Mistress Extreme (5 page)

Each of Isabella's savage blows was showing David that she thought he deserved her and he was immensely grateful to her for it and wanted to show that gratitude. So he wouldn't beg her for mercy, he wouldn't. But it hurt so fucking much. The pain was intense. So was the pleasure. He was in agony that was also ecstasy.

David reached the point where agony and ecstasy transformed themselves into purest ecstasy. Convulsions began to shake his body and he climaxed, ejaculating spurt after spurt of silvery come from his corseted cock. But before he'd quite finished coming David did something else. He fainted. Darkness rolled in behind the bright lines of orgasmic sensation he was still experiencing and he swooned down into a huge black void. His body collapsed when he fainted, except it didn't. It couldn't collapse because his wrists were secured above him to the chain.

When David came round it took him a few seconds to realise where he was. For how long he'd been dead to the world in this mirrored dungeon, he had no idea. All he knew when he awoke from his faint was that his backside felt extremely sore and painful, that he was still hanging by the wrists from the chain, and that he was alone.

‘Mistress, Mistress,' he called out but Isabella didn't answer him and he knew somehow that she wouldn't. She wasn't there in the basement, he could see that clearly enough. But he'd bet she wasn't in the store either. He was all alone where he was, alone and in bondage and in great pain. David didn't call out for Isabella again. He knew she'd left the store, and he must leave too, but he couldn't. He tried – tried very hard – but he was unable to get his wrist cuffs loose of the chain.

David hoped against hope that Isabella would take pity on him and come back for him, but he knew in his heart that she wouldn't come, and he was right: she didn't. The dark haired assistant in the spray-on red rubber mini dress came instead. With a deadpan expression on her attractive face worthy of a poker player and without saying a single word, she removed his cock corset and collar, unclipped and removed his ankle and wrist cuffs, and freed him from the chain. With the items she had removed from David's body held in her slender hands, she went back upstairs and he followed her. He went into the fitting room to get dressed, feeling completely wiped out, shattered.

The assistant showed David all the items that she'd selected earlier at Isabella's behest, and she put them into a black carrier bag for him. She then added the collar and cuffs and cock corset he'd been wearing, dropping these into the bag too. David reached for his wallet to pay for the contents of the bag.

‘That won't be necessary,' the assistant said, her voice as expressionless as was the set of her features. ‘Mrs. Stern says they're on the house.'

‘Right,' David mumbled distractedly, unable to meet her eye. She unlocked the entrance to the store and let him out into the grey dusk, the sky now the colour of dirty cotton wool. He went straight home, still very shaky but with only one thought in mind: When would Isabella get in touch with him next?

You might have thought that having left David hanging in a dead faint like that, Isabella would have contacted him soon afterwards to see how he was. Not a bit of it. She didn't bother to call, evidently didn't care one way or the other what state he was in.

Hours passed, days passed, weeks passed. There continued to be no word from her. It was the same old waiting game for David. Once in a while, he'd wake up and gaze out of the window at another day, and think despairingly, I cannot play this game any more. I cannot spend all day every day fending off the fact that Isabella isn't going to call and doing this by jerking off all the time, kidding myself that today's the day she
will
call.

Hell, she might very well not be in Brighton a lot of the time for all he knew, might even be out of the country altogether. Waiting for her constantly and libidinously like this was pointless, absurd, ridiculous.

It was all so utterly hopeless. This was a woman David worshipped and adored and for whom he'd do anything, but who didn't even care a damn for him, never mind love him; a woman who hardly ever wanted to actually be with him, and who kept him in this priapic state of suspended animation all the time.

He ought to give Isabella up; David understood that at some level. But he knew that he couldn't give her up, it was impossible. He was powerless to resist her because she'd changed him into someone else. She'd changed him into a person for whom she was everything, a person who wouldn't really exist without her.

David thought about just how much Isabella had changed him. His obsession with her consumed his waking hours, his sleeping ones too. Life went on of course but it unfolded around him in a haze. He thought about the extent to which his view of the world had been transformed, narrowed into nothing more nor less than his obsession with Isabella. David found that he spoke to hardly anyone nowadays. He had a naturally antisocial nature anyway but he had now become a lot more than antisocial: he'd become positively reclusive. David wanted to concentrate all his thought on Isabella. He didn't want the distraction of talking to anyone else if he could possibly avoid it. And that even included Matthew – not that he ever called anyway.

