by Clara James
“I adore me wife,” he added with emphasis. “We’re good together; she’s my best friend and the mother of my children. She’s everything to me.”
The more he talked, the more confused I was. Did men who have affairs make a habit of talking so affectionately about the women they’re being unfaithful to? I think my look of complete confusion must have been evident.
Steven chuckled, dipping his chin toward his chest. “I know that this seems completely contrary to that statement,” he conceded, gesturing between himself and me on the word ‘this’. “But she knows about this,” he stated, as if it were the most natural and obvious thing in the world. “I mean,” he added, shaking his head. “She doesn’t know exactly about this, but she knows that I occasionally...” He paused, his hand lifting from its constrained spot between his legs and gesturing in a feeble rolling motion.
“Use escorts?” I supplied for him.
“Yeah,” he responded gratefully. “She knows that I sometimes hire the services of women like you.”
“Umm, okay,” I nodded, unsure why it was important to him that I know this and how he expected it to put either of us in the mood. Was it a turn on for him?
“She’s not thrilled by it,” he added with a rueful smile. “But she accepts it, because I have...Well, I have particular needs.”
“Oh, I see,” I replied with a calmness I didn’t feel. I had no idea what he meant by ‘needs’. After being so specific about how he wanted me to dress and where he wanted me to meet him, it seemed strange that he wouldn’t mention a particular preference he had. Did that mean it was something indecent? His wife obviously thought so.
Nervously rubbing at his upper lip with the pad of one finger, he seemed to think carefully about his next words. “I probably should have mentioned when I first contacted you,” he admitted. “But I was hoping...I was hoping that it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Well, I’m sure it won’t be,” I smiled, praying that I looked much more at ease than I felt.
“Good,” he beamed, that gold tooth showing once more. “Good,” he repeated. “You see I’m into...umm...” he faltered. “Bondage,” he eventually stated. “Humiliation,” he added.
“Okay,” I nodded, remaining calm. BDSM wasn’t an uncommon fantasy. As soon as I’d decided to become an escort, I’d made a point of reading as much as I could about the most popular male sexual tastes, and that was right up there. Having initially known very little about it, I researched some of the basics in case of just such a situation. Of course, I still didn’t exactly know what Steven wanted to do with me: tie me up, spank me, blindfold me, gag me, torture me maybe? If his wife was so opposed to it, then it must have been something beyond the light, playful BDSM lots of couples enjoyed together.
“That’s great,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m really pleased, you feel that way” he added. “Because I knew, the moment I saw you, that I wanted you to dominate me.”
Chapter Three
Mistress
At first, I thought I must have misheard him. After a few moments, I wondered if I’d misunderstood. However, neither of those things had happened – and deep down I knew it. I gasped at the possibilities though, because I knew I was in over my head.
I’d mentally prepared myself for the kind of things I might be subjected to as a submissive partner. Taking control of the scenario in order to play a dominant role was, perhaps stupidly, not something I’d considered. And I was certain it was not in my nature to be dominant, especially not sexually.
“If you’d like to come into the bathroom,” he offered as he moved to the door and pushed it open. “I’ve got some toys and things,” he added. “And umm...if you could take the dress off and just wear your underwear, that would be great.”
I followed his guidance, walking into the bathroom and noticing the small suitcase that lay on the counter.
“When you’re ready,” he finally said, smiling warmly. “I’m yours to do with as you see fit.” With that, he tugged the door closed and left me in the brightly lit room.
I stared at the case for a while, worried about opening it. I was sure to find items there that were completely foreign to me. My knowledge of BDSM toys was very limited. Prolonging the inevitable, I decided to reach around my back and unzip my dress instead. Shrugging my shoulders out of the material, I allowed it to fall to the ground and carefully stepped out of it. My underwear were exactly what he’d asked for: a scarlet lace bra, which barely concealed my nipples, and matching boy short panties.
