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 9:00pm the following night, this time carrying what looked like a large black doctor’s bag.  I had not had a particularly good day, as the pain was getting more constant and a little more intense.  I hadn’t eaten very much all day and felt quite weak.  In spite of all that I was ready and even looking forward to whatever Mistress XS had to offer.  You will no doubt think of this as strange logic but I figured any hurt or humiliation she dished out by would take my mind off the constant nagging pain I felt right now.

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 8:00 every night, so her shouted commands (and, of course, any noise I made) would not be heard by any neighbors.  Anyway, getting back to the beer I had a few Becks in the fridge and went and got them for her.  Peace was temporarily restored.  Once she had had enough of my attention to her feet she told me to remove her track pants and massage her legs.  She was not wearing any underpants.  I worked my way up the insides of her thighs getting ever closer to her honey pot although, by the time I reached her knees I could tell it was anything but a honey pot.  The smell was a combination of that delicious fragrance that comes from an unwashed vagina, and stale piss.  As I licked her legs I realized that, probably, she hadn’t showered since last night so this could be the remnants of the golden shower she had given me.  As if reading my mind she told me that it was indeed from last night.  “One thing you will get used to is that I don’t bother to wash if I am coming back the next night or the day after. That’s a waste of my time and effort when I’ve got a slave to clean me up and pay for the honor of doing it”. 

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.

Hey, It’s Just a Job.

Part Five:

So that was Wednesday night when I told my ‘client’ about my plan.  I was really anxious to find out what he was going to do.  Shit, I really wanted the money and I sure as hell wanted that orgasm.  The guys I’d ‘sent over the other side’ since I started offering the service had each paid me $50,000 and after my expenses (oh yea, I’ve got expenses like everyone else) I’d managed to stash a hundred grand away for my retirement (although, with HIV, I might not be around for too many years of retirement anyway) and the other $50K had mostly gone to paying for my prescription drugs, pot and coke – nobody’s perfect you know.   But the orgasms were fantastic!  Call me kinky if you want but knowing that the guy underneath me was giving up his life so I could have an orgasm gave me the most incredible feelings of absolute power and the more they struggled the better it was.  Now I’m a pretty humane person – you know – if I find a spider in the house I’ll put it outside and not flush it down the toilet like a lot of people do – but once my orgasm starts I’ve got all kinds of ways to keep it going.  These guys think I’m gonna sit on their faces and they’re gonna be in heaven in a few minutes or less.  Sorry, but no fucking way, I kept the first one struggling and screaming out for almost an hour, the second one was in a blind panic for just over two hours and the third one, well, I got exhausted first and, regrettably, just had to crush down on him and finish him off after nearly three and a half hours of almost constant earth-shattering soaking wet orgasm - to this day I still don’t know how he didn’t drown ‘cause it wasn’t only cum that was hitting him in the face!  I don’t think this is something that will ever appear in the Guinness Book of Records but if Derek says yes, and I sure hope he does, I’m going for five hours or more if I can hold on long enough (him too, of course, the poor sucker!).   Maybe I’ll stop at the last moment (as long as I’ve already had a few hours of orgasm) then revive him and do it all again for another few hours.  God, my pussy’s quivering and tingling already, just thinking about it – can you imagine what I’ll be like on the night!

I wasn’t feeling too well for the next few days, I was still having the monthlies, so I didn’t call him again until Monday afternoon.  I called him from a payphone in the mall and waited, nervously, for him to answer.  The phone rang and rang making me think that I had left it too long and he’s had a boring ‘natural causes’ end.  Eventually he picked it up and with a weak voice said, hello.

“You know who this is so let me just ask you, yes or no?”  I could feel the perspiration trickling down my neck ‘and my nylon tracksuit pants were sticking to my legs.  No reply.  “OK I’ll ask you one more time, yes or no?”  Another pause and then I heard it – “Yes, er please” My next very important question. “You’ve got the package for me?”  Another pause – he must be feeling pretty poorly now – “yes”

“OK, I’ll be there to-morrow evening. Have some pizza, plenty of beer and a couple of bottles of good champagne delivered” I hung up the phone tingling with excitement and soaked with sweat – I know, girls don’t sweat, they perspire.  Well, let me tell you this I ain’t no lady and I sweat like a pig.  Not only that, these masochists like it that way so why should I care – it pays the bills!  

