The Mix Up

Zoey sang softly to herself as she made her way over to the apartment's console. She was wearing a nightgown and her favorite lingerie.

Her body is curvy and buxom, with a confidence that she liked to say radiated from every inch of her being. She wore only the most luxurious, expensive lingerie that hugged her figure in all the right places. Some would say she was 'thicc', others Amazonian. But they all wanted her.

She exuded an unapologetic self-assurance and confidence that some might call vanity, but to her, it was just self-awareness. She knew her worth; she was six foot-four, a giant of a woman. Men paid extra for that. Men paid her handsomely to show them their place.

Handsomely enough that she could afford her own downtown studio. She was an artist, after all. The studio consisted of three rooms; an antechamber she was in, a main playroom, and a bathroom. The antechamber was small and discreet, with only a few pieces of furniture and a kitchenette in the corner for coffee and tea. A low table stood at the side of the room, beneath a window, adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and a few tasteful magazines. The walls were bare, save for a single painting, a moody abstract piece in shades of black and gray. It was a small antechamber outside the main room, where she could meet with clients and discuss their needs.

As Zoey made her way to the console, she couldn't help but hum along to the tune she had been singing to herself. It was a song from her youth and it never failed to put her in a good mood. Fiona Apple's Criminal. What a tune. It made her feel sexy.

"I've been a bad, bad girl," she mused. "I've been careless with a delicate man..."

The buzzer went again -- clients were always impatient. Rolling her eyes, Zoey pressed the button.

"Yes?" She said playfully into the receiver. She heard a man clear his throat. They were always nervous the first time. Impatient and nervous.

"It's... it's Michael," the man croaked.

"Hey there handsome!" she giggled.

"Ah... c-can I come in?"

"Yes, yes, come on up! I'll just buzz you in."

After pressing the button, Zoey made her way over the door, glancing in a mirror to ensure she still looked great. She did. She could hear Michael making his way up the stairs to her apartment.

Grinning, she unlocked the deadbolt first, then the chain lock, and finally the sliding latch that secured the door to the frame. The sound of the locks being undone was a familiar one, one that she had grown used to over the years in her chosen profession. You can never be too careful when your job involves meeting strange men every day.

There, puffing as if he'd just rushed up the stairs, was Michael. Her 4pm. In her six-inch heels she towered over him and he gawped at her height. He himself was of average height, with a build that could best be described as unremarkable. His face was ordinary, with the remnants of a strong jawline in his youth, and a straight nose, but nothing about his features stood out. Eyes were blue, or were they green? His hair was a shade of brown you'd forget the moment you looked away, neatly combed and parted to the side. He was aged in his forties, bags under his eyes, a slouch slowly getting the better of him, grey hair mingling at his temples.

He wore a plain, dark suit that seemed to have been tailored to fit his unremarkable physique. He had some money then; but it was neither expensive nor shabby, instead rather unassuming, like something he had worn for years without ever giving it much thought. A gift perhaps? Something a wife might have picked out? His shoes were black and polished, with a slight scuff on the left toe that hinted at a life of unglamorous routine. He had the look and feel of someone who wiled away their days in an office, under harsh white light. The lifeblood of a city such as this.

He'd sent her an email, asking for a session the next week. Hadn't asked many questions at all. Paid the deposit promptly. She'd had a background check ran on him of course. One didn't get far in her line of work without safety being a priority. He'd come up clean, but you can never be too safe.

The background check had been conducted by her PI, an old flame's father and ex-cop. He'd ended up being a better fuck than his son. The search, like they always do, began with a search of public records. There was little to be found in terms of criminal history or financial trouble, but there were a few mentions of a Michael with the same last name being involved in various community organizations and churches over the years. Nothing that stood out as particularly noteworthy, but it was something. He was a community minded fellow, stridently middle-class, as middle American as you could get.

The next step was to search social media. Michael had a profile on Facebook, but it was set to private. A quick search of his name turned up a few other social media profiles, but they were either outdated or unused. It seemed that Michael was not one for social media. Zoey was glad he wasn't one of those middle-aged men with a car selfie for their profile picture and far too much to say. No divorce records, he was still married to the lovely Amanda -- Mandy, as her Facebook said. A few kids in college.