David didn't understand quite how Isabella had reduced him to this state and didn't actually care. All he knew was that she was his Mistress and he was her slave, she'd told him so. He knew that she could do anything she liked with him, no matter how sadistic and perverted, and that as long as she wanted to keep him as her slave he'd do anything to satisfy her demands.

Because David didn't take anything for granted, you see. He knew that any time Isabella chose to she could decide that she no longer wanted him as her slave and that would be the end of that. Finito, end of story. The thought of it made his stomach churn, made him feel sick, nauseous.

David knew only too well that every time Isabella contacted him it could be the last time. One of these fine days she'd set him free, he feared – no, dreaded. And from then on all he would have left would be memories: memories of the delicious torment of waiting for her calls, of the intense pain and pleasure – the
pleasure-pain
he'd experienced as a result of the fierce beatings she'd administered to him; of the way she'd stretched his anus with a big strap-on dildo and tortured his nipples and marked his body with livid welts; of the incredibly cruel way she'd always treated him; of the way she had displayed almost complete indifference to him right up to the end when that indifference had finally become total and she'd dumped him altogether.

Perhaps, David thought, slipping into despair, Isabella had already got to that point already and had decided to finish with him, give him his wholly unwanted freedom. Perhaps he'd never hear from her again. Perhaps she was already gone from his life. Gone. The thought twisted inside him like barbed wire, it was awful. But no, he mustn't think like that, he told himself. He must continue to wait for Isabella to call, continue to hide away naked in his house, masturbating constantly, thinking only of her.

One evening, before he started jacking again, David decided to enhance his nudity and increase his sense of connectedness to Isabella by donning a couple of the items she'd gifted to him from
La Fetishista
. He lay on his leather couch, next to the phone needless to say, naked except for the chained collar, which he'd padlocked at the front, and the tight metal ring that encircled his genitals. His fingers were wrapped around his hard cock and he was letting thoughts of Isabella and what she might do to him – what she'd
already
done to him – permeate his mind thoroughly while he jacked away.

David imagined Isabella's hands on the back of his neck as she blindfolded him, like she'd done that first time. He imagined her buggering him with her big strap-on dildo while jerking him off, like she'd done that second time. He imagined her torturing his nipples and dripping hot candle wax onto him before bringing him off like she'd done the time after that. He imagined her whipping him so savagely that it brought him to a shuddering climax like she'd done the next time; imagined her going on to insist he lick up and swallow his come like she'd also done on that occasion. He imagined her whipping him with so much savagery that he fainted immediately he'd been brought to climax, like she'd done the last time he'd been with her.

Wouldn't it be truly wonderful, David said to himself, if Isabella would let him bring her to climax for once. Maybe she would sit before him, her legs spread and her pussy bare, and allow him to kneel submissively between her thighs, push the warm tip of his tongue between her pussy lips and lick her to orgasm. He would give her such pleasure she'd be in heaven. It would go like this, David imagined: He would kneel and take her open pussy between his lips and start moving his tongue around her clitoris, licking it and licking it. Then he'd suck her juices, plunging his tongue into her pussy as far as it would go, licking and lapping inside her sex until she threw her head back with a loud groan and surrendered to the most deliciously protracted of orgasms.

Isabella had come nowhere near granting David such a huge privilege yet, there was no denying that. Jesus, she'd never even let him touch her. He'd never even seen her naked body, had never seen her other than when she was fully – albeit erotically – clothed. But it was early days; at least that's what David hoped. It could be the end. No, don't even go there, he told himself, retreating from the awful thought before it had a chance to take hold. Live in hope, that's what he must do: live in hope that if he kept being a good slave to Isabella she'd arrive one day at a point where she had become as addicted to his enslavement to her as he was to being her slave. She would then regularly require him to pleasure her pussy with his mouth and he'd be so amazingly good at it that soon she'd become addicted to that too, addicted to him pleasuring her in that way.

