The Initiation of Mistress Q

Tracey looked for address numbers as she walked the New York sidewalk near Wall Street. It was a cool, gray November afternoon, and the streets were a flow of well-dressed professional men and women shouldering expensive bags and purses, pushing past wandering tourists with cameras and shopping bags. A homeless man sat with a sad-looking German Shepard, trying to stay out of the way. The dog made eye-contact with Tracey and she couldn't help herself. She approached the pair and pulled five dollars from her purse.

"If I give you this money, promise me that you'll get this boy some food."

The man looked at the cash and nodded.

"Feed the dog," said Tracey, and extended her hand with the bill.

The man grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her off balance. She stumbled forward and the man's face was close enough to smell his foul breath. She opened her mouth to yell, but the man snatched the bill and pushed her back.

"He isn't a dog!" shouted the homeless man shouted. "Do you see a leash? Is he wearing a collar? Is he barking like a dog?"

Tracey backed away quickly. "Okay. Just feed him." The journalist in her wanted to hear the rest of THAT story, but mostly she wanted to get away and stop shaking. "What the hell!" she thought. "Poor dog. It's a dog, asshole."

She pulled her long leather coat around her and continued down the street, the heels of her knee-high black boots clacking on the sidewalk. Tracey wanted to look professional, but with an edge. She didn't want to come off as naïve and young as she really was. She was 22, and headed to an underground bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism club, or BDSM. The assignment came from her employer, a New York singles magazine called Rambler. Tracey had very little experience with this type of fetish, and she wondered if she would be able to connect with it enough to write a good article.

She found the building and followed the instructions she had been given. The underground club was actually in an unmarked, underground basement, accessed from a dark opening between buildings. She left the relative safety of the sidewalk and crept into the alley. She found a railing and held on tightly as she carefully walked down a narrow set of stairs to a heavy, steel door. She checked her instructions, took a deep breath, and knocked twice, three times, and then two more knocks.

A small speakeasy door opened and a rough, male voice asked, "How can I help you, ma'm?"

Tracey cleared her throat and said, "I'm a friend of de Sade. I'm here for the interview..."

Before she finished, the speakeasy door slammed shut. She waited. Did she do something wrong? She checked the instructions again. A minute passed. She started the knocking pattern again, but the main door swung open.

"Darling, you're early! I'm Evilyn. Like Evelyn, but evil." A tall, beautiful woman in her 30's, dressed in all black leather greeted her, wearing a tight bustier, short skirt, fishnet stockings and thigh high boots. She took Tracey's hand and led her in. The place smelled faintly damp, with a mingling of perfume, cologne and leather. Not offensive, but very raw and sexual. Tracey took out a pencil and pad and took notes. She found it humorous that this first section appeared to be a dark dungeon gift shop, with costumes and instruments of torture and bondage on display.

"You are gorgeous, Tracey. Everyone is going to love you. Let's get you out of those boring clothes and into some gear. The dressing room is right this way."

"Um, I don't need to change, Evilyn. I'll just observe and ask questions."

"Nonsense. To write about it, you must experience it, right? Of course, we won't make you do anything you don't really want to. But if you want to be allowed to see everything," she said with emphasis, "you must participate. Understood?" She was friendly, but spoke with intimidating confidence and authority.

Tracey took a deep breath and exhaled. "Alright!" she said, with as much courage as she could manage. "Let's go for the full experience."

She was taken into a luxurious dressing room with red couches, dark wood lockers, and oriental rugs. Two clothing racks in the middle of the room hung with mostly black leather, PVC or rubber outfits, adorned with straps, buckles and zippers. Evilyn sorted through the costumes. "Remove all your clothing and jewelry, love, and put on one of the robes."

Tracey's heart raced. "What have I gotten myself into?" she thought. "I can do this. They can't make me do anything I don't want to. I hope." She undressed awkwardly and quickly slipped on a puffy cotton robe. "Can I just wear this instead?" she said, half-joking.

"This is perfect. We got it in just yesterday." Evilyn held up a short, flared leather skirt with a few straps attached. "Those are yours too." She pointed to a tiny black thong on the couch, next to a pair of thigh-high black boots with stiletto heels.

"Oh my," answered Tracey.

"Don't worry, dear. The club is very discreet, exclusive and private. You are completely safe here. There are mirrors over there. Would you like any help getting dressed?"

