I tied him to the foot of my bed.

He looked so magnificent squatting there on the balls of his feet, his arms draped along the length of the footboard, bound by wrists and elbows to the top rail. His cock swelled as I ran each scented scarf over his flesh, teasing him wordlessly with the promise of silken pleasure.

It was not long before I could smell his arousal. The scent of ball musk and precum slowly filled the room as I undressed, stripping off the armor that a woman wears to work, a woman like me, slipping my skirt down my thighs, my blouse down my arms, and Grandmother's pearls over my head. He watched me with a combination of longing and wariness, as if afraid his watching me was not permitted. And well he should have, as he'd made a misstep just a few minutes earlier, a misstep that I would not soon let him forget.

That night we'd planned to meet at my place and then catch up with some friends at the stadium for a ball game. I was unavoidably detained at work, and when I arrived home he was waiting outside my door, pacing.

"Hi Jack," I flashed him a quick smile. "Thanks for waiting. Just give me ten minutes and we can head out."

"We're going to be late," he responded with impatient gruffness.

It was the first thing he said to me, and it was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he saw the expression on my face, the slow lift of my eyes from the doorknob, where my hand was fumbling with my keys. I'd had a long day at work with a client whose lack of planning and foresight had him in a state of emergency, one which he'd expected me to resolve. I'd made every effort on the drive home to put the tension of my workday behind me so I could be pleasant company, and rather than greet me civilly, he'd decided to be pissy. And his pissiness made me go cold with anger.

I arched an eyebrow and held the keyring out to him, and when his fingers brushed mine I felt the charge, the current of awareness running between us. His energy and attitude immediately changed. He took the keys without comment and unlocked the door, stepping back to let me pass. I brushed by him and headed straight for my bedroom, where I dropped my briefcase on the bed, shrugged out of my sweater, and kicked off my shoes.

I pulled the clip out of my hair and massaged my scalp for a full minute. When I opened my eyes, I could see Jack standing just inside the doorway of my room. I studied him for a long moment. He was average in looks and build, moderately geeky in his manner and interests, and highly--very highly--intelligent. And knowing how smart he was, I was shocked that he would be fool enough to enter my bedroom uninvited. Unless... hmmm. The typically vanilla male would have made another snide remark and gone off to the living room to watch television while he waited for me. A dominant male would have propped himself up against the doorjamb, arms crossed, and loomed silently over me, trying to intimidate me into hurrying with his obvious and unspoken displeasure.

But not this male. No. Jack stood just inside my bedroom, hands at his sides, with an "I'm-sorry" expression on his face. He caught me watching him, met my eyes for a moment, then dropped them to the floor. Click. I smiled to myself as I recognized his behavior for what it was: a submissive distressed at displeasing his mistress.

I decided to test my theory.

"I am extremely displeased," I said in a low voice that mixed threat and sensuality in a combination I knew was very effective on submissives.

He seemed to wilt before my eyes. "Yes, I know. I 'm sorry..."

"Do you know why I am displeased, Jack?"

"Because I was short with you at the door?"

"Yes, that is one of the reasons...." I took a couple of steps toward him, closing the space between us, knowing he would feel the intensity radiating from me. "What makes you think you have the right to enter my bedroom uninvited?" I asked.

"Oh! Oh, I am sorry!" He started backing out of the room. "I just followed you."

"Indeed. You followed me, not as a matter of presumption -- but like any good submissive follows his mistress -- meekly."

He looked at me with a stunned expression on his face.

"Which brings me to my third reason for displeasure. Why didn't you tell me you were into D/s?"

He gulped, and something like hopefulness illuminated his face.

"You are a Domme?" he asked.

I smiled slowly, letting a hint of my temper show. "Only on my bad days... and today has been a very bad day, Jack."

I put my arms around his neck and threaded my fingers through his hair. He made a sighing purr and closed his eyes. I massaged the back of his neck and nibbled on his ear. He shivered and moaned, and I felt his cock stirring between us. I tightened my fingers in his hair and pulled back firmly, while at the same time hissing into his ear, "You've made a bad day even worse, Jack. What am I going to do with you?"

He swallowed. I watched his throat work, splayed the fingers of my other hand around it. After a long moment, he said, "I--I don't know..."

I gave his hair another firm tug. "Oh yes you do, Jack."

