Mistress Beatrix

"Because I'm a domme, and the idea of getting with a domme makes you very hot."

"I guess so," she squeaked and shook her head in disbelief.

"You know what that means don't you?"

"What?"

"It means, if you really want to, we can make that dirty fantasy of yours a reality."

"Seriously?" she squeaked.

I traced my finger against her delicate jawline and smiled devilishly in response. She shuddered.

"Alright," she breathed. "Let's do it."

The elevator door dinged open. We stumbled out into the hallway in each other's arms. She grabbed my hand and dragged me to her penthouse suite like a kid on Christmas morning.

My jaw dropped as the door opened to a stunning panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline and Central Park. The city glittered like a sky full of stars. The vast park was blanketed in snow and glowed like an aurora.

The penthouse was as decadent as a palace. Modern and sleek, but not stark. The walls were covered in enormous contemporary oil paintings and the floor with a massive Persian rug. I sauntered through the expansive, gleaming room like a curious cat. I sauntered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to see the city.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed as I pressed my hands against the windowpane and looked down at the mesmerizing urban nebula. "Holly, this is amazing."

"Perks of the job."

She walked over to the wet bar.

"What do you feel like?" she asked.

"Like I'm in charge of the world."

She chuckled and replied, "I meant, what do you want to drink?"

I made my way over to Holly at the wet bar, where she waited for an answer. A bottle of wine was in her hand. I swiped it from her and set it on the bar counter.

"If you really want to play the game, then we shouldn't have anything more to drink."

"Oh? Why not? I think I need it to relax my nerves."

"Trust me, you don't. It wouldn't be safe."

The greatest virtue a domme can have is discipline. BDSM, at its essence and its most sensual, is about the power balance between the domme and the sub. Strict adherence to rules is fundamental to that power balance. Staying in complete control of one's mental faculty is one of those rules. At least, it is for me. At that moment, I was buzzed but still feeling fresh and in control, but a glass of wine would certainly overdo it.

To pregame, in lieu of alcohol, I took her to the couch in the living room to make out for a good half hour, then when I felt like she was in the proper headspace, I looked into her eyes intently and asked,

"Do you really want to do this?"

"Yes."

I pulled the pin out of my chignon, shook my hair loose, then set my briefcase on the coffee table and clicked it open. Her eyes went wide when she saw the various instruments of pain, humiliation, and pleasure within.

I produced a leather collar from the briefcase and dangled it in front of her like a pendulum.

"Do you know what this is, Holly?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Do you know who it's for?"

"Me?" she answered meekly.

"That's right. As soon as this goes around your neck, you become my pet, and I become your mistress. You will address me as mistress. You will do exactly as I say, and I will do to you whatever I please. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Without the collar, I will not give you pain. I will not degrade you. I will not control you. With the collar, I can guarantee you will experience all these things. But to get the collar, you must ask for it. Is that understood?"

"Y-yes."

"One more thing. We will establish a safe word for you, which is the word you will use if you want to end the session. The safe word is..."

I took a moment to think of a suitable one. I glanced around the room for an idea and spotted a bouquet of mistletoes hanging above the fireplace.

"...mistletoe. "

Holly nodded.

"Say the safe word, Holly."

"Mistletoe."

"Good. Remember it. It is inviolable. As soon as the collar goes around your neck, it will be your sole source of agency. Now then, here we are. At the moment of truth. The Great Divide. So, what will it be? Do you want the collar or not?"

Holly's knees were clenched tight together like a vice. Her hands were clasped tightly, twisting nervously into each other. Her eyes followed the collar as it swung from the leash. She picked at her nail polish, then glanced at the door quickly as if she was considering making her escape. Finally, she gave me a shy nod.

"I need a verbal response from you, Holly. Do you want the collar?"

"I want it," she stammered.

"Then you will address me as mistress when you speak to me," I said, my voice turning as stern as a schoolmarm's.

She scrunched up like a spring and said, "Yes, mistress."

"Now say it again and say it plainly. What is it you want?"

"I want the collar, mistress."

Her face turned beet red. She held her hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle.

"Very well, then let's begin. Show me your neck."

She craned her neck. I wrapped the collar around it, buckled it tightly. Tight enough for it to bite into her skin and compress her throat. Tight enough for her to feel disconcerted by it, but nottoo tight. I didn't want her to freak out right away (or pass out).

