Domme 101 Accelerated

"We should offer a course for the dominants too," Betty said. "No, scratch that. We should require it. We need to know that our girls are going to be well cared for..." --Betty Nguyen in Risk Versus Reward

Author's Note

This is a sexy story, but there is no overt sex and no penetration. It's much more cerebral. It's very heavy on domination and submission, but at the same time, it is gentle. If you're expecting whips and chains, you'll be disappointed. If you want to traipse through the mind of a dominant woman learning to embrace the joy of submission, this is the story for you.

* * *

If you've read the Mistress and Charlotte stories, you know the order of things in their world. Natasha is the caring domme and Charlotte is the kinky submissive. But have you ever wondered what it would be like if Natasha took on the submissive role? I can't see her playing it for very long, and as much as I love Charlotte, she's not the one to pull it off. If anybody could convince Mistress Natasha to put on a collar and drop to her knees, it's Betty Nguyen of Risk Versus Reward.

So, what if...? What if Betty's required course for dominants involved a day of role playing with the tables turned. The dominant becomes the submissive, just for the day, to experience Betty's tutelage first hand. What if?

Well, I imagine it would go something like this...

* * *

Domme 101, Accelerated

Desi

I sat at the receptionist desk, with a laptop computer open in front of me and a cheap plastic pen clenched in my teeth. I was staring at the accounting ledger. This was probably the least glamorous part of my job, but bills needed to be paid, and fortunately the numbers for this month were all in the black. Things were sort of touch and go at the beginning, but as much as I hate to jinx it by saying so, I think we're going to make it. Our little enterprise is on solid footing.

I made out an electronic check to Chowhury's Cakes and Catering and sent it for immediate payment. That took care of the bill for Vishranti's training of eleven bright-eyed and bushy-tailed submissives in the ways of gourmet meal prep and proper serving technique. Well, as much culinary pizzazz and grace as could be taught in the span of a week.

I made out another check to Leibovich & Roselli Massage and Aroma Therapy. The owners, Elena and Carly, were tasked with teaching those eleven pretty young submissives how to rub the knots out of tight shoulders and how to do it with a certain amount of flair and a happy ending for the woman on the table. They were also charged with making sure any gals who actually walked in

bushy-tailed

on Monday morning, walked out smooth and hairless by Friday afternoon.

I smiled as I thought back to my own recent appointment with them. Elena was my go-to girl when it came to getting my pubes ripped out at the root. I'd known her since my Academy days and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have grooming me. The fact that her finger always managed to stray into my pussy when she was done, may or may not have had anything to do with it. I rested my hand on the crotch of my jeans and sighed.

"Hey, baby," said Karin, smiling as she walked down the hall to where I was perched. "Nice to know I can still have that effect on you."

I pulled the pen I was chewing from my mouth and looked at her sideways. "Huh?"

Karin puffed up her chest and let out an exaggerated sigh, repeating my reaction from just a moment ago.

"Oh that," I said, and probably blushed just a little, because she kept needling me.

"That sigh wasn't for this?" Karin sashayed over to my side of the desk and propped the toe of her shoe on the edge of my chair. She made a show of slowly inching up the hem of her dress, exposing first a superbly toned, stocking clad calf, and then higher up, an equally enticing thigh. She picked up my hand and laid it at the top of her stocking, where silk gave way to skin.

"Um..."

"Desi baby, I have to say I'm a little disappointed." Karin swept my hand off her leg with a push of her fingers. She dropped her foot to the floor and propped her hand on her hip. "So who were you moaning about anyway? Do I need to be jealous?"

I smirked. "Elena."

"Oh. Okay." Karin's posture relaxed. "What was she doing? In your little fantasy?"

"Waxing me."

"Oh, gawd." Karin hoisted her leg again and parked the toe of her shoe right between my in front of my crotch this time. "I understand completely. Did she give you the happy ending? In your little fantasy? That girl has some magic fingers."

"I um... I hadn't gotten to that part yet."

Karin picked up my hand and pushed it under the fabric of her dress. "Want to practice on me? I'm not wearing any underwear. And I love a happy ending."

"You should talk to Elena, baby. I'm doing the bookkeeping."

