Mistress Extreme (10 page)

‘That turned out to be just the beginning,' Matthew said. ‘After that spanking and the wonderful sex that followed it Caroline really started going to town on me.' He gestured towards the open box crammed with disciplinary items. ‘Since then my sadistic lover Caroline – my beloved
dominatrix
Caroline – has used everything in there on me at one time or another and in the process I've become a complete pain junkie.' Matthew picked up his tumbler and took a pull of whisky. ‘And that, my good friend, is my story,' he said. ‘Now it's your turn. I happen to know that you've been seeing Isabella Stern and her sexual interests aren't exactly a closed book.' He shot David a knowing grin.

‘How do you know I've been seeing her?' David asked, looking surprised.

‘Because she told Caroline,' Matthew replied.

So, he'd got it wrong, David thought in relief. Isabella hadn't been keeping their relationship a secret from Caroline and Matthew, as he'd suspected. She was clearly quite happy for them to know about it, and thank goodness for that. ‘Come on,' Matthew added conspiratorially. ‘Tell your old friend all about it. Spare me none of the sordid details!'

David wondered what exactly to say. How far should he go in his reply? How explicit should he be? Matthew had been completely honest and open with him about his relationship with Caroline. David told himself that he should be similarly candid with him – and that meant being
completely
candid. And, taking a large swig of his whisky to give himself some Dutch courage, he decided that completely candid with Matthew was what he would be. And he knew now that there was no question about it – he definitely could confide in his friend about the nature of his relationship with Isabella, particularly under the circumstances he himself had just outlined to David. Matthew was, surely, bound to be
simpatico
.

‘Isabella Stern is my Mistress and I am her slave,' David said. ‘I've been blindfolded and gagged and put into bondage by her. I've been beaten by her and I've been buggered with a strap-on dildo by her. I've been taken out in public by her with my nipples clamped and a huge butt plug shoved up my arse. I've been made to masturbate in front of her. I've been made to lick up and swallow my own come by her. I've been fisted by her, paraded around a fetish club in the nude by her. I've been ...' David paused. He was going to say, “made to suck off her husband by her” but he faltered, couldn't quite get the words out.

Matthew unwittingly came to the rescue. ‘What a dark horse you are,' he said, giving David's arm a friendly nudge. ‘I didn't know you were into BDSM at all, never mind to the extent you obviously are. You know you can trust me. You should have said something.'

‘I could say the same thing to you,' David replied. ‘I knew you were bisexual because you told me you were years ago of course, but I had no idea you were a submissive masochist, no idea at all.'

‘Nor did I before Caroline and I became lovers and she started dominating me,' Matthew said. ‘That's the God's honest truth.'

‘Snap! I didn't understand that about myself either until I met Isabella,' David said. ‘She brought something to the surface, something I've managed to keep buried for too damn long, so deeply buried in its secret hiding place in my mind that it's only extremely recently – I mean, like,
today
, would you believe – that I've been able to bring myself to acknowledge it at all.'

‘Do you want to talk about it?' Matthew asked, giving his friend a look of concern.

David rattled the ice cubes in his drink hard. He swallowed the rest of his whisky in one gulp and put down the tumbler. ‘I think I need to talk about it – badly,' he said and began his story. ‘It all goes back to the death of one of my parents…'

Actually, Matthew was well aware that both of David's parents were dead although he had only known one of them. Matthew could remember David's father quite well: a likeable enough man, he supposed, as self absorbed workaholics go. He had also been a very heavy smoker, David now reminded him, and had paid a cruel price for his nicotine addiction, dying at 47 from lung cancer. That had been a tragically early death and David, who had been in his late 20s at the time, had been very distressed by it. But the death of his mother had been considerably more devastating to him given that he had only been very young when it had happened. That had been awful enough but what had made it even worse was that the relationship she'd had with him before her tragic and untimely death had been a particularly complex one.