The idea of it was thrilling, causing a surge of desire to run through him. It made David masturbate all the harder, his fingers moving in increasingly feverish strokes. His handsome face distorted and his heart pounded faster as he stroked his cock ever more vigorously, imagining that he was licking Isabella's pussy with equal vigour. The hard nub of her clitoris would be caught between his lips, David imagined; her pussy would shudder as he licked it. Bringing these images vividly to mind, he worked his fist up and down fast, his erection moistened lavishly now by his precome. David jacked and jacked until erotic pleasure was coursing through him and his shaft was pulsing convulsively just like Isabella's wet pussy would have been under the skilful ministrations of his tongue as he pushed it in even deeper.

As David jerked more and more forcefully at his cock, fantasising all the while about performing equally energetic cunnilingus on Isabella, he felt himself on the verge of climaxing. His breathing was short and shallow, his heart was beating loudly and there was a roar like the ocean in his ears. His arousal had tightened now into something painful, desperate. He was ready to burst, nearly ready to come, right on the brink of his orgasm. Almost there. Then the phone rang and it was Isabella. ‘Stop what you're doing at once,' she said.

David stopped what he was doing at once. It wasn't easy, wasn't easy
at all
. But that's what he did, because that's what Isabella had told him to do. He was still breathing rapidly, his chest rising and falling.

‘Do you know
Latin in the Lanes
?' Isabella asked.

‘Yes, Mistress.' It was an Italian restaurant just off the Brighton seafront and David had dined there on a number of occasions in the past, though not since meeting Isabella, not since becoming the onanistic recluse he now was thanks to her.

‘I'll meet you outside the place just before nine,' she said. ‘I've booked a table for two.'

‘Yes, Mistress,' David said, his breathing a little less laboured now. ‘Thank you so much.'

‘There's more,' Isabella said. ‘I want you to fit the butt plug inside you and keep it there all evening. I also want you to attach the clover clamps to your nipples. Keep them on all evening too. Put on the chained collar, the metal genital ring and the leather g-string as well. Wear them under your outer clothing.'

The phone went dead at that point and David immediately began to reflect on the ramifications of what he'd just been told. This evening was going to be a challenge, that was for damn sure, but it also represented to his mind real progress in his relationship with Isabella. Going out for a meal together in public was, from that viewpoint at any rate, a definite step up from his visit with her to
La Fetishista
to be disciplined. On the other hand, he smiled to himself, let's not get carried away here – it plainly wasn't going to be any ordinary meal, not by a long way!

David had plenty of time before he had to be at the restaurant but he felt it would be prudent to get ready sooner rather than later. It was better to be safe than sorry. David went up to his bedroom, took off the genital ring and unlocked the padlock to his chained collar, which he then removed. Then he headed for the bathroom. He stood in the shower, letting the warm water flow over his body, and soaped himself thoroughly. He got out of the shower, towelled off and reached for the enema kit ...

When he'd finished in the bathroom, David returned to his bedroom and put the chained collar back round his neck, going on to padlock it. He also put the tight genital ring back on. Now came the difficult part. David opened one of his bedroom drawers and pulled out a tube of lubricant, the large butt plug, and the nipple clamps. He lubricated the butt plug and pushed the rubber object into his narrow anus. It hurt as much as he'd known it would, which is to say that it hurt like hell. Next he attached the clamps to the clustered flesh of his nipples. That hurt a hell of a lot too, hurt as much as if the clamps had been burning pliers.

His anus now filled painfully by the butt plug and his nipples constricted equally painfully by the clover clamps, David proceeded to get dressed. First he put on the tiny leather g-string, which barely contained his metal-encircled genitals. He then donned a silky black T-shirt that disguised the telltale padlock to the front of his loose-chained slave's collar. Finally he put on a watch with a black leather strap, black socks, a lightweight midnight-blue suit that was casual in style, and shiny black loafers.

Under normal circumstances David might well have walked to the restaurant, the weather being particularly fine that evening. But the circumstances were anything but normal and this was certainly not an option on this occasion. David booked a taxi and when it arrived he walked unsteadily from the front door of his house to the waiting Streamline vehicle with its familiar turquoise-and-white livery. He noticed that the taxi driver looked more than a little bemused by the hesitant way he was walking. He probably thought his latest passenger had suffered a sports injury or something similar. He wouldn't have had even the faintest notion that between each unsteady step David was making toward his taxi he felt a sharp pain in his anus because of the large foreign object that was rammed up there. He got painfully into the back of the car, the cheeks of his backside pulled apart by the large butt plug, his nipples gripped painfully by the clover clamps.

