“I was dying…” Sheridan said as she moved her hands to her own breasts and began to touch her nipples. “I wanted him inside me so fucking much. No matter how fast he moved, it wasn’t fast enough. I think I begged. Out loud maybe. I know I said, ‘Please.’”

  “Did he please?”

  “Oh yeah, he pleased. He pleased hard,” Sheridan said with a giggle so amorous she sounded intoxicated. “He slammed into me in one stroke. My hips had bruises on them the next morning from how hard he went it. I kept going to the bathroom just to look at them. He owned me with that thrust.”

  He owned me… The Mistress had pegged Sheridan as a submissive. With three words she outed herself.

  “On the opposite of the foyer was this big mirror. I remember turning my head and watching him as he fucked me.”

  “I love doing that. Men think they’re the visual ones, but who needs Internet porn when you’ve got a mirror at the end of your bed?”

  “I should get one. God, it was amazing watching him. I’d never done that before really—never watched him while he fucked me. He was almost out of his mind. He wasn’t even holding onto me, just the edge of the table. He just…”

  Sheridan paused for a breath and to open her thighs even wider. Good, The Mistress thought. Sheridan was close to going out of her mind waiting to be penetrated.

  “He just pounded me,” Sheridan continued. “It was brutal. I heard the table feet scraping the tile floor. And he was grunting and panting like he was in pain almost. You should have seen him…I did see him. I still can see him.”

  The Mistress let Sheridan fall silent. The girl was no doubt lost in the most erotic memory of her life, the memory of a man so consumed with lust for her he nearly ate her alive in the foyer of his townhouse before he could even be bothered with “hello.”

  “What else can you see?” The Mistress asked as she opened Sheridan wider and stroked her inner lips. The girl was slick with desire and remembered passion.

  “He grabbed the back of my neck and held me down hard against the table. He was absolutely ramming into me by that point. I don’t know…it was like he knew that would be our last time together even though I hadn’t told him.”

  “Did you orgasm then?”

  Sheridan shook her head. “No. He came first. Loudly. Usually he was so quiet during sex, really intense. But that time he just groaned. I usually couldn’t feel it when he came either, but that night I did. When he pulled out, his cum dribbled down my legs and onto the floor.”

  “I hope he had a forgiving housekeeper.”

  “He left me laying on the table while he zipped his pants back up. Then he grabbed me and picked me up. I laughed out loud at that. Crazy. It was so Gone With the Wind, him carrying me up the stairs. I told him I could walk.”

  “You look like you weigh about ninety-five pounds. Let the man carry you.”

  “I did and I loved it. I loved it when he threw me onto his bed upstairs. And I loved it when he took his belt and whipped the back of my legs with it.”

  “Ohh…masochistic streak. I can work with that.”

  “I hope you do, Mistress,” Sheridan said, her voice dropping an octave. “He didn’t hit me very often. Didn’t want anyone seeing the welts.”

  “Occupational hazard in my world. Our world,” The Mistress corrected. The sooner Sheridan accepted her kinky side, the sooner she’d be able to enjoy sex again.

  “Exactly. But I was eighteen then and we were wild that night. He whipped me from ass to ankles…”

  “I’m putting that on my To Do List.”

  “And then he tied to me to the bed on my back. He was already hard again. He crawled on top of me… I loved looking at him. I don’t know why but he always wore his suit during sex. Never undressed. He’d take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves, but that was it. He’d leave on the vest or his tie... I loved it though. It felt so dirty being naked while he was fully dressed in his sexy business suits. Maybe that’s why he did it.”

  The Mistress kept her mouth shut. A man in his late thirties, early forties having an affair with a beautiful girl half his age? She knew exactly why he kept his clothes on during sex: he didn’t want Sheridan seeing his aging body.

  “What did he do then?” The Mistress asked.

  “He fucked me again. Not as hard this time. Slower…much slower. It was always slower the second time. And he finally kissed me. And while he was kissing me he started rubbing my clit. That was my favorite…when he touched my clit while inside me. I came every time when he did that.”

