Comeuppance free porn video

COMEUPPANCE By Geneva A dominatrix gets a surprise from one of her clients. Note: This story has no magic or transgender. START Almost without exception, I have found funerals boring and depressing, with their pervasive air of gloom and the sight of stupid relatives getting all weepy. Then there was the tedium of having to listen to routine eulogies by whichever clergyman the funeral home had on call or been able to rope in to talk about someone he probably never knew. I wonder if they thought they were sincere. This one is no exception and I am beginning to curse whatever dumb idea I had to attend it. There were plenty of other things I could have been doing. I look at my nails and see that they need a touch-up and remember it's a week since I saw my hairdresser. The deceased had been a client of mine, but just one of a number. My clients come and go fairly regularly. Some drop out for various reasons but if any of them fails to appear for an appointment I do not bother enquiring after them. Perhaps some have had burnout or have moved away. Maybe some of them find meetings with me have failed to relieve their tensions. This one was a suicide, I had heard, but that was not isolated either. I remember that another of my past clients had killed himself too. I see a few raised eyebrows as I enter the crematorium and some guests turn their heads to examine me, puzzled looks showing on their faces. Perhaps they are wondering what my connection to the deceased is but I will have an answer ready if I am actually asked. 'I had some business dealings with him,' I will say, using a tone, expression and body language that discourage further questions. I have quite a lot of experience in projecting the right attitude. I had arrived at the ceremony only just before it started, which meant I had to sit well to the back of the other guests, and actually suits me just fine. It crosses my mind again that I should not have bothered coming here. Maybe it was curiosity to get more information on my deceased client or to get an inkling of the family background that had produced him. Perhaps it was only idle curiosity. He had been successful enough to pay me, and my fees were not cheap. Perhaps it is some kind of malicious satisfaction that brings me here, that another loser with a kinky taste was gone! This is the service prior to the actual cremation. So when we are finished his body will disappear behind the curtain or whatever and at some future point there will be nothing left of him except a few ashes. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, as they say. That will be the remains of his body. All his kinks, his fetishes, his insecurities, all the humiliations that I subjected him to, nothing of these will remain at all, except in my mind, and that memory will be brief too. I have never been sentimental. Anyway, I have enough other clients to pay for my lifestyle and allow me to practice my skills. He had been a wimp anyway, all too easy to influence.Yes, I have lost a client, but I have plenty others although I am actually a bit annoyed he decided to off himself when he did. I thought he would have been a good source of revenue and entertainment for another few months at least. Those up in the front rows must be some relatives and friends, I suppose. He had mentioned he had some sisters. All are in dark clothes. More casual acquaintances must be those further back, those dressed in more casual clothes. One guy is even wearing in jeans. I watch them all and size them up from my seat in the back, with a smug feeling that my outfit totally outclasses that of any other woman in the room in its style and quality. My work brings me in quite a bit of money and allows me to indulge my tastes and to shop for and buy quality garments. Of course, some of my clothes are not the articles you would buy in the usual store, and the more specialized shops, you might say, well, their offerings are often just a bit too tacky and cheap looking. I prefer to keep myself in classy outfits and shop at quality stores and the type of materials and fabrics I prefer are not cheap. Of course, the fabrics I use are high quality and if I have to pay more, well, I can afford it. For other clothes, especially those that are specifically for my business, I have an understanding tailor, and a quite skilled one. So, for my professional outfits and others, they are tailored for me and designed to emphasize the parts of my figure, bust, waist and hips. I even get my underwear tailored for me as it is difficult to get my preferred fine silks and other fabrics in even the most expensive stores. There is actually nothing like the feel of a well-fitted corset to reinforce and project my feeling of power and control. I flatter myself that I have a good figure but I suppose I could say that I am controlled by my garment, but I feel efficient and powerful and then I can better control others. My aim is to show a kind of severe eroticism. The sight of my body represents the power of a woman, with my breasts only just contained above my corset, and my waist severely pulled in to emphasize my hips. Actually, I have a selection of similar dark colored silk corsets, all well boned to mold my figure. The tight lacing, with its ends tied in a bow at my back, the ruched satin garter straps, with their