Mistress Extreme Page 4

  Matthew had introduced him to David six months before, something for which David had come to be extremely grateful. That was because the financier had ended up buying David’s thriving specialist IT company in a win-win situation for both of them that had left David in the enviable situation in his mid 30s of never needing to work for a living again as long as he was reasonably sensible with his money.

  As to the other guests at Matthew’s dinner party: There was an attractive brunette in her early 20s, her short hair cut fashionably dishevelled and spiky, who claimed to be gay but who kept shooting David the hottest looks. There was a ruggedly handsome television actor, with a huge female fan base, who was actually gay and who’d once seduced the bisexual Matthew. There was a quietly spoken male novelist with strangely simian good-looks, who wrote highly imaginative erotic fiction for pleasure and clichéd potboilers for money. And there was Isabella Stern.

  Caroline hadn’t met any of the other guests before but she did know Isabella – because Caroline worked for her. Isabella was Caroline’s ultimate boss given that she and her husband, Alan Stern, owned the whole chain of La Fetishista stores. These kinky but classy establishments were evidently an idea whose time had come, catering very effectively for a growing niche market. It was one that the Sterns understood extremely well as it very much reflected their own sexual tastes.

  The first of the stores had been opened in Brighton seven years ago. Others had been opened in many other cities in the UK subsequently, making a mint for the couple in the process, and expansion into the United States in the near future was very much in the offing. Internet sales were going from strength to strength too and all-in-all the business was booming. The Sterns owned a fine Regency home in Brighton, a big house in the country and a glamorous villa in Italy, all purchased by them with just some of the proceeds of their highly successful enterprise.

  Isabella, who was unaccompanied by her husband or anyone else for that matter on this occasion, was the last to arrive at the dinner party. But what an arrival! She didn’t so much walk into the room as slink in like a panther. David had never seen a woman move like that or have that kind of electrifying presence. She seemed predatory, as if she was on the prowl, and she made an instant and dramatic impact on him. As soon as David laid eyes on her, he felt a surge of excitement run through him and his heart started racing, the hairs on his arms stood up. His cock tried to stand up too, straining against his pants.

  Isabella took the seat opposite David at the table, sat back and ran her fingers through her lustrous black hair. She arched her eyebrows and looked back at him with deeply disdainful eyes, looked at him as if he was the lowest of the low. It made his erection throb. Why did that look make him feel so sexually excited? It was because it said something else as well: it said that she lusted after him because he was such a lowly creature. No woman had ever looked at him that way before and he found to his amazement that it turned him on immensely. David tried to get a grip on his emotions and to control his sexual excitement. He looked away from Isabella for a moment, took a deep breath to regain his composure, and then looked back. She was no longer looking in his direction.

  The dinner party went by for David in something of a blur after that. The food was good, the wine was good, the talk around him lively and animated. The unconvincing lesbian continued to give him the eye while making conversation with both the model and the writer who were seated on either side of her at the table. As for Isabella, she took no further notice of David whatsoever. She studiously ignored him throughout the meal, seemed to talk to everyone but him. It wasn’t until the end of the evening that she handed him her card, taking his in return, and told him, out of the earshot of anyone else, to wait for her call. David had thought of that as a one-off “instruction” at the time. He had no idea at all that it was to become a complete way of life.

  Chapter Seven

  Those words uttered by Isabella immediately after she’d tortured David to orgasm and then made him lick up and swallow his own ejaculate echoed through his mind again and again and every time they did it filled him with the utmost delight. She was his Mistress, she’d told him that with her own lips, and he was her slave, she’d told him that too. And she’d proved it to him. She’d marked his body to prove that she was his Mistress and he was her slave. The weals and bruises left on his back and rear were fading with each passing day, but they still retained a residual tingling sensation of pain, which aroused him and brought the memory of her back to him. David concentrated on the pain as it wore off, it connected him to Isabella. He missed it when it finally disappeared altogether and she still hadn’t called.

