Yes, Virginia Ch. 01

She bent it further. All the way down; all the way to the gentle press of her lips on the toe of my shoe. All without explicit instruction.

And so it began ...

*****

"You're finally going to write the big fantasy up?"

"Yeah, thought I'd give it a whirl."

"She sounds just like me."

Oh for pity's sakes!

"Three things: first up, you think everyone sounds like you. Honestly you'd think you were the only woman I'd ever dommed. Secondly it's not real, which means she's a bit of you, and a bit of me, and a bit of everyone I've ever known -- that's how fiction works. Lastly, will you not bloody do that to me! I haven't finished yet. Go and ruin some poor bugger's pension scheme or whatever it is you do."

That's just plain snotty of me, and I feel ashamed before the words are even out of my mouth. She plonks a fresh cup of tea beside my elbow and huffs back towards the office.

Oh bollocks.

"Sorry sweetheart, didn't mean it."

I don't say the truth, because she's proud as I am and I don't know a way to say it at moments like this without sounding condescending. I had such a ball for twenty good years, but right now I wish I could look you in the eye and say you were my one and only.

*****

I sent her on her way and locked the door behind her before heading for the bedroom. By the time she reached her car outside I was well on the way to a truly unsatisfactory orgasm.

I went home, had cheese and biscuits because I couldn't be bothered to cook a thing, and spent the evening not concentrating on television. By midnight I was tucked up in my solitary bed, reflecting ruefully that she was almost certainly relating her adventures to Sir at that very moment, although I suspected that his penis was far enough down her throat that she wasn't finding speech easy. Not the ideal mental image to carry me to my second, and even less satisfactory conclusion.

That was the pattern. Appointment -- intense arousal -- beating and talking oh so very bad at her -- and ... Nothing. She away to get the arse shagged off her; me away to music and my vibrator. I sent her home with fresh angry caning welts on her bum that got him hard. I had her grovelling and feeling herself to order, complete debasement at my feet while I did my Ice Maiden act and managed not to join in. She never kissed more than my shoes and my crop; other than slaps I never laid one finger on her. My mouth issued endless orders, but I never licked, spat, bit or sucked; to be honest I didn't even speak any dirtier than absolutely necessary. However much I was charging that man, I earned every penny.

I like to think I did a pretty good job for him. By the time I was finished with her, you couldn't have asked for a more classy but abject sub. I beat a real appreciation of pain into her; which isn't strictly true, but I did coax into flower something internal that she'd never understood before. I had her moving with a grace that was simultaneously easy and awkward; every time she knelt down made my heart skip. I thoroughly broke her and turned her into the most obliging plaything you could desire. Job well done.

Too well, in fact. Someone -- I believe it was him rather than her -- had decided that she needed to tell me every time how hard he'd done her the night before. Compliment or not, I honestly didn't want to know. Over the course of our conversations, I learnt two things about Sir that hardened my distaste into contempt. Firstly he liked to fuck her while she was relating her training experiences. Of course I'd have been astonished if he hadn't, but that didn't stop my resentment at providing him with mental porn. Worse was that he was fond of my least favourite word. Bad enough to have that tantalisingly lovely cunt flashed about in front of me, I didn't need to think about her going home to a slimy deviant who talked about her pussy when he was inside her.

It had been five weeks. I had somehow managed to keep my hands off her in any personal way. We did our usual session, which ended up with her making me a pot of tea and playing with herself as I drank it and told her how cheap and nasty she was: show me your hands, you filthy tart, and then suck them clean. That was purely for cruelty, there was no way I needed to study her hands closely to notice how much she got from me treating her rough. What an awful bloody waste it all was.

Off she pottered at the end of it. The next day I got an email. Sir was happy with his new toy now, so long and thanks for all the spanks.

I fell into one of those brown studies where I do ridiculous uncharacteristic things like poke my nose inside bondage clubs before beating a hasty retreat. I came home late at night and realised one of the pros on the corner was looking less ugly than usual, which scared the wits out of me.

Ann, my old friend of fifteen years before, managed to find a second husband, and I stupidly went to the wedding. Everyone but me seemed to be with a partner. Ann's sister, who I had a brief fling with at uni', stared straight through me while her significant other looked ready to tear my hair out. I left early, before the dancing but after I found myself entertaining wicked thoughts at one of the bridesmaids. On the way home, I must have looked so very obvious that I ended up being propositioned by a drop-dead gorgeous Indian lass outside a pole-dancing club. Would I like to come inside and watch her take her clothes off? Now that she mentioned it, I ...

Really wasn't in the mood at all.

***

I was craving just a tad. It wasn't super-serious, but my intake was up to around five a day and I was becoming slightly worried. That may not sound too many to a proper smoker; when you're used to a pack lasting the week and it suddenly becomes four days, believe me you notice.

I was wandering around the studio in a big fluffy robe with my hair wrapped in a towel, having just taken a shower. I had roughly twenty-five minutes before I needed to talc up and squeeze into my catsuit for the only gig of the afternoon. Time for one before the hairdryer then.

The street-level doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting any deliveries and I couldn't believe the afternoon guy wanted such a hammering that he was willing to piss me off by being forty minutes early. I looked at the screen and saw a cute Audreyish face that looked on the edge of tears. I buzzed the door open, then went out to lean over the banister and wait until she appeared on the landing below.

"What do you want?"

"Can I speak to you?"

"Not really, it isn't convenient."

"Please."

"I haven't got long, I'm working."

I had an awful feeling I could guess what it was, and God alone knew I'd done nothing on purpose to encourage it. What is it with some women? As soon as they realise you haven't got a penis they assume you're best pals for life. Something had come up, and she thought she could talk to me about it. The point is, outside sex I'm absurdly shy and polite: I don't like to tell them to bugger off. But I'm not cut out for this. I've really only got the one line in agony aunt advice: why don't you tell him to take a hike and let me spank you instead? As it happened ...

"What's the problem?"

"I've ... It's just that ..."

"Sorry, sweetie, but seriously I haven't got all day."

"I've missed you."

Ah-hah! Step into my parlour then.

"Well?"

"I'd like ... I can pay."

"You?"

She nodded. I stood facing her in my bathrobe, looking far too damned cuddly for my own peace of mind. Time was passing. I told her to strip and kneel while I changed into something a little less comfortable. I came back a couple of minutes later in silk robe and leather gloves, with my hair damp and loose all over my shoulders. She looked very white and vulnerable waiting for me.

"He know about this?"

"No."

"Do you want him to?"

"Never."

OK, to professional ethics. This one, of course, had never come up before. Did I screw around on clients? I hadn't taken his money and fucked her behind his back, that was obviously unacceptable. He wasn't a client any more, was he? The arrangement had been terminated by his choice, almost two months ago. I really didn't have any obligation to a man I had always, when we are quite honest about it, found creepy.

I needed a few moments to think, and I was running very late. I muttered the briefest explanation, took her in the back and tied her to my bed. Just in case, I put a personal alarm in her hand and told her to use it only if she completely freaked out there, because I didn't want to be disturbed. Then I left her alone and hurriedly squeezed into my leathers in the study. I barely made it before the buzzer rang again.

I took him into my dungeon and got him secured away. He was looking expectantly at the drawer in which I kept my gags, but I went straight past to take a cat from its place on the wall.

"Not today, sunshine. Miss wants to hear you be nice and loud this time."