tagBDSMThe Mistress and Her Justice Ch. 02

The Mistress and Her Justice Ch. 02

bykelmag©

Copyright 2008. All rights reserved.

This material may not be reprinted or posted on any other internet site without the expressed written consent of the author.


*

The e-mail message was there waiting for him on Wednesday evening. A single line of white text on a cool blue background.

"Call me tonight at exactly 11 P.M.. Kat"

It hit him with the force of a punch in the solar plexis. Judge Reynolds was stunned, breathless and light headed. He could feel the perspiration rolling down his armpits and along the side of his ribs. His face was hot, flushed with blood. His hair was suddenly damp with sweat. He stared at the single white line, not quite believing what he saw.

It's her! She really answered me. It's not a dream or a fantasy. Her fingers typed those letters after reading my message. She wants to meet me! Oh God, what do I do? What do I say to her when I call?

The judge continued to stare at his screen, lost in thought. In his mind's eye he imagined her, sitting in front of her computer, reading his message, glowing green eyes moving back and forth across the text, a slight smile spreading across her lips. She was dressed in full black leather regalia, mounds of tightly curled red hair resting on her shoulders. Her neatly manicured blood red tipped fingers resting on the keyboard, then stroking the keys to send her message. A click of the mouse and her words, her words, were sent directly to him.

His mind raced: She said "exactly 11 P.M." I better get ready. It's after nine o'clock already. What will her voice sound like? C'mon, get control of yourself. Take a deep breath.

Judge Reynolds glanced down at his gold Rolex. He was an absolute stickler for time in his court and kept his watch accurate to the second. He was sure his watch was right but he checked his radio signal controlled clock in his bedroom to make sure. His watch was exactly right. It was nine oh six. He had almost two hours to kill before the appointed time. He took another sip of wine, set the glass down and opened his silk robe up to let in some air. He flapped the ends a few times to push a breeze across his sweat covered torso. It felt cool as it rushed by, in contrast to the heat still radiating from his face and neck.

He went immediately to Katrina's website. Her striking image suddenly filled the screen causing the tense jurist to gasp. He was breathing heavily again as he slowly looked her over from the top of her curly red mane to the tips of her shiny black boots.

He stared at her red tipped fingers, again imagining them on a keyboard typing those words to him and then the mental image instantly shifted to those same fingers looping a black leather cord around his cock and balls and slowly strangling them.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't seem to quite catch his breath, sucking in great quantities of air as his round belly and sunken chest rose and fell in rapid succession. His lips were cracked and dry as the rushing air snatched away all moisture.

He took a few more sips of wine to steady his nerves and wet his lips as he continued to stare at her image. The judge slowly worked his way through her website, exploring sections that he had barely noted before in his single minded quest for hot stories.

Her biography was brief - A runaway from Minnesota at fifteen, she worked a variety of odd jobs for a few years while getting her equivalency degree. She was introduced to B&D by a boyfriend in her late teens and then attended college and grad school. Now, at the age of twenty-nine, she was a business executive with a very special "hobby." She liked dominating older men and was especially turned on when the man was himself well educated and powerful in his public life.

He read through some of her non-fiction pieces - mainly thoughts and opinions about various aspects of the scene. He especially liked her piece on "anal play." She got off on penetrating her sub with slow, deep thrusts and liked controlling every part of the action.

She liked her men open, wide open, for her pleasure and rendered helpless not only by her bondage but by their own sexual cravings. Unlike many dommes, she was not into orgasm denial. She liked to tease and arouse but she thought the power transfer and domination was more complete when she controlled every aspect of the sub's arousal including the exact time and method by which he came.

In fact, she loved the howl of pleasure and powerful muscular contractions that she created with her own nimble fingers and a few "toys." More than that, she enjoyed that brief, exquisite moment when she had driven her charge to the very edge of sexual insanity; that wonderful, pregnant pause, just before she tripped the release that sent them him off zooming into the stratosphere. It was at this brief moment, as the sub hung on the precipice, that she believed absolute power was hers.

It was now ten thirty - just a half hour more to go. The judge pulled out a yellow legal pad and started making notes on what he would say. He knew that everything depended on just a brief few words of conversation. He wanted to make sure that he got it right. John sensed he would not get a second chance.

Fourteen minutes remained before the appointed hour. Judge Reynolds went over his notes. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. There was a rushing sound in his ears, a kind of buzz as the pulse of his carotid artery flicked at the side of his throat like a forefinger poking him to get his attention. Despite the open robe, he was soaked.

Perspiration ran off the curves of his jiggly chest, down the sides of the roll of fat around his expansive middle and collected in a pool in the crack where his fleshy thighs met his groin. He pulled a few tissues from the dispenser on his desk and wiped away the sweat on his brow and eyelids. He took a few more deep breaths, trying to regain a normal rate of respiration. He took another sip of wine, then stopped himself before gulping the rest of it down.

Need to be clear headed. Can't be slurring my words, sounding like some low life drunk. I can drink all of the wine I want to later, but for now, lay off.

With five minutes left to go, he went to the bathroom to relieve himself. He was so nervous, he could only coax a slight trickle out of his shrunken member, despite the annoying feeling of a full bladder. After he had flicked off the last few drops of urine, he closed his robe, washed his hands and then downed a cup of water. He refilled the cup and brought it back with him to his desk to ensure his throat and lips stayed moist. A minute and twelve seconds remained.