"There we are. How does that feel, my pet?"

Still caught up in the novelty of the moment, she hadn't heard my question. She was trance-like, fingering the collar and muttering, "I can't believe I'm really doing this."

As her mistress, it was my duty now to keep her in her new reality.

"Answer me!" I barked.

She jolted. Brought her hands down to her sides and sat to attention.

"It feels good, mistress," she answered, visibly shaken.

"As it should," I replied. "That's a lovely dress you're wearing, but it doesn't belong on you. Take it off."

"Yes, mistress."

She stood, slipped off her dress straps with trembling hands, unzipped her back then let the dress fall to her ankles. Beneath, she wore a very lovely white, laced lingerie.

"And the rest of it," I ordered. "Except the stockings. Keep those on."

(The stockings were hot.)

"Yes, mistress."

She unclasped her bra. Let it fall to the floor, then, after a moment's hesitation, slid her panties down her well-shaped legs.

I crossed my arms and spent a moment admiring her body -- her gentle curves, her small coral-pink nipples. The soft auburn tuff of hair on her pussy. A beautiful, lush, new territory for me to explore.

I pulled hard on the leash. She stumbled towards me, fell into my arms, and gazed up into my eyes with darting doe eyes. There was a real visceral fear in those eyes. Fear that conveyed a little something about her. Something revelatory about the root of her secret desire: that she had never relinquished control of her life to anyone like this before.

As a lofty corporate law firm partner, she probably experiences an unbearable weight of massive responsibility pressing down on her shoulders day and night. The amount of influence she wields, the authority her title carries, as much as it gives her power, had become a prison for her. To be controlled by someone else, to put her trust in someone else -- by me -- was more than a sexual release for her. It was liberation.

That was the stark contrast between us. All my life, people have controlled me. As Bea, I'm shy. A pushover. A pipsqueak. A woman perpetually afflicted with impostor syndrome, and for a good reason -- I've been burned one too many times because of my unforced errors. When I become Mistress Beatrix, I am confident. Empowered. Indomitable.

So that's us: Two people who have walked different life paths. One yearning to put her trust in the other, and the other yearning to be trusted. She was the Yin to my Yang. The peanut butter to my jelly. And tonight, we get to live out our compatible fantasies.

She stood apprehensively in front of me, this powerful corporate lawyer familiar with the high life and bossing associates around, now wearing nothing save for her white stockings and a leather collar (purchased from a pet store in Brooklyn, by the way) attached to a leash held by me. She was mine now to do as I please. Mine now to dominate.

The next step in her transformation was donning the steel-boned corset, which I pulled out next from my briefcase.

"Turn around," I ordered.

"Yes, mistress."

I wrapped the corset around her midsection, then cinched the laces on the back until it stretched to conform to her shape. Then I tightened it so that the shape of her body began to conform to the hourglass shape of the corset. The point was, besides the wonderfully sensual aesthetic aspect of it, to add another sensory reminder to her, like the collar, that her life was at the whim of another. I got to control how tight the corset was. I got to control her level of comfort. Of course, as with the collar, I was careful not to make it too tight, so she doesn't pass out on me.

"Very good," I said as she turned back to face me.

I took off her glasses and set them on the coffee table then grasped her cheeks harshly, kissed her, and bit her tasty lower lip. Her first kiss as a sub. I felt her frozen body melt. I felt the dominant personality within her, though resisting with all its might, slowly melt away by the fire of her desire.

She shuddered a sigh as we finished the kiss. Her mouth hung open, and she mouthed, 'oh my God.'

I yanked her by the leash towards me and kissed her again. I wanted another taste. I wanted more passion, and I got more passion. The second kiss was messier and involved more tongue action and biting. I didn't have to force it -- her desire fed my desire like oxygen feeding a blast furnace. She made my domme mind fire on all cylinders.

When I had satisfied my craving for her taste, I finished the kiss by pushing her off me.

"You're not a partner at the firm anymore, Holly. You're my sex toy, and your only job is to satisfy me. Do well, and you will be rewarded. Do it poorly, and you will be punished. Now take your mistress to your bedroom," I said with an impatient whip of the leash.

"Yes, mistress."

The bedroom was magnificent. A king-sized bed sat on a raised platform facing the glittering city. Outside, the snow continued to fall with a heavy silence.

