This is part 6 of a 7-part series (click here to read the first blog in the series).
She wasn’t going to look in the mirror… not again. The sight of the bruising would only set her off. One shouldn’t just lie in bed and masturbate constantly for five days – so uncivilised. Don’t think about the mistress. Try to concentrate on something else. She should think about her husband… he’s always a massive turn-off. Dawn rolled over and snuggled a sly smile into her pillow. It’d been so much fun fucking with his head, these last few days. She hadn’t mentioned the Dominatrix at all. Had just been acting normal. Actually, not normal – she’d been acting nice! Totally chilled out about everything.
He was terrified, obviously. But he didn’t dare say anything. Just tried to keep his head down, wandering around haplessly, imagining the Sword of Damocles coming down, at any moment. She chuckled contentedly. Hadn’t enjoyed his company this much in years! After a couple of days, she’d brought it up, in an off-hand manner. Said she thought she saw him in West London the other day, but later realised it couldn’t have been him. And she didn’t sound as if she was probing. Just slipped it in, casual as can be – pollen drifting on the breeze. Made a joke about going crazy in her old age, then changed the subject. She wasn’t going crazy… but he was! She stifled more giggling into the pillow.
He looked so panicky and confused, desperately attempting to shelter behind his (shit) ‘I’m fine’ mask. Almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. Obviously he deserved to be punished for spending £55,000 on a Dominatrix (most of which had been earned by his wife). But Dawn wasn’t angry anymore… genuinely. Had been in such a blissfully happy mood – floating around serenely. Hadn’t felt this relaxed in years. For once, she wasn’t anxious about anything – not her marriage, her work, her money. Last week, she’d spent both work-from-home days puckering her bruised ass into the mirror and masturbating relentlessly. She didn’t feel remotely guilty about it. Even decided to take the whole coming week as annual leave. It would be fine – the office would just have to cope without her.
Impossible to be wrathful when you’re this happy. And there were a number of rational reasons her anger had been assuaged. Significantly, she’d discovered that there was scope to cash more money out of the mortgage, so she’d forged her husband’s signature and withdrawn the maximum allowed: £95,000. She’d resuscitated a personal bank account and put all the money in there. And she’d redirected her wages to be paid into her personal account, so he was the only one paying into the joint account now.
Everything made her smile. What would he do when he found out? Would he dare mention it? She recalled that line he once used: ‘I just don’t like talking about “things” as much as you.’ She sniggered again. He might never be brave enough to broach the subject. What would she say if he did? Maybe she’d just be honest and tell him what’d happened? Hadn’t decided the best approach yet. It didn’t really matter. Her husband didn’t interest her anyway.
Only one person interested her at the moment. Mind flooding with the image of Mistress Stilenskova: wearing tight leathers and posing with hand on hip. Dawn trembled with titillation, imagining the Dominatrix’s tough expression and brutal voice – so beautifully evil! She truly deserved all the rewards her cruelty reaped. Dawn scrambled out of bed and rushed to the mirror. The reflection of a sexy, middle-aged brunette – womanly curves swelling out of her tight, silk nightie.
She turned around, flicked the dress up and pulled down her panties. Staring over her shoulder to inspect her behind with enthusiastic pride. After five days, the bruising had calmed, but was still beautiful. The hues had mottled pink and red, rose and plum, lavender and violet, blueberry and blackberry – all tasted just as juicy and sweet. Her whole body quivered on wilting knees as she tickled her fingers around her clit. Delicious memories of the leather-clad Dominatrix whipping her ass with the bamboo stick. Dawn’s agonising scream as the cane struck so hard the wood snapped. Mistress Stilenskova ignoring desperate pleas for mercy and simply drawing another cane, cutting the air once, and then ruthlessly continuing the assault – expression cold as cut ice.
Dawn swooned into a stumble, barely able to stand. The mistress was so severe and resolute… so unbelievably sexy. And it was so erotic when she ordered Dawn to clean up afterwards – put her to work with a bottle of cleaning spray and a little cloth. Sneaking glimpses of herself, in the mirror-wall, as she scrubbed her own sweat and tears from the floor below the cuffs. She loved the servitude. The refreshing buzz of serenity: better than Buddha. Especially intimate to polish the sex toys that had been used to torture her… whilst the Dominatrix relaxed with a cigarette. Dawn had asked whether she’d be allowed to clean Mistress Stilenskova’s boots. Such a bone-spangling thrill to make that humiliating request. Every time she recalled that treasured memory, powerful after-tremors of titillation shuddered through her body. And the mistress had magnanimously let her do it!
After conscientiously polishing Stilenskova’s black stilettoes, Dawn had been told it was ‘time to fuck off, now.’ She’d had to ask to borrow some clothes, given that the Dominatrix had destroyed the ones she came in. The mistress had smiled and beckoned her submissive over to the ‘fancy-dress’ trunk. Gracefully kicking it open with her long heel and proceeding to pick out some clothes: a short, pink skirt and a boob-tube. So Dawn went home dressed like a whore. OMG! The inglorious humiliation! That’ll teach her to be such a ‘snooty, little bitch’. Rejoicing to remember what it felt like being insulted in the mistress’ tough, Slavic voice.
Dawn rushed over to the bed, almost tripping on her pantie-manacles, before kicking them off and leaping onto the mattress. She rolled onto her back and pushed her hands down her belly to tickle her clit. She closed her eyes and saw the Mistress’ smug, red smile. The adrenaline trilled as Dawn imagined what might happen at her appointment tomorrow…