  David hadn’t heard from Isabella in weeks, disappointingly but all too predictably. She hadn’t phoned and told him she was going to come to him; she hadn’t sent for him either or anything else. His life once again was reduced to waiting and wanking. David masturbated as he remembered Isabella ramming her big strap-on dildo into him. He remembered how she’d forced it into his tight anus, vigorously plunging it in and out as she buggered and jacked him to climax. He jacked away and climaxed again, remembering it. David masturbated as he remembered how Isabella had squeezed his nipples and poured hot wax on his body before masturbating him to orgasm in that plush hotel room. He masturbated to orgasm, remembering it all, every second of it. He remembered how viciously Isabella had whipped him the last time she’d seen him, viciously enough to make him come. He stroked his cock as he brought that whipping to mind for the umpteenth time, and he came again for the umpteenth time too. David remembered how Isabella had put her mark on him by beating him in this savage way before telling him that he must always call her “Mistress”, always obey her instructions to the letter because he was her “slave”.

  His mind kept spooling out those scenes as in an S&M movie, one kinky frame after another as he wanked and wanked. But memories and masturbation weren’t enough. He wanted her to take out her sadistic frenzy on him again and to go even further this time.

  So, phone, Isabella. Please, please phone.

  Eventually she did, she phoned. ‘Be outside La Fetishista at half past five this afternoon,’ she said. Then the call terminated.

  David had time to kill before 5:30 – not a huge amount but enough – and decided to take a circuitous route to his destination, going by foot. He didn’t want to risk taking the car anyway, not after what had happened the last time. David left his house, and walked in a westward direction, zigzagging through familiar side streets before dropping down to the seafront. He crossed over the busy dual carriageway, then walked across the lawns and hit the promenade.

  He paused for a moment and looked out beyond the shingle beach at the broad expanse of the sea, its waves slowly ebbing and flowing. Above him gulls soared, swooped and cried out in a sky that was bright blue and almost cloudless. David breathed in the sea air, tasting the tang of salt on his lips.

  He began to walk eastwards along the promenade, and as he did he thought about his best friend Matthew. Before Matthew had invited him to his dinner party David hadn’t heard from him for ages and it had been the same since then, no contact at all. But that was nothing new. It was the way it had been for years between the two friends, who’d known one another since schooldays. But, as is so often the case with really good friends, whenever they did get together they picked up right where they’d left off, like it had been only yesterday since they’d last met.

  David would have liked to have confided in Matthew about his relationship with Isabella. He’d have liked to have explained to him how irresistibly drawn he’d been to her from the very first moment he’d seen her at his dinner party, and what a delight it was to now be her slave; that’s right, Matthew, you heard me correctly: her slave.

  David would have liked to have explained to Matthew that he worshipped Isabella, wanted nothing more than to bow down before her and take whatever punishment she chose to dish out to him. He’d have liked to have explained to his friend that this magnificent woma
n – sadistic Goddess that she was – had managed to transform him into a degraded and submissive creature, willing to obey her every perverted command. He’d have liked to have explained to him too what utter joy it brought him to be such a lowly creature. He’d have liked to have explained to Matthew how it felt to give himself to his cruel Mistress in this way, what it was like to surrender to her totally, to submit to her, to forget about everything except trying to be worthy of her.

  But how could one explain such things? I mean how, realistically? He couldn’t talk to Matthew that way. His friend simply wouldn’t understand; nobody would. If he tried to have such a conversation with Matthew, he would think he’d lost his mind, taken leave of his senses completely. No, it was a crying shame but he couldn’t confide in his best friend about all this. Or could he? After all, Matthew was a very open minded person and had always been completely up-front about his own bisexuality. He was also currently living with a woman who managed a fetish store, for God’s sake – the very store David himself would be visiting in about half an hour. She’d be there too presumably and would doubtless report back to Matthew on whatever she observed. So, David concluded, all this agonizing on his part over whether or not to confide in Matthew could well prove to be entirely academic.

