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HEY, IT’S A
JOB.
Part One:
As I start writing this account I do so knowing that I shall never finish it. However because of a very interesting and nasty situation that developed a month ago, I know that it will be completed and published, as that is part of the arrangement I made with the other person involved.
Sound confusing? Well it probably is so let me explain. As you read my part of the article please do not feel sorry for me. Quite the reverse, I want you to sense or even feel the vicarious thrill that is coursing through my body as I write these few sentences, knowing what is to come.
My name is Derek and I live in, well, perhaps it is better that we keep the town and a few other pertinent facts out of this for the protection of the woman whose ‘name’ will appear shortly.
Bad news. About six months ago I wasn’t feeling too good and went to see my doctor. I could tell he was more than a little concerned and when he told me to go see a well-known oncologist the next day I knew things weren’t that good. After a few invasive tests and a very stressful ten days of waiting, I got the news. A late-stage terminal cancer, inoperable even if I had seen the specialist six months before when I first started feeling not so good. More bad news. This would not be an easy passing to the other side (whatever that might mean) and my condition would deteriorate rapidly to the point where I would be unable to do anything except await the inevitable, totally unable to do a thing for myself. The only good news was that I had the best health insurance possible so there were no worries about paying the huge bills that would show up on a regular basis.
At one time I was married but my wife, Sally, took a fancy to an insurance broker (ironically the one who wrote all my various policies) and left me about six years ago. There were no kids and I just sort of slid into a life of eating, drinking, partying and, oh yes my weakness (that probably had something to do with my divorce) occasional, no make that frequent, trips to a variety of pro-dominatrixes within a 250 mile radius of here. Well, even after my wife left me and got her settlement I was still worth a few million bucks thanks to getting out of the dotcom market just before the crash, so the cost didn’t hurt me and certainly bought me the best Dommes.
Anyway, with not much life left to live I had better get on with this article.
Once I started to noticeably deteriorate the various Dommes I visited became reluctant to beat the crap out of me and act out all the other (very) kinky scenes that I particularly enjoyed and paid through the nose for. So for over a month now I have been sitting and laying around my house remembering the “good and painful” times and getting thoroughly depressed. I kept phoning one of my favorites – Madame G. Showers (guess her specialty) pleading for just one more visit. In spite of my heartfelt pleas she wouldn’t oblige but, probably just to get rid of me, did give me the phone number of a “professional associate” of hers who, to quote Madame ‘did absolutely anything for a fee and would really enjoy a pain and humiliation session with a true and totally committed fucking masochist like you’. Obviously Madame detected the excitement in my voice and cautioned me that Mistress XS had been around the block a few times and had a few issues that affected her work.
Well, I have a pretty significant issue of my own to deal with so that hers didn’t seem to be a reason for any caution. She gave me a number to call and told me just to leave my phone number and say nothing else. That seemed a bit strange at the time but, hey, I was desperate and would do anything to get at least one more painful session with a Bitch Mistress. I wanted to die covered in welts and bruises – that way I knew I would die happy. I made the call and followed Madame’s instructions. Nothing happened for about five days and I was beginning to give up hope but at about supper time on the fifth day my phone rang and I picked it up. I said hello and, before I could say another word a woman, who I quickly realized was Mistress XS made her pitch.
“A friend of mine told me you would call. You did and I know what you want. Give me your address and I will be round in an hour to check you out.”
She sounded quite ominous but I dutifully gave her my address and sat back to await her arrival. Although in a lot of pain by this time I could detect the familiar feelings in my cock – the eager anticipation of being at the mercy of a beautiful dominatrix, ready to do her bidding no matter what she demanded. Two and a half hours later I saw the lights of a car pull into my driveway and heard a door slam. The doorbell rang and, with a certain amount of difficulty I got up, turned on the porch light and opened my front door. To say I was shocked by what I saw would be an understatement. Instead of your typical tall, hard but good-looking 30 year-old Domme standing there I saw a big-titted, big-assed, but still quite good looking (in a dominating sort of way) overweight woman of about 45 – 50 years of age, resting on a cane. She certainly did not look like your typical Domme and my surprise quickly registered with her. She told me to “get out of the fucking doorway and let me in”. Dumbfounded, I did so and she walked into the house favoring her left side. She was wearing a cheap red see-through plastic raincoat over a black nylon tracksuit, the pants tucked into red ankle boots with stiletto heels – a strange looking outfit and not the best footwear for a woman walking with a cane.
