The Nightingale Agency Pt. 07

The clock on the dash of her SUV reads 8:51 am. Eve glances down the street towards Jonathan's house, seeing just a few cars remaining in their driveways. Most of the people who go to church on Sundays would have left by now, and the few remaining sinners seem to still be asleep. She finds herself staring off into the distance, contemplating her feelings. She doesn't need this—any of it. She could quit tomorrow and spend the rest of her life as a hermit, easily able to support herself. Perhaps she should just get rid of her clients and solely get her fix from the club on Fridays and Saturdays. And, perhaps, from Octavian as well...when he wants her.

Domination and submission has been her life, consumed almost every waking moment of her existence since college, since she met Paul. It is possible that she went overboard after he passed, possible that something within her snapped. Eve wonders if she is doing all of this simply to remain close to him, despite the fact that he is never coming back. She recalls his handsome face, his brilliant smile, choosing to remember him from before the cancer—before he spent months wasting away, before she took care of him because he was too feeble, too weak to do it himself.

Eve shakes her head, pushing those thoughts from her mind when her eyes begin to burn. Fuck it—fuck all of it, she thinks. She needs to move on, to find her own way and stop dredging up the last remaining connection to him. Nodding, she decides that she is done. One by one she will prune her clients until she has no more. Then she can figure out what the hell to do with her life. She will start with the newest, working back to the oldest, which means that Jonathan must go first.

The clock reads 8:57 am. Eve opens her door, grabbing her purse, briefcase bag, and the newly packed sub bag of Jonathan's. Might as well use some of it to push him over the edge.

Being Sunday, she tried not to dress too much like a slut, not that it matters much to her either way. Her dark hair is swept into victory rolls, the length of it pulled back into a high ponytail by a bright yellow scarf. Her matching yellow dress has thick straps, a tight fitting bodice and a flowing puffy skirt that extends to her knees, a very 50's feel. Her matching yellow high heels click on the pavement as she walks down the side walk.

As if he operates on a schedule, the old man two houses down from Jonathan stands in his yard, watering his roses. Looking up at Eve, he offers a smile, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Returning his smile, she nods and replies, but keeps walking, "Yes, it sure is lovely out."

She lets herself into the gate, heels clicking up the steps. Reaching out to push the doorbell, her finger barely touches it before the door opens.

Jonathan stands behind it, peeking his head out, "Hello, Eve. Please, come in."

She wastes no time entering the house; when the door shuts and she turns around, she is somewhat surprised to find Jonathan naked, just as she asked. Simply nodding, she walks across to the living room, he scurrying behind her.

Eve drops her bag next to the plush, black chair. Carefully, she maneuvers the coffee table out of the way and towards the fireplace; then, she stands and points to the ground in front of her, "Kneel," she snaps.

Shocked, Jonathan walks over and lowers his large frame down to his knees. Without a word, Eve walks away and begins inspecting the house. She starts with the bedroom. It is clean, his bed made, floor vacuumed and the air smells fresh as if he took the time to open the windows and light a candle earlier. She opens his dresser drawers, finding neat little stacks of folded clothing, matched socks and even folded briefs. In the closet she discovers an army of perfectly hanging pants and shirts, as well as hampers with dirty clothes divided properly. His desk is free of all debris and appears to have been polished as well. Flicking the mouse to wake the computer up, she quickly checks his browser history and activity, discovering only a few random searches in regards to cleaning and a program he used to balance his checkbook.

Eve moves to check both bathrooms, finding each one scrubbed to perfection and smelling of freshly laundered towels. Her heels click across the wooden floors as she peeks into a few closets before heading to the kitchen. All of his cupboards are neatly organized; his freezer is stocked only with chicken and turkey, some frozen fruits and vegetables. His fridge is perfectly arranged and it only takes her a brief glance to discover that he has alphabetized the condiments in the door. She peeks into his trash can to discern that he was honest with his breakfast message.

Despite that he has proven his capabilities, it brings a frown to her face. He truly is making an effort, but she is still determined to get him to break their contract.

Eve returns back to the living room, standing before him with her legs slightly spread, arms crossed over her chest. She taps her finger on her elbow, trying to think.

