The Super

I have put this story in the Fetish section as that is the category where I have most often placed most of my most recent stories. But those looking for heavy or intense fetish action should probably search elsewhere. This is primarily a story of character's emotions and struggles, with fetish, D/s and Femdom overtones. If this might be of interest, then I do ask and invite you to read on.

*****

"Lick harder worm. I want my boots gleaming from top to bottom."

In this case that meant from their pointed toes, around the five inch stiletto heels up to just below her knees. The words were spoken softly but with steel within.

"Yes, of course Mistress." The naked man prone on his belly responded obsequiously as he began to lap more vigorously.

Ashley sat regally on her 'throne' in the far corner of the small but well appointed soundproofed dungeon that she co-owned and shared with three other Dommes in the large office suite they rented on the third floor of a commercial building located in an upscale business district of the city. The building also housed a fitness club, a nail salon and a Starbucks on the first floor, all three of which she made use of at various times over the years going to and from work. She was now in her mid thirties and had been in the profession for over ten years, the first five of which had been spent as an employee learning her trade in one of the larger establishments in the city, before branching out on her own with the other three. They were all independent contractors but it did help to share expenses and cross cover for each other on those rare occasions when such was needed. They each had their own agreed upon time slots for their exclusive use of the work place, and she had a full client book. It had proved to be a very lucrative business, but except for providing for the barest of her necessities she was saving and investing most of her earnings for the not so distant future. She had no interest, intention or desire of becoming an ongoing middle aged 'Madam' in the field. She wanted so much more.

As her current customer remained prostrate and groveling before her on the floor, slavishly laving the now glistening black leather of her boots, she wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like instead to have someone's soft lips reverently caressing her bare toes and feet, not in degradation as now, but in adulation and adoration. That would never happen in these circumstances. No client was ever allowed to touch her bare skin, and never even to come in contact with any other part of her clothed body above her knees. And any sexual activity during a session was also always completely off limits, and not only to stay on the right side of legality. What her clients did after they left was of no concern to her, although she had little doubt of what that might be.

She had always had a dominant personality. Indeed, she couldn't be successful in this occupation without it. And she had also developed an unyielding and yearning desire to be in total control and command of any potential intimate relationship where the primary and paramount focus would always have to be to her wants and needs. With someone who would give himself up and devote himself totally to her pleasure and happiness, although she would care for and cherish such a person fully in return. Though she fully knew that this was as much of a fantasy as that played out by her clients in their own sessions, it did not stop it from being her dream.

And she also knew that her work was actually a perverse parody of her innate desires. She was never truly in charge. The customers set the parameters, outlines and the limits. She was only the tactician within those boundaries and they were always the strategists, and it was always for their gratification and pleasure, never for hers. It was a way to make a living, but not the way she wanted to live.

She shook herself out of this reverie and looked down to inspect her 'artwork' of criss crossing long angry stripes on the buttocks of the man below her, which had been produced by her cane, the implement he had specifically 'requested'. She imagined that he would probably have difficulty sitting over the next several days, but his savoring of that after was most likely part of the allure for him. She didn't particularly care for or enjoy administering physical 'punishment', but would do so up to a certain level for favored clients. She much preferred using mental persuasions to exert her dominance and invite submission. The more purely pain patrons she would usually refer to one of the other three, most often Amanda who had an especial predilection and talent in that area.

It was time for this session to come to an end. With her free foot she shoved the still slurping man away.

"Enough" she said sharply. "I need to see how well you've done."

Now came the never to be neglected aftercare. For some it required soothing and reassurance, others needed praise or at least acceptance of their performance, and a few even craved further stinging rebukes and verbal abuse. For all though it was vitally important, not only to ensure future appointments, but also because she truly cared for the well being of their psyches. It took a great deal of intuition, experience, and often some trial and error to find what was needed in each individual case, and she never skimped on the effort.

For this one she felt that she knew just how to proceed. With exacting deliberation, she minutely examined the results of his labors as he knelt and cowered below, awaiting her appraisal.

"Hardly adequate" she finally pronounced. "it's obvious that you need a great deal of further training to even become barely satisfactory," she continued, "and perhaps even requiring some more rigorous inducements" she added, lightly tapping the cane in her gloved hand. She sighed. "I'm not really sure that it's even worth my time and effort anymore."

"Oh please Mistress, please" the man cried out. "Please don't get rid of me. Please give me another chance. I'll work harder than ever, I swear. Please, please let me come back."

After several very long moments she sighed again. "Well, I do think that you really do try, no matter how pathetic your efforts are. And for some reason, why I don't know, I've developed a bit of a soft spot for you. So, against my better judgement I'll give you another go. Let's say a month from next Monday."

"Thank you, Mistress, thank you" he sniveled. "But could it be in any way sooner than that. I really do want to improve my service to you as fast as I can."

She frowned. "Well, taking the time to rearrange my schedule would require some extra tribute."

"Anything Mistress, please."

She knew that certainly wouldn't be the case for him once reaching the real outside world, but an extra hundred would more than likely be acceptable, and he probably would expect it to be more so he would be grateful when it only came to that.

