The Dominatrix

The Dominatrix
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ISBN:  9781780803449
Author:  Becky Bell
Word Count:  74,440
Format:  eBook

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Perfect SlavePerfect Slave
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A man stood on tiptoe in the middle of the room, his arms stretched up above his head. His wrists had been strapped into a pair of padded leather cuffs which were tied to a white nylon rope, threaded through a pulley above his head and tied off on a cleat on the nearest wall. His entire body was encased in tight black rubber, including his head, which had been crammed into a rubber helmet. The helmet had only one tiny hole presently open, at the base of his nostrils. His legs were bound together by thick rubber straps at his ankles and above his knees. A large erection pushed out against the rubber that covered his belly.

Paula Divine is a woman who takes her pleasures very seriously. As a top dominatrix, she spends her days and nights in a uniform of cruel high heels and jet-black basque, teasing and chastising a procession of hapless men who are more than happy to pay for the privilege of being her slave.

And unlike most women in her line of work, Paula enjoys inflicting pain and humiliation just as much as her clients enjoy receiving it. For her, nothing is quite so arousing as the sight of a naked man, bound and helpless, pleading for mercy.

But Paula has just discovered something to add zest to even her feverish sex life. A young, innocent estate agent called Angela, who finds the business of domination almost as exciting as the prospect of sex with another, older and far more experienced woman.

