A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 08

Laurel awoke some minutes before her alarm was scheduled to go off, and looked over at Jared on the bed beside her, sound asleep. He'd earned the right to share her bed, and even took meals with her now as their relationship had deepened. The fear—Laurel had realized it was fear—of caring for someone else that had driven her to seek a slave in the first place was gone. But the slave was still beside her, still did everything she asked or wanted, still satisfied her in every way, sexually or otherwise. And so she had come to care, and accepted that caring was not the burden she had always thought it was. By now, she couldn't imagine her life without Jared—not just because it meant she never had to dust or vacuum or do laundry again, but because of Jared himself. She needed him, as surely as he needed her.

Yet Laurel found herself vaguely restless. The episode with her sister some months before had whetted her appetite for women. She had engaged in a few Sapphic encounters in college but had never really embraced that side of her sexuality as fully as she might have. Lately her mind had been fixated on Jessalyn, her young assistant.

At breakfast, she said, "Slave, I believe we'll have a guest for dinner. You'll have to serve, so please eat beforehand."

"Yes, Mistress Laurel. Should I be clothed?"

"Certainly not." This made Jared wonder what was in store for that evening, and kept him on edge the rest of the day as he went about his household duties, a flitter of sexual excitement always hovering around his groin.

It wasn't until after lunch that Laurel called Jessalyn into her office. The younger girl was a natural redhead, pale and just slightly freckled. She was just this side of plump, a size ten on a good day, sometimes a twelve. She wore little makeup, kept her hair and her clothes plain, and never did a thing to highlight her ample breasts or the perfect ratio between her slender waist and her full hips. Laurel could see a great beauty there, waiting to come out.

For her part, Jessalyn despised her body. She felt too fat, too ugly, too plain. She had always admired Laurel's sense of style, sexy without being trashy, and wished she could pull off the same sort of look. But in truth, she had never even tried.

"Close the door," Laurel said as Jessalyn came into the room.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Arden?" the redhead asked.

"Jess, I can't help but notice that the quality of your work has been...lacking of late. You've missed several days, and when you're here, your attention seems to be elsewhere."

"Oh, God," Jessalyn said, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. "I know...I'm so sorry," she sniffled. "I've been having a really hard time. My boyfriend...well, we've been having some problems. And then he kicked me out two days ago. I've been living in my car while trying to find an apartment."

"My dear, why haven't you said anything?" Laurel got up from behind her desk and handed the younger girl a tissue. "You know of all my employees you're the one I care for the most. You've taken such great strides since you came here."

"Th-thank you," Jessalyn said, fighting back her tears. "I just...I didn't want to complain."

"What sort of problems have you and your boyfriend been having?"

"Oh...well, it's...personal."

"Sexual."

Jessalyn was taken aback by her boss's bluntness; Laurel could see it on her face.

"Come now," Laurel continued. "We girls can talk about these things. There's nothing embarrassing about sex. Maybe I can help."

Jessalyn hesitated. "I don't know..." She had endured a rather strict Christian upbringing, and had been taught that sex was neither to be discussed nor looked on as something pleasurable. While she had largely gone her own way since moving out of her parents' house, she had not yet managed to develop a more positive view of sex, and had certainly never enjoyed it. She longed to talk to someone about it, but she really didn't know how.

"Jess, don't think of me as your boss right now. Think of me as your friend. I didn't call you in here to chastise you, but to find out what's been troubling you. I can see the worry on your face everyday. Come, sit down." Laurel ushered Jessalyn over to a chair and then sat beside her.

"Well," Jessalyn began, "God, how can I even start...Ok, so a few weeks ago, I told Mark that...oh, it's so embarrassing!"

Laurel gently rested her hand on Jessalyn's thigh. "It's ok."

"Well, I told him that...I've always faked my orgasms."

"And he reacted poorly?"

"Yes. I tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. I'm just...wired wrong or something."

"I'm sure that's not the case," Laurel said. "Tell me, was he an...attentive lover? Or did he seem more concerned with his own enjoyment?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've only been with one other guy and that was...well, a mistake. I guess he tried."

"My dear, if your pleasure was not his main concern, he was not trying."

"Do you...come...easily?" Jessalyn asked, beginning to feel both comfort and relief at finally having someone to talk with about her problems.