I swiveled, checking myself in the large mirror above the sink. And then, there was nothing else to do. The moment I’d be dreading could be put off no longer. Grabbing the zipper of the suitcase, I ripped it around quickly as though I was tearing off a band-aid. Then, tossing the cover off, I stared at the contents. Some of it wasn’t as frightening as I’d imagined, a paddle, a whip, some handcuffs, a blindfold and a ball gag. However, there were also toys I’d only ever seen pictures of online: a butt plug, a cock ring, a dildo. Would he want me to use all of this stuff?
Swallowing, my brain buzzed quickly. I tried to come up with a few things to say to him; tasks I’d get him to do in order to humiliate him before I even considered pulling out some of the more fancy tricks.
I reminded myself that it was just a matter of sliding into a role, pretending that I was someone else. If I could get into the mindset of a dominant woman, everything else would fall into place. So, with that, I breathed deeply, altered my posture so that I stood more erect. I watched in the mirror, as my face took on a hardened, no-nonsense expression. Nodding curtly, at my reflection, I reached for the door and flung it open. It moved so quickly that the knob bashed hard against the bathroom counter. I remember thinking that was good. I certainly made an entrance.
Steven was sitting on the edge of the bed, but shot to his feet when he heard the bang of the door. His eyes widened as they focused on me.
I stood with my feet shoulder-width apart, balancing on my heels, and placed one hand on my hip. “What are you doing still dressed?” I asked as sharply as I could muster, arching one eyebrow as my gaze moved down the length of his body.
“I...I...” he blabbered, his entire demeanor changed. Just moments before, he’d seemed reasonably confident; certainly more in control of the situation that I’d been. But he could no longer find his words and, it seemed, the prospect of being humiliated had already brought out the submissive side of him. He looked almost scared of me.
I didn’t understand how such a change could happen so quickly in him, but it gave me the boost in confidence I needed. As I watched his body and saw the slight swell at his groin, it spurred me onto greater assertiveness. “I said, why are you dressed?” I repeated.
“I’m sorry Mistress Arianna,” he rapidly mumbled, his fingers moving to the hem of his golf shirt and tugging it from his jeans.
“Did I say you could take them off?” I don’t know where that came from. The truth is, I don’t know where anything I said or did that night came from. I lost myself to the part I was playing. Suddenly, as if a switch had been flicked, I no longer needed to think about what I was saying before I said it.
“Umm,” he muttered, his fingers slowly releasing the fabric.
“Did I say you could speak?” I demanded.
He moved his head from side to side a little shakily.
“You don’t talk unless I give you permission to,” I told him, my hand falling from my hip as I took a step toward him. “You’re my little bitch, understand?” I didn’t raise my voice, it didn’t seem necessary. I had his complete attention, and the words seemed to have more effect when spoken calmly, but firmly.
He nodded eagerly, his eyes latching onto the curve of my breasts.
“You may speak,” I smoothly said.
“Yes, yes,” he replied, stumbling as he quickly tripped over the word. “I understand, Mistress. I am your bitch.”
“That’s good,” I quietly responded, rewarding
him with a small smile. “Now,” I added. “I want you to get those clothes off.” Folding my arms beneath my bosom, I stood within arm’s reach of him.
He lapped quickly at his bottom lip, before eagerly grabbing the bottom of his shirt. He tugged it quickly over his head, revealing a toned torso with wisps of dark gray hair. He unbuttoned his jeans, pulled down the zipper and pushed them off his hips. His briefs, which were black, were growing tighter around his groin, as he continued to gradually grow harder. His eyes flicked at me, as he kicked the denim from his feet and his hands grabbed the waistband of his underpants.
“Take them off,” I ordered, sensing that he wanted another push.
I saw the flash of something in his eye that told me he was turned on by the instruction. And obediently, he shoved the briefs off his hips. They too ended up at his ankles and he kicked them off too. He now stood before me, naked except for a pair of black socks that came to his mid-calf.
