Mistress Jessie Slave Advocate

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This untold story (which stands alone) happens between parts one and two of the Mistress Kathy Trilogy.

*

For those who are interested in such things, there is a place where fantasies of bondage and domination can be made into reality.

The place is hard to find. There is an exhaustive screening process for those who want to visit. Those who have successfully made the journey don't talk about it—especially those who wish to return.

It is costly to get there, and—for some—even more costly to leave.

If you are such a person, and if you are thinking of visiting such a place for some good kinky fun, you should remember three things.

First, go with someone you trust. The place is full of hidden danger, and when it presents itself, you will be glad to have a friend.

Second, read the fine print before you sign a contract. Or insist that someone you trust read it to you.

The third is the most important advice you will ever read. It may save you from a life of infinite regret.

Don't go. Forget that you ever heard about Mistress Kathy's Academy of Domination and Submission. In fact, you should stop reading this and turn your attention to something more wholesome.

At once.

For some reason, you are still reading, so let us assume that you

are

such a person, and that there is no reasoning with you. This will interest you.

Jonah walked carefully down the hall. He didn't know where he was going, but the leash that pulled him ensured that he could not dawdle.

He had to proceed carefully because the armbinder that held his arms robbed him of his balance, and the strap that held his knees together prevented him from stepping with any confidence.

The biggest reason for the caution he felt, however, was his awareness that his member bobbed uncontrollably with each step. His garment did nothing to prevent it.

Imagine a square piece of silk cut from corner to corner making two right triangles. Position a triangle strategically over the front, and the other over the back, tying the outermost corners of each together at the hips. Jonah had asked to be allowed to secure the bottom corners together between his legs, but this request had been denied by his mistress.

So he walked with caution. His real fear was that his concentration would break—that a moment of accidental eye contact with a passerby or a twinge of self-consciousness might excite him for a moment. If it did, his member would stop bobbing and shamelessly lift his little triangle of modesty, provoking further punishment from his keeper for being indecent in a common area.

He noticed a sign on the wall declaring the Academy's most publicly touted rule:

ALL SLAVES MUST BE APPROPRIATELY RESTRAINED WHILE IN THE COMMON AREAS.

He was led through a large office area decorated with red shag carpet. The room was occupied by an assortment of desks, copy machines, and beautiful but official-looking women who stopped what they were doing to stare at him hungrily.

Sitting at a desk on the far side of the room, an arousing young woman in a pretty pink top and a short black skirt told them that they'd been expected. She smiled at him, peering over her businesslike glasses before turning her gaze expectantly downward. Without shame, she slouched back in her chair until her head was level with his modesty triangle and tried to glimpse what was underneath it as he was led abruptly away.

As Jonah was ushered into the inner office, he saw a sign on the door that seemed an impossible contradiction. It said: MISTRESS JESSIE, SLAVE ADVOCATE.

Mistress Jessie had beautifully long brown hair with just the right amount of curl and large green eyes that projected sympathy. Her reaction at the sight of Jonah would have been appropriate for a newborn puppy.

"Aaaawwwwwww, he's so cute!" she squealed, rising from her desk. "But he looks so sad!"

Jonah said nothing. He knew that to speak out of turn would be to invite a ball gag from his keeper—something he had learned he should avoid at almost any cost.

Mistress Jessie wore a black blazer buttoned over a tight-fitting neon-pink top whose neckline revealed just a hint of a white lace bra. A tight miniskirt (the same color as her bra) clung to her curves, and pink stockings (matching her top) covered her legs. Her outfit was all business, yet distinctly feminine.

The outfit matched her office. Everything in the room and the adjoining offices (including the staff that worked within) were color-coordinated in shades of pink and black. Even the red shag carpet between his toes could be regarded as a darker shade of pink, he realized. The environment projected an intimidating mix of authority and estrogen.

His keeper undid the straps on his armbinder as Mistress Jessie circled her desk to greet him.

"You look like you need a hug!" she said, gleefully throwing her arms around him before his hands could be free of the leather restraining device. She ran her hands down his back and gave his ass cheeks a welcoming squeeze. "And you're so firm! They've kept you in shape down at the Citadel."

"Yes, mistress," Jonah obediently replied.