'Having fun?' Paula asked. She put the glass down on a small shelf and took a riding crop from a rack of whips mounted on the plain black walls. She slashed it down across the top of the man's buttocks. 'Answer me,' Paula snapped.
   The man nodded his head vigorously. He could not speak. A large phallus-shaped gag had been crammed into his mouth before the rubber helmet had been pulled on.
   'Good.'
   Paula came up behind him, pressing her body against his, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him down, increasing the pressure on his already tortured shoulders and arms. He moaned but wriggled back against her. She knew he would be able to feel her big, spongy breasts against his shoulder blades.
   'I'm going to let you watch,' she said. 'Isn't that good of me?'
   He nodded vigorously again.
   Paula stepped back and slashed the whip across the man's buttocks again. The noise of leather on rubber reverberated through the room. She hit him once more, much harder this time, causing him to moan loudly.
   Paula walked around in front of him. The rubber helmet had little flaps over each eye. She carefully folded them back, watching him blink as his eyes became accustomed to the light.
   'Come in here,' she said, as she heard the other man walking back into the living room. She put the whip back in the rack.
   The man obeyed at once, shuffling into the room with his head down.
   'Close the door,' she ordered.
   Again he obeyed. He was wearing one of her short white nylon slips and looked ridiculous, his hairy chest showing through the nylon. But that was the point. It amused her to see how far men were prepared to go to obey her, how they would humiliate themselves for her.
   'You look pretty, don't you?'
   'Yes, Mistress Paula.'
   'Do you think he looks pretty, Derek?' she said, addressing the rubber-encased man.
   Derek nodded his head.
   'I think I'll make you wear a dress, next time, and a bra and a pair of panties. Would you like that?'
   'No, Mistress Paula,' he said.
   'No? How dare you? It's what I want that matters. Don't you understand that by now?'
   'Yes, Mistress Paula, I'm sorry.'
   'Don't worry: you will be sorry.'
   Paula opened the large walnut cupboard where she kept all her equipment.
   'Come over here, then,' she said. 'You don't expect me to come to you, do you?'
   'No, mistress.' He was staring at the other man, wondering, no doubt, if he was going to end up in the same position. There were other pulleys in the room, as well as metal rings fastened to the walls and odd-looking contraptions equipped with belts and straps intended to render their victim equally helpless.
   Paula took out an arrangement of several chains. 'Pull your slip up.'
   The man obeyed. His penis was already erect.
   Paula opened a small thick metal manacle attached to one of the chains. She slipped it under his balls and around the shaft of his cock, then clicked it shut. It was tight and she saw the metal cutting into his erection.
   'Hands out in front of you.'
   Two chains were clipped to the cock-ring, one to the top of his shaft and the other on the bottom, hanging down under his balls. The top one was about a foot long and was attached to the central link of a pair of metal handcuffs. Quickly, Paula looped the handcuffs over his wrists and snapped them shut.
   The chain hanging down between his legs was about the same length and was also attached to handcuffs, though they were slightly larger in diameter.
   'Get on your knees.'
   The man obeyed. Paula knelt beside him, pulled the chain back between his legs and snapped the cuffs around his ankles. With his ankles bound to his cock in this way, the shortness of the chain meant that it was impossible for him to stand up.
   She got up and admired her work. Walking over to the door, she picked up her wine glass and finished the wine. Paula was one of a handful of people who could genuinely say they loved their work. She had turned her sexual obsession into a profitable business. Though both men had paid her for her services as a dominatrix, it was a role that never failed to excite her. She had discovered, very early in life, that normal sex left her cold. She needed to be dominant and sadistic, to play with men's emotions as she played with their bodies, to make them suffer until they begged her for release. Having the two men totally at her mercy, bound and helpless, aroused her like nothing else ever had. She loved the sense of total power and control it gave her. She could demand that they did anything she chose. Anything. And she had a very vivid imagination.
   She shivered as she thought of it. Of course, she knew there were many women who acted out the role of dominatrix, who pretended to be dominant, to earn money from their clients. But with her, the money was only a bonus; her haughty superiority, her desire to see men grovel and be turned into pathetic slaves, prepared to indulge her every whim, was completely genuine. Her sadism was not bogus, either. Her pleasure from teasing and torturing the men who came to her was manifest. Perhaps that was why she was so successful, and had so many clients who came to her week after week, so eager for the privilege of serving her that they were prepared to pay for it.
   Paula put the empty glass down and reached behind her back to unzip the figure-hugging dress, walking into the middle of the room where both men could see her. Slowly, she pulled the shoulder straps down her arms. The men's eyes followed her every movement. She was wearing a tight black lace basque, with a three-quarter cup bra, her large breasts spilling out from the cups. As she stooped to wriggle the dress over her hips her breasts threatened to escape, ballooning out against the lacy restraints, flesh quivering.
   The dress fell to the floor and Paula stepped out of it. The suspenders of the basque were clipped into the jet-black stockings. She wore a pair of tiny lacy panties, no more than a triangle of lace held in place by thin black elasticated ribbons that made channels in her curvaceous hips. She could smell her own perfume, a musky scent that she had dabbed into her cleavage and at the top her thighs.
