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Josephine sat at the bar, tracing her slender fingers about the empty shot glass as the heavy pulse of music washed over her body. The eight-inch heel of her black leather boots tapped in time with the throbbing techno music of the Jersey nightclub, but she found little pleasure in it. She had already lost count of how many times her finger found its way around the edge of her empty glass, and couldn't begin to describe how many times she had been asked if she wanted another. Josephine wasn't there to drink.
"Hey baby! You look a little empty, want me to fill you up?" She didn't bother to acknowledge his existence as the scent of bourbon, obviously spewing from his as the unintelligent dribble disrupted the melodic sounds she had grown so accustomed to. He of course tried again, "What are you deaf?"
Josephine still did not answer, her foot keeping metronome time for the song as she battled within the depths of her mind. "What am I doing here? I am the dominant; I am the mistress. Why the hell am I suffering all these insignificant swine, because he ordered me to? What the hell has gotten into me?"
The talking bottle of bourbon reached down and decided to show his stupidity by grabbing her wrist. The bartender laughed to himself as Josephine quickly reversed his grip sending him into agonizing pain that the strongest of libations could not dampen. She stepped her boot onto his chest and made sure he was feeling the extent of her disgust at being touched. His eyes were opened as the pain brought back his sobriety as a train would to a brick wall.
"I'm not your baby," She spoke with such disdain for his life that she could just as easily have killed him. The bartender waved off the bouncers who were coming to her "rescue" they kept the rest of the crowd out of her corner of the bar. The drunkard gazed over the source of his current misery, torn between the beauty in control of him, the pain at his arm and chest, and a serious re consideration of his life.
His eyes fell upon hers first. Despite the blurred vision of an alcoholic bravado, he could have sworn that he saw them as a flash of gold. Her perfectly formed lips painted with black lipstick, held a terse smile, that became obvious to him it was the pain she inflicted that was behind it. The multicolored lights of the club reflected well off her pale skin, healthy and well maintained, but a shade whiter than seemed natural. Wincing in pain as he took in more of her body, desperately looking for a way out, a point he could attack as his old martial arts training would tell him.
As the bourbon dissipated, endorphins and adrenaline took its place he saw the steady rise and fall of her voluptuous chest. The man did not have the time to measure the perfectly formed DD cup, which was restrained by her black leather and steel corset, nor did he have time to notice the intricate details of such a handcrafted article of clothing. His eyes went further seeking his means of escape, to the fold of her skirt now raised and exposing her inner pussy lips to him. Josephine had not worn panties since the 6th grade, and was not about to start now even if she was uncomfortable waiting for one who had captivated her so.
Josephine noticed her would be assailant tense as if to grab at something and she decided to end the momentary reprieve from her boredom. "I'm not your baby..." she said again, feeling the slight crack in the wrist of the pig beneath her heel, "... I'm your Mistress." She punctuated the end of her statement with the snap of the joint she had kept control over him with. By now one of the bouncers she called Bobo had been waiting for her to finish her fun, and before the drunkard could recoil from the pain, Bobo had scooped him up for his appointment with the concrete outside.
"So why are you waiting so patiently. The VIP room downstairs opened an hour ago." The bartender asked, remembering how often she came in and simply found her way to the lower levels of the club for hours on end.
"A man named 'King' contacted me, and asked me to meet him up here."
"King... the 'King'?! Contacted you personally?" the excitement was clear over the ocean of music behind him.
"You know him?"
"I'm surprised you don't 'Mistress Joe', he's a bit of a legend, and a complete ghost."
"How can that be, you need to be recognized to be a legend."
"Oh he's a legend alright, notoriety aside. Some say he's a top money maker in the stocks, others a world renowned spy. Some even say he's just simply a laborer whose come up from a third world country."
"But what makes him so special."