I never allow myself to develop feelings for my clients and I never try to understand them.  Firstly they’re masochists and expect to be treated like the garbage they are and secondly the big paycheck doesn’t come from caring about them, no, it comes from honestly and professionally carrying out their last wishes - and that’s an important distinction.  The other thing to remember is that I can only have an orgasm when I ‘m  ‘offing’ them.  Nothing else works for me so it’s almost like a religious experience and since when have religions zealots cared two-hoots for their adversaries?

OK so it’s with a clear conscience and the expectation of the biggest paycheck I’ve ever got that I set out for the shopping mall.  It was getting dark, making the job of stealing a car a little bit easier.    I used to do this in the past when, sometimes, it was more convenient to service a john in a car than a motel and a hell of a lot cheaper!  I walked around looking for one with the keys in the ignition – nothing fancy, just a car that would melt into the traffic without drawing any attention.  When I thought my luck had run out I came across a dark blue 1980’s Dodge wearing its keys.  The hood was still warm so the person must have just got there (always a good sign ‘cause it means it might be longer before they come back looking for their car.  Perfect!

I hopped in and threw my bag on the back seat.  It was raining outside so I buttoned up my red plastic raincoat and even put the hood up.  Always a good thing to do ‘cause if anybody did see me leaving the lot they would remember ‘a broad in a red raincoat’ and nothing else about me‘ (I told you I knew what I was doing). Unlike all the movies you see these days where it’s non-stop action and car chases, I got out of the parking lot without any problem and quietly drove through town, taking a round-about route (nobody on my tail) and eventually arrived at Derek’s place just before 8:00pm.  That was good timing ‘cause it was now dark and nobody saw me arriving plus I was getting cold, hungry and fucking horny.

I drove around the back and opened the garage door with the opener he had given me on the key ring and reversed in (ready for a quick getaway if necessary..  I dropped the  garage-door clicker  and the door key on the floor of the car as, for those few minutes before the actual process starts, I get quite shaky – 25% nerves and 75% excitement.  Not surprising really ‘cause when I opened that door I would be face to face with my next hundred grand and a live body that had to be ‘offed’ in order for me to collect.   Anyway I retrieved the door key from the and put the clicker on the front passenger sewat where I could get to it quickly if I had to.

I went into the house and found Derek sitting on the sofa and, as usual, he had his eyes lowered towards the floor as I walked in, the posture I had insisted on since my first visit.  I could have been a lot more dominant if I wanted to be but, well, deep inside me there is a soft spot and it just shows itself like that sometimes.  Because this was to be our final evening together I wanted him to look at me and connect fully with his executioner – hey, I don’t like that word and it don’t really fit in here ‘cause I’m doing him the biggest favor of his soon-to-be-ended life, so I ordered him to stop peering at the floor and welcome his Mistress.  Really what I wanted was to be able to guess what he was thinking, you know, how he felt about what was going to happen that night, and you can tell a lot from their eyes.  Not that it mattered one fuck – I could see one of those jewelers dark blue velvet bags laying on the coffee table and I knew what was inside.  This may change your opinion of me but once I had seen that bag he was a ‘goner’.   Even if he tried to change his mind now it would be too late ‘cause I needed those diamonds more than he needed the rest of his miserable pathetic life and that was the bottom line.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be labeled as a murderer but, hey, you gotta do what you gotta do and he’d made his choice already and I believe in honoring a commitment – wouldn’t you in the same circumstances?  – Sure you would.

I’m no real expert on diamonds but I have learned enough about them to be able to tell a real one from a fake.  However, that really wasn’t necessary as the jeweler’s certificate of authenticity was in there too.  Did they ever look fabulous when I let them trickle through my fingers and back onto the black velvet cloth.  The certificate said the diamonds were mined in the Canadian arctic and that made me feel good ‘cause I hate the thought of the way those poor African miners are abused by big companies and how the money is used to fund wars.  I hate the thought of diamonds being involved in murder, don’t you?

