Finding Mistress Arlene

They were a different shape than the ones that come frozen in the bag. They were a bit more rounded in shape, like globes. I commented to that effect.

"They're homemade."

"You made them?" Now I was seriously impressed.

"I make them and keep them in the freezer." She held up a Ziploc bag with frozen tater tots in it to show me. She tossed the bag in the freezer and shut the door. "I usually eat them for breakfast but I thought they'd be good with the steaks." If she was trying to get to me through my stomach it was working. She flipped the steaks, and they each gave off a plume of steam before they started to sizzle again in the hot fat.

"So do you make steaks often?" I was expecting a yes and was surprised by her answer.

"I usually eat fish. I haven't had a steak in at least three years. My ex-husband and I used to eat steak every Saturday night. I'd make it for him. This is the way he liked it. Blood rare with a big hitting cabernet. I've kind of missed it and thought I would be perfect for tonight." I was impressed, and also had this sense of déjà vu that I was with Gwen. Could she also read my mind?

"It's my favorite," I confessed. "Every girlfriend I've had has asked me to grill steaks for her." But now I wanted to try it Arlene's way -- oven first.

"I thought so," she replied, adding to my suspicions that she indeed could read my mind. "Let's see how it rates." She used tongs to lift each crusted steak onto its respective plate. "Chef prepares her steaks rare. You may request that the steak be cooked more but such request will be denied." She handed me a plate.

"Let this rest for ten minutes, In the meantime, you can munch on the tater tots. I've got homemade ketchup in that bowl." She pointed to two place settings set at the island with water glasses and silverware. I carried my plate over there and perched on a stool. I dipped a crispy brown tater tot into the ketchup and popped it in my mouth. It was too hot, but still delicious.

"I love the tater tots," I remarked, thinking it was a funny thing to say to a Domme.

I watched her finish fixing her plate and then slide onto the barstool next to mine. I thought it might be a good time to get something off my chest. I wanted to like her and I thought the coldness between us was beginning to thaw.

"You seemed like you weren't in a good mood when I showed up."

Arlene didn't acknowledge that she heard me, even though she unquestionably did. She sat there and took a sip of her wine.

"It wasn't easy for me," she said, looking ahead and not at me.

Her statement was an invitation to probe further. "What do you mean?"

"To leave Gwen." Her confession hung in the air for a moment. I suddenly understood.

She continued without prompting. She turned her head so we were looking at each other.

"It was the hardest decision of my life. Like you, I was in love with her. She was my world. But at the time I was living with her I was about your age, and felt I was too young to set my roots down with her. She is a wonderful person."

"That she is." We were commiserating with each other, consoling each other. We found common ground

"She called me."

"You told me."

"I probably hadn't spoken to her in five years."

"I didn't know it was so long."

"I loved her, and I thought I got over it, but it's painful to talk to her. I still miss her. My heart still aches for her."

She was speaking to my heart as well. "I know the feeling."

"Maybe even after all these years there's still a tinge of regret at my decision to leave her. I think I took out the anger I had at myself out on you. I'm sorry if I did."

I appreciated her heartfelt apology. "I do understand, and I forgive you."

"I don't know why, but seeing and touching my collar made me feel better."

"It made me feel better wearing it. I put it on because it's what connects the two of us to each other and to Gwen."

"Indeed." She became pensive again. Her mind drifted off again, probably to Gwen. Then she snapped back to the present.

"We all need to move on, especially the two of us. That's why you're here, right?"

She was precisely correct. One of the reasons I came back to New Orleans was to find her. "You are right," I confirmed.

"Good," she said in a firm, reassuring voice. "Let's eat our steaks before they get cold."

My steak covered a good portion of my plate. The rest of it was occupied by sautéed mushrooms and tater tots. The steak was pink near the outer edge and blood red in the center. The outer crust was crispy and salty. I grabbed a forkful of mushrooms to accompany a chunk of steak. Hedonistic pleasure.

"So you like my cooking?" she asked rhetorically.

"You had me at steak," I admitted. I sliced another piece for myself.

"Good," she said, sipping her glass of wine. "I didn't get around making dessert."

