Mistress Extreme (3 page)

More days went by; more weeks: four weeks, five weeks. There was no word from Isabella. Once again David was left waiting desperately, interminably, for her to call. He had to see her, simply had to. She'd left it even longer this time. How could she? Didn't she want to see him? The waiting was so damned hard. And so was his cock an awful lot of the time. He continued masturbating compulsively, thinking only of her. Why was he letting Isabella do this to him, he asked himself, and who had he become that he would let her? Then – oh, happy day – the phone rang and it was Isabella. David felt almost too choked to get any words out. ‘Hello?' he managed to croak. He held the phone close to his face, breathing deeply.

‘Go straight away to the Grand Hotel and collect the key to room 45 from reception,' Isabella instructed. ‘Then go to the room and let yourself in.' The line went dead after that; she'd rung off.

David didn't delay. He set off immediately for Brighton's most famous hotel without giving the matter a second thought, simply pleased beyond words that he'd finally heard from Isabella.

By the time David had arrived at the Grand, however, his nerves had begun to get the better of him. There were butterflies in his stomach and he was feeling faint. He went up to the receptionist and in a voice that sounded a lot surer than the one in his head, asked for the key to room 45. She handed it to him with a brief smile.

David walked toward the lift area, his steps deceptively confident given that his legs felt like jelly. Emerging from the lift, he walked down a long, carpeted corridor until he got to room 45. His hands were shaking as he unlocked and pushed open the door to the room. Would Isabella be there, waiting for him? God, he hoped so. It had been such a long time since he'd seen her last – except of course he hadn't actually seen her on that last occasion, he reminded himself, because he'd been blindfolded the whole time.

But Isabella wasn't there, waiting for him. The room was in complete darkness, the heavy curtains closed tight. David found the light switch and flicked at it. The wall lamps came on, bathing the room in a soft radiance. David's eyes were drawn to the double bed on which sat a shiny black box. It was rectangular in shape and about the size of a shoe-box, and to one side of it was a folded piece of paper.

David crossed the room, his footsteps silent on the thick wall-to-wall carpeting, and sat down on the bed. He then picked up and unfolded the piece of paper. It contained another typed instruction from Isabella. Jesus, what did she want him to do this time? David closed his eyes momentarily, trying to compose himself, and then opened them and read what Isabella had to say.

I want you to do the following, David
, her note read.
Open the box on the bed. In that box you will find a ball gag, a blindfold, and a set of metal handcuffs. Strip naked, and then gag yourself with the ball gag. After that, put your left wrist into one of the handcuffs and snap it locked. Then put on the blindfold, lie flat on your stomach on the bed, put both hands behind your back, put your right hand into the other handcuff and snap it locked. Once you've done all that do nothing else. Simply lie there and await my arrival.

David read Isabella's note twice, steeping himself in the words. He began to feel feverish, hot and cold at the same time. He sat stock still for a short while, trying not to hyperventilate any more than he already was. He reflected in alarm on what it was that Isabella wanted him to do in this plush hotel room. She didn't want him to see her as such, wanted him blindfolded again. Well, so be it; that wasn't a problem, nor was the fact that she wanted him gagged as well this time – she'd put what you might call a gagging order on him the last time, which amounted to pretty much the same thing.

What was a problem, however, was that she was seriously expecting him to put himself – lock himself – into bondage so complete that it would render him entirely at her mercy. Because, make no mistake, once he had snap-locked those handcuffs behind his back he'd have put himself into a position he was helpless to alter. Isabella would be able to do anything to him she wanted when she arrived. Anything.

How had he let himself get into such a terrifying situation? Such a potentially terrifying situation anyway; he hadn't actually done the reckless deed yet. And it would be utter recklessness on his part, sheer insanity, to comply with Isabella's instruction this time. He knew what he was going to do now, what he had to do.

And what was that? David was going to do precisely what had been demanded of him in that note he'd received from … from whom? From a woman he barely knew, but who he felt in some strange way – through some kind of hypnotism or witchcraft or whatever the fuck it was – owned him body and soul.

David picked up the shiny black box, lifted its lid and slid out its contents onto the bed. He stood up then and got out of his clothes. He felt very frightened but also intensely excited, his cock steely hard and throbbing, as he proceeded to do precisely what Isabella had told him she wanted him to do.

David could see nothing because of his blindfold and could hear nothing but the beating of his heart and the sound of his breathing, made ragged because of his ball gag. His wrists were locked behind his back by metal handcuffs that dug into his skin. David wondered how long exactly he had been lying here waiting for Isabella to arrive. It seemed like an eternity.

Where was she now: outside the hotel? Outside the lift area? Outside the room? What was she going to do to him when she finally arrived? –
If
she arrived. What did he mean, if? Of course she'd come, he told himself firmly. Of course she would. Why wasn't she here then? Why? She couldn't just leave him like this. Could she?
Could she?
David felt a hand clutch at his heart and a sick feeling fluttered in the pit of his stomach. He began to panic, his thoughts rampaging without control through his brain. What a fool he'd been, what an idiot!

