This is part 3 of a 7-part series (click here to read the first blog in the series).
‘No, I won’t!’ Outrage palpable.
‘You didn’t know?’ A smug smile curled a corner of the mistress’ red lips.
‘No. I didn’t know.’
‘You don’t see the chastity cock-ring I make him wear?’ Dawn’s jaw dropped. ‘I make him wear this for long time now.’ Jesus! Is that why he suddenly started wearing pyjamas? Thought he was just getting old.
‘Me and my husband don’t actually…’ Have sex, sleep in the same room, ever touch each other. ‘I’m not actually very interested in my husband.’ Ultra-prim tone as her nose turned up.
‘Me neither.’ The Dominatrix returned with a callous shrug. ‘But he still owes me for today.’
Was she fucking joking? She’s seriously asking for money now? ‘For today?!’
‘Yes.’ Stilenskova nodded decisively. ‘Plus money for next seven day’s key-keeping.’ Key-keeping? Did that mean he paid extra to wear the chastity cock-ring? Oh, for fuck’s sake!
‘Money for key-keeping?! Money for today?! Are you joking?’ Flames spluttering as the rage properly ignited. ‘We don’t have any fucking money. He re-mortgaged the house! That’s my house, too. Fifty-five thousand pounds! Is that how much he paid you: 55,000?’
The mistress shrugged. ‘Sounds about right.’
‘Fifty-five thousand pounds!’ About right?! Intense feelings of loss and betrayal – all that work and effort. ‘That was my money. Most of that was my fucking money! My hard work!’ Dawn curled her arms, pointing all her fingers towards her own heart – now beating like a war-drum. But the Dominatrix looked distinctly unimpressed… bored almost. ‘It wasn’t his money to spend. The fucking bastard! It was my money! And he spent it all… on you… on a fucking whore!’
That got Stilenskova’s attention. Furious eyes zeroing in. ‘A whore?! You are calling me a fucking whore.’ She loomed in closer. ‘I am not a whore. I’m a Dominatrix. Don’t ever call me fucking whore.’
An intimidating display, but Dawn was steaming rage – boiling words spilling out. ‘You… are a fucking whore!’
The mistress’ arm flicked up, open hand stinging a sharp slap across the face. Dawn span, ears ringing, spittle splatting sideways over her cheek. The attacker pounced forward, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling upwards viciously before pushing back down, shaking Dawn’s head as she raged.
‘You call me fucking whore. Snooty, little bitch! I show you difference between whore and Dominatrix.’ She yanked towards the curtains, hauling her victim along by the hair.
‘Get off me!’
Dawn tried to pull back, but her hair was being ripped out of her scalp. Dragged to stumble haplessly alongside her assailant, head at hip-height. The only way to change momentum was to drop. Knees banging on hard stone. But Dawn’s upper body was immediately wrenched vertical as the mistress spun, swung and struck a heavy forehand… palm smacking flat across the fresh cheek. The victim cried out and reeled. Violently heaved back to her feet as a solid knee thumped into her stomach. Knocking the all the air out and doubling her up to be dragged along again. Hip slamming into the doorframe as she was bundled inside the mistress’ lair.
The rectangular room was vast – about 12 meters wide and 20 meters long. Three of the walls completely sheeted in giant mirrors. The chamber illuminated by dozens of crimson candles standing on tall, iron candelabras. The ghostly reflections of the flames echoing in the surrounding dark glass. Obscure objects and pieces of furniture loomed and cluttered towards the edges of the chamber. Most of the items concealed under drapes, deliberately hidden… as if horrors waiting to be ceremoniously unveiled.
‘You can’t do this. Let me go!’ She protested frantically.
The mistress manoeuvred behind. Right hand twisting a scrunch of hair to hold Dawn’s head up. Left hand pinning the victim’s wrist and driving it up between her shoulder-blades – teasing the arm to breaking point. The attacker pressed forward, up the main aisle of the chamber, pushing her victim along in front. Dawn was dizzy with adrenaline – the world wobbling as it spun – a merry-go-round in a nightmare.
‘You can’t do this: this is assault!’
They turned off the aisle, moving behind a row of tall, cloaked objects and coming up to the mirror-wall. Dawn watched her horrified reflection manhandled into position a couple of meters from the glass. Eyes wet and ghost-wide, mouth gawping, cheeks flushed and damp with sweat. The touch of metal chinking against the top of her head – a chain, suspended from the rafters above.
‘Let me go!’ Her desperation escalating.
The mistress’ expression: as hard as a scrunched fist. Resolute movements as she grabbed something from a nearby surface, pulled Dawn’s arms together behind her back and then clapped a pair of handcuffs around the wrists. Oh shit! No! As her upper limbs were yanked vertical, the victim bent double with her back flattened horizontally. The cuffs were clipped onto a chain, fixing Dawn to the ceiling. Stilenskova moved swiftly, clamping a pair of ankle cuffs to lock the legs. Four tight, steel rings holding the victim in position, cruel metal snagging and winkling into joints and bones. A strained posture – bowed forward and teetering on her toes, with her buttocks plumped up in the air behind. A tumult of fear, rage, powerlessness and humiliation. The emotions kicking out of her skin as they fought inside.
‘How dare you.’ The sheer frustration sawing her in half.
‘Ha! You call me whore, you snooty, English bitch. Think you so fucking superior. Look down your nose at me.’ The mistress hooked two sharp fingernails inside her victim’s nostrils and wrenched, pulling the head up so Dawn could see her splayed snout in the mirror. ‘Stuck up little bitch!’ Stilenskova released her grip, turning to stalk off. The brisk slink of her hips rolling, so her perfect bauble-buttocks ground around one another under the tight leather.
‘No. Please…’ Dawn’s voice shrinking. The Dominatrix began removing drapes from the array of surrounding objects, revealing a line of three tall, standing mirrors. They faced the mirror-wall, with the victim in-between, so her pitiful reflection bounced back and forth to the infinities. ‘Please!’ The two women made eye-contact, through the glass, as the predator drew up behind. Her fingers slipping under the waist of Dawn’s beltless slacks… fists scrunching. ‘Oh God! Please! Don’t!’ A sharp yank and the trousers ripped apart. Hem tearing against the feminine flare of Dawn’s hips, fabric stripping away from the flesh. The adrenaline rocketing. Oh my God! The Mistress returned her claws to the lower back, pushing eight sharp fingernails into the soft flesh above the pantie-line. Then raking them down over the buttocks, scraping red lines and peeling the panties away.
Dawn gawped at the myriad reflections of her big, round, bare ass sticking up in the air behind. The humiliation was excruciating – ripping and scratching her insides. Could taste the gulp swelling her throat… and a little spike of moist tingling between her legs. She cringed her eyes closed. The Dominatrix inspected her prisoner’s nakedness, and then brought both arms down simultaneously – starred hands clapping Dawn’s buttocks with resounding gusto. A bright splash of pain. Stilenskova gave a low murmur of approval as she watched her client’s wife’s ass-cheeks tremor in the aftermath.
‘Please. I’m sorry… I’m sorry I called you a whore. I’m so sorry.’
Looming down and hissing with menace. ‘No. You not really sorry. Not yet…’
Click here to read the next blog in the ‘All the Mistress’ Money’ series.