Claiming Katy Ch 11

--Dr Isabella Pacetti's Notes:

To recap: Sophie learns that Mrs Alderney once consulted an unorthodox psychologist (by which I mean me) and sought guidance regarding Katy's treatment. Sophie and... I strike up a friendship and agree to see each other again. Meanwhile Katy's period of punishment continues, during which she is not permitted to speak, remove her gag or have any sexual release. Sophie makes the torment worse by reading Katy erotic bedtime stories.

As Katy goes deeper into her submission, I once again remind readers that all participants in these events are women of consenting age and willing desires.

--Sophie's Statement:

Sunday was quiet, but charged with all kinds of tension. Mrs Alderney, although not as unhappy as the previous evening, was distracted and withdrawn, and didn't emerge much from her room during the whole day. I suspected she was a little embarrassed at her own weakness the previous night, and also unable to deal with my support with any dignity. I didn't mind, but I was determined that I would talk to her more about her late wife. I realised with burning guilt that as well as feeling genuine sympathy for her, I also relished the widow's weakness, and the power it afforded me.

I never pretended to be a saint.

And suddenly today I was running all of my thoughts and reactions through an imagined conversation with Dr Isabella Pacetti. What would she make of that feeling of power? What would she think if she saw Katy, wearing a dirty pair of knickers as a gag, or bringing a fresh pair of knickers with my breakfast? Would she be impressed that Katy was now dropping to her knees and genuflecting whenever she saw me? Or would she see it as a hollow, foolish game? Or worse, something harmful? Any other day I would have simply laughed at the poor girl, but today I felt embarrassed by my sadistic instinct, and instead I smiled at her and, on a couple of occasions, said a kindly 'Good girl' or 'Thank you, Katy.'

I realised that 'Thank you', was in fact a powerful part of my vocabulary of domination. It felt warm and affectionate, and it had an electrifying effect on Katy. She would breathe heavily, look excited and proud and confused all at once. Very pleasant. I suspected Dr Pacetti would approve of that, and that felt good too.

"Why should I care what she thinks?" I muttered to myself. But I did. I would call her. But not today.

The bedtime story went much the same as before, but this time I went in my underwear and, with strict instructions and little permitted movement, Katy was allowed to lie on top of me, head resting on the modest pillow of my breasts. Katy's face was a delight to see: excitement and joy, mingled with frustration that looked a lot like physical pain. I was careful to use my theatrical erotic moan whenever the text allowed it, and I flexed and wriggled my body to dramatise any physical movements in the sex scenes. Katy clung on, getting hot and breathless.

To finish, I called Katy some filthy names, kissed and mauled her for five minutes, and then walked out, leaving her squirming and whining.

--

On Monday morning Katy was fidgety when she brought breakfast and clean knickers. I kept her waiting with her old gag in while I had breakfast. Eventually I smiled at her.

"I suppose this is the end of your punishment. Let me take that off you." I untied the gag and Katy stood flexing her jaw. "You may speak again, but be careful. Do you have anything to say?"

She nodded.

"Well?" I laughed.

"Miss Sophie... G-Goddess... Thank you for my punishment. Thank you for helping me to be better. I will try harder to behave. Thank you for forgiving me."

The word 'Goddess' sounded so awkward and odd, but she said it with such seriousness. For a moment I wanted to mock her, but she seemed so earnest I couldn't bring myself to be quite that cruel. Instead I watched her for a long moment and stroked her hair.

"Been practising that?"

"Yes Miss Sophie, but not out loud."

I smiled. "Good girl. Take off your knickers, please." She obeyed and I took them from her. "You may continue to speak, but I want to gag you again anyway." I put the dirty knickers in place and tied them behind her head. "Not for punishment any more, or... whatever reason we were doing it before, who cares? Understand? Now it's just because it amuses me. Okay?"

Katy nodded. "Yeff Miff Fophie." She looked miserable.

"Don't you want to amuse me, Katy? I really enjoy hearing you trying to fpeak frough your knickerf."

"Fank you Miff Fophie."

"And don't tell Mrs Alderney, but you may work with nothing under your dress today. Just don't let me catch you flashing your pussy."

"Fank you Miff Fophie."

"And don't drip on anything."

"I'll fie nof foo."

"I've no idea what those noises are, but you are funny. Well done. Run along then, I'll speak to you later."

As soon as she had scuttled out, I picked up my phone and fished out Dr Pacetti's card.

--

"Katy, come sit with me."