Her PI then turned to employment records. It was confirmed that Michael had indeed worked in an office for the past fifteen years, first as an entry-level employee straight out of college and then working his way up to a mid-level management position. Funnily enough, it was the same office that another one of her clients worked at. There were no disciplinary actions on record and no red flags in terms of performance reviews. In other words, boring.

Boring men made the best clients.

"Welcome!" Zoey said, leaning forward and wrapping Michael in a hug. When she pulled back, she could see the lust in his eyes are the mere scent of her perfume. "Come on in. I've been expecting you. Just in here thanks. How was the traffic?"

"Pretty average," Michael shrugged. He hadn't yet made eye contact.

"Terrible down that Allens Avenue, isn't it?"

"The-the city should do something about it."

"They really should, I agree."

"You're... you're taller than I expected, you know," Michael said nervously. "A-and prettier. I don't know why, but I was expecting someone... older."

"Why thankyou."

"That nightgown is... is it appropriate to wear?"

"You're in my studio, aren't you?"

"Are those ropes on the ceiling?"

"You'll find out later if you're lucky." Zoey said. Although the ropes in the antechamber were more for decoration than anything else. The real fun was behind a door. But he didn't know that.

"Oh."

"So what do you think of my nightgown?" Zoey teased, setting herself down in a chair, and crossing her legs, giving the man an ample glimpse of thigh. She saw him swallow. Soon he'd be sweating.

"It... it looks very comfortable,"

"Pure silk. I only wear the best for my clients," she said.

"I... you look wonderful," Michael said, trying to glance anywhere but Zoey's legs.

"Compliments will get you everywhere. Have a seat. Are you married?"

Michael paused before settling himself down on the end of the sofa, opposite Zoey's chair.

"I am. Does... does that make a difference?"

"No, no. Not at all. Don't worry, a lot of my clients are married. Would you like tea, or coffee? I love making sure my newest clients feel relaxed before their first session."

"I'm fine thankyou."

"No? Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Great, well, we can get straight into it. If I may ask, how did you hear about me? I don't advertise so I always like to hear how people find me."

"I ah... Tom told me."

"Oh, Tom! Yes, yes. He's been a client of mine for a long time. Comes to see me once a week, bless him. You know, I never thought he'd recommend me!" she laughed. "I must be doing something right. Do you work with him?"

"For ten years."

"He's a nice guy, isn't he? Sometimes he brings me flowers, he gave me those," she replied, pointing to a vase on the coffee table. "Pretty, aren't they?"

"Isn't that unethical?"

"Unethical?" she laughed. "Darling, they're just flowers. And hey, I'm not the one who walked in and complimented me on my outfit."

Michael didn't reply. He smiled, shuffling uneasily in his seat.

"So, what did you have in mind for today's session?" Zoey smiled. "I have ideas of course, but it's always better if the client has an idea of what they want coming in to a session, so we're on the same page."

"I... I thought we could talk about my wife's spending habits, I've been unhappily married for a long time. To be honest, I'm reaching the end of my-"

"Your wife's what?" Zoey laughed, awkwardly. "I'm sorry, but what the do you think this is?"

"Tom said it'd help with my marriage..."

"I don't give a fuck about your wife. I'm not here to listen to you prattle on about her. You're unhappily married? Don't bitch about it to me."

"I'm not sure I like your tone, young lady."

"Look, there seems to have been a misunderstanding, I'm not a psychiatrist, not some fucking pompous shrink," she said. "I'm a dominatrix."

Michael's jaw dropped. He stared at her.

"A-a dominatrix?" he stammered, almost laughing.

"Didn't you wonder why this therapy session cost so much?" Zoey laughed. "$600 deposit? Men don't pay me to hand them tissues, they pay me to hurt them."

"I..."

"So when you said in your email that you were potentially interested in CBT... you meant cognitive behavioral therapy? That's disappointing."

"Tom..."

"I can't believe Tom didn't tell you!" she laughed in disbelief. "What a fucking asshole! I'm going to have to punish him this week. You know, he loves to be beaten..."

As she spoke, she paused, her hand coming up to her chin as she seemed lost in thought. The room was silent for a few moments, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning.

"You know..." Zoey said, biting her lip. "Maybe that's why he suggested me. Maybe he thinks this what you need...

"What are you talking about?"

"Is that what you need?" Zoey leaned in, letting the nightgown slip, and giving the man across from her a generous view of her cleavage. "A good hard spanking..."

