They met on her favorite kinky dating site. And now, after a brief exchange of messages, they were sitting in a coffee house having a chat. She'd had dozens of these meetings. Most didn't pan out. Most people flaked when confronted with making their kink fantasies real or she didn't feel like pursuing the relationship. But she enjoyed the conversations. She liked making people uncomfortable. She liked to watch them squirm in different ways. She loved to fuck with people. Even when she was a kid she used to do things to her dolls—no doubt, the inventors of Barbie and Ken had no idea a child would do the things to those dolls she did to them.
There was something about this guy. He had a unique handsomeness about him. He was confident but humble. He would smile when she embarrassed him, which she relished doing. She thought about how much fun it would be to get him to a place beyond his smile. She imagined what his face would look like when the pain or sensory overload became too much for him. His confidence made her think he would endure a lot for her. He was a canvas onto which she could create something memorable.
After she was satisfied with his responses to her grilling him about his experience and expectations, she asked him for his phone number. Some people had given her fake numbers. She was pretty sure he gave her his real number.
She told him to call her Mistress or Mistress M. She liked the anonymity of it all. Neither of them knew anything about their personal lives. Their relationship was a pure, untainted by the worries of the mundane, playground for their imagination—for her imagination. The kinks listed on their profiles seemed mostly aligned. She prided herself on creating scenes that played upon a subs desires, but she would push him to her predilections, and beyond his. She loved to push subs beyond their comfort zone.
She told him she would text him with instructions. If he was obedient she would grant him an in person "audience."
"Yes, Mistress," he replied. She told him she didn't hear him. He'd need to speak up. He spoke up loud enough to be heard by people at nearby tables. Then he smiled. It was one of her favorite parts of having conversations like this in a public space.
The next day she sent him a text message. He was to buy a pair of clover nipple clamps. Black. With a chain linking the clamps. She began, at different times of day or night, texting him with commands: "Put the clamps on for one minute and off for one minute, ten times." "Put the clamps on for five minutes. Then twist each clamp right then left ten times." "Put the clamps on for on minute, off for two, then on for three. Then put the chain in your mouth and quickly lift your head fifteen time as far as you can." "Put the clamps on and get on your knees with a book. Take the book, open it in the middle and use the chain like a bookmark. Then swing the book back and forth until it hits your face then your stomach. Do this twenty-five times."
This went on for days. His nipple became increasingly sore. Several times she texted and had him pull and twist his nipples through his shirt. "Pinch and twist them as hard as you can," she texted.
She had told him he could jerk off as often as he wished, however, he could only cum when he was watching porn, and he had to send her the link to the porn he was watching when he came. She found this a great way to get in a sub's head. After he sent her a few links, she texted him back and told him she wanted him to cum to "nastier porn," just to see what he would do. One day he sent her four different links. She was working him into a frenzy.
After eight days, she sent him instructions to purchase, for the upcoming Sunday, a one night stay at a motel near her home. It was an aging mid-century place, the kinda place where traveling salesmen and such used to stay. Now it was a seedy no-tell-motel where one might imagine cheating spouses would meet for trysts. When passing the place she sometimes pondered how many people had had sex in those rooms.
He texted her after he completed the task. She instructed him to buy a black spandex hood with a reinforced blindfold and only a hole for the mouth, although he would be able to breath through spandex with his nose. She liked the idea of reducing him to just a mouth. She also liked the idea of him not being able to see her naked body, while she had untethered access to his.
She'd also instructed him to put the nipple clamps on for five minutes off for five minutes on for five minutes three times a day. She wanted his nipples so sore that he wouldn't be able to tell if he was in pain or pleasure when she licked or sucked them. She'd be sure to remind him what pain was by occasionally biting his nipples when they were in her mouth.
She instructed him to go to a specific pharmacy near her home on Sunday. He was to go to this pharmacy and find a woman who worked there named Tracy. She was a young twenty-something-year-old. She was cute. Kinda sweet looking. Mistress had seen her in the pharmacy a bunch of times. They'd had few brief conversations: small talk about the weather or the challenges of working at a pharmacy.
Mistress instructed him to find Tracy and ask her where the "disposable enemas" were. He was to buy ten disposable enemas and a packet of condoms. Thus he found himself on a Sunday roaming the aisle of a pharmacy looking for a woman named Tracy. When he found her and asked her his question she looked at him with a look that made him think she might know who had sent him to the pharmacy. He wondered if she knew more about his fate than he did. He wondered if she would play a part in his near future. But, embarrassed as he was by all those possible scenarios, he bought the enemas and the condoms and took them to the motel with his nipple clamps and mask.
When he got checked into the motel he texted her the room number and brought his stuff upstairs to his second floor room. As she instructed he began giving himself the enemas: "take one, hold for five minutes, then expel and take the next one until you have used all the enemas."
He had to use some math to figure out her instructions if he was to be naked, on his knees, with his mask on waiting for her to arrive at 3pm. The enemas caused him to cramp a bit and made his legs wobbly. But wobbly legs and all, he was there on his knees at 3pm. When she knocked on the door at 3:17, he opened it just a bit and kneeled facing away from the door as she had instructed. He heard her come in and heard the thud of what he assumed was a duffle bag—her arsenal of toys he presumed.