I ate my lunch at the kitchen table, and I beckoned to her as she pattered through the room. She came over and sat on the nearest stool.

"Katy I don't know if I'll be able to read you a story tonight, or play with you. I'm going out for a drink."

Her face fell. "Pleafe Miff Fophie... whem? Pleafe?"

"When what? When will I give you what you're aching for?"

She nodded sadly.

"When I feel like it of course, silly. You know that. For now, I'm really enjoying your suffering. But as long as you do it entertainingly, you're welcome to beg."

She slid off the stool and curled up at my feet.

"Pleafe, Miff Fophie... pleafe. Goddeff, I need you. Oh, pleafe!"

"I know, baby. Still 'no'. Don't let this get in the way of your chores."

"Forry."

"Oh look, since you're being so good today... a little taste now, okay? Lie on your back, legs wide as you can."

Katy eagerly obeyed, exposing her pussy and watching in awe as I slipped off my shoes.

"Close your eyes and beg."

She did so, breathing hard. I swung the shoe around in an arc and whacked it smoothly against her pussy. She squealed, closed her legs and curled up, whining. I watched her.

"Oh Katy, you've stopped begging. Are you satisfied now?"

With remarkable speed Katy lay back and spread her legs again, pleading with her wet eyes.

"More, pleafe. Pleafe!"

I laughed. "Okay baby."

The second blow was harder and made a satisfying echoing smack.

Katy howled but this time kept her legs apart.

"Fank you, Goddeff! More pleafe!"

I pulled my shoes on.

"Not now. But you're welcome. Back to work, please."

--

The bar was busy enough and quite noisy with chatter and the jukebox, but we found a corner booth where we could talk without shouting. We chatted idly and a little self-consciously over the first drink, and when Isabella came back to the table with the second, I asked her:

"How was work today?"

"Interesting, rather than eventful." She shrugged. I was beginning to interpret that shrug: it meant 'I'm not interesting. I'm not special'. I assumed it was a response to being constantly reminded that her job was darkly fascinating and -- to some -- dirty or sinister.

"In fact I have begun discussions with a new client, we have not yet laid out any goals. I'm not sure about her, I may not be suitable for her, but I don't know where else she could go."

I toyed with her wine glass. "What does she need? If you can tell me."

"Sure, you don't know her. She's begun a relationship in the last few months, with a woman who, she says, makes her feel different. She has always been independent and a bit of a control freak in her everyday life, and never submissive sexually. But her new woman is so centred, so peacefully in control of herself, she finds herself wanting... Well, to summarise, she wants to experiment with a little healthy submission. Her partner is open to the idea of dominating her but..."

I gave a wry little smile. "But when it comes to it, she can't bear to lose control of anything to anyone."

Isabella gave me one of her shrewd looks. "Exactly. And of course she feels bad because her every instinct -- these new desires not withstanding -- is to care for her lover, and instead she is causing her confusion, doubt and guilt."

"How will you help?"

Isabella sighed. "I don't quite know. I will need to speak to the girlfriend, I think, to know her better and to advise her, perhaps to explain this aspect of her personality. But the client... I'm not sure what I can do. So far I think I can offer her a consequence-free environment to get her over her first inhibitions. She can try to submit to me and, if she reacts badly, I will not be hurt, no relationships will be damaged. Beyond that... well she may not need help beyond that."

"Sounds tough. It sounds like she's trying to make quite a leap."

"Who knows? It will be fascinating to observe. How was your work today?"

I explained about Mrs Alderney's book and the work we were doing to get it ready for the publisher by the end of the week. I mentioned that I lived in the writer's house, and that we shared an office.

"And may I ask... is this the woman with whom your relationship is complicated?"

I laughed. "No. Well, I suppose it is complicated, but that wasn't the person I was referring to. That's Katy, she..."

Suddenly I didn't know what to say. Everything I wanted to tell her sounded sinister or laughable or -- and this was a new concern -- might be construed as meaning that Katy and I were a couple. I didn't want to tell too much, not yet, not before Isabella knew me better. I found an excuse.

"The problem is... I think you might already know about Katy and Mrs Alderney. You may know more about both of them than I do, come to think of it. And you can't even confirm or deny that." I watched Isabella's face, at first intelligent and mysterious, become sorrowful and afraid.

"I'm so sorry, Sophie."

I loathed myself.