Even in the week or so that I had been visiting Derek I had noticed a steady deterioration in his condition and, you know what?  It would have been so easy for me to pick up that bag of rocks and just take off.  He wasn’t gonna last long and he didn’t know who the hell I was.  But, you know what? I’m basically an honest woman and I was gonna honor my commitment to him (OK, I know what you’re saying – the self-centered bitch!).  Plus of course I’m gonna enjoy one (maybe even two) of my rare orgasms and I’m gonna make sure it’s worth the wait and the effort.  Like I said before, I plan on making this one break my own record of three and a half hours – as long as I can get away from here in the early morning while it’s still dark outside.

The delivery guy had put the pizza in the oven and the beer and champagne in the fridge – I hope he got a good tip.  I left Derek sitting on the sofa and went and got the pizza and beer and brought them back into the living room.  Poor bastard, I practically had to feed him his slice of ‘meat-lovers loaded deluxe” but I ate the entire rest of the fucking pizza – it was good and I hadn’t eaten anything since having a coffee and a donut in the morning.  Derek asked me to turn on the television and I said what the hell for, who’s in charge here?  He replied that his favorite sitcom was on and he would like to watch it one last time.  Well, like I said before I’m a decent woman so I did what he asked and we spent the next half hour watching Frasier, while I downed a few beers and started to get the urge to get on with it.   I tell you, I’d love to work on either or both of those two obnoxious elitists if ever the time came for them!

It was hot in the room and I was starting to sweat a lot again.  I was wearing the same nylon tracksuit with the same bra and panties on underneath that I’d been wearing from the first visit.  You’re probably thinking what a filthy bitch but you know, there’s a reason for it (two actually).  Firstly, show me a masochist who wants to be abused by a sweet smelling freshly bathed dominatrix and, secondly ,I have to get rid of the clothes I wear on the night of the procedure  – just in case whoever finds him calls the police.  You can never be too careful and this will be my fourth successful special session.  I had arrived in my red plastic raincoat too but I had taken that off when I first went in his house – that would come in handy later.

Anyway his favorite show ended and, well, I was getting bored, frustrated and even a bit horny sitting there and wanted to get on with the action.  Once I feel the first little tingle between my legs, the thought of that huge orgasm coming up makes me impatient and maybe a little unkind.  Like I said before I can only get “big O’s” offing these guys now so it’s not something I can enjoy every day – I gotta make the most if it when I can.  The important thing in this job is that you can’t allow yourself to get too attached to your client – you know – develop a bond or any crap like that so the real dominatrix in me had to take over.  The other reason for getting real bitchy at this point is  ‘cause this is the point where he is going to change his mind if he wants to chicken out.  Once I’ve got him ready he ain’t got any options and he knows it, so I have to make myself hard and ignore any last minute pitiful pleas for mercy – they’re all the same these clients.  Shit, with that bag of rocks sitting on the coffee table he’s made his choice and I have a professional duty to carry it out for him, right?

“OK Derek it’s time.  Get up and let’s get you up to your bedroom”. 

Part Six:

Unlike the previous night he was quite able to get up and walk to the stairs and made it, slowly, to his room.  I told him to go to the bathroom, take a piss and whatever,undress and then stay in there until I called him back out.  (Without getting into any sensitive areas you gotta make them go to the can beforehand to avoid any unnecessary mess on the bed when they depart.)  I went into his bedroom and made sure the blinds were tightly shut before I turned on the light (another safety precaution).  The first thing out of my bag was one of those drop sheets that painters use – you know, plastic on the bottom to prevent stains getting on the hardwood floor or carpet and paper on the top to absorb moisture.  I put this one over the top of his sheets, as I would be taking it away with me (removing the risk of leaving any of my DNA evidence on the bed sheets).  Then I had to go back downstairs because I had left my plastic raincoat in the coat closet and I would definitely need it for the session – I’m getting forgetful in my old age - but I hadn’t forgotten to pick up the velvet bag full of diamonds and stuff them into one of end pockets of my bag.  Anyway, back upstairs I stripped off my clothes and put them in a plastic bag and did up the drawstring.  It was quite cool in his room and that was good ‘cause I was sweating again.  Excitement, I guess.  I was really looking forward to a shower when this was over, as I hadn’t had one since I got started on the job over a week ago.  For the last few days I’ve even got my hamburgers or coffee and donuts at the drive-thru as I knew I was getting a bit ‘ripe’ but, hey, I take pride in my work and my taste and smell are a big part of the thrill for the client.  Next I got out a big roll of clear industrial strength cling wrap, the type used to wrap boxes and packing cases in for shipment, then I got out the last item and this will surprise you – a portable CD player.  Although I’m just a working girl doing my job there is something ritualistic about my work and I like to plug in the earphones and listen to music while I am working – I listen to just one piece on these occasions  – something called ‘Carmina Burana’ by a composer named Carl Orff.  The music is sensuous and even quite ominous in places and I kinda like the serendipity of it - you know – listening to Orff while I’m ‘offing’ a client!  OK so you think I’m trivializing my work, do you?  It’s not that, but you‘ve just gotta have a sense of humor or the job might start getting to you – ask any undertaker.