"Okay then, we'll make it three weeks from today at 5 o'clock."

"Thank you, Mistress. I won't disappoint you again." He bent forward to once again kiss the tip of her boot.

"Stop slobbering over the mess you've already made on my boot' she commanded.

"Yes, Mistress, forgive me please" he whined

"We're done here today. See my man out front to make arrangements and to settle today's accounts."

"Yes of course, Mistress, and thank you again." And with that he crawled to the door and out.

Her man outside was Don, who alternated shifts with Steve, both of whom the Four had employed to handle all of the out-front logistics of the studio, collect the 'tributes', and as importantly, to provide the muscle and protection for those very rare occurrences when a client might get out of hand. They were reliable, honest, and very well paid by the Four.

Ashley herself made her way into their large changing room, the clients had their own smaller one. She found that Marcie was already there getting ready for her own allotted four hour work time. Next to her on the dressing table were a number of items, a butt plug with a long equine appearing tail at its end, a rubber bit with reins attached, a pair of sturdy boots with hooves wrapped around the end, and finally, a riding crop. In the mirror Marcie saw Ashly glance down at them.

"My first one tonight is into pony play" she smirked. "I intend to get him up to a full gallop."

"I'm sure you will." Ashly answered, somewhat absently.

"You can bet his sweet ass I will" she laughed.

It had been a long afternoon, and Ashley was so very tired. It was time to go home and away from the games.

If there was one indulgence that she had recently allowed herself from the very strict savings program which she had enforced upon herself, it was to finally move from the small, almost spartan, one bedroom, ground floor apartment that she had been living in from the very time she had started in the business. Three months earlier she had moved into a far more spacious apartment in a much nicer neighborhood. Though still only one bedroom, the entire apartment was well more than twice the size and almost three times the rent. It was on the tenth and top floor of a fashionable building, with a large living room that afforded a very nice view of the massive park across the street. Her ample bedroom had a goodly sized walk in closet, and a luxurious bathroom next to it. There was a full kitchen and a small separate dining room, but although her now deceased mother had made sure that she knew how to cook when she was growing up, she very rarely did so anymore. She just didn't see the point to expend that time and effort. She much preferred taking most of her meals out, although usually at very inexpensive places. Still, her new place was already feeling very much like a home where she could get away from it all.

After her Uber dropped her off for a quick dinner at the delightful pub she had discovered about two blocks from her apartment, she finally made her way up to and into her new found refuge. She plopped down comfortably into one of her overstuffed easy chairs, relaxing for the first time the entire day. She was quickly brought out of this reverie by the sound of running water from her bathroom toilet which could be heard even in the living room. This had been happening on and off regularly and with increasing frequency over the past week and it was becoming quite bothersome, but she hadn't had to time recently to do anything about it. She remembered now that one of her new neighbors who had taken the time to welcome her to the floor early on, had mentioned that the super for the building had his own apartment in the basement and was always very helpful and accommodating. "He has no choice, really" she had added somewhat snidely and enigmatically. Ashley decided to put in a call to him now to see if she could get it fixed, hopefully over her upcoming free weekend. She perused through the packet of information that the landlord had given her, found the super's number, and called.

"Zeke here" came the unexpectantly vibrant voice on the other end.

"Uh ... Excuse me, but is this the super of the building?"

"It is. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Um, yes, well, this is Ashley Cooper. I'm a recent tenant in Apartment Ten 01."

"Oh yes, I remember, you moved in about three months ago."

"Yes" she answered, a bit surprised that he would know that, but he was the building super after all so he would likely have to know about those things. Best to get back to business. "Well, anyway, the toilet in my bathroom has been running on and off incessantly the past week."

"I'm sure that has to be really annoying" he replied.

Was he making fun of her?

"Yes. It is" she responded sharply.

"I can come up right away if it's convenient for you."

That was also unexpected. It was late and she was tired. Still ...

"Yes, well, okay."

"I'll be up in a jif" he promised.

Not five minutes later her doorbell rang. She opened the door and there he was, toolbox in hand. He was slightly taller than her and she guessed about her same age. To say that he was not a handsome man would be a gross understatement. He had a broad nose, bent as if it had been broken, possibly more than once. He had oversized ears which jutted out unevenly, a seemingly full set of teeth which, while reasonably white, were noticeably crooked, and a prominent jaw which in someone else might have been called strong but in him only served to make his features appear even more coarse. To call him homely would probably be a compliment, hardly offset by a well built if somewhat stocky physique.

He stood there as if he not only expected but accepted this instant appraisal, like it was old news and of little matter. His lips twitched upwards at the corners.

"Hi, I'm Zeke, the super. You called about a bathroom problem?"

Was he making a joke about this? Again?

"May I come in Ma'am?"

Perhaps not. She decided to take things at face value, however unpleasant his might be in this particular case.

"Yes, please do" she relented. "The bathroom is down the hall next to my bedroom" she directed.

"I know" he said. "Let me go down and take a look and see if I can make things right."

