Mistress T

Author: Michael O’Connor

“Suzanne!”

Though Jason knew his eyes were not deceiving him, he could still not believe the sight that greeted him in the living room. His sweet and petite young wife had been transformed into a hellfire dominatrix, in shiny, spike heeled scarlet PVC thigh boots and a matching micro-dress that fitted her slender body like a sheath. The nipples of her pert breasts thrust like bullets against the clingy fabric. The two-inch long, gleaming silver spike studs in her dog collar and the belt around her waist looked as lethal as the riding whip gripped in her right fist.

“Had a good day at the office, honey?” she asked, in a mocking voice.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why are you dressed up like that?”

“You’ve been keeping something from me, haven’t you?” she said, taking a menacing step towards him.

“I….. I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered.

Her left hand appeared from behind her back and she flung a bundle of paper into the air. The white sheets rained down like confetti.

“Your secret world of fantasy is no longer a secret,” she snapped. “Who’s this Mistress T you’ve been boasting about on the Internet?”

“Oh, Christ!” he groaned.

“It’s a bit late to start praying now,” sneered Suzanne. “Well, are you going to tell me all about this lover of yours, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

“She’s not my lover,” he protested.

“Oh no?” She snatched up a page from the floor. “Let’s see what this one says. I have displeased Mistress T and now I must be punished. The meal I spent so long preparing for her was not to her liking. In addition, she has noticed a soup stain on my maid’s apron. What can I say? There is no excuse for such sloppiness, especially after all the time she has devoted to my training. I deserve no less than a severe thrashing and Mistress will see to it that I get just that.”

“I am sentenced to forty strokes of her riding whip across my bare ass. One word of protest and a further ten will be added. Wearing only my apron, I bend over a chair and offer up my cheeks for their just desserts. As always, every stroke is delivered with a ferocity that takes my breath away. I yelp like the pathetic dog that I am, but the savage punishment is unrelenting. I had been prepared for perhaps a dozen strokes, but this is truly a butt-blistering salvo. It is at moments like this that the raw power of my Mistress is at it’s most awe-inspiring. I bask in her naked contempt, worshipping every scorching stroke of the whip, despite the agony.”

Suzanne angrily crumpled the page into a ball and flung it at my face.

“So, who is this Mistress T you so adore?” she demanded, flexing her whip in both hands. “Some whore you pay to give you a good thrashing? Or does she do it for love?”

The whip whistled and slashed across his thighs, stinging him through his pinstriped trousers, causing him to yelp in pain and surprise. When he shot out his hands to protect himself, another lash cracked painfully across his knuckles.

“Ouch, that fucking hurt!” he yelled, hastily pulling his hands back out of range.

“Isn’t that how you like it?” she sneered. “Well, who is she?”

“She’s nobody,” he wailed. “Mistress T is just a fantasy. I make up these stories about being dominated by her, save them on the computer and put them out on the Internet. It’s just a bit of harmless fun. There’s no other woman, I swear!”   

“You share your kinky fantasies with complete strangers on the Internet, but not with your own wife and you consider it just a bit of harmless fun.” Suzanne’s soft voice was laden with contempt. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Mister. The fun is just beginning. Take down your pants.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” she snapped, slashing the whip across his thighs again. “You’ll only make matters worse for yourself by playing stupid.”

Wincing from the sharp pain, he hurriedly unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers around his ankles.

“And your underpants!” The whip was poised to strike again. “Don’t just stand there like a goddamned imbecile. Do as you’re told!”

It was strange to feel embarrassed to be half-naked in front of Suzanne. But this rubber-clad dominatrix standing before him was unrecognizable as the woman he had been married to for the past four years. Surely she could not have been so dramatically transformed by just stealing a peek at the masturbatory fantasies she had discovered on his computer.

“I’ve known about Mistress T for some time,” she said, as though reading his mind. “It’s a pity you didn’t use some of your expertise in electronic security systems to hide what was on your computer. Using the filename MISTRESS wasn’t very clever, was it, darling?”

“You had no right to go sneaking around in my study like that,” he protested.

Fast as lightning, the whip cut across his upper thighs, branding a line of fire on his pale flesh. With an agonized howl, he leaped back as if scalded, tripped over his trousers and fell in an ungainly heap on his ass.

“You have some nerve!” Suzanne yelled, unleashing a rain of lashes at his wildly thrashing legs. “Next you’ll be saying it’s my fault that you have a mistress at all.”

“But I don’t have a mistress!” he cried. “I just told you……..”

“Silence, you impudent moron!” she snapped. “From now on, you speak only when I give you permission. Furthermore, you address me as Mistress. Understood?”

“Suzanne, for God’s sake…….. owwwww!”

His protest was cut off by the stinging whack of the whip across his shins.

“Understood?” she repeated, in exasperation.

“Yes……, yes Mistress!” he screamed.

She nodded. “Good. In that case, we may continue. Get on all fours, like the mongrel dog that you are, and crawl to the kitchen. Move!”

He scurried obediently before her flailing whip, acutely aware of how pathetic he must have appeared. As soon as they reached the kitchen, she ordered him to strip. Wisely, he obeyed without a whimper. When he was completely naked, she tossed him a frilly white apron.