"That's OK." I slid my hand under the counter and on top of her pants. I undid the catch on her pants and my fingers wandered under the elastic waistband of her panties to the creamy center between her legs. She had seduced me with food. I wanted her. She parted her legs slightly, allowing my fingers to explore.

"Ummmm," I said, as my fingers found her pool of wetness. "I don't think we'll make it to the dessert course."

She put her hand on top of mine to press my fingers deeper inside her. She squeezed her thighs together so she could tighten her muscles around them. "You are the dessert course."

I wiggled my fingers on her soft, fleshy G-spot. The muscles in her pussy contracted once again, this time reflexively. Her eyelids narrowed.

"I'm looking forward to it Mistress." My eyes dipped to the floor.

* * *

We were in her bedroom. I remembered it from last time, though the lights were dimmed. This time it was well lit, and I saw a comfortable hideaway for her, complete with a separate sitting area with a sofa, two chairs and a coffee table. I sat on her bed and sank into the down-filled comforter. I was wearing a robe, and nothing on underneath.

She sat next to me, wearing a matching white terrycloth robe. Her fingers skimmed across the back of my neck, just where I like it. My neck twitched at the pleasing touch.

"You like?" she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from me. I remained mute, as I tried only to speak when given permission. "You may answer," she said, after I paused.

"Uh huh," I moaned.

"Tell me."

"Yes, I like it Mistress."

"And this?" She put her arm behind me, causing my robe to open. Two fingers ran down the center of my back, making me arch it.

"You know I do." I'm sure she sensed my impatience. Her teasing was having its intended effect.

"Be still my pet." Her lips were only a hair's breadth away from my ear. Her fingers parted the short, moisture slickened pubic hairs surrounding the lips of my pussy.

My hips shifted almost imperceptively towards her, causing her fingers to push deep inside me. I undulated my hips and started fucking myself on her hand. My desire had taken over. I felt no shame with her. I wanted her to know that I was giving myself to her.

She nibbled on my ear and ran her tongue across the outer edge of it. I tried to stay still. Her voice, now throaty with lust, touched that darkest part of me when she called my real name.

"I'm going to call you my slut. You are my slut, aren't you?

I was her slut. I could feel it in my bones. I wanted to admit it to her. "Yes Mistress Arlene. I'm your slut."

She left the room for what only seemed like a minute, then returned nude and wearing a harness holding a black dildo of considerable length and girth. The lifelike cock had bulging veins sculpted into the shaft and an oversized head. I immediately laid back, almost instinctively, as she got her knees on the bed and shimmied between my legs, spread wide open, rubbing the huge head against the swollen lips of my vagina. The head acquired a sheen of my wetness as she used her hand to rub it in circles against my pussy, laid wide open by the rubber intruder.

She thrust her hips forward, immediately filling me, the head finding that spot inside me that made me stiffen with pleasure. Arlene sensed she had found that special spot, and with each thrust rubbed the head against it, making me start to moan. I had never been fucked like this, by man or woman. Her eyes grabbed mine, holding my head steady as her hips rhythmically fucked me with the fake cock. Gwen was long forgotten. I could only think about Arlene, her pendulous breasts rocking back and forth with each movement of her body, in sync with mine, as my eyes rolled back in my head and I tried to comprehend the explosion of pleasure that she had showered on me.

I faded in and out of the moment. I felt the cool, smooth texture of the sheets against my sweaty skin. My eyes were closed but I could feel her next to me. I opened my eyes to see her laying on her side, studying me as I basked in the sweet sunshine of fulfilling sex. I thought she would have said something sweet, or at least something playful. But that's not what came out of her studious mind.

"You're still in love with Gwen ... aren't you?

"No I'm not," I said reflexively. I don't know why I was so quick to deny. It made it obvious that I still was.

"Why do you ... ," I started to ask. Again, her finger went to her lips. I wasn't allowed to ask questions back.

She ran her finger along my side, tracing the soft, giving flesh with her perfectly manicured fingernails. Her tender touch made me smile.

"You sure?" Her question made it clear that I wasn't sure.

I looked at her. Her fiery amber eyes, always probing. She wasn't listening to me. She was trying to look into my soul. I felt her tug someplace inside me, trying to wrest out the truth. These thoughts all played out in a moment, but it was a moment of hesitation that only reinforced her belief.

