The Diary of Mistress X

We followed the woman out of the garage and to the back door. She ushered us into a kitchen that boasted a working fireplace and wood fired grill. I felt thoroughly self-conscious, dressed as I was. I offered to take off my dusty shoes. She waved off my question, telling me that her house cleaner would be there the next day.

I got a much better look at her under the bright lights of the kitchen. Maybe late thirties or early forties, silky smooth white hair, flawless make-up, and clothes that came from stores that I can't afford to shop at. She was slender, but not too thin, and cut a nice figure in her expensive clothes.

We exited the kitchen, and then with my mouth agape, went through an exquisitely furnished formal dining room and then across the front entranceway to the wing containing the bedrooms.

We entered the master bedroom. There were pictures on the dresser of the woman with a distinguished looking man and what appeared to be their two adult children. That made me place her as late forties or early fifties, married with two children. I gathered the children didn't live at home and her husband was away, maybe on business. The woman made eye contact with me. I started to open my mouth. She interrupted me before I could get a word out.

"You will not speak to me unless I address you." She pointed to an upholstered chair in the corner of the room. "You'll sit there. You won't get up without my permission. Is that understood?"

I'd never been spoken to that way. So direct. So certain. So in control. The muscles in my body froze. I was excited and I didn't know why.

"I'm asking you for an answer."

"Yes," I finally squeaked. She was beautiful. Her clothes, her face, her slender figure, and her commanding presence.

"My name is Arlene, but you have the choice of calling me either ma'am or Mistress."

The woman didn't wait for a response from me and addressed Franny. "Slut, you know what to do."

"Yes, Mistress."

I had no idea what was going on. Even though Franny was here on her own volition, it took me aback when she was addressed as "slut." And I was confused by Franny's answer. Mistress? What did she mean?

Franny sat on the bed, kicked off her sandals and took off her skimpy clothes. When she was finished, she assumed a prone position in front of the woman, her face resting on the carpet and her hands extended as far forward as they would go. Arlene made no move to undress, but instead leaned over and slapped Franny on the butt with her open palm. The sound of the impact startled me. Franny's body lurched forward, but not a sound came out of her mouth. The woman reached down and under Franny, and ran her finger across Franny's pussy. Franny's body shuddered at the intimate contact. The woman held her finger up in the air, the digit glistening with Franny's excitement. My own excitement level went through the roof and my pussy was no doubt as wet as Franny's.

"You're wet, slut. You've been thinking about it, haven't you?"

Franny's voice, muffled by the carpeting, reflected her growing anticipation. "Yes, Mistress. I've been thinking about it a lot."

"So what will it be, the whip or the crop? Last time you chose the whip."

The woman said it so casually, as if Franny was choosing which dessert she wanted. Neither of these choices sounded as good as dessert. My skin was crackling with electricity. I could hear Franny's rapid breathing.

"The crop, please, Mistress."

"Excellent choice, slut."

Arlene, wearing an expensive pair of heels, went into her walk-in closet and emerged with a riding crop. I rode horses as a teenager and could recognize a riding crop when I saw one. She also had a length of rope and what looked like a small diameter metal tube, about three feet in length, with padded cuffs on each end.

"Assume the position." She certainly didn't mince words. Her words made my heart quiver and my pussy even wetter.

Franny got up and went to the four-poster bed and gripped one of the posts with her hands. She moved her feet back so she had most of her weight on her wrists. She spread her legs about the width of the bar. I could only see her back, but she looked amazing. She was a bit thin, but there was no mistaking that she once possessed a killer body. Her legs were long and narrowed just right to her shapely calves. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The woman watched Franny with interest, but didn't seem to be in a hurry. Franny's legs started to shake.

The woman took the length of rope and securely tied Franny's wrists to the post. The way she manipulated the rope told me she had done this many times before. She then attached the cuffs to each ankle, the bar making sure that Franny kept her legs spread wide apart. The woman ran her hand along the length of Franny's body, avoiding touching her intimate areas. Franny's shaking increased in intensity. I was now starting to wonder what it would be like if that was me tied to the post, awaiting the punishment of a riding crop. I tried to stop thinking about it, telling myself that I was a good girl, but it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. I wanted desperately to touch myself.