For the next thirty minutes or so, as she sat in the living room, she heard him tinkering away. He finally reemerged.

"It was just a few worn out gaskets which I replaced that should take care of the problem. I also fixed the drip in your shower head and tightened up the hinge on your vanity door so that it closes fully now."

She had noted the latter two problems before but had forgotten about them.

"That was very good of you" she offered

"I do aim to please" he responded.

"Well, thank you, then ... Zack."

He smiled and she had to admit that despite the rest it was a very nice smile.

"It's Zeke" he said. "Short for Ezekiel, but no one has ever bothered to call me that."

"Zeke it is then."

"As you will." He smiled again.

"Yes. Indeed." She replied. And then smiled back. "My name is Ashley by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Ashley."

She hadn't anticipated an honorific, but he was an employee of the building so to speak, and she was a paying tenant, so it was probably just respectful, but she found that she rather enjoyed hearing such outside of her workplace for a change.

"If you have any further problems, please feel free to give me a call any time" he added as he took his leave.

"I will, you can be sure" she answered as he left.

***************

Over the next several weeks Ashley found that her work was starting to be more and more of a chore, and that she was becoming increasingly frustrated with the ongoing charade of power there. All of her customers were getting everything that they wanted while she had to constantly pretend and act as if she was the only one doing so. She couldn't help but feel that it was a mockery of who she was and what she really wanted to be. It all came to a head at the end of her last session one Friday evening. It had been a particularly grueling one and had even pushed her somewhat beyond her comfort zone. As it was finishing the client had complained that her heart hadn't seemed to be in it. It was fortunate that he was one of those few who preferred further abuse in his aftercare, as her waspish response was far more genuine than play acting, and he ended up getting more than his money's worth.

On her ride home in the Uber though his words continued to sting, and she continued to seethe. As she was dropped off at her now favorite pub and sat down in one of the booths, she realized that she was no longer hungry and so just ordered a shot and a beer. And then another shot and a beer.

So, he hadn't thought that her heart had been it. Well, they weren't paying for her heart. They were paying for her mind. And her expertise. Her heart was her own. And not for sale.

Another shot and a beer.

She had never had any significant relationships, and had hardly ever even dated, certainly never after starting in the profession. She had always known that her dominant nature would drive away quickly any prospective paramours, and those whom it didn't would only want to use her to meet their own needs. And she got paid and paid well for that, so why ever offer it otherwise.

Another shot and a beer.

Over the years she had created in her mind a fantasy man, someone who would take care of her every want, need, and whim, who would devote himself solely to her pleasure, with never a thought to his own. Unless that itself pleased her as well. Which if he was good, so very, very good as she knew he would always be, might often be so.

She thought about his fingers, his lips and most especially his tongue, as it would roam and search the length and breath of her body, sending shivers throughout, which would then become tremors as she would guide him down to her promised land, where she would open herself up for him to ardently stoke her building fire within. As she would approach the brink she would then be ready for his most impressive tool, standing ever erect and straining obediently to serve, so magnificent as the rest of him would have to be. At her urgent bidding he would plunge himself deeply inside her, again and again, driving her to unimaginable heights, until she would crest over the top in exhilaration, exulting as well in the full knowledge that it was ever and only her decision to grant or deny him his own ultimate reward.

Another shot and a beer.

She knew of course that such a man could never exist, but she knew as well that she would never accept any other. And so, she would go home every night to her haven, and her heart would always remain her own, alone.

After several more shots and beers she finally felt that her anger and frustration had sufficiently dulled, until the waiter who had been serving her came over and offered to call her a cab to take her home. She looked up at him indignantly, and said that she only lived two blocks away, and that she was fine, and that she didn't need anyone's help in anything. She then fumbled a bit with her wallet, took out two large bills which more than covered her evening's consumption as well as an over generous tip, and left them on the table as she stood up to leave. Willing herself to walk in a straight line to show everyone that she was still in control, it wasn't until she was out the front door that she realized that it was pouring rain, and that she didn't have an umbrella. She momentarily considered returning inside and taking up the offer of a cab, but rejected it as a sign of weakness, especially after the performance she had just put on. Maybe the rain would help to sober her up, she concluded.

By the time she staggered up to the front of her building she was thoroughly drenched. At first she couldn't remember the four digit code of the security lock on the main entrance door, and when she did, it took her multiple attempts to tap in the right sequence. Once inside she slowly made her way over and into the elevator, pressing the buttons for three other stops before finding the one for her own tenth floor. This made the trip up much longer and the multiple stops and starts only worsened the roiling now going on in her stomach. Her journey finally ended at her own front door. After a prolonged search in her purse to find her key, she couldn't then successfully get it into the lock of the door. Her vision began to blur even more and she was finding it harder and harder to stand, so she slid down to sit with her back holding her up against the wall.

Around the corner in another wing of the floor the super had just finished fixing a defective hall light that had been reported earlier in the evening. As he made his way around to take the elevator back down, he saw her slumped on the floor by her door. Heart thumping, he rushed over.