Finding Mistress Arlene

Within a minute came his reply. "Will read. Come to my office in fifteen minutes."

I was already having buyer's remorse. The article was better, much better, as rewritten and this article could be my ticket to a career as a journalist. But Arlene seemed like such a stickler for privacy. Then I tried to assuage my concerns by telling myself that I changed her name. That excuse didn't even set well with me.

I went to Ben's office, expecting some further nit-picky comments and another round of edits. I was taken aback when he told me that the story was running as is in the edition the next day. There was no turning back now.

* * *

Lucien and Marie were sitting in their breakfast nook, enjoying their Saturday morning breakfast of chocolate croissants and American coffee from their own blend of beans. Lucien took a sip of his black coffee and then put down the newspaper. "Sadie was right. We're in the article. She calls us Emil and Brita, but from their physical descriptions and her recounting her visit to our house, there's no doubt it's us."

"I thought she might be the one for Arlene ..."

"Such a shame."

* * *

I was to start my day with Arlene at 8 a.m. so I set up a 7 a.m. call with Ben to talk about the reception for the article. I was sitting on my bed, naked and sans collar, since I usually took it off when I was sleeping by myself. He answered on the first ring.

"Off the charts. We've had dozens of requests for extra copies of the paper. We've got interest from a couple of national publications. It's crazy here. You need to get to the office. Now."

Of course that wasn't possible since I was to be in front of Mistress at eight, so I told him that I was happy with the reception but that he was going to have to fend for himself. I was at my dresser putting my phone away when Mistress came into my room. She slammed a copy of the newspaper containing my article.

"You had no right ...". She was angry, and I had never seen her angry. I raised my hand.

"You may speak," she said, somewhat reluctantly.

"But your name wasn't in it," I protested weakly.

"Lucien and Marie figured it out. That's how I got a copy of this rag."

This was what I feared. My flimsy justification for approving the article was completely shredded. I had no other choice than to throw myself at the mercy of the court. I prostrated myself in front of her, silently praying that she'd give me another chance.

She put the front tip of her high heel under my chin, pressing upward so my eyes looked up at her. I could see the anger flashing in her eyes. "I'll see you at eight."

* * *

I was sitting Indian style on a mat in the exercise studio as I was instructed to do every morning. Precisely at eight, Mistress would appear and we would perform a series of stretching exercises to start the day. Mistress was wearing her customary black leotard and I was wearing my customary pink one.

We began our routine by sitting on the mat and reaching forward to pull on our toes to stretch our hamstrings. While I was grunting to make the last inch, Mistress had already gripped her toes.

"Ordinarily I would have dismissed you," she said as she flexed her toes towards her, increasing the intensity of the stretch. "But I'm partially at fault because I agreed to let you finish your article. So you'll be punished, but you'll be given an opportunity to stay ... on my terms." She let go of her toe and starting working the other leg.

She watched me for a minute. "By you being here, I take it you'd like to proceed."

We spent the next twenty minutes going through our daily stretching routine. We would have shared a light breakfast, but right after our last stretch, Mistress said, "Wait here."

I decided to sit on my haunches while I waited. It seemed like more than a few minutes when she reappeared, out of her leotard and into skinny jeans, wedge heels, and a white blouse with the front tails tied together to bare her midriff. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail.

Reading my mind, she said, "I like to dress casual ... it lightens the mood when I'm punishing my subs."

Gallows humor, I guess. I dreaded what she had dreamt up for me.

She walked over to the rack containing the free weights. She took light ones, the 5 pound weights, and handed them to me. "You get to control your own punishment. Hold these weights straight in front of you. If you hold these weights out for a full minute, you will receive no punishment. However, for every second you fall short you will receive on lash from this." She held up a black leather flogger. The falls were each about eighteen inches long and all the ends were knotted. I felt sorry for my bottom.

"Begin," she barked. I held out the weights.

After about five seconds, I thought it was easy and had decided to hold them an extra thirty seconds just to spite her.

At ten seconds, I abandoned the thought of holding the weights for even a second after sixty.

At fifteen seconds, my arms and shoulders started to burn.

At thirty seconds, my arms and shoulders were on fire and some invisible person was stabbing my arms with hot needles.