The woman interrupted what she was doing and suddenly turned her head and looked at me.

"Don't touch yourself without my permission."

I was shocked. How did she know what I was thinking? Her prohibition only made matters worse. I was now squirming in my seat, feeling a prickly heat that made me want to take off my clothes and touch myself. My body was clearly talking to me, though my mind still wanted to resist being drawn into the dark recesses of my soul.

"Punish me Mistress," Franny blurted out.

"I should punish you for speaking out of turn."

The woman unexpectedly turned to me again. I was surprised I was more than just a voyeur. "Should I punish her?" she asked me, as if my opinion mattered.

I was like a deer in the headlights. What? Punish Franny? Why? But seeing Franny there, begging to be punished and as sexually turned on as I was, the answer was obvious. "Yes," I replied firmly.

"Yes, what?"

Huh? What did she want? Then the answer occurred to me. "Yes, Mistress."

"That's better."

A rush of satisfaction went through me. The feeling was short lived.

"Pull up your sweatshirt." Her request was a command, not a request. I really didn't feel as if I had a choice, and wanted to please her. I lifted up my sweatshirt so she could see my bra covered breasts. I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn't. Instead, I was proud to show them to her. They were ripe, full, and begging to be touched.

"Lovely. You have a nice body. No need to hide it with those baggy clothes."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Come closer, my pet. I want you to see this slut submit to me."

I got out of the chair and sat on the bed next to Franny. I could hear her short, shallow breaths. The woman picked up the riding crop. Her wrist cocked, and then unloaded, sending the leather tab of the riding crop screaming towards Franny's defenseless bottom. It hit, making a snapping sound as the leather met flesh. The sound made me jump. I'm sure my eyes were the size of saucers.

"One," gasped the bound woman, a bright red mark appearing where the crop made contact.

"That's good slut. Did you want another?"

Franny answered without hesitation. "Yes ... please ... Mistress."

The woman delivered successive blows, alternating cheeks, until there was a checkerboard of red on Franny's ass. There was a thin rivulet of her secretions running down the inside of her thighs. I looked down and could see a dark spot on the crotch of my jeans, my sopping wet panties soaking through the faded denim. Franny's forehead was covered in sweat.

"What do you want slut?"

"You know, Mistress."

"Tell me."

"I want to cum."

"Of course you do. That's why you're a slut. Isn't that right?"

"Yes Mistress. I'm a slut."

I was mesmerized by the interchange. I was a voyeur who was about to become a participant.

"You ... my pet ... you can touch yourself now while you watch me make this slut cum."

It didn't register immediately that she was talking to me. I didn't react quickly enough for her.

Arlene pushed the tab of the riding crop hard against my cheek, causing my head to turn.

"I'm talking to you ..."

I unzipped my jeans and pulled my jeans and panties down to my ankles. She could see how aroused I was.

"Are you sure you don't want to join the fun?" she asked, the invitation so enticing.

I shook my head. It was too fast, too soon, for me. "No Mistress. I'd like to watch."

"Very well." Arlene flattened the palm of her hand and ran it ever so slowly across Franny's sodden cunt.

"Ohhhhhhhh ..." moaned Franny, long and deep. It was the cry of a woman in heat. Her legs started to wobble.

"Please ... " the bottle blonde said hoarsely, barely able to choke out the word. The sensations of pain and pleasure must have overwhelmed her senses. My fingers wandered down to the swampy mess between my legs. I pinched my clit, wanting to feel the cocktail of pain and pleasure for myself. Franny's moans and whimpers accentuated my own sense of nirvana as I threw my head back and unabashedly masturbated in front of two virtual strangers, and not caring.

Mistress Arlene picked up the crop and laced Franny's reddened bottom with yet another stroke, eliciting a yelp from her submissive, and then followed with her hand rubbing the sub's weeping cunt.

"Yesssss ..." Franny cried to the heavens as each successive lash redoubled her pleasure. I fought to stave off my own orgasm, wanting to see how much higher I could go as Franny's pain and pleasure became mine.

"Now!" barked the Mistress, willing her sub to cum.

