You sit there on the bench, nervous and unsure of what to expect. You've been to a dominatrix before, you've dipped your toes into the BDSM scene at a few public events, but you've never had a private session with Mistress Millicent.
She left you a list of instructions prior to your session: a specific time to be there, a specific room in the dungeon she shared with other professional dommes, a specific amount to bring in cash to the receptionist up front as "tribute", and a specific thing to wear once you entered the room: absolutely nothing.
At precisely the appointed time, you find yourself sitting on a stool in the center of the room. The lights are dim, the seat is cool and so is the air, yet you find yourself sweating out of sheer nervousness. Come to think of it, you aren't sure if it's out of desire, fear, expectation, and some combination of all three. It might just be the cool air on your skin, but your nipples are hard, and the air has nothing at all to do with the fact that you're wet even before your Mistress has arrived.
The door opens and there she is. Tall, regal, powerful, backlit by the light from the hallway, framed in silhouette, something out of nightmares or the deepest of erotic dreams. The sabertooth goddess isn't halfway through the door when she snarls at you.
"On your knees bitch," She sneers and looks derisively at you sitting upon the stool. "Submissive little cunts like you don't get to sit. You get to kneel. ON YOUR KNEES!"
The action is spontaneously and essentially involuntary on your part, but there you are, on your hands and knees, one hand to your chest to prevent too much of an uncomfortable jiggle to your breasts. Looking up you see her standing over you, smirking as if she finds the situation nearly comical.
As involuntarily as your obedience before, you find yourself staring at her. She's gorgeous, though not in any stereotypically fashion. She isn't wearing makeup, nor does she smell of perfume, and her motions are essentially predatory rather than any classically feminine way. Yet her long hair and fur shines on its own, the latter rippling when she moves with the motion of steel-corded muscle below it. Despite her clear adherence to weight training, she retains distinct curves, and her breasts are full and firm like something out of a porno, with nipple piercings glinting in the light. You ache to have them in your mouth.
The door closes and your eyes fully adjust back to the light, allowing you to more fully view the dominatrix in front of you. Mistress Millicent is dressed in glossy black latex: stockings up to her thighs, long opera gloves up to the middle of her upper arms, an open-bust corset, and a strapon firmly attached to the harness between her legs...
"Oh? You keep staring at me bitch. Do I not meet your expectations?" The sabertooth raises an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth curls into a sneer. "Did you expect a willowy young thing posing and exposing herself for your titillation just as much as anything else?"
The sharp crack of the riding crop in her hand against the stool next to you draws a yelp, and only belatedly do you realize it came from you. You look away and mumble an apology for staring.
"Well, let's get one thing straight then: fuck your expectations." Her voice is cold and powerful, cut from ice much like her lean and sculpted, muscular figure.
You shiver as she leans in close to you, feeling the warmth of her breath on the lap of your neck as she twitches her nose and sniffs at you like a butcher inspecting a cut of meat. You can feel the rattle in her chest as she transitions from a purr to a growling chuckle.
"Are you sure that you're ready for this little girl?" She quirks an eyebrow, amused and doubtful as you look up and nod in the affirmative.
Belatedly you realize that you're shaking like a leaf in the wind.
"If you say so..." She chuckles with fangs bared openly. "It's your ass and your money. You paid for an hour of my time, so let's certainly hope you know how much of a fucking sadist I am."
Your lip quivers, and for a moment you have your doubts as to whether you're actually up for this despite your answer moments before. You've seen other dominatrixes before, and it was always tailored to your desires, your expectations, and this... this is different... it isn't a carefully orchestrated act; at least it doesn't feel that way. This is something more akin to a horror movie just in the first few minutes than anything else. Other than the fact that you had to sign a legal waver and signed on two different pages that you read and understood the nature of and function of a safe word, you'd assume that you might never be leaving.
"Stand up."
Millicent taps the underside of your chin with her riding crop and again you rise to your feet, doing everything as she instructs. You notice her smile as she holds the crop in place, running it between your breasts as you stand up. Does she swing that way? Another rush of blood and wetness between your legs at that thought.
"Turn around." She taps the crop on the side of your thigh. "Let me see what I've got to work with today... not bad... not bad... nice tits."
Instinctively your hands reach up to cover your breasts as she makes light of them. Millicent doesn't say a word but the slap of her riding crop on first one hand and then the other with a swift, stinging efficiency is enough to have your hands back at your sides. As she circles around you, you can hear a murmur of appreciation just before a latex-covered hand reaches out and hefts your left breast.
"I would have expected implants for a bitch like you, but no, they're natural." She squeezes and massages the same breast, feeling you up like an object more than a person. Looking into your eyes and baring her fangs, she pinches your nipple between one glossy thumb and forefinger, pressing down hard and twisting until you yelp in pain. Satisfied with your scream, she smiles and releases her grip. "Very nice indeed..."
Continuing to pace in a circle around you, she likewise continues to trace the lines of your body with her crop, occasionally delivering a swift, harsh slap to your ass, thighs, breasts, and once to your pussy. Each yelp, off-balance stagger, gasp, and scream brings a decided delight to her eyes.
For many dommes, the act is simply that, and act, but Millicent seems to genuinely enjoy the act of domination and torture. Her body language and facial expressions would be obvious confirmation to this, but then you notice a single drop of liquid slowly trace its way down her thigh, a harbinger of the fact that she's sopping wet. Hurting you most certainly gets her wet.
"The slut can't help but keep staring..." She notices how your eyes continually wander down unbidden to the thick purple strapon fastened to the leather harness between her legs. Without warning her hand is gripped around your throat, all but cutting off the flow of air to your windpipe. Her eyes are wide and golden, staring into yours, her breath hot upon your delicate features. She laughs as you gasp for breath. "So does the eight inches of silicone between my legs frighten you or excite you bitch? Is there an erotic thrill running through your mind right now, or perhaps shame that you want it inside of you, my hands on your hips, pounding away?"
You shiver and gasp for breath, and you realize that she knows.
"Did you know that I actually prefer girls?" She makes a tiny kissing motion, just enough to feel her breath on your cheek. "Exclusively so, and I could smell that you were curious yourself before I stepped in the room. So which scares you more? How much you enjoy being hurt? Or how much you enjoy that it's another woman making you scream and beg?"