‘I was a very difficult youngster and she was a sadist … maybe … perhaps … I don't know,' David said, stumbling over the words. He still couldn't quite bear to acknowledge what his mother had been. ‘What I do know – what I now remember at long last – is that she used to beat me constantly “on the bare”, as they used to say, in order to try to get me to behave, but that it only made me worse because I found I liked being beaten; it made me feel all … tingly. So I would go out of my way to misbehave again, so that she'd beat me again. I remember now, too, exactly how I used to feel, waiting to be beaten by her: all warm and expectant and deliciously shivery. And then there'd be the sensation of her open palm exploding painfully again and again against my bare bottom and afterwards that tingling afterglow. Then there'd be the next incident of bad behaviour on my part, the next beating on the bare bottom from her, and so we both went on. It was like a game we'd play. Then she went and ruined everything. She died.'

‘How did she die?' Matthew asked, looking intently at him. ‘Do you mind me asking?'

‘It was a stupid accident,' David said, a gleam of moisture in his eye. ‘She was in hospital for a routine operation – really minor, you wouldn't believe – but there was some screw up with the anaesthetic. She never came round. She was so young, barely 30.'

David explained that immediately afterwards and obviously deeply traumatised by the event, he'd got it into his young head that somehow his mother's death had been all his fault, that if he hadn't been so badly behaved she wouldn't have died. He resolved after that to always be a “good boy”, to live his life as his mother would have wanted him to. Therefore all through the rest of his time at school and at Sixth Form College and university David had done exactly what he thought his mother would have wanted from him, excelling in his studies and on the playing field, and always behaving impeccably.

He wasn't being himself though, this young paragon of virtue. What he was doing instead was impersonating the person he thought his mother had wanted him to be. David got exceptionally good exam results at secondary school where he also met a certain Matthew King who became his closest friend. David went on from sixth form to attend one of the best universities in the country at which he studied technology, and he obtained a first class honours degree in the subject. And there were girlfriends, lots and lots of girlfriends; because David discovered that he had an extraordinarily powerful sex drive. But he always had the most conventional – and short lived – of relationships with these girls. Anyway, no mere girlfriend could hold a candle to his dear departed mother.

David went on from university to pursue a highly successful career in Information Technology, leading a few years down the line to the formation of his own company. This led in turn a few more years down the line, and with the assistance of Matthew's timely intervention, to the sale of that company to a hot shot financier for millions of pounds. What a success story! What a “good boy”!

It was only after meeting Isabella Stern and falling so thoroughly under her spell that David had started to realise that there was something unresolved at the very core of his being. Now, at last, after the startling epiphany he'd experienced earlier that day, he knew what it was that had been lodged so deep in some recess of his memory that he'd had no idea it was there at all. He'd buried it as deep as could be, tucked away in some small place in that young boy's mind. But he remembered it now, felt it tear in his soul. David knew exactly what it was that, as the ultimate coping mechanism, his subconscious mind had blocked out of his memory completely ever since the trauma of his mother's death, blocked it out because it was simply too painful to acknowledge.

‘OK, I'll say it right out,' David said, taking a deep breath. ‘My mother was sadistic towards me … and I loved it. I showed my sadistic mother how much I loved her by misbehaving all the time. That way I created situations where she could beat me and at the same time show me how much she loved me. Now I am giving myself to a woman who expresses her feelings for me by beating the shit out of me and otherwise mistreating me – and I love that too, fucking love it.

‘At its root it's Oedipal, I can't deny it, but it's made me feel like the real me for the first time since my mother died. When I first submitted myself to Isabella's sadistic will I was convinced she'd somehow turned me into another person by the power of her mind. I was wrong, so very wrong. What she'd done was to release the person I really am. I see that now. Because of her I'm no longer living a lie.'

David stopped speaking and there was a long silence. Finally Matthew spoke. ‘You know what, David,' he said, grabbing the whisky bottle. ‘I think we could both do with another drink.'

‘Just a small one for me this time,' David said. ‘I'm driving, don't forget.'

‘Still being a good boy?' Matthew said, with an ironic lift of the eyebrow.

‘Not at all,' David smiled. ‘I'm a bad boy who needs to be punished … severely.'

Knowledge is power, they say. Not in David's case it wasn't. He may have been clear now about the root cause both of his masochism and of his dependence on Isabella. But it gave him no sense of empowerment, only a greater sense of powerlessness. What David felt most acutely as he went back to staring at his phone, waiting desperately for Isabella to call, was fear. He was afraid, terrified of losing her.