He winced, but remained still, unresisting. "I was thinking -- I thought -- I thought maybe I could make it up to you, somehow...." His voice trailed off. How delicious to see this man, usually so articulate and confident in himself, stammer and flail about uncertainly.

"How could you possibly make it up to me?" I asked, derisively.

"Would you like a foot massage? I could draw you a bath, bring you a glass of wine, maybe read to you while you soak..."

I filed those suggestions away for future use.

"Hmmm.... I'm rather frustrated right now, Jack, and what I'd really like to do... is punish you..."

"Oh...uhm... h-how?"

I let my arm fall and slapped him hard on the ass, a test to see how he reacted. He jumped a little, and his eyes flew open. He looked worried, which was good. I'm not really into pain, giving or receiving. Suffering, now, is something else, entirely.

"I suppose I could paddle your ass, but what I'd really like to do..." I leaned forward, bit his chin firmly. "What I'd really like to do is torment you. Are you game for some denial and humiliation, Jack? Shall I make your cock hard and keep you on edge? Make you beg to be allowed to come?"

With those words I had him. He sucked in a ragged breath and moaned. His eyes were wide with anticipation, his pupils dilated.

"God, I'd love that," he groaned.

"I suppose you can call me 'god', though I do prefer 'Miss Kay'."

I moved away from him and sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room. I crossed my legs and smoothed my slip down over my thighs, then raised my hands to tuck the errant curls at my temples back behind my ears. I took a long, slow breath, centering myself, finding that place in me that enjoys the exchange of power.

I raised my eyes and looked cooly at him.

"Strip," I commanded.

And he did.

If he could have made his clothes vanish off of him, I am sure he would have. As it was, he undressed without hesitation, removing his clothes quickly and efficiently. While he was undressing, I moved to my dresser and opened the glove drawer. It was filled with 3 dozen pairs of gloves in a variety of colors and materials. I 'd inherited them from my grandmother, who would probably roll in her grave if she knew the use I put them to. I pulled on a pair of grey leather ones, nearly the same color as my bra and slip. I smoothed them up over my wrists to where they stopped at mid-forearm, then laced my fingers together and pressed firmly. The leather gave a satisfying creak.

He folded his clothes, leaving them in a pile at his feet. I walked slowly around him, inspecting him. I noticed that there was a dignity about him, which I admired. He was not desperate. Not yet. He had beautiful skin, flawless, really. His torso and ass were free of marks. My guess was that he'd not had sex recently, and no punishments, either. I trailed my gloved fingers along his flank as I circled him, stopping just short of touching his cock. He sighed and trembled a little under my touch, making me smile.

Let the game begin, I thought to myself, and launched into domme-mode, repeating a series of earlier questions in order to set the mood.

"Do you know denial and humiliation, Jack?"

"Yes, Miss Kay," he answered, unsteadily.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, Miss Kay."

"Has it been a long while since your last session, Jack?" I knew the answer. A good Domme is hard to find. For every 15 to 20 submissive males, there is just one Domme.

"Too long, Miss Kay."

I ran my fingertips from his balls, to his cock. It leaped furiously, the head flushing a darker red right before my eyes. I released him and moved over to the scarf-draped rack near my bed. I ran several through my fingers before settling on four of them, heavy ribbons, really, as wide as my palm, and 5 feet long. Walking up to him, I teased him with one, sliding it over his bare flesh, noticing that its wine-red color contrasted nicely with his skin.

"I want to tie you up, Jack. I want to tie you to my bed and torment you. Do you consent?"

His whole body yearned toward me, and his eyes, oh how his eyes pleaded. He positively moaned his answer.


And so that is how I came to be undressing and he came to be tied to the foot of my bed when the phone rang.

I looked at my Caller ID and smiled when I saw who it was. Perfect timing! I picked up the phone and greeted my caller with a sultry, "Hello Kurt."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Kay! I didn't expect to catch you at home -- aren't you going to the game tonight?"

I sat once again in the armchair in the corner of the room and let my legs sprawl a little so Jack could see the flesh of my inner thighs under my slip.

"I was," I answered, "but Jack got impatient with me..."

"He didn't!" Kurt chuckled.

He's the most masterful, dominant man in my life, and even he knows not to get impatient with me. Contrary me. It never has the desired effect. Unless me in high-bitch mode is a desirable thing. Which, I suddenly realized, was exactly what Jack wanted.