shiny metal fittings and ribbons and tautly attached to the welts of my dark nylon stockings, and my black high heeled shoes or long boots, all have a wondrous effect on my subjects too. For dressy purposes or when I am at some affair that needs a dress or skirt I usually use pantyhose. Otherwise, for casual events or regular shopping, I wear designer jeans or tailored pants. The service seems to go on and on and I let my mind stray to looking at the generic stained glass windows and fitments in the chapel. I am meeting a client later today, in fact an hour or so after this event, so I am wearing my work clothes, you might say, under my black suit and gray blouse. I tuck just a wisp of stray hair back from my face. It is dark too, totally and intensely black. Actually I am a natural blonde, but I dye all my hair black, even the tuft at my crotch. Not that any of my clients ever sees that. It's just that dark hair helps with the image I want to project and contrasts nicely with my pale skin and the bright red lipsticks I favour. I have even chosen dark earrings. There is some color on my upper eyelids, but my eyes are well rimmed with dark liner. My nails have a black polish and I wear a strong exotic perfume, blended just for me, to reinforce my image, stronger when I am working, but just a hint otherwise, like at this funeral. I will give myself a small spritz just before I meet my next client. Although my working clothes are tight, they are not uncomfortable. That is the advantage of having them tailored for me. My bra and panties are dark too, but this time, as with my corset, I decided on just a bit of colour, a deep, burgundy red with scarlet accents. My garter straps are nicely and tautly attached to my sheer black nylon stockings. The stockings have seams too, above Cuban heels. They are an expensive make too, but are worth it for their luxurious feel. My suit skirt's hem reaches to about three inches above my knees, enough to show my knees yet still be respectable enough for a funeral although, if I move too much when I am sitting, the hem can ride up just enough to show just a hint of the dark welt of my stockings. I start thinking about my upcoming meeting with my next client. It is a bit unusual. I really prefer to meet with clients at my own home, or at least its basement, but this one has insisted on meeting at his own place. He pays enough extra to make it worth my while. I checked the situation out carefully, of course, before I agreed on these arrangements. I have brought my own gear and equipment in my large purse but domestic chairs and tables will serve quite well for the bondage. If necessary I have a bag with my other gear in the trunk of my car. A small cough from a mourner brings my mind back to my surroundings, the funeral. It is not as if I feel any particular respect to the deceased or anyone else here. I never feel any respect to any of my clients. They are simply a source of revenue. I suppose there is the slight possibility I might attract someone here who could be a new client and I look round at the men trying to decide. I give a quiet smile when I look down and I see the bulge of my high bust and the slight bumps of my garters on my thighs. I am alive and I am a sexual being. The style of my outfit and my makeup affirm the power of my sex, and my sexuality, my life in the midst of this gloom. I feel my attention slipping again as I start to think of what new training or discipline I can start to introduce my upcoming client to. Maybe it's time to turn the screw a bit more, so to speak. I have already introduced him to woman's panties and bras and I ordered him to be wearing them when I arrive. I think today I will start him with a collar and perhaps introduce him to stockings and garters too. Any reticence or resistance will be an opportunity to introduce him to my riding crop as well. Maybe he will have deliberately omitted something, just so he will feel my displeasure. Some clients are more masochistic than others. I give a muted sigh of relief when the service is finally over and make a mental note never to attend another funeral while I watch the casket sink under and away from behind the covering cloth. With final word from the clergyman we can all leave. From my position at the back I watch as the deceased's supposedly nearest and dearest leave first, then I can get going after them although again I notice some sideways (and some appreciative) glances at me from the men. It amuses me to think how certain men are attracted to my exotic dark sexuality. Once outside I put on my dark glasses, partly against the bright sunshine but also just as a little disguise and to make myself look more mysterious. It helps with the image I am cultivating. I still get some going over from some of the guests milling around outside the crematorium; the men of course are drawn to my dark sexiness and now they can better see my black nylon clad legs set off by the three inch heels on my shiny black designer pumps. They recognize what I am, a well dressed, attractive woman, with just the right blend of eroticism and class. I have no doubt the women are assessing me too. My outfit is discreet enough but these little touches, my fitted black suit with its shortish skirt, my seamed stockings and my dark wide-brimmed hat add just a touch of mystery. They will