Laurel felt a spike of pleasure race through her clit. This was going to be easier than I thought, she said to herself. "I do, although it's something I've had to work at. Our culture does a poor job of teaching women to embrace their sexuality, even to understand their bodies. We're not like guys that can just...shove it in someplace warm and moist and move around for a few seconds and voila."

Jessalyn giggled. "That's true."

"This is a very common issue for a lot of women. Do you ever masturbate?"

Jessalyn cringed at the word. "Oh, no! That's...I just don't feel right doing that."

"Well, you'll have to get over that," Laurel said. "You need to get in touch with your body!"

Jessalyn was turning bright red by now. "I really don't..."

"What else I think you need is more confidence. Come on, grab your purse. We're going shopping."

"But I...the Taylor account..."

"Forget about it. This is more important."

Their first stop was a salon. "We're going to give you a makeover, Jessalyn. You're so beautiful under there and you're always hiding it."

Jessalyn was taken aback by the complement. No one had ever called her beautiful before, not even Mark. She didn't know what to say, and simply murmured a quiet "Thank you."

Laurel had the stylist dye Jessalyn's hair a few shades darker, until it was a rich burgundy color. He also turned her hair from flat and straight into a rich cascade of waves. Finally it was on to the make-up chair. When it was all over, Jessalyn could hardly believe she was looking at herself. The girl in the mirror was pretty. Heck, she was gorgeous, Jessalyn thought. That can't be me.

"You look like a 1940s pin-up girl, my dear," Laurel said proudly, pleased not only at the younger girl's transformation but also at her own accurate assessment of the potential she saw in Jessalyn's normally drab appearance.

"Ms. Arden, I can't really afford all..."

Laurel cut her off. "Everything is on me today."

Next it was clothing and shoes. Laurel spared no expense, and two hours later Jessalyn had half a dozen new outfits and several more separates, two pairs of tall boots, three pairs of heels, and a pair of strappy sandals.

As they drove down Santa Monica Blvd., Laurel said, "Jessalyn, I want you to stay at my place. At least until you get settled. I can't have you living out of your car."

"Thank you, Ms. Arden, but...well, why are you being so generous?"

At that Laurel only smiled. "How do you like your new look," she asked after a minute or so had gone by.

"Oh my God, I love it! I don't know how to recreate it though...I'm going to look terrible again in the morning. I'll turn back into a pumpkin!"

"I'll teach you how to do the makeup yourself and get your hair into shape. It's not so daunting once you learn a few tricks. Now, we've got one more stop. I want you to trust me. You'll probably feel awkward at first but this is going to help you, ok?"

"Ok," said Jessalyn nervously.

The window displays of the shop they pulled up at were full of mannequins wearing bizarre leather and vinyl outfits, holding whips and bent into overtly sexual poses. Jessalyn had never seen anything like it, and it didn't seem like the kind of a place she should go. Laurel could see the hesitation in her eyes.

"Jess, trust me. Have you enjoyed your afternoon thus far?"

"Yes, but..."

"No buts. Come."

Laurel's assuredness and commanding tone removed just enough of Jessalyn's reticence, and, still reluctantly, she followed her boss—her friend?—into the store.

"Ms. Arden!" said an obviously gay man as they entered. "Wonderful to see you again. And this is?" he asked, holding his hand out to Jessalyn.

"My assistant, Ms. James."

"Enchanteé," the man said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. "And what can we do for you today, Ms. Arden?" he asked, turning his attention once more to the dark-haired woman.

"We need—Ms. James needs—well, everything. A corset, for sure. Hosiery. Thigh boots. I think leather for her. Perhaps a waist cincher. A collar or two. A catsuit. A harness or two of different styles. Gloves. And a hood. And anything I've left out. You're the expert after all."

"Ms. Arden," Jessalyn said quietly, "what is..."

Laurel stopped her midsentence with nothing more than a look. Jessalyn could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She felt as if she was in a dream—or a nightmare. She wasn't sure which yet.

The clerk could see that Jessalyn was unsure of herself. He put his arm around her and whisked her off, turning back to wink subtly at Laurel. "My darling, if Ms. Arden is bringing you here she has very good reasons for doing so. Come along, we're going to make you feel fabulous." Jessalyn followed him, feeling very much outside of herself.

"Now, I'm as queer as queer dollar bill," he said as they went through a curtain into a back room. "My name is Armand, by the way. Not my real name, but it's got so much more cachet than 'Brad.' But, I completely understand if you aren't comfortable with my fitting you, and I can have one of our girls in here lickity-split instead. Just say the word."