I ordered Derek to come out of the bathroom and stand by the foot of the bed, just about a couple of feet away from it, with his arms by his sides.    I removed the safety pin from his scrotum then, starting at his neck, I started to wrap the cling-wrap around his body – not too tight at the neck but more so when I got to the tops of his arms.  I overlapped it generously (I don’t spare the expense to do the job properly) and worked my way down his body, leaving only his cock and balls unwrapped (you’ll understand the reason for that later).  He panicked a bit when he realized he couldn’t move his arms but I slapped him real hard a half-dozen times on each cheek and told him to shut up and he quickly calmed down.  I never wear any rings or other jewelry on the job ‘cause cuts and scratches on the stiff (gotta start getting impersonal about him now) would invite intervention by the cops, right?  That’s why I use cling-wrap to immobilize them – it leaves no marks.   Like I said before, we were now past the point of no return as far as I was concerned (and I make the fucking rules) and I had to stay focused on my work.  Once I had him firmly wrapped all the way down to just below his ass I told him to back up, sit down on the bed and lay back.  This was the toughest part of the job now, as I had to manhandle him up the bed far enough so that his legs and feet would be on it.  By the time these guys are ready for the special session they have lost a lot of weight so it’s not as hard as you might think but, hey, you earn your fee on this part.  Next I put my bag under his feet, lifting his legs off the bed and continued to cling wrap him tightly all the way down to his ankles.  Like I said before I take pride in my work so I even wrapped his feet.  Finally I took a ladies rubber swimming cap out of my bag and put it on his head, making sure to get all his hair inside it. Now I like to be comfortable doing my work so I had also brought along an ergonomically designed inflatable rubber-covered pillow that I blew up just enough to position his head at the right angle for me to sit comfortably.  I put that under his head and positioned in the hollowed out section so his neck was slightly higher than his forehead.  It gave him just enough support that he would not be able to move his head far enough to get out from under me but also gave him enough side-to-side movement so that, as he panicked (as they all do- guaranteed)  I would be able to feel his desperate struggling as he fought for breath.  It was that hopeless last minute change of mind, and the sheer-terror movements that followed,  that would really drive my orgasm and he wasn’t going to deny me that after all the time and effort I had put into this final session on his behalf.

“How are you feeling Derek?”  I asked (as if, by this time, I really gave a flying fuck!).

“Very frightened Mistress, maybe we can delay it until tomorrow instead, please?”

This was the predictable response that I heard every single time, no kidding, and a lesser woman would have caved in to the pathetic request.   Not me – I’d got the diamonds and I was looking forward to a couple of weeks of carefree relaxation down south so, fuck it, here we go.