be less affected by the eroticism, but they will recognize the quality of my garments. I reach into my designer bag to get my phone and I see I should be on my way so I walk smartly to my black BMW in the parking lot, my heels clicking on the concrete path. Of course, my tight black skirt means I cannot take long steps, but I have enough time and I make sure I walk straight, but put just a little bit of sway in my hips for the benefit of any male viewers. I feel my stockings rub past each other with a little rasp and the changing tugs of my taut garters. I feel sexy and provocative. I open the car door with the remote, slide my butt in first, then swing my legs in. I am not sure if anyone is watching my pretty knees, but just a flash of black stocking top shows. The car started, I ease carefully out of the parking lot onto the street and a few minutes later I am on the freeway towards my client's home. My upcoming client is a rather unusual one, and unusual too that he prefers morning appointments and at his own place. I pay an agency too to see if my clients are really who the say they are. Finding how well heeled they are too is a bonus. My agent has already checked this one out but I will have to get him to dig deeper to find out what he does and more about him. I get most of my clients from referrals. Strange what men must discuss among themselves! Other clients come from my carefully worded and discreet ads in the local papers and some specialized publications. Of course. I follow any initial contacts with a careful screening to make sure I am not the subject of some police investigation or some scandal-seeking tabloid. I am in good time when I arrive at my client's apartment. He lives in the penthouse of an apartment block, with a doorkeeper, so I have to be checked and sign in as I enter, but I use the name Miss Mary Black as a cover. My client only knows me as Miss Veronica anyway. I do not want any of my clients knowing my real name. After signing in I walk smartly to the elevator. I have my equipment in a large carrier bag, just slightly larger than an ordinary purse. I know the doorman will be watching and my butt especially, but I drop no clues that I am other than just a regular visitor. I give a quiet rap to my client's door and he lets me in. I open my bag and pass him his outfit for the day, an over-the-top schoolgirl outfit. "Put this on immediately!" I command. I shake out two sets of handcuffs, a small whip, and nipple clamps and I am ready. Our session lasts about an hour and a half. I had thought of taking it more gently with him as I lead him into more experiences but I am in a bad mood after the funeral and I am not as patient as I am normally. Still, when I leave, my client seems eager to have me again. This client has been with me for a year and I see him weekly. I don't know if he has relationships with other women. Actually I suspect he is married but he shows no signs like rings and never mentions his marital status and I don't enquire either. He has a fetish for woman's underwear, especially garters and stockings. Following my usual technique, I started by complimenting him, then once he was comfortable I started gently teasing him to test his limits. I am going to gradually escalate this, to having him in more and more women's wear then teasing, changing to scolding and perhaps a session with a gentle lash, then a riding crop. So next time we will see what can be done. So today's session worked out moderately successful and I feel satisfied with the progress. I pack my equipment and nod to him and let myself out. I don't go in for chit-chat. As I get out of the elevator and head to the doors I acknowledge the doorman with a nod and a cold smile and he touches his cap at me. He holds the door open, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he has suspicions I am some type of call girl. I wonder what his reaction would be if he knew what services I really provide. I walk about two hundred yards to the parking lot with my car. I never park it near my client. Back home I kick off my heels and make a light lunch with coffee , followed by a glass of wine as I check my emails. I live in an older style apartment block, but some major recent renovations also had given it underground parking, controlled by a security gate. It is solidly built too, a good thing too as it would be awkward if the cries of some of my subjects penetrated the walls. My own unit has two levels. One level, the ground floor, serves as my own living space, but by its entrance is a stair that lead to the lower basement level that I had fixed up in dungeon style to use for clients. They are never allowed upstairs. That is my private area, totally off- limits to clients. My dungeon is fitted with two types of bondage chair and a wooden bench fitted with six pairs of ring-bolts. Some suspension equipment hangs from hooks on a stout wooden beam that runs the width of the room. One wall holds an assortment of whips, paddles and riding crops. Other bondage gear and clamps are on another wall. A separate walk-in closet holds various costumes and harnesses on racks and hangers. I have to say I never contemplated being a dominatrix when I was growing up, but perhaps the seeds were sown by my family situation. My mother was both manipulative and domineering to my father so I early