The Bitchy Bitch

Prologue:

In case this is the first of my stories you've read, there are a few things I've skipped over in this story since there are several other stories I've written about this same sub. I tend to write a story after almost all of my sessions with my toys. But I publish very few of them online.

My name is Pepper Rodgers. I'm a 19-year-old Domme, living downtown Mobile, Alabama. I have a decently well-stocked playroom in the second bedroom of my fourth-floor apartment (most of my neighbors are corporate types who aren't always around, giving me a lot of privacy, even in the halls and elevators). I also have a decently stocked toybox. I prefer my toys to be older than I am, around 30-42 years old. I prefer men for myself, however not for my toybox. When it comes to toys, I find women and couples to be far more amusing. Single men tend to be needier, and often too clingy. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few of them in my toybox. I do. They just don't have the same chances of getting there as couples and single women do.

I'm petite. Actually more "tiny" that petite. I'm 5' 1.75" and 91 pounds. I'm not bony, though, I've curvy, like a small-sized woman. I have blond hair down to my shoulders and blue eyes. Oh, and my chest is the only place I'm not small. I'm a 32-D, and I'm very pert. Which makes me popular with the boys.

I'm also slightly bisexual. I'm attracted to men, not women. I would never choose a female partner for even a date, let alone for sex. But I'm not opposed to masturbating with a female toy. Sophie happens to be my favorite sex toy to pleasure myself with. Her tongue has two big advantages over my vibrator: one, it's very delicate and tender. Two, no matter how much I use it, its batteries never die at the worst possible moment! It's better than fresh bunny batteries, it just keeps going until I want it to stop. And I don't even have to hold it in place!

When I want sex I never use one of my toys. I never allow a toy touch, or even see, all of me. And I never bring a toy to my bedroom. Nor do I chose a woman. I pick a man, usually one I find in a club or cafe, or wherever. I flirt, dance dirty a little and if he meets my standards, I ask if he's interested in a one-time-only, no-names-exchanged, hook-up. I've never been turned down.

I have a few standards for my hook-ups. I never pick a guy I know or even just see around. And I insist on a cock between 7 and 9" long and 1.5" across, plus or minus a small bit. I won't touch a guy who isn't circumcised, either. I hate the way the foreskin feels inside me. I want to feel that fat head. The dirty dancing gives me plenty of time to tease a guy hard and feel for myself what he's got. It's the only way not to be disappointed. Guys always lie about their equipment!

Sophie is my 19-year-old live-in slave-girl. She's slightly petite at 5'4" and 119 pounds. She's pretty, too, with long honey-blond hair, green eyes, and a 34-B chest. Sophie is extremely devoted to me. So devoted, and so happy as my slave, that despite not being attracted to women, she's a virgin with men. She serves and pleasures only me, and those I give her to. And while I use her, even with my male toys, I won't allow any man to touch her pussy or penetrate her bottom. Those are mine. Only mine. I've owned her since she graduated high school, but I've known her longer. Since about two months after her 18th birthday, which was also about two months before she finished high school.

I have three BFFs, (Isabelle, Reagan, and Ellie) none of whom are into my little games. But all of whom occasionally creep into my stories. After all, they are my BFFs so they tend to be around. Luckily they're not offended by anything they happen to see. They're just not eager for me to put on a show on their account.

I also have a circle of five other women friends, all of whom are Dommes as well. Andrea (26), Janelle (35), Colette (39), Diane (43), and Olive (44). we usually get together every couple of weeks for coffee and a little chat about who's doing what to whom lately. We sometimes share, or loan, our toys to each other, but not that often. Sometimes we do a favor for each other, such as providing something different for a toy. Mostly we do what girls do: we gossip.

I get all of my toys through networking. It's almost always either one of the women in our circle who has a toy she doesn't want and offers to point it at another who is interested. Or sometimes one of my toys tells someone, who tells someone, and so on until someone asks my toy to introduce someone to me. Rarely it's someone I don't play with, but who knows what I'm into, who asks me to meet someone. I get plenty of emails inquiring about meeting me, and while I will email and maybe chat with a sub online, I haven't yet met any. I won't rule it out, but meeting online is risky enough that someone would have to convince me before I'd think about it. A girl's gotta be careful!

