Monday, August 27, 2012


Welcome to my newest story.  This is going to be something of an experiment for me, as I'm going to write this as it needs to be written every week, and not work it as I would my other projects.  It'll be interesting, if nothing else.

That said, this is always a first draft, and if I missed something in editing, don't beat me up too bad.  Remember:  you get what you pay for.


Part Five

I was now Martha's mistress, for better or worse.  It seemed she didn't care about my performance, because over the next three weeks of dom/sub bonding, she professed her love for all I did.  Or was it for me?  She said it was for what I did to her, but sometimes I thought otherwise . . .

I had her come over for that first weekend, which surprised her.  Weekend play was something that didn't occur that often, I gathered, so when I made the offer, Martha didn't refuse.  She must have thought it was going to be all whips and kneeling and . . . well, whatever the hell it was people in "The Life" did when they were together.

I was a novice: I had no experience with the things these people did for entertainment.  So I had to learn--fast. And having Martha around for an extended period of time would help.

Or expose me for the fraud I was.

Mostly what I did was give Martha directions--excuse me, "orders"--and she would follow--excuse me, "obey". As a somewhat manager of my own department before becoming a full-time director of so much more, I knew the difference between barking out orders like a dictator, and issuing orders in such a way that a person doesn't mind doing what you demand.  That was how I treated Martha:  I worked with her in such a way that when I told her to lick the kitchen floor clean, she would relish the task.

Something told me, though, that she would have done that without too much prodding.  I was also under the impression that she held a great number of feelings for me, for Olivia.  It was possible: Olivia had run our division for the last three years, and Martha had worked next to me almost as long.  Assume they'd had a year working together before they discovered they shared a mutual . . . interest . . . which would leave two years for them to develop that interest.

If Martha knew I was different, she didn't let on.  She never showed any puzzlement when I gave her orders, or had her dress me in appropriate wear, or when we even shared a moment together, with her at my feet, and me petting and caressing her, speaking approvingly of her all the while.

Being together in bed would be something entirely different.

Even there, Martha didn't indicate there was anything amiss in this relationship.  Friday night had been easy:  I got up from the sofa and said, "Come with me," and off to the bedroom we went.  I was worried, though--just a little.  My sexual experience with women had been a few nights before, but that night . . . Martha had awakened something inside, and though I was afraid I might flinch, or react badly to something she'd do--or something I might not be able to do--or any number of things that would give up the game; as we disrobed, I felt strangely at ease with her.

We stood facing each other, both naked, and she smiled as I lightly touched her arms, her chest, her neck . . . her breasts.  I'd never realized how soft a woman's skin was, particularly under my soft, moisturized fingertips. Silk on silk, smoothly gliding over each other.  It was an incredible sensation, and Martha was responding to my ministrations in ways far differently that any man I've touched--

The deep blush to her face, visible even in the darkness of the bedroom.  The quivering in her hands and knees.  The light sheen of perspiration just under the curve of her breasts.  The misty glint in her eyes . . . that was one I cherished.

When I'd been with men, and touched them, there hadn't seem to be any concern but rather a look of bored detachment as they waited for me to "get to the business," so to speak.  And when I did get to touching them right where they wanted, they didn't look upon me like a lover with whom they were pleased, but rather a pet that was doing something good.  Half the time I expected to be given a biscuit once I had finished.

Martha's responses were real, heartfelt, genuine.  Every little thing I did for and to her caused her body to react a certain way, for her to feel a certain way, all working in turn with her emotions.  It was a whole different world of love making--though I wondered if she thought of this as "making love," or more along the line that we were going to fuck, and fuck hard, as had happened the other night.

She uttered a soft moan.  "The way you're touching me . . ."  Martha's eyes were half closed as she exhaled slowly between pursed lips.  "So much different than other times, Mistress."

So I am doing things a bit differently, I thought.  "Please, Martha . . ."  I know I was breaking convention here, but I needed to hear something besides titles.  "Call me Olivia."

This opened her eyes, and I expected that.  "Are you--?"  Martha was very confused:  addressing me on a first-name basis was something she obviously hadn't done in years.  "You want this, Mistress?"

I mustered my best 'mistress voice,' without letting my tone break the mood.  "If you call me 'Mistress' again tonight, I'll make you sleep at the foot of the bed."  I smiled as I spoke, letting her see that I wasn't angry.  "That's an order, my lovely sex toy."

That last perked her right up.  "Oh, thank you . . . Olivia."  She reached out to me, touching me lightly, pulling me closer.  "You're so different tonight.  Work getting better?" she whispered.

Yes, it was.  I was dealing with far fewer questions about an employee who tried to commit suicide, and I was dealing with a co-worker who was my personal submissive--

Martha's right hand slid down my side, stopping only when she reached the swell of my hip.  "I feel different as well.  It's having to take over so much--"  She was doing some of the work I used to do in the lab, and I knew she was struggling a little with the responsibility.

"You're doing fine."  I ran the tips of my nails over her cheek.  "You're going to be up to speed in no time."

"But, I--"

"Hush."  I leaned in and kissed her, softly, our lips barely touching, yet making a connection that hadn't been there before.  "This isn't work; there's no talk of business here."  I looked into her eyes.  "There's just us."

Yes, that was that:  no talk of business, no feeling as if we were clumsy with each other, no need to worry if one or the other wasn't acting too differently--

There was just love.  Between us.

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1 comment:

  1. I am enjoying this story and this is my honest opinion, no bias.

    I like the way you describe the intimacy and the way you profile the female character, not many men can write about a woman the way you do.