“Take my coat and get me a beer,” she demanded. She dropped her cane to the floor and I took her raincoat and hung it in the hallway closet. I had a few Heinekens in the fridge, so I got a couple out, took the caps off, picked up a couple of glasses and went back into the living room. Sitting on the sofa now she had put on a pair of thin latex surgical gloves, kicked her boots off and was busy rubbing her feet when I returned. Before I could pour the beer into the glass she said, “forget that crap – you’re wasting time, just gimme the beer”. She chugged the entire bottle in one go and held out her hand for the beer I was just about to drink. “Gimme that one too”.
I noticed that I was getting quite aroused by this rather crude woman but didn’t have much opportunity to think about it for long, as her next command was to get on the floor and massage her feet. That was followed by an order to suck her toes. Well, along with all my other quirks I had a rampant foot-fetish and the fact that her feet smelled like they hadn’t been washed for a couple of days just made it so much better.
Eventually I was ordered to stop and told to remain kneeling with my eyes lowered to the floor.
“Tonight’s introductory session will cost you $500 and if I decide further abuse is warranted it will be $500 an hour, minimum $1,000 per session. If that sounds like a lot of money well, too bad. I only deal with clients the other Dommes don’t want for whatever reason and that puts my price up. I’m told that you are dying. No problem. I’m dying too but that need not bother you, as you’ll be dead long before me. That’s the deal. Yes or no?”
By this time I was utterly intrigued and confirmed the arrangement deal without even pausing. Habitually, I had always kept a few thousand bucks in the house as none of my dominatrix friends would ever think of taking a check. So, I had plenty of money to cover this and any further sessions with this rather frightening but, nevertheless intriguing and even, in a perverse sort of way, exciting woman. She told me to get her another two beers and then to take my clothes off. As I removed my clothes she chugged the next two beers. Letting out a most unladylike belch after each bottle. Heineken was never brewed to be treated in that way!
She ordered me to my bathroom and told me to lay in the bath. A few minutes later she came in having removed all her clothes (except for the latex gloves). Her body had a well-worn look with big, saggy breasts and a bit of a spare tire around the midriff. Her pubic hair was long and wiry and I couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t bothered to shave her armpits. She also had a huge ass that quivered like jello when she walked. There appeared to be blotches or bruises in various places on her torso and clear indications of frequent needles in her arms. All she brought in to the bathroom with her was the red plastic belt from her raincoat and her cane. She ordered me to lay flat in the bath with my head on the bottom and my feet up by the faucet. Rather unceremoniously she grabbed them and quickly tied the belt around my ankles and to the faucet, tight enough to prevent me moving them at all. Although the reason for her cane was obvious and she walked with a bit of a limp, she managed to climb into the bath and straddle me with her feet on either side of my neck. She leant back against the wall and told me to open my mouth. I knew what was coming and my cock reacted accordingly by standing to attention. Moments later her warm flow splashed against my face and I automatically shut my mouth. I felt her foot kick the side of my head. “Open your fucking mouth and, in future, do as you are fucking well told,” she said. Her extreme dominant nature triggered my most subservient and masochistic tendencies and I did as I was told. Another burst of her warm golden piss hit me on the face and, this time, I held my mouth open, swallowing frequently to avoid choking. Her piss just kept coming and coming and, being philosophical about it, I thought well, at least I was getting back some of my four Heinekens she had drunk in short order soon after she arrived.
When she was finished she got out of the bath, turned around and immediately got back in, this time kneeling on my stomach. She slowly spread her legs bringing her cunt right over my face. “Lick me clean” she ordered and I readily complied. Earlier I had thought she hadn’t washed her feet for a couple of days well, the same could be said for her cunt. It smelled more than a little pungent but I carried out her order making sure to get my tongue deep into all her nooks and crannies. It was not a task most people would relish but ideal for a masochist, particularly one who had been denied any pleasure for well over a month and whose time was rapidly running out. My cock rose to attention and started throbbing with pleasure. She must of sensed that because the next thing I knew she was slapping it hard, first with her hand and then with the tip of her cane. “Don’t you fucking get smart with me” she screamed and, for good measure, squeezed my balls hard enough to crush them. I opened my mouth to yelp in but she came down on top of me again and both my mouth and nose were covered by her huge hairy mound.
