Note-- This story is a big departure in style and pace from the "Julie" parts of the 48 Hours series. It features overwhelming domination from the first two words. You will not find torture or extremes here. You will find intimidating, arousing psychological domination.
"Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely."
-Carole
"Wake up."
Getting no response, the woman tapped Marcella on the cheek several times. "I need you to sit up. Now."
Marcella began to stir, her eyes opening, blinking. "Wha..." She felt a sharp sting on her thigh. "Owww!"
"Silence! You will not speak! Sit up!" Another sting.
"Owww! Stop that! Who are you?" Three sharp stings "Ahhh! Please!" She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, looking up at her tormentor, a woman. "What is..." Three stings on her calf. Tears.
"You..." -
swat
- "will..." -
swat
- "not..." -
swat-
"speak..." -
swat-swat-swat
- "Do you understand? Nod."
Marcella frantically nodded, tears flying off her face. A dreadful knot of fear began forming in her stomach.
What is happening? Is this a dream? I was in the conf...
"You will only speak when asked a question and you will address me as 'My Mistress.' Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes!" She cried out as three more sharp stings blossomed red on the top of her left thigh. As the pain radiated, she dimly realized that her only covering was her bra and panties. "Ahh, Yes, uh, My Mistress!"
"Stand up! Let me see what fate has brought us." As she stood, her tormentor moved her fingers in a gesture that Marcella understood. She moved to take off her bra. As it fell away, she hunched her shoulders. "Are you proud of your body? Straighten up! Hands behind you!" Her face reddening, she complied. Another gesture. "What else do you have?"
She moved her fingers to the waistband and slowly pushed downward, hesitating, stalling, inch by inch.
Swat!
Her left breast felt a bee sting. "Oww!" The pink panties hit the floor.
"Now, we can begin to get acquainted. First, walk back and forth for me. Sway your hips a bit. Walk like powerful men are watching you." She began walking in a stiff manner. "Stop!" Mistress bent down to pick up a pair of shoes. "Put these back on and try again."
Still in a daze, Marcella walked to the wall and back to the bed. "That was better, but not nearly what I am looking for. Your turn was terrible, or perhaps I should say, boring. You need to be a fast learner. There is a mirror on the door. Go to it now." The mirror reflected a red-faced, tearful woman wearing only high heels. "You are to turn and count the stripes I have laid on your body. Every last one."
There were red marks on her calves, her thighs, and her backside. Her lips moved as she strained to find each one. After a bit, she turned back toward the bed. "Come to me. Did you find them all?"
"Yes, My Mistress."
"How many did you see?"
"My Mistress, I found 15."
"Place your hands on top of your head." She touched the switch to Marcella's left breast. "Did you count this one?"
"Ummm, no, My Mistress!"
"So, you have failed in this simple task?"
"Owww!" A burst of pain exploded in her right breast. "Ahhhh!"
"Think carefully before you speak. How many do you have now?"
In tears, she replied, "Ah, I-I have 17, M-my Mistress!"
"Would you like 17 more, right now?"
""NO, PLEASE, My Mistress! I'm trying! What is happening to me?"
~~~~~~
The Burj Al Arab was enormous. Fifty stories of abject luxury in a building that resembled a giant sailboat. Marcella looked forward to a business trip infused with pleasure. Her company had fully underwritten her expenses for her trip to Dubai. Three days of meetings to present her proposal and four days of swimming, hot tubs, water skiing, and perhaps, some personal time with one of the French architects or engineers who were competing for this project. French men knew their way around a woman's body.
By the third day, though she held her own in the negotiations against three competitors and the government minister, all men, Marcella felt the stares, the little flirts, and the knowing looks that were even more frequent than usual. She knew from long experience that, in the business world, many men were sexist pigs in thousand-dollar suits. Women in the high-stakes business arena had to operate by a set of contradictory rules. If you wore a skirt to the meeting, you hoped that the table would not be glass-topped, or every man would try to get a glimpse. But if you wore a suit, maybe it was because you had bad legs, or "cankles." High heels at every moment -- mandatory.
If you wore a blouse with even an inch of your little valley showing, the Third Law of the Universe kicked in:
1. The Gravitational Force
2. The Electromagnetic Force
3. The Cleavage Force that drew men's eyes ever downward.
But if you buttoned up, you were thought of as a prude. If you were blonde and big-breasted, you already had two strikes against being taken seriously. But flat-chested plain Jaynes had to try to appear more feminine. If you smiled and warmly made eye contact, you were flirting. But if you didn't, you were a pushover with low self-esteem.
If you dared to interrupt a man, you were a bitch. But if you made your points quietly and timorously, you were a wimp. And by the end of the first meeting, every man from age 19 to 90 had completely undressed you in his mind, speculating on your nipple size and personal shaving habits.