“Put that on, then bend over the chair.”

“What are you going to do?” he demanded, his voice trembling.

“I should have thought that was obvious,” she replied. “I’m going to count to ten. If you’re not in position by the time I’ve finished, you’ll find out how it feels to get a whack of this whip across your balls. One!”

Jason opened his mouth to protest further, but then thought better of it. The determined look on his wife’s face assured him she was not bluffing. Blushing to the roots of his dark blonde hair, he hurriedly donned the apron and bent over the nearest available chair. His buttocks were tightly clenched and his entire body trembled. His apprehension was spiced by a sudden rush of excitement, not unlike that inspired in his submissive fantasies. However, Mistress T’s punishments did not leave any marks. The red welts already smarting on his thighs were a sobering warning of what he could expect in reality.

“Now, how many strokes did Mistress T punish you with for being a naughty little maid?” she demanded. “Surely you haven’t forgotten already.”

“Uh, forty,” he muttered, eyeing her flexed whip with ever increasing terror.

“Speak up!” she snapped.

“Forty, Mistress,” he repeated. “But………”

“Forty it is then,” she interrupted. “One more word and I shall be adding on an extra ten.”

Knowing he could only make matters worse by protesting further, Jason bit his lower lip and braced himself for the onslaught. As stupid mistakes went, leaving his fantasy files where they could be so easily found was in a league of it’s own. He had sometimes wondered how Suzanne would react to discovering how he really occupied himself in the privacy of his study, when he was supposed to be working. Even in his wildest imaginings, he would never have anticipated that she would turn into Mistress T.

Swish! Thwack! The whip exploded like a streak of white heat across his rear cheeks. With an agonized roar, he started to straighten up, but Suzanne seized the back of his neck and pushed him back down over the chair.

“Don’t be such a big baby,” she hissed, raising the whip again. “If you can willingly take a thrashing from your mistress, you can damn well take it from me.”

Jason’s fists gripped the back legs of the chair as the savage lashes rained down on his defenseless buttocks. Each resounding whack was followed by a loud cry of pain. Halfway through the allotted punishment, he began pleading for mercy. Suzanne responded by warning him that she would start all over again, if he uttered another word.

By the time the flogging finally ended, his ass felt like it had been flayed raw by the whip. Streaks of sunburn crimson covered practically every inch of his violently throbbing cheeks and his eyes were blurred with tears.

“That’s the end of your punishment, for now,” Suzanne announced. “You may fix your Mistress a drink, then get to work on this evening’s dinner. And it had better be first class, for your sake. Well, what are you waiting for – another taste of the whip?”
   
For Jason, the kitchen was unfamiliar territory. Though not quite an old-fashioned male chauvinist, he had always taken it for granted that Suzanne took care of the domestic end of things, while he applied himself to his career. As her job in a local bookstore was only part-time, the arrangement seemed fair.

While he toiled over the meal, trying in vain to ignore the searing agony of his buttocks, he found himself recalling many of the fantasies he had compiled in the six months of his Mistress T computer journal. Suzanne had, of course, read and printed out the lot. There was enough to fill a full-length book. If she intended to act out each scenario according to the script, he was indeed in for an extremely painful and humiliating time.

Fortunately for his tender cheeks, the results of his labors as an amateur chef were deemed satisfactory. Suzanne appeared to regret that he did not even stain his apron and so provide her with a perfect excuse to once more wield the whip. However, she soon found an alternative reason to punish him.

As he was clearing the dishes from the table, her eyes fell to the prominent bulge in the front of his apron. Looking at her in her rubber skin had obviously worked it’s magic, at last.

“That won’t do at all,” she tutted. “I refuse to tolerate my maid walking around with a hard-on. After you’ve done those dishes, report to the living room, on your hands and knees.”

“But Mistress, I can’t help it,” he pleaded.

“Turn around,” she snapped, snatching her riding whip from the table. “Hands behind your head. That’s it. You’ll soon find it’s always wiser to obey.”

Jason was already whimpering, in anticipation of yet further punishment. But Suzanne decided to spare his tortured cheeks. Instead, she administered ten full-blooded strokes to the backs of his thighs.

“Carry on,” she told him, immediately afterwards. “Take off your apron before reporting for your next punishment.”

Ten minutes later, he crawled naked into the living room, where his Mistress was waiting on the couch. On the coffee table, next to a neatly arranged sheaf of A4 sheets was her whip, a slender whip, dark brown leather and cat o” nine tails. She had obviously drawn her shopping list from the arsenal he had provided for his fantasy Mistress.

“Read this out loud,” she directed, handing him the page from the top of the pile.

Jason anxiously scanned the page, then began reading. His tormentor smiled at the tremor in his voice.

“Once again, I have offended my Mistress. What a pathetic animal I am! It seems I will never learn.”

“My crime on this occasion is the state of the comical little worm that is my cock. I am a maid with a hard-on, something which is strictly forbidden. Mistress T is determined that my cock will respond only when she dictates. An erection at any other time is a punishable offence. It is not fair that I should be expected to exercise such superhuman control over the most basic urges of my nature, but then, my Mistress is anything but fair.”