I was proud of my professionalism; my system was so foolproof that Charlotte would never see anything out of place, never guess what I was up to when her back was turned. It had to end, of course. I was taking more and more chances, frequently spending more and more time in Charlotte's clothes. Looking back now, of course, I think that perhaps on a subconscious level I was making my own behavior more extreme because I wanted to force the situation to a head. But even in my wildest fantasies-and God, I'd had a few-I would never have predicted the circumstances of my exposure.
The day it happened, I was working late. Charlotte had seen her last clients-a husband and wife who were celebrating his promotion by paying Charlotte to chain them together upside down while she turned the hose on them-at nine p.m. At ten p.m. she said good-bye, and then I heard the front door close and Charlotte's expensive car purr away down the street. I went to work cleaning the wet room, scrubbing extra fast because I was in more of a hurry than usual to fool around and fantasize. I was trembling with excitement at the thought of that night's session. The previous day, a new outfit that Charlotte had mail-ordered had been delivered and even she hadn't had a chance to wear it yet. I'd seen it hanging up in the wardrobe and knew that I had to put it on at the first opportunity.
I held it up. It was a transparent plastic catsuit with matching stilettos. The whole outfit left nothing to the imagination: Its only concession to modesty was a sprinkling of crystals around the nipples and groin area, but they did more to draw attention to these erogenous zones than cover them up. Fingers fumbling in excitement, I took off my own clothes and then slipped into the garment, enjoying the way the tacky plastic tugged against my skin as I pulled it over my hips and yanked the straps over my shoulders. Oh, yeah. It fit me perfectly. It was sticky but smooth on the inside, but the crystals that encrusted the outside were sharp and scratchy. Don't touch me, the suit seemed to say, or you'll get hurt, very hurt. I felt like Cinderella in a head-to-toe, deliciously kinky glass slipper.
The catsuit came with a bunch of accessories. There was a transparent plastic rope for tying up willing victims and a ball gag of the same see-through material, but my favorite piece was a whip with a smooth glass handle attached to long, thin plastic lashes also studded with crystals. I swished it this way and that, bewitched by the way the whip caught the light and refracted it into tiny rainbows on my skin. All whips, I was beginning to realize, have their own voice. This one had a high-pitched swoosh that sounded beautiful as I brought it down onto the backside of an imaginary slave. Just the sound of it was enough to get me wet between the legs. I felt my juices pool in the gusset of the catsuit and I thought to myself with a secret smile that I would definitely have to do a good job cleaning up this one for Charlotte.
I parted my legs, held my arms aloft in a real don't-fuck-with-me stance, and sneered at my reflection in the mirror. I closed my eyes and imagined what I would do if I had a slave here. I began to picture a faceless man prostrate at my feet, licking my boots, trembling under the force of my whip. I was just beginning to lose myself in the fantasy and feel the first familiar stir-rings of orgasm when I heard the footsteps descend the steel staircase. My flesh turned to ice. I realized with a shock that in my haste to get down here and raid the dress-up box I hadn't actually locked the door behind me. The footsteps could belong to anyone-a client or, even worse, someone off the street. I was petrified in my pose.
"Hello? Charlotte?" came a voice I recognized. "Mistress? Are you there? I know I don't have an appointment, but I need to see you. I've been bad. I've done some terrible things, and I really need a dose of your punishment."
Howie. That twang was unmistakable. As he got closer, I still had no clue what I would do when he came in. For a few seconds we locked eyes, and I saw him gulp in surprise. I thought quickly. I could do this in one of two ways. I could beg Howie not to tell Charlotte, plead with him to keep this secret, and let me keep my job. But his voice had been trembling and his words highly charged. I wasn't sure Howie was in any state to be reasoned with. Or-and the thought of this option made my plastic-clad pussy pulse a little faster-I could just go for it. I was in the right clothes. I was in the right frame of mind. I could do this. I stamped my stiletto heel on the ground so hard I thought the shoe would shatter and gave Howie the withering look I'd practiced on all the imaginary slaves in my fantasies.
"Did I give you permission to speak to me?" I said, my voice pouring contempt on him.
"No," he said, bowing his head.
"Look at you," I continued. "How dare you enter my dungeon dressed? Where is your respect? Take your clothes off. Quickly!" Now it was Howie's turn to undress with trembling hands. He removed his expensive work clothes and hung them on the hook on the back of the door. The body that lay beneath was impressive: tall, broadly muscular without being too defined. His dick was thick and semi-erect between his legs, his balls shaven. I'll soon stiffen you up, I thought, as I squeezed my legs together.
"Tell me what you've done," I said, pretending to inspect my nails. I kept my voice harsh and controlled, but inside I was going mad, my pussy pumping so hard I was sure it must be visible to Howie in my catsuit, a garment that gave a girl nowhere to hide. "Tell me why you've been so bad, and I'll decide whether or not you deserve to be punished. Now, get down on your knees."
He didn't obey me quickly enough, so I brought the whip down on the floor, inches away from his body. I noticed again how good his physique was: lean, gym-honed, he was obviously a strong, powerful man. All the more reason why having him in my thrall was the biggest kick I'd ever experienced in my life.
"On your knees, slave," I snarled, enjoying the sight of this six-foot-six man prostrate before me. Even in the flickering candlelight I could make out the scars on his ass and thighs from week-old lashes. As the whip came down, he closed his eyes, and I heard him let out an involuntary whimper of pleasure.
"Confess," I hissed like a snake, kicking him over so that he lay on his back, utterly defenseless. I considered using the rope to tie him up, but instinctively I knew there would be no need. The power of my presence would be enough to bind him here until I chose to release him with a single word.
"I have bad thoughts," he said. "I want women to hurt me. There's a woman at work who treats me like shit and takes all my clients away. She lost me a small fortune today, and as soon as I heard about it I had to go into the toilet and jerk off."
"That's disgusting," I sneered, even though I thought it was sexy as hell. "You know what?" I continued, bending down until I was so close to Howie's head that I could smell the shampoo he used and identify it. He shook his head. "I'm sick of listening to your fucking shit. I'm gonna shut you up."
And with that I put the ball gag on him. He looked so vulnerable there with that big marble stuffed in his mouth that I wanted to put my groin on his face and grind it into the gag, letting his muffled mouth bring me to orgasm while stifling his nostrils with the folds of my cunt. But I didn't, because I had power and control beyond anything I had ever experienced, and the wetness between my legs was growing stronger by the second.
"I can't think of a punishment bad enough for a sad little prick like you," I said, watching his dick come to life, my words caressing him to an erection as surely as any hand job would.
I picked up the crystal whip again. I wasn't going to use it on Howie's skin, but he didn't know that. The idea of being whipped, the thrill and fear of what I might do to him, would be more arousing than the experience itself. I trailed the diamante tips over his stomach and his inner thighs, then gently flicked the underside of his dick and his balls. He was trying to shout something, so I decided to take pity on him and whipped the ball gag out of his mouth. He took a couple of sharp breaths and then resumed his pleading.