  David stopped and gazed out to sea again for a short time, at the sad rusting spars rising from the Channel, which were all that remained of the West Pier. It was less sunny now, starting to cloud over, and the wind was picking up. David glanced at his watch, confirming that he was still in good time for his appointment with Isabella, and resumed his walk. As he strode along the promenade he looked at the people around him: a mash-up of straight and gay, students, couples, groups of friends, the usual spill of tourists. David felt alone amidst the throng. He’d never felt so apart. None of these people could have known the things Isabella had inflicted on him. Nobody had ever treated them the way she treated him. They’d never felt this desire, this pleasure of belonging, of giving themselves, submitting themselves entirely to someone as powerful and sadistic as her.

  David saw the handsome façade of the Old Ship Hotel coming up on his left. He mounted the steps to the upper promenade and crossed the dual carriageway. He made his way through the beating downtown heart of the city, through the narrow passages and cobbled streets that made up the Old Lanes where all the antique dealers were centred. David was nearly at the La Fetishista store now. It was on the edge of the North Lanes district of Brighton, an area filled with trendy shops and restaurants and tiny terraced houses fronting directly on to the street. A blustery wind was blowing and the sky had clouded right over now. Seagulls wailed and shrieked and circled overhead.

  David stood outside the dark-windowed store that was the Brighton branch of La Fetishista. He was on time. Of course he was on time. And feeling incredibly nervous. His mouth was dry and his skin felt moist and clammy. He told himself to get a grip and took several deep breaths to try and calm himself down. It was a little after 5:30 now but there was no sign of Isabella yet.

  5:35, 5:40, 5:45 and still no Isabella. Christ, David thought, the place shuts at six. He stood there in front of the store waiting, waiting. He lowered his eyes and looked down at the pavement. When he looked up he saw Isabella. She was approaching him, just a few feet away, looking fabulous in black leather: a short figure-hugging dress and high stiletto-heeled boots that were polished to a fine shine.

  ‘Come,’ Isabella said, gesturing in the direction of the entrance door to La Fetishista. Forget about hello-how-are-you or anything like that.

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ David said and they went in.

  ‘Caroline’s not here,’ Isabella said. ‘She’s at a meeting at our head office, which started late and isn’t expected to finish until mid-evening.’ David wondered if that was deliberate. Was there some reason Isabella didn’t want Caroline – and Matthew – to know about the way things were between them? He hadn’t been sure whether or not he would be able to confide in Matthew about his relationship with Isabella. Maybe she didn’t want him to know about it. There was a thought.

  David’s eyes travelled around the store, which had black softly-lit walls, and was full of BDSM gear. He could see whips, crops, handcuffs, clamps, various items of rubber and leather fetish wear, masks, collars, reels of bondage tape, a variety of bamboo canes, an assortment of butt plugs, harnesses, leads, body bags ...

  A small handful of people were in the store, looking at the products. There was one assistant on duty, a slim dark-haired girl in a red rubber mini dress that was so tight it looked as if it had been sprayed on. David thought that she couldn’t conceivably have had any underwear on underneath it. Her eyes, brown with a hint of green, were large and wide-spread and she had broad, high cheekbones. She greeted Isabella with deference, clearly well aware of who she was.

  Isabella fingered several black leather items before picking out a slave’s collar, wrist and ankle cuffs, and a cock corset. ‘I’d like my slave to try these on,’ she said.

  ‘Certainly, Mrs. Stern,’ the assistant replied, her tone as deferential as it had been before. ‘All the fitting rooms are free at the moment.’

  ‘We also need a chained collar with a padlock and key, a large black silicone butt plug, a black leather g-string, a steel genital ring, and a set of single-chain clover clamps,’ she said. ‘Pick them out, will you please.’

  ‘I’ll do it straight away, Mrs. Stern,’ the assistant replied and immediately began selecting the items.