"You sent him packing then?" Kurt asked.

"No. He's here... Tied to the foot of my bed."

I could hear Kurt's breath catch. We had talked at length about the fact that his mastery of me, his conquering of me, his singular ability to take from me what I wanted to give him anyway, but could not -- that this power exchange between us engendered a reciprocal need in me to dominate another. I am, afterall, a switch.

Jack made a hint of a sound, drawing my attention to him. His face had warmed up, and red splotches had appeared on his chest. I could see the embarrassment and humiliation burning its way through him. He squirmed and shifted his aching thighs, trying to ease the strain on his arches.

I stood slowly and strolled over to Jack. I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling his head back. Immobilizing him.

"I haven't decided what I'll do with him. Yet."

"I'm sure you will think of something," Kurt said, with deep amusement.

"Oh absolutely!" I responded.

I tightened my fingers in his hair. His eyes opened very wide and I stared into them. The pupils were dilated. His cheeks were flushed a deep red. I could see everything in his eyes that I expected to see in a man submitting to a new Mistress, except one thing. I had expected to see apprehension there, but what I found, instead, was trust. His eyes were not just adoring and limpid and pained, they were trusting, Yes, far more trusting than I had any reason to expect. It caused me a moment of hesitation, but then it passed. I would, of course, do everything in my power to make sure that trust was not misplaced.

I cradled his cheek in my hand, brushed my thumb across his lips. Such a lovely mouth, sensuous in its lines, and almost feminine in its fullness. His eyes closed and he let out a low moan, then turned his head and kissed my gloved palm. Very sweet. I gave him an approving smile and took a step backwards.

We continued talking, Kurt and I, with me describing the scene in excruciating detail that had Jack alternately flinching and preening. All the while I watched him watching me as I trailed my fingers with deliberate idleness along my exposed skin, running my fingers under the waistband of my slip and the underside of my lace-covered breasts.

"Is he listening?" Kurt asked at one point.

"Yes, he is eating it up," I said with a grin and flicked Jack a quick glance in order to gauge his response. He squirmed some more and flushed a deep red. His cock, as impossible as it seemed, appeared to grow even longer.

I lifted a hand behind me and unfastened my bra, then let the straps slide down over my arms. Jack hadn't yet seen me bare-breasted, and his eyes took full advantage of my exposure as I deliberately leaned over him to place the lacy undergarment on my bed. The full globes of my breasts swayed just inches from his face, the crinkled dark nipples looking like bits of milk chocolate against my pale skin. He breathed in and whimpered. I wondered why. Was it the scent of my arousal that had him making such noises, or was it the urge to suck my nipples?

I turned around and bent over at the waist, then slowly, very slowly, eased the slip up my hips, wiggling them a little, ostensibly to get at the tops of my stockings, but mainly to give him a better view of what he'd been peeking at when I'd been sitting in the chair: my bare pussy. I rarely wear panties, preferring to go 'commando' mainly because the rub of my vulva against silky undies puts me in a constant state of arousal. So he had a choice view of my pouty pussy lips as I slowly rolled the stockings down my legs.

My strip tease had the desired effect. His breathing turned to panting before I got the first stocking off. I lifted my feet to retrieve them and then clasped my hands behind my ankles, giving my hamstrings and my low back a good stretch. I stood up and dabbed at the juices on my inner thighs with one of the stockings, then draped it around his neck. Let him smell pussy juice, I thought. Let him feel the dampness against his skin.

I looked a down at him, at the poor man with his arms tied at wrists and elbows to the rail of my footboard. He was staring at the vee of my thighs, covered by the fabric of my slip, just a handspan away from him. I could see my feet between his thighs, thighs that worked a bit from being in a squat for so long, and his chest rapidly rose and fell with his panting. His cock jutted out toward me, obscenely hard and pulsing with each beat of his heart. Poor dear.

"...viognier, I think, a full case--I've gotten her hooked on it," I said, speaking of Kurt's sister and an upcoming party in her honor. "I'll be in Salem on Thursday--I can swing by the vineyard and pick it up..."

