Ask For Permission

I've never seen $20,000 cash before. He sets the bills neatly on the table. It's a crisp stack of hundred dollar bills.

In all honesty, I thought it would be more? You hear $20,000 and your brain lights up, but here is this small little stack, hardly an inch thick.

Sweat has already begun to bead along his hair line and he fingers the neckline of his collar as I slowly count out the bills. One by one I rub the corners to slightly crinkle and separate the bills, my eyes on him the entire time. I allow the silence to drag out after I have finished counting and watch him shuffle uncomfortably.

I rest my hands on my hips, the cool smooth leather pressing against my fingers and palms. "Alright, this will do nicely to cover a multitude of one-hour sessions. I have a list of your requests. If I deem them worthy, you might receive them."

His body visibly relaxes at this and he lowers his hands to cover his manhood. "Thank you, Mistress."

"Did I say you could speak?" I slam my hands down on the table. He jumps with the sound, eyes large. It takes everything in my power to not grin. Stone-cold seriousness. But on the inside, I'm giddy with pleasure at his squirming. What they ask for is for their gratification, but watching them squirm and submit to my will is mine.

He presents himself to me today in a nice business suit. Calm, cool and collected. As a VP of a major company, he's used to working long hours and making the tough calls and telling people what to do. I look forward to taking the reins from him, metaphorically and literally. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Mistress." He bows his head before taking his leave.

Simply to enjoy the freshness of them, I recount the bills. Two-hundred crisp one-hundred dollar bills, just for me.

I scrap back the chair at the small table and collapse into it. I loosen the strings on my corset a little to make it easier to breathe while sitting and open up my black notebook. It's a ledger of sorts. I've categorized my clients, by pet names to protect their identities if for some reason this notebook were to leave my possession and fall into the hands of someone with nefarious intent, and their...needs.

My new client I've named Baby-Face. He does indeed have a bit of a baby face, clean shaven and he's young. Can't possibly be older than his mid-thirties. Not my usual clientele, but welcomed all the same.

His list is quite extensive, and even leaning toward risky, hence the large paycheck I just received. At the top of his list, and truthfully kind of boring and overdone, is foot fetish. This will be where we start.

Baby-Face will slowly unzip my matte black knee-high boots. He must do so with a precision, steady and near-crawling pace. When he begins to rush, I slap his fingers with the riding crop and force him to begin again.

After several attempts, he slides the long boots from my legs, revealing my stocking-covered feet. His eyes bleed with longing, but he is not allowed to touch. I lift one leg, ever so gently resting my big toe on his forehead. At the contact, he takes a stuttering breath and begins to moan as I slide my toes down along the side of his face.

He trembles as I reach his shoulder and press on his chest. "May I Mistress?" He begs, his fingers twitching at his sides.

I bring my foot up and rest it against his throat for a moment, feeling the rushing thrum of his heart, before nodding. "You may."

His hands are clammy as they run over my thinly covered skin, he pulls a toe into his mouth, gently sucking.

After a session or two of this, we'll move onto more exciting things. Like bondage. I've spent years perfecting my craft. Learning all different kinds of knots and just how tight you can leave them on a person. And for how long.

I yank on the final knot around his hands. Baby-Face's entire body jerks with the forced motion and he gives a pleasurable huff of approval. Taking a step back, I admire my handy-work. His body is covered in a lattice of bright red rope, knots pressing against pressure points around his arms, legs, throat and groin. It's one of my best jobs.

"Free yourself." I demand.

Baby-Face strains at the ropes, his own muscles bulging around them. The rope presses deep into his skin, sure to leave some kind of mark in the morning. He pants and struggles, attempting to lift his arms from his tightly bound sides.

And above all else, remember humiliation.

"I thought you were this strong, important man." I hiss in his ear as he continues to struggle. "And you can't even free yourself from some silly little ropes?"

The trick to any good tying is that the knots are complex yet unravel easily if the right strings are pulled. He doesn't know this. Nor would be able to reach the correct strand even if he knew.

The color rises to his face with frustration and arousal as he continues to fight, only tightening the ropes around him as he goes.

He made the request of defecation, but I'm not entirely sure if that is one I can complete for him. It's not that I'm a shy pooper, but I've never really been one for doing so on command and the unpredictable nature of laxatives has me more than hesitant on this particular matter. It will be put on the back burner for now and only revisited if he makes another inquiry about it because after all he is a paying customer.

Next, and so seldom asked for, is electrostimulation. I've been saving a wand with an electric tip for quite some time. One of my first clients had made the request, but the bite of the shock was a bit too much for him and we had to stop.

Blindfolded, hands bound above his head and feet just barely grazing the floor, Baby-Face stands in all his glory. He is as smooth as a baby. I requested him to shave or wax for this day in order to avoid burning the delicate hairs that used to cover his body. His flaccidness lies limply between his legs for anyone to see.

"You have been a very bad man." I purr, turning on the wand and a soft hum fills the room. I tap the very tip of the wand to his back, just between his shoulder blades and he jumps with excitement, taking quick breathes.

"Yes Mistress."

I come around to his front and touch the wand to his left nipple. He gasps with the unexpected contact. I quickly touch the wand lower, just below his well defined pectorals. "You deserve to be punished." I drag the wand down his abdomen, watching his muscles ripple with the stimulation.

His cock twitches with life as blood begins to flow to it, I leave the wand on his stomach until he's reached half mast.

Silently, I walk about to his back and press the wand firmly to his ass and he moans loudly. "More," he demands.

I grab his ear and pull his head to the side sharply, pressing my lips to his skin. "What did you say?"

"More Mistress," he chokes out. "Please."

I slap the wand against his ass quickly.

"Yess." He moans under his breath.

We have full mast.

This is where things get tricky, where he can use the safe word if and when he needs to. I ever so lightly touch the tip of the wand to his shift and a high pitched whine trembles from his lips.

I do so again and this time the whine is deepened into a groan as I leave it against his throbbing skin a couple seconds longer.

His entire body shivers with the pleasure as I run the wand around his ball sack. "Yes Mistress." His voice is high and nasally, "punish me."

I pull away the wand. "I will determine when and how you are punished." I turn the voltage up on the wand to the next level. The hum loud enough for him to hear even over his panting.

I place the wand on his innermost thigh, just beneath his ball sack. He yelps and I pull back, afraid it's been too much, but he says nothing. I wait a moment longer before touching the skin again and his legs quiver, his cock growing even harder in a beautiful arch, veins straining at the confines of his skin. I lift the wand, turning the wand up to the next level and tap the tip of the wand to his.