The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 01

Perhaps what was intriguing in the here and now was that I continued to completely control her as she talked. I had washed and conditioned her hair, which took more than four soaps, rinses and final treatment. I had shaved her armpits and her pussy, making her sit legs wide open on the side while I lovingly scraped away dirt and stubble. The smells of piss and shit between her legs were replaced with the herbal scents of Crabtree© products. She had not objected at all when I had bent her over, opened her buttocks and inspected her little rosebud (that I noticed when touched opened more than I might have expected and as if on command) ensuring all dirt and hair was removed.

Interspersed between these washing rituals were the tales. None were dull, all left me intrigued, curious, and yes, sometimes envious of her adventures. There was some sadness along the way, including the death of her father (though even that was not uneventful and surrounded by a story of sexual daring and a lot of BDSM activity). Let us just say at this point that when he died he was an extremely happy man, who like the actor whose only wish is to die on the stage whilst working, managed to pass away at the end of a week of intense sexual joy that involved both his new wife and - though not I hasten to add in an incestuous way - his daughter. However, if incest can be defined as when there is a sexual act between stepmother and daughter then there had been more than a family affair. By the time it was recalled, even that did not shock me.

"So Clarissa, having gone into modelling and become your 'Svengali's' puppet, you were saved by Mistress Raven of Leinston who took over your management and then started to develop your modelling agency. I think that week in Paris on the catwalk by day and in a cage at the bottom of her bed at night was justified, given the naughty things you got up to in daylight. Yes, the Saudi Prince seems at once cruel and yet on another he seems to really understand your, er, needs. How did I not see them at School?"

"They were there all the time Mistress Jessica if you had looked. It was daring for me to kiss you before I left. You see paradoxically my underpinning subservience meant I could not ask you for what I wanted, or that is what I thought at the time, based on the limited knowledge I had. My father..."

"Your father?!" I suddenly shouted.

"Yes," she continued, in a hushed voice, bowing her head even lower in response to my shouts. "He had noticed my proclivities at an early age but waited until I was of age, i.e. an adult, before confronting me with the truth about myself. Do you remember how many times I was sent to the office for a caning or the ruler based on my rudeness to certain teachers?"

"Yes, I do and come to think of it you never came back in tears but with a wide smile even if your head was down. My God! You clever bitch, you got those spankings deliberately! And you knew the teacher who dominated or in fact could have been dominatrix? You did it at home as well didn't you?"

"Yes," she said, clapping her hands in childlike glee. "My birth mother and then my stepmother who had been my maid from childhood regularly spanked me. However, when my father spanked me that was when I knew I had had a satisfactory punishment. He was so severe, but so loving too."

I wiped the tear that suddenly surfaced from her right eye.

"Let's stop a while," I suggested gently.

I pulled her naked body to me in the bath, noticing for the first time that the water was no longer warm.

"Go to bed now."

"Yes Mistress," she said, tears still streaming down her face. "You know, I will always miss him."

"Yes, I know."

Oh, how I knew. My father was so kind to me but I never understood why he packed me off to school. My mother was the same, though I realised much more dominant than him, much stronger. For her sending me away was to make me tougher, make me stand on my own two feet, not be dependent on others. Yet here was I in a faltering marriage, two children sent away to finishing school and now with a waif and stray on my doorstep.

Or so I thought.

I held her hand as she rose up out of the water. She looked so beautiful, suddenly innocent and younger than her years. Her shaven sex accentuated her womanly qualities, contrary to my expectation that I might have made her forbiddingly childlike. The gold rings now shone under the powerful downlights that lit her pale skin and dried her subtly as she walked.

I watched as she squatted over the toilet and pissed a stream of golden liquid without shame or embarrassment. I wondered how many men and women had seen her do that. I filled the bidet and encouraged her to wash again between her thighs, not wipe with paper.

"Good girl," I heard myself say, as if she was my daughter not my more senior friend.

"Now lie down over on the bed."

I pointed to the room with its circular bed and a ceiling made up of expensive mirrors. It was a legacy from the days before time stopped and our daughters ruled our days, our nights, and most of all our privacy until with no real spontaneity for each other our marriage became a ritual. Our reflections now confronted us only with our dullness, our conformity, out routine, our loss.