The taxi ground through the evening traffic towards the seafront. It was one of those sunny evenings that can lift even the gloomiest of spirits. The sky was a pure blue and David could see through the gaps between buildings a shimmering strip of the English Channel on the horizon. On an evening like tonight Brighton was at its best, David thought. The place had a great atmosphere, with people sitting out at its numerous cafés and restaurants, talking, chilling out, flirting, listening to the cries of gulls ripping through the warm, briny air.

The taxi dropped David off and he walked uncomfortably towards the entrance to
Latin in the Lanes
. It was 8:45. He didn't see Isabella, didn't actually expect to see her for perhaps another ten minutes or so. Then he did see her, striding towards the restaurant. She looked stunning in a tight-fitting short black dress, which both revealed a daring amount of décolletage and showed off her terrific figure to perfection. Her breasts bobbed and her hips swayed enticingly as she moved.

Isabella arrived at the entrance to the restaurant where David was waiting for her. ‘Are you wearing the nipple clamps and is that big butt plug in place, slave?' That was what she said to him in lieu of a greeting.

‘Yes, Mistress,' he replied.

‘Are they very painful?'

‘Yes, Mistress.'

‘That's good to hear,' she said, a crooked gleam in her eye. ‘Do you like being in such pain?'

‘Yes, Mistress,' he replied, for it was true.

They entered the restaurant together, a little early for their reservation, but that did not present any difficulties as luck would have it: the place was not too busy and their table was free and already set. As they threaded their way through the other tables David concentrated on trying to walk as naturally as possible, which was no easy task. They were seated at their table by the waiter who said that he'd be back shortly to attend to them.

David shifted position in his seat to try and lessen the pain from the butt plug. The pain to his nipples was starting to diminish, though. He must be getting used to the clover clamps, David assumed. Perhaps he'd start to get used to the butt plug soon too; he certainly hoped so. Fuck, it was painful.

The waiter came back promptly and asked them if they would like a drink while deciding what they wanted to select from the menu. Isabella ordered a vodka tonic with ice and lemon and David a scotch on the rocks. The waiter then hurried off to get their drinks as they scrutinised their menus.

After a short while David looked up from his menu and across the table, across the shiny cutlery and the sparkling glasses, at Isabella. He thought she looked more gorgeous than ever. Her dark hair was shimmering and her eyes were shining. She looked smoulderingly sexy, super-erotic, darkly alluring. And she was here on a dinner date with him. The other diners couldn't keep their eyes off Isabella; she was by far the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. But hers was a cruel beauty. Because she was a cruel woman. She was a cruel woman who had made her dinner companion attach clover clamps to his nipples and insert a great big butt plug into his anus before allowing him to join her for a meal at
Latin in the Lanes
.

David's nipples felt OK now, not painful at all, just numb. But his anus was a different matter. He tried again to find a position that would make him less aware of the size of the object crammed inside him. But each time he moved, his insides seemed to swell even more, crying out in protest.

Their waiter returned, holding two glasses of spirit, ice cubes clinking. Isabella raised her glass and took a long pull and David did likewise, thinking: That's what I need – some liquid pain killer. The whisky felt good, giving him an instant buzz. He looked at his sadistic Mistress, then down at his drink, rattling the ice cubes. He drank some more whisky, feeling a warm glow begin suffusing itself through his body. The pain in his backside was starting to ease off now. When the effect of the scotch fully kicked in, David told himself, that would help further reduce his discomfort.

After briefly conferring with David Isabella took over the ordering of the food and wine. Neither of them would have a starter, she told the waiter, and they would both have the seafood salad, share a bottle of the house white.

Their meal arrived promptly and they ate it in silence for a while, Isabella choosing not to speak and David knowing instinctively that wherever possible he should only speak to his Mistress when spoken to. Then Isabella broke the silence. ‘Do you find me a cruel Mistress?' she asked, studying him over the rim of her wine glass. There was nobody at the table adjacent to theirs or anywhere else in the immediate vicinity to overhear her words.

‘Very cruel, Mistress,' David replied.

‘But hard to resist, huh?'

‘Impossible to resist,' David said. ‘I couldn't imagine any slave trying to resist you.'

‘It has been known,' Isabella said.