It was then that he heard the door to the room open and close. But that was all he heard. David knew that Isabella had arrived. He assumed it was Isabella who'd walked through that door anyway; it had to be her. But she didn't announce her presence. She didn't say a word, didn't make a sound. He didn't hear her moving. He didn't know where she was. With that thick wall-to-wall carpet in the room, she could have been anywhere. But wherever she was in that hotel room he knew she'd be looking at him in his naked bondage. He knew she'd be looking at his blindfolded face and gagged mouth, his lips pulled apart by the ball gag; at his palms held together against the small of his back by his metal handcuffs; at his taut, curved backside, ripe for a beating.

Then David heard Isabella moving, coming closer to him, coming so close he could smell her perfume, could hear her breathing right against his ear. A warm thrill swept through him. There was a long silence and then she spoke.

‘I know the way it is with you now, David,' Isabella whispered hotly into his ear as he continued to breathe in her perfume. ‘I know what I've done to you. You can't live without me, can you. You wait constantly for me to call you, desperate for me to call you, prepared to do anything I demand of you when I do call you. That is your life now: waiting for me, needing me, obsessing about me all the time and the things you'd like me to do to you, the things you
fear
I'll do to you. All of that's true, isn't it.'

David nodded his blindfolded head in agreement and gurgled as affirmatively as he could into his ball gag. ‘
Esh
,' it came out.

‘Turn on to your back,' she instructed then and he obeyed, the metal cuffs still digging into his wrists. His breathing was spasmodic, his body shaking, his pulsing cock stiffly erect.

‘I know that you want me to give you pain,' Isabella said next and he could feel her fingers on his nipples, squeezing them with increasing strength and causing a wave of pain to shudder through his body. And she didn't stop, didn't let up on the pressure she was applying either: Isabella's fingers were pinching his two fleshy nubs harder and harder. David was shaking more than ever at the pain she was inflicting on him, at the
thought
of the pain to come. Then she stopped abruptly, removing her fingers from his nipples … and he heard a match strike.

‘There are so many ways I can bring you pain,' Isabella said. A long moment passed and then he felt it: the hot molten wax, dripping down onto his chest, around his punished nipples and onto his stomach. It was stinging his flesh and exciting him more and more as he felt its burning splashes on his body.

David heard Isabella blow out the candle, and then she spoke to him again. ‘You want me to bring you pure pleasure too of course,' she said, sliding her right hand to his erection and gripping its base. David uttered a low groan from under his gag as she began to masturbate him. Her fingers worked away up and down, sometimes gently, and sometimes hard, making him writhe helplessly in his bonds with delight. Isabella stroked and pulled at David's erection until it was on the point of exploding. Then the pulse came and he began to shudder and shake without control as his orgasm took him. And as David climaxed, his cries of pleasure muffled by the ball gag, semen shot out of his aching cock in spurts, warm and silky.

‘Turn on to your stomach again,' Isabella then ordered and he obeyed, his body still shaking. ‘I'll be in touch again soon,' she added as she unlocked and removed his handcuffs. And with that she was gone as suddenly as she'd arrived, the door opening and shutting to announce her departure. Her perfume still hung seductively in the air.

It had all happened so fast, David said to himself as he removed the blindfold and gag. And Isabella hadn't inflicted much more than token pain on his body, which he had to admit had been a little disappointing. But he realised that it hadn't been about whether or not he could take pain. No, essentially it had all been about those handcuffs, he was certain of it. Isabella had been testing him, seeing whether she could trust him to lock himself into them, whether she could trust him to trust her.

David was pleased that he hadn't failed Isabella, that she hadn't found him wanting. That feeling of pleasure at what he imagined he'd achieved lingered for a while but it didn't last.

‘I'll be in touch again soon,' Isabella had said. Those were her exact words. But damn it, she didn't get in touch soon, she didn't get in touch at all.

Clearly she'd made her promise merely to torment him, he decided, and it had worked. Every day that went by was an agony of unfulfilled expectations for David. The days and weeks passed and the agony he experienced intensified as her words persistently came back into his mind to mock and taunt him. They thrummed through his mind like the rhythm of rails beneath a train:
I'll be in touch soon, I'll be in touch soon, I'll be in touch soon.
Oh, why didn't Isabella contact him? Why, for God's sake?
I'll be in touch soon. I'll be in touch soon, I'll be in touch once in a fucking blue moon
. Then she phoned. ‘Come to my place at eight tomorrow evening,' Isabella told him. And with that she hung up.

The next morning David awoke at the crack of dawn, thinking about Isabella, like he'd been doing in his dreams all night, like he did every night. Like he'd doubtless be doing tonight too, except that tonight, he knew that before going to his solitary bed he'd also be seeing her in person. David felt a jumble of emotions: fear, excitement, impatience, and, above all, readiness. He knew he was ready for anything she wanted to do to him. Sodomy and nipple torture and wax play had been just the start and he welcomed whatever she wanted to do to him next.