And then I realised she was watching me intensely, so much so the hairs on the back of my head were standing up. Alert. A signal.

"Mistress," she called, in a 'little-girl-lost' voice, "Will you sleep with me a while? I need your safety."

So I gave it and slept spooned behind her, naked.

____________________________

I was on a settee, my legs open and splayed lewdly. Jonathan was slowly licking softly, maddeningly at my shaven labia. He had found my clitoral hood and was nudging it back with his teeth.

He stopped.

"Open yourself more Mistress. Open your cunt so that everyone at the party can see it."

I looked around, seeing hundreds of guests who did not seem to care about my nakedness except one. He was staring, his tongue moving lasciviously over his lips, his hand stroking his hard erection that poked lewdly from his grey flannel trousers. He had a whip in his right hand and whenever Johnnie stopped licking he flicked the thongs viciously over Johnnie's naked arse and heavy balls. My husband cried out into my cunt then lapped harder, stronger.

I pulled his head down onto me, cruelly grinding his nose and mouth onto me. I was writhing now, shouting to the people at the party to watch.

It was amazing, at my command everyone turned to watch me being tongue-fucked and my breasts teased by my own fair hands.

I moaned and groaned in ecstasy. My body was moving like a soul dancer, grinding my pussy. I held on to his head like I was possessed. Then I heard his cries change from masculine to feminine. I didn't question it, I just wanted to cum. And I came, screaming and screaming with delight. The orgasm rushed through me and I held on to my partner's head with a vicelike grip.

"Ohhh, it's been so long. It's been so long," I kept saying, in a voice that was part whisper, part moan. "So long."

"Mistress," I could hear, "Mistress."

And that is when I realised I had Clarissa's hair in my hands. She was locked between my thighs and I was sweating, exhausted from the power of my cumming.

As I came to, I realised what had happened. The clock said it was a whole eight hours since we had gone to bed.

"So," I said to her, pretending to scowl, but feeling deliciously wicked and so in control. "You thought you would eat my cunt while I slept, heh?

I gradually let her loose, untangling my hands from her scalp.

"I - I - I wanted to thank you and..."

"So you always thank by eating your hostess's cunt do you?" I spat that word out, loving its sound, loving the power it generated in me, realising that she had been unable to resist my pussy, my cunt, my yoni. All words I hadn't used since the love went out of my marriage. I had not a trace of guilt or embarrassment. I smiled, a radiant smile as she grovelled between my thighs, keeping her head low, afraid to look up.

"I always wanted you at school Mistress, but we were barely legal then and anyhow, I knew nothing of the pleasure of being submissive."

You know, I really liked being called 'Mistress'. I wanted to be recognised in this place, away from work. I wanted someone, maybe more than one, to acknowledge and adore me. I realised in an instant that I also needed someone who could deal with my strong, almost violent passions, the physical controlling desires that I had had since my first serious relationship. Jonathan had shown signs of giving me that but now was a slave to his work. My head was rushing to meet my heart at breakneck speed and with an acknowledgment that I needed someone subservient, obedient but whom I could express love to, play with and have adventures. So who better than the person I had admired and wanted all those years ago and who now needed me?

"Come lie by me. Tell me more."

As she lay at my side, I turned to face her, telling her to lift her face. Her eyes were large and beautiful, the pupils dilated in a clear sign of lust. She had given me an orgasm and forgone her own, but the need was there all the same. I knew instinctively I was not going to satisfy that need, well not yet, but I reached to her breasts, exploring her incredibly stiff nipples.

"Do those rings enhance your pleasure?"

"Oh yes Mistress," she said in a breathy, excited way. "They have been positioned exquisitely. The size is so that I may be pulled or hung by them. That pleasure comes through the pain. It, it is wonderful! Prince Rahid el Samur knew so much about the inflicting of infinite punishments to achieve maximum pleasure. I can enter sub-space now with just a word."

I smiled again, noticing that when she spoke of her submissive life there was an enthusiasm that was never reflected in descriptions of her modelling work, except where the two elements collided, as happened in Hamburg when she did a fetish clothing shoot that so angered her then agent that she quit. Her loss, Clarissa's gain, as her new one was a dominatrix.