David was afraid that he wasn't a “bad boy” at all, not to his Mistress. He jumped to attention in response to every one of her orders, after all. He never resisted her in any way, not one iota. What if she wanted him to put up a bit of resistance sometimes? What if she found the wholeheartedness of his submission to her tedious, no sort of a challenge to her? But then again, she'd told him quite clearly that if he'd refused to suck off her husband that she'd have dumped him. No, David concluded, his safest bet if he didn't want to lose Isabella was to keep doing exactly what she told him to do, no matter how unpalatable to him that might sometimes be.

But he couldn't do as Isabella told him until she actually got in contact with him again, and he wondered when on earth that was going to be. God, how he yearned to hear from her, to see her, to have her near to him. His body ached for the lash of her whip, for the feel of her hand on his cock, for … The phone rang and Isabella's caller ID flashed up. David's heart was already racing as he pressed the button to take the call. ‘I want you to come over to my place tonight,' Isabella said. ‘I'll phone again when I'm ready for you.'

David glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just past 6 p.m. He waited for Isabella to call again, his heart still beating hard. As the time passed – one hour, two hours, three hours – David felt more and more on edge, more and more agitated. His nerves were as taut as violin strings and there was a knot of tension in his stomach that refused to unclench. Isabella didn't call until 10 p.m. ‘Come straight over,' she told him.

Some 15 minutes later David parked his car in her quiet, affluent street. He was feeling intensely excited but agitated still too – incredibly keyed up, he couldn't really understand it. Isabella let him into her house, taking his hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers with apparent affection although the greeting she gave him was neutrally pitched. It gave away no more than did her cool unflinching gaze.

Isabella was barefoot and wearing a long kimono, which was patterned black and red. Underneath this shimmering silken garment she was obviously nude. David admired the sway and jiggle of her unbound breasts and the lazy sway of her hips as she sashayed down the hall with him. His heart began to beat harder still, pounding through his shirt.

‘Strip naked and kneel before your Mistress,' Isabella said when they had entered her living room. David held his breath as he stripped off and then knelt at her feet as she had instructed, his cock already hard.

‘Good slave,' Isabella said and began to stroke his hair. It was another display of what looked suspiciously like affection from her and it filled David with delight. What a joy it was to have his Mistress all to himself, he thought.

Which was when a door at the end of the room opened and in walked the blonde twins, Eve and Stephanie. They were hand in hand and as nude as David was. He looked enquiringly at Isabella, whose only response was to let her kimono fall to the ground. Now all four of them were as naked as nature intended. David could feel his cock getting even harder. He would have preferred to have had Isabella all to himself, that was for sure, but he was also enjoying the way things were starting to unfold. His enjoyment was very short lived.

‘Kneel where you are, slave,' Isabella told him, her voice sharp, and that's what he did. David felt the green monster of jealousy creep up on him all too quickly as he watched what happened next. First, Isabella wrapped her arms around Stephanie's shoulders and the two women kissed with great passion, their tongues engaging wetly. Isabella had never once kissed David and yet this was the second time he'd witnessed her kissing Stephanie, witnessed her gorging herself on her mouth.

As the two women continued to lose themselves in that wet passionate kiss, Eve got on to her knees behind Isabella. She then prised open the domme's shapely buttocks and pressed her lips to her anus, her taut red tongue flicking in and out. Eve used her tongue to lick its magic over Isabella's anal hole until she squirmed in delight. And all the while David carried on doing as he'd been told, just kneeling there like a spare part – and wishing against wish that it was him and not Eve licking his Mistress's anus so assiduously.

Did Isabella have any idea how much it hurt him to watch her making love to these two women, he wondered despairingly. David knew – of course he did – that he had nothing remotely approaching an exclusive claim on his Mistress. But now, suddenly, he felt this desperate need to be on his own with her. All David wanted was for Isabella to get rid of these two interlopers so that he and she could be alone together, so that she could kiss him and not Stephanie, so that he not Eve could lick deep into her anal hole, so that he could make her come like that with his lips and his probing tongue.

And Isabella could, needless to say, do anything she wanted to do to him. She could fuck him in the arse with her strap-on dildo or fist him with her latex-covered hand. She could beat him harder than she'd ever done before, beat him to kingdom come. She could do anything in the world to him she wanted to, just as long as the two of them could be alone together, just as long as the desire she displayed was for him and him alone.