   She pulled the bra-cups of the basque down, carefully folding them under her breasts. This supported her breasts but left them exposed. She had large ruby-red nipples, surrounded by thick bands of very dark areolae. Her nipples were already erect but she pinched each in turn, hardening them further.
   Moving forward, she stood directly in front of the man in the white slip and began to stroke the black panties, rubbing the lace against her mons. Her pubic hair was naturally short, like a two-day stubble on a man's beard, and rasped slightly against the material. She felt her clitoris pulse as the thin gusset of the panties was pulled more tightly into the slit of her labia.
   The man's eyes were watching her hungrily. His erection tented the front of the white slip and she could see where it had been stained by the fluid that was leaking from his cock.
   'Come closer,' she said, spreading her legs wide apart.
   He shuffled forward on his knees until his face was no more than an inch away from her crotch.
   'Good boy,' she said. She took hold of the back of his head and pressed it forward, so his mouth was jammed against her mons. 'Are you watching this, Derek?' she said, looking up at the other man.
   The man in rubber nodded, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
   'Lower.' Paula pushed his head down between her legs, so that his body arched backward and his mouth was right over the lips of her sex. 'Now use your tongue.'
   Immediately, she felt the man's tongue pushing up between her labia. He wriggled it under the narrow gusset of her panties and pushed it up to her clitoris. For a moment she allowed his tongue to play against it, enjoying the waves of pleasure that coursed through her body.
   'How dare you?' she said, stepping back so suddenly that he overbalanced and sprawled back on the floor, the chains rattling. 'How dare you touch me like that?'
   'But I thought...'
   'Don't answer me back,' she snapped. 'You're going to be punished for that. First you tell me you don't want the privilege of wearing my clothes and now you have the cheek to imagine that I would want a worm like you to touch me so intimately.'
   'But you—'
   'If you say another word, it's double the punishment. Is that understood?'
   'Yes, Mistress Paula.'
   'Get on all fours,' she ordered.
   With a rattling of chains, the man obeyed.
   'Pull the slip up over your bottom.'
   The man's hands were locked in front of him and chained to his cock. There was no way he could do what she had ordered him to do. He tried desperately to pull at the hem of the slip from the front, but with little effect.
   'Come on, come on.'
   'I can't, Mistress Paula.'
   'So I suppose I'll have to do it. You're useless. Completely useless.' She bent down and flicked the slip up over his buttocks. 'How many do you deserve?'
   Paula walked over to stand in front of Derek. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the panties and pulled them down over her meaty hips. His eyes followed their movement, over the jet-black welts of the stockings and down to her knees. She allowed them to drop to the floor, then stepped out of them.
   'How many do you think he deserves, Derek?'
   Derek tried to say something, but the gag prevented all but a muffled moan escaping.
   Paula inched forward until her nipples were touching the black rubber that covered Derek's chest. She wriggled her shoulders from side to side so her breasts shook, rubbing across the rubber. Derek's cock twitched.
   'Six, then,' she said.
   She selected a two-tongued leather tawse from the rack of whips and swished it through the air. Not satisfied with the noise it made, she selected a long horse-whip with a brass pommel and a tapering leather lash. When she slashed this through the air it made a high-pitched whistle.
   'Get your head down and your arse up,' she said, kicking the kneeling man's thigh.
   'Yes, Mistress Paula.'
   This was what he wanted, of course. Though she could not see it, she knew his penis would be straining against the metal ring that surrounded it, jerking reflexively in anticipation of what was to come.
   'Higher,' she ordered.
   He stuck his bum in the air, his forehead pressed to the floor.
  Thwack. The whip landed on the meat of his arse, immediately producing a thin red weal. His whole body trembled and he produced a low keening noise.
   'What do you say?'
   'Thank you, Mistress Paula; may I have another?'
   'You may.'
   Thwack. Thwack. Two strokes in quick succession, both harder than the first: both making the flesh of his buttocks quiver, and both producing scarlet weals on his white flesh.
   'Thank you, Mistress Paula; may I have another?' he intoned, his voice breathless and husky.
   Thwack. Thwack. The fourth stroke was low, cutting across the top of his thighs. Thwack. The last was the hardest of all, the sound reverberating around the room. He made that keening noise again, through clenched teeth, a cry of pain that also contained more than a hint of ecstatic pleasure.
   'Thank you, Mistress Paula,' he managed to breathe. She could see his whole body was rigid, every muscle locked. His cock, pressing against the silky white slip, would be straining against the metal ring.
   Paula dropped to her knees beside him and stroked his buttocks, making him jerk as wildly as he had when he was being whipped. Her hand would appear cold and soothing in comparison to the intense heat radiating from the weals, increasing his need.
   'Please...' he moaned.
   'Please what? Please stop?'
   'No, don't stop.'
   'What, then?'
   'Please let me come, mistress.'
   She smiled. Peter had been to her three times before. She had emphasised that he was not allowed to come unless she gave him permission, but on previous visits he had never managed to control himself. He was learning and she was pleased. She wanted total control. Some of her regular clients had been trained to come only if she said a particular word, like Pavlov's dog learning to salivate every time a bell was rung. If Peter became one of her regulars, she would train him in the same way.
   'Use your hand, then,' she whispered.

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