Revenge

My cell phone buzzed, making me jump. My first thought was that Megan was calling me, calling me to apologize, calling to ask me to forgive her. Forgive her for screwing me over and kicking me to the curb like a dog.

I'd been dozing in the old, worn recliner in my darkened living room. The TV was on, and the baseball game I'd been watching was over now. Long since over, judging by the late-night used car commercial that was on and the darkness outside. I checked my watch. Twelve-thirty AM. Last time I'd checked, it had been nine.

Shit, I thought, and looked around me at the empty beer cans scattered around my chair. I'd killed off a couple of six packs of Milwaukee's Best, and my mouth tasted like a toxic waste dump. I also had to take a leak. Badly.

I worked the recliner's lever as my phone buzzed again. It was on vibrate, sitting on the metal TV tray next to the chair along with the remains of the Hungry Man microwave dinner I'd eaten while watching the first inning. My feet dropped and the chair back pushed me upright. My head was swimming. I realized I was probably drunk, or damn near.

The thought that it was Megan calling became a near-certainty, through some kind of weird alcohol-induced magic. Shit, I thought, I'm going to rip that bitch a new asshole for what she did. She'll wish she'd never heard of me.

I grabbed for the phone, missed, and grabbed again. Success. It buzzed again in my hand. I looked at the number - a local area code, but not a number I recognized. Not Megan's number. Disappointment flooded through me, but I stabbed at the "answer" button on the screen anyway.

"Yeah, hello?" I said. My voice was raspy. I coughed.

"Hello," said a woman's voice. It made me sit up and pay attention. The voice was low, smooth as silk, and sexy as hell.

"Is this Ryan Fendelman?"

"Yeah, this is Ryan. Who's this?"

"My name is Vivian," the woman replied. "You don't know me, but I hope to change that soon."

That throaty voice penetrated my beer-fogged brain like a bright flashlight beam. For some reason, it made me think of dark chocolate drizzled over rich cappuccino. And damned if it wasn't turning me on a little, too.

"Are you there, Ryan?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm here. What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Vivian Vanderbilt," she said, and even in my half-drunken state I thought, Right, sure it is, and mine's Elvis Presley. But I didn't feel like calling her out on it. I was too tired.

"That's a nice name," I heard myself say, and instantly felt like an asshole.

But "Vivian," or whatever her name was, just laughed. It was a husky, chuckling sound. It was the sexiest laugh I'd ever heard. My cock suddenly shifted in my boxer shorts. Fuck me, I thought. Who IS this chick?

"That's sweet, Ryan. YOU'RE sweet. But let me tell you a little more about myself. I'm a professional dominatrix."

I blinked, not sure I'd heard her right.

"Uh, what did you say?"

That laugh again. "I'm a professional dominatrix, Ryan. I abuse men, and sometimes women, for money. Does that shock you?"

"No," I said, lying through my teeth.

"It's okay, I don't bite," she said, as if I'd said yes.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. "What are you calling me for, Vivian, or whatever your name is?"

"We have a mutual acquaintance, Ryan, she said. "Megan Lafollette? Does that name ring any bells?"

I almost dropped the phone.

"How the hell do you know Megan?" I said, suddenly angry. "Is this some kind of bullshit joke? You're one of her slutty lesbo friends, aren't you? Don't fuck with me!"

Vivian spoke again, unruffled. Her voice was as silky as when I'd first answered the phone.

"No, Ryan, it's nothing like that. In fact, just the opposite."

I waited for her to go on, still certain that this WAS one of her lesbian pals, maybe the very one she'd been cheating on me with. But there was silence.

"Well?" I snapped. "Are you going to explain what that means?"

"It means that I know Megan very well, and have for a while now, and I know what she did to you. I know about the cheating, Ryan. And I want to help you get even with the slutty little whore."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Calm down." The iron tone of command in her voice startled me. She had switched from silky smooth to dominating bitch in seconds. Without thinking, I obeyed, taking a deep breath.

"Better," she said. "Did you know Megan is into bondage, Ryan? I'm going to guess that you didn't. BDSM, ropes, whips, handcuffs, all of it. She's quite the naughty little thing." She chuckled again, liquid dark chocolate issuing from my phone. My cock was definitely coming to attention now.

"How do I know you even know her?" I said. "How do I know that?"

