The Unnamed Mistress

Muscled male model roped in traditional japanesse shibari

Image licensed via Fotolia. 

She draws closer to me, pressing her breasts into my back, reaching around my waist to rake her long, red nails up my thighs. The small, curly hairs between her legs tickle my ass cheeks. I dare not jerk away, lest I displease my new mistress.

I say new, but I mean most recent. I’ve been dominated before, but not by her. And never like this.

The first time I saw her was at Chaotic Cupid, a club where anyone and everyone could hook up anonymously and part ways amicably. Nothing was out of bounds there, as long as all parties agreed ahead of time. That was the one rule Mistress Galatea did enforce: no hookups permitted on the grounds without a signed contract in place. If you left the club with anyone, that was on you. There was no alcohol involved, nothing that would impair one’s judgment; and everyone was screened at the door. I was actually high the first time I’d tried to get in. No dice.

I guess that’s two rules G actually insists everyone follows. You have to sign a contract and you have to be capable of doing so.

Anyway, the first time I spotted my current mistress was about three weeks ago, best guess. She was all long legs and dark hair. What little clothing she wore had been strategically sewn together to cover only her nipples and the inverted v where her thighs met. Even with the majority of her flesh exposed, she walked with confidence and grace.

At the time, I figured she had to be a dominatrix, but I was uncertain because of her friendly demeanor. Most of the dom’s I’d met were intimidating, to say the least. But not her. She had a smile and a friendly word for everyone. People responded to her with genuine smiles, greeted her with warm hugs. The way she’d cup a cheek here, kiss a forehead there, one might even go so far as to call her motherly, if one would go so far as to think of their mother wearing only tiny scraps of black leather and lace.

I had already chosen my dom for the evening. Rather, she’d chosen me and I’d agreed to the match. She provided her demands to one of G’s secretaries. Distracted by the raven beauty across the room, I gave the secretary my safe word and barely spared at glance at Carla’s terms. I’d had her before; she knew my limits. Besides, if she did something I didn’t want her to, that’s what the safe word was for.

I turned my attention away from a woman I’ve come to think of as Raven just long enough to sign the contract. When I looked up again, I could have sworn she looked pleased. One brow raised in a high, perfectly manicured arch and her smile instantly turned darker. Her gaze held mine for a moment that stretched out … Until Carla grabbed my hand and pulled me away. I glanced back over my shoulder, but Raven had disappeared into the crowd.

Carla and I made our way around the orgy in the center of the room, stopping here and there to admire the curve of a breast, the soft glistening cum pooled in and around various orifices. I didn’t see Raven again as we made the rounds.

That night, with Carla straddling my face, putting my tongue to good use, Raven’s countenance dissipated within my mind. When Carla finally allowed me to penetrate her silken depths, my only thoughts were of her.

She wore me out that night. I fell asleep on a chaise lounge on a second floor, west wing balcony. When I woke, sometime in the early morning hours, I was being dragged away, a dark cloth of some sort draped over my head and shoulders.

Although I’d been trained more times than I could recount, I struggled to control my rising panic. Surely Mistress Galatea wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me? G always had our best interests at heart. Perhaps Carla was enacting some sort of kidnapping fantasy.

I relaxed my limbs, pretending to be unconscious as I’d often done. The use of chlorophorm, real chlorophorm, wasn’t allowed; we’d often had to get creative with some of our fantasies. She’d never dragged me off-site before, though. The fantasy always began with me waking from having been drugged.

She was taking things to a whole new level, and that was absolutely fine with me.

I played along until we got to the elevator and she dropped my arms suddenly, my head dropping hard against the cold, marble floor. Stars swam in my otherwise dark vision, but scattered when the elevator’s bell dinged.

Briefly, I thought to offer to walk instead of having her haul me away, but the doors opened and Mistress Galatea spoke; a rare experience for the Chaotic Cupid’s patrons.

“I see you’ve found a new pet.”

“Oh, I sure hope so.” That was not Carla’s voice; hers was lighter and without the southern twang. “From the looks of him, Carla rode him hard and put him up wet.” She paused slightly and I held my breath, hoping against hope this was my raven, come to take me away and own me. “But we’ll see what’s left when I get him to the dungeon.”

At the word dungeon, my pulse sped up. I opened my mouth to object, but hesitated. If it was Raven, I didn’t want to disappoint her. I might miss out on the opportunity to please such an unusual dom. And I had to know what pleased her.