I did not ask what she meant by 'sub-space', that could be part of the adventure of finding out. Instead, I continued to play with her nipples, tugging now at the rings, twisting them, experimenting. I studied Clarissa's face, watching the hints of pain mixed with beams of pleasure.

"Get on all fours above me."

"Yes Mistress."

"Now tell me how you ended up in the park outside my house."

Her firm but bruised tits hung down, and I stretched and pulled harder and harder on the rings, insisting she continue the story of her life. I watched the perspiration begin to build on her skin. I felt my pussy lips swell and my own nipples grow hard as I toyed with her. I was beginning to not see her as a person, but as my slut, my plaything. Ok, there was some revenge deep in my psyche for leaving me at school, for NOT pleasuring me when I wanted her in my schoolgirl lesbian fantasies. So now I took great sadistic pleasure in seeing her teats extended and clearly aching.

We travelled through a series of adventures, all reinforcing her need to be dominated and live an active role of subservience, arriving at the past month.

"I was working for a newspaper on a story about homelessness. The editor, Klaus Von Freidrich, gave me the job. He was a member of my BDSM club when I was in Hamburg and is now working in the UK for the Daily Review. One day he called me to his London office, electronically locked the door and then told me he was going to brief me on an assignment that would change my life. I had no choice but to obey him, no matter what employment law might say, because I was collared and belonged to him."

She began to cry. I stopped the teasing of her nipples. Why the tears?

"No, no, ple-e-ease."

"You want me to continue, er, testing you?"

"Yes, you do not understand yet how, what, er, I will explain afterwards..."

Oh, I was beginning to understand. She could not function without being dominated and controlled. I had some concerns that this state was too dominant in her life, but at the moment the instinct to play and be pleasured was too strong to consider it deeply. I pulled hard at her tit rings. There was a slight moan, but I knew I had sent a myriad of different sensations through her.

"Thank you Mistress Jessica."

I felt so powerful! I liked this role as Mistress, finding nothing awkward in it. The power was translating into sexual energy. I found myself touching my own breasts with my free hand, not caring this was in front of another woman, enjoying seeing her eyes wide again. I knew she wanted to do that. Maybe I would let her once I knew all about her life. For now, I felt the need to test, to experiment, possibly only little things, but I started all the same.

"Yes, you should thank me, slut."

Her head went back down for a moment, but the slight sway of her hips and a quickening of breath suggested that being a slut was part of the turn-on for her. However, for me there was a sense of amazement, which became a question. Where on earth was this language I was using coming from? I must have absorbed the terms from the women's magazines I devoured over my loveless weekends and the pornography for women that I had taken to in recent years. I had to admit it; my solitary sessions of masturbation whilst pouring over cheap, sex-drenched paperbacks had become almost obsessive. If it wasn't for Max needing walks and the amounts of work I brought home, weekends would be completely lost in sexual fantasy. The further apart Jonnie and I became, the more this habit had surfaced. My delusion was that I craved independence. Now I knew that was an illusion. Ok, here was my chance to turn those obscene, often-perverted fantasies that I read about so avidly to fact, and why not?

"Yes, thank you," she said quietly, reaching forward and kissing me softy on the lips. Then she continued, her hips swaying again, miming grinding against a hand or a crotch, reliving some strong sexual event. "Klaus ordered me to crawl to him from the door of his office. I had on the clothes you saw today or was it yesterday, I am not sure?"

I said nothing, other than, "Continue."

"Yes Mistress. There was a large piece of blue plastic sheeting on the floor. He ordered me to lie on it face up. He had never been like this before with me, always keeping his BDSM relationship away from the office. I knew something was going to happen, but I was unsure what. I felt really scared, not trusting him. Something had happened or was about to happen." I watched her breasts begin to heave. I kept a tight rein on her nipple rings. Was it distress or arousal?