"I...I don't know...what about...Ms. Arden?"

"She's fine, my darling."

"No, I mean...do you..."

"Do her fittings? I have that privilege, yes."

"I suppose..."

"That I'll do? Excellent. Now, clothes off, come on. Let's see what you've got under there."

"No, I..."

Suddenly Laurel was there beside her. "Jessalyn," she said gently, "first off, you can trust Armand explicitly. Secondly, these outfits are going to help you gain the confidence you need to embrace your sexuality fully. Do you want to experience orgasm?"

Jessalyn could only nod nervously.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, but..."

"No buts. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand that I'm helping you?"

"Yes."

"I know you're uncomfortable right now. That's ok. This is new to you. But you can't let that discomfort hold you back."

"Ms. Arden, I..."

"Jessalyn," Laurel said, more sternly now. "Are you a happy person?"

It was an easy question to answer. "No," Jessalyn said quietly, looking down at the floor.

"I know you're not. I want you to be." Laurel gently put her hand on Jessalyn's chin and raised her head up until their eyes met. Slowly, she leant in until her mouth was a fraction of an inch from Jessalyn's. "You're beautiful," she whispered, and then kissed the younger girl, a soft, warm, wet kiss but with no tongue.

In her mind, Jessalyn recoiled from her boss's tender lips, but her body did no such thing, and as the kiss ended she let out an inaudible sigh and felt an unfamiliar tingle rising up from between her legs. Her resistance faded. It felt as if Laurel had sucked her free will from her with the kiss. She didn't feel as if she'd made a conscious decision to go along with this, but her body just seemed to do it for her. Her mind stopped thinking so much, and as she undressed, she focused on the face in the mirror that she didn't yet recognize as her own.

With everything loaded into the trunk and back seats of Laurel's BMW, the two women drove east toward Pasadena in silence. Jessalyn's mind struggled with what was happening—the bizarre fetish shopping spree, the makeover, and, most of all, the tender kiss. She felt dirty, immoral, soiled—and undeniably horny. Sex had always been something she'd done for Mark. Rarely had she really felt like she wanted to get fucked, and whenever she had felt that way, the lackluster results kept her from feeling that way again for a long time. But now, she could feel the moisture leaking out from between her legs, and she repeatedly pressed her thighs together as tight as she could, putting pressure on her clit, a part of her body she'd never really explored before.

As they pulled into Laurel's garage, Laurel shut off the engine and then turned to the young redhead. "You really are quite strikingly beautiful, Jessalyn," she said.

"Thank you," Jessalyn replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Laurel asked.

"Yes."

"Do you wish to leave?"

Jessalyn hesitated. Say yes, she told herself. Say yes. Get out of here. But the word that escaped her lips was a simple, "No."

"At any point tonight, if you wish to stop whatever is happening, say, 'full moon.' And if you wish to leave, say, 'home.' Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Good."

Jessalyn's heart was racing. She couldn't ever remember feeling so nervous, and yet that only contributed to her arousal. As the two women entered the kitchen from the garage, she saw a naked man, wearing nothing but a leather collar around his neck. He had several pots going on the stove, and they were taking up most of his attention. Jessalyn's eyes looked quickly at his semi-erect cock, and then quickly away.

"Slave," said Laurel, "this is Ms. James. She'll be joining us for dinner. Please unload the car. You can take everything into the guest bedroom."

"Yes, Mistress Laurel," Jared said. Both women could clearly see his erection growing as he walked past them. As he made several trips back and forth carrying the bags from the car, Laurel opened a bottle of pinot noir that had been set out on the counter, and poured two glasses, proffering one to Jessalyn.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" Laurel asked.

"I don't know. Nervous."

"What else?"

"Scared."

"You know you can get out of this anytime you want, don't you?"

"Yes. I mean, I think so. I guess I don't really know for sure."

"You can. I promise. Just say 'home.'"

"I know."

"Then why are you scared?"

"Because I don't know what's going to happen."

"Nothing you don't want to happen will happen."

Jessalyn took a long drink from her glass. "Why do you call him 'slave'?"

"Because that's what he is."

"You own him?"

"Essentially. Not legally of course. But we have an arrangement that suits us both."

