[Foreword:]
Dear Reader,
My name is not important. Most people call me Mistress, or Master, or just 'M', depending on their preferences. They pay me money, not because I demand it, but because they want to. I think the transactional nature of our encounters makes them feel safer, like they can indulge to their heart's content without the baggage of a relationship or mutual encounter. I am bought. I serve their needs. Their release. Their experience. That was important to them, because I was giving them something they couldn't find anywhere else. It had to be perfect.
I don't mind that my scenes were built around my customers. I always got what I wanted.
You don't need to know my real name, but I still think you should understand what I am: a sponge. I loved everything about the game. If a partner came in that wanted to be spanked; I loved it. If they wanted rope; I loved it. If they wanted pain-- well, you get the picture. That was because it wasn't any particular sensation or visual that stimulated me. It was their faces. The endless catalog of expressions a person makes when their body and mind start to break. The smiles, the screams-- that twisted expression when the pleasure is too much. The simple colors of desire and fear can be combined to form any number of beautiful shades.
I suppose I was an artist, and my customers were my canvas.
I'll stop rambling-- let me give you an example.
Here is a story. It is one of many that I will write and share. If you enjoy it, or have different suggestions; please let me know. I have a lifetime of experiences for you. If the themes of this story do not interest you, leave a comment, or you can check the other entries of this series. Each will be unique, and order does not matter, except for in the case of a returning character.
Remember that the character's in these stories are adults, they have consented to every action and word that I conduct, and they are made fully aware of any risks and dangers inherent in the activities we perform. Lastly, they are always given the option to end a scene with a single word or signal. Those are the brick and mortar walls that support the palace of BDSM.
I hope you enjoy,
M
Chapter 1:
Anne knocked.
I was expecting her, so I opened the door quickly. Cold air rushed inside.
Anne was standing with her arms crossed and legs pressed together. She was wearing a thin, low-cut blouse tucked into a short skirt. Sheer stockings ran down her legs. It was a beautiful look, but not at all appropriate for the wintery evening. Her thin figure had the appearance of a popsicle, with unmelted snowflakes all over her red hair and rosy cheeks. She seemed taller than usual, her eyes level with mine-- I realized I had never seen her in heels before.
I hurried the shivering girl inside.
"Oh, Anne. Where is your coat?" I asked, half-concerned and half-scolding. I brought her over to the kitchen. She walked a bit awkwardly in her stilettos.
I sat her down at my dining table and started heating up a warm beverage. She usually wore thick sweaters and pants, even on a hot day. She was a naturally reserved person and wore clothes that matched her personality. I was surprised and impressed by the sudden change in attire.
"Sorry. I wanted to try a new look today. I didn't think about the weather."
"Here, drink this. It will warm you up."
She eagerly grabbed the warm cup of tea. Its herbal aroma was pleasant in the small kitchen area.
She nodded her head. Her hands fidgeted slightly up and down the mug. She was switching frequently between gazing around the room and sneaking glances at me. I forgot what I was wearing that day... I'll let you decide, but it was clearly having an effect on her. She was biting her lip and avoiding eye contact.
I asked her about her week. She answered evasively, which was normal.
I asked about her new look. "I just wanted to feel confident today," she answered quietly.
I asked about what she wanted to try during our session. Her face seemed to brighten, her eyes widened over a half-smile. "I had a few ideas for how to start--"
We negotiated details about the scene. I paid close attention to her posture and expression, more than her words. I needed to be careful with Anne. She was sensitive, which was fine, but she sometimes pushed herself too hard. I thought back to early in our relationship, when she had started crying in the middle of a session.
It had been a relatively mild spanking, testing her tolerance, and she had refused to use her safeword although the pain was too much for her. I was careful to avoid a repeat of that, so I learned her body language. I used that knowledge now to observe her-- the subtle movements of her hands, the way she crossed her legs under her skirt, the way she handpicked each word.
It all told me that it had been a long week for Anne. That she was eager to relieve stress. I was afraid that she wanted to push herself too hard. I stopped worrying, though, because I didn't need to. She told me what she wanted, and it wasn't anything like that.
"I want to leave here feeling confident. I want to accomplish something," she declared.
"Oh. Thank you for telling me that, Anne. Do you want to do service-play? I can make you do tasks, and praise you for it. Was that what you were thinking?"
We did that often, because it made her feel valued, which was a big kink for her. I thought it was a good place to start.
"Not quite that... I guess I just want to win at something. To overcome a challenge, to... I don't know. Win, like I said."
She looked me in the eye as she spoke, but eventually glanced away from embarrassment.
"Like the games we sometimes play? The challenges?"
"Um, yeah. Except, I always lose those. I want to win at a game... you know. Beat you at something. Maybe we can come up with something I can win at?" Her arms had dropped down to her sides and she grabbed the wooden seat of her chair. She was blushing, and her face was turned all the way to the side.
She seemed extra nervous today. It made sense that she wanted to win a challenge, she was trying to build herself up. I was determined to help her.
"Okay," I replied. I started thinking hard about her request.
Anne liked to have challenges and predicaments-- something to focus on before she invariably lost control, but it was hard to think of a game she could actually 'beat' me at. She had a low tolerance for pain, and had horrible mental fortitude when it came to orgasm play. If I told her not to cum, she would still cum. If I told her not to beg, she would still beg. We enjoyed that, but I wasn't sure that would make her feel like a 'confident winner'. I only had the beginning of a few ideas.
"Let me think, Anne. Maybe you can overcome something uncomfortable? Something in your yellow zone? "
That was a part of our initial negotiation-- breaking various activities into red, yellow, and green, depending on if they were hard limits, punishments, or fun. For Anne, anything related to pain was in the red zone, after that early incident. Anything in the yellow zone was an acceptable activity, but should be used with caution.
"Tickling, maybe?" she offered.