“Just shut up now wimp!  I don’t want to hear another word from you.  You’re getting your final request and you should be fucking grateful, not whining pathetically.”  Just to show him that I was totally in control of his last few minutes on earth I leant over him and  put one latex-gloved hand over his mouth and pinched his nose with the other.  (I probably told you this already but I always wear surgical gloves on a job – it’s the best way to avoid a lengthy clean-up job afterwards – you know, glasses, doorknobs, and faucets.)  I could see the look of fear in his eyes.  You know, it would have been so easy to finish it quickly right there and then, take my gear and split but hey, like I said before, I am a professional and I take pride in my work.  I also wanted that fucking orgasm and wanted it real bad – that’s what it’s all about isn’t it.  When his face started to go red I stopped and leant closer, my face just inches from his.  “Now, apologize for your bad manners or that’s how you’ll go”

“I’m sorry Mistress, please can we just get on with it then?”  That’s it – the moment I love – surrender to the inevitable – makes me feel so powerful and well, you know, needed.

But I wasn’t ready just yet.  I was beginning to tingle but I needed to loosen up a bit more so I went back downstairs to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of champagne and took it back upstairs.  Funny how I needed my cane when I was walking around a mall but, once into a job, my leg seemed fine.  I sat on the bed beside Derek and popped the cork, letting the bubbly trickle down onto his face – just a tiny amount ‘cause I didn’t want to waste it on him.  You might think I’m uncouth but I drank the champagne straight from the bottle and stuck the empty into my bag when I’d finished it off – another piece of potential evidence removed from the scene.  I love a bottle of bubbly inside me when I do a job ‘cause somehow the bubbles make me tingle inside and when I come, well, I really gush (another reason for the drop-cloth on the bed)  Yea, you know what came next – I let out an almighty belch – and that was my own personal signal that I was ready.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Derek, lying there completely trussed up in cling wrap.  Now that he knew I wouldn’t back off no matter how hard he tried or cried, a peaceful, almost serene look came over his face.  Well, it should have shouldn’t it – he wanted this finale to his life just as much as I wanted the orgasm and the rocks – just read what he wrote before leaving me to finish it (and him) off.

I stayed there for a few minutes just looking at him, I even fondled  his cock and balls – that’s how nice I am -  getting myself in the right frame of mind by mentally investing the proceeds of the sale of the diamonds.  I’d have to give a few bucks to Madame G.S., of course, a kinda finders fee for putting me on to him.  She wouldn’t have a clue what I charged for a special session so a thousand bucks should make her happy enough to send me more leads if they came up – we girls have to work together.

Finally I felt ready.   The little delay had sharpened up my senses and I could feel the inner excitement building up.  I got up from the bed, picked up my make-up case from my bag and went into the bathroom.  I took a real long pee ‘cause of all that beer and champagne.  If I’d started the treatment with a full bladder I probably would have drowned him and it would have been over way too soon (not to mention a messy clean up to remove all the evidence of my visit).  You know, it’s funny the little things you do that seem insignificant to some but very important to others.  Take me for example.  For the next fifteen minutes or so I did something I only do on these occasions.  I made my face up – really made it up with heavy mascara, dark eyeliner, thick ruby-red lipstick with a real high gloss and, get this, I even put one of those old-fashioned beauty spots on my left cheek!  I didn’t tell you before but, up to this final night with a client I don’t wear any make-up or perfume ‘cause they tend to leave clues if you’re not careful.  Anyway, I thought I looked pretty classy but you would take me for a tart, I know.  Stupid doing all this really ‘cause once I started on him  he wouldn’t see a thing except a very short term view of my cunt and ass hovering over him but, hey, what the hell, you gotta feel right while you’re working.