"Well, how about this: she has a small tattoo of a pair of lips on one ass cheek, and a Playboy bunny on the other. Does that satisfy you?"

She was right. Megan did have those tattoos, in those exact places. Not only did this woman know Megan, she had seen her naked.

"So, you still might be one of her girlfriends," I said. "Trying to mess with my head."

"That's true, Ryan, and there's no way for me to prove I'm not. But I think you're interested in what I have to say. Interested enough to keep talking, anyway. Am I right?"

I couldn't deny that I was curious now. It didn't hurt that her voice was turning me on so much, either.

"Yeah, I'll listen. But how did you get my number, if you're not one of those sluts she hangs around with?"

"You'll understand, if you hear me out. Now, I said I called you because I want to offer you a chance to get even with the slutty whore who cheated on you. You'll never have a better chance than this, Ryan. I guarantee it."

She paused, and I heard noises in the background. They sounded like muffled thumps, as if someone were moving furniture around.

When she spoke again, it wasn't to me, but to someone there with her. Her voice sounded more distant, as if she were facing away from the phone.

"Stop moving, slut! If you do that again, I'll put the nipple clamps back on!"

What the hell? I thought.

"My apologies, Ryan. Megan is here with me now, and she's...misbehaving." Another chuckle. "Anyway, another thing you probably don't know about your ex is that she is a submissive. That means-"

"I know what it means," I said. "She's there? Prove it. Put her on the phone."

"Of course. She's restrained right now, so I'll bring the phone to her."

I heard the sound of heels clicking on a hard floor. Then Vivian spoke again.

"I'm going to remove your gag for a moment, whore. Your ex-boyfriend is on the phone, and he'd like some kind of proof that you're actually here."

I heard muffled grunts, the sound of a catch being unfastened, and heavy breathing.

Then Megan's voice spoke, and there was no mistaking it: a high-pitched little-girl voice, what I thought of as the Bimbo Barbie voice.

"Mistress, may I speak?" she said.

"Yes, my little pain slut, you may speak," answered Vivian. "Talk to Ryan. Tell him what a filthy little submissive slut you are."

Megan's voice again, much closer to the phone, right in my ear. "I'm a filthy little submissive slut."

Holy shit, I thought. That's my ex-girlfriend on the other end of the line, saying shit about herself.

"Again, louder," said Vivian sharply, in the background.

"I'm a filthy little submissive slut!" said Megan, loud enough to make me hold the phone away from my ear. But damned if I wasn't enjoying this! The bitch that had cheated on me with a woman, had been seeing a dominatrix behind my back, and had dumped me, was degrading herself right here over the phone. I suddenly noticed that my cock was more than shifting in my pants now; it was fucking rock hard. My balls felt swollen, and there was a faint ache starting deep in my groin.

I smiled wickedly to myself, and said "Yeah, that's exactly what you are, you cheating bitch. You fucked me over. I hope that Vivian chick is going to punish you good."

After a moment, Vivian came back on.

"Megan has been my sub for almost six months now. I had no idea she had a boyfriend until I discovered your phone number in her contacts list. If I had known, I would have refused to take her on. I don't commit to a long-term relationship with a sub if I know they are committed to someone else."

That explained how she got my phone number.

"Well, that's very ethical of you," I said, wanting to sound snarky, but my voice sounded a little shaky in my own ears.

"Yes, I like to think so," said Vivian seriously. "When I discovered her relationship with you, or rather when I forced her to confess to it, I demanded that she either break it off at once, or stop coming to me. I made her choose."

"And she chose you," I said gloomily.

"Yes. But it was her choice. I didn't coerce her one way or the other. And she's under no illusions about the need for her to be punished severely for not sharing this important detail of her life with me."

"Punished? How?"

"Just a minute."

I heard the click of heels again, and she came back on a minute later.

"I went to another room. I don't want Megan to hear this. Her punishment is for you to have your way with her, while she is restrained and completely helpless." She paused, letting that sink in. "And, she will be blindfolded, so she won't know it's you unless you choose to reveal your identity."

Oh, fuck me. My dick throbbed now. The thought of fucking Megan, or making her blow me, or doing any number of other things to her while she was tied up almost made me cream my jeans.