"Anyhow, Klaus told me that he wanted me to investigate homelessness and specifically a rumour that young 'hobos' as he called them were being picked up by someone or some group, fed and watered, and then abused sexually and physically in strange rituals. He told me he had prepared a special pack for me with tracking devices, a hidden camera in the belt of my coat and one in the leather holdall you saw me with, a concealed mobile to be only used in emergencies and a drop-off address for my reports. These were to be recorded on a tiny digital recorder, again concealed in a secret compartment at the bottom of the holdall."

She burst into tears again, but fought them back and continued.

"Then he told me coldly and simply that he was no longer my Dom. I was on my own when I left the room as it was not appropriate to continue, but my pay was being increased and I would be well rewarded on delivery of the assignment. I was so shocked."

She stopped again, sobbing quietly. Why did I not feel more sympathy? I liked her helplessness.

"What happened next left me completely confused. He suddenly took out his cock, standing either side of my legs and ordered me to lie back. He said he was going to prepare me for the degradation to come."

"How?"

"He pissed on me! He just pissed all over my lovely dress, and face, then ordered me to roll in the hot stream. The strong smelling pee soaked through to my skin. It was as if he had been waiting and waiting until his bladder was as full as possible. It seemed to last for ages, especially when the salty piss hit my mouth and eyes. All I could do was obey."

I secretly felt turned on by this. My God I was wet! I could imagine her not only lying there but tied up, her mouth held open. It may have been to prepare her in this bizarre way, but I found it wonderfully pervy. I couldn't help caressing my breasts more vigorously and tugging hard on her nipple rings. I did not care about her tears. Why should I? I was convinced she could take more than a little psychological and physical pain. Was she just doing this to get under my emotional radar? If so, she would fail the little slut.

"Continue," I said coldly.

"He noticed I had left a pool of his piss and he made me lap it up like a dog. He beat me hard with a paddle on my wet arse. There were splashes of piss flying out from the cloth he had drenched me so much. He made me go find every single one of them and lap them up too. He had never humiliated me so much or so I thought, until he called his secretary in to see his handiwork. I-I-did not know that this new recruit was also his new submissive. He..." She began crying again, sobbing helplessly, but I held my nerve, instructing her to carry on. "He told me to take off my little leather collar and place it around her neck. I saw the disgust in her face as my piss-smelling body came close to her. He made me kiss her too, with my pee-spattered lips..."

She stopped, tears streaming down her face. Now I felt her hurt, she was under my radar at last.

"You have me," I whispered, taking her face in my hands and kissing her passionately on the lips. Suddenly I stopped. What was I doing? I have a husband and children! She looked, puzzled, insecure. Good, maybe that was what I needed her to feel. No longer was it going to be me chasing around tending for her. I had done it for her at school, carried on doing it for my absentee husband, my boarding children, my late mother and father, but now I knew I wanted her to serve me and care for me. In truth I was not bothered if Jonnie and the children found Clarissa in my house and very close to me. No I wanted to be the centre of attention at home, the person cared for not caring.

"So tell me about the bruises to your tits," I enquired softly, though aware my language was increasingly direct and raw. She stopped sobbing, eyes wide open, sniffed then proceeded to tell me the rest of the tale. I gestured to her to sit back, facing me on the bed. It allowed me at once to look at her and keep my distance as, what I now knew I was, a Domme (albeit a novice one).

"I went straight out onto the streets. He had given me a little money and that bag, but nothing else. I had to find out about the rumours but also find somewhere on the streets. I could not go home as I had been living with him as his subbie and my house was rented out through an agency."

"So how did you manage?"

I let my foot slip between her open thighs, teasing lightly at her cleanly shaven cunt, but not letting her move. I was fascinated by her slit, so glisteningly wet as I knew whatever she was recalling, my toes were arousing her.

"I headed for one of the sites listed in my holdall as a place down-and-outs had been reported to disappear from. It was horrible. People were living under a roadway, in cardboard boxes. A kindly woman offered me a share of her shelter. Oh, Mistress Jessica, it stank! It had nothing in it but her body and clothes, but it stank of piss. I had no choice, I had to get used to this. I was at the bottom of the societal chain from a position where I knew I had over a million in the bank, but no way of touching it. This woman, Maggie, was under all her dirt and stink no more than thirty years old. I was shocked when she told me. She had been beaten by her husband who then threw her out on the streets. I found out why that night."