“That’s enough for tonight” she said and got out of the bath, this time with some difficulty. She caned me across the tops of my legs making me scream out in pain and her obvious enjoyment was shown by her laugh that verged on a witches cackle. Then she pulled the shower curtain across and turned on the cold water, telling me to stay there until she came back. About half an hour later she returned, fully dressed and turned off the shower. Untying my ankles she ordered me to get out of the bath. I was shaking like a leaf from the cold and perhaps from the look on her face. She reached down and grabbed my scrotum. It was only then that I saw she had a large safety pin in her hand. Without a word she pushed the sharp point through one side of the loose area of my scrotum and out the other side then fastened it. She did it so quickly that before I could even react with a scream her hand was over my mouth and her face was inches from mine.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night and I expect the pin to still be there or you will be in deep shit”. With that she turned around and left the bathroom, picking up her cane on the way. I grabbed a bath towel and headed back downstairs to the living room to try and warm myself up A few moments later I heard her car back-out of the driveway and she was gone.
Part Two:
True to her word she showed up at about
She was wearing the same black nylon tracksuit and, tonight, her pants were tucked into above-the-knee black patent leather boots. Again the heels were at least 4 inches and clearly made it difficult for her to walk, even with her cane. Appearances are everything aren’t they? She sat on the same sofa and ordered me to remove her boots. She took a bag of KFC from her doctor’s bag and pulled out a chicken breast.
“Massage my feet for me while I eat my dinner” she almost barked at me with a staccato voice” I complied immediately, noticing that they were hot and sweaty. After about fifteen minutes of this she ordered me to lick her feet and suck her toes. I don’t know what she had been doing that day but her feet were sure grubby and smelled worse than the day before. While she ate her dinner I performed the tasks she had given me and, again felt my lower brain come to full attention inside my jeans. Anticipating her demands I had already brought a six-pack of Bud Lite into the living room, ready for her consumption.
“Get rid of that cat’s piss and bring me some real beer,” she screamed at the top of her voice.
I should mention that my house sits on its own on the
outskirts of town on just over one acre. Between it and the nearest house is a
self-storage place, that shuts at
I was now licking her inside thighs and, without any warning she smashed me across the back of the head with her hand and told me to get licking her cunt and bring her to an orgasm. What’s the old saying? ‘Once you get past the smell you’ve got it licked’. Well, I licked her feverishly alternating with slow and rapid probes of my tongue and I could sense that she was well on her way to an orgasm as her labia swelled and started throbbing. She grabbed my hair and pulled my face away. I did not try to look at her as I had remembered that such an act was forbidden without her express approval. She rolled herself over and ordered me to lick her ass. Given my experience with the front orifice I did not expect an easy ride on this one and, sure enough, it smelled worse and I could clearly see a couple of ‘skid marks’ that I would obviously have to clean up. I had licked many mistresses asses before but never one that had purposely not been wiped carefully. This was turning into quite an ordeal but, being the good masochist that I am I managed to get it all cleaned up, skid marks and all. The taste was revolting but I had crossed yet another submissive frontier asd my end reapidly approached. Once that was done to her satisfaction she reverted to her former position and told me that I had fifteen minutes to bring her off or she would beat the shit out of me for a full hour. I knew that I was pretty good at the old cunnilingus game and, to be truthful I think that my wife would have left me a lot sooner had it not been for my skill in that area. Many other women had raved about my skills so I knew I was good. However, try as I might, and I sure did try very hard, I could get Mistress XS very close to an orgasm but never quite all the way there. In that position I couldn’t see the clock but I know it was a lot longer than a quarter of an hour when she finally ordered me to stop. “Look at me” she screamed.” Her face was contorted with rage and she was almost frothing at the mouth. “I told you fifteen minutes and I gave you twenty-five. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I am truly sorry Mistress – I’ve never had this problem before”
“So it’s my fault is it? Is that what you are saying”
“No Mistress, but I think my illness and my pain is preventing me from servicing you properly”
“Well, I don’t give a fuck about your illness and your pain, wimp. You’re going to wish you were already dead by the time I have finished with you!”