I pushed Holly forcefully onto her bed.

"Oof! Hey!" She yelled.

"Shush!" I snapped. Her lips went shut.

"You do what I tell you to do, and you do it without any complaints. Is that understood?"

She lowered her head like a bashful puppy, but I could see the hint of a smile curling on the edges of her lips.

"I'll behave, mistress," she replied.

"I trust that you will," I replied. "I won't give you another warning."

The bed situation was a bit tricky. There was nothing to anchor the ropes to. But that's alright. I've plenty of clever rope tricks up my sleeves. During a particularly aimless point in my life, I moved to Tokyo on a whim, ostensibly to study the Japanese language on a scholarship. Tokyo was where I was first introduced to BDSM. At a small fetish club that happened to be upstairs to the language school I attended. There, I discovered Kinbaku, and was enchanted by it, first for its artistry but then for its sexual power.

Kinbaku has its origins in feudal Japan. Back then, Samurai would restrain or torture their prisoners using ropes and clever manipulation of limbs. For centuries, Kinbaku bondage has been a fixture in the fetish communities of Japan, and today, you'd be hard-pressed to find a bondage enthusiast anywhere in the world who didn't incorporate some elements of it in their rope play. It is as aesthetically beautiful as an art form, as it is a means of erotic stimulation. Kinbaku is not an easy art to master. It requires not only an understanding of the human body and its limitations but also knowledge of a variety of knots and of the physics of ropes and the intricate patterns they can form. I happened to be a natural at it because I had already been good at ropes and knots. My dad had taught me how to sail growing up. Who would've thought that sailing skills were also useful in erotic bondage? I've always wondered what ancient sailors got up to during their downtime on the long voyages. Surely a bit of rope play.

It didn't take long to figure out the perfect tie for my virgin submissive. An easy-going upper-body tie with a lot of shock value despite its simplicity. An old-fashioned wrist restraint behind the back, but with a little twist.

"Lay on your stomach," I ordered.

"Yes, mistress."

"Place your hands behind your back."

I picked out a coil of rope. Then I hopped onto the bed and straddled Holly's ass. I stuffed a length of the rope into Holly's mouth and pulled it taut. Holly gagged on the rope and squirmed. Nothing like a gag to make it clear you're in BDSM country now.

"Stay still!"

I smacked her ass.

"Mmmf!" She whimpered but stopped squirming.

"Are you going to behave?"

"Yeth, mithrephth..."

I stifled a laugh.

"Good."

I wrapped the rope around the wrists, weaving them intricately and in a manner that allowed me to adjust the tightness, cinching her head backward by her mouth, causing her to groan. After wrapping the rope enough times on her wrist, I tied it off. Kinbaku ties, at their best, despite the intricacy of the rope patterns, require only one simple knot. The most beautiful patterns use the least amount of rope to achieve their purpose.

I stepped off the bed to admire my handiwork. A single length of rope serving both as a gag and as a wrist restraint. Holly's back was arched, and her head pulled back. She breathed heavily. Spit drizzled down her chin. But I could see the buzzing light in her eyes. The hardness of her nipples. The goosebumps on her skin. She was excited. She enjoyed the restraint.

I turned her over and crawled atop her, pressing myself against her, putting all my weight on her body, and faced her dauntingly, nose tip to nose tip. I blew my bangs out of my eyes and gazed into her eyes.

"How does that feel, my pet?"

"Mmmf," she replied.

"Well, don't get too excited just yet. We're just getting started."

Now, I really wanted to make her squirm. To give me a reason to punish her. Kisses and tongue and teeth all over her body. First her neck, then her shoulders. Then her pert nipples and, after teasing her nipples, lower. Her ass. Her thighs. Her calves. Her toes. Gentle kisses, strong ones to leave hickies she'd have to hide from her colleagues at work. Then finally, when I'd gone all over her body, her pussy was all that was left for me to explore. But before exploring it, I wanted to put her in another tie. A lower body tie. A frog tie.

A frog tie aims to restrain the legs by bending the legs back below the knees, binding the lower leg to the upper leg in a breaststroke position, or as one might recognize, the way a frog swims.

I wrapped her legs this way, then tied her ankles to her wrists, making it highly uncomfortable for her to keep her legs together. To release the tension, she would need to spread her legs apart like a lotus blossom, making her pussy vulnerable to my exploitation.