"No, no don't apologise for anything. You're not in the wrong. It's just... Oh Christ, it's complicated. Honestly? I'm afraid that if I told you about my relationship with Katy, you'd freak out or laugh or be disgusted. And Jesus, it's not even a relationship! I've known her a couple of weeks!"

"If you're both okay, you mustn't be ashamed."

"I'm not ashamed!" I snapped, more sharply than I'd meant to. Isabella's face became carefully neutral and polite. I would have preferred her to look hurt or indignant. I was forced to drop my defences. "Look, I just don't know how you'll react if I tell you everything. You might not approve."

Isabella reached over the table and held my hand.

"Sophie, do you really think I do the work I do purely for money or to help people? Do you think there aren't more orthodox ways of achieving my results?"

I stared at her hand. "Why then?"

"I like it. When they undress and kneel. When they masturbate and cum on command. When their big eyes look up at me and say 'thank you'. I like it."

"But you have boundaries. You're professional."

"But you do it for real. I've wanted to know more since you first came through my door. I won't judge you. And whatever I may or may not know about these other women, I don't know about you, and that's what interests me."

I looked at her for a few moments.

"Her name is Katy. She is 20, small and dark haired. She is sweet, not very bright, I suppose. No, she is, she's just... Anyway, she's the maid, that's what we call it, but we all know she's a slave. When she misbehaves she's punished physically. I hurt her, humiliate her and dominate her utterly and she craves it. I mean she begs for it. She gets off on it and I get off on her. And she worships me."

Isabella's lips were parted with a delighted grin.

"And so she should! My God, I bet you're magnificent when she crawls for you!"

I was a little embarrassed, but hugely flattered.

"Well... I... thank you."

"And this girl thinks she needs pain to get off?"

I shook my head.

"I don't know. At first I suggested it as an excuse to torment her a little, but she accepted it so readily... and it seems to work. Humiliation turns her on and pain brings her off. Certainly she never orgasmed before I got my hands on her."

Isabella laughed with joy.

"Oh, that's beautiful! No wonder she worships you: you perform miracles! She's wonderful! I'm sorry for laughing..."

"No, it's nice. And you're right. And I can't always keep a straight face."

--

Walking through the night-time streets, we could have been two old friends. Our conversation was light and giggly and inconsequential. But I had forgotten what it was like to socialise like a real, well-adjusted grown-up. I was filled with warmth and excitement and was acutely aware of my companion's every movement.

When we reached Dr Pacetti's door, she turned and kissed me softly on the cheek.

"Thank you for tonight. Thank you for telling me about you."

"You're welcome. I enjoyed it. Actually it feels great to tell you. You handled it well. You could be a professional."

The doctor smiled at the feeble joke and then was silent, and a little awkward for a few moments. Finally she spoke.

"Goodnight. You'll call again?"

I nodded and watched her turn and unlock the door, wanting to stop her and pull her back. She paused with the door ajar.

"Sophie, if I ask you something, will you promise not to judge me?"

"Of course. Ask anything." I approached her and touched her arm.

"Sophie, I'd like... if I asked you to stay with me a little while... I mean, whatever else happened... would you need me to be your slave? Because I don't think..." A look of fear and embarrassment passed over her face.

I held her soft cheeks between my palms.

"I don't want another slave. And I wouldn't want you to be anybody's slave. Please don't even talk about that."

Isabella looked relieved. "But I'm... I like your strength and your confidence... I mean, I'm not confident or strong... I don't mean to put obligations on you..."

I moved my face closer to Isabella's, watching her fluttering lips and smiling. I was entranced by the nervous chatter which nevertheless was so precise and carefully expressed.

"...I'm not inexperienced and I've never been particularly submissive, but you intimidate me a little, and I would rather be honest about my feelings..."

At that moment, I gave in to the urge that had been gnawing at me all night, pressed my lips against Isabella's open mouth and kissed her. She was hot and wet and immediately her tongue was entwined around mine. We held each other's head and made no sound as we kissed for several minutes. I gradually steered us inside and closed the door behind me.

Isabella's voice was a wet whisper as she asked "Would you like another drink?"

"No. Would you?"

She grinned, her tongue licking her white teeth. She shook her head.

"Shoes off then. We're going upstairs."

We entered the doctor's consulting room, shoeless as before, but this time our feet danced around each other as we kissed and embraced.