She then instructed me to remove my pants and underpants while standing right in front of her. The safety pin was where she had left it last night with just a little congealed blood around each point of entry and exit from the scrotum. From her bag of tricks she brought out some cylindrical objects and their purpose became quite clear. She hooked one onto the safety pin and instructed me to walk around the room on my hands and knees. That accomplished she added another weight to the bottom of the first one and I had to repeat the crawl around the room. By the time she had added the fourth cylindrical weight I had started to bleed where the pin was pulling on my skin. I mentioned this to Mistress and she screamed a rebuke at me “Don’t you dare fucking talk to me like that. You will not speak unless spoken to!” With that, totally oblivious to the pain and the bleeding she added two more weights and, as I made my way round the room this time, she followed behind me and lashed me hard across the back with her cane. It was nothing less than sheer agony. When I returned to my position in front of the sofa, still on my hands and knees, blood was dripping from my scrotum onto the off-white pile carpet and I could feel the welts developing all across my back. “Don’t complain to me about the bleeding you fucking useless wimp. We women bleed every month for about forty years so consider yourself lucky”.
She opened her bag and brought out a black leather box about twelve inches long, six inches wide and four inches deep. I tell you this because I had never seen anything like it before. From it she took three thin metal rods, that screwed together, and the painful end of a cat-o-nine-tails. She screwed it into the head of the connected rods and slapped it, gently, across her hand. Even with a gentle motion it seemed to ‘sing’ and when she saw my reaction she showed me the leather thongs. My blood ran cold. On the end of each thong was a metal stud.
“Listen up. Your ‘friend’ told me you are a masochist and I am a man-hating sadist. I didn’t get my HIV from another woman – I got it from a worthless shit of a man and now you, and any other prick I service, will all pay for that bastard’s deceit. Stay exactly where you are and count the lashes I give you. Do you understand?”
“Er yes Mistress”
She then stood up beside me and a little behind my line of vision and I waited for the first lash. God, she’d only just finished beating the crap out of me with her walking stick and now she’d pulled out this lethal looking cat-o-nine-tails. She knew exactly what she was doing as she did nothing for a full five minutes, building up the tension, and then a brief whistling sound and my ass was on fire. I screamed in pain by it was cut off as the second set of lashes hit me just an inch or two from the first.
“I hadn’t had time to shout ‘one” and she grabbed my hair, pulled my face up close to hers and said “I told you to count. You didn’t do as I ordered – that means you will get twenty! Now count”
The next one hit me and I screamed three, immediately followed by four as the lashes were raining down fast and furious. I felt violently sick but dared not stop calling out the number for fear of another increase in my punishment. Unbelievably she reached twenty and I immediately collapsed on the floor with the weights attached to my scrotum slamming down and causing further ripping and pain. There was blood all over the pile carpet but I didn’t care. At that point my imminent surrender to cancer just could not come fast enough. I slowly kneeled up in front of her, my blood dropping onto the carpet, I realized that it really didn’t matter as I wouldn’t be using this room or this carpet much any more so what the hell. While these thoughts were going through my head she was peeling off her tracksuit top and a grubby looking sports bra. Again I could see the hair in her armpits and a multitude of needle marks on both her arms – not a pretty site. She sat back down on the sofa and ordered me to worship her tits with my slave mouth. Her nipples were huge and very dark and lumpy – it was as much as I could do to get a nipple into my mouth let alone some extra breast as well. Her breasts were salty and like the rest of her body there was the distinct odor of the unwashed. A half hour of this seemed to satisfy her and, for me, that period of time without any further pain was very welcome.
“Into the bathroom, it’s time for your shower”
The previous night’s procedure was followed but this time I could feel the pain of the lash marks on my backside when I lay down in the bath and they stung like hell when her piss got into the open welts. Once finished she got out of the bath with difficulty, turned on the cold water and left the room without another word. I knew better than to untie the raincoat belt around my ankles to get out or do anything else stupid so I just lay there freezing under the cold water until she returned, fully dressed. To prove that she was not totally evil she did remove four of the weights from the safety pin embedded in my scrotum but ordered me to keep the other two in place until she came back the next night. She counted out ten of the $100 bills I had left on the coffee table before she arrived and pushed them into her tracksuit pocket. “Tomorrow night is going to be special so have $2,500 on the coffee table when I get here!” She put the end of her cane in the middle of my chest and pushed my body hard down against the bottom of the bath. “We have something to discuss tomorrow night so make sure you have some decent beer and a bottle of good single malt scotch for me.” With that, she turned and left the bathroom. I climbed out of the bath. Found my robe and put it on. A few moments later I heard her car back down the driveway and she was gone again. So far the two nights had cost me $1,500 and tomorrow she wants another $1,500. Well, I’ll be honest with you, the only time I have been able to completely forget my impending death is when I am at her mercy so its worth every penny and much, much more. It would have been worth it even if it took all I had but, like I said before, money was no problem for me anyway.
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