"You've behaved well so far. Good behavior earns you a reward," I told her, then I lowered my head to between her frog-tied legs to use my tongue on her soaking wet pussy.

She moaned loudly. Her eyes went wide and wild. Drool began to froth at the side of her mouth. Her body convulsed in her bindings. The rope creaked where it rubbed against itself. It pleased me to think that this was likely the best she's ever had her pussy eaten.

I pushed a finger inside her as I attacked her clit with my mouth, pushing her toward an orgasm more eruptive than she had ever experienced. Before long, I felt her tell-tale rhythmic pulses, so, like an explosives expert, I handled her gingerly. Didn't want her to explode prematurely. Not on my watch.

When I felt her in danger of exploding, I stopped abruptly, and without wiping her glistening sex from my lips, I went to her gagged mouth and kissed her messily. On her face was the intensely confounded look of a woman who had just had her orgasm negged, which was exactly what I was looking for. It was a part of the plan. Of course, she would eventually get her due reward, but before that, she needed to be punished.

"What's that dirty look for, pet? Did you think we would finish so soon? Did you think you would get to come before you made your mistress come? I will whip you for your insolence."

I flipped her over. Raised her onto her haunches so that her ass stuck straight up in the air.

"Stay like that while I fetch the whip."

Her gag had loosened enough that she could shimmy it out of her mouth.

"Wait, wait, wait!" she croaked. "What do you mean, whipped?"

I grabbed the riding crop from my briefcase and smacked it across the palm of my hand loudly to paint her a clear picture.

"I mean, you will be whipped. How is that so hard for you to comprehend?"

I slid the flat tip of the crop teasingly along her back.

"I'm going to whip you until you've learned your lesson."

"I-I-I don't think I'm ready for a whip. Can we do something else?" she chuckled nervously.

"Hmm, let me see. Who is the mistress here?"

"You are... mistress. But I --"

"And who is the insolent pet?"

She hesitated to answer. So, I repeated the question more slowly. "Who is the insolent pet?"

She slumped and, with a morose expression on her face, and a fading voice, replied,

"Me...."

"You always have the safe word, Holly. But until you use it, your ass is mine. Now, let us proceed with the punishment."

I paused for a moment to allow her to say mistletoe. But to my delight, her fear acquiesced to her carnal desire. Deep inside, she wanted to be whipped. Soon, she will see that her secret desire is well-placed.

"Ten should do it," I said.

Of course, I went easy to start. The first one a love tap.

"One!"

The flat leather tip of the crop struck the fat of her ass cheek with a crack that was louder than it was hard. Still, she flinched and let out a sharp yelp.

"Two!"

She yelped again. That next smack was slightly harder and left a red mark. That one probably stung a bit.

"Three!"

Each smack became a little bit harder than the last. Each left a red welt on her backside. By the fifth, I was really swinging like I was at the batting cages. By seven, she begged me to stop (but stopped short of using the safe word).

"...and ten!"

With the last strike, she let out a soft whimper. Sweat was streaming down her forehead. Her lips were trembling, and she was short of breath.

"Now, are you going to behave?"

"Yes, mistress."

Her voice was thick with sexy defeat. She was surely feeling dominated now. The whipping had done wonders to erode away the confident law firm partner persona, leaving behind the meek submissive she always wanted to be.

"You better. Next time, I won't go so easy on you. Now, where were we? Oh yes, you were going to give me pleasure."

I was still fully clothed in my pinstriped business attire and couldn't help but feel immensely satisfied by the irony. There was Holly, the once law firm powerhouse, sporting a steel-boned corset, stockings, a leashed leather collar, and an anxious look of yearning to please her mistress on her face. Then there was little ol' me in a business suit, steely-eyed, domineering, standing over her submissive with a plethora of ideas on how to make her serve me.

"So here's what's going to happen next. I'm going to get undressed, then I'm going to use your mouth as a saddle until you make me come. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress."

I slipped my blazer off. Slowly unbuttoned my blouse, then dropped my skirt, revealing the black, leather -- crotchless -- lingerie. Seeing the bit-lipped thirst on Holly's face as she looked me up and down, I felt the chafing was finally worth it. I climbed onto the bed and straddled her face.