"Ahh ... ahhh ... ahhhhhhh," Franny wailed as Mistress Arlene plunged two fingers all the way into her sub's sex. Franny collapsed to her knees, her legs splayed by the spreader bar. My own orgasm crested, the blood pounding in my temples as I came over and over until I fell backward on the bed, physically and emotionally exhausted.

The rest of the night was a blur. I believe Mistress and Arlene had one more session, but the intensity of Franny's cropping and my orgasms that followed left me bereft of any energy, so all I could do was to attempt to lift my head off the bed before it dropped down again, with me falling into a deep slumber.

* * *

I woke up the next morning in my sleeping bag, my phone telling me it was past ten. The sound of the freeway that I had blocked out to sleep was going full throttle. I hadn't gotten used to the smell, and that helped wake me up as well. There were plenty of folks milling about my tent, so I had to get dressed with little privacy. I was sore and sticky, and then I remembered why.

Shit. What happened last night?

I was still a bit woozy but I forced myself to remember last night in order. I met up with Franny. We got picked up by a hot woman in an impressive sedan and taken to her mansion. Am I getting this right? Was I really there? I touched myself and felt the sticky residue of last night. Yeah, I was there.

I pulled out my daily diary. I wanted to get down my memory of last night as soon as possible. And in case of last night, remembering everything was imperative. Here's my diary page of that day. I wrote it in the tent:

November 11, 2019

Dear Diary,

I always fantasized about the sex I had with JoLynn. I loved her big, soft breasts, and how we'd rub against each other while we were eating each other out, trying to make the other person cum first. I loved her meaty nipples, licking, sucking and nibbling on them. We would do it all night on the weekends. It was what I thought was hot sex.

But last night changed everything for me, watching Franny and (Mistress) Arlene. That experience was a bolt of lightening out of the blue. Comparing JoLynn to Arlene is like comparing a brightness of a flashlight to the brilliance of the sun. It was an adrenaline-fueled ride on a roller coaster generated by the intense, emotional interplay between two adult woman. I came away with a life altering experience.

The raw emotion last night made my skin tingle and my body shiver. I was soaked down there the entire time. I wanted to be Franny. I wanted to be the slut. I wanted Arlene to punish me as the bad girl. To punish me and then to make love to me. Even writing this down now, the memory of watching Franny submit makes me wet down there and shiver once again.

I can remember each strike of the crop on Franny's ass. The loud pop as the leather marked her ass. The whimpering. And then sobbing. But all the time begging for more until Mistress Arlene decided that she had had enough.

Mistress Arlene. Her voice cut with the sharpness of a razor blade honed to a fine edge. And when she cut, she cut deep. I'd never seen a woman who acted with the precision and purpose of a fine-tuned instrument on a willing and compliant recipient.

Franny was a smart girl. She knew how to play the game. She may have enjoyed it. In fact, I'm sure she did. But to see Mistress Arlene manipulate Franny's emotions, to take her down, all the way down, and then up, and then all the way up. It was masterful. I doubt there was much left in the emotional tank for any of us at the end of the night.

The emotion, or should I say emotional electricity, crackled all night. The commands, the begging, the submission. It was so real and so powerful. To combine that mind play with sex, that's where there was explosive power. I wanted to scream to the stars when I let go last night.

* * *

Just when I put the final flourish on my diary entry, Franny came into my tent clad in her white tube top and electric pink hot pants and plopped herself down on her dirty pillow. I could see bright red marks on the inside of her thighs, reminding me again that last night was not a dream. Making my diary entry reminded me of every detail. I looked at the red marks and started to get excited. I was still barely awake. I wondered what the fuck was going on with me. Before I could get too much more excited, Franny interrupted my mood.

"You owe me a hundred bucks," she declared, dispensing with the early morning formalities. Back to reality. She was trying to chisel me when I was half asleep. I was awake enough to say, "I gave you twenty yesterday, so I owe you eighty."

"That went to expenses. You still owe me a hundred," she snapped back. She anticipated my response and had a ready answer. This woman just took me to heaven but she was still working me.

Reflecting on the previous night's activities, I got more than a hundred dollars' worth, so I dug into my wallet and put three crisp twenties in her hand.

"Wait, you're forty short." She was no dummy, but neither was I.

"I still don't have the full story. I want to talk to you about last night."