She let him go so his keeper could finish removing his restraints.

"You're name is Jonah, isn't it?" she asked. "I'm tempted to call you Woody."

He tugged down on his triangle and didn't dare let go. "I apologize, Mistress."

"It's a natural reaction," said Jessie. "Perverts can't help being perverted."

"But—" said Jonah, and stopped. It was a test. He dared not protest. "No, mistress," he replied.

Jessie returned to her desk. "I assume you know why you're here."

Was this also part of the test?

It didn't matter. He only had one answer.

"No, mistress. I don't know why I'm here."

"Really?" She turned toward his keeper. "Did you tell him nothing when you seized him?"

The dominatrix holding the leash seemed irritated. "What am I, a messenger? I just deliver."

It is worth noting that the dominatrix who delivered him was

not

his mistress. His latest mistress had seemed annoyed when the courier had arrived at their quarters brandishing legal papers on pink stationary. There had been a brief argument which he hadn't understood. Mistress Kathy's name was mentioned in a threatening way, the argument ended, and his mistress was forced to surrender him to the strange woman.

He felt like a car that had been repossessed.

"Very well," said Mistress Jessie. "That will be all, Heddie."

Heddie left without another word.

Jonah wondered if he would be allowed to sit down. He saw an elaborate metal chair with more hinges and gears than a normal chair should have. It also had manacles welded to the frame in a variety of positions.

After seeing it, he didn't mind standing.

By contrast, Mistress Jessie had a much more comfortable chair—armless, with a narrow back upholstered in black crushed vinyl. It was an unusual design that suggested exotic taste.

She removed her black coat and threw it over the back of her chair. Her figure-hugging pink top was revealed in its neon glory.

"Jonah," said Mistress Jessie. "You're here because you were heard complaining—"

"I'm very sorry, mistress." It had become a reflex for him to apologize immediately for any perceived slight even if he didn't know what he had done.

"You mustn't interrupt me." Jessie's smile dropped for an uncomfortable moment during which her serious eyes studied him. "I was just saying that you were heard complaining that you didn't belong here. That you aren't supposed to be a slave. In fact, you were saying that you should be allowed to go home as a free man."

Her smile returned as if it had never left. "I just filed an injunction to investigate the legality of your claim."

"What?" asked Jonah. He was sure he had misunderstood. "Are you saying you're actually going to

help

me?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions. I didn't say

help

, although you may find my services help

ful

. I'm a lawyer, so you should assume that my words are carefully chosen and that they don't mean more than they say."

"I'm listening, mistress."

"As you may have guessed, Academy Island has more than its share of lawyers." She grinned as she tugged one of her long auburn curls. "Horny, demanding lawyers. The girls who you just saw lusting after you on your way in are only a few of them.

"Most of them spend their time writing slave contracts for our guests with ingeniously creative loopholes that allow for endless modification at the time of our choosing. That's how we're able to keep enough slaves on our staff to keep up with our guests' demands.

"Obviously, not all of our slaves are volunteers. Few people would willingly submit to the kind of abuses we tolerate. We call it 'recruitment,' but let's be honest. What our lawyers really practice is

ensnarement

.

"It's perfectly legal, of course. Our island's constitution allows people to give up all their freedoms, which is fortunate, since our local economy depends on it."

She sat down and opened a manila folder with his name on it.

"My

legal specialty, however, is unique on the island. I'm the Slave Advocate."

An advocate for slavery?

he wondered.

That's redundant here.

A slave who is an advocate? Obviously not. An advocate who represents slaves? Is it possible?

"I know what you're thinking. How can slaves have an advocate here—in a place like this? I admit, my duties are mostly ceremonial. My position was created just to put potential customers at ease.

"Prospective clients who have second thoughts (as nearly all of them do before they come) are reassured that slaves have an advocate watching over the operation to make sure that their rights are always protected." She looked up from the papers in his file. "Of course, slaves

have

no rights here, which makes my job

super

easy. In essence, my position exists to keep a meaningless promise made to customers in a promotional footnote."

To Jonah, this clarified nothing. "So are you going to help me or not?"

