by Jaden Wilkes
That’s it. Today I did the exact same thing, but an hour earlier. It worked out for the best as the gym was practically deserted. Extra added bonus? Resident building pervert wasn’t there yet.
I stroll through the empty office and head back towards my little space. I pause at Beatrice’s desk and smile at the framed photograph of her and a shaggy, angry looking cat. She really is pathetic, but I enjoy being nice to build up her sense of worth. It’s like a game with me.
As I approach my office, I am hit with a familiar scent. Cigarette smoke. An earthy, fragrant smell that tickles the edge of my memory. I know this brand from somewhere, but I don’t know where.
I follow my nose down the short hallway to my private area and open my door.
Smoke hangs heavy in the air, clouds of it billow away from me as I enter. I cut a path through to find out who fucking dares to pollute my office like this.
“Shut the door, Alexandre,” a smooth female voice announces as I enter my space. I turn and see a figure seated on the couch, a halo of pure white smoke envelops her head and she exhales a languid breath that lingers as she speaks. “We need to talk.”
I don’t know why, but I obey. I shut the door, turn back again and look at her. She seems familiar; I think I’ve seen her before. She’s wearing a cherry red cocktail dress, dangerously high black leather heels and elbow length white silk gloves. Her hair is black and falls in waves around her face; her eyes are just as dark. I stare into them and wonder if they ever end.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” I demand and walk to the window. “Please put out your cigarette, this is a no smoking office,” I continue and slide the glass open.
“I don’t want to, I feel more comfortable with a cigarette in my hand,” she purrs and smiles at me. Her lips are dark red and her teeth are perfect, white and straight. She’s an incredibly beautiful woman. “Think of it as part of my...treatment.”
“Why are you here this early? Who scheduled you? And once again, how did you get in?” I demand again. She laughs and leans back on the couch, her long legs stretch out in front of her, emphasising their perfect shape.
She doesn’t answer, but says, “Doctor, I believe I have an urgent issue we need to address. Please,” she gestures towards my desk, “have a seat.” She draws one last breath from her cigarette, exhales as I sit and butts it out on the bottom of her shoe. Red, Louboutins. In a flash I remember where I’ve seen her. Just last weekend at the restaurant. She was there, was she watching me?
I take my seat. She doesn’t seem like the type I want to argue with, at least not until I get to know her. I decide to go along with her little game and give her the illusion of being in control until I can determine how she needs to be treated. “Well? What is this about?” I ask and set my satchel down on the floor next to my chair.
She takes the cigarette butt and flicks it onto the floor at her feet. She leans back again and looks me up and down, landing on my face, her own a mask of disapproval. “You have been a very, very wicked boy, Alexandre,” she says, her voice still a purr. She has the slightest accent and draws out the last part of my name with a sexy drawl. It’s not Russian, Eastern European perhaps? Middle Eastern? I can’t tell, and with her ambiguous dark features, I couldn’t put a finger on her ethnicity either. She’s beautiful and a complete conundrum.
“Why would you say that, Miss...what did you say your name is?” I ask her, leaning across the desk. I forgot to give the surface a swipe yesterday afternoon and it still carries the slightest pungent scent of the sex that happened on it. A gentle nudge, a reminder of the wicked things I have done.
“I didn’t,” she says and smiles. She almost moves in slow motion as if underwater, elegant and purposeful. “I’ve been watching you, Alexandre, and I’ve seen you get up to all kinds of terrible things.”
“What kinds of things?” I ask her, deciding to continue engaging in her little delusion until I know more about her.
“Things to women, vulnerable women,” she says and raises an eyebrow. “Patients, women you pick up in bars, online...you are very busy and very wicked.”
“How do you know this?” I ask her, feeling rather uncomfortable at this particular line of accusation. I’m very careful with my activities, especially with patients. “Have you been following me?”
“Not following, but watching. They’re very different thing. I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, you know,” she tells me and watches my reaction.