"Well, don't dally too long with the numbers," said Karin, moving her foot back to the floor and leaning in to whisper in my ear. "We've got a client coming in at ten."

"Today?"

She nodded.

"Domme or sub?"

"Domme," said Karin. "Natasha something or other."

I glanced at the clock in the corner of my laptop screen.

9:30

. Shit.

I shut the lid on the laptop and reached to open the big drawer on the left side of the desk. I pulled out my emergency little black dress and a two-inch wide leather bondage collar in a nice shiny oxblood. The chrome ring riveted to the front of it completed the look I liked to present for the domme clients.

I shimmied out of my shirt and pulled up my hair in the back. "Be a dear and help me get this thing buckled."

Karin smirked as she laid her fingers on the collar. "With pleasure, baby."

* * *

Natasha

I arrived at the little nondescript industrial park at the edge of town seven minutes before the appointed time of ten o'clock. I needn't have left so much of a buffer, finding a parking spot was easy. And for a moment I began to wonder if anyone would even answer the door, the building was that devoid of activity.

I hopped out of the car, smoothed my skimpy skirt, and pulled the matching gray jacket from the back seat. I took a quick look in the side mirror after dashing my hands through the arms. Straightening my tie, I congratulated myself at still being able to pull off something this form-fitting at forty.

"Eat your heart out ladies," I announced to no one as I tapped out time with the click of my heels on the pavement. I threw my right hand over my shoulder as I pressed the lock button on the remote and got a beep from the car in response.

I smiled with the knowledge of what I was here to do.

The email I had received said I'd been matched with a girl and that she was currently undergoing training. But, before the process could be completed, I was required to attend a one-day individual seminar for dominants.

Sure thing,

I thought, as I approached the door.

And if you need someone to teach the class, I just might be able to carve out some room in my busy schedule.

How hard could it be to keep a little naked floozy in line? I'd had my share of girlfriends over the years. The further I made my way up the corporate ladder, the easier they were to come by. And the more of themselves they were willing to offer in order to have me keep them in the lifestyle they appreciated.

The only downside was the turnover rate. I had yet to find a woman who didn't change her tune as the months rolled on from spring to summer to winter. One night she's blushing ever so demurely as she hands me her panties under the table at Andina. The next, she's talking about how she needs her space.

What I needed was a woman who didn't lie to herself about her desires for six months of the year before figuring her shit out.

And I was about to get her,

I thought to myself as I laid my hand on the button beside the big glass door.

* * *

Is this her?

I wondered, as I stopped in the middle of the second floor hallway and opened the door. Sitting at the desk in front was a woman done up in a little back dress and an oxblood collar with a big chrome ring on the front that couldn't be missed. The satin of her dress was clingy enough there was no hiding the fact she had piercing through her left nipple.

She rose the moment I entered and stepped around to the front of her desk. "Good morning, Mistress," she said.

I felt my jaw slacken just a bit as I watched her walk to within inches of where I stood, keeping her eyes cast to the floor the entire way over. But it was when she stopped, clasped her hands behind her back, and knelt at my feet that I nearly lost my power for speech.

"I'm Desi," she said, never quite looking me in the eye. "May I offer you anything to drink? We have a selection of fair trade coffees and teas, as well as orange juice. We also have yogurt if you're feeling hungry. I recommend the Tillamook Cherry. It's my current favorite."

"I, uh..." And then it hit me. Desi and the nipple ring. Last time I had seen her, she was the co-star of a little demonstration that started with her in jeans and a concert T-shirt, inquiring about employment. Except she wasn't actually inquiring. She was role playing as part of the sales pitch for this little enterprise. Desi wasn't my match, she worked here.

I let out a small sigh that hopefully went unnoticed. "Coffee, please. Cream. No sugar."

"Yes, Mistress," said Desi, as she rose to her feet.

I smiled. She had the act down to a T. She even put a little pout into her lips that gave the less than subtle suggestion she'd be ready to take a tongue down her throat at a moments notice. And as Desi and her sexy pout departed to fetch my coffee, two more women I recognized entered the room.

"Good morning, Miss Svoboda. I'm Karin," said the woman who apparently had the same good taste in stockings as me, but less going on in the chest department. The one item she carried, a clipboard, was cradled in the crook of her left elbow as she held out her right hand.