"You are," she concluded, leaving no room for discussion. "You need to think about what you want. I don't want to train you if you're still in love with Gwen. Go on home and think about it. Take as long as you like. Just be sure when you tell me."

Then she made love to me again, this time slower.

* * *

It was a long drive home. I had a lot to think about. Mistress Arlene was tantalizing. She was sexy and sensual. She had a harder edge on her than Gwen. She always seemed to be firmly in control. Gwen gave me a taste of the forbidden fruit -- a taste of submission. When I was at Gwen's, it was as if I kicked my life into another gear. It was exciting and exhilarating. I never felt more in touch with my feelings and myself. I had a deep sense of satisfaction when I pleased her, really in some ways a better glow than an orgasm. Gwen was able to tap into my submissive streak and bring me beyond the outer edge of pleasure, into a world her world of pleasure and pain. She was the first to find the black spot in my heart. The spot I didn't know that I had, but somehow she did.

Now Arlene was massaging that black spot, making it grow inside me, making me want her more than anything I've ever wanted. I came to the same impasse in my mind I'd been struggling with ever since I met Gwen. I thought of myself as an independent, career oriented woman, yet the thing I craved most was to be under Arlene's control -- to be dependent on her. Was it was a contradiction I could embrace?

The traffic around me faded to the background as I became lost in thought. Even with my latest session with Arlene -- and my unexpected departure, I knew that I belonged there, to be with a woman who was capable of understanding the real me -- the one who craved pain and pleasure, and still my own sense of identity. She had sent me away because I couldn't be in her world if I still had strong feelings for Gwen. She couldn't give me what I needed if that doubt always hung over us. I had to get clear of my past if I was to make way for my future. And my future was with Arlene.

I finally felt a sense of resolve and clarity when I parked the car in front of my house.

Jeanine, one of my roommates, was leaving as I entered the house. Cute blonde. Going to some fancy college back east but here for six months for an internship. She waved to me. I waved back and pasted on a smile. I stared longer than I should have at her young, firm body.

"In a rush," Jeanine gushed, waving again and walking briskly to her car. I watched her shake her ample booty and I shook my head again, wondering why I was so fixated on sex.

I wandered over to the stairs to my upstairs bedroom, noticing that Craig had cleaned out his ground floor room. What a weirdo. I hoped we would find someone better to take his place. I plopped down on the bed and thought about Arlene. What a put together woman. Beautiful, controlling, so for me it was lethal combination. I should have thought more about it, but I didn't. Impulsively, I dialed Arlene's number.

"Cassie, that didn't take long." She had genuine surprise in her voice.

"I've made up my mind." I tried to sound as decisive as possible.

"Well ... ". There already a tinge of impatience.

"I would like to train with you." There, I said it. Plain as day, except that I wasn't prepared for the next question. I probably should have been.

"So you're not in love with Gwen."

There was a slight hesitation. "No," I answered, feeling that it was still a lie. But I so wanted Arlene. Was it wrong to want her? Did she sense the hesitation?

She didn't let on that she didn't believe me. "I see. Be at my place, Wednesday, at 7 p.m."

"OK," I answered. But the line was already dead. A shiver went up my spine. I was going through with this. Would I move out and be living with her? Would I measure up to her expectations? A million questions swirled through my head as I realized the gravity of my decision. I wanted to finish my article on Gwen. It would take all day Tuesday, so I'd be working up to the wire. It was already Monday evening and I still had just a rough draft. I had to get my head on straight to finish on time, so that meant no more thinking about Arlene.

I got up out of bed and kicked the door to my room shut and laid back again on the bed, not being able to control my mind. I kept rewinding the past twenty-four hours when Arlene was above me, missionary style, with her strap on, fucking me , making me cum until I was to the point of passing out. My fingers danced down my shirt, pulling out the tail and then unbuttoning my pants. I thought about Arlene, looking into her eyes, mine glazed half shut, as she thrust her hips forward, her breasts heaving with each stroke. My fingers snaked underneath my panties and into a slippery wet channel of soft tissue, gliding to my clit, already engorged, my thoughts now turning to being a slut for Mistress Arlene, to do anything for her. My fingertips pressed tightly together, massaging my hardened nub, sending me to a quick, dizzying orgasm. I couldn't help myself, panting uncontrollably as the aftershocks made my body continue to spasm. I raised my wet fingers to my lips and licked at my nectar, dreaming that it was Arlene's, and that I was between her legs, licking her cunt until she begged me to stop.