[Note: Mistress Pepper and Sophie are "anonymized" versions of me and my slave-girl. The real me. All of my stories are (or should I say will be) my memories of a session with a sub. Thus, they are true stories, only in this version details have been changed to protect the sub. I do live in Mobile about 10 months of the year (the remaining two I spend in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, where my father is from and lives), and almost all of my subs live in Mobile or a bordering county. I'm originally from Baldwin County, next door to Mobile. I moved across the bay to attend USA. As is/did Mistress Pepper. But I'm not a blond. And you'll most definitely have to guess at my bra size!

"Get naked, bitch," I snap in my harshest, most bullying voice. I pause a mere fraction of a second and then I slap her face. It's a hard slap, one that leaves a stinging bright red handprint on her cheek as it snaps her head to the side. "Stop wasting my time and get you skanky butt naked. NOW, bitch!"

I pause again, not much longer of a fraction of a second than I did the first time. I slap her face again, landing another hard slap on the same cheek. It lands almost exactly atop the handprint I just left. "Keep wasting my time and I'll rip those rags off your skanky butt. NOW GET NAKED, stupid bitch." I add a little contempt to y voice, the tone a woman uses with another woman she thinks is beneath her, like a housewife would use talking to the whore she caught her husband with. Pure scorn.

This time I don't have to wait long. Tears start to well up in the corners of her eyes. That's no surprise, not with the stinging her cheek must be doing by now. Her hands move quickly to the front of her blouse and find the bottom button. Her hands fumble slightly as they work faster than she's used to, trying to get it undone. Trying to show some progress before I slap her again.

The bitch is Karla. She's a 36-year-old executive with a European airline, in town for some meetings with executives from Airbus. I haven't a clue what they're meeting about, nor do I care. I might have a private pilot's certificate, but my business interests lie in another industry. Nor can I think of anything Airbus builds that my private pilot's license would allow me to fly unless you count flying business class.

Karla is Danish. She lives in Denmark and as far as I know, has never spent more than a couple of weeks in America. This time she's here for four weeks. All I can figure, it must be some serious meetings. Good for Airbus. Good for Mobile, since some of that money I imagine changing hands will hopefully be spent here in town. This town can use all the outside money it can get.

I'm kind of famous for my D/s lifestyle, but I'm not delusional. I know my fame doesn't extend much beyond the college campuses that I and my live-in slave-girl Sophie attend. Maybe a little beyond, thank you to the big mouths of a few of the toys in my toy box and some networking on my part, but certainly nowhere near Denmark.

However, one of the ladies in my little circle of Domme friends does have a toy in her toy box that's some kind of hotshot at Airbus. He's French and spends about two months out of the year here. I don't know him, but I've heard a few stories. Our little circle is good for one thing: gossip over coffee. And I know she has a tight grip on him. Tight enough that she can commandeer his fancy boat whenever she wants.

I first heard about Karla last week at one of our gossip sessions. Diane (the one with the toy at Airbus) mentioned her. She told us all that Karla was going to be in town for business and was looking for a single session with a Domme while she was here, about halfway through her stay. Diane asked if anyone was interested in "taming a bitch" as a "one-off" play session. I said Diane could pass my email and phone number along, and I'd talk to Karla to see if I was interested in playing with her.

Karla quickly got in touch with me. She told me that she's heterosexual, and only does anything with a woman when "forced" to. She's married to a man whom she described to me as "sometimes strong." With a little prodding from me, she explained that she meant that he's usually rather "vanilla," a typical husband, but every once in a while he suddenly turns rather dominant and takes her.

I have a rule against "whipping behind the back of a spouse." It applies to all my toys, and "spouse" includes any significant other. I asked her to have to get in touch with me just to give me his permission to play with his wife. But when he did, I asked a bunch of questions about her.

In his opinion, Karla is a "super bitch" at work. She'd have to be to have risen so high up in the world of high finance. And she works long days. As those days go by, the bitchiness tends to steadily creep into the other aspects of her life. Once she gets bitchy enough to him, he'll surprise her with a session that "reminds" her that she's really not "super bitch businesswoman;" that instead, she's nothing. That she's not "miss important" as she thinks, but in reality doesn't matter to anyone. After his session, Karla always reverts to the sweet woman he married, at least to him. She takes the humiliation she goes through out on her business associates, driving an even harder deal and being even bitchier to them. It's served her well professionally.