“What is your name?” I demand again, feeling that familiar sharp prick of anger rising behind my eyes.
“My name is unimportant. You may call me Mistress.”
“Mistress?” I repeat and laugh, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be calling you that. Now please tell me your name so I have something to call you.”
She leans forward on the couch, crosses her ankles and stares me down. After a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, I realize I have to capitulate to get anywhere with her.
I shuffled a few papers on my desk, look back at her and say, “Fine, Mistress it is. Now why are you here...Mistress?”
She licks her lips and leans back again, extends her beautiful legs and folds her hands on her lap. She is perfection and she knows it. That irritates me somehow and yet I can’t help but hang on her every word. The anticipation of her reply is coursing through my veins.
“I already told you,” she says in her low, melodic voice, “I am here because you have been wicked. I am here to punish you.”
I’m not that into BDSM. I like to tie people up and I am the consummate Dominant man if it comes right down to it...but the way she says it, in the mysterious accent, sends a thrill down my spine. I lean farther across the desk, look her in the eyes and say, “How are you planning on punishing me?”
“I was hoping you would ask,” she says and smiles. She pats the couch next to her and tells me, “Why don’t you come over here and find out.” This isn’t a question; from her lips this is an implicit order. I obey.
I stand on legs that feel shakier than they did ten minutes ago. Adrenaline courses through my body and the world feels like a brighter place. The edges are sharper and my vision feels intensely focused. I cross the few steps to sit beside her, lowering myself on shaking legs and sit quietly with my hands folded on my lap. Like I’ve done this before. Slapping pinching red fingernails forcing me to sit for hours until it hurts. But I never have, I’ve been in control since I can remember and I don’t know why this feels so comfortable.
“Mistress?” I ask and dare to look at her flawless features this close. It’s almost like looking into the sun, she is so radiant. Her image will be burned on the back of my eyes for hours after this, I am sure of it.
She turns to smiles and me. It’s a smile that never reaches her eyes though; they are still endless pools reflecting the darkest night...reflecting myself back at me. “Yes, Alexandre?” she asks and puts her hand on my thigh.
“What did I do that deserves punishment?” I ask her, not certain I want to hear the answer, but unable to stop myself.
“I would be ambiguous and tell you something like, ‘You know what you did,” but I wont’. I believe we should start with one of your worst crimes against womankind. Anna. Do you know how traumatic it was to her, to be treated like a beautiful little girl, cared for by you, fucked by you...and then tossed out like trash by you? Can you even comprehend how terrible last night was for her?”
My mind is racing but I can’t quite comprehend what she’s saying. Anna, how did she know about Anna? And what the fuck does she knew about my work with Anna? I shrug and say, “She knew what she signed up for when she started working with me. Honestly? She’s better off now than she was a year ago.”
“You ruined her, “ she responds without pause, “you know this and you did nothing to stop it.”
I bristle at her implication. I did not know Anna would fall in love with me, I never anticipated that part of the treatment. “I never intended
to harm her. Physically she was never harmed. Emotionally? She knew what she was getting into, it’s her own fault that she fell in love.”
She gives me a look that makes me feel insignificant, like a field mouse in the line of a hawk. I have this sudden image of her devouring me, scraping me up off the cool, damp earth and tearing me apart in the sky.
“Your intention all along was to please yourself, you know this and I know this. So stop lying about it,” she says and strips the long glove off her right hand. Her movements are deliberate, elegant. I find it impossible to stop staring at her.
“My intention was to put my theories into practice,” I reply, snapping out of it a little. I am feeling defensive about my research. Emotional shit be damned, I won’t have her calling out my studies. “Anna knew what kind of program I was asking her to join, and it was a success. She was able to overcome a lot of her traumatic past through our work here.”