But Isabella didn't even look his way. It was as if he was a stranger to her; no, less to her even than that, it was as if he wasn't there at all. He was an invisible witness, a helpless onlooker as his privileged position with Isabella was usurped by two horny blonde sisters. The sense of rejection was more excruciating now; it was cutting right into him like a knife. David was overwhelmed by feelings of jealousy at what Isabella was doing with such fulsome passion with these two deeply perverted young women.

David wished – oh how he wished – that Isabella would kick the twins out, or if she wouldn't do this, that she would at least throw a crumb of comfort his way. It wouldn't take much, just a bit of contact, just one little touch, anything to give him back something of his old status, make him feel he was important to her again.

Isabella stopped kissing Stephanie. ‘I suppose you want a beating, slave,' she said, finally looking over at David.

‘Yes, Mistress,' he replied and his heart lifted, but only momentarily. It sank like a stone at what she had to say next.

‘Eve, do the honours, will you,' Isabella said, looking over her shoulder at the arsehole-licking blonde. ‘You'll find a whip in the top drawer of the bureau.'

‘Yes, Mistress,' Eve replied as she got up from her knees.

‘I want your sister to eat my pussy now,' Isabella said, settling down onto the couch with Stephanie. ‘She does it so well. And I'm going to lick her pussy too.' She guided Stephanie's mouth to her sex and then swivelled so that her own lips were fastened to the blonde girl's sex. The two of them began to lap at each other's pussies, at first gently and then lustily, drinking from one another.

David got on to all fours and awaited his beating, with blackness in his heart. Isabella had delegated his discipline to one of the twins, the same one who last time had fucked him in the arse; it was so ignominious for him.

And Eve was a vicious bitch, too – a vicious switch and a vicious bitch. David felt the whip she was wielding strike his backside for the first time and it stung like crazy, as it did also the second and third and fourth times. Each time the leather thongs of the whip penetrated his skin they left yet another collection of vivid red marks in their wake, but not the slightest sensation of erotic pleasure, which couldn't help but bug him.

There was another thing that bugged him too: Every time that whip landed, Isabella and Stephanie seemed to move in time to it as if the music of the leather strands lacerating David's backside so viciously was giving a rhythm to their lovemaking, increasing their mutual desire. And, in the process, it was killing any desire David might have had. The beating Eve was giving him hurt, it hurt one hell of a lot. But it was pure pain, not pleasure-pain. It was doing him no good at all.

Eve's blows succeeded one another with increasing savagery, making David cry out, making him scream for mercy in the end because the pain was so unbearable. ‘Stop now, Eve,' Isabella demanded, pulling her love juice-smeared lips away from Stephanie's pussy. ‘Come and join me and your sister. Let's have some girl on girl
on girl
action.'

‘Yes, Mistress,' Eve replied lasciviously. She put the whip back in the bureau drawer and moved towards the two other women.

‘David,' Isabella then called out, gazing at him and through him with a look of almost complete indifference.

‘Yes, Mistress,' he said. There was a tremor in his voice

‘Get dressed and fuck off.'

And that's what David did. He did exactly what he'd been told to do by his Mistress, as he always did. Isabella didn't even look at him when he went to leave; she only had eyes – and fingers and lips – for the incestuous blonde twins. On his way out of the room David mumbled a disconsolate ‘Goodnight, Mistress', which was also ignored.

Leaving Isabella's house, he walked down the dark street to where he'd parked his car. His shoulders were slumped. He felt desolate, felt black despair penetrating him, overpowering him, spreading through his body and working its way inside his soul. He felt like an abandoned child, his neglectful mother cruelly unconcerned about his fate. Why had Isabella decided to treat him like this? Why?

David sat in his car but did not start the engine. He felt his face crumple inwards and his breath became broken and jagged. His eyes were suddenly blinded by hot tears that started to roll down his cheeks as he began to sob. The tears ran down his neck now too and reached the collar of his shirt, as he sobbed and sobbed. His body shook with the force of the sobs. The emotion he was experiencing was intense, extreme, and disproportionate.

He realised that he was not crying about what had happened to him tonight, about the way that Isabella had treated him, which was, let's face it, only par for the course for such an exceptionally cruel Mistress. No, he was crying about something else entirely. He was crying about something,
someone
he'd lost a very long time ago.