Chapter 2 : Pixie.
I suppose a little scene-setting is overdue. When you came through my door, you found yourself in a bare windowless anteroom: one wooden chair, one set of drawers; plain lino floor; no pictures or mirrors; no shades on the light bulbs. To the left a door led into the headmistress' study, which did have windows but the curtains were always drawn when I was working. Those two rooms we've already met.
Behind the anteroom was a short corridor with one door leading off each side and one at the end. On your left was a sparkly-clean space with lighting bright enough to make you blink: a large shower in one corner and a medical exam room set-up opposite. There were also a couple of doors which were absolutely private to me, leading to the toilet and the tiny converted cleaner's cupboard where I kept fridge, kettle and microwave. Across the corridor from the white room lay the black, my dungeon. That probably doesn't require description, it was exactly what you would expect. Anteroom, study, white and black rooms: these were where I worked. If you came to see me in a professional capacity, we would use whichever of those suited the scene in play. In her previous visits she had been, at least briefly, in all of them. Just like every other paying client, she had been no further.
This afternoon I was in no mood for a gentle bringing down, not that my punter seemed to mind in the least. I untied him, and told him to get dressed and get out. He pottered off, sore but satisfied, not quite able to conceal his curiosity at the feminine clothing scattered over the anteroom floor. I had given him a very hard time, although no harder than he wanted, which he had been satisfyingly vocal about. I'd been thinking while I was beating, and although he didn't get me going any more than any other man, by the time he was through I was feeling very hot and randy. I went back to the end door.
You did not ever pay your way through that door. Or perhaps I should say you couldn't pay with money, because there was always a price to entry. It was the only soft room in the studio: rugs and warm wallpaper; a comfortable tub chair; gentle lights. The bed was a double – big enough to play but snug enough to always touch. It had a nice firm mattress and thick soft covers, and of course it had a wide assortment of attachment points for my convenience.
Those thick soft covers were in an untidy bundle in the corner. She lay on her back on the stark white sheet, exactly how I had left her. Leather cuffs on wrist and ankles held her chained in a tight X from the four corners. The bit gag in her mouth had kept her quiet as she lay bound and open-legged listening to me beat someone else. There was one pillow under her head and another under her bum. I took the alarm from her hand and put it out of reach, then slid the pillow carefully away and lay her head back on the mattress.
"Nod your head if you'd like me to untie you ..."
Slight but noticeable shake. The last thing I had used next door was the suede flogger that was still hanging at my wrist. I trailed its tongues slowly up the inside of her leg and let their weight rest on her spread lips.
"... You can't have what we did before, that's not how I work. I treated you exactly the way I would treat a man, because that was who I was working for. I can't cane or crop you the way I did, not unless you want to explain the marks when you go home. Is that it? Have you had some silly row and want to go home and flaunt your stripes to make him jealous?"
More emphatic shake. Very well then, if that's how she wanted it. Entirely fresh contract required in that case. As I said, I like my routines, which is a self-serving way to say I am neurotic and obsessional. This is how it works: I explain, once; I ask nicely if you're really sure about this idea – once.
"Women don't pay me with money, they pay with their tongue. There's going to be pain and humiliation and degradation, that's not an imposition from me because that's what you come here for. Giving me head is an imposition, I won't make it romantic and I will expect it every time. If you can't do that for me, get out now and don't ever come back. I don't like to share, I don't like to make allowances, I don't like not to be in control of the situation. You are going to piss me off, if I take you on I'm going to want to hurt you more than I do most people. If I have to be careful about beating you then I'll need to find other ways to hurt, and you might find them disturbing. I am not going to promise to be gentle or to love you, because I won't do either of those things. Nod your head if you'd like me to untie you."
No nod, no shake either. She lay on her back for me, passive and unmoving. I reversed the flogger in my hand and rested the end of the handle against her, no physical pressure but unmistakeable implication. She closed her eyes and the closest possible thing to a content smile flickered on the lips held around that gag.
"You continue calling me Virginia, just like always. Forget the 'Sir' business, we can think of him as hubby, but I don't want to hear about him. You answer to 'Pixie'."
I unbuckled the gag. She tried to work the cramp out of her jaw, but as soon as it was clear I pushed my gloved fingers into her mouth. She choked, her back arched on the bed. Oh Lord yes. It had been far too long since the last failed fling, and I was so bloody frustrated.
I pulled my hand out and grabbed her in that sweetest and most powerful of grips: squeezing on both cheeks to open her mouth in a pretty submissive O. Ownership established, I relaxed enough to let her speak.
"What's your name?"
And please don't misunderstand that. Not now, not when I'm so desperate and horny. Please show me you get the fundamentals.
"Pixie. My name is Pixie."
I pulled the zip of the catsuit down to my navel. It was, in several senses, a very hot day and my skin underneath was shiny-slick. The sweaty leather scent was as dirty and basic as it ever is. I leant across her face.
"Listen carefully to me, Pixie, because you already know me well enough to understand I expect things right first time. I am not your mother or your lover – do not,
ever
, touch or kiss or lick or suck my nipples unless I tell you to first. You are my slut. You're not special to me. You do not mean anything to me. I will make use of you when I want to get off. I'm not hot and sweaty because I'm breathlessly needy for a lover, it's just a warm day and I've been working hard. Lick me, Pixie: for my pleasure, and because I want that taste in your mouth when I fuck you."
Her tongue lapped the length of my sternum, right up into the hollow at the base of my throat. It spoilt all my plans. I was going to make her suffer for five weeks of nail-biting frustration and another seven of sad wistful thoughts every now and again. I was going to give her a long talk and a light suede-tongued flogging on thighs and belly before laying my naked length on top of her and riding the biggest strap-on in my cupboards over the sound of her protests. Until I felt her tongue on my skin for the too-long delayed first time, and I simply lost it. Without any conscious thought I found myself grinding on her bound thigh through my leather; my gloved hand thrusting into her cunt and my teeth fixing on her ear. My cruelty was intact, but the rest of the Ice Maiden seemed to have melted into something less controlled.
"No. Please; please don't!"
"Don't what? Don't fuck you, bitch? I thought that's why –"
"Don't bite so ... Don't mark me, please."
I can't have sex without using my mouth, if I'm not biting I'm talking. So I panted some pretty harsh things in her ear, and to my utter delight I discovered she shared both of my sexual fetishes. Power is obvious, that was my job after all, and she wouldn't be here if she didn't want to be controlled. After the slightest nudge from me to put it into play, her voice let go. Why had she come back? What did she want from me?
She wanted to be used. She wanted to be fucked. She wanted me to treat her like the fucking dirty whore I made her feel whenever I talked to her. I'd degraded her completely and sent her home to tell hubby but every single thing he did to her afterwards she imagined taking from me instead. She wanted me everywhere he'd been. She wanted me to take possession of everything she'd ever given up and make it mine; she wanted that dildo I'd just mentioned in her pussy and ...
I bit her ear and tweaked her nipple before delivering a panting abbreviated version of my standard lecture about never using that word to me again.
... in her cunt then, and her mouth and up her arse. That, and my hands, and anything else I wanted to use on her. She wanted to crawl and grovel and follow every demeaning order I chose to give her. She wanted to stick her tongue in my cunt and lick my clit until I came against her face. She wanted to serve me in any way she could. If I wouldn't let her suck on my lovely tits could she please do it to my toes instead, would that please me? If I wanted to piss on her ...