I gave up with seventeen seconds to go. I dropped my arms and then the weights, feeling a searing burn that gradually dissipated. It was blessed relief, even though I knew the consequences.

"Not too bad. Most of my subs struggled to get past thirty seconds. You made it to forty-three. That means you have seventeen strokes coming."

She didn't give me permission to speak, but I'm sure she saw the look of resignation on my face at her pronouncement. I wasn't prepared for what she said next.

"My assistant will administer the punishment."

Assistant? My mind started to race. Who might that be? As my mind was whirling with the possibilities, the door opened and Misty entered. Misty, the sexy, vampy young woman, dressed for the role. Where Arlene elected elegant, businesslike attire, Misty opted for the stereotypical outfit, a form fitting black lace-up bustier that revealed her generously sized breasts, a short leather skirt, and thigh high black boots with stiletto heels. I'd only been with Gwen and Arlene, and both of them eschewed the trappings of a Domme. The sight of Misty made my knees weak and my heart beat faster.

"I understand you've been a bad girl," she said, not one to mince words. Her voice was higher pitched than Arlene's, and more melodious. She was holding a riding crop in her hand. She tapped the leather tab against my bottom. I flinched, even though it didn't hurt.

Mistress sat down on a chair and crossed her legs, apparently content to let Misty handle my punishment.

I was confused by her role. I raised my hand. Misty nodded, her demeanor transformed from a breezy, carefree twenty something to a serious Domme to be, apparently relishing the opportunity to punish me. I raised my hand for permission to speak, which was granted. "Should I call you Mistress as well?" I asked.

"No, that title is reserved for Mistress Arlene. You may call me by my given name, Melissa. You may speak."

"Melissa. I've been a bad girl."

"Explain."

"I wrote an article about a former Domme who lived in New Orleans who went by the name Mistress X. Mistress Arlene was one of her subs, so I included a description of her, but I did change her name in the article."

"You mentioned me as well. I'm Anna in your article, isn't that right?"

"Yes," I replied, somewhat sheepishly.

"I was pleased by your description of me. 'A young, beautiful chauffeur and assistant,' I believe your article said."

Her comment made me glow. "Thank you Melissa."

Her face turned to a scowl. "I didn't give you permission to speak, slut."

Shit. She was right. Her compliment caught me off guard.

"I'm going to add three strokes to your punishment." She seemed to take some delight in that statement. I didn't. "Now go over there, take off your leotard, put both of your hands flat on the table and spread your legs apart. You are not to move."

I complied, reluctantly. I knew that pain was my bridge to pleasure, but the journey across that bridge was never pleasant. I had no idea that Melissa was a Domme in training and still had no idea what kind of relationship she had with Arlene. Then I heard a hiss in the air. I bolted upright, almost lifting my hands off the table, when the sting of the leather falls against my naked flesh caught me by surprise. Red flashes appeared on the inside of my eyelids. The stroke was expertly delivered.

"Mistress Arlene was very displeased by the article."

The hiss again ... and then the pain. My eyes started to water and my skin prickled all over.

"I was pleased when she asked me to punish you."

Hissssss. Scorching pain. She hit the same spot as the last stroke. I started to sob, with tears already freely running down my cheeks.

"I want you. As much as Mistress Arlene will allow." So Misty had her eye on me. Her fingertips traced over the crease between my leg and the triangle of my pussy. It was close enough to feel the wetness that had seeped from my cunt.

I wanted her, perversely, now more than ever. I was willing to cede control to her, and that only made her more desirable.

The strokes continued and my body sagged a bit more with each of them, but I used every ounce of my strength to remain standing and silent, but for the groans. By the twentieth stroke my mind was just white fuzz. I just wanted to get past this. The pain had blocked out all other thoughts.

Misty came behind me and put her arms around my waist, raising me up so I was standing in front of her. My temples were pounding from the pain, and my ass was aglow with the sting of her lash. She pulled me close to her so I could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She rested one finger on my perineum -- the small ridge of skin that connected two of my pleasure centers. If she moved her finger one inch toward me, she was into a cauldron of heat between my legs, and one inch away from me, and into the puckered flesh of my anus. I shifted my feet, trying to get her finger to declare its intention.

