All characters are adults. Obviously.
This contains dubious consent and feminization. Refrain from reading if that's not your thing.
A quick, slightly anxious walk to the room at the end of the hall. Your knuckles are raised and just as they inch towards the door, you hear a small click.
Whether security cameras, or simply an uncanny punctuality, somehow the door opens and she stands before you.
"You've come seeking more, haven't you?"
Mistress V, the same woman you have seen on endless websites, coveted by many. The same one you have fantasized about, night after night, after reading one too many reviews about the life-changing treatment she offered. Many who had tried everything - from therapists, to medication, and treatment after treatment to rid themselves of fantasies plaguing upon their minds, distracting them from all else.
The same one with whom you had an initial first call, to whom you mentioned what you called... hang-ups. Small things. Anxiety. Fears. The tension in those shoulders you can barely ever relax, the everlasting restlessness. The one with whom you shared a first talk, for the first time, right in her office.
You shared more than you thought you should, but soothed, and gently pushed, she became the one with whom you were led to a state where words simply cascaded from your lips with a surprising lack of filter. Now... What you said? You barely remember. Perhaps something you can't quite consciously recall. Perhaps the lingering guilt? The shame of always wanting more every instant but never quite knowing what you're seeking. Everything's perfect after all. Your career flourishes, you make more than you can spend... although you don't quite have the time to. Your mind wraps around your absurd busyness and the craving to escape it all. In one way, or another, there's always something lingering. Something you crave and keep seeking. Mistress V seems to be just that. The manifestation of that fantasy you seem to be always circling back to.
What that is? You haven't quite figured it out, yet. Or maybe you have, but your mind refuses to see it. Perhaps a means of finally letting go?
Mistress V is stunning. Tall, poised. Standing before you, her beauty has your inhale caught in your throat, for an instant that you hope isn't all that noticeable. You had always had that tendency. As satisfying as your life was, there was a constant buzzing fear of being seen. Of what you could only describe as your 'perversion' being noticed, of your obsession with shameless obsession being discovered. Which is why you were so careful, surely. The reason why the stories you had many write were tailored to your very last whim, bought from the best of the best, all while you still searched for something ever so slightly better. Or different. You always wondered if something else would 'get' you, the way that forced pleasure does, but you'd never dare to truly live it and find out. Too careful. You wouldn't let that be seen.
How could you possibly let go, when simply seeing that woman before you, her cleavage inching across her tight corset in a teasing, but still professional way, already has your mind reeling? When she has similarly tight fitting, latex leggings hugging her legs, showing off perfect hips under the sleek black material. It is absurd, almost. Even as you force your eyes back up, her gaze locks on yours and you can barely contain the growing arousal between your legs. Her full, red lips twist into a wicked smirk. Her eyes dart down for a second, her lashes casting a slight shadow on her cheeks as she eyes your crotch, letting out a small snicker. She notices. And you notice that she does.
"I don't mind, love..."
It always does seem to be the sweet voices that get you. The feminine, the sweet and the sultry. And the undertone of undeniable power, one you can barely even dream of holding on to before her. Her simply embodying beauty was enough to make you weak.
You told her on your last visit. How sometimes, it does terrify you.
Her next words, with her voice just a tad firmer, shakes you from your daze.
"Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"
Her words are a gentle command, guiding you to a couch at the center of the room. As you take a seat, you hear the click of the closed door. The couch is cold. Expensive leather. And yet, it remains comfortable. Laying back, as instructed to that last time, you feel the world outside fading away, the noise of your daily life replaced by the quiet intensity of this moment.
Mistress V takes a seat opposite you, her eyes locked onto yours.
"Now," she urges, "Tell me."
Her voice is soft, once again, yet somehow even more compelling. With each question she asks, you find yourself opening up, revealing parts of your inner world that you've kept hidden. How it was more than merely her beauty. It was the fact that if there was one thing you had noticed, it was how truly and genuinely she did love what she did. It was an odd parallel you made in your dazed description, but there were indeed quite a few succubus-like traits she held. Glee and joy off another's pleasure, as if she fed off it to feed her own power. It made her feel powerful, pleasing another. Giving them exactly what they seemed to need, and just a bit more. Every time.