“You may have wiped out that trauma, but that does not negate the damage you have done by using her, abusing her, and leaving her high and dry,” Mistress replies and grips my thigh with her hand. It’s then that I notice how long and sharp her nails are, red talons at the end of her thin fingers. She presses them into my thigh, harder and harder until I can’t handle the pain of it. I try to push her hand away but her grip is firm.
“What are you doing?” I protest, and try to pry her fingers from my leg. I think she’s broken the skin underneath, it feels like she might have.
She relaxes her hold and the blood flows back to the area. I think I feel some wetness under my suit pants, but am unable to check to see if she punctured my flesh.
“I am simply showing you what happens to very wicked boys,” she replies and leans closer to me. I am shocked by the pain, but even more shocked to see her lips coming towards me. I want to taste her so bad I can feel it in the base of my spine, but she unsettles me and I don’t know where she’s going with all of this.
Our lips meet and I’m a goner. I couldn’t say no to her if I tried. I suck her lower lip softly, tasting the nicotine and lipstick on her mouth. Her mouth opens wider and I meet her lips with mine. My cheeks feel flushed, my head is hot and I wonder if I have picked up the flu. Do I have a fever? I can’t even tell anymore. I can’t tell where illness ends and lust begins. I close my eyes and feel her lips on mine, her body folds against me and her arms wrap around. I lean back and pull her on top of me; her hip grinds into the tender spot on my thigh where her nails had been moments before.
Her mouth is soft but insistent; she’s in control here. Her tongue pins mine down before I have a chance to fight back, but I don’t want to fight back, I am at her mercy.
I don’t like kissing. I mean I don’t like kissing other women. I usually kiss and move on, I don’t like making out, necking, whatever you want to call it. It almost disgusts me, the thought of my saliva mixing with theirs, my tongue inside of them. I can face fuck a woman’s cunt easier than I can sensuously wrap my tongue around theirs.
I like kissing Mistress though, I like her tongue fucking my mouth and claiming me as her territory. I want to be hers, on some weird level I feel like we already are part of each other, belong together, even though I don’t know her.
I want to know her. I can almost feel something when I’m with her, almost.
It makes me slightly uneasy though, knowing that I want her more. I know that I would be clawing to tear my way into her heart as she retreats. I feel like she will retreat if I make a bold move.
I’ll have to play my cards carefully with this one, she feels slippery and unsteady, like walking along a delta when an earthquake hits. One moment the ground is hard beneath your feet, the next it has turned to liquid and you find yourself buried neck deep in the earth.
I want to bury myself in her, but not neck deep and in a state of fear. This should be a slow and careful progress, not one of me pitching into the darkness, the madness.
But I feel as though I’m already pitching into the madness. I feel half hysterical, her effect on me is physical, and my body responds to her in ways I didn’t know possible.
I am so fucking hard I could hold her down and tear her open right on the spot.
I don’t think she would allow it though; she would destroy me if I tried.
She pulls back, our soft, wet kissing sounds end abruptly and all I can hear is the low buzz of the overhead lights and my pulse throbbing in my ears. I have a headache, a dull thrum behind my eyes.
“I believe our time is up,” she says to me, a smile playing across her lips.
“What do you mean, it’s only been a few minutes,” I protest. I want more of her.
“Look at your watch, Alexandre. Much more time has passed than you think.”
I check and it’s almost eight o’clock. I hadn’t realized how long we’d kissed. I suppose when you are unused to such acts; they seem foreign in all aspects.
“Where are you going? Can I see you again?” I ask, hating the pleading tone I fight to keep out of my voice. I fail.
“I will be back, don’t worry about that,” she says and leans in for another quick kiss. Her mouth is so hot, wet and fragrant. I need more the second she pulls away. “I still have several more punishments to give out. Remember, you have been a very wicked boy.” Her dark eyes sparkle with amusement and her joy at my pain to come. I can’t help myself; I laugh and wonder what the punishments will be.
“Can I walk you out? Where were you coming from, dressed like that?” I ask her, immediately regretting it. I don’t want her to think I’m prying.