"There's that word again. I never promised

help

. I can, however, explore the legality of the slave contract you signed, and if your current service falls outside of its terms, my job would demand that I correct it. Would you like to discuss your case?"

"Oh god, yes!" said Jonah, almost hysterical with relief. At last, after spending weeks in this horrible place, someone with authority was willing to listen to him. "I'm really

not

supposed to be here. I only came for a visit. I was supposed to leave with my girlfriend last month!"

"Then you will have a strong case," said Mistress Jessie approvingly. "Put your garment on my desk and we'll begin."

"What?" asked Jonah.

"I said," she reiterated, no longer smiling but pronouncing her words with great care, "take off your garment and put it on my desk."

"Do I have to?" He immediately regretted the question.

She looked at him, her expression very stern, appraising the slave who questioned her.

Then she giggled as if he had said something funny. "No," she said at last. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. I just thought you'd want to." She turned to the papers in his file.

"Now before we begin, I must caution you that my services won't guarantee the resolution that you're seeking. The legal process may seem unusual and may take a long time, and my services are not cheap. How exactly will you be paying?"

"Paying?" He almost reached for a back pocket he knew he didn't have. "Doesn't the Academy pay you?"

She grimaced as though she were dealing with a dull child. "The Academy pays me to pose for brochures and shake hands with tourists. As I said, my position is ceremonial. Representing you is outside of my normal duties." She thumped a fingernail irritably on her desktop. "And it costs extra."

"I have money," he said at last. "You have ATMs?"

"Yes," said Mistress Jessie. "And you have your ATM card?"

"Well, no. They took it with the rest of my stuff when I first came here. My girlfriend—the one I came to the island with—should still have it. Where is she?"

"We'll get to that. You say you have money, but no way to access it. That's going to be a problem."

"I have credit," he reasoned. "I have an account with Mastercard."

"We accept that." She picked up a pen to write his information down. "What's the number on your card?"

"I don't know. You should have it on file. We paid for this trip on credit."

"Yes, with

her

credit. She's not here, is she?"

"Well, I don't have my card. Just look at me."

She had been. "Oh dear, that doesn't help you at all." She put her pen down and folded her hands in a businesslike way. "So what you're saying is that you want my legal services, and you have no way to pay."

Jonah didn't know what to say. "Are there no other payment options?" he finally asked.

"For you, yes. Remove your garment and put it on my desk." She smiled again as she added, "If you

want

to."

He did exactly as she asked. He covered his front with his hands. His garment looked small and lonely sitting on the top of her large desk.

She picked the garment up with the tip of her pen and considered its worth. "It's not much, is it? Hardly a garment at all. Frankly, I won't have any use for it." She opened a drawer in her desk and dropped the garment inside. "But it will do for a down payment. Now turn around."

"What?'

"Part of the payment, sweetie. I haven't seen your bum yet. Turn around. Slowly."

He turned awkwardly around.

"Very nice," she complimented. "I've seen better, but you're certainly worth my time. Now have a seat." She pointed to the chair of many hinges and turned her attention again to the papers in his file.

Her nonverbal signals had shifted abruptly from predatory desire to clinical disinterest. Jonah felt he was missing the point of something.

Jonah sat in the elaborate metal chair. As he settled into its vinyl cushion, the chair's back reclined slightly and a leg rest unexpectedly lifted his feet upward.

The open manacles alongside his ankles and wrists demanded attention.

"Should I be putting my hands in these?"

She did not look up. "If you want."

He did not, so he crossed his ankles awkwardly and placed his hands over his privates.

Mistress Jessie made herself comfortable. She removed her stylish black pumps, setting them aside on the small black file cabinet behind her desk.

"Becca, hold my calls, please," she said, turning her attention back to Jonah.

"Mmph," replied someone.

Jonah looked around the room for the source of the sound, but saw no one. A flat screen was running on her desk, and Jonah surmised that she must be teleconferencing with someone in the other room.

"Let's begin. You, Jonah, are in a situation that's very unusual, and let's be honest, very—" She clasped her hands together with businesslike satisfaction. "—vulnerable. Why don't you tell me how you came to be here?"

He hardly knew where to begin, but Jessie's unblinking stare demanded an answer.

"Well, I came here with my girlfriend—"

"Your

mistress

," she corrected.