Vivian continued. "Megan will think you're a complete stranger, brought in to use her for his own pleasure as part of her sub training. That last part is true, by the way. If you take me up on my offer, it will kill two birds with one stone. You'll have your revenge, and I'll be able to put her through an important stage of her training program."

Training program, I thought. She takes this shit seriously.

I was silent for almost a minute.

"Ryan? Are you interested?" Vivian said.

"Fuck, yes, I'm interested."

"Good! Can you come now?"

"Yeah." I didn't give a shit about the beer buzz; it was nearly gone now, anyway.

She gave me the address of what she called her "studio," and told me to be there in an hour.

-

The address was in the industrial part of town, in a block of warehouses that seemed to stretch for miles. After some searching I finally found the right building. It was completely nondescript - no business name on the door, no signs out front, no indication that it was occupied at all.

What did you expect, I thought, a big neon sign with "dominatrix" in flashing letters?

The parking lot was nearly deserted except for a black Lexus with a vanity plate that read "whpu." It took me a minute to realize it read "whip you." I wondered why she hadn't spelled "whip u," and decided the Bureau of Motor Vehicles probably wouldn't allow something that blatant. Clever, I thought.

I parked next to the Lexus, killed the engine, got out, and locked the car, making sure the anti-theft system was on. Then I walked to the glass door with the address Vivian had given me printed on it. It was dark inside, but by the orange light of the parking lot's sodium arc lamps I could make out a small, disused reception office with a dusty battered desk and a broken chair. At the back of the office was a windowless door. Faint light shone from underneath it.

There was a doorbell, and I pushed the button, keeping it depressed for a good ten seconds. I didn't hear anything from inside the building. The inner door didn't open. I waited a bit, then hit the doorbell again. Still nothing. There was silence except for the faint buzz of the parking lot lights. I banged on the glass door, hard enough to make it rattle in its frame.

"Hey, I'm here!" I shouted. I tried the doorbell again. Nothing.

After waiting another minute or so, I muttered "Fuck this," and turned to go back to my car. The whole goddamned thing had been a fucking joke after all. That bitch and her lesbo friends...

Then I heard something behind me, and turned around.

An overhead fluorescent light had been turned on in the reception office, and the inner door was open. Standing just inside the glass outer door, smiling warmly, was a woman that could only have been Vivian.

I almost dropped my car keys. She was easily the sexiest person I'd ever seen. My first look at her gave me the impression of authority and seductiveness wrapped in a tight and toned package.

She was tall black woman, at least five-ten, and had a voluptuous figure that was emphasized by her outfit, which consisted of a black leather corset, tight black booty shorts, and knee-length black high-heeled patent leather boots. The corset placed her boobs, which were enormous, on full display. I was surprised her nipples weren't showing, so much tit flesh was exposed. And her face - her face was beautiful, movie-star beautiful, with big, dark eyes; high cheekbones; full, sensual lips. She had long, straight, very dark hair that was pulled back from her face into a ponytail, which was draped over one shoulder and ended just below her boobs. Her skin was a dark cocoa brown. Her age was hard to guess, but from what I could see I pegged her as a late thirty-something.

She stood there in the flickering fluorescent light of the dingy reception office, smiling, hands on hips, one leg cocked to the side as if she were about to start tapping her foot with impatience. I realized she was waiting for me to come back to the door.

I suddenly realized I had been standing there literally with my mouth hanging open. I snapped it shut, and began walking toward the glass door. My heart was racing and my mouth was suddenly dry. It occurred to me that I was nervous as hell.

When I reached the door, she unlocked it and pushed it open to let me in. I stepped inside, and she immediately closed and relocked the door behind me.

"Ryan?" she asked. Her voice was much more seductive in person. For the second time that night, my cock began to stiffen just from hearing this woman speak.

"Uh...yeah, I'm Ryan," I said through my dry mouth. "Vivian?"

"Yes, I'm Vivian Vanderbilt. I'm so glad you came." She sounded sincere, and offered her hand. Her fingers were long and slender, with perfectly manicured nails.

I took her hand and shook it. Her grip was very firm, bordering on hard, not weak like so many other women I'd shaken with over the years. And she took my hand fully into hers, rather than pinching my palm between her thumb and fingers, another female handshake I hated.

