"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry, but I need to come. Please let me come. Oh, God, I need to come."
"No," I said. I had one more torture in mind before I was prepared to let him go.
Using the whip as a pointing stick, I trailed it along the shelf of dildos, vibrators, and shafts that Charlotte used on her clients. I knew where each one was; I cleaned and disinfected them all every night.
"Which one do you want?" I said, as if I didn't know exactly which one I had in mind. "This one?" I held up a sleek chrome dildo a few inches thick. Howie nodded eagerly.
"Well, it's not up to you which one you get." And I picked up a black rubber vibrator that was twice as thick and twice as long as Howie's own dick. His eyes widened, in pleasure or fear I couldn't tell. It didn't matter-in the dungeon, pleasure and fear are one and the same. I poured a few inches of lube over the vibrator, ran my hand over the shaft, fought the temptation to turn it on, hold it against my clit, and get myself off.
Instead, I held the black rubber vibe in the crease between his twitching balls and his throbbing penis, using my hand to stimulate the length of his hard-on. When he was as hard as he could possibly get, I rammed it up Howie's ass, noticing as I did that his tight little hole was shaven. This made him seem even more vulnerable, which got me even wetter. As he screamed for mercy, I varied the stimulation, knowing that I was plea suring his secret hot spot, deep inside him, right behind his dick. He must have wanted to come so bad because he was almost in tears, but I would not allow him to submit to his bodily pleasures without my permission.
"Please," he begged in a pathetic little-boy voice that made my pussy swell even more. "Please, mistress, let me come."
"Not till I say so," I shouted, stepping up the stimulation even further, wondering how long a man could possibly hold out. I waited until his body began to buckle and convulse, then bent down and whispered in his ear, "You may release your juices now," and gave the head of his dick a sharp tug. I could barely breathe as his soft, naked balls rose up into his body and his hot penis spilled forth a fountain of white milk that trickled all over my arm. I decided to give him one last punishment.
"Look at the fucking mess you've made," I said. "Lick that off."
The sight of Howie's spent body in a heap on the floor, his head straining up and his white teeth and pink tongue slurping and sucking his own come from my arm was more than I could take. I squeezed my thighs together, rocked back and forth a few times, and experienced a silent orgasm that rippled through me like white heat. I glanced down at my body. My darkened nipples and flushed skin made it obvious I'd just come, but I gave nothing away, waiting for a minute or two until Howie had licked every salty droplet off my skin.
"That's the end of that," I said, partly because I wasn't sure what to do now.
"I don't think so," said a familiar female voice behind me. I whirled around. Charlotte! The blood ran from my cheeks, and I felt dizzy with shame and panic. Shame that I'd let myself get caught-panic that the best job I'd ever had was now over. Now that I'd climaxed, I didn't feel like a powerful dominatrix anymore. I just felt like me, a cleaning lady with ideas above her station. And there was nowhere to go. I was acutely conscious of my nakedness beneath the thin, transparent garment.
But Charlotte wasn't angry. She was smiling. And, now that I looked down, so was Howie.
"I knew you had it in you the moment I saw you," she said, looking approvingly at my body in the form-fitting catsuit. "That's why I gave you the job. I guessed as soon as we spoke that you wouldn't be able to resist trying the whip on for size. And it suits you. You're a natural. Don't you think, Howie?"
Howie, still naked and lying curled up on the floor, nodded through his blissed-out haze. At that moment, I understood that it had been a trap, a setup to see how I would react when Howie turned up unexpectedly. I couldn't believe that Charlotte would be so devious or that I had fallen for it.
"Are you going to fire me?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, I am going to have to let you go and get a new cleaner," said Charlotte. I bit my lip, trying to hold the tears back. "After all, you can't hold two jobs down at once, can you?"
"I don't understand," I replied.
"Tina, you've seen how business is booming. I can't run this place all by myself anymore. I need a new assistant. A young, eager, beautiful dominatrix I can teach the tricks of the trade to and who can look after the clients I can't fit in. The job is yours if you want it. Do say yes."
"Yes!" I said, tears of frustration turning to tears of pleasure and spilling down my cheeks. "But there's just one thing. Who's going to clean this place tonight?"
"Howie!" barked Charlotte, suddenly in the mistress role again. "You will spend the rest of the evening washing up this room as punishment for your disgusting thoughts."
Howie looked at me and then at Charlotte.
"Yes, mistresses," he said.
THE HITCHER
Think "sex on the road" and you conjure images of steamy trysts with strangers at roadside cafes. That's the fantasy, anyway. But the reality is often the dull grayness of highways, service stations, and traffic jams. Alice and her boyfriend Paul had often shared their fantasies, but it wasn't until a chance encounter with a young hitchhiker that they were able to turn their road trip into the ride of a lifetime. Going for a drive in the car is my favorite way to spend time with Paul. We work together, live together, and play together, so that a major part of our lives is spent driving the country's roads in our vintage sedan. I like to watch him as he drives, with his slightly muscular forearm resting on the gearshift and his other hand on the steering wheel. Sometimes we find a local radio station and sing along with the tracks they play or listen to the local news. Other times, we'll stock up the car with our favorite CDs and create our own sound track.
Mostly we just talk. We talk for hours. We reminisce about the good times we've had and discuss our hopes and dreams for the future. We also swap sexual fantasies in which we imagine doing depraved, delicious things to each other and then describe them in explicit detail. We really get off on some of these scenarios, like the story I made up about me being with another woman or the one about my tying him up and going down on him.
There are a few we return to time and time again, and there's one in particular that gets us so hot that we've had to pull over and make love on the side of the road. It's the one where Paul describes how he'd like to see another man fuck me while he stands there, tugging at his own cock and balls, watching me flat on my back with another man's dick sliding in and out of my pussy. And how during these proceedings I talk about feeling that dick while I watch Paul frantically masturbate himself until one dick shoots a load of spunk into the air and the other pumps its load inside me. We've shared this fantasy so often that it's now my favorite.
We had no idea that one day it would become a reality.
We were driving back from a long weekend with friends last summer. It had been a great few days full of surfing and pubs and food and laughter. Our car roared along the tiny uneven roads that wind around the countryside like ribbons-we always prefer to take the back roads rather than the highways. Paul was behind the wheel and I had my feet up on the dashboard, one arm draped over his shoulder. It was late afternoon, and the mood was calm and content, that Sunday feeling of tired but happy after a big weekend with good friends. Neither of us spoke, not wanting to shatter the holiday illusion and certainly not wanting to think about going back to work the next morning.