuckin’ phone is ringing already,” Jerry snarled. He remembered it vividly. “You throw off your jacket to get into the fray, but your boy goes to the bedchamber to get naked. Just as you’re about to bust a few blood vessels, your beautiful boy tiptoes toward you and drapes himself over your legs. Your hand slides over the fresh smooth skin of his back. That hard flesh on the ass is nearly debilitating at any other time, but now it’s just soothing. The heat between those cheeks,” Jerry taunted. “The mystery beyond the door there and your finger slides in because he welcomes you, he needs you, he adores you.

  Enjoying this little guided fantasy and the expression of desire on his brother’s face, he laughed, “But you forgot to lock your door, you doof. That beautiful creature who lives only for the sound of your voice and the heat in your hand rolls off your lap so utterly smoothly and nestles on the floor under your desk. He feels your tension to see half the PR department in front of you with another problem. Gently, he slips your shoes off your feet and holds them in his lap, the better to massage them.

  “But it’s just another shitty day,” Jerry opined. “By noon, you’re ready for a coronary. So it’s either a three-martini lunch to soothe your nerves or...or,” he said with a salacious grin, “a trip to the discipline room.

  “All that frustration drains out of you with the first crack of the whip on those lovely boiling nipples. A profusion of tears drip from his eyes to feel your undivided adoration of him. That at only this moment, only he can satisfy you as you listen to the whip break across his skin, as you watch the muscles flinch, as that plaintive moaning begging for more and still more won’t be stilled.

  “His beautiful body is draped in simmering red ribbons of heated welts,” Jerry mewed. “You let him down and then flop on the sofa to cure your own dizziness, yet you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he drags himself across the floor to you. He climbs up your legs, drapes his battered body over your thighs still weeping because he desires only your pleasure and nothing more. Silently he begs, staring only at your heaving dick. More than anything, he desires that.

  “Quite rudely, you force it into his mouth. His lips lock around it with passion, his tongue strokes it evenly because he’s so well trained. He exists only for your pleasure, only to hear your growl and drink down your passion. He’s so utterly skilled at the art it’s only moments before you feel it boiling within you. He swallows all that you offer, your rage, your passion, your desire, your heartfelt adoration and your burning love and when he’s drank it down, still he sips from that fount, holding you carefully between his teeth, breathing in the scent of your spent lust, in agony because he must soon part from you at your command and live only for the next time you desire him.

  “And then you remember it’s your anniversary, damn it. Shit,” Jerry teased. “Rather than worry about it, you pull him into your arms to feel his heated burning flesh against your naked chest. The profusion of tears unleashed to think he pleased you tangle in the fur there. He’s weeping for the feel of your heavy arms holding him close even though his own desire remains to be satisfied and might be for weeks. But it’s not his unrequited desire that bothers him even as his tortured penis gently nudges at your balls. All he cares about is you.”

  “Tenderly, you kiss him and then release him. You send him to the florist to have ten dozen red roses sent to the Mansion and stop by the jewelers for something ridiculously expensive. You give him a twenty-dollar bill for his own lunch and you go back to work.

  “By three you’re exhausted and he fixes you a drink. You linger for a precious few moments as his very strong capable hands work the tension out of your neck and shoulders. You send him to the bedchamber so that he might rest awhile because the marketing department is coming in for a meeting. At five-thirty you can finally leave and you open the door to fetch him. He’s curled on the bed, a satin sheet draped seductively over his hip. As if he were a gift from God, you approach the bed and lay back the sheet to scent the freshness of the skin because he showered yet again. You note the glistening between his cheeks; he oiled himself for you, should you want him in any way.

  “But it’s your anniversary,” Jerry screamed, laughing uncontrollably. “You gotta do your old lady tonight.”

  “Anyway...tonight while you’re at dinner with your wife, he’s packing your clothes for your trip to LA in the morning. But as soon as he steps on that plane he goes straight to the bedroom, peels off his clothes as if they’re on fire. Breathless, he waits there for you, his arms locked behind him, his dick aching for your love, your discipline, whatever you’ve got to offer. And you’ve got three beautiful hours to do nothing more than make love, commit rape, bind him, gag him, suck him off and lie still with him in your arms.”

  Bryant’s mouth agape, he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His gaze fixed on Jerry for a moment and then glanced at Alex. Slowly, his head swiveled to Cherry, her hand crushing a breast in her discomfort.

  “Damnit,” Bryant whispered. His leg folded over Rick’s engorged penis trapping it behind his knee. “You mean there really are angels on earth?”

  With a sarcastic grin, Jerry nodded. “But they’re not free.”

  “How not free?” Bryant asked quickly.

  “That one in your arms is eight hundred a week, health, dental and vision, 401k, and three paid weeks off a year. But for that he can whip a chateaubriand that feels like butter in your mouth and tastes like gold. From what I understand, he was next in line at Fontainebleau to be head chef but he was gonna have to wait twenty years for the guy in front of him to die.”