"No! No it's not, I..." Michael's lips blabbered some protest away, but his eyes betrayed him, full of lust and weakness. This was going to be fun!

Zoey cocked her head to the side and put on her most patronizing voice.

"No? No you don't want the strange woman to spank you?"

Michael crossed his legs. Zoey pointed to his crotch, where a tent was rapidly being pitched.

"Your little friend seems to want it," she said.

"He does?"

"That's right, Michael, he seems to think that's what you need," Zoey said.

"I..."

"The safe word is red, you say that and I'll stop. Got that?"

"Yes," Michael said in a small voice. "R-red, got it."

"Now what do you want to do?" she said. Michael was well and truly eager. It was almost too easy.

"Wh-wha... I... um..."

The dominatrix sighed in annoyance.

"Come on, use your words!" She said, irritated. "You're a grown ass man sitting in a stranger's apartment with a hard on. Tell me what you want to happen."

"Oh."

"'Oh' is right," Zoey said, leaning in further. She was inches away from him now, he was staring down her chest.

"I-I'm sorry," Michael put his hands up, backing off.

"Don't apologize," Zoey snapped.

"S-sorry-"

"I said don't fucking apologize!" Zoey spat venomously, talking over him. "How can I respect a man who turns into a stammering moron on a dime? Hmm?"

She paused for effect. For a few moments, the room was silent save for the sound of their breathing. The woman's gaze was intense, locked on him. She'd put good money on it being the first time a woman had stared at him like this.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, the woman cut him off.

"Are you here to waste my time?" she asked, her voice low and angry. "Well? It's a simple question. Are. You. Here. To waste my fucking time?"

Michael's mouth blabbed open and shut.

"Answer me bitch! I charge $3000 an hour. My time is valuable, understood?"

"Y-yes ma'am."

"Good boy. So now you have two choices," Zoey said, adding a dash of extra contempt to her voice. "Either you can fuck off, out of my studio and out of my sight. Or you can take your clothes off and we can get started."

"I should leave," Michael said, swallowing. He glanced behind him at the door. Zoey sat back.

"Go on then," she said, gesturing towards the door. "You know the way out. You can always leave now, forget ever meeting me, cut your losses. I'll keep the deposit but I won't charge you for the five minutes of my life you wasted, and you can go home and enjoy your shitty, pathetic marriage.

"Or... you can take off that fucking suit and let me work my magic."

Silence once again dominated the room. Michael squirmed in his seat.

"I chose magic," he said softly, eventually, barely managing to look at her. Zoey grinned.

"Oh, I think I'm gonna like you," she said. "You made the right choice."

Without being told again, Michael's hands instinctively went to the buttons of his shirt.

"That's it, undress for me," Zoey chuckled, leaning back. Slowly but surely, Michael began to strip off his clothes. The dominatrix couldn't help but laugh harder.

"Get naked for me you pathetic cunt!" she cackled. Michael paused, staring at her, almost hurt. Poor man. Didn't know whether to cry or jerk off. Zoey waved away his concern.

"Oh I'm not going to hold back, sunshine," she said. "That's it, keep unbuttoning that shirt with that adorable, innocent look on your face."

Zoey already felt herself grow aroused. She liked watching a man peel out of a business suit. In fact, the only thing she liked more is watching a man put his suit back on after she'd finished with him.

He stood up to remove his pants and Zoey got a better look at his form, out of that frumpy suit. It wasn't bad. He certainly wasn't shredded and had more than the hint of a gut, but he looked sturdy and seemed to have kept himself in shape.

Idly, she found herself biting her lip, watching him hungrily. It hadn't taken much in the end for him to strip off in front of a stranger. Perhaps his marriage really was on the brink. He was just unlucky she wasn't some ditsy paralegal at a bar, looking for an older man. This wasn't going to be an affair; this was going to be something much better.

When he got to sliding his briefs down his thighs, Michael became more delicate, trying to hide his manhood. Zoey slapped his hand away.

"No, don't cover yourself!" she snapped, admiring the semi-erect form of his cock. Sprouting from a mess of pubic hair, it wasn't huge, but it wasn't small either. It was thick, thicker than it probably should be for the length it was, and curved slightly to the left. The head was rather flat. Below it, his balls hung ungainly, shaven smooth.

"T-t-this is a mistake," the man stammered. Zoey didn't take her eyes off his cock. It was growing as she watched, more and more blood flowing to the tip.