Isabella moved to the sofa and sat down, but I held her hand and pulled her upright. In the same fluid movement I sat in her place and steered her until she stood right in front of me. She was wearing a jacket with something low-necked beneath, and a long charcoal-grey skirt which buttoned up the front of one thigh, from hem to waist. I carefully unfastened the buttons, not looking up until all but the waistband were undone. Then I peeled the skirt to either side, opening the garment like theatre curtains. Isabella's skin was warmly tanned, but the flesh of her thighs looked white, framed now between the edges of the skirt, the elasticated tops of her black stockings, and the black lace of her knickers.

Now I looked up at the nervously trembling Isabella.

"You're so beautiful. Hold this?" She held the skirt open and I slid my hands around the warm stocking fabric that was tight around her thighs, then leaned in and kissed the beautiful skin, my hands gently squeezing her bottom. After a minute of this Isabella removed the skirt and threw it aside as though irritated by it. Just as she laid a hand on my head, I pushed my tongue against the fabric of her knickers and closed my mouth over her pussy. Both of her hands were on my head now and she bent forward making a little 'Oh!' sound. Even through the fabric I could taste her.

Isabella laughed breathlessly and whispered "I need to sit now." She fell onto the sofa and opened her legs wide. I slid a thumb inside her knickers to find her clit, which I massaged firmly as I continued to suckle through the fabric. She made happy sighing sounds and stroked my hair. I worked steadily for many minutes, in the peace and stillness of the room, and soon Isabella was approaching her orgasm.

She was swooning and sighing as she neared a climax and her legs couldn't keep still. I raised my head, wanting to tease her a little before I let her cum. I felt a soft caress on the side of my face and I realised it was her foot.

An image of Katy kissing my own feet flashed into my mind, filling me with disgust and contempt. I instinctively drew my face away.

Isabella gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth in shock.

"Sophie, I'm sorry! I meant to be affectionate, not to humiliate you. Oh, I'm so sorry!"

I heard the horror in her voice and realised I had wronged Dr Pacetti. Kissing her feet could never be demeaning. It was not about submitting to her, but showing her affection in a way that would make her feel special and turn her on. Hoping desperately that I hadn't ruined the moment completely, I held the offending foot, kissed the heel, then the instep, then ran my tongue over the toes, a smile playing on my lips.

"Your feet are beautiful. They're warm and soft and they move wonderfully. It was sweet of you to caress me, Isabella."

She gasped with pleasure, but said: "You really don't have—"

"I didn't ask you a question, Bella."

"Oh God..." She threw her head back, blushing.

I laughed and closed each of my hands over each of her feet. I leaned forward, pushing down and pinning the feet above Isabella's head on the sofa. I lay on top of her and she was helpless with beautiful laughter.

"Doesn't anyone call you 'Bella'?"

She shook her head. "Papa used to."

"But you called your client 'bella'." I kissed her giggling mouth.

"I did, but it means 'beauty' too, like 'belle'. Bellezza... bella..."

"I know what it means. So Papa used to. And now I will. Si?"

Bella bit her lip and nodded. Her feet wriggled. "Si. Am I a freak, Sophie?"

I kissed her again.

"Not yet, Bella. But I've barely begun to work on you..."

Leaving her in this undignified pose, I slid a finger inside her knickers and began to work briskly on her clit. She whimpered beautifully as her orgasm built once more, and now I leaned forward and grabbed her foot. I gently guided it towards her face and pushed her toes between her lips. She made a sound that might have been dismay, but her eyes stayed closed and her tongue darted out.

She came slowly and gently, building up in little waves, her body shivering. When she climaxed she made plaintive whines and pushed her pussy against my hand. Her hands reached up, stroking my cheeks and combing through my hair. Her feet were waving aimlessly again and her breathing was deep and calm.

Finally she abated and I lay on top of her, easing my lips against hers.

--Dr Pacetti's Notes:

According to my own arbitrary formal rules, this is the point where the narrative must switch to my perspective. I hope the reader can forgive my self-indulgence.

--Isabella's Statement:

I seemed to have no control of my thoughts. A powerful mixture of orgasm and elation was confusing and distracting me, and I felt giddy. I hadn't cum like that in so long: beautifully and with utter relaxation. Whenever I masturbated I felt tense and when I had been with another woman, it had been awkward and unsatisfying. I would have been content to lie there and drift in my personal fog of pleasure, Sophie's body warm and firm on top of me, her fingers inside me. But even now she was toying with me, teasing me and making me tingle with fresh excitement. And where Sophie was cool and smart, I felt dull-witted and sleepy, and I giggled and felt childish.