I also noticed, now that I was closer to her, that my guess at her age had been low, probably by ten years at least. There were very fine lines around her eyes and on her forehead, and her dark hair had a few faint flecks of gray. But these features, and what they suggested about her age, didn't lessen her sex appeal. It did the opposite: I was in the presence of a confident, mature, experienced older woman who obviously took good physical care of herself. The word "MILF" came to mind, but her commanding presence made her more than just a sexy older woman who liked fucking young guys. Maybe an über MILF, if there was such a thing.

"Well," she said in a businesslike tone. "Shall we?" She gestured to the open inner door.

I nodded and stepped through. Vivian came through behind me and closed the door. I heard her latch it.

We were in the main warehouse space. It was one of the smaller units, but plenty big enough for her purposes, I guessed. It was outfitted as a dungeon, with crosses, racks, stocks, and other restraint devices that I couldn't guess the names of. There was a head-spinning array of whips, floggers, canes, and the like; these were hung from racks attached to the walls around the room. There were also a number of cabinets and armoires with plenty of drawers. I guess those held the small items, like nipple clamps. It was hard to take it all in at once; my overall first impression of Vivian Vanderbilt's "studio" was one of seeming chaos underlain by an organization that wasn't immediately obvious.

"Do you like my little lair?" she said from behind me.

I nodded. "Yeah, pretty fucking amazing. It looks like you have everything here."

She laughed, that throaty sound. "No, not everything. I'm always adding to my arsenal."

She took me gently by the shoulders and turned me to face her. Our faces were only a foot apart. This close, I could smell some sort of faint, musky perfume that my cock apparently liked, because it stiffened a bit more. I could also see how beautiful her eyes really were. They were a deep brown that was nearly black.

She looked directly into my eyes, still holding my shoulders gently.

"Don't you want to know where Megan is?" she asked softly, with a small, wicked smile.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I thought so."

Vivian let go of me and went to a metal door in one wall. She swung it open. Behind the door, in a small and dimly-lit side room, blindfolded and bound tightly to a large padded black wheel, was Megan.

-

She was nude, blindfolded, and pinned spread-eagled to the wheel, her arms and legs stretched to their fullest and her wrists and ankles tightly pinned in place by big leather cuffs with heavy buckles. Leather straps were buckled tightly across her arms, legs, and torso; there was even a strap across her neck and another across her forehead. Her small, pert boobs, tipped with the sweet little cherry nipples I'd enjoyed sucking and playing with many times before the bitch had betrayed me, were completely exposed. From the red stripes across them I guessed Vivian had recently paid those tits some special attention. Megan's nipples were currently in the grip of cruel-looking metal clamps. Thin chains extended from the clamps to the index finger of each hand. The chains were pulled very taught, stretching her nipples sideways, pulling the little buds into unnaturally long stems. I realized the purpose of the clamp and chain setup: if Megan moved her fingers, even a little bit, it would tug on the clamps and cause her even more pain. Her legs, spread very wide, left her pussy completely vulnerable, open to any kind of use or abuse. To complete the scene, there was a table beside her laid out with an assortment of whips, crops, canes, dildos, and other toys.

Megan was moaning softly when the door opened, but when she heard it, she started speaking.

"Mistress? Is that you? Mistress? God, these clamps really hurt, Mistress! Will you please taken them off? Please?"

She was whining. Vivian, who was standing just behind me, said "Shut your filthy little cocksucking mouth, slut. Just for speaking without permission, you'll endure the clamps for an extra half hour."

Megan groaned.

"I have the guest I promised you. He's here with me now. His identity is not for you to know, unless he chooses to tell you. It may be someone you know. It could just as easily be a complete stranger."

Vivian walked slowly into the room until she was directly in front of Megan, her big tits pressing into Megan's small ones, making Megan groan again as the clamps shifted. Vivian kissed Megan deeply for several seconds, running her slender ebony fingers up and down Megan's arms and tracing across her tits with manicured fingernails. I could hear Megan whining softly during the kiss, like a small animal trying to get to a delicious piece of food that's just out of reach.

Finally Vivian broke the kiss, leaving Megan panting.

"Our guest has my permission to use your body for the evening in any way he chooses. You will not be able to stop him. You will not be able to protect yourself. You will not even be able to see him. He will have total mastery over you until the session is complete. Do you understand, slut?"