He was very helpful to me. He told me as much as anyone could about Karla and what she liked and what didn't arouse her. Quickly I learned that Karla liked it rough. That she wasn't going to get on her knees and serve me just because she was told to. I would have to make her. And it will take some force to make her. But once she's on her knees, she'll willingly stay there. And then she'll become more obedient by the minute.

I've always loved a challenge. Not that I think Karla is going to be that much of a challenge to get on her knees, but who knows. I do think it's going to make for a very enjoyable evening. And an even better video for my private collection. Few things turn me on as much as humiliating a middle-aged woman. I just love it when they finally accept that I'm a stronger woman than they are.

Karla arrived here a few short moments ago. Usually, I have Sophie answer the door, but his time I answered it myself. I knew it was Karla. She was right on time. Plus I already had a picture of her, one I'd found on her LinkedIn profile. Sure, it's not the full-nude picture of Karla that will soon grace the pages of my "Shamebook" site (which is limited to my close friends only), but it's enough for me to know it's her.

I didn't welcome her. I didn't even say "hello" to her. I grabbed her by the waistband of her slacks and jerked her hard into the apartment. Then, without any hesitation, I pushed her back against the bare wall and told her to strip.

Now, maybe a full minute after Karla arrived here, she stands there with a look of hatred on her face, her hands fumbling at the bottom button of her blouse. She might be undressing, but I have less than no illusions that she's cowed yet. Instead, I'd bet she's stalling for time while she figures out what resistance is next.

I can see the tension rippling through every muscle in her body, too. I can so totally do impatient. Forget a masters degree, I have a doctorate in impatience. With honors! This evening Karla is wearing a rather expensive designer business suit. It has black slacks and a matching blazer over a white blouse. I grab the blazer and yank hard, more ripping it down her shoulders rather than pulling it off of her. It comes down sharply, catching at her elbows.

I give it another tug, this one a little sharper, and it flies off Karla's arms, pulling her arms away from the button they're working on. Karla gasps in surprise. Her hands move back up to the button. At least now I can see that her blouse is short-sleeved and that her arms are lean. "You are so going to learn not to waste my time, bitch!" I scold her with a harsh grin on my face.

I don't have to ask for my crop. I hold my hand out and before I get a chance to ask, Sophie has the crop in my hand. I swat Karla on the back of her hand, searing a bright red crop-print as Karla yelps. "get your skanky butt naked, bitch!"

"I am!" Karla snaps back at me. "I can only--"

I swat her cheek again, this time with the crop. It's second nature for me. It takes the smallest flick of my wrist to send the crop's tip flying at her face. My aim is perfect, the crop leaving a very red print on her cheek at the corner of her mouth. And making Karla screech a loud yelp. Her head turns back to me, her wet eyes now glaring at me with unbridled hatred, but also with a tinge of fear.

Karla's hands start working fast to get those buttons undone. That look on her face tells me what's running through her head: now she's going to obey, to strip as fast as she can, but only while she's figuring out a way to defy me without suffering the punishment she's now certain defiance will bring upon her. I won't be happy until the thought of defiance is gone.

It only takes her a few seconds to get her blouse unbuttoned. Another second has the silk blouse falling down her arms to the floor even as her hands are moving to her belt. She fumbles once, recovers quickly, and gets it unbuckled. She whips it out of the loops on her pants and drops it to the floor as her hands move to the zipper of her slacks.

My eyes quickly take in the peach-colored bra on her chest. I'd given her only 30 minutes notice of the session, something I'd warned her I would do. It's plenty of time to get here, and she did, but it's not enough time for her to do anything else, like stop at her hotel and change clothes. I'd more expected her to be wearing a comfortable, everyday kind of bra. The kind that a woman doesn't wear when she expects to be seen in it. Instead, her bra is lacy with half cups that push her small breasts into a bit of cleavage. It's a bra that maximizes what she has. Its small cups are about half lace, with a small swatch of real silk over the center of her breasts. Silk that's thin enough for me to see her nipples standing up hard and prominent through it.

Karla's pants fall down her legs to her ankles. She starts trying to kick her shoes off so she can slip the pants over her feet. Her hands work to push down her pantyhose.

"Pantyhose???" I balk with disgust in my voice. "I hate pantyhose. Don't you dare wear something so repulsive to my house ever again! No matter how ugly the bottom it's on."

