The Whistleblower Pt. 07

We arrive at the place in a deserted warehouse district somewhere in New York, and I ring the buzzer on the big metal door of the address I've been given, itself apparently a warehouse. The chauffeur is still idling behind me I note, maybe a courtesy not to bust off until he sees the client safely within their destination. I've only a slight worry about being bundled in by a government 'snatch squad,' having used up most of my mental energy with more fun and games on disembarking at JFK. Having to explain my enforced sexual subjugation once again, I'd proactively picked out an official in order to explain my chastity troubles before I even bothered to line at immigration.

Eventually the heavy door opens and I realise just how thankful I am to see Jess. There'd been a thought in the back of my mind that she'd bail out and not be here, her moonlight flit the night before leaving me with the feeling like the rug could be pulled under my feet at any time.

Its funny seeing her in a completely different country though. She's as beautiful as she was yesterday for sure. Somehow even more statuesque, maybe from the crazy high killer heels she's wearing.

She looks happy too, at least initially; looking over my shoulder at the limo, a slight sadness creeps over her face.

I'm overcome with love enough to presumptuously take the side of her face in one hand, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips. She moves into it, reciprocating, but then shifts her mouth to whisper in my ear, "It's not too late to change your mind Patrick."

"This is what I want," I say on moving to look at her, eyes wide open in earnest.

"Best come in then," she says, almost solemn-like, as I hear grit spraying from car tyres moving behind me.

Flicking on some lights to better illuminate the place as we enter, the clack clack noise of the overhead strips serve as a precursor to the illumination of section after section of the workplace. Walking on into the space I note its mainly barren, with no expected rows of machinery or industrial equipment. There's the odd piece of furniture, odd as in what looks like a vault or horse from a school gym, never mind odd as in the sparsity of the items. There are some obvious standing lights, and cinematogarphy equipment too, as you'd expect for a video shoot. There's still not a great deal to look at though.

Turning to ask Jess for a rundown, I see she's thrown her trench coat over a chair while my back was turned to her. It's unveiled what I'm sure this time is a very short, shiny black latex dress with spaghetti hoop straps, over nylons; most likely pantyhose, judging by their dark, almost opaque look. Its completed by the shiny black high heels, the contrasting red soles indicating them as Louboutins. Her arms look long and lean in tight latex gloves almost going up to her shoulders. Standing before me, Jess statuesque with legs akimbo, my heart begins to flutter.

"Strip!" she commands, all business now; the Jess of a minute ago well and truly gone.

I don't hesitate, not even to move to the chair to stash my clothes, instead just removing each item and piling them haphazardly on the dirty floor, for I know her current mindset. Stripping off awkwardly down to my underwear, I realise just how cold it is in here.

"Pants too!" she admonishes.

I'm reticent now, not just for the cold and its implications for my not so showy 'showing' in the metallic device. The fact is, she's never actually seen me naked as such, other than my backside and maybe a fraction of penis hanging down between my legs, perhaps visible from behind when I was in the stocks.

I guess its just another level that must be reached in our ongoing relationship. On slowly pulling down my pants while she looks on before me, my head attempts to grip with this new embarrassment and subjugation.

Jess scrapes the wooden chair directly in front of me and sits down, legs crossed, hands on lap.

"On your knees slave!"

Obliging her and painfully getting down on the cold concrete floor, she eyes me up and down like a queen would a subject kneeling before her. Its an agonising spell, and I find it difficult to look at her. I'm unable to stop shivering too, a mixture of cold and nervous excitement.

There's maybe a glimmer of amusement in her face as she works her way down to my chastity devise, otherwise her poker face gives nothing away. No inclination of what she's thinking or intends her next act to be. Finally she rises from her seat and commands me to move, as she makes for what looks like an internal door.

Opening it and keeping it ajar behind her for me to follow, it leads immediately to steep carpeted stairs, maybe an upstairs office or caretakers apartment. Jess climbing the stairs ahead of me, I fixate on her legs and ass, her nylon covered lower butt cheeks fractionally peeking from under the latex hem of her dress. Her ass strains against the latex encasement, rounding out with each upwards step she takes, captivating me and enticing me onwards to whatever she has in store for me.