"Yes, my mistress. Sandra. We came here for the two-week training course in B&D. We were separated. Sandra went to the Domination School and I went to the Slave School."

"For slave training."

"Yes. But after the first week, we were supposed to start training together, right? Isn't that how it works?"

Jessie ignored the question. "Go on."

"With no warning, my trainer and her friends attacked me. It wasn't part of the training. They just ganged up on me and put me into a tight-fitting leather bag with only my head sticking out—like I was some kind of mummy. And she put a ball gag in my mouth so I couldn't talk."

Jessie nodded. "The 'Bag and Gag.' Go on."

"I was strapped to the top of a car like luggage and driven to a big castle."

"The Citadel."

"Yeah. I was delivered to a new mistress. I kept telling everyone that it was a mistake. I signed up for a two-week course. I was supposed to leave a month ago with my gir—my mistress, but no one would listen to me."

Jessie listened sympathetically, but continued to stare. "Is that all?" she asked.

"Well, that's the gist of it. Sandra and I missed our flight. Where is she anyway?"

"I see." Jessie turned toward her screen before leaning back in her exotic chair. Then she reached down (behind her desk where he couldn't quite see what she was doing) and started rocking back and forth in her chair as if wiggling out of a tight-fitting stocking. "Becca, call up a copy of Mistress Sandra's itinerary and put it on my screen. That should tell us what we did with her."

"Mmmph," said someone.

The sound was surprisingly clear—as if it were uttered within the room. Jonah looked around, but saw no place where a third person could be.

Mistress Jessie tapped some buttons on her keyboard with one hand while her other hand continued to work unseen behind the desk. His suspicion about what she had been doing was confirmed when the unseen hand suddenly reappeared and plopped her discarded pink pantyhose on the desktop.

Along with her silk panties—also pink. She moved her panties and her discarded hosiery onto the small black file cabinet next to her stylish pumps.

"Oh," she said after looking at her screen. "That's interesting. Jonah, was it your mistress's idea to come to the Academy, or yours?"

"Um, believe it or not, it was

my

idea."

"When you first suggested it, how did she react?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, knowing this was none of her business.

Mistress Jessie's cold stare showed her disappointment.

"Umm," Jonah backpedaled. "At first, she

didn't

want to come here."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I think it just sounded too . . . extreme. She's kind of shy."

Mistress Jessie made a pouty face. "I think you'll want to reconsider those manacles."

"What?"

"My consultation fee is going up."

"But—"

"My fee goes up every time my client lies to me, which you have just done. You know that Mistress Sandra is

not

shy, and that

wasn'

t the reason for her hesitation. Now put your hands and feet in the manacles." Jessie rose from her chair. Although her panties and hose were sitting on the file cabinet, her short white skirt still hugged her seductive hips and provided a degree of professional modesty.

She circled the desk to face him with a smile of unexpected malice. "Or if you like, you may go back to the Citadel. I'm sure your new mistress wouldn't mind seeing you returned permanently to her custody."

Jonah could not go back to the Citadel. Not now.

"Your feet first, if you don't mind," said Jessie. "If you start with your hands, you won't be able to secure your feet properly."

Jonah did as he was told. The manacles had latches which locked automatically once they were closed. Jessie helped him by closing the last manacle around his remaining free wrist.

"Isn't that better?" Jessie leaned over him now. Her beautiful auburn curls dangled across his bare chest. "Now let's try this again. Why did Sandra tell you she didn't want to come to the Academy?"

"I think she

wanted

to come," said Jonah after some hesitation, "but she didn't want me to

know

that she wanted to. She was embarrassed."

"Remember I'm your advocate, Jonah. It's

NOT

in your interest to hold anything back from me."

Jessie never broke eye contact, even as her fingers unexpectedly pinched the loose skin under his scrotum, causing his entire body to clench. Her frown filled his field of vision.

"I thought you were supposed protect me from abuse!" he gasped.

Her calm demeanor was replaced by a fit of anger. "Abuse isn't my concern! Pay attention! My job is to make sure that your treatment is within the terms of your contract, nothing more! If your contract is satisfied, then so am I. Now tell the truth. Why did Sandra not want to come to the Academy?"