The hours passed that day as if on leaden feet; it was excruciating. At long last it was seven in the evening. David got into his car. He'd given himself ample time to get to Isabella by eight; it was no great distance to drive from his house to hers. At 7:30 he found himself stuck in a huge traffic jam. The road was clogged both ways with a mess of cars, vans, motorcycles, and seemingly the entire population of the city. It was a nightmare.

As the traffic continued to gather thickly around him David got himself into an increasingly panicky state. At 7:50 his car was still crawling along bumper to bumper in the same huge traffic jam and he was by now in a total panic. He could hear the blood beating in his ears; his palms on the steering wheel had become slick with sweat. Then, at 7:55, miraculously the slow procession of traffic in which he'd been enmeshed cleared as he got past the road construction works that had caused the problem in the first place. At 8:05, after a drive that seemed to have lasted only a fraction less than forever, David parked and rushed, breathless, to Isabella's door.

Isabella let him in, wearing a short black leather dress that was incredibly seductive, hugging her figure like a coat of emulsion. Her expression, though, was frosty. David was about to explain to her about the awful traffic jam he'd been stuck in but she didn't give him a chance. ‘You're late,' she said coldly. ‘I'm going to have to punish you for that.'

David could have said something then, uttered some words in his own defence. But he didn't say anything. It wasn't that he was lost for words. It wasn't that at all. He wanted Isabella to punish him, wanted her to beat him, ill-treat him all she liked. He wanted to start really proving himself to Isabella Stern at last. He wanted to show that he could take a lot more from her than being kept hanging around for weeks on end in a state of constant sexual longing, being fucked in the arse by her with a big strap-on dildo and having his nipples tortured with her fingers and his torso with hot wax – a hell of a lot more.

When they'd arrived in the living room Isabella's eyes fastened on David, dark and hard. ‘Strip off,' she told him and as soon as he was naked he became stiffly erect. Isabella brought her fingers not to David's cock but to his nipples, and began pinching them with pincer-like force, markedly harder than that last time in the hotel room. She squeezed his nipples more and more viciously, causing him to shake all over with pain. And all David knew was that he wanted more, much more. He wanted to be thoroughly mistreated by this woman he barely knew but to whom he felt he belonged, body and soul.

Isabella seemed to read his mind. She stopped torturing his nipples and took a leather whip out of the top drawer of a nearby bureau. She told David to turn, bend forward and put his hands in front of him on top of the table that was now before him. This was it, David thought, breathing hard. Everything comes to those who wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Each moment passed with almost unbearable slowness and the anticipation he felt became so intense it hurt.

But not half as much as the first lash of Isabella's whip. Or the second or third or fourth or fifth...

On and on she berated David's back and rear with savage blows. Each one was a flash of pure pain that made him tense and squirm more and more as the full effect of the whipping spread through his body. Isabella kept on beating David in this ferocious way until the pain that was lacing through him was overwhelming. He felt as if his agonized body was on fire and he began whimpering, he couldn't help himself.

‘No whimpering,' Isabella admonished calmly from behind him. ‘You must make a different noise. I know you want to be beaten. Well, sound as if you want it.' And with that she brought the whip down with extra savagery on his backside. David did his very best to do as he'd been instructed, moaning orgasmically in response to the savage lash.

Isabella brought the whip down again and he made the orgasmic sound once more. Another lash, harsher still, and David moaned orgasmically again. Another blow, and another, fell on his body, leaving deep lacerations on his skin. With each increasingly savage blow, David's cries came louder and more orgasmic.

Isabella continued to rain down lashing blows until his back and rear were scored with livid red weals and he was in searing pain that also felt like the most exquisite pleasure; it was amazing. David felt the blood roaring through his body; his heart hammering; his head thundering; his shaft throbbing. Then he stopped feeling pain, stopped feeling pleasure. This was neither pain nor pleasure any longer. Isabella had taken him somewhere else, taken him to some other place where all boundaries of pain and pleasure had dissolved. It was a place he'd never been to before … and it was paradise.

David began to shudder without control. He closed his eyes and his mind darkened for a second and then imploded with glittering flashes of colour. He opened his eyes and let out yet another orgasmic cry that this time became a self-fulfilling prophecy as, delirious with ecstasy, he ejaculated spasm after spasm of creamy come that splattered onto the polished oak floor beneath him.

‘Get on your knees and lick that up,' Isabella ordered harshly, putting the whip to one side. ‘Lick up every last drop of your spilled come and swallow it all down.' Which he did, wallowing in the degradation, the delicious humiliation of what he was doing at her command.

‘Stand up and face me,' she said when David had finished, and he did.

‘You are always to address me as ‘Mistress' from now on,' Isabella ordered, her dark eyes reaching for his and holding them, vice-like.

‘Yes, Mistress,' David replied with a gasp, thinking ecstatically: This is so wonderful, this is what I want.

‘And don't you ever dare to be late for an appointment with me again,' Isabella added. ‘You are always to do exactly what your Mistress tells you to do without exception. Understood,
slave
?'

‘Yes, Mistress,' David replied, thrilled beyond all expression at what she had just called him.