learned the techniques that a woman can use to demean a man or to bend him to her will. My father too, was just a bit more touchy-feely to me when I was growing up than was appropriate to a child, especially his own daughter, and it got even worse when I started to develop breasts. His attentions left me with an ongoing suspicion of men and a cynical contempt at their male sense of self-importance. I often wanted to put them down and would devise schemes in my head where I would take the dominant part and bring them to heel. Maybe that's why I never developed a good relationship with any boy friend. I was good looking enough to attract men, and I enjoyed their attention, but I never wanted to be beholden or commit to any of them. When I went to college I studied psychology and I was just about finished my degree when a friend persuaded me to interview for an escort agency. Like her, I was beginning to get worried about the debt I was accumulating. I had no moral scruples about the life and it looked like a good way to earn money. In fact I was immediately astonished by how much money I could make by just lying on my back and in most cases pretending orgasms and I soon took on as many clients as I could and dropped out of college. I quickly paid off my debts and saw how I could finance a very improved lifestyle. No more counting the pennies! Still, these courses in psychology have been worth it for the insights they gave me into male behavior, although with my experiences and what I have learned I almost feel I could write my own textbooks! Then gradually, after a number of clients, I discovered that certain of them were after something different than a straight fuck. Most liked to be flattered and entertained too and some little games like role playing or striptease helped. It worked out well that I liked pretty lingerie and I had laid in some pretty garments for my clients' benefit but I soon found that some of them were almost as interested in my clothing as my naked body and the sight or touch of a little bit of silk or lace or nylon stocking sliding over their chests, bellies or thighs did wonders in turning them on and helping the more stressed ones to get properly hard. Then, one time when I was playing around with a client, I became aware his eyes were on my pink satin bra. I had slid down the straps off my shoulders and undone the back hooks, but was still holding the cups against me to tease him. He tentatively held out a hand and began fingering its straps. "You like my bra?" I had asked and without really waiting for his answer I mischievously let it its straps run slowly but completely from my arms, then dangled and waved it in front of him and slowly drew it over his chest. I noticed his eyes were on my bra rather than my breasts. "Did you like the way my lovely bra pushed up my breasts?" I said seductively. That had even more effect and when I saw his penis visibly swelling I motioned to him to sit up. "Don't you wish you could wear a bra? "I wonder how it would look on you?" I raised my eyebrows, with just a hint of an order. "Hold out your arms in front of you! Go on!" I gave him an encouraging smile as his eyes widened and he actually held out his arms so I pushed the straps up onto his arms and pulled them up onto his shoulders. "Now turn around so I can do it up!" Fortunately he was not too tall or broad shouldered and the garment had plenty of stretch so I was able to get it hooked up on his back. His face had turned red, but his penis, suddenly busting to life and totally erect was an even darker color. But I was not done. "Don't be embarrassed!" I encouraged. "It looks good on you, but let me see if I can make it look even better." I balled up some stockings and put them in the cups. "See, now you've got a proper bust line!" I complimented. By this time his penis must have been almost painfully swollen and I pulled him to me. I think it was the hardest he had been in any of my sessions and he came almost immediately. More as an experiment at first, I tried again at his next session, with the same results and so his cross-dressing gradually escalated in later sessions to fitting him with bras, first stuffed with stockings then, as we progressed to silicone inserts that looked fairly like real breasts, then panties, in fancier and lacier styles. After some more sessions I got him into stockings and a garter belt. "These will look nice on you but first let me shave your legs." He was intrigued and I easily persuaded him to let me lather him and shave his legs, all the way up, even as far as his pubic hair. "Now you have nice smooth legs," I said, stroking them. "I bet they'll look nicer still in these sheer nylon stockings. I think you'll love the feel of nylon on your legs." I bunched up a stocking and drew it slowly up one leg, then the other. "That looks nice. Now you need a garter belt to hold them up. I drew the straps slowly over his thighs then his belly. "I'll need you to stand up to fix them," I encouraged and I hooked the belt in his back, then attached the garters and finally adjusted the straps until his stockings were taut. I had him totally hooked and at the next week's session I introduced him to a corset, pulling its laces tight. He grunted but I could see he was pleased and I complimented him on his slim waist. This approach with my lingerie