I was correct in that its apartment space above the warehouse. Not quite upwardly mobile style either. More of a $5 an hour caretaker kind of setup.

Moving towards me, she removes a key from within her cleavage. My eyes light up; the chastity key!

She easily unlocks my cock restraint, letting it fall on the floor, allowing my penis to grow slightly, free from its shackles.

"Time for another shower," she says. "I'll be waiting downstairs for you."

I flush slightly, wondering if I smell a bit ripe from my transatlantic flight and undoubted pre-cum seepage during my vivid wet dream.

Freshly (frantically that is) spruced and scrubbed, it's not too long before I descend the apartment's stairs and enter the warehouse area again.

Jess is fussing around the horse type thing I'd seen not so long ago, though on closer inspection I now see from its chains and clasps that its some kind of bondage device masquerading as a bench.

"Now Patrick," she says, moving towards me - "Now that you're all clean its time for us to have a little pre-game talk."

"You recall what I was saying to you yesterday regarding your lack of communication?" she asks, the curt commands that she's been issuing now replaced with a gentler tone, though still leaving no doubt as to who's in charge.

"Yes?," I say, admittedly not communicating beyond the affirmative.

"Well, Its time for you to do some talking, or shall we say begging."

My face wrinkles in confusion, my words coming out in questioning intonation, "Beggi -"

"Tell me what you want!" she interrupts - "Respectfully, as a good slave that is."

"I want to please you," I admit, in all honesty.

"And how do you want to please me slave?"

"I want to worship y - "

"Call me Mistress!" she interjects again, rapidly.

"I want to worship you Mistress. Please, I mean."

"And how do you want to worship me slave?"

"I want to kiss your body Mistress ... please."

Jess responds with a genuine cackle at the thought, straight out of her belly.

"I'm sure you do slave. I see you're finding it difficult to hide your desire," she chides, nodding towards my penis, more engorged than before.

Blushing, my hands subconsciously move to cover myself up, only to be admonished with a, "Nah ah!" and finger wave by Jess.

"That's the beauty of the sexual tension that we get from me being clothed and you being butt naked Patrick," Jess explains. "Right now my flesh is unattainable. And you ... well you're completely and utterly vulnerable."

She suddenly reaches forward to grab at my crotch area, causing me to flinch backwards from her advance, anticipating pain in my most sensitive parts.

'And I can take full advantage of your nakedness!" she exclaims, leaning back, accompanied by another burst of laughter.

"Very well then," says Jess, when she finally gathers herself from her amusement. Putting one shiny black stilettoed heel out in front of the other, her somewhat implied acceptance of my wish to kiss her on her specific terms is consolidated further with a finger pointed in it's direction.

Getting down on all fours before her seated position, I effectively admit defeat. Lips puckered, I take one last look upwards, just to confirm her intentions. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Placing delicate kisses first on the shiny black shoe, I'm directed upwards by her pointed finger, feeling the soft sheen of her pantyhose leg next. Higher and higher I go, but only as directed. As I near her latex covered crotch Jess stands, and turns to stick her ass out before me.

"Continue slave."

In her current position her backside is beautifully rounded out like a peach. I want to take a bite out of it so bad, but I'm more than happy to kiss it. And kiss away I do. Barely touching at times, only brushing the nylon covered skin with my lips. Otherwise the craving for her ass flesh leading me to press in against it with my lips, her cheek pushing in till my nose bends with the force against it.

I'm stopped before I get too frenzied. "That's enough pleasure for you. Are you ready for your next lesson slave?" Jess asks, turning to stand in front of me again, her latex covered crotch before my eyes, hips horizontally straining the material over it.

I'm in the zone, feeling like I could happily worship her like this forever. My now rock hard cock showing no signs of ever going back to its unaroused state. But sadly, I know what my answer must be.

"Yes mistress," - my tone disappointing, spoken directly into her latex covered crotch before my eyes,

She eyes me for a moment, a glimmer of displeasure in her eyes, but moves on.

"There's a blur between pain and pleasure in BDSM," I hear her say above me, as latex fingers are dug into my shoulders and dragged across .

"Ahhhhhh!" I gasp. Pain excruciating; bringing tears to my eyes.

I can't help but look at her now, no words, but my eyes full of 'why would you?'

"Onto the bench now!," she commands. "Belly down!"