  “Like this?”

  The Mistress turned her hand and pushed three fingers deep into Sheridan’s body as she carefully rubbed her clitoris with her other hand. As the first penetration, Sheridan gasped and dug her hands back into the cushions.

  She nodded mutely. Just like that.

  “Keep remembering, Sheridan,” The Mistress ordered. “But don’t talk. Just remember how good it felt, this man on top of you and inside you and how it felt when you hit that moment when the pressure starts to build and you know if he just keeps doing exactly what he’s doing you’re going to come and come hard…”

  The Mistress pushed the knuckle of her thumb into Sheridan’s g-spot and smiled as the girl flinched with pleasure. Sheridan’s head fell back and the heels of her shoes dug so hard into the silk cushion that the fabric started to rip. Lost in ecstasy, Sheridan didn’t even seem to notice.

  A lifetime of experience with the female orgasm had taught The Mistress that all she had to do now was not stop. A red flush spread across Sheridan’s chest. Her breathing had quickened wildly. Every muscle in her legs had gone taut. The Mistress pushed in another finger and the girl’s body opened to her like a flower. With a little lube, she could have shoved her whole hand into the girl. But they’d save that for next time. Now all that mattered was getting Sheridan to the edge and pushing her over it.

  “I want you to come for me, Sheridan. I’m ordering you to come for me. I’m not taking off that blindfold or letting you out of this room until you come for me. I don’t care if it takes all night. You can do this.”

  “I don’t know…it’s been years. I—”

  “It’s not you, Sheridan. It’s them. The guys you’ve been with who didn’t understand who you are and what you are. You can orgasm. There’s nothing wrong with you. They didn’t know what they were doing. Vanilla sex with a guy who treats you like his best buddy isn’t going to do it for you. And it shouldn’t. You deserve better sex than that. You belong at the feet of a man who owns you and treats you like his property and inflicts orgasms on you like a punishment…”

  “Oh God…” she panted between breaths.

  The Mistress pushed harder onto her clitoris, moved her hand faster and deeper inside her vagina…

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Little Miss.”

  Sheridan’s hips rose again off the cushion and hovered a few inches in the air.

  “This nothing wrong with you at all,” The Mistress said and shoved in once more.

  With a loud and lusty cry, Sheridan’s back arched, her body froze, and every muscle inside her fluttered wildly, almost painfully around The Mistress’s hand as an orgasm years in the making ripped through the girl and sent fluid pouring out of her and onto the red silk.

  When the last contraction subsided, The Mistress carefully pulled out of Sheridan and let the girl take a few minutes to breathe.

  Sheridan’s breathing slowed. The Mistress grinned as a laugh, a beautiful tired laugh, escaped Sheridan’s lips, and a smile as wide as the sky spread across her face. Nowhere on the girl’s face did The Mistress see shame or self-loathing or fear.

  The Mistress reached behind Sheridan’s head and untied the blindfold. Sheridan blinked a few times and looked up into The Mistress’s eyes.

  “I can’t believe that happened,” she said in a faint whisper. “I haven’t come with another person in years.”

  “Welcome back. Next session, I’ll give you two orgasms. But you better tip well.”

  “God, you’re good at this, Mistress.”

  And for reasons that The Mistress couldn’t explain and won’t explain and certainly will never apologize for, she gave the girl the quickest of kisses on her lips.

  “Told you so.”

  Jesus H. Christ, Kingsley. Stop reading over my shoulder. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with you breathing in my goddamn ear? I can hear your erection.

  Kingsley…what are you doing? Stop biting me. I’m still typing here. I’m typing all of this. I want your biting me in the permanent record.

  Could someone tell Kingsley to please stop biting me?

  Fine. I’ll do it myself.

  And now you’re taking your clothes off.

  I love this damn job.