Jared returned to the kitchen. "Mistress, everything is unloaded as you requested," he said, returning to his pots on the stove.

"Very good, slave. We'll eat in thirty minutes. Come, Jessalyn, let's get you dressed for dinner."

The two women walked down the hall to the spare bedroom where Jared had taken the packages.

"Ms. Arden?"

"Yes?"

"Why am I here?"

"You tell me."

"Because you brought me here."

"Partially, yes. Why else?"

Jessalyn hesitated. "Because...I haven't said I want to leave."

"So the question really is why haven't you said you want to leave."

Jessalyn made no response. Laurel began rooting through the bags, taking out a cupless black leather corset, a garter belt, lace stockings, a pair of full-length kid leather opera gloves, and a pair of severe black patent heels.

"You said you feel nervous and scared. What else do you feel?"

"I don't know."

"You do know. What else do you feel?" Laurel moved closer, running her fingers lightly through Jessalyn's newly-styled hair. The younger girl closed her eyes. She could smell the wine on Laurel's breath, mingling with the jasmine scent of her boss's perfume.

Suddenly Jessalyn felt Laurel's hand on her crotch, grabbing, pressing, sending a pulse of pleasure rippling through her body, and then warm, wet lips on her neck. Chills ran down her spine.

"What else do you feel?" whispered Laurel.

"Aroused," Jessalyn said finally.

"What do you want?"

Silence.

"What do you want, more than anything?"

"I want to come."

"Are you going to come tonight?"

"I—I don't know."

"Are you going to come tonight?" Laurel's hot breath was right on Jessalyn's ear, and then the older woman took her earlobe into her mouth and sucked and nibbled on it lightly.

"Y—yes," Jessalyn stammered.

"Good girl," Laurel whispered, still clamping Jess's earlobe between her front teeth, still pushing her hand up against the younger girl's sex.

"Now, let's get you dressed."

As Jared came out into the dining room to serve dinner, he was greeted by the sight of Jessalyn bound to a chair, her full breasts pushed up and together by the cupless corset she was wearing. Using the belt-like leather straps she preferred, Laurel had rather expertly immobilized the younger woman. Laurel herself was dressed in her form-hugging leather catsuit with black patent knee boots. It was Jared's favorite outfit in which to see his mistress, although she wore it infrequently. There was little he could do to disguise the renewed enthusiasm that flowed into stiffening member.

"Slave, after you have served, you will feed Ms. James."

"Yes, Mistress."

He parceled out the food onto the two women's plates—a braised pork tenderloin in a red-wine reduction, herb-roasted potatoes, and chard—and then stood to Jessalyn's right, picking up the knife and fork from her place setting and proceeding to feed her, stopping occasionally to put her wine glass to her lips. Laurel ate slowly, watching every move they made, pleased with the little vignette she had set into motion.

Jessalyn felt equal parts shame, fear, and arousal. As Laurel had bound her to the chair, she had wondered why she couldn't bring herself to say "home." Why was she letting this happen to her? But Laurel's gentle solicitations about her comfort as she tightened each strap, the softness in her voice, her sweet aroma, all contributed to a growing feeling of absolute trust in her boss. Perhaps she was going to some dark, untraveled place, but she was going with Laurel, and she knew Laurel would bring her back unscathed. But not, she hoped, unchanged.

And what of this man beside her, tenderly feeding her a delicious meal? She knew nothing of him, apart from the fact that he was, apparently, Laurel's slave. Jessalyn still didn't really know what to make of that, although it was clear that he did whatever was commanded of him without question or delay. She found her eyes drifting more often than she would have liked to his erection. It certainly looked bigger than Mark's, although it was not a part of her boyfriend's—ex-boyfriend's, she had to remind herself—anatomy at which she had ever spent much time staring. It wasn't until halfway through the meal that she realized he had no pubic hair. What would she do, she wondered, if Laurel commanded this stranger to have sex with her? Would that, finally, be when her mouth would utter one of her safe words? Or would she let him?

After Jessalyn had swallowed a few bites, Laurel said, "Slave, what do you think of Ms. James' appearance?"

"She is very beautiful, Mistress."

"Her face?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"What about her breasts?"

Jared looked at them. Again. He had had difficulty keeping his eyes off of them, in fact, since entering the room, the milky white globes tipped by fat brown nipples that pointed straight forward in their constrained repose within the corset.