  “Damn,” Bryant mewed. Rather roughly, Bryant shook Rick’s shoulder. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” he said softly. Tenderly, he rubbed his cheek over Bryant’s flaming nipple.

  “How many other people are there like you?”

  Rick’s vision traveled across the flags to where Kitty laid in the same state of serenity being stroked to silently ask for the answer.

  Kitty shrugged. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve been off the circuit for five years since I’ve been with Morgan.”

  “Circuit?” Bryant asked anxiously. He wanted answers and these two were being less than forthcoming. “Tell me,” he demanded.

  A twist of a grin plumped Kitty’s cheeks as she smiled at Rick. “Mistress Morgan,” she purred. “Morgan...finds people who have useful skills...like me and Rick, and then she trains us in the sexual arts. But if Morgan trained us, we’re worth another hundred or two hundred a week because we can do something besides...get laid,” she said under her breath.

  “Morgan trains a lot of people?” Bryant gasped.


  Kitty hesitated. Rick was downright silent.

  “Bryant,” Jerry interrupted, “they’re trained not to tell what goes on in their employer’s lives. You’re expecting them to disobey commands and betray trusts.”

  Bryant huffed. “You understand why I’m asking,” he said to defend himself.

  “I do,” Jerry said. And then he explained: “I believe my brother is asking because he’d like to unload the company prostitutes and employ people like you full time for the executives. If he’s as smart as I give him credit for, he would renovate our old storage warehouse on East Gay Street, turn it into totally swank apartments where our professional submissives could live rent free in the event their Masters couldn’t take them home at night for personal reasons, put a discipline room in the basement so someone like Morgan could keep them happy, overcharge the rest of the clientele to recoup the loss on our employees and keep everyone happy.”

  “Exactly,” Bryant gasped with a sulfuric heat burning in his eyes.

  “So,” Jerry started, “the question was, how many people out there are available for employment?”

  “Males,” Rick started, “maybe thirty. Females, probably a hundred.”

  “How many did Morgan train?”

  “Last time I saw the list there wasn’t anyone Morgan trained on it.”

  “You know what this means,” Bryant bellowed as he leapt off the chaise. “I have to put Morgan on the payroll.”

  “Whoa! Hold up, my brother. You go at her like that and you’ll know what her terribly attractive and deft knee can do for your balls. If I were you, I’d invite her to lunch, lay out the plan for her and ask her nicely if she would care to consult on the matter. If she says no, she means no. If she says maybe, you’d better open the safe.”

  “This is a rather exciting turn of events,” Bryant said anxiously.

  Heavily, Jerry sighed. “Baby, you don’t have a clue what excitement is until you can sit back with a drink and watch Morgan work it.”

  “Shit,” Bryant whispered pacing excitedly.

  “So take the boy downstairs and let him show you what he can do. And then he and Kitty can fix dinner.”

  “Get up, boy,” Bryant commanded of Alex’s slave. “Downstairs.”

  “Wait for me,” Cherry hollered. She shoved Kitty out of her lap and then grabbed Kitty’s hand. Instantly, they disappeared into the house.

  Alex smiled as he nuzzled to Jerry’s neck. “That was very smooth,” he whispered as his hand went to Jerry’s problem to soothe it.

  “How else could I get rid of them to spend a few hours with you?”

  Alex long finger pointed over the expanse of lawn to a stone bridge cresting a narrow stream. “Down that path is an exquisite garden replete with lovely, live things in a pond, stately oak trees casting shade for miles, exotic hues of terribly unusual plantings and the ruins of a castle filled with kapok cushions,” he whispered to tempt him.

  “I see,” Jerry murmured. His lips held to Alex’s forehead as the backs of his fingers rubbed over an enflamed nipple. “It’s no damned wonder Brian didn’t want Morgan to know who he is or want her to get a taste of what’s ‘out there.’ This place is just like...”

  “Camelot,” Alex whispered.

  “Yes,” Jerry murmured. Only slowly, did he untangle from Alex and rise. With the adoration he spoke of earlier, his vision traveled the length of his lover and back again. A slow smile stretched long and he held out his hand.

  Tenderly, Alex laid his fingers in Jerry’s hand. Jerry’s thumb rubbed over the smooth rose polish on perfectly crafted nails and raised Alex into his arms. Together, they walked over the lawn to the bridge, down the path to the garden. The narrow trail opened into a glen. A carpet of emerald stretched before them. A pool of sapphire ruffled to a soft breeze. Birds of ruby darted capriciously from limb to limb. Shafts of golden sunlight danced through the trees.

  Morgan’s love had been Brian’s inspiration. He scooped Alex into his arms and whispered, “Camelot.”

  About the Author

  A 1st Amendment activist and U.S. Army veteran educated in the fields of psychology and philosophy, J is usually found at the computer or in the dungeon. Also a designer of bondage regalia and dungeon wear, J has authored several short stories and novels. Somewhere in the Midwest, at this very moment, J is devising an ever more painful way of pleasuring you.