  FILE #2

  Client Name: Robert Bruce (age 45)

  Profession: Above my pay grade

  Inclination: Dominant

  Level of Experience: Moderate

  Orientation: Straight

  Okay, client profile number two coming up right. This one should be a lot easier to write without that nymphomaniac Frenchman Kingsley hanging around. Big mistake trying to write these files at Kingsley’s house. The man just cannot keep his nose out of my business sometimes. And by “nose,” of course, I mean “penis.” And by “my business,” I mean…

  Well, you know what I mean.

  Hello, Dear Reader. I’ll assume that if you’re reading this file you’re also in Kingsley’s employ as either a pro-Dom or a pro-sub. He has some ridiculous notion that I am the greatest dominatrix working today and that all pros can learn a thing or two from my interactions with clients. All right, maybe it isn’t that ridiculous. I’m pretty damn good at this. What can I say? I learned from the best. But the less said about Him the better.

  Back on topic. As you know, Fellow Minions of Kingsley, this job we do is really just a job. Most days at least. We show up. We kick ass (or get our asses kicked—I’m not forgetting you cute little subs out there). We yell, we flog, we insult, we beat and bruise, and then we send them home happy and hand off our 15% to Kingsley.

  But some days the job is more than a job. And those are either the best days or the worst days. Some days I’m less a dominatrix and more a therapist. A lot of people come to me already broken and only by breaking them again can they finally heal right. I like those days although they scare the shit out of me. You try never to take the job home with you.

  Although, on rare occasions, you go home with the job.

  The Case of the Diffident Dom

  Robert came to The Mistress on a Thursday afternoon during her office hours. Kingsley had scoffed at the idea of a dominatrix holding a weekly salon for her clients. Anything that involved kinky people in the same room together keeping their clothes on baffled his poor French brain. But The Mistress understood that the dynamics with her clients changed and their bonds strengthened when they could interact as domme and sub without the erotic stress of a scene looming. The subs brought her their bruises for inspection and applause. The Doms came to learn her secrets. One hour a week could breed a lifetime of well-paid loyalty. The Mistress, as always, knew what she was doing.

  When Robert entered the room (Kingsley’s private lounge on the first floor), The Mistress couldn’t quite discern exactly what he wanted from her. He stood in the corner and watched as The Mistress rubbed the shoulder of her favorite female submissive. Her Little Miss had played too hard with a sadist the night before and had a pulled muscle to prove it. The Mistress loved to coo over her broken-winged doves. This Little Miss melted into her hands as the sub regaled The Mistress with the story of last night’s erotic adventure. Robert listened attentively but without any discernible lascivious intentions. He had the posture and the bearing of a dominant. He stood straight with his chin high, and at no point did he shrink from eye contact. Although the Little Miss at The Mistress’s feet told a lurid story of pain and passion (and some double penetration while suspended facedown from the ceiling via a leather harness and some elaborate Kinbaku, i.e. Japanese rope bondage—see attached diagram), Robert never once batted an eyelash. The story neither repulsed nor astonished him. He listened as if he’d heard the tale before. Or perhaps even lived it.

  Curiosity got the better of The Mistress and with a quick kiss, she sent her Little Miss on her way. Alone with Robert at last, she lounged back in the black and gold embroidered armchair, crossed one booted ankle over her bare thigh, and waited for him to speak.

  He clearly sensed her interest in him and withheld his words as he sat across from her on the low sofa by the quietly burning fireplace. A handsome man in his forties, he looked just enough like Denzel Washington that The Mistress rather hoped she was wrong about the whole Dom thing. Robert was new to The Mistress, but he must not have been new to Kingsley to be inside the inner sanctum.

  “I’ve heard of you,” Robert said as he clasped his large, well-manicured hands by his knees.

  “Who hasn’t?” The Mistress asked, giving him a smile.

  He didn’t take the bait and flirt or flatter her. Her estimation of him, already fairly high, inched up further.

  “My name is Robert Bruce. I need your help.”

  “My name is Mistress Nora. I sell help.”

  “I can pay.”

  “I know you can. Otherwise King wouldn’t have let you in the door. Let’s talk about the situation first. I’ll write up the invoice later.”