"Oh ... wait five minutes and I'll be back. Now after we talk, I'll get that last forty, right?" Trusting as ever, that Franny.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll get your money." Her money grubbing was wearing on me.

I found the burrito I had stashed from the night before and, throwing caution to the wind, ate it. It wasn't half bad. Franny came back when I was just crumbling the aluminum foil.

"You mind?" asked Franny, holding up a well-used crack pipe. "I need this."

I reluctantly nodded my head.

I'd never seen anyone smoke crack, except in a movie. That bitch has taken a twenty and converted it to rock candy in a bat of an eyelash. She put the small rock in her pipe and used a lighter to melt it. I looked at the heavily stained pipe as the glass bowl bubbled and the vapors filled the globe like a maelstrom, and then unleashed that maelstrom inside her. Franny had no doubt been using for years. She inhaled deeply, taking one hit, exhaling, and then took another. Her eyes became glassy and her body relaxed. There was a temporary inner peace. The edge was gone. The fight was gone.

"Franny?"

She blinked repeatedly, fighting to stay with me. Her eyes, now dreamy, she smiled at me. "You're nice." Her head bobbed back and forth, eyes watching me in amusement.

"Thank you."

"Not too many people are nice to me." She was speaking from her heart. It broke mine.

"You deserve better, Franny." I meant it. It was a fucking shame that she didn't get the help she needed to fight her addiction.

"No I don't," she answered more lucidly. She meant it. And that broke my heart as well. Her loss of self-esteem. No one deserved that.

"Why?" I asked. I wanted to understand. Not just for the article. I liked her. I wanted to help her if I could. I knew she was untrustworthy, but people with this kind of issue needed help.

"I've done some bad things in my life." This was a real confession. I wanted to know. And I didn't want to know.

"Tell me." It was the journalist in me that said that. A journalist should be able to handle Franny's story.

"It's going to cost you a lot more than $100 to tell you."

Ahhh. She wasn't ready to talk to me about it. She was brave enough to tell me that it was there. I'm sure she hadn't shared any of these "bad things" with anyone else, but I would be there for her when she was ready to tell her full story. So I shifted gears.

"Then tell me about Mistress Arlene. How did you meet her?"

She was eager to open us, as long as it wasn't about her. "I met her at a client's house ... yeah ... it was about a year ago."

It was then that the conversation was getting really interesting. I started pushing into the heart of the subject. "Have you ever been in a scene like that before you met her?"

"Yeah ... hey you got my forty bucks?" Franny. At least she was predictable.

"Yes I do Franny. Can we finish this conversation?" She got it not to ask me again. She shifted back into storyteller mode. She was nodding as she spoke.

"Uh, yeah, I've done this before, but not like this. She's the best I've had. I wasn't acting there. She knows how to take you right to the edge. It's the best high I've ever had. I'd do it for free with her. I could see you were enjoying yourself. Hey, you want a hit off this pipe?"

"No thank you Franny. Yes I did enjoy myself. Probably too much." That was an understatement. She could see for herself. In fact I'm sure it was her that got me back here safely in bed. Even though she could be a pain in the ass, she really cared about me and found a way to get me back without an expectation of a payday. I checked my wallet when I woke up and found that my hundred dollars that I pulled out of the ATM was still in there. There was more to Franny than met the eye. Especially the way she dressed.

Franny started rubbing her legs, like they hurt. Then she started a cackling laugh, followed by a fit of coughing. "You're no crack whore. You passed out halfway through our session. Arlene and I had to practically carry you to the car. I put you in your sleeping bag. Didn't take your money. It's all there. All one hundred dollars." She made the last statement with pride.

"Thank you for that." I'm sure she was tempted. And I'm sure she counted it. But she didn't take it, and that was big of her given her cravings.

"Hey, I gotta go. You know, business." She pulled on her tube top to make her tits bounce. They were nice tits, and had a good bounce to them. She was hot, but in a very slutty way. Her little show gave me a cheap thrill, but I played it casual.

"Yeah, I get it ... business." I pulled two more twenties out of my wallet and gave them to her. I told you I was a softy. Her eyes lit up through the drug induced haze.

"Thanks! See you around." The flaps of my tents fluttered behind her and her hot pink pants.