I came back into his bedroom, put my make-up case back in my bag, picked up my red plastic raincoat and put it on, doing up the four top buttons down the front and pulling the belt tight around my waist and knotting it on one side.   You’re probably wondering why did she do that and why is she bothering to tell me.  Well, all artists have their little quirks and, ‘cause I look upon myself as an artist when I’m working on a special session, I’m entitled to my little quirks, OK?  Another thing is that when the action really gets going and I can feel the big O coming, my body heat makes the plastic raincoat stick to the cling wrap and that sure makes me sweat more and makes the client panic and fight a hell of a lot more and that’s what I need right then, struggling movement. – it’s that simple.   You know there ain’t too many guys that get to see my private parts any more and those that do know they are the last sights they’ll experience so I take my time (it’s a little bonus for them, really).  I stood over Derek with one leg on each side of him and let him look straight up my raincoat.  It’s one of those thin clingy ones but it lets the light through so he got a pretty good view of my hairy mound and ass and, for good measure I eased from side to side for a few minutes so he could enjoy it and to help me loosen up a bit more.  Hey, I need to loosen for a few minutes before we get down to the real business – it’s not easy doing my job – it’s not something I could do every day (there just ain’t enough qualified clients out there anyway!) but I do take pride in doing it right – that’s what my clients pay for and I’m an honest and decent woman.   A few drips of sweat or maybe the last few drops of my piss sploshed down on to his face and it was amusing to watch him ‘cause, with his arms cling-wrapped to his sides he couldn’t wipe them away  - you know, it’s these little things that make it so enjoyable and memorable.   I turned myself round and leaned my hands against the wall then slowly, very slowly, started coming down on Derek.  It’s hard on the knees but I keep in pretty good shape and I was able to prolong that part of the action for about ten minutes or so and I finally ended up by lightly sitting on his face with me facing the wall.  I didn’t push or anything like that I just sat there giving him enough room to breath.  He seemed to enjoy this ‘cause I could almost hear him say ‘mmmmm’  in appreciation.  But, hey, I sure felt the vibration of his ‘mmmmm’ and told him to do it again.  You know, a bit of bonding can always take place at times like this and here we were, in the last stage of his special session and we’re doing something for each other – that’s what life is all about isn’t it?  He’s enjoying being helpless underneath a beautiful woman (well to him I was the most beautiful woman on earth at that point) and me getting off on those vibrations.  So, anyway I told him to keep doing that and he must have made these vibrating sounds for almost an hour before I’d had my fill.  I could also tell he was getting a bit weaker and I didn’t want to miss out on the real struggle later.

Now it was time to get serious.  Like I’ve told you before, I love the struggle and what it does for my orgasm but I’m not so keen on hearing the pathetic cries for mercy whenever the client gets a chance so that’s why I bring my portable DVD player along.  I put my earphones in, turned up the volume and, simultaneously, increased the pressure on his face.  I could feel his nose being pushed inside me and my ass was pressing down on his mouth.  This was good ‘cause with my big flabby ass cheeks enveloping his face he couldn’t breath when I pressed down but as soon as I eased off just a little bit he could lower his jaw and suck in some air.  I had it down to a fine art.  Somehow I knew just when he was ready to go - don’t ask me how I knew – because he would struggle like hell, sending waves of ecstasy through my body and then he would quieten down so I would ease up long enough for him to gulp down a mouthful of air before I lowered the boom again.  I couldn’t ease up for more than a couple of seconds or the orgasm I could feel slowly developing would be lost.  I gotta give him credit – whether he knew it or not Derek was in tune with my body and I could feel the biggest and best fucking orgasm building up inside me.   I felt the first waves coming and spurted cum right up his nose.  That made him struggle even more but I was so close I just didn’t care any more.  I ground down on him and just thrust and thrust like there was no tomorrow for me either.  I felt the bone in his nose crack and that made me sink even further down onto him and, as he tried to find some air I could feel his tongue pushing against my ass.  This was just fantastic I was coming and he was pushing his tongue desperately into my pink hole – it was, well I can’t describe it and you’ll never know unless you take up my trade.

I really did have the best orgasm I ‘d ever had in my life and my whole body was tingling.  My tits were sticking to the raincoat, my ass cheeks were sticking to the raincoat, my arms were sticking – I was just one wet lump of flabby body oozing cum onto the now still body of Derek.  Then a thought struck me – this guy had paid a hundred grand for this, twice my usual fee, he deserved better!  A quick look at the clock on the wall told me we had been enjoying this session for just under three hours.  I quickly got off him, knelt beside him on the bed and, you’ll think I’m crazy, pounded his cling wrapped chest a few times and then gave him mouth-to-mouth through a couple of tissues to avoid getting my make-up on his face!  It took a while but I got him breathing again and, not being a total bitch, after he came round I stroked his face while he looked at me with a perplexed expression.  He was so weak from the illness that he just laid there and dozed off to sleep. I let him sleep for fifteen minutes but, by then, it was after midnight and I wanted to get out of his house before the late-night drive thru closed ‘cause I always liked a jumbo hotdog and fries after one of these sessions, so I slapped his face and woke him up.  