So I held my peace and listened as they exchanged pleasantries, bidding each other a pleasant morning. Raven’s real name never tumbled from G’s lips.

 

A lubricated finger slides into my ass and I jolt awake. I’d drifted off to sleep remembering that first night.

As it turns out, the woman who kidnapped me three weeks ago was Raven. Rather, I know her as Raven. She refuses to give me her name; insists I must earn the privilege. And I will.

With one hand gripping my hip, she uses her finger to tease my asshole. I’d never agreed to anal; I was relatively vanilla per the Chaotic Cupid’s norm. But if I use my safe word, she’ll stop. Part of me doesn’t want her to stop because it might displease her. Part of me doesn’t want her to stop because I find the sensation of her dainty digit inside me incredibly appealing. Not a single ounce of me actually does want her to stop, and she only put the tip in.

After the initial shock, a moment of doubt at the perceived violation, I relaxed. The best thing one can do in any new situation is relax. As soon as I do, her finger sinks in a bit deeper.

I gasp and flex, a kneejerk reaction, and the muscles in my rear pull her finger in the rest of the way. I moan aloud. This is nothing like I’ve ever felt before. “Thank you, Mistress Raven.”

Her throaty chuckle makes my dick jump with anticipation.

She rather enjoys taking my full length as deeply into her throat as she can and holding it there while she laughs or moans, effectively training me to respond physically to her vocalizations.

“Thought you might like that, darlin’.”

She pulls her finger out and leaves me standing there, arms outstretched above me, shackled to the ceiling via a length of chain.

“If you’re good, I’ll give you something you’ll really enjoy.”

Raven paces around to stand before me, reaching up for the knotted rope that hangs from the same beam from which my chain dangles.

Her muscles, already shimmering with sweat from the previous hours of training me, strain with the effort of lifting herself. She climbs, hand over hand, up one knot, then two, and wraps her legs around my waist.

“Please, mistress, let me do this for you.”

“Patience,” she snaps at me, leaning back and rocking her hips forward at the same time. She pulls away until my dick springs up, reaching toward the warmth at her core, then gently eases onto the tip. With infinitesimal, torturous motions, she uses the head of my cock to stroke the inner walls of her pussy.

I do my best to remain still, but orgasm is within my grasp. I have to hold out as long as I can. For her.

Perhaps she senses my nearing climax. Or maybe she simply wants to prolong her own pleasure. Hanging from the ceiling as she is, holding onto her position only by that rope and her thighs clenched around my waist, she’s got to be close. But she hasn’t even used me to penetrate herself completely. She uses the rope to pull almost all of the way off of me and, using nothing more than her eyes, commands me to hold still as a statue.

Raven keeps us posed like that; her arms pulling against her own weight; the tip of my dick just barely inside her slippery cunt. If I so much as twitch, I’ll slide right out. That’s the last thing I want.

I wait, holding my breath, for instruction.

Finally, as her arms start shaking, she commands me: “Slowly but firmly push into me as far as you can.”

I gently let out my breath and ease my full length into her. My dick is so hard it’s pulsing. She clenches around my girth, then releases. Slowly, at first, she repeats the tightening and relaxing of her inner muscles. Again.

And again.

Then faster, she clenches and releases. Clench and release. Clench. Release. Faster. Faster and faster and faster.

“Stop!” We’re both trembling, and I don’t know about her but I’m on the verge of tears.

“Please,” it’s the only word I can work out, and that only comes on a whisper.

Using the rope and what has to be the last of her strength by now, she pulls off of me. Away from me. And I very nearly cry out.

When she drops heavily to the floor, I do.

“Raven!”

She’s breathing, but otherwise still and quiet.

Glancing up at my shackles, I look for any kind of release lever. There’s nothing. I can’t get off of the chain to help her. I knew it before I looked; I’ve tried numerous times before. After the first day it became clear I was getting more than I’d signed up for when she chained me up. I tried to escape a few times. Obviously, to no avail.

But even in those first days she brought me here, when everything was uncertain, I didn’t want to be released from these chains more than I do now.

Not only am I unable to help her, if she needs it, but I’ll be stuck here until she comes around. She has never left me chained for more than a couple of hours, and only long enough to take her pleasure. I don’t know how long a person can stay in this position, and I’m not eager to find out.

