Yes, Mistress

I expect this story to disappoint you. It describes a male submissive ending his relationship with a female dominant.

*

"George wants to see you again this weekend." She said it quite casually while Bobby poured her more coffee over breakfast Wednesday.

His immediate impulse was to start shouting and pour hot coffee in her lap. He was better trained than that. She saw no reaction from him at all-and she was watching for one. He gave her no signal of just how upsetting her simple statement had been. He finished pouring her coffee, topped up his own and returned the coffee pot to the warmer before resuming his seat.

Now she acknowledged his silence was a response. "Tell me." Her voice was commanding, the voice of his Mistress.

Bobby finished sipping his coffee, put down the cup, and turned to look her in the eye. "No."

"I thought you had become obedient enough to answer a question. Tell me."

"I am telling you no, I will not pay another visit to George."

"Going to serve others I select is part of your submission to me."

"I thought you had enough honor to keep promises. You promised I wouldn't have to go to George again."

She tried to look innocent, but Bobby saw she knew what he meant. "Oh? I don't remember you saying anything."

He turned back to his breakfast plate, taking another bite of the omelet he'd prepared. She waited, he ignored her. She took bites herself. After a few minutes she put her fork down with an impatient clatter.

"You owe me more than silence."

Bobby put his fork down more slowly. "The last thing I did at George's house was vomit on his living room carpet. Why would he want to see me again?"

"He thinks you deserve another chance."

"You recall me telling you George was abusive." This was a statement, not a question. "You sent me saying he wanted a blowjob and that I needed to get over being afraid of cocks. I didn't give him a blowjob, he skull-fucked me, choking me with his cock. I vomited because he gagged me."

"You need to learn to deep throat."

Bobby shook his head. "You've taught me how to deep throat, and you've seen me do it, on dildos as well as on your friend Martin. George wasn't interested in being deep-throated, he was interested in being rough, humiliating. It's no wonder he wants a submissive to suck him off, no one would consent to it."

He shook his head. "I do not consent to it."

She frowned. "George didn't describe it that way at all. He thinks you have promise, as do I." She took her napkin from her lap, dabbed her mouth and dropped it beside her plate. Rising, she said, "George wants you Friday late afternoon through Sunday morning. I told him I wanted you back here before noon Sunday." She glared at him. "That is final."

"Do I recall you will be in your office Friday, Mistress?"

"Yes, I'll be in a meeting all afternoon."

Bobby nodded. "I'll be gone before you return home."

Early Friday evening, Bobby was in his car, eastbound on Interstate 40. He heard her ringtone on his mobile and answered. "It's too late."

"Where are you? George says you didn't show. You must also explain why your room is a mess."

"I'm most of the way to San Francisco." He said no more, wanting the short answer to exasperate her.

"George isn't in San Francisco, stupid, he's here in Riverside."

"Mistress, why did you send me to other women?"

"To get more experience. To learn to serve more kinds of women. More kinds of people, you also had to get over men taking you." There was frustration in her voice. "I told you that."

"Francine commented that I was well worth $100 for two hours."

It took her a while to answer. Finally, she was getting flustered. "So?"

"So I started asking all of them what they were paying. Most were paying $100 for two hours, even though many were were done after just an hour."

She sighed. "You were doing nothing to pay for the cost of keeping you. I saw a way to have you carry your weight, financially."

"George complained I was damned expensive. He said it as soon as I came into his house. $500 for the hour, he said."

"So?"

"You clearly knew he was trouble. Further, he knew he was trouble. No guy just wanting a blowjob pays $500."

"You know nothing."

"Staying with him for the weekend has to be a lot more, right? At $500 an hour, we're talking something like $20,000."

"Make your point."

"I'm not going to let him take from me what he thinks thousands are worth. No."

She sighed. "Okay, just come home. I'll work something out with George."

"I'm going home. My home isn't in Riverside."

"Get your ass back here."

"No. It seems to me we're at the part about the dominant starting to lose interest. You've farmed me out to women, some just wanted a boy to go down on them, some wanted to spank me before I fucked them, some after. Margot wanted only to spank me, you remember I came back to your house unwilling to sit down."

"I told you, I want you to be accustomed to more people."

"I'm accustomed. I'm also not coming back."

"You should have told me. We could have worked something."

He gave himself a pause to calm down. He had no reason to get emotional, after all, he intended to never see her again. "You chose to not hear me tell you on Wednesday. In response, I told you I'd be gone before you returned Friday. I did what I told you, I'm gone. I am out of your house."

"You're not out, you left a lot of stuff. It's a mess on the floor in there, you didn't have to tear the place apart."

He'd emptied ever dresser drawer, every closet shelf onto the bed, then the bedroom floor. "I had a hard time finding the clothes that were mine when I lived alone, a year ago. It was amazing how much crap you bought me, and it was amazing how much of it I'm not willing to wear. You were dressing me up as medium-priced gigolo. It turns out, Cynthia, I was a medium-priced gigolo." He used her first name deliberately, setting their relationship back to eight months earlier when she'd insisted he call her Mistress. That was right after she'd started spanking him regularly.

"I'm going home, to San Francisco."

That wasn't where he was going, but he felt the need to mislead her in case she wanted to hunt for him. Chicago was home, he was going to pick up I-44 in Oklahoma and I-57 at St. Louis.

"Goodbye, Cynthia."

The first time he stopped for gas, outside of Flagstaff, he blocked all three of her numbers. She'd been calling too much.