Tracey took the outfit and turned it back and forth. "Where is the top portion?"

"Put the thong on first."

Tracey handed the outfit to Evilyn and picked up the thong. She opened her robe and awkwardly stepped into the tiny patch of fabric and pulled it up into place.

Evilyn arranged the tangle of straps on the skirt and kneeled down in front of her guest. "Step in right here."

Evilyn's head was close enough to her naked body that her hair brushed against Tracey's legs as she worked her way into the costume. Evilyn rose slowly, moving her gaze up Tracey's body until Evilyn's overflowing cleavage was in Tracey's face. She pulled leather suspender straps over Tracey's shoulders that squeezed her breasts together. Tracey's nipples hardened, but she tried to ignore them. Then another wider horizontal strap was pulled up tight over her breasts, covering her areolas, but leaving breast exposed below and cleavage above.

"I almost forgot." Evilyn went to a dresser and pulled out a leather collar adorned with studs and a ring. She stepped behind Tracey and placed it around her neck. "The Master insists that everyone wear a collar. Except him, of course." She leaned close and whispered in her ear, "You look good enough to eat. Put on your boots and go through the black door by the mirrors."

Tracey slid her foot into the boot and zipped it up to her thigh, finishing just below the hem of the short skirt. She felt exposed and nervous, but exhilarated and eager to see what was next. She put on the other boot and stood before the mirror. "Oh my god." She giggled at herself. "Look at that sexy bad-ass." She grabbed her notepad, quickly made a few notes, and pulled open the black door.

Evilyn sat waiting for her in another low-ceilinged dark room. The crack of a whip startled Tracey. More cracks were followed by loud smacks of a paddle and shouts and shrieks of pain or pleasure. Four small alcoves surrounded the center room, each containing an apparatus that shackled, supported or bound a mostly naked person, who was receiving some form of painful attention by a costumed attendant.

Evilyn pointed with a riding crop toward a large dark object on the floor. Tracey realized that their "chairs" were two men, down on all fours, in full head-to-toe black leather. Only their buttocks were exposed. "Oh! Alright then." Tracey awkwardly settled onto her man-chair, carefully crossed her legs, and addressed Evilyn in a professional tone. (Crack!) "Thank you for granting me this interview today and allowing me access to the club for this article." (Smack! Followed by wailing.) She opened the note pad and raised her pencil.

"Everyone's here voluntarily, right? Of their own free will?" asked Tracey, only half joking.

"Bound only by their desires, lust, and compulsions. As for free will, most eagerly left that at the door."

Tracey tried to focus and ask Evilyn her standard journalist questions that she would ask of any business or club owner, doing her best to ignore the various tortures going on around her. She is also distracted by her own unexpected excitement. She learns that the club has been in existence for eight years, and all of the employees earn very, very good money. Evilyn tells her that she bought her first Manhattan apartment after two years of the clubs opening.

"With a little training and discipline, lovely, sweet Tracey, you could earn five, maybe ten times your current paycheck."

Tracey blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment. "Seriously? I had no idea." She quickly calculated in her head what those figures would really mean. "And this is all legal? No one is having sex or expected to have sex?"

"That's the best part, dear. All the money and attention, without the danger, risks or moral complications. For the most part. You do need to be okay with beating and humiliating other human beings all day. By the time you get home, you really need some light and color. And maybe a hug."

"We do occasionally close to paying members and have a private party for employees and friends. Then, anything goes." Evilyn raised her crop and caressed her cheek with the smooth leather paddle tip. "At the last party I lost count of how many times I came, or caused someone else to cum." In a flash, Evilyn violently swatted the bare ass of her man-chair, eliciting a surprised yelp. "Quiet, you worthless pig!" She stood up and reached for Tracey's hand. "Enough talk. You need to experience for yourself what this is all about."

Tracey stood up on her tall stilettos and tucked her notepad into the top of her skirt. "Thank you, Evilyn."

"From now on you will address me as Mistress Evilyn. Understood?" Evilyn cocked an eyebrow and looked down at Tracey.

"Yes," said Tracey, breathlessly. She cleared her throat and added, "Mistress Evilyn." Tracey had never seriously been turned on by a woman before, but she felt herself irresistibly drawn to this powerful mistress force.

Evilyn smiled and produced another riding crop and held it out for Tracey. "This is for you. Use it when one of these slaves needs some motivation, or whenever you feel like it."