For a second you wonder whether or not this is truly your second time.
She lets out a short laugh, her perfectly manicured fingers held before her lips. Perhaps an attempt to hide her amusement at your seemingly growing confusion... Or just the odd irony of her knowing exactly what you needed when your very self constantly struggled to pinpoint it. Her responses are laced with teasing remarks, each one a gentle probe into the depths of your psyche.
You do feel exposed under her gaze, but there's a thrill in the vulnerability, a liberation in being seen so clearly. There is so much you wish to share, and most of those things you barely are aware of. There is a lot of you - what you hide beneath the surface of a put-together man with no true willingness to show what he is eternally ashamed and guilty of. Strings. One by one, she plucks at them and pulls the words from your hesitant lips, her gaze taking in every expression you dare to make in her presence.
"And that poise. That confidence. That masculine presence. Is that you? Has it ever been?"
Question upon question about what you truly are - or what you may actually be. Hidden beneath layers of constantly growing professional thrill, she uncovers the stagnant desire that wraps around you with layers of guilt.
"Why so fearful of what you know you can't escape? If the desire has been constant, unwavering for your whole life... and if you know who you want to be. Then?"
Her words mean more than they should, tendrils pulling at your mind.
"Sweet one, there's only so far you can run from yourself."
The sofa you're sprawled on seems to now engulf you with the need to do nothing but listen and let her probe. She surely would mean nothing wrong, no ulterior motives but your eternal good. That is what she is known for, after all. A better life. New starts. All that many had bragged about, urging you to see for yourself, to understand what she has done and can do.
"Don't think of yourself as untouchable, sweet one. I know you know what's best for you. And I know you may wish to deny what rings true.... to both of us, yes?"
At the word 'ring', a slight chime of a bell makes itself heard. There's no way for you to know whether or not that was triggered by her - but it does let you wonder. For as long as you can with the noise echoing at the back of your mind.
Soon, she stands before you, towering before your sprawled out self, the fog in your mind dissipating ever so slightly as her voice rouses you from what may have been a daydream.
"Are you ready to trust me?" she asks, her hand reaching out to you.
You nod, the word 'yes' escaping your lips almost without thought. It's not just agreement.
As you are led, you realize it is surrender.
For once in your life, you are led. Your hand in hers, the grazing of her long red nails on your palm already leading you close to an overwhelm. A woman's touch could rarely ever feel the way hers does - gentle, soft. Threatening.
Her nails match her lips like the click of her heels match your pounding heart.
"There is no time to slow down now, love... There is so much more."
A promise for more.
With every step, that feeling can only grow. Every slight show of resistance you make, whether a halt in your step as you are taken down the hallway, or a moment of distraction as you take in the leather padded walls, is met by her soft "hmmh" of disapproval. A mellifluous two-tone sound, that despite its simplicity, herds you back in line. She is engulfed in her world. It is not hard to notice - she has done it all before, and every step, every word, every look she rewards you with is part of a thought out process she perfected over years.
"A true follower, hm?" she remarks, "It takes a true one. For just a sound, or a click of my tongue to catch your attention and have you follow."
For a second, you remember the slight click, the last thing you noticed before her outstretched hand towards you as you lay on the couch.
The next second, it dissipates from your mind as her free hand grazes your cheek, her nails leaving behind a tingly trail.
Her voice brings you right back to the now. Whether just that, or another one of her triggering sounds - that would be hard to know. Your thoughts are dragged in yet another direction as she speaks.
"This isn't quite about obedience. I believe this is one thing you ought to understand. I do not try to make you obey. There is the truth, and with that, there is what you are bound to follow."
Full, red lips turn into a smirk, once again. Her eyes shine a glint of malice under battering lashes, and you know she knows there is no word she could say that wouldn't reach you. Every word echoes confidence - not the entitlement of many who claim and dream to inspire half of what her heel's click ever could. No demands. No commands.
Simply simple suggestion and the knowledge that she isn't one you can say no to.
No demands.
And yet no other option but to follow.
"Exactly," she says, with a smile.
"What?" you retort.
Your voice barely sounds like your own, and yet you find what's left of your curiosity has made its way out to spoken words. The dark door before you, drawing the end of the lacquered red floor does intrigue you more, however.