My gaze moved upward, focusing on the semi-erect penis that was continuing to stir. His intact foreskin hadn’t retracted completely, but the soft pink of his gland was beginning to emerge. He had a very thick vein running along the top of his shaft and a patch of bushy graying hair just above it. His scrotum was quite large, the skin dark and slightly wrinkled.
Taking a small step, I reached out and cupped his testicles in the palm of my right hand. I stared into his eyes as I squeezed gently.
His own gaze went a little glassy, and he tried to hold back a quiet groan.
“You like that?” I asked, with a knowing grin playing at my lips.
Another muted grunt and a nod was all he gave in response.
“You want it harder?”
“Ugh,” he mumbled, sucking in a breath as I rolled his balls between my fingers. Then, in jerky movements, he nodded in reply to my question.
Remembering one of the most important facets of BDSM and humiliation, I quickly withdrew my hand. “Beg for it,” I told him bluntly.
He was breathing quickly and raggedly through his nose. His penis was becoming completely hard, rising in a curve that pointed almost directly at the ceiling. “Please,” he weakly mumbled.
“You can do better than that,” I urged, stepping back.
“Please, Mistress,” he breathlessly began. “Please.”
“You call that begging?” I scoffed. “Get on your knees and do it properly.”
Instantly, Steven lowered himself to the hotel’s cream carpet, his pupils dancing as his arousal heightened. Dropping onto all fours, he shuffled forward slightly. “Please,” he said earnestly. “Touch me,” he pleaded. “Squeeze me hard,” he haltingly added. “Hurt me.”
I ordered him to get back up and as soon as he was standing, I complied with his request. Grasping his tender flesh, I dug my fingers in, using the slightest pressure of my fingernails.
“Oh, God,” he panted excitedly, his eyes closing and his head dropping back until his face was directed to the ceiling.
Emboldened, I gripped a little tighter. “Who said you could talk?” I said darkly, slowly twisting my hand.
“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” he grunted with an exhale of breath on each sound.
After a few seconds more, I released him, leaving red marks were my hand had been and tiny pricks of broken skin where two of my nails had punctured him.
Causing him pain, in of itself, didn’t excite me. However, the fact that causing him pain had resulted in his intense arousal and pleasure most definitely did. He was panting heavily, as if the experience had been orgasmic. With the courage to try more, I told him to wait, while I returned to the bathroom.
When I got back to him, I had several things in my hands; a pair of handcuffs, a paddle and the dildo. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was planning to do with the latter. But, I figured, if it was in his bag of toys, it must be something he enjoys using.
“Do you remember,” I began slowly, “when I told you not to speak unless I gave you permission?”
He nodded, swallowing nervously.
“Well, you disobeyed me,” I added, with a regretful smile. “So, now you’re going to have to be punished.”
“I-” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“I didn’t say you could speak,” I sharply reminded him. “Obviously, you need to be taught to listen to my instructions.” Tossing the dildo and the paddle onto the bed, I kept the handcuffs tightly held in my left hand. “Go over to the wall,” I said, pointing with my empty hand to the head of the bed.
His eyes watching me over his shoulder, he did as directed, walking until his feet bumped the bedside cabinet.
“Right there,” I assured him. “Now lift your arms,” I demanded.
His restless tongue darted out to moisten his lips again, before his hands slowly rose toward his head. I grabbed his left hand, the one closest to me, and snapped one cuff around it. Clamping the metal bracelet shut, I pushed his hand to the wall and the light fitting that was positioned three feet or so above the cabinet.
The light was a sleek modern design, with bulbs on either end of a thick rod of steel, or something that looked like steel. That center rod was attached to the wall at either end, with a small gap in the middle. I looped the cuff through this gap and ordered Steven to lift his other wrist into the open bracelet.
He did so without hesitation or argument and I quickly closed the cuffs; yanking on them to ensure they were secure. With his upper arms now masking half his face, he continued to peer expectantly over his shoulder at me. I moved back to the foot of the bed, completely out of his view, before picking up the paddle.