Tracey took the leather swatter, felt the braded grip and flexed the shaft. She lifted her skirt, exposed her thigh, and slapped her bare flesh with the crop. "Ow! That really hurts! This is not a toy."

"No. We are in the grownups playground now, and these pigs need to learn to obey." Evilyn raised her crop and cracked the buttock of Tracey's man-chair. "This worthless piece of shit was just looking up your skirt, Tracey."

Tracey turned away and tucked her skirt under her bottom.

The chair spoke in a creepy, quivering voice, "I was just trying to get a look at this prissy little cunt before she ran out of here crying!"

With explosive rage Tracey lashed out and struck the man's exposed flesh with her new crop. Crack! The man yelped, and Tracey raised the crop again, fire in her eyes and in her blood! She held the crop high above the whimpering man, her body surging with power and lust. "Apologize! You piece of shit!" she shouted, and slapped the man's ass again. "Apologize to Mistress, uh, Q!"

"Please Mistress Q! No more! I was wrong! I apologize Mistress Q, please forgive me." The man cowered, keeping his head down. A red welt was visible on his backside.

Tracey looked to Mistress Evilyn with a look in her eyes like a demented child on Christmas morning that had just unwrapped the chainsaw that she always wanted. Evilyn smiled and said, "Well! Aren't you learning quickly! You do seem to have a knack for this, but you don't get to be a Mistress that easily. You have to earn that privilege."

"I apologize, Mistress Evilyn," said Tracey.

"You're a natural, dear. For today, you can be an honorary mistress in training." Evilyn laughed. "Mistress Q!"

Tracey was shaking from adrenaline. "I need to sit down for a minute." She seated herself on her just-whipped chair. So many thought were racing through her head. "Where the hell did that come from?" She suddenly remembered moments from her past when she felt powerless in the face of insults, bullying and self-doubt. She played through scenarios in her head of how she would react to those bullies, using this newly discovered power.

"Discipline and submission must also be experienced by the one who swings the whip," offered Evilyn. "Once your power is released, you must work to control and channel it, so that it doesn't consume you or cause serious harm to others. You have to let go and ride it to the edge! But keep yourself pointed in the right direction, like riding a horse at full gallop, or racing a car, or skiing down a mountain."

Tracey nodded. She took out her notepad and scribbled a few notes. She was beginning to understand the rush of power and domination, but there were many more aspects of this world that she didn't understand. She felt more calm and confident in this strange place, but was nervous about what she might find out next about herself. She pushed herself up and smacked her boots with the crop. "Thank you, Mistress Evilyn. I'm ready for more."

Evilyn took Tracey's hand. "Right this way to the flogging stations."

They approached a cute, petit blonde, wearing an all-white, shiny PVC cheerleader outfit. She wore pigtails and wielded a pair of cat o' nine tails that almost resembled pom-poms. Splayed spread-eagle before her was a muscular man, strapped face down to a large upright X-cross device. The man, who appeared to be in his late 30's, wore a revealing thong and a ball-gag in his mouth.

"This is Mistress Lolita," explained Evilyn. "She's not the typical dungeon mistress, but she's very popular. Isn't that right?" she said, addressing the man.

He mumbled, "Yeth Mithtreth Ebilyn."

Lolita swung her pom-poms of pain with a lightning fast left-right and the man screamed. Lolita spoke in a little-girl baby-talk voice, "Professor, did I give you permission to speak?!"

"No, Mithtreth Lolita."

"Louder Professor," said Lolita, and struck the man again.

The man screamed, "No, Mithtreth Lolita!"

"You've been a naughty man, Professor. Looking at all your pretty, young students and having dirty thoughts." Lolita thrashed him three times across the buttocks. "You think of putting your disgusting little dick in your own students. Shame on you!" A volley of cracks punished the man from his thighs up to his shoulders. "Shame!" Lolita continued striking the man, ignoring his screams.

Evilyn pulled Tracey away. "Let's leave them to their fun."

Tracey was transfixed by the scene in front of her.

"Come now, dear. There's a lot to see and plenty more of that ahead." Evilyn looked at Tracey and asked, "Did you have any idea that you would enjoy this so much?"

Tracey smiled and felt her cheeks turn red. "I had no idea, Mistress Evilyn. I was curious and I thought I knew the basics, but this..." She swept her hand across the room, "This is a whole new world."