I rubbed my forehead with my hands as I stared at the ceiling, wondering what had happened to me. I dreamt about being a famous news reporter but now those dreams had changed. Here I was, laying on my back, my breath still irregular, dreaming of licking the cunt of a woman I had only met a few times. That black spot had grown, and my dreams had morphed into fantasies about Arlene.

I don't remember much about the rest of that night, only that my dreams were overtaken by Arlene. I woke up tired and restless, a wet spot on the part of the sheet under my sex. I think I masturbated two or three more times before I fell back asleep.

* * *

I set my alarm for 7 a.m. and when it cheerfully chirped I hit snooze, intending to hit it several more times until I realized I had only this day to finish and submit my article about Gwen. I was able to squeeze in a few hours the previous day on the final edits, and spent most of the morning finishing my first pass. I thought it read well, but there were several paragraphs that didn't seem up to snuff. I decided to rewrite them, which would take me to late morning. Then to the office of the New Orleans Intelligencer and the critical eye of its editor-in-chief, Ben Broussard.

Ben had blessed my first article on a homeless encampment and the feature garnered a couple local awards. I was not going into his lair without a fair bit of credibility on my side. I thought my article on Gwen, her sort of commune in the 80's in New Orleans, and then her retreat in Longboat Key, and the lifestyle of a Domme that she had lived for over thirty years, was even better.

* * *

"This is another hit," said Ben, having spent the last hour reading my draft and then collecting his thoughts. "It needs a bit more work and of course there's a gaping hole about this Arlene person. What do you intend to do about that?"

"You mean Arlene, not Gwen?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Yes, of course, Arlene. You talk a lot about her in the story, how your submission was modeled after hers, but we really don't know anything about her. Have you met her?"

I spent last night on the receiving end of her harnessed cock. I would say that qualified. "Yes ... yes I have."

"Well then, I think the readers will want to know more about this mysterious Arlene. Can you make that happen?" It was his way of saying "Make it happen." It was not a question.

I wanted my article published. I might never get a chance as good as this to write an important article about a topic that was rarely discussed in public. Now I felt I was being tugged in at least three directions: Arlene, Gwen, and my career. So far Arlene was winning, but a boost to my career could be even better.

"When do you want it?"

"I've got space on the front page in about a week. That should give you enough time to finish."

* * *

I fussed around with the article in the office until late evening so I didn't get to bed until after midnight. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, as I couldn't fall asleep.

What would I wear? What would I bring? She wasn't interested in discussing the details of my stay and she made it clear she wasn't going to entertain any questions from me. I decided on the basics. Jeans, white cotton blouse and sandals. I packed an overnight bag with a couple days of clothes. I changed my telephone message to say that I was out of town and unreachable. I had already gotten fired from my job and my mother wasn't speaking to me so I really didn't have anyone chasing me to begin with.

I ended up frittering away the rest of the day, baking chocolate chip cookies for my roommates and doing my laundry. I even cleaned my room, making it spotless. By the time I finished, I had just enough time to get showered and ready.

It was a little after 6:30 when I pulled into her neighborhood so I had a bit of time to kill. I drove slowly up and down the street, looking at the houses behind their gates and fences, grand looking houses that were suitable for a magazine cover. I parked the car two blocks away and walked down the street, feeling very self-conscious as the only pedestrian in a posh neighborhood, carrying an overnight bag. I suddenly had a thought that I looked more like a burglar than a resident.

I got to Arlene's estate and pushed the call button at the gate.

"Hello?" It was a crackly connection, but it wasn't Arlene's voice.

I told her my name and that I was there to see Arlene.

The gate swung open. I walked in, throwing the straps of my overnight bag over my shoulder and following the brick driveway to her front door. The front door was open before I got there. A young woman, younger than me, was holding the door open for me. She had shoulder length brown hair and designer top and jeans.