Slowly rising, knee joints already stiff from enforced kneeling, I make my way to the bench.

I'm roughly strapped onto it by Jess; the shackles all hard, stiff leather with metal clasps.

"What about a safe word?" I ask, aware enough of the obvious safe protocol from my extensive internet viewing.

"Oh Patrick, I can almost smell your fear, ha ha!" she says, dragging the chair directly before my prone position.

"I forget this is all new to you," she says, easing my worry, though adds the caveat - "So maybe we should record it for posterity."

Apparently disregarding my concern and edging towards a mounted camera nearby -"This is your first time in a real life session after all."

"The nightclub doesn't count by the way," she points out, perhaps mistaking my very raised eyebrows for thoughts of our previous session, rather than my alarm at being captured on tape being spanked.

"Nooo," she corrects with glee. "That was nothing.'

I frantically try to look round and get a good look at the expensive looking camera equipment, which she goes behind and looks into, presumably directing at me, putting it into focus. Twisting my neck I can see lights come on, my concern increasing.

More cackles from her as she appears to note my ongoing anxiety. "Don't worry, we'll be using anonymity," before again qualifying it with - "It's better for getting you in the zone anyway; dehumanises you so to speak. I won't be Jess anymore; Jess of course would never punish you as severely as Jess' alter-ego. And you ... we'll you're just going to be the merchandise. The fuck-toy I've imported to be played with as I desire."

Dragging a large sport style kit bag into view, she rummages around, finding what looks like an exact replica of a special forces style mask. Pondering it for a moment, she tosses it aside in favour of something latex. I can't quite make out its exact features in its current tangled state, but she seems confident that its "Cold enough in here for latex. At least until we get going anyway," - then confirming its favourite status with a nod and a smile to it, as if its a trusty old friend.

"This stuff; the masks. They're great for getting into the role," she says.

It looks like some effort to get the super tight black latex mask over her head, not to mention teasing her pony tail out of a hole at the back, but once done so, the effect is impressive. Her sleek profile is perverted and obscene in its more than suggested anonymity. The depth of emotion on display from Jess minimised, it may as well be a fembot I'm now dealing with.

"These things though" - she takes some combat style boots out of the bag. "They're really good for this kind of physical stuff."

Kicking off the loboatins with a mock sigh, she unexpectedly also rolls up the hem of her short latex dress. Over her hips and pubic bone it goes, revealing the shape of her crotch and inner thighs, but nothing else due to the opaque nylon pantyhose covering. I do note with curiosity and satisfaction, a damp patch on the front. Its not caused by my kisses for sure, my lips bone dry right now.

Suddenly moving forward to my head at the front of the bench, she thrusts her ass in my face, causing me to inadvertently emit an 'Ooomph' noise. On her gripping the waistband of the garment, her thumbs gaining purchase on the thicker material, she says, "I want you to pull these off with your teeth," - looking over her shoulder down at me.

Clamping onto the waistband, I desperately try to pull her pantyhose down, eager to get my nose into her potentially unfettered ass, but my bondage frustrates me. My head can only nod down till my chin hits my neck.

"'C'mon Patrick," Jess chides. "Is that the best you can do?"

She doesn't need to tease. I want to worship her asshole, to gorge myself on it. I'm so close yet so far!

Moving forward an inch or so and wrenching the waistband out from my jaw, she tucks her fingers underneath it over both hips. Denying me the pleasure of participating; only able to watch close-up, the nylon material stretches initially, then begins to be wrenched downwards as she pulls down on it. My mouth fills with drool as I witness the clingy material requiring some pulling out over her hips, but soon giving and breaking free to descend, revealing the flesh of a perfect ass.

Releasing her grip, she then adjusts her latex dress down over hips into its normal position before stepping out of the heels and pulling the pantyhose off her ankles and feet.

Taking a thin wooden stick out of the bag, it prompts me to ask again for - "The safeword?"more urgently, this time.

"Sssshhh," she says, a finger to my lips, then taking the discarded pantyhose, stretches them over my head, pulling them down tight. Jess apparently rearranging them further, I figure the gusset is over my face, as I detect damp material with what I guess is Jess' genital's scent at my nose. The very opaque material has the effect of shading everything to the extent I can only see darky shrouded outlines.