  The fitting rooms were at the back of the store and Isabella strode towards them, with David following close behind. His cock began to swell as she pulled the curtain shut behind them both. He undressed in front of Isabella, his pulse racing, and by the time he was naked he was displaying a raging hard-on. The mirrors all around the wall reflected every part of his body, which aroused him even more. David put on the wrist and ankle cuffs, then the chained collar and finally the cock corset, which he buckled tightly into place over his erection, leaving its bulbous head exposed. Isabella looked him up and down appraisingly, running her eyes over his fine body. ‘You look good, slave,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ David replied, smiling. It was the first time she had ever said anything remotely complimentary to him and he bathed in the glow of these few brief words of approval from her.

  Then the assistant’s voice came from behind the curtain, telling Isabella that she had now closed the store. They were the only ones there.

  ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ Isabella replied. ‘I am going to take my slave downstairs now.’

  David was highly intrigued, highly excited too. His skin was tingling, his heart pounding, his leather-corseted erection throbbing. What was downstairs? He would soon find out. They left the fitting room and descended some stairs into the basement area, which was decked out as a sort of retail dungeon. All the equipment – the St. Andrews cross, the horse, the metal cage, the whipping bench, the suspension machine, the two winched chains hanging from the ceiling – ­had its price indicated to one side of it. The walls with the exception of one, which contained a wooden rack lined with whips, paddles and other disciplinary implements, again all priced, were mirrored to increase the sense of space on this floor of the sales area.

  Isabella motioned for David to stand next to the chains hanging from the ceiling. ‘Put your hands together in front of you,’ she ordered. He joined his hands in front of him and she clipped his wrist cuffs together by means of a metal trigger clip and then attached them with another clip to the end of one of the chains, which she winched up so that his hands were held above his head. The chain held firm and Isabella pronounced herself satisfied with this piece of equipment.

  ‘Put your legs together,’ she then instructed.

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ David replied and when he’d done this Isabella used a trigger clip to attach his ankle cuffs one to the other.

  ‘I think I’ll quality test one of my other items of merchandise,’ Isabella said
next, picking out a heavy leather flogger from the display rack – and losing no time at all in putting it to use. She brought the whip down swiftly onto David’s backside. The pain was intense, the leather penetrating his skin like a rapier. He could not hold back his cry of pain. She brought the flogger down again, sharper and harder still, and he cried out once more.

  ‘Silence, slave,’ Isabella rasped as she brought down the flogger once again with even more vigour, and he duly obeyed, crying out inside instead. David’s eyes blurred with tears of pain as Isabella continued to beat him, the blows succeeding one another with ever increasing violence.

  And then David entered the zone, started to scream inside his head in pain, or pleasure, he didn’t know which it was. He was desperate for Isabella to stop beating him and he was desperate for her to go on.

  David became acutely conscious of the mirror in front of him, the one behind and the one at the side of him too. He saw his arched back reflected in the glass; saw his lacerated backside as Isabella continued to rain down blow after vicious blow with the heavy leather flogger. He saw his anguished face, his tear-filled eyes, saw his cock straining against its tight leather corset, its mushroom-shaped head purple and wet and drizzling precome constantly.

  David was both terrified and immensely excited by the sight of his naked, lacerated body, by the sight of Isabella, her expression the very personification of cruelty, whipping and whipping him with such fury. He wanted to beg her to show him mercy, he was in so much agony. But if he did that she might stop beating him. And David didn’t want that to happen because when Isabella was beating him it meant that he deserved her. She was showing him that he deserved her by beating him and he was showing her that he deserved her by taking his beating like a good slave.

  Each of Isabella’s savage blows was showing David that she thought he deserved her and he was immensely grateful to her for it and wanted to show that gratitude. So he wouldn’t beg her for mercy, he wouldn’t. But it hurt so fucking much. The pain was intense. So was the pleasure. He was in agony that was also ecstasy.