I moved to the vase filled with a bouquet of feather ticklers and pulled out a black one. I ran it teasingly along my belly, making myself shiver. When I brushed my nipple I gasped, Jack moaned, and Kurt chuckled from the other end of the phone. I worked the tickler down my body and then came at Jack's balls from underneath, just barely brushing them with the feathers. He groaned, of course, the groan of a man warning his partner that he was near climax.

I stopped mid-sentence in what I was saying to Kurt and gave Jack a stern look. "Don't you dare come without permission."

He tilted his head to look up at me. His eyes were wild and blank. I don't think he was seeing me. I pressed the tickler under his chin, tapped it there. "Jack. Jack. Look at me!"

I watched him struggle for focus, watched for the clarity in his gaze. When I saw it, I repeated, "You are not allowed to come without permission."

He nodded, squeezed his eyes closed, and let his chin sink down against his chest.

I resumed tormenting him with the feather tickler, swirling it over his pects. He bucked when I teased his nipples, making me smile in recognition. I made a mental note of his sensitive nipples and determined that I had the perfect clamps for tormenting them next time. The tickler danced over his abdomen, tracing the fine hairs that formed the line to paradise. I brushed it along the shaft of his cock, stroking the veins. His hands fisted, then opened and clenched the railing of the footboard. He moaned again, and I pulled the tickler back.

I twirled it between my fingers as I chatted with Kurt, enjoying the wary expression on Jack's face. With one deft move, I let the instrument of torment sweep from the base of his cock over his balls to his ass and back again. When the feathers stroked his balls he let out a cry. His arms strained against his bonds. I knew, if they were free, that he would be grabbing himself, wrapping his hand around the base, trying to stop the impending climax. He gasped and shuddered as he lost the struggle, come erupting from him in long, ropy spurts.

Something in me relished making him lose control, I will admit it. But another part of me was disappointed in his lack of self-control. I used the disappointment to fuel an outrage I did not really feel, but which I knew was necessary for the role I was playing. In the moment that he came without permission, it became my job to put him on the defensive, to make him feel like he'd done something so wrong that his only option was to abase himself in order to win back my favor.

"Time to go, Kurt... Yes, I love you, too."

I tossed the phone on the bed and slapped Jack.

"Hey!" he said.

I moved to tower over him. I let anger bubble up in me, let it build in intensity, knowing he would feel it.

"Did you have permission to come?"

No answer.

"Did you?" I slapped him again.

He winced. "No, Miss."

"Did you have permission to soil this tool with your come? " I cropped him with the tickler. He winced and didn't say anything. Stubborn resistance?

"Did you?" I asked insistently.

He shook his head. "No Mistress."

"You are fucking useless!" I yelled at him and yanked on the knots in the silk sashes, releasing him. He fell forward onto his hands and knees.

"Fucking sad excuse of a submissive... You can't even control your own orgasms!"

He looked up at me, his eyes pleading.

"I'm sorry Miss Kay. I'm sorry. Its just been so long..."

"Teasing and denial, Jack, remember? You coming when I say you can, for my pleasure, at my command?" My pussy was wet and aching. I had so been enjoying teasing him, slowly bringing him to that precarious edge, and he'd gone and ruined my fun.

He opened his mouth to speak and I held up my hand. With the other one I pointed at the neatly folded pile of his clothing. The sooner I got rid of him, the sooner I could pull out my toys and play.

"Get your clothes and get your sorry ass out of my house before I whip it!"

He stopped mid-crawl and hung his head.

"Please, Miss Kay..."

"What now?"

"Please whip it. I would like you to whip my sorry ass, if it pleases you." He crawled hesitantly toward me, pressed his lips to my instep.

"Oh NOW you care what pleases me?"

It was no longer necessary to feign anger, to amplify it. He wanted to be thrashed and I had nothing to thrash him with. The floggers I had were for pleasure, not pain. Fuck! I cast my mind around, thinking. I didn't want to use slippers, too soft. No to hangers. Too thin. No to my belts. They might cut. I wished for the willow tree behind Kurt's house, so I could cut myself a switch.

And that is when an idea struck me.

"Fine!" I grabbed the yukata hanging nearby and slipped into it. "There is a long mirror on the wall between the living room and the dining room. I want you kneeling in front of it. Now!"

My voice cracked like a whip and he shot through the door, crawling as fast as his hands and knees could carry him. It made me smile, that he was aware enough of his place to know better than to walk upright.

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