"Excellent! It's so exciting to see someone discover something new and kinky about themselves."

In the next alcove, a gagged and blind-folded nude woman was hog-tied and suspended from the ceiling. A male rope master in black leather had bound her in an intricate pattern that severely squeezed and separated her exposed breasts. He slapped her face and breasts with his bare hands, and the woman whimpered and cried while the man silently and emotionlessly performed his slapping and rope tightening. The master spun her around to observe his masterpiece that beautifully wrapped and restricted her from her throat to her ankles.

Tracey looked at the woman and felt that she must feel very guilty about something to actually pay for this kind of abuse. "What satisfaction do you think she gets from this?"

"Everyone has their own reasons here. By having all control taken away from her, she is allowed to let go. Her mind shuts off and she can be free from her obligations, or anxiety, or guilt. There is an adrenaline rush and a profound relaxation afterward. Most people are so caught up in the meaningless details of their lives, that they can't feel anymore. Here, she is only feeling, and letting out mountains of stress with a good cry."

Tracey nodded and took notes.

"You should see her when she leaves the club after a session. She is smiling and lighter than air," said Evilyn. "She has a few bruises on the outside, but less pain on the inside."

A man on his hands and knees, wearing funny little shorts and a dog collar, was brought to Evilyn on a leash. "For the rest of the tour, I'll have you walk Edgar." Evilyn handed Tracey the leash. "He needs frequent discipline and whatever else you feel like doing to him." Evilyn bent down and spit on top of his head. "Edgar, Tracey's boots are dirty. Lick them clean for her."

Tracey watched as Edgar stuck out his tongue and lapped at her boots. She was glad that the boots weren't her own. "So this loser likes to be humiliated, I assume?"

"Oh yes," said Evilyn. "He delights in it."

"Well, you disgusting, pudgy, limp-dicked, balding, morally bankrupt, useless piece of shit! Roll over on your back like a submissive little poodle, and lick the bottom of my boots."

Edgar flipped onto his back and Tracey pressed her boot into his face. "Lick, you worthless pervert." She steadied herself against the wall. "This is great! Do you have any that get off on housework and laundry?"

"I'm sure you could get plenty of pitiful volunteers to handle your dirty laundry," answered Evilyn.

Tracey saw Edgar rub himself through his shorts. She quickly kicked his arm away and dug her boot heel into his crotch. "No! Bad poodle!" she said, and yanked his leash. "Do not touch yourself again, or I will have you fixed. And I'll do it myself with nail clippers." She yanked on his leash. "Get up now, boy. We're going to finish the tour."

Evilyn showed her men in cages, men in diapers, men dressed up like women, a woman being shocked with a cattle prod, more ropes, spanking, whipping, and choking. They finally arrived at a larger room with one woman and two men secured and spread-eagle on their own upright X crosses. Loud techno music filled the room. A tall, muscular man with long blonde hair held a long, leather bullwhip. He swung the whip around his head and snapped it toward the woman. The whip cracked like a gunshot and the woman shrieked. A large red welt rose up on her back.

"This is The Master, and partner in the club. He takes care of some of the more serious clients," Evilyn told her.

"Will I get a chance to interview him?" Tracey asked.

"No," said Evilyn. "But you may experience a private session with him later."

The whip cracked and made Tracey jump. She watched The Master's body move and flex. His bare chest and broad shoulders glistened with a sheen of sweat. His forearms were wrapped in leather straps, leaving his large, strong hands exposed. He wore tight leather pants and chunky black boots with chrome buckles.

"Let me introduce you quickly," said Evilyn. "Master?"

Master turned slowly, his eyes showing trance-like, deep concentration. His facial expression was calm and intense, like that of a panther stalking prey. He stared into Tracey's eyes.

Tracey felt weak in the knees and a little frightened.

"This is Tracey from Rambler magazine," said Evilyn. "I'm giving her an interview and letting her have some first-hand experience."

The Master surveyed Tracey from bottom to top and gave her a slight smile. With his eyes locked onto hers, he raised the whip, swung it around his head, then turned and delivered a brutal, explosive slash to the next man's back, ending the greeting.

Tracey just stood and watched. His scent reached her and she breathed it in. It was a mixture of musk, earth, leather, and sex. She jumped when Evilyn touched her shoulder.