soon showed promise with selected other clients and I began to experiment with fancier lingerie and various other outfits. Some actually wanted to wear some of my own pretty lingerie but I quickly drew the line at that. It was too personal and anyway I didn't want my own stuff stretched out of shape, worn or dirtied. I had paid enough for it. So I purchased some larger sized garments for my clients and in turn that meant I even didn't have to undress for our sessions. As a bonus these clients didn't even appear to be too upset whether or not they actually entered me and I began to switch more and more to the dominatrix side, beginning with mild teasing, then rebukes until the sessions evolved into physical punishment. Some clients are happy with only dressing up but I soon learned to read those who want their limits pushed. Domination pays as well as simple sex sessions and is much less messy and now I have enough sub clients to keep me in a nice lifestyle and even put a bit of money by. It is a lot safer for me too. I don't have to worry about infections or even getting pregnant. Of course I always use contraceptives rigorously but intercourse is now never allowed at all. I am the mistress. My clients are there to obey me. If I let them fuck me it would destroy that relationship. I don't give blowjobs either. I'm still in two minds as to whether I should let them please me. I have no clients in the afternoon so after lunch I take care of personal stuff, check some of my investments and then on a whim I call up my tailor and meet with her to discuss some new styles and garments for me. I pay her well too as she is very discreet and doesn't ask about my clients at all. She is a former dominatrix too but gave the life up after a car crash that scarred her. She said her face no longer has the effect she needs. Actually, I think she misses the feeling of power. My clients don't need to get the same quality I use for myself so I buy any more regular female underwear or other garments for them at ordinary stores or online. My next two clients are in the evening. I have found that both are executives in some city companies. I will take about an hour and half with each. Of course, I make sure my clients' visits never overlap. The first client of the evening is well into cross dressing, usually frilly pink satin outfits. I have found he is also is turned on by Chinese styles so for him I wear a scarlet cheongsam. Its fitted style shows off my bust and there is just a hint of dark stocking top showing in the slit up its side, to reinforce my sexuality. However our sessions are more like counseling sessions and I have only just started into verbal humiliation. This first client seems to need that. He let slip that his parents had been cold and supercritical. He is bright but you can see all sorts of nervous habits beneath his drive and he is very insecure in spite of having founded a company that is doing well. As I said, I have background checks done on all potential clients. My preliminary evaluation is done over the phone when I have the client explain what he wants. If I am happy with what I hear I arrange to meet them at some restaurant for lunch, one where I can be assured of privacy. It also lets me see how they interact with other people and how they handle paying the bill. First meetings can be difficult as a lot of men are embarrassed with their feelings and fetishes and I have to draw them out. It often happens that they are after something that does not appeal to me as I draw the line at certain things. If I am satisfied, then, with the information I have, I contact my private investigation firm. Jeff, the owner, is an ex-cop and still has enough contacts in the police force and he will be able to warn me if my name gets mentioned. I haven't had trouble yet but I don't want the police or anyone sniffing around me. Jeff is also pretty good on computers and I have him check to make sure that the client is who he says he is. It helps also to know how well moneyed they are and if there are any partners or wives. I actually prefer single guys as clients. The last thing I need is a jealous or suspicious wife doing her own investigations. So, life has gone on well with me for several months. Three clients left, two to go out of state and one had a sudden financial crisis. But I got four more, two executives, one budding politician and another of private means, old money in the city. The last client of the day will be one of the executives. I will meet with him this evening. Jeff had found in his background checks that the man was divorced, with no children, and his company is well established. He began with me a month ago and I have seen him weekly and feel it is time to now push his limits. I want him in awe of me but sometimes I have the feeling he is slightly amused by the whole procedure. Let's see how he likes a riding crop on his bare butt! I am doing some things around the house and have my outfit on when I hear the doorbell ring. I have changed from my cheongsam into my usual dominatrix clothing. He is on time almost to the minute and I let him in, close the door quickly and glare at him. No smiles of welcome at all! I try to exude an erotic dangerous power in my tight black satin and leather outfit, black stockings and black heels. My face is made up with dramatic eye