"The H.R. director," I said, remembering her role in the little sales demonstration.

"That's right," said Karin, shaking my hand.

And right beside her, a woman with impeccable taste in tailored wool suits, but with pants instead of a skirt, and a whole lot less going on in the chest department, thrust out her hand as well. "Betty Nguyen," she said.

Betty had an interesting way of speaking. It wasn't so much of an accent as it was a barely noticeable shift in certain consonant sounds that led me to believe she might have a native tongue that wasn't English. But there was no difficulty understanding her. Nor was there any difficulty understanding who was in charge of this little operation. It wasn't Karin, the H.R. Director, nor was it Desi, kneeling at my feet holding a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Thank you," I said, taking the cup she offered.

I looked at Betty for a moment as I turned her name over in my mind a few times.

Winn? WEE-un?

How exactly had she pronounced it? It was almost as if there was one of those consonant blends going on at the beginning.

nWEE-un?

I settled on

WEE-un

and decided I would keep my ears open in case she said it again.

I blew across the mug in my hands and turned my gaze to Karin for a moment before dropping my eyes to Desi still kneeling at my feet. "So, more role playing today?" I asked, and then took a sip.

"Yes," said Betty. "But not with the girls. Today it will be you and me."

"Okay," I said.

She clapped her hands together. "Domme One-Oh-One, I like to call it."

"Sure," I said, shifting my focus to inhaling the aroma of my coffee.

"May I take your jacket?" Betty asked, holding out her hand. "You might find it more comfortable."

"Sure. Okay," I said, juggling my coffee mug from hand to hand as Betty helped me with the sleeves. Karin and Desi were long gone. Though exactly when they departed and where they went, I couldn't say. My eyes were now focused on Betty Nguyen. She was staring at my chest.

"How much did they cost you?" asked Betty.

"My suit?"

"Your tits." Betty laid my jacket over her arm as she continued staring openly at my chest. "They're too buoyant to be real."

"They weren't cheap," I said, refusing to be goaded and let her comment get under my skin, "but nothing this good ever is."

As I shared this tidbit about my boob job, I admired the cut of her jacket. Obviously nicely tailored to her exact measurements. And with nothing layered underneath it, the proper fit made sure it didn't gap. Not that there was a lot threatening to fall out.

"Show me," she said.

"Excuse me?" I tore my gaze from her lapel and drilled into her eyes instead.

Betty didn't miss a beat. "Show me your tits," she said. "You've been thinking about mine. It's only fair."

I huffed once as I stood there glaring at her.

"Did you not understand me? I thought my English is pretty good, but you seem to have your doubts."

"I... I, um..." I searched my recent memory. Sure, I had

thought

maybe she wasn't a native speaker, but I never

said

it. Did I? And how did she know I was sizing up her chest?

"You going to show me those tits, Natasha?"

I stood thinking for a moment. And then it dawned on me. She called me Natasha. Not more than twenty minutes ago it was Miss Svoboda. And

would you like a yogurt with your coffee?

But Desi and Karin were gone. Now suddenly, Betty's being familiar.

I took another sip of my coffee.

"You figure it out yet?" she asked.

"What's that? Whether I like the coffee here or whether or not I'm going to give you a peek at my boobies?"

"Oh, you'll show them to me, alright," said Betty. "The question is, do you know why?"

I kept my gaze locked. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Because I have something you want, Natasha. I have a girl perfectly matched to your requirements. A sweet submissive thing who is right now in the middle of her culinary training for the day, right before moving just down the hall to perfect her sensual massage technique."

Betty's gaze never wavered, even as she continued. "And when she's done working the knots out of her practice partner, she'll be lying down on the table to have her pubic hair ripped out at the roots. Do you know what that feels like? I'm sure you do. But your girl will love it, because our waxing technician will make sure she's treated to a beautiful and well-timed orgasm immediately afterward."

"And she'll associate the pain of waxing with the pleasure of climax." I offered, taking another sip of my coffee.

"Exactly," said Betty. "She'll keep herself bare for you. And she'll do it gladly, because she'll remember the reward that comes from it."

I nodded.

"You understand it. Good. Now, Natasha, are you going to let me see your tits?"

I laughed.

What the hell?

I thought.

Why not?