I considered waiting, knowing that the longer it was dragged out, the more the anticipation would be killing him. I could already see the glistening streaks of sweat weaving their way down his smooth back.
His buttocks were rounder and fuller than the average man’s, and as he unconsciously clenched them a small dimple appeared in each. No longer able to hold back, I walked forward to him. Flicking the paddle and brought it down hard on his right cheek. At least, I thought it was hard, the sound that filled the room was feeble and unsatisfying – my guess would be for both of us.
So, I pulled back and tried again, giving myself a larger windup. This time, it struck his skin with a ‘thwap’ and caused him to jerk slightly. It was followed by a rumble low in his chest. I struck him again and again, each time pausing for no more than a few seconds. All the time, I listened closely to his breathing, and watched the movement of his body. His desperate, loud exhalations were highly sexual. And despite my early concerns, I was not only slipping into the role, I was enjoying it. There was something incredibly arousing about control.
“Argh,” he cried, his hands balling into tight fists and his biceps flexing.
“Do you want to say something?” I suggested, my own breath coming fast and uneven from a mixture of titillation and exertion. My upper arm was burning from the unfamiliar exercise, and as I tossed the paddle back onto the bed, I was glad to be able to stretch the fingers that had been clamped tightly around the handle.
“Ugh, Mistress,” he grunted. “I need...” he gasped. “Please touch me.”
“Not yet,” I stated calmly. It would surely be an anticlimax for him if I gave into his request in the first instance. “I think there’s still some punishment that needs to be doled out.” Unaware that I was doing it, I was reaching down to the bed and scooping up the six inch, pink dildo that he’d packed in the case. “You need to know who’s boss,” I added, wrapping my fingers tightly around the handle and moving closer to him.
He whimpered as I rolled the head of the phallus over his buttock, warning him of what was about to happen. His hips were involuntarily swaying, backwards and forwards in a light thrusting motion that suggested to me he was ready.
Carefully, I slide the dildo down and placed it against his pucker. “You’re a dirty, little bitch,” I whispered, my face almost resting on his shoulder.
“Mmm,” he hummed, keeping his jaw clamped shut.
“You may speak,” I told him.
“Yes,” he exhaled. “Yes, I am dirty.”
“You want this?” I asked, pushing the head of the plastic penis against his tight hole.
“Argh, God, Yes!” he almost screamed.
My movements were slow, not shoving against the resistance I found, but letting his body slowly draw the dildo in. With my free hand, I reached around him, stroking the underside of his cock with the tips of my fingers. He bucked against me, grunting as he bit down on his lip. As I reached the soft, smooth dome of his tip, he quivered and the dildo slipped a couple of inches deeper.
“Who’s your mistress?” I asked, releasing his member.
“Ugh, you,” he panted, sweat running from him freely. “You,” he repeated.
I flood of warmth and moisture pooled in the crotch of my underwear, making me feel restless, as I instantly placed my legs together and squeezed my thighs. It wasn’t the words he said, but the strangled way in which he’d spoken them that was almost enough to make me orgasm right then and there. The power I held over him was intoxicating.
With one more push, I slipped the dildo into Steven’s depths. What I hadn’t known at the time was my over excitement would prove too much for him.
With a growled, “Argh...ugh...ugh!” Steven’s member lengthened and released its seed. His ejaculate coating the surface of the bedside cabinet and splattering the wall.
And that, as they say, was that.
Chapter Four
Big Guy
After Steven’s sudden climax, he could not muster another erection. He wanted to; he tried; we both tired, but he was spent. And although he would have liked to have spent a little more time playing, he seemed very satisfied with the date. Before I left him, with the ink on a check still drying, he also gave me his card; with a work and cell phone number.
“Please call me whenever you’re free,” he smiled. “I...umm...don’t think I’ll need to be finding any one else until you retire,” he added, with a wink.