shadow and I have made myself up with a deep crimson lipstick. My ears now have dramatic angular black and silver earrings. "Well?" "This is your maid arriving for service, mistress," he mumbles as I let him in. I immediately point him to the stair that leads to my dungeon. "Down there! You know the way." It is important to keep the upper hand to emphasize my position. "You are my maid? Then why aren't you dressed?" I snap. "Get dressed properly immediately! And what are you doing wearing all of these stupid male clothes. You don't even deserve male clothes," I sneer. "Get them right off! Do what I say!" I gesture to a French maid's outfit I had laid out, with frilly panties, bra, a garter belt and stockings, and lacy white petticoats. He recoils slightly at the garments. "There is the proper outfit for a sissy like you." And I watch as he removes his outer male clothes. "I said all of them!" He hesitatingly removes his underwear, so that he is completely naked, then even more hesitatingly begins to dress in the female clothes. "Start with the panties! There's a nice lacy pair, just right for a sissy like you." All the time I am holding a riding crop, tapping it menacingly against my nyloned legs. As I expect, he begins an erection when he picks up the panties. Strange how men will do that but I rap him over his penis with my crop. "Stop that immediately or it will be the worse for you." "Now the bra!" He pulls it around his chest and begins to do up the hooks in the front. "It fastens at the back! Pull it over your arms first!" As I expect, he has to fumble at his back with the hooks but to my surprise he manages it after only two tries. It crosses my mind that next time I should modify the hooks to make it more difficult and I can threaten him more. "That is satisfactory. Now adjust the straps! Hurry up!" I exclaim. "Now the garter belt. That hooks in the back as well." Like the bra he is skilled enough to hook it up at his back. I point to the packet of stockings. "Now your stockings. To put them on, bunch them up and slide them up your legs. And don't you dare ladder them!" I sigh theatrically as he pulls one stocking up his leg, fixes the front garter but fumbles with the rear garter and I give him another light tap with the riding crop. "Hurry up!" "I am hurrying," he protests. "Not fast enough!" I snap. "And you will be quiet!" "Now stand straight and let me see you!" I walk round him slowly. " Look ahead! I snarl. "You are slovenly, " I hiss. "Your seams are not straight. Fix them!" and I give a light touch of the crop on his legs. This client had given me just a bit of trouble when we met last. He was compliant enough, but from his eyes it was as if he resented his punishment, that he was not quite broken. I set him to cleaning the room and the washroom. Not that I need it in my own private quarters as I am neat, almost to a fault, but I leave this part for clients like this. I find fault of course, and on some parts I rub my finger, and hold up imaginary dirt to him. "Look at and this! You call this clean?" Then I make him redo it. I keep up my criticism. It is needed to keep him off guard and establish my dominance. At the last part of our session I have him lie across a wooden bench, then fix his wrists and ankles to some sturdy rings and pull his French maid style skirt up above his waist to expose his panties. I pull these down to expose his buttocks and thighs and tease him with the whip then give him some light blows, just enough to give a slight sting, but ending with two blows that make him gasp for breath. I even see tears at his eyes. He will be experiencing burning pain. I get a thrill that I am finally succeeding but there is just one extra touch. When I clamp his nipples he draws his breath and clenches his teeth in pain and I gave him two more blows. However, that is enough for the night. I will escalate it at the next session. I had got as far with some of my clients that I could push them into pain, so that it was all they were aware of, but had entered a kind of ecstasy from it. I saw it in their glazed eyes. With this client I had not reached that. I could see he hated the punishment and got no pleasure at all from it. I wonder why he had even sought my services at all. With a sudden burst of frustration I landed him a couple more of stinging blows that made him cry out. Finally his eyes glaze and it is as if he finally surrenders. I see acceptance in his eyes but unfortunately we are out of time. "You wimp," I snarl. "You are not man enough to take punishment. You cry like a girl. Maybe I should put you in really frilly panties!" So I release his hands from the strap and leave him to undo his ankles. He stretches slowly and silently as I give him scornful stares and let my lip curl in supposed contempt. I feel I was doing well. I am finally getting him nicely broken. "Then I will see you next week. You can let yourself out!" I say and turn to leave as if totally in contempt of him, and that he does not even deserve any of my further attention. I should never have turned my back on him. Before I can react he is on me, holding my arms behind me and I hear the clink of the handcuffs and feel them close on my right wrist. I struggle frantically but he is a man, stronger than me and I feel my left wrist handcuffed too a moment later. "What the hell...? I