‘Really, Mistress?' David sounded incredulous.

‘There was this young slave called Dee who tried to resist me not so very long ago,' Isabella said, pouring them both some more wine. ‘Would you like to hear about it?'

‘Yes please, Mistress.'

‘It happened last summer' Isabella said, commencing her account. ‘You'll remember how lousy the weather was that season right from the start…'

Outside the sky was heavy with black clouds and it was raining hard. The wind was blowing branches around and gulls shrieked, almost inaudible in the storm. Isabella ushered her windswept friend John – or Master John as he was known on the Brighton fetish scene – into her beautifully furnished living room. She fixed her guest a drink and gestured with an elegant hand for him to come and sit with her on the black leather couch.

‘Thanks for seeing me,' John said, a worried frown creasing his handsome features. ‘I didn't know who to turn to for advice about the problem I've got with my new slave Dee but you seemed the best person.'

‘No thanks are necessary,' Isabella replied and waited for him to elaborate.

‘You haven't met Dee yet, have you,' John said.

‘I haven't, no,' Isabella agreed.

‘She's lovely, stunning,' John enthused. ‘I'm absolutely nuts about her.'

‘So far so good,' Isabella said. ‘Where's the problem?'

John took a sip from his drink and glanced out of the window. It really was wild out there. The weather had been like this for the last week – and it was supposed to be the beginning of summer in sunny Brighton. So far the weather had been foul, a south-westerly twisting off the English Channel day after stormy day. The seaside city was definitely not at its best. Nor was John. He looked back at Isabella, cleared his throat and said, ‘In a nutshell, I'm finding Dee increasingly difficult to control.'

‘Feisty at times is she?' Isabella asked.

‘Yes, and obstinate, argumentative, truculent, opinionated, disobedient …'

‘I get the picture,' Isabella interjected with a smile. ‘But don't you perhaps think that by behaving like that she's just trying to goad you into disciplining her more strictly.'

‘You think?'

‘It seems a distinct possibility,' Isabella said. She liked John but to her mind he was less than convincing as a dominator. Not exactly the type. He was an amiable sort, never exactly pushy. ‘In fact, if you want my honest opinion, John,' she went on, ‘I think you're probably too damn nice to keep such an obviously wilful character under control. I hope you don't mind me saying that.' Isabella valued John's friendship and didn't want to offend him. On the other hand there was no point in beating about the bush.

‘I've had a lot worse insults,' John replied with a wry smile. ‘But I must admit being too nice, as you put it, isn't exactly an ideal trait in a Master – particularly with a handful like Dee to try and keep in order.'

‘The way I see it, you've got some of the best characteristics of a great Dom,' Isabella went on, sugaring the pill a little for her friend. ‘You're brilliant at Japanese rope bondage and wax play too, and you can certainly administer a good whipping. But you don't have that fundamentally cruel streak that's needed to be a truly effective dominator.'

‘You're right, although I hate to admit it,' John said. ‘The trouble is I can't make myself into something I'm not, I know that. Yet I'm genuinely worried that the whole situation could lead to Dee and me splitting up and I really don't want that to happen – I'm madly in love with the girl. What on earth am I going to do, Isabella?'

The dominatrix frowned. ‘There must be a solution to this,' she said, pausing to think for a few moments, ‘and … yes … I think I know what it is.'

‘Go on.'

‘What if Dee could be handed over to someone who's not only extremely sadistic but is also someone you personally feel you can trust,' Isabella said. ‘This would only be for a brief session so she can be given a short sharp shock, so to speak. That might well do the trick with your Dee, don't you think?'

‘What, bring her to heel?'

‘Yes,' Isabella replied. ‘And make her realise just how well off she is with you as her Master.'

‘I think you might well be on to something,' John said, brightening. ‘What you're suggesting's got quite a ring about it.'

‘Also,' Isabella continued, ‘there'd be an added bonus for you if you went ahead with my suggestion.'

‘What's that?'

‘You could threaten Dee with further sessions with the person concerned if she gets out of line in the future. That would be a good way of keeping her under control longer term, don't you agree?'

‘I do, Isabella,' John said. ‘In fact the whole idea sounds increasingly good to me the more you explain it. Did you have somebody specifically in mind to discipline Dee in this cruel and ingenious way?'