She groans, lifting up on one elbow and raising a hand to her head.

“Shit, too far.”

Shaking her head, Raven takes her time to return to standing.

I want to tell her to hurry and release me, but I know better. Even when she pushes herself beyond her own limits, she will not let me call any shots. As warm and generous as she is, there is no mistaking who the dominant one is here.

She sways on her feet and I bite my tongue to hold my silence as she sits on the bench along the far wall. With a wave of her hand in the direction of my shackles, she says, “Take those off and help me to bed.”

“Take… what do you mean?”

Raven leans forward and drops her head into her palms. “There’s a release button inside a hole. You feel where the wide part touches your wrist?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Poke around for the hole. You’re pretty good at finding them. Try.”

Though I can hear her smile in her words, she keeps her head down.

Running my finger around the shackle on the opposite hand, I finally encounter a little hole. I’ll have to use my pinky, and even that’s iffy.

I stick the tip in and work it around. It feels hollow until I turn the soft pad of my finger just right, and then I can feel smooth metal within the hole: the release.

I press it gently and the shackle slips open. I quickly release myself from the other and take two long strides to the bench against the wall.

Kneeling before Raven, I await my orders.

“Carry me to bed.” She motions to the only door in the room with one hand, but quickly brings it back to her forehead. “Turn right at the door then go straight down the hall. Last door on the left is my room.”

“The door’s not locked?”

She shakes her head no.

For just a moment, a wild bit of defiance pulls my lips into a grin. I’m helpless to stop it. This is why I need a firm hand.

“What if I escape instead?”

She snorts and finally raises her head to look me in the eye. Her strength has returned to her when I need it most.

“If you wanted to escape, you’d have done so long ago. That doorknob doesn’t even have a lock.”

I want to argue, to assure her that I do, in fact, want to escape. At least, during those first few days when I was so uncertain I did. But looking at the door now, I see what’s obvious. There are no latches or sliding chains or bolts of any kind on the door. Just a plain, round knob. It doesn’t even have one of those little buttons you depress to lock it.

I could have left any time I wanted.

She stands, recovered enough to walk, and slaps my ass on her way out, stopping at the door to cast a saucy glance over her shoulder.

“Well? You coming?”

 

Down the hall from the dungeon in which I’d spent the last few weeks training, I turn and pause before the doorway of the last door on the left. Raven’s room. With a deep breath for fortitude, I follow her in.

The room has only the basic furnishings, but what is there is lavishly decorated. Lamps with thick bronze bases and silver gilded shades sit on elaborately carved nightstands to either side of a four post canopy bed. Sheer mahogany panels cascade from above, flowing all the way down to pool on the hardwood floor.

Raven pulls a panel aside and secures it to one of the foot posts.

“Shut the door.”

I turn around to do so and spot the only other piece of furniture in the room: a vanity that matches the carvings of the nightstands and bed posts.

After I close the door, noting the lack of a lock on this one as well, I freeze. I feel like I’ve reached some sort of plateau. Why has she brought me here? Is she letting me go?

In a very real way, it feels like that’s exactly what’s happening. I’m free to leave; she’s made that perfectly clear. The thought doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

Spinning around to face her, to question her though I know damn well it may displease her, I’m struck dumb as I watch her remove what few scraps of clothing covered her. The crotchless panties, now soaking wet, are the first to go. Then the lacy, barely-there bra drops to the floor. It’s the first time I’ve actually seen her nipples.

Is she done with me? Have I nothing left to offer her?

My heart unexpectedly shatters. I can’t move. Speak. Think. Even breathing is difficult.

But I’ll do her bidding, even if it kills me to walk away.

“What would you have me do now, Mistress?”

She lies back on piles of thick pillows and drapes a long, graceful arm across her eyes.

“Come here. Lay beside me. Just give me a moment.”

I can’t help myself, my defiant edge is sharper than ever in my grief.

“After all this, that’s all you want: a moment?”

She snorts again.

“My God, you are thick sometimes.”

“My apologies, Mistress Raven,” I sneer as I join her in the bed.

“Tiffany.”

For the second time tonight, I’m struck dumb.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Tiffany.”

Such a small thing, but it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received. She isn’t done with me at all. Wonder of all wonders, I’ve finally earned my place at her side.

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