I wasn't lying when I said they cost a pretty penny. Nor was I stretching the truth when I told her the money was well worth it for the quality of the work.

I loosened my tie. I stared down Betty the entire time. If she wanted to see my tits, fine. I didn't spend the money to get them done just to hide them away. I got them enhanced to complement my marvelous ass and give me the perfect hourglass figure that Betty Nguyen could never achieve in a million years.

So if she want to see what she was missing out on, who was I to deny her a peek at perfection. I looked again to the fit of Betty's jacket for a quick comparison.

* * *

Betty Nguyen

Natasha, you've given yourself away,

I thought, as I watched her casting her tie onto the desk and working on the buttons of her blouse, starting from the top. You think you're still in charge here, baring your chest out of spite. But as soon as you dropped your gaze, I had you.

I watched her unbuttoning down to her waist and untucking her blouse from her skirt. The woman had a beautiful figure. Tight tummy, high, firm tits that can only come from so much silicone. Once I had her shimmying out of that skirt, I could see if that ass was as fabulous as it looked wrapped up in designer wool.

Natasha pulled her arms from the sleeves and tossed her blouse atop her tie on Desi's receptionist desk. She was back to staring me down, with her eyes locked on mine.

"I don't see any tits," I said.

Natasha placed her hands under the cups of her lacy bra and pushed up. When she was done, she smirked.

"Do you understand what we're doing here?" I asked.

"You're trying to see my boobies. Personally, I think you're a little jealous."

I ignored her retort. "We're role playing."

"We're... Yeah? So what?"

"We're role playing because this is how the dominant training course is taught."

Natasha huffed.

"Have you figured out our roles, yet? Care to venture which one of us is the dominant?"

Natasha said nothing. She was back to trying to stare me down.

"I'll give you a hint." I paused, just for effect. "The one with less clothing is usually the submissive."

I watched a scowl forming up on Natasha's mouth, but she quickly got herself under control again.

"I might say, I'll show you mine if you show me yours. But that's not how this works, is it? The dominant does not show hers unless she decides."

I paused to let that sink in as I paced a circle around Natasha while she fumed.

"And let me key you into another little secret. The submissive does not show hers either, unless she decides."

I let her think about it.

"Do you understand that statement?" I asked.

"That I'm not taking off my bra so you can ogle my boobs? Yeah, I got that."

"And what would you do, if you were me. For the sake of role playing, let's say you're my girl. What should I do with you?"

"It doesn't matter," said Natasha, "because you're not going to do it."

"What's that?" I asked.

"I don't know. Smack me, whip me, slap my face, or whatever it is you think you can do to me to get me to flash my boobs. It's not going to work."

"I know that, Natasha. Have I raised my hand to you?"

She hesitated a moment, and then came back with a flat, "no."

"And I'm not going to." I said. "Your submissive should want to give herself to you. If you force it, you've failed as her dominant."

"Well, here we are," she said. "I guess we're stuck."

"I want to see those tits."

"How many times do I have to say this--"

"Fine. Don't show me." I turned on my heel. "This session is over. Good day, Miss Svoboda. I'll have one of my girls show you out. You can expect a full refund of your deposit within the week."

"Wait..."

It didn't take her but a second. I stopped two steps down the hall. I still hadn't turned around yet, but I knew.

"Miss Nguyen..."

I turned around slowly. Natasha had set her coffee on the desk and was holding the lacy cups of her bra in her hands. The straps were hanging loose off her shoulders. She looked me in the eye for precisely two seconds before her gaze fell to the floor, and her bra fell into her hands.

"On the desk with the rest," I said.

She tossed her bra. "Get a good look," she said, sneering.

"Natasha," I said. "The correct response is

yes, ma'am.

"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she said.

But she said it with her tits staring me in the face, so I thought I'd give her another chance. "I assure you, I'm not."

Natasha had stopped sneering and was back to glaring.

"Let's try it again," I said. "I'll give you an easy question this time. Are you going to show me those tits, Natasha?"

"Yes... ma'am..." she grumbled.

"Good girl," I said. She was fuming.

* * *

Natasha

"Come and sit with me," Betty said, as she moved over behind the desk and perched herself where Desi was sitting when I first walked in. "On my lap."