Karla's shoes slide a few feet over the floor as they come off of her feet. She squats down, her hands still on the waist of her hose, and takes her pants off her feet as she pushes the hose off. They land just in front of her, and wisely she forgets them rising back up to her feet. As she stands, her hands move to the center of her chest and the clasp of her bra. It lets me see that her panties match her bra. And they're sexy, with a wide band of lace around her hips then a narrow triangle of lace-fringed silk to cover her pubes. Behind I can see bare cheeks, with only a tiny strip of fabric rising up between them before quickly flowing outward just before the waistband. Nice panties.

Karla unclips the bra. It's cups falling to hang free of her breasts. It doesn't take much of a tug for it slide down her shoulders and fall to the floor. She shoves her panties down to her ankles, steps quickly out of them, and stands.

I admit when I first heard that Karla was Danish, I had a mental picture of a Viking woman. She's anything but the stereotypical Viking woman. She's petite, standing about 5'3" and weighing, I'd guess about 110 pounds. She has short medium-brown hair that hangs just above her shoulders and green eyes. She has a slightly small nose over a flat mouth, neither wide nor narrow, framed by distinctly average light pink lips.

Karla has a flat stomach with taut skin that's smooth. She has a moderate feminine curve to her hips and waist and lean, shapely hips.

Just above her flat stomach are a pair of small breasts. I'd guess she's a 34-AA, with breasts that look more like her chest is swelling outward than pert mounds. They're perfectly rounded, rising maybe an inch off her chest. They're topped with a pair of nipples the width of pencil erasers that stand up about ¼" with nicely rounded tops. Around them are rings of color the size of quarters. Both are the same shade of deep pink-brown against milky white skin.

I can see a bush of black fur on her pubes. It's neatly trimmed, well inside the creases of her thighs. It's neither sparse nor dense. Underneath that fur, I can see a set of long narrow lips forming a flat pussy mound. And I can see a fairly wide gash of light pink between those lips. The flatness of her mound makes it look as if her long lips, and pink gash, rise up her pubes a bit.

I don't hesitate, not even to check out Karla's nude body. I don't want her to have a chance, even a brief one, to think about defying me. I know there's more resistance left in her. I also know that this is starting fairly different from what Karla usually experiences at the hands of her husband. He told me that he prefers to pull her clothes off himself, at least enough to get to her.

I grab a good handful of the bushy hair atop her head. I jerk hard on her hair, moving fast to lead her away from the wall and over towards my desk in the far corner of the room. Karla stumbles a few steps as she's caught off guard by the suddenness of the pull. She gets her feet back under her and comes along.

As we near my desk, I jerk her hair hard again, getting her to stumble one more step. It's enough of a step that her hips bump against the edge of my desk as I release my grip on her hair. My hand moves to Karla's back, high up between her shoulders. I shove hard, pushing her down to lean over my desk. Or at least to begin leaning over my desk.

I shove again, harder this time, and I keep my hand pushing her shoulders down. I feel the muscles in her back tensing to resist me, to keep her standing up as much as she is. I'd like to say I'm strong enough to easily overpower her, but the truth of it is that I caught her by surprise. By the time she's reacted and she's fully resisting the push, her chest is flat against the top of my desk. Holding her there, pinned down, takes much less effort than pushing her down would have.

Now it's Sophie's turn. Before Karla arrived, I gave Sophie specific instructions, breaking my usual routine, and telling Sophie enough of what was in store for Karla that Sophie would know when to do what. She moves as fast as I would, and she catches the cue before I have Karla all the way over the desk. Almost as soon as Karla is down, she starts struggling. Karla's arms come up, trying to grab hold of me and push me away. As Karla is flailing behind her back for my arms, Sophie drops a choker collar around Karla's neck. Its chain is something I got from the pet shop that's made for a Doberman or such. It already has a pink leather leash attached to it. As the collar falls onto the back of Karla's neck, Sophie lets the leash droop down to the floor. She steps on the long leash, pulling its handhold up hard. Sophie's foot serves as an improvised pulley and leash pulls Karla's head down, pinning it against the desk with twice the force of Sophie's pull. And Sophie pulls hard. As the leash pulls down, the collar tightens around Karla's neck, choking her.