"You're a little slut, just as Mistress Arlene told me. You want me to touch you, don't you? Answer me."

My breaths were already short from the whipping. "Yes ... yes," I gasped. "Please ... Melissa."

Our bodies were pressed together, almost as one. Her finger lingered, then was pulled away. I groaned.

"Mistress only asked me to punish you," she whispered. "Your pleasure belongs to her."

* * *

After the punishment by Misty we resumed my regular training routine. There were no more discussions about the article or Rosalina. My relationship with Gwen remained the elephant in the room, though it was clear at least in my mind that I wanted to stay with Arlene. Marie and Lucien visited frequently and we went even farther into our kinky adventures with one another. I told my mother that I was looking for a job since I was laid off by the accounting firm (it never even occurred to me to tell my mother the truth about how I lost my job and what I was really doing).

I became more interested in the lingering effects of Hurricane Katrina and the community efforts to pull together to rebuild the city. I started collecting notes on a potential article about the rebuilding effort, and discussed the nature of my piece with Ben. Arlene became interested in my research, even volunteering to financially support some of the nonprofits that were in the thick of the rebuilding process.

But despite the weeks with Arlene, I still felt the tug on my heart from Gwen. I now had the confidence to broach the topic, again, with Arlene, but this time with a much more solid foundation for our relationship to hopefully withstand her jealousy that was still inches from the surface. Much to my surprise, Arlene was sensitive to my feelings instead of being defensive. She listened to my doubts, and then thoughtfully, without judgment, suggested that I call Gwen and to be upfront with her about my internal conflict.

I hadn't talked to Gwen since I had left her house in Longboat Key. I wasn't even confident that she would be sympathetic, or whether she would be angry with me for failing to call. With Arlene's encouragement, I finally made the call.

"Gwen, I'm so sorry I haven't called you earlier. You must be upset with me," I began apologetically.

My words hung in the air for a moment, and I tensed, waiting for her response. I was greatly relieved to hear it.

"I was sure you would call me when the time was right."

Sensing there was to be no drama in this conversation, I decided to level with her right away. "I've spent the time since I left you training with Arlene. She's my Mistress now."

There was a pause, no doubt to collect her thoughts. "I suspected as much. You do remember that it was me that gave you Arlene's contact information."

Of course that was true. But did she know that it would lead me away from her? "I've learned so much from her. But I fear I've also fallen in love with her."

"The reason I gave you Arlene's information is because I thought she was best to train you, not me. Cassie, I'm almost thirty years older than you. As much as I would love for you to stay here with me, I'm not sure I have everything that you need. You sound like you've found it."

Pure Gwen. Sincere and compassionate to the core. I would always have a special place in my heart for her. It made my spirit soar to hear her words. With the tension removed, the remainder of the conversation flowed free and easy. I told her the details of my training, and even some of the juicier details of my interactions with Lucien and Marie.

"Ahhh," Gwen sighed. "I haven't thought about Lucien and Marie in quite a while. How are they?"

"As kinky and crazy as ever. They're Arlene's best friends. I've grown quite fond of them myself."

Gwen went on to recount her visits back to New Orleans and her ribald experiences with the French couple. I laughed at her stories and wished she was telling them to me at her kitchen table over a cup of coffee, with Rita and Soo sitting there with us hanging on every word. Gwen could always read my mind, and brought our conversation to a fitting conclusion.

"Cassie. I know it was hard for you to call me. When I told you to find Mistress Arlene, I knew that it was quite likely that you wouldn't come back to live with me. But I thought it was best for you, and unfortunately it sounds to me like I was right."

"You were, as always."

"I wish you and Arlene well. And I hope to see you again someday."

Gwen, magnanimous to the end.

That evening, when I was curled up in bed with Arlene, I shared the conversation I had with Gwen. Arlene listened with great interest, her hand resting on my hip. She was clearly moved by my words, and a tear started forming in the corner of her eye.

"I love you Cassie."

Without invitation, I kissed her. She kissed me back.

We had finally reached an equilibrium in our relationship.