Jonathan watches her curiously, "Did I do something you disapprove of? I made sure to keep everything clean and organized, just as you said."

Eve lets a smile slowly grow on her lips, "This is all untoward, Jonathan. You see, normally I ease into client relationships, take my time to get to know a person before I...well, regardless, normally a client doesn't disobey me within the first twenty-four hours. The contract you signed essentially means that I own you. I own your body, I own your mind and I own your soul. You are to do as I instruct and should you disobey, you will be punished at my whim. Now, I want you to keep in mind that the contract also states that anything I choose to do will never leave any lasting harm to your body—i.e., I will not physically maim you, disfigure you or scar you. It also says that at any point, if you are overwhelmed, you may bow out," she pauses, watching his brows furrow while he wonders where she is headed with this, "Abracadabra. Say it."

"Abra...cadabra..." Jonathan repeats, confused.

She uncrosses her arms, letting them rest on her hips, "That is the magic word. If you want me to stop, you say that word. But take care, Jonathan, because once you utter those syllables, not only will I stop, I will leave and never return. You say the magic word and you void our contract," Eve leans over, her face hovering inches from his, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Eve, I understand," he says somewhat exasperatedly.

Smiling, she whispers, "Good."

Then, without warning, she slaps him across his face, hard enough that he has to throw his hand out to prevent his body from falling over. Angry, he looks up at her, but she just stands there, with a wicked smile.

"From this point forward, you will only address me by my title...to you, I am your Mistress."

Jonathan's eyes widen, his hand resting on his cheek where she slapped him. He can't tear his eyes from her as she unbuttons the straps of her dress. Reaching underneath her left arm, she pulls down the zipper. The yellow fabric flutters down to the floor. She stands before him, mostly bare, though she has a sheer beige body slip on underneath her black corset. The garter straps extend down to her white mid thigh hose. She doesn't wear a bra or panties, the sheer slip doing little to cover her flesh underneath.

She turns around and bends over, opening her sub bag while providing him a full view of her perfectly round ass. When she faces him again, a two foot riding crop rests in her fingers; with her thumbs extended underneath it she flexes the whip, thoroughly enjoying the shock on his face. His eyes slowly study her body and finally meet her gaze; she raises her eyebrow, "Now, Jonathan, I am extremely disappointed in you. Your actions from Friday tell me that perhaps I made a mistake in taking you on as a client, so...why don't we see if I can get you to say the magic word."

Eve slowly strolls beside him, until she is directly behind him. She flicks the whip through the air, the sound causing Jonathan to wince. Even though she wants to hear him cancel their contract, she can't bring herself to be completely cruel, and therefore lands the first lash on his back using half strength, as she would for any new sub. Jonathan draws in a sharp breath when the leather contacts his bare skin.

"I want you to count out loud, Jonathan. That was 'one.'"

Eve brings the whip down again, hearing Jonathan's soft count. By ten, she is using her full strength. She circles him, relentlessly landing the crop everywhere—his chest, his stomach, the tops, sides and backs of his thighs, his ass, his lower back, his upper back. With each lash, Eve starts to feel her anger dissipate, slowly replaced by a renewed wonder. When she reaches forty, she stops, standing behind him. A frown grows on her face. She didn't think that he would make it past fifteen.

Eve rounds him to his front, dropping her eyes down to see a full blown erection. Jonathan chest heaves up and down as he pants silently, red crop marks now turning into welts. She bends down, using the handle of the whip to force his chin up so that he looks at her, "It seems I have underestimated you, and just how much enjoyment you'd get from this punishment." She makes sure he sees her eyes look down at his fully engorged cock.

If he could have turned redder, he might have. Releasing him, she sits down in the arm chair, delicately crossing her legs as she watches him timidly squirm beneath her gaze.

He opens his mouth, "Are..." then, he pauses. To Eve's surprise, he asks, "May I ask a question...Mistress?" The words are foreign on his tongue.

Tilting her head, Eve replies, "Yes, you may."

Jonathan clears his throat, "Are...are you a dominatrix?"

The word makes her smile. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, causing her tits to push forward, "I am many things, Jonathan. Until you say the word, I will be the reason why you get up in the morning, and the last thought on your mind at night. I will be the thing that causes your focus to wander at work, the chill that creeps down your spine, and if you last long enough, I will become your very reason for breathing." Her sultry voice is low and quiet, almost threatening.