start to say but despite my struggling he pushes a ball gag in my mouth and I feel it buckled behind my head. "I don't want to hear your squawking. I'll take your gag off when I am ready." He emphasizes the 'I' and I suddenly feel cold, as if he is changing our relationship. Panicking, I frantically wriggle, struggle and kick against him but he pushes me to the floor and easily holds my ankles too and I feel them chained together too and I fall to the floor. I can make only muffled squeals and I glare at him. "All tied up, are you, darlin'? How does it feel to be on the receiving end?" he mocks. "But I'm not finished yet." I am still frantically struggling against my bonds when he lifts me onto the sofa, removes my shoes then pulls my wrists and ankles together behind my back and links them with some rope so that I am hog- tied, completely unable to get to my feet and I finally give up, panting with the stress and trying to suppress the fear that is rising in me. The gag stops any possibility of me trying to overawe him with my voice and I can only glare furiously at him. I am at his mercy but I am trying to plan my next moves. Should I show fear, or contempt? Unfortunately my voice is my only weapon and it is stilled by the gag. "A little strip tease for you, darlin'. But maybe you won't appreciate it." His voice has become mocking. He is no longer in awe of me. He carefully removes the maid's clothes until he is completely nude but kicks them contemptuously to one side. I had seen him nude often, the last time only an hour or so before, but at these times his manner had been embarrassed and hesitating. I liked to see that as I could better exercise my power over him. This time is completely different. He is not in the least self conscious of his nudity. Instead he appears more confident and aware of his body than I have ever seen, exuding male power and confidence tinged with a hint of menace, rather like the statue of David by Michaelangelo I had seen once on a trip to Florence. I suck in my breath when he looks down at me. Is he going to rape me? A little hope rises in me if that is all he will do. I would not like it but at least if he put his penis inside me it would be no different with some of my clients when I was a call girl. It would be nothing that had not happened before. I am more apprehensive of him assaulting me, or worse. But strangely he shows no sign of an erection, as if my helplessness means nothing to him. But I get more uneasy when he slowly dresses again in his male clothes, taking his time, almost ignoring me. I see him wince when so his underwear must have rubbed against a purple welt I had given him. "I suppose you are wondering what this is about?" he says finally. "I don't suppose you remembered Mel Costa? " I remember that was the client who had killed himself and whose funeral I had attended this very morning. The less I admit the better but my eyes must be giving me away. "Oh, I see you do! Yes, you were at his funeral this morning. I couldn't believe your nerve. Did you go there to gloat over his death? You callous bitch! You even had the gall to wear one of your domme outfits underneath your skirt, and that was even so tight your garter bumps were showing." He spits it out. "You and your black stockings. You were even in a corset, just flaunting yourself. "Well. I 'll let you know. That man was my brother. My real name is Lewis Costa. You didn't see me at the funeral. I saw you coming so I made sure I kept out of your sight." I jerk with surprise and I stare at him with wide-open eyes. "Ah, that's a surprise, isn't it? You know, I loved my brother, despite his demons. I always looked out for him when we were young, against the bullies. He had a bright mind and a driven personality that had made him a business success but he was really a broken individual. He had a lot of emotional problems. Yes, my brother. We were different. He was brilliant but had his problems. Maybe that's why he sought out a dominatrix like you. You know, maybe you could have given him a release from whatever drove him, but no, your humiliations drove him to his death. "So I am going to take revenge." He bends over me and unbuckles my gag. I spit out my anger. "How dare you do this! I will make you suffer." I am trying to reestablish my dominance him but it does not help that my voice is breaking with apprehension. "And he didn't have a brother!" I protest. "I asked him. He said he only had sisters. You're just fooling with me." "Oh yes, he did, but maybe he didn't want to admit knowing me. You see, I was the black sheep of the family and they didn't talk about me, or see me. That's why I was able to keep away from the rest of the family. I wasn't like my brother, I made my living in ways that the law doesn't approve, but I have been as successful as him. Maybe I made more money and I've got a lot more power. But better, I have some pals that I work with. Maybe you'll have heard of them." He mentions a couple of names and I draw in my breath. The men are gangsters, with their fingers in all sorts of criminal activities, and have control of the whole east side of the city. They are known for their viciousness. "I made a background check on you!" "Oh yes, I expected you to. You were very careful but not thorough enough, or at least whoever you have your checks done by