All the Mistress' Money

All the Mistress' Money -part 2

The muffle of conversation drifted through from the other room. Could hear Blondie’s cutesy tone announcing something. A deeper voice responding – husky but feminine, strong with a fierce bite. There was some kind of exchange going back and forth. Sounded like little voice was in trouble. Dawn craned her neck and cocked her ears, but there was now silence. Could tell something was happening though. The breathless tension finally snapped with a shocking sound – a slap! Followed by a little squeal. It couldn’t have been! But there was another one. The harsh, plopping sound of an open palm striking bare flesh, resonating through the sinister atmosphere… and cutting clean through Dawn’s spirit.

She stared dead ahead. The grandfather clock struck one, but it wasn’t chiming. Instead Dawn listened to a succession of loud, clapping smacks crashing in with ruthless regularity. A hard spanking administered by someone strong. Every blow accompanied by an increasingly passionate expression of pain. Blondie’s squealing breaking into a wailing sob as her ass-cheeks were beaten and battered. Desperate begging echoing through. Oh my god! What the fuck was going on? What’d the angry wife gotten herself into? Who did the powerful voice and cruel hand belong to? Whoever it was, Dawn was now inside her lair. She should run – escape up the stairs and flee home! But her legs remained rooted to the spot, standing rigidly as she listened intently.

There must’ve been a few dozen strikes before the assault ended. Could hear tinkle-voice whimpering and simpering. Tough voice insulting and snapping orders. And now little footsteps plinking on stone. Shit! What to do? Blondie shuffled back through the curtains. Her face blushing bright pink and streaked with tears. An expression of abject humiliation. The heavy flutter of damp eyelashes, like a sad butterfly caught in the rain. Could see the sobs glugging up in her throat. The girl couldn’t quite bring herself to make eye-contact.

‘Please wait there. Mistress Stilenskova will call you when she’s ready.’

Dawn noticed ‘1pm – Henfield’ scrawled in red ink at the top of the girl’s clipboard. Shit! Blondie’s body language now changed abruptly and she stiffened into a rigid posture. Curling her lower back to puff her chest out in front and pluck her buttocks up behind. Flushing even deeper rose as she turned and moved towards the stairs. Her skirt had been pulled right up at the back – the bottom of it tucked over into the waist. She wasn’t wearing panties, so her whole ass was exposed. Peachy, round buttocks pummelled pink… to match her uniform and face. Dawn watched Blondie’s bruising ass-cheeks tremble as she waggled up the stairs. They’d really taken a beating – mottled pink and rose all over, with one particularly hard blow imprinted in red. Could actually see the outline of the hand and a few strafing fingers clearly marked. As if the woman who’d dished out the punishment had claws made of red-hot iron.

Holy fuck! And Blondie had clearly been instructed to walk out with her ass on full show. Been ordered to leave her skirt tucked over and told to stand to attention. Displaying her humiliation to the waiting client. Oh my god! ‘Mistress Stilenskova will call you when she’s ready.’ Oh shit! The Mistress! Dawn felt she should run – follow Blondie up the stairs and get the fuck out of here. The whore could keep the money. Dawn’s argument was with her pathetic husband, not his terrifying Dominatrix. Her husband’s Dominatrix! She didn’t know he was into this sort of thing. He’d never mentioned anything like it – not even a hint! Dawn was floundering, body still paralysed as her mind raced and cartwheeled. The ominous silence finally broken by a harsh voice husking in a thick, Russian accent.

‘Henfield, get your ass in here!’ The silence quivered for a few long seconds, before she repeated. ‘Henfield! I said get your fucking ass in here, right now!’

The fierce words echoed. Dawn felt her hands trembling as she watched the candlelight dance over the shiny sharpness of the axe. Her whole body was shaking. All the fight had evaporated and she was left feeling cold – frozen over. Footsteps rang out from the other chamber, hard stilettoes stabbing a stone floor. Oh shit! What was Dawn going to say? What was she going to do? What was the Mistress going to do?

The leather-strap curtains parted and Mistress Stilenskova strode into the waiting room. Ice-sculpted beauty – dramatically striking. Sharp, statuesque, facial features and dark, sorcerous eyes. Jet-black hair matched her attire and contrasted her fresh, white skin. Deep, red lips and painted nails shocked like blood on snow. Tall, slim body with athletic muscles and slender curves springing out of her tight, leather cat-suit.

Okay, that’s why she costs so much. At least that makes sense.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ The Dominatrix snarled, cruel arrows cutting across her face. Eyes hunting around for the Henfield she’d expected. A tall woman, even without those heeled boots, towering over the intruder as she stalked forwards in confrontation.

Dawn tried to compose herself. ‘I’m Mrs Henfield.’ Her voice always became especially prim, posh and snooty when she was on the defensive. 

‘Mrs Henfield.’ Heavy emphasis on the ‘Mrs’ as the Russian’s eyes shadowed with suspicion. ‘Your husband is coming? For you both together, it costs 50% more.’ Hand slinking onto her hip as she cast her eyes up and down Dawn.

‘My husband isn’t coming.’ Irritation re-emerging. Dawn forced herself to hold eye-contact as the mistress glared. Could see the whore was re-appraising the situation. She blatantly realised the wife wasn’t here to join in, but decided to provoke. 

‘So you will take the appointment.’

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MIRROR SECRET MIRROR is dark, decadent, BDSM erotica. It's a corrupting force, an evil seduction, a delicious poison… a trap! 

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