He shudders, closing his eyes briefly. His cock bobs up and down from the pulsing of his blood. Eve's eyes wander over him, drinking him in. She reaches into her briefcase, pulling out her notepad, a pen and her measuring tape. When his eyes open, she tosses the tape on the floor in front of him, "Measure yourself. Chest first."

Eve scribbles down the numbers in her notepad as he quietly relays them, no doubt embarrassed by them, though he doesn't even know what they should be. He asks for her permission to stand when it comes time to measure his thighs and calves; she grants it.

"Weigh yourself," she waves him off without looking up from her notebook. Once he has disappeared, she lets out a long slow breath. This is not how she anticipated the morning going; in fact she had fully thought she would be home by now. Reluctantly, she admits to herself that his resolve is impressive. Never has she pushed an oblivious person so far so quickly and gotten such a positive response. Doodling on the corner of the notebook, she isn't entirely sure now that she wants to get rid of him.

"Two hundred fifty-five," he says softly, appearing in front of her. Quickly adding, "Mistress," at the end, before he lowers himself down to his knees. He starts to wind up the measuring tape, when she stops him.

"I need one more measurement. Length and girth, when erect," she stares into his eyes, enjoying his discomfort.

Embarrassed, he looks down, trying to see his penis past his belly, "But...I'm not...hard. Mistress."

She waits until he looks back up before saying, "Then grab it and get to it."

By now, his ears are starting to blush bright red beneath his disheveled blonde hair. He can't bring himself to look at her, so he drops his gaze to the ground as he wraps his hand around the center of his cock. Pushing his fist forward, he slides the uncircumcised skin over the tip before pulling it all the way down to the base. Stroking a few more times, it seems to have no effect on his dick as he is too embarrassed.

Eve leans back in the chair, uncrossing her legs and spreading them slightly. Jonathan naturally looks up at the movement and soon finds his eyes glued to her bald, wet pussy lips. Barely six strokes later, his dick is as hard as a rock. He draws in a deep breath, wanting to continue but forces himself to stop. It is awkward for him to measure it, as he never has before, but does so anyways.

"Eight and a quarter long by...five and a half around. Mistress." Embarrassed, he starts rolling up the tape. Not sure what to do with it, he sets it down on the ground in front of him.

Crossing her legs again, Eve jots down the numbers, impressed. He still won't look at her when she speaks, "What are your opinions about your penis?"

He finds the question odd. It takes him a few moments, but all he does is shrug.

She snorts, "You have no opinion at all, about your dick? Have you ever used it before?"

"Obviously," he snaps, before hunching his shoulders over, "I mean, yes I have had sex, Mistress."

"Did she enjoy it?"

He shakes his head.

"Why?"

Closing his eyes, he feels like he is being knocked down even further, "She said that I never did it right, because it always hurt. Seems to be a common theme. Mistress."

The slow smile grows on her lips. When the silence is thick, he finally looks up to see her eyeing him curiously, "Are you...ashamed by that?"

"Well, yes...Mistress," he reluctantly admits, "it is just another aspect of my life that I fail at."

This elicits a laugh from her, but when he looks mortified she shakes her head and closes her eyes, "Jonathan, the reason why it hurt wasn't because of your inability to perform adequately, it was...because you didn't turn the women on right. I am sure your performance skills are just fine, but if you aren't able to get a woman's pussy dripping wet, you will hurt them. Because your dick is rather large."

He looks at her as if he didn't expect it, "I never...it seems small compared to the pornos...Mistress."

Still shaking her head she looks back at him, "Those that produce porn profit from it, so obviously they have to be within a specialized group where bigger is better. But when it comes to everyday, mundane life, your dick is probably the biggest one that the cunts of your ex-girlfriends will ever feel. Their sex lives, from here on out, while probably less painful, will never be as satisfying as being impaled by that log between your legs. So stick that feather in your hat and wear it proudly."

Jonathan stares at her, almost thankfully. Eve doesn't mind the eye contact—though it is something that she should discourage and perhaps punish him for, it turns her on to watch such a newly created sub call her 'Mistress.' She enjoys leaving a bad habit or two within each of her subs, so that if they ever find a new Dom it will give them something to work on.