* * *

We were in Arlene's workout studio, finishing another training routine. I had practiced the nine submissive positions Arlene had taught me over and over by myself (in front of a mirror) and with her, to the point where my movements were fluid and automatic. So were our interactions. She no longer needed to give me permission to speak. It was now understood. I loved the ritual and the routine of it. Every night I either slept at the foot of her bed or, if she desired, in bed with her. The sex with her (and others she would introduce to me) was so vibrant and exhilarating that I banished all thought of ever returning to my vanilla existence.

On this particular day, there was an unexpected break in our daily routine. We finished our training session and had just showered and changed. In the hallway leading to the kitchen Arlene asked me an innocent question.

"I enjoy gardening. Do you?"

"I do Mistress. I haven't done it for a while, but when I was living at home my mother had a large garden and I liked helping her."

"Come with me." Arlene opened a door to the outside leading to the backyard garden. I squinted in the bright sunshine.

She leaned down near a blooming rose bush and snipped a stem. "Do you like roses?" she asked, holding out a rose for me to smell.

A not so subtle question. Arlene knew that Gwen was obsessed with roses. She knew I was as well. The colors were brilliant. The fragrances divine. I nodded my head as I dipped my nose into the top of the freshly cut red rose.

She turned to face me, the sun filtering through the gauzy material of her floppy hat. "I see roses, and I see beauty ...". She stopped and put her fingers under my chin so I was staring into her eyes. "But they always make think about sex."

I was thinking about sex as well. With her in particular.

"I think this would be a good time to take your clothes off."

"Here?"

She looked at me, as if surprised by my objection.

I took off my blouse and dropped it on the freshly mowed grass. I paused as if I was awaiting more direction, but was met with only the sounds of birds singing and the faint buzz of traffic. I continued, stripping off my skirt, bra and panties, and then kicking off my heels. I felt the warming rays of the sun on my exposed skin and a light breeze making my hair flutter.

"Put this on." She handed me a blindfold made of black silk.

I slipped the mask over my eyes and the world went from bright sunshine to darkness. I stood there now blinded, but with a more acute sense of taste, sound and touch.

"Kneel."

I felt the cool grass under my knees. I smelled roses. She was waving a freshly cut rose under my nose. My nose followed it.

Then I felt fingertips tracing their way up the curve of my calf to the inside of my knee.

"Very nice Cassie. Your skin is almost perfect."

"Almost perfect, Mistress?"

"It only needs the striping I'm going to give it to make it perfect."

Ohhhh. Sometimes it's best not to ask questions. This may have been one of those times.

"Sometimes nature provides you with everything that you need." I heard her pad across the grass, then the unmistakable crunch of gravel as she walked on the garden path. I tried to remain perfectly still, on my knees, and started to shiver even though it was probably eighty degrees outside.

Maybe a minute later I heard her return. I thought she was standing behind me. The direction of her voice confirmed it.

"This may sting a bit. It's simply to get you warmed up." She placed her hand on my shoulder, pushing down to quell my shaking. "Don't worry my pet, you'll get through this."

I heard a "whoosh" and then felt a line of fire across the soles of my feet. She told me it was a sapling from a birch tree that had been trimmed into a flexible rod. It hurt like a motherfucker. I slumped over and had to tell myself to straighten up. I was going to get through this.

She waited ... it felt like an eternity ... and allowed the sharp pain to dull. Then I felt antsy, as if I had four cups of strong coffee. Then another stroke, this one on the back of my thighs. I thought the first stroke hurt, but this one was even more intense, the soft flesh of my thighs ignited by the bite of her rod.

"Oh God," I heard myself groan. I wanted to stay mute, but the pain was making that all but impossible.

I heard her voice through the buzzing in my ears. "Remember my pet, the more intense the pain, the more intense the pleasure." It sounded sinister but it's what I wanted. I wanted to find the limits of my pain.

"Please ... no," I begged half-heartedly and unconvincingly. If I really wanted it to stop I would have used my safe word. I knew what I was doing. She did too. She was nurturing that small black spot inside me, bringing it out into the open, as only she could do.

Another stroke, this one at the junction between my thighs and buttocks -- that soft fold of flesh that appears every holiday season for me. My temples pounded. I now felt unbearably hot. A small drop of perspiration trickled down under my blindfold and into my eye, adding another stinging sensation. Of all the things to pop into my mind, I wondered if Arlene had planted the birch tree for this purpose. I wouldn't have put it past her.