Marcella had always traversed the male swamp as best she could. She also knew that many powerful men had dark secrets and fantasies. Her male colleagues always stayed at certain hotels around the world depending on the supply of high-quality working girls. One VP of her firm confessed once that, to deal with stress, he visited a dominatrix who spanked him. She declined his invitation to join in.
But Marcella had a secret of her own. Dreams. Dark dreams with one theme: abduction and enslavement to powerful men. Taken from her bed, screaming. Snatched off a dark street. Marched off an elevator at knifepoint. She always woke up well on the way to a self-induced orgasm.
At the close of the third day, at least none of the apes was drooling. On day one, she wrote them off as romantic possibilities. The most arrogant of the three men, Andre, glared and even snickered when she spoke. He tried to distract and agitate at every turn, but by the third day, she felt good about her prospects.
As the group rose to exit, the minister pushed her folder across the table with a clipped note, asking her to go and refresh herself and come back to the conference room, as he wanted to speak further about her proposal, but to wait until the others were gone. Knowing this could only be good news, Marcella paced in the restroom for five long minutes. Peeking out at an empty hall, she returned to the conference room.
The snacks and refreshments from the day were gone. Only a fresh water bottle and a glass for each of the two remained. "My superiors like your approach to this project very much, but they have instructed me to negotiate the cost down by 15%. Let us scrutinize each part with, as you might say, a sharp pencil."
Several pages in, she realized,
He isn't looking for cuts. He wants discounts and freebies. I can't give away the store.
Several times, when they would reach agreement on some minor issue, his face would brighten and he would raise his glass for a toast. Marcella could hardly refuse. After an hour, her eyelids began to droop.
Much later, after dark, a man rolled in a large hotel laundry cart. He picked her up, noticing a pool of drool on the table. Marcella folded neatly into the cart. The minister followed him out, tossing her proposal in the rubbish bin.
~~~~~
"NO, PLEASE, My Mistress! I'm trying! What is happening to me?"
"Kneel." The stern woman sat in a chair. "First, my name is Lia. You will now address me as My Mistress Lia. Do you understand?"
"Yes, My Mistress Lia!"
"Second, when you speak, you will show the utmost respect and restraint. Is that clear?"
"Yes, My Mistress Lia."
"And last, are you familiar with the custom in many countries that regard the feet as the lowest, disfavored part of the body?"
"Yes, M-my Mistress Lia. I have read that."
"Place your left cheek on my sandal and hold my ankle. This will show you your place in my world." Marcella bent down as instructed, wearing only her heels. "Separate your knees a bit." The switch handle had a row of rounded ridges. Lia ran it down her back, dipping into the mysterious beyond.
"
Ahh!
P-please!"
As she continued to saw the switch to and fro, she said, "You may ask me a respectful question."
"Ahhh
, Why am.... I ...
Umm
, here, My...
Ahhh!
Missstress Lia?"
Lia pulled the switch up, stopping Marcella's squirming. "Excellent question. You are here because we noticed you. You were in the boarding line at JFK when our man first saw you. You were assessed at each succeeding step. You have promise. You have the correct body for our purposes. I work for a powerful Sheik you will know only as Master. When we see something we want, we take it. Do you have another question?" She resumed her torment with the thin rod.
"
Oh! Ahhh
.... W-what is to become of me-ee, My Mistress Lee..
ahh
?"
"Another good question, and your last for now. I'm sure you are highly intelligent, so you will carefully reflect on my response. Your future here depends largely on your acceptance of your situation. I will train you to the best of -- YOUR ability --. We are in a private hotel for special clients of the Kingdom.
"For example, one of the architects from the meeting today is staying here, since we accepted his company's proposal." Marcella took a deep breath, picturing the loathsome Andre. "Your project has probably been shredded by now. Do not speak, but show your understanding by nodding."
As the enormity of this insult sank in, Marcella could only gasp, tearfully rubbing her cheek across the leather sandal. "The basement of this building has a laundry room. I've not been there but I'm told it's hot and it involves endless work. Would you like to be assigned to the laundry?" Lia felt a "no" on her foot.
"There are many other job openings, but after we spend a few days together, I will show you the penthouse, as you westerners call it. Would you like that?" Another helpless, tearful rub.
"Since you are already down there, we will start your training now before I feed you. Gently remove my sandals." One by one, Lia felt the cooling air around her feet. "Now, take this one in your hands and begin worship. You will bathe my feet with your tongue for the next 15 minutes. I expect increasing passion and fervor on every surface. If you fully understand, begin."
For a short moment, Marcella tried to fathom the horrible turn of her life, but the number 17 interrupted. Stripes. The first taste on the top of the arch -- her own tears. She started with little kitten-laps, but the light sway of the switch over her back prompted ice cream laps. For long minutes she licked around the heel and ankles. When the wand started tickling her left breast, she knew to move on to the sole. Back to kitten-licks at first. But the day's sweat and salt awaited.