  Robert sighed and sat back on the sofa. A tall man, he carried himself with dignity, but still The Mistress sensed a struggle within him. Men often came to her at war with their consciences. Society had taught them, and rightly so in most instances, to never lay a hand on a woman. So when dark desires crept into their dreams—desires to tie up a woman and flog her or spank her, beat her and bruise her even as she begged for more—they came to The Mistress for absolution.

  Absolution wasn’t her area…but she could show them how to throw a flogger like a pro.

  “I’m married,” Robert finally spoke again.

  “My sympathies.”

  He laughed then, a rich warm laugh and The Mistress wrinkled her nose at him by way of apology.

  “I actually like being married, Mistress. Love it even.”

  “Fascinating. You’re here because of your wife?”

  “Yes, she…she’s something, my Cara.” The smile left his mouth and moved to his ebony eyes. The Mistress saw love in that smile, love in those eyes. Married and in love? The Mistress was half-tempted to take a blood sample from the man and send it to the labs.

  “She must be to put that rise in your Levis.”

  Robert sat up straighter and gave The Mistress a wide-eyed stare.

  “Don’t worry, Robert. If there aren’t at least three men in this house at any one time walking around with full erections, Kingsley calls a staff meeting. You love your wife. She must be incredibly beautiful to get you in a manly way by just thinking about her. I might have to meet this woman.”

  “I want you to meet her.” Robert pulled one of the gold pillows across his lap. “I can’t really bring her here. Not yet anyway.”

  “Do you want me to meet your wife? Or do you want me to beat your wife?”

  Robert exhaled heavily. He rubbed his forehead and gave a short rueful laugh. “She wants me to beat her.”

  “And you don’t want to do it?”

  “No. Hell no. I’d love to. It’s just…”

  The Mistress waited. From the moment she saw Robert standing in the corner, she knew her day was about to get interesting. She did so love interesting days.

  “Just what, Robert?” The Mistress leaned forward and let one lace-encased arm drape over the other as she studied him. Her breasts were on ample display in her black-and-white-striped corset. But Robert only looked into her eyes.

  “Just…I’m afraid to ask for this. It’s crazy. I know you’ll say no.”

  He paused for a breath. Whatever he was about to ask clearly required as much courage as the man had within him. The Mistress couldn’t wait to hear what perverted, sadistic, terrifying plan the man had in mind.

  “Will you come home with me and meet my wife?” he said.

  “You sick, twisted motherfucker.”

  Robert blanched. The Mistress laughed.

  “Come on,” she said, throwing her toy bag over her shoulder. “I’ll drive.”

  The Mistress drove and Robert sat in the passenger seat eyeing her warily.

  “What? Did you think I’d say no?” The Mistress asked.

  “I assumed you would. Isn’t coming home with clients a little…”

  “It’s not usually done, no. But I’m not your ordinary dominatrix. I make ten times what my sisters in sadism do because I do the stuff they won’t. Like…”

  “Go to client’s houses?”

  “For starters. Now tell me how you know Kingsley. You must know Kingsley somehow.”

  “I know Kingsley.”

  “Carnal knowledge?”

  “He wishes.”

  “I like you, Robert Bruce. Keep talking.”

  Robert toyed with his watchband as The Mistress took them to the edge of Manhattan.

  “Don’t do that,” she said. “You’re not the fidgeting type. It hurts my soul to see a dignified Dom fidgeting.”

  “Sorry, Mistress. How do you know I’m a Dom though?”

  “I’ll eat my own underwear if you’re a sub. Switch? Maybe, although you seem like a man of hard and simple desires. Switches are much more flighty and fucked up. I know this from experience. So Dom?”

  “Yes. Ex-Dom.”

  “Future Dom. You’ve topped before?”

  “Old girlfriend,” Robert explained. “She got me into it back when I was in grad school. MBA.”

  “MBA? I stand corrected. You’re obviously a masochist. Continue.”