wasn't careful enough. I found you had tried as he left tracks in his searches. But I make enough money to pay people to protect me. I expected you would snoop, but all you found were my legitimate fronts. You never found my real interests. "You call yourself Veronica? A bit fancier than the plain Jean you were given when you were born?" I curse internally. He has dug well into my life. "When I saw my brother a month or so ago he looked terrible and when I pressed him he eventually told me he was seeing you. I was turned off by what he said happened with you, but I was still a bit curious about your sessions. So I thought I'd try to see what he got out of being beaten and humiliated, and I contacted you too and you took me on. I must say I've got to know you better and I'll just say that your tricks don't appeal to me in the slightest. In fact I was about to stop seeing my visits when Mel killed himself. You maybe didn't drive him to it, but you contributed." My eyes open wider at the implied threat. "So, as I said, I am going to take revenge." "Please don't hurt me," I plead. I hate showing weakness but I am helpless. He looks round my dungeon and gestures to the equipment. "You can say goodbye to all of this. You're a beautiful woman. I'll use that." He's going to 'use' me? I do not know how to react. It sounds as if he is going to spare my life but what then? My heart is pounding. "My brother died because of you, but it was partly his own tormented mind and he killed himself. So I am not going to kill you. Yeah, I could, with hardly a moment's thought but I 'm going to make you suffer instead." He lifts my chin and his blue eyes stare right into me. "Yes, good looking, maybe a bit hard and cold, but your customers probably won't mind. Maybe they get off on that. However, hard or not, I reckon some of my acquaintances or colleagues will be able to get twenty or so years use out of you. It will be quite like old times for you." I am horrified as I now know what he means. I had struggled to get out of that life and with my health intact but now I am going to be returned to it. I give a small cry. He looks round. "Now, for transportation and to keep you secure, I see you have the right stuff right here." He points to a cage. "I'll leave you in it so you can feel penitent. Then tonight someone can come for you but first, so you don't make a fuss...." "Please don't!" I beg, but he pushes my teeth apart and forces the gag in my mouth again but undoes the rope that hogties me. He even removes the handcuffs from one wrist and I immediately struggle and manage to hit him but again he is too strong for me and my wrists get handcuffed again, but in front of me. He fingers a cut on his cheek where my cuffs caught him. "Lots of spirit, I see, darlin'. Well, I didn't expect you to go quietly so I'll let you off for that little bit of resistance. Now, I need to show off your wares, so your new owners can see you better. This nice outfit of yours will have to go, unfortunately. You have good taste in clothes." I gasp as he pulls out a knife from a pocket but he starts at my back, and slides it up against my skin. I shiver at its cold touch then feel a sudden release of tension on my body as my tight black top, the laces of my expensive corset, and my bra all fall apart easily under the sharp knife and the cool air on my back and breasts as he pulls them from me. Then he pushes his knife down my butt and my beautiful soft leather skirt and panties split and he pulls them off me too. All of my beautiful clothes are left in in shreds on the floor. He even slides the knife down my legs and pulls my stockings off me so that I am totally bare. I squeal and swing at him with my handcuffed hands but he easily holds them and forces me into a tight crouch. He pulls my arms apart and forces them over my knees and round my legs and using another pair of cuffs he fixes them to the chain at my ankles so that I am in a folded into a tight bundle with my own arms holding me and with hardly any effort he lifts me over a heavy wire cage. I panic and struggle violently but I am too well trussed and I am forced down into it. He pushes down the lid on my head and padlocks it. My face is bent down to my knees and I can only make muffled moans. There is no way anyone can hear me. My face is wet with my tears. "All right. That will keep you. I have some things to attend to so I'll leave you 'til tonight when it's really dark. Then we'll have someone come and get you. Oh, I suppose you're wondering what's ahead?" I know all too well. "My pals and me have interests in a number of brothels and we have international contacts too. So that's what I intend for you. I found out you used to be in the trade some years back, so let's just say it will be quite like old times for you? You'll be able to practice some of your old moves. Except you won't be able to leave. The people we know keep their girls under fairly tight control, just so they don't get uppity." He looks around my dungeon. "Nicely equipped place you have here, and upstairs, Jeannie. I reckon we can rent it out to one of our girls. She has an idea about moving up in the world. I'm not sure about all the clothes you have, if she doesn't want them. Some are not quite the stuff the Sally Ann would want. "Oh yes, Jeannie, you can cancel my next appointment." END