I breathe in and out, waves of her intimate scent intoxicating me. Noises around me fade into the background; Jess rummaging around maybe. I'm not sure. I don't care. I'm in the zone.

I've lost sense of time, only the feeling of something light being placed on my back snaps me out of my dreamy state.

Now something brushing lightly against my ass! The sense of touch against my body parts now going into overdrive. Whatever it is its very sensual. Perhaps caresses? Yes, Jess caressing my backside.

The touches make me shiver, and I imagine I goose pimples are everywhere; a combination of fear with anxiety, Jess' light touches, and the cold air on my ass.

"Where's the evidence Patrick?" she says, still caressing my ass.

My head moves. Did I really hear that, or is my sensory perception playing tricks on me! Its like our first meeting all over again.

"This can be painful Patrick," she says, the tone warning-like, "or, it can be VERY painful."

I'm still trying to comprehend. Not wanting to incriminate myself, but desperate for some clarification from her.

I hear her behind me now, and what sounds like knuckles cracking together in preparation for some physical act.

There's prolonged silence, only broken when Jess says, "Oh well, lets get the torture started."

I tense my glutes in anticipation, yet the smarting pain and simultaneous audible 'THWACK!' still manage to take me by surprise, an "Oughhh!" unconsciously escaping my lips.

"C'mon Patrick, what did you expect?"

'THWACK!' - again, barely before I'd had a chance to ready myself.

What the fuck is that! Is it her hand or the cane she's hitting me with? I hear the 'Swoosh!' of a long thin object parting the air a moment in advance now, before 'THWACK!'

I'm conscious of the guttural grunts I'm forced into letting out with the strokes, turning my mind to my Da again. 'Don't let 'em see you hurting Son!' he'd say, perhaps not thinking of the context of me being caned by a dominatrix.

'THWACK! ...'

'THWACK! ...'

'THWACK! ...' - the force of which this time releases a grunt out of gritted teeth. Tears are in my eyes, held there by my pantyhose mask, clotting up my lashes and impeding my remaining sight.

Movement into my blurred vision. Thank Christ, she seems to have stopped! Steady heavy breathing as my body becomes less rigid.

Composed, hushed tones, are delivered into my ear from close-up now, the soft breath a contrast to the sharp manipulation of the air around my behind prior to the administration of her punishing strokes - "Did you really think this was a typical boy meets girl story...?"

No response from me. Just my chest heaving against the bench under me, and the increasing thud of my heart in anticipation of further punishment as she moves out of sight again.

A moment's silence. My head moves, unsure of what's happening.

'THWAACK!' - "Uggghhhh!"

"Cos this is more of your typical sub-boy meets pro-dominatrix trained government operative in honey-trap sting kind of story!" she exclaims louder from behind, the apparent humour not benefitting me from my perspective.

"And did you really think there was going to be some kind of sting in the tail where we live happily ever after in a fem-dom relationship? The only sting here is on your ass."

TWACKK!! THWACKK! THWACK!!

Rigid. Anticipating more punishment. The wait agonising. Maybe some respite?

Flinching at her touch on my backside, it turns out to be a gentle massage, though any touch painful now.

"Just look at the colour in your cheeks. Beautiful!," she remarks - the curious delight in her voice obvious.

There's another painfully long pause in proceedings, the waiting for something to happen only adding to the punishment. Temporarily free from my beating though, I'm able to concentrate on the sounds around me: The clump of Jess' boots on the concrete floor, and rustling noises. Through the almost fully opaque hood I see outline of her figure squatting by what I presume is the kitbag. The figure stands, but only to sit on the stool again. Still in motion, doing something, or putting on something, with added sounds of maybe something light and maybe metal brushing against the concrete? Its ultimately guesswork, the end result being overwhelming disorientation.

The shape stands, and I'm temporarily blinded by the sharp artificial light as my pantyhose hood is ripped upwards. I struggle to squint as the tight nylon gathers around my forehead, stretching my facial features like some kind of Hamptons socialite. I know she's standing before me. Fully opening my eyes I find I'm facing her crotch again.

Pulling the pantyhose fully off my head, she wraps the nylon material around my neck - tightly - using the legs as a double leash. Its not asphyxiating as such, but I'm still minded of Katie's theory on the subject.