He brought up her home page photo again, looked into those green eyes and locked onto them, reached for his telephone receiver, picked it up from its cradle and began dialing. He punched in the number slowly, carefully, to avoid a mistake and to use up the last twenty seconds remaining. With exactly three seconds remaining, he punched in the last digit, put the phone to his ear, adjusted his yellow pad and waited for the first ring.

The first two rings seemed to take an eternity. His heart started to sink, thinking the message to him was a joke, when he heard the slight "click" in the middle of the third ring.

The clear, female voice, "hello," startled him. There was a moment of silence as the lady receiving the call waited for a response and John fought to get control over his mouth and tongue so he could utter his planned response.

"Hehh . . . hehhl . . . hello," John finally blurted out with tightened throat and dry lips.

"This is John. I am calling for Mistress Katrina," John read out his prepared opening sentence, carefully enunciating each syllable.

"You have reached her. Hello John."

"Hello Mistress Katrina," John was careful to use her full title to avoid offending her.

"Thank you for responding to my letter; . . . and asking me to call. You don't know what this means to me," John blurted out nervously, departing from his prepared lines.

"I didn't ask you to do anything John. I never ask. I told you to call and you did so - and promptly I might add. I like that." Tell me John, do you really think that you can take what I give?"

"Oh yes Mistress," I know I can, I mean . . . I would love to serve you." I will do anything . . . anything to be with you," John gushed as he ignored his prepared text, forgotten in the excitement of talking to her.

"I don't just use a finger John. You know that don't you? And you are a virgin back there. At least you claim to be." What makes you think you can take it?

"Oh Mistress Katrina, I know I can. I have dreamed about it, fantasized about it for so long . . . especially from you, . . . I know I can and I know that it will be the greatest experience ever."

John stopped himself, realizing he was talking about his own pleasure, and quickly added, " And I know I will be a perfect slave for you and give you the greatest pleasure. I can be like Harold for you but I will never leave you."

"You know that I don't use 'safe words', don't you John."

"Yes Mistress, I do."

"And you will willingly submit to whatever I want to do to you?"

"Oh yes Mistress, anything, anything."

"You'll take my giant dick up your ass and won't complain?"

"Oh yes Mistress, It would be an honor to serve you."

"You are quite a slut, aren't you John."

"Oh yes Mistress, I am."

"Say it John, say it . . . 'I Am A Slut."

"I am a Slut."

There was a long silence. For a terrible moment John thought he had been disconnected.

"Say it again John. This time with feeling."

"I Am a Slut!"

There was another long pause. The Judge could picture her holding the telephone; red tipped fingers curled around the receiver.

"And what do you want me to do to you John?"

"I . . . I waa . . . I want you to, . . . you know, take me, . . . uhh, you know, from behind.

John heard a muffled laugh and his already flushed and sweating face burned in shame.

"You mean Fuck You, don't you John?"

"Ye . . . Yes Mistress Katrina."

"And where do you want me to Fuck You, John? Where? Do you want my cock up your ass?"

"Ye . . . Ye . . .Yes Mistress Katrina."

"Say it John. Say it! Tell me exactly what you want."

"I waa . . .I want you to fuck me in the ass," he murmured in a half whisper.

"What's that John? I can't hear you. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you, and this time do it with feeling!"

"I want you to Fuck Me in the Ass!" John carefully enunciated each syllable with emphasis on the important verb and objects.

There was another long pause.

"Why thank you for asking John. It would be my pleasure."

John felt a flutter of excitement in his belly. He was still slightly in shock and could barely understand the words in his ear as she continued.

" You will receive instructions by e-mail. Follow them exactly. Any deviation from my instructions and you will be holding your hot little dick in your own hand because you will never see me. Do you understand me, John?!" she said slowly, enunciating each syllable for emphasis.

"Yes Mistress Katrina, I understand you completely. I will obey your instructions to the letter. And . . . and . . . Thank you Mistress for this opportunity.

Judge Reynolds heard the "click" of the call being disconnected. There was silence for a few moments, and then just the dial tone. It was as though he was waking from an incredibly realistic dream. He wasn't really sure it had all happened. Did he really talk to her? Did she really accept him to serve her and say she would contact him with instructions?

He shook his head slowly from side to side, trying to clear the cobwebs. He reached over for his glass of wine and took a deep gulp, letting the cool, tart liquid coat his throat. He felt the impact of the alcohol almost immediately as it hit his stomach with a warm, almost burning feeling in his gut. He glanced down at his watch. It was eleven oh six. The entire conversation took only six minutes, even less than that since he hung up a while ago.

Somehow, John knew his life had changed, as though he was now on the other side of a great divide that separated his prior life from this new one. He would get up in the morning, dress, commute, take his appointed place on the bench and listen to the lawyers drone on.

He would look the same to the world on the outside. But he knew that inside he had fundamentally changed. A long suppressed creature had burst out of its confines. It was spreading its wings and he felt positively giddy about it. It had taken so much energy to keep it locked up all of these years. He felt free, or at least freer than he could ever remember feeling before.

Six minutes, . . . six minutes and his life had changed. He knew it would never be the same again. He did not know what that meant.

End of Part 2

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