Wednesday, February 04, 2009

The scent of a submissive

She squirmed delightfully.

Her squirming couldn't have been more artful if she'd intended it, but given her discomfort, I doubted she was aware of how she kept shifting in her seat. Normally, I would have been kinder to her, to this young woman scarcely out of her teens, but something about her brought out my inner sadist instead of the nurturer. It was the scent of submissiveness. Most cannot distinguish between vulnerability and submissiveness, but a natural dominant can taste it in the air, and this girl had my sub-dar beeping. She was aroused, embarrassed by her arousal, and aroused by her embarrassment. Hence, her squirming.

I leaned forward to stroke the backside of my footstool, Mika, who purred in response. A good girl, that one, very compliant, and eager, oh so eager, to feel a firm hand on her bottom. The front of my yukata fell open further, revealing more of the patent leather bustier that mounded my breasts impossibly high. From the corner of my eyes I saw the girl lean forward. Her breath caught.

I looked over my shoulder and gestured vaguely, and the boy came forward carrying one of my grandmother's porcelain tea services on a silver tray. Jacob served me one day a week, for two hours, and paid for the privilege of doing so. Apparently it is difficult to find a woman who appreciates panty-boys. He was honored that I'd chosen him for the humiliating task of serving tea to my vanilla guest wearing a ladies camisole, silk panties, stockings, and heels. His hair gleamed as silver as the tray when he bent over to place it on the table.

"Cream or sugar?" I asked the young woman when the boy had poured tea into a cup and looked in her direction.

"Neither," she said after a pause.

The boy handed her a cup, bowed, and then brought me mine. I tousled his hair as a reward and he gave me a tremulous smile. I snapped my fingers and pointed down, and he gratefully sank into a kneeling position beside my chair.

"Next question, Erika?" I prompted, reminding her of her purpose for being here. She'd asked to interview me. I'd tried to discourage her, but she was insistent, and in the end I'd admired her persistence enough to agree.

"How long have you been in this... business?" she asked. It was her third question.

"I've been a pro-domme for five years now."

She jotted a note, then asked, "Was it difficult to find a clientele?"

"Not really. There are many more submissives out there than there are dominants." I ran my fingers through the boy's hair. "Within a year I had enough word-of-mouth traffic that I had to turn people away."

Her eyes widened and she squirmed again.

"You have provided me with a list of the services you provide. Thank you. What I would like to know is why people pay to have these sorts of things done to them?" She cast desperately curious glances at both my footstool and the boy.

"Girl," I said.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Do you want to answer her?"

"If it pleases you Mistress, I will, but I would need to hear the question again." An elegant confession that she was not paying attention.

I let my hand fall on her left buttock with a loud smack. My footstool took it silently, with the barest flinch. Her bikini-clad ass flared out just a bit, begging for another one. As I leaned back, the tie on my robe loosened completely and the fabric fell open to reveal my full attire. Bustier, paddle, velvet boyshorts, and thigh-high boots. Erika's eyes widened just a bit, then shifted back to my footstool.

"Mika-girl, the journalist in training wants to know why you pay me to spank you. Sit up and tell her."

I removed my booted feet from her back and Mika sat up, resting her lovely broad bottom against her heels.

"Mistress understands me. She understands that I need pain in order to fully experience pleasure, and she knows that asking for pain does not mean asking for abuse...." Mika's sweet contralto trailed off for a long moment. "I trust her. I trust her to give me what I pay for, and to respect the terms we've agreed upon, which frees me to surrender to the experience--experiences I would not otherwise have without...without some personal risk."

"Personal risk?" My interviewer asked Mika.

Mika looked at me for permission to respond. I nodded.

"I have asked for what I wanted from boyfriends in the past, but they did not know what they were doing, and sometimes I was injured..."

"Oh. Okay. I think I understand," she said, obviously not really understanding.

"No. You do not."

I stood up, shrugged off the robe, draped it across the back of the armchair. Moving to stand before the girl, I took an assertive stance and watched her.

She didn't know what to do with her eyes. They jumped all over the place, bouncing from breasts to boots to the leather paddle swinging at my side. Her hands twitched, sending her pen flying. I gestured for the boy to fetch it and he brought it to me, palms up and head bowed.

I took the pen and tapped it against my thigh. Her eyes followed it.

"Why are you interviewing me, Erika?"

"I am working on a series for the Weekly."

"And why this particular topic?"

"Why?" she asked dumbly.

"Yes, why this topic?"

"I--Well, I---uhm, learned about your profession from a friend and I was curious and I couldn't find much out there in print so... so I pitched the idea to my editor and he said he'd consider publishing it."

"That is an answer, girl, but it is not the answer."

She swallowed. Her eyes met mine and were caught.

"You were more than curious when you heard about us. You felt a naughty tingle, something that delved into secret sexually-charged places in you. Didn't you?"

She nodded slowly.

"I've been watching you, girl. You are sexually excited by your perception of their humiliation and by your embarrassment over it. Don't bother denying it -- I can smell your arousal from here."

She blushed scarlet and squirmed half out of her chair.

I lifted my hand, palm open toward her, in a 'stop' gesture, and she subsided.

"I suspect that you have bondage fantasies. Something in you wants to be tied up, stripped, and put on display. You want to be embarrassed, humiliated, and sexually violated while completely helpless. But at the same time you don't, because you don't want the emotional fallout that comes from it happening for real. You've probably even played at being tied up, but it is never as exciting as your fantasies."

I leaned forward, took her chin in my hand and looked into her eyes.

"You are here, interviewing me, because you want to be subjugated, you want to submit, and you are curious as to whether or not a pro-domme can fulfill that want."


She blinked. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Come now, girl. Answer the question. Why this topic?"

"Something is missing," she whispered. "And when I heard about--about pro-dommes, I got excited on so many levels..."

"Good girl," I said. I collected the teardrop and rubbed it between my fingertips.

I strode over to the armchair, sat down, and gestured for Mika to lay across my lap.

Erika cleared her throat.

I shot her a stern glance. "This interview is over. If you want to remain, you will be silent. When I have finished with these two, we can discuss arranging a session for you."

I switched my focus to Mika, giving her my full attention. She was paying me for it, after all.

"Now, girl, it is time for your spanking. Will you need a ball-gag again this time, or are you going to be a good girl?"

"I think I will need the ball-gag, Mistress," she answered.

Ahhh. She wanted a thorough thrashing, and the freedom to really let herself go.

"Very well then." I gestured for the boy to bring the ball-gag I had set aside earlier, then untied the paddle from its place at my waist.

I held Erika's eyes for the first fall of the paddle against Mika's pale ass. She squirmed onto the edge of her chair and watched avidly, her arousal perfuming the air. I breathed in the intoxicating and familiar scent. The scent of a submissive.

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