He told me he thought he had died but, now he was ‘alive’ again, he wanted to stay that way.  Well, he’d tried to talk his way out of it earlier in the evening but hey, I’m a professional and I know what’s best for my clients.  Not only that, if I let him have his way and live, he could cause me some nasty problems with the police if he cared to.  He didn’t know my name but he’d be able to give them a pretty good description of my previously unmentioned tattoos and me. No, like I said before it was too late for him to change his mind – a deal’s a deal, right?   It was time for me to stop being so nice and get on with the job and, as a bonus for all my trouble, enjoy another mind-blowing orgasm as he finally got what he paid for.

Now, I’m not going to frighten you with all the details of the second session ‘cause, hey, you never know, you might be thinking that, one day, you might need the same service and it’s not good marketing to scare off your potential clients.  You know the old cliché – you don’t get a second chance to make a first impression, so anyway, back to Derek.   I could tell from his eyes that he had changed his mind (they all do – men are such fucking wimps) but I put my earphones back in, turned up the volume louder than the first time so I didn’t have to listen to any more of his pathetic pleading, climbed up on the bed and straddled him.  No floor shows over the top of him this time, I just came straight down hard and sat myself on his face.  I moved around a bit to make sure I’d got his nose in the right place (you know the drill now) and got my ass firmly over his mouth.  I was still a bit ‘tingly’ from the first orgasm so I knew this one wouldn’t take so long to build and explode.    Because it was getting late and I could taste that jumbo hotdog already, I decided to speed things up a little bit.  I eased up on his face just a little, lifted up the back of his head and wrapped the skirt-part of my plastic raincoat underneath and did up the rest of the buttons.  I learnt in the past that, if a guy really tries, he can get enough air to stay alive from just a momentary break from my heavy downward pressure on his face and wrapping the plastic tightly round his head put a stop to that nonsense as the wet plastic stuck to his cheeks like a magnet.  Hey, if I was gonna let him last more than another hour or so I would have had to build in some overtime to my fee!  I don’t know where he got the energy from but he sure started to struggle and began bucking his body in an attempt to get me off.    Fortunately I carry a few extra pounds (OK so I’m overweight) and that, combined with leaning my body back just enough so I could reach behind me and grab and squeeze his balls real hard, soon stopped that nonsense.  Now you know why I left his cock and balls unwrapped when I trussed him up earlier in the evening. Hey, I’m no dumb blonde, you know.    Even after all he had already been through his cock was rock hard and I could feel the pre-cum on the head.  You may think me a bit quirky or even maybe a bit nasty but on these jobs it’s my orgasm(s) that count.  I couldn’t have this soon-to-be departed loser putting what remaining energy he had into his own orgasm – he was mine to use and abuse for my own pleasure and I put a quick stop to any ideas he might have had by crushing his balls to pulp in my hand.  As he predictably opened his mouth to scream I just crammed my asshole down on him and, get this, one of my favorite party tricks, I farted in his mouth.   I farted so hard that he probably got a few little bits of my shit forced into the back of his throat for good measure – another free bonus for him!    Anyway, he continued to try to move his head from side to side and that was just perfect and I felt that gorgeous, gorgeous, feeling building deep inside me.  My whole body was in orbit and, after a few more build-ups and easing-offs  I just exploded and came all over his face just as his movements weakened and stopped.  I could feel my cum just pumping all over him and trickling down my legs.  I slumped forward and, in doing so started to slip down his cling wrapped body.  I pulled the raincoat out from under him so I could slide all the way down and I just lay there, panting and enjoying the spasms coursing their way through my now exhausted body.  I lifted myself up a bit and looked at Derek’s face.  The poor guy hadn’t have a chance.  If he hadn’t suffocated he would have drowned in my cum – I know he went one way or the other – and, get this –you’ll think I’m just trying to justify my job – but he had a little crooked smile on his face, contorted a bit by his broken nose.  I checked h is pulse and there was nothing there so I knew that, finally, he was a goner and my work was almost done.  After a while, during which I enjoyed the sensation of his totally lifeless body underneath me, I stood up, shakily, and looked down at him.  Maybe I’m a bit selfish but I checked his cock and noticed that he had not come so in his death throes he didn’t even get a final orgasm and I felt good ‘cause I had converted every ounce of his remaining energy into satisfying me.   It made me feel good to know I had given him what he most wanted – a masochists dream death instead of the slow, lingering death he would have had to endure for maybe another month or two.  It made me proud of my work and made me realize how fortunate I was to be able to contribute to society in this way.  But there’s always a dull, routine part to every job and now I had to deal with the downside of mine – the careful clean-up and removal of all the evidence.  First I took out a pair of scissors from my bag and carefully cut away the cling wrap around his body, compressing it into a green garbage bag.  Then I went into the bathroom, got a wet facecloth and a towel and washed his face and neck.  Once that was done I took off the swimming hat and fluffed up his hair.  The facecloth, towel and swimming hat also went into the garbage bag.   He was now ready for his last move of the night.  I lifted up one side of the painter’s drop sheet, folded it over him and went to the other side of the bed.  By pulling on it I was able to roll him off the bed and onto the floor.  He landed facedown which was good, as it would account for his broken nose if anybody cared to check too closely.  The drop sheet also went into the garbage bag with the cling wrap and the inflatable pillow (I only use them once – it’s a quality control issue with me) and I did up the twist tie.  It was ready to go in the trunk of “my” car.  Then, luxury – I took off the raincoat and latex gloves and I had a long hot shower (the first in almost a week!), using a soft sponge and towels that I had brought with me.  I got a clean tracksuit, bra and panties out of my bag putting the (very) dirty clothes back in and got dressed and put on another pair of gloves.  I’ve done this a few times now so I know the drill.  First I put everything in the trunk of my car then I went back upstairs with a cloth and wiped the few things I had touched when I had my shower – you know the shower door the shower head etc.  Then I picked up the beer bottles, put them back in the package and put themin the car for recycling - _ I want to do my part for the environment.  Now all the evidence of my being there was now either in my car or wiped clean and I was ready to go.  There’s always a vulnerable part to any career and in this case I couldn’t do anything about whatever my client (time to quit being personal and move on) had swallowed in his last desperate attempts to stay alive.  Hopefully, given his condition the doc would say he just fell off the bed in a pain spasm and died, breaking his nose that way – no autopsy.  If they did do one they would find some unusual fluids in his throat and stomach and, of course, would see the two small holes and a few scratches in his scrotum where I had inserted the safety pin but they wouldn’t have any way to connect any of this to me. 