"Would you like to see what I brought in my bag, Jonathan?"

"Yes, Mistress," he says reluctantly.

Eve drags the bag in front of her, explaining as she unzips the top, "For each of my clients, I have a separate bag with a separate set of tools. This, is your bag. These tools will only be used on you...or in you..." she trails off. Next to the crop on the floor, she sets the cattail whip, a ball gag, two pairs of fur lined leather shackles, a bundle of rope, a leather cock ring with snaps, in order a small, medium and large butt plug, and finally a large dildo, roughly the size of his own dick. She looks up, seeing his eyes wide, "I might not necessarily use all of these at once. I might not use them today, or Wednesday, or next week, or next month...but I guarantee you, that I can, and will, use all of them at some point. Oh, and these," she says, pulling out a pair of nipple clamps strung together with an eighteen inch chain, dangling it from her finger, "Do you know what these are?"

His wide eyes look at the clamps, and he swallows hard, "No? Mistress?"

"Mmm," she purrs, pinching one of the clamps between her fingers, "these are clamps. They can be put pretty much anywhere...tongue, balls, raw skin, but more often than not I use them on nipples."

She can see that his breathing quickens, his dick jumping at random intervals. Eve rests the chain over her knee so that she can free her hands to undo the snaps at the top of her body slip. Sliding her right hand under her left breast, she frees it from its confines before repeating with the other side. The entire time she keeps her eyes on him, but his eyes are glued to her tits.

"Since you don't know what they are, I shall have to show you how they are used. You pinch here with your thumb and fore finger to open the clamp," cradling her left breast, she brings the clamp over her nipple and slowly releases the tension, clamping it down until it hangs freely from her breast. Eve draws in a sharp breath at the pain, but it causes her nipples to firm up even harder with excitement. She repeats the process to the other nipple. Hooking her thumb through the chain, she holds it out slightly, tugging, which causes her breasts to bounce.

Jonathan's dick is so hard it has begun to turn purple. He meets her gaze when she speaks, "Do you like my tits, Jonathan?"

"Yes, Mistress," he manages to choke out.

"Mmm, me too. However, I like them a lot more when a mouth pays them some attention..." she ignores his groan, continuing, "now, there are a few rules. For you, mainly, as I can do whatever I want. You do not touch anything—not yourself, and not me—without permission. You will do as I tell you to, or you will be punished accordingly...and while it seems you enjoyed being whipped, you will not always enjoy my other punishments. If you behave, I may allow you to service me. I do love having my nipples sucked and my pussy licked," she adds, pleased that her statements cause him great discomfort when he almost whimpers, "but you will never be given permission to penetrate me, with anything. Not your dick, not your fingers, not your tongue, not even with a dildo—do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," he barely breathes, completely entrapped by her.

"Good," she says. She uncrosses her legs again, slightly draping one over the arm to fully expose her wet pussy, "Now grab your dick and jack off for me."

There is no hesitation from Jonathan when he immediately takes a hold of his cock and begins stroking his hand back and forth over it. His eyes wander over her body, the bare exposed flesh, her dripping wet pussy, her hand as she occasionally tugs on the clamp chain. He makes it as far up as her sultry, thick lips but doesn't dare let himself look into her eyes, because he knows that she is watching him masturbate. It doesn't take very long, not with the magnificent display before him. He can feel his ass cheeks clench, his balls begin to suck up against his dick. He is only a few strokes away, before he stops, hand shaking as it clenches over his cock. Looking up, he finally meets her gaze, "Mistress," he whispers, "Can...I..." his panting and embarrassment cause the words to get caught in his throat.

She can't help the smile that crosses her lips, completely surprised at the natural submissive within the man as he begs for permission. Eve tugs on the chain, knowing he enjoys it, "Yes. Cum for your Mistress."

With a relieved groan, he keeps his eyes locked on hers as he pumps his fist a few more times before crying out with a powerful orgasm; thick jets of his syrup fly from the tip. His legs shake and he falls forward, supporting himself with one arm while continuing to stroke his dick with the other, milking the last of the aging cum that has been building up in his balls.