"A mistake?" She said with mock concern. "Awh, what was a mistake, sweetheart? I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"T-this..." was all he could manage. He still hadn't tried to hide his cock again, once she'd slapped his hand away.

"Oh, this was a mistake, I see... you just wanted a therapist, is that it?" Zoey chucked. "What do you think a dominatrix is, sweetheart?"

"I'm just not sure how my wife would feel about this, that's all," Michael replied, finally moving to pull his briefs back up. Zoey grabbed his wrist.

"I don't give a fuck how your wife would feel," she snapped. "You came to me, you need my help, because I can see now that you are truly lost. If you weren't, would you have stripped off in a stranger's apartment?"

"I-I guess not."

"Exactly. You need to be taught a lesson, and I suspect it's been a long time coming," Zoey smiled, standing up. "I'm glad you came to me today. I think you need it. Now show me the goods! Hands by your sides, now!"

He did as she was told. He was naturally submissive, truly.

"Now that's a nice-looking cock you've got there. Mind if I..." She grabbed his cock without warning. "...touch it?" Zoey chuckled. "My, my, it's so hard for me already!"

Zoey started to stroke his cock, enjoying the way he squirmed, the feeling of his manhood, his masculinity, in her hand, the little moans and groans he made.

"Are you sure this was a mistake, darling?" she said. "Tell me, does your wife do this for you? Does she stroke your cock?"

Michael let out a groan, but didn't reply. Zoey ran a finger along his cheek.

"I don't think she does... that's why you came to me..." she said, seductively. "How long's it been since your wife touched you like this? Since she smelled your hair, and nibbled on your ear? How long since she kissed you on the collarbone, or ran a hand up your chest...how long even since she fucked you?"

"I..." was all Michael managed.

"I know men like you," Zoey continued. "I know what you need. You're desperate for a woman's touch."

She kissed his chest, before whispering in his ear. "Desperate for a woman's kiss..." Desperate just to have a woman's attention..."

Michael moaned in pleasure and Zoey grinned, squeezing his cock.

"But I'm not a woman to you, do you understand? I'm a goddess. I'm your goddess," she said, squeezing his cock harder. "Do. You. Understand?"

"Yes," Michael gasped.

Zoey let go of his rock-hard cock and gripped his balls.

"Yes, what?" she hissed.

"Yes ma'am..."

"No, you say "yes goddess" you dumb fucking cunt, understand?" Zoey replied angrily. Michael flinched. "I've got your balls in the palm of my hand, I'm not some common mistress, I'm..."

She calmed herself, smiling serenely. "...your goddess. Are we clear?"

"Y-yes goddess," the man said.

"Good boy!" Zoey chuckled.

Letting go of his balls, she gave his scrotum a few gentle slaps. He flinched.

"I'm glad we came to an understanding," she said. "I think we're going to work well together, don't you?"

"Yes goddess," Michael nodded.

"Oh good boy!" Zoey said in her patronizing voice. "You're a fast learner, aren't you? And that cock is just rock hard after I squeezed those poor balls! It isn't as if you liked it, is it?"

"I... I did like it goddess," Michael replied. He was blushing. She was impressed with his honesty.

"Oh you do?" Zoey gasped in mock surprise. "You like your goddess stroking your cock?"

She started stroking his cock again.

"Spit on your cock for me," She said. He gave it a feeble attempt, spit barely dribbling past his lips, hanging down and finding a nest in his chest hair. He tried again, missing his cock and just spraying spit on the floor. Zoey slapped his cock.

"Oh no, no, no," She said, as he attempted a third time. "Don't get it all over my lovely clean floor. Spit right onto your cock, that's it."

"That's a good boy," Zoey said, stroking his now-lubricated cock once again. "Get it all nice and wet for me..."

Michael seemed proud of himself for getting it right. The smile plastered on his face seemed genuine. Zoey laughed.

"Who's a good boy? Who is? Yes, that's right, you are!" She chuckled. "You're my good little boy, aren't you? Yes you are! Tell me bitch, do you talk to your wife? And I don't mean inane chitter chatter about groceries and who's cooking dinner, I mean do you talk to her about sex. About your relationship, about your needs and wants and desires. Maybe even hers."

When he didn't answer, she dropped her chit-chat in an instant, slapping him across the face.