I left his house just about 1:30 am and calculated that between the two orgasms dearly departed Derek (I love alliterations) had provided me with over four hours of pleasure – four hours of mind-numbing earth-shattering, spine-tingling orgasms and, for his part, he had taken his last journey in a most fitting fashion for a masochist.  God, I felt so good and at peace with the world   I got to the drive-thru just in time to get my jumbo hotdog (lots of mustard and onions) fries (lots of ketchup) and coffee (two creams, three sugars).  I went through  and pulled into the small parking area and enjoyed my late dinner, toasting Derek with my diet coke – shit, in my hurry to get out of his house I forgot the other bottle of champagne in his fridge.  No bubble bath for me when I get home.  I drove to where I had left my car, earlier in the day and transferred everything over to it and left the borrowed car across the street.  Then I drove home enjoying the ambience that comes from fond memories, recently created.

So that’s it - another job well done.  I know, I’m no Florence Nightingale but, hey, give me a break, I’m providing a useful service in a niche market and making a living.  Too bad that ex-pimp of mine put a time-limit on my life as well, before I sent him on his way  – I could’ve been providing this service for another thirty years if he hadn’t passed on his problem to me.  Anyway I’ve probably still got another ten years or so to do my part for society.  I’ll mail a thousand bucks to Mistress Showers with a thank you card then I’m going to take a short vacation in the sun to get ready for my next job.  It probably won’t be for a few months as the requests are pretty few and far between but my fee for this one tonight will take care of me comfortably until the next one comes along.   Hey, if you  enjoyed reading this account let me know and maybe I’ll write up one or two of the earlier jobs and even take you along on the next one.