“I’m coming straight from work,” she says without offering any further explanation, “and no you cannot walk me out. Don’t bother.”
She stands up, stretches and gives me a really good look at her tight body. She has gorgeous curves, a tight midsection and fantastic breasts. She really is perfection packed into a painted on red dress. I stay seated, my hard cock making it difficult to move at the moment. She turns on her heel, bends down to pick something up and gives me a good view of her luscious heart shaped ass. I resist the urge to reach out and find her hot cunt with my fingers, to bury my face deep in her slit and lap at her juices like a starving man.
I can’t stand it any longer, as she turns back to me; I stand up and pull her to me. She melts her body against mine and looks up at me from under thick lashes. Her darks eyes are back to being endless. I am entranced by them. I kiss her again, slowly and forcefully. I need to let her know that this is not a matter of her domination over me, that this is a balanced dance between us. I can’t give her total control; it’s against my nature.
She pulls back again and looks up at me. “I will be back, don’t you worry about that,” she tells me and cups my balls in her hand. She slowly drags her hand along my cock through the fabric of my pants and I groan against her forehead.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” I ask and hold her tight against me.
“A little bit of each,” she replies with a low laugh. She breaks away, opens the door and is gone in a flash.
I am left standing in the middle of my office, my cock aching for her and my mind a maelstrom of confused thoughts and possibilities. I am stunned and unaware of what the fuck just happened here. I want more and yet I fear her return. I fear her control over me in such a short amount of time.
I need to counteract this. I need to fuck somebody up today, to release this crazy pent up confusion.
“Doctor Dane? Are you ok?” Beatrice breaks into my contemplations with her chirpy voice.
“Ah, yes Bea...I’m good...I just got here a little early,” I reply and straighten up, hoping my cock isn’t too obvious. I think about Bea naked on a cold day to help soften myself a little. It works. I wave in the air and say, “I hope the smoke doesn’t bother you, I had an early appointment who doesn’t quite take her health as seriously as most of us.”
“I don’t smell a thing,” she says and points at the open window, “the wind must have blown it all away
. But I don’t remember you having somebody come in this early. I know I didn’t schedule anyone.” Her brows knit together with her concern.
“It might have been the new girl,” I offer and she smiles.
“That’s right, I will have to ask her about it. It’s very unorthodox to have somebody in before nine.”
“It’s quite all right, I don’t mind. Sometimes a patient can’t make it during normal office hours,” I tell her and think that unorthodox doesn’t begin to describe it.
“You are so good to people, Doctor Dane,” she replies and smiles, a big, warm grandmotherly smile. This happy little moment seems a stark contradiction to the time I just spent with Mistress. My heart slows down and I can feel the adrenaline re-absorbing into my body as I relax.
“I do what I can,” I tell her and look at my watch, letting her know I no longer have time for this. I want to ask the new girl about this patient though; I’d like to find out if Mistress left any contact information when she made the appointment.
Beatrice gets the hint and leaves my office, gently shutting the door behind her on the way out. I exhale and sit behind my desk, trying to make sense of what just happened. There’s really no sense to be made though, and I’m left hanging. If I didn’t have to prepare for the day, read patient files and get ready for each and every one of their sob stories, I would probably jerk off immediately. I need a release, but everything seems pale in comparison to Mistress and her endless dark eyes and perfect red lips.
Thursday, April 3rd 3:00PM - Agnes
Agnes is a funny case...hard to figure with her drug addictions, sexual predilections and eating disorders. You’d think she’d be a perfect candidate for my treatment, but I’ve been wary of her thus far. She’s a fucking mess, but I’m happy to see her. Today has been a bit of a bore, made harder by the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about Mistress. Her mouth, that mouth, I need it on my body. I need to taste her again, all of her. I need to spread her thighs and crawl in between them, to return to a place I feel I already know. Going home. I don’t know how she’s gotten under my skin, but she has.
