The Mistress
By Aksinia Astakhov
Part 2: Nemesis
I got to the house mid-morning as usual, ready to clean and iron and do all those domestic chores that Tiffany didn’t have time for. It was useful income for me, as I was a post-grad research student, and she was always fair with me, paid on time and paid well, unlike some I’d worked for. Naturally I was astonished to find Tiffany tied to a chair in the kitchen, and gagged. I spotted the key to the handcuffs on the table and quickly released her. She told me what had happened to her earlier that day involving her wayward husband and his tart of a mistress, Alessandra, and she poured herself a large glass of wine, despite the hour. Of course Tiffany was in a rage and her list of expletives was, well, creative, but when she had calmed down an idea occurred to me. My research area was non-normative human sexuality, in particular bondage and fetish practices, and I suggested that we meet up with one of my acquaintances and research subjects, Miss Terri, who’s a professional dominatrix, and we agreed a delicious plan for revenge. I also worked part time for Terri, it’s good money, and I learnt a few things in that line of business, believe me.
Capturing Alessandra was easy. In our opinion she was a particularly vain and vulgar woman, and she proved this: we sent a professional-looking card to her office, inviting her “personally to a glamour model photo-shoot, free of charge, for a new magazine”, and she duly turned up at Terri’s place in Soho, glammed up in a gold cocktail dress, with some frankly cheap-looking gold jewellery, and stilettos with 4 inch heels. Well that didn’t matter, she wouldn’t be wearing the dress for long. She didn’t know me, so I played the hostess, and offered her a glass of sparkling wine, which she downed almost in one go. That was good because the relaxant we’d put in the wine could start working straight away. She asked if she could sit down as she was feeling a bit light headed, at which point Terri’s team emerged and took hold of her arms. We jostled her along the hall and down the stairs into Terri’s lair, The Cell, her dungeon where she “entertained” clients. It was a large room decked out as a stark prison cell with grey block walls, and all the things you might expect in a bondage dungeon, plus a few you wouldn’t, mostly on shelves round the walls. Chains and whips of course, a free standing metal-framed bed covered in black silk sheets, and a large steel H-frame in the middle, poles from floor to ceiling, with lots of eyebolts to allow victims to be roped to it in any manner of positions. There were no windows, only harsh fluorescent tubes behind steel mesh.
She looked at us wide-eyed as we held her upright. She tried to speak but she slurred her words because of the doped wine. Anyway this was no time for a chat. First thing we did push a rubber penis panel gag into her mouth to keep her quiet for the moment, then we stripped her of the dress, and removed her skimpy white panties; she couldn’t put up a lot of resistance. We left her white silk basque, stockings and heels on, as we all agreed that would be more interesting, and the planned video of the forthcoming events would sell better. We bent her forward and Terri inserted “a little something for later” into her rectum. A thick, rough hemp crotch rope was tied round her waist and between her legs, to keep the vibrator in place.
We then strapped her, spread-eagled, to the metal H-frame, the cross-piece neatly allowing us to secure her waist with a chain. She was completely immobile and vulnerable, and she knew it. At this point Tiffany walked in, high heels clicking on the stone floor, a smile of satisfaction on her face. She said nothing, but snorted, turned, and sat on the single chair in the room, facing her victim. Terri followed her in, dressed in her dominatrix outfit of black leather boots, corset, stockings and gloves, her long black hair scraped back in a tight ponytail.
Alessandra was beginning to whinge now behind her gag, so Terri stood behind her and grabbed her hair, forcing her head up. “Our friend here tells me you’ve been causing trouble in the marital home, and we can’t have that now, can we?” She got no response from her bound victim so she leant in close to Alessandra’s face and said again, this time louder: “can we?” to which she got a hasty muffled squeak and a small shake of the head.
Terri let go of her hair and paced round Alessandra, then began her speech, the one she’d used so many times before to her doomed and immobile prey, although usually they were here voluntarily and had paid good money for it.
“I’m going to explain what’s going to happen to you over the next few hours, maybe the next few days if you’re lucky. We’re deep underground and the room is sound-proofed so your screams, which will be many and loud, won’t attract any attention. But for the time being you will remain gagged as I don’t want you whimpering for mercy. That just irritates me, and in any case there’s not going to be any! You’re going to get what’s coming to you lady.”
She picked a riding crop off the wall and began to swish it, as if weighing up its power, then examined it with an expert eye as she continued.
“In India during the Raj period, if a woman was caught committing adultery, her family would hand her over to the local Moghul who would deliver justice. He could do what he liked with her, and frequently did. Many of the methods they used and the tools they employed to punish these women were recorded, and I have studied them in detail. We shall introduce you to some of these punishments, call it a living history lesson if you like.”
But Alessandra was not willing to be taught history, and as the relaxant in the wine started to wear off, she tried to wrench herself free. It was of course a pointless exercise, the straps were tight on her wrists and ankles, and the chain around her waist, whilst thin, was of steel.
“Let us begin.”
On cue I stepped forward and pulled her basque down at the top to let her breasts plop out. I then tied a long thin rope round the base of each one, squeezing them and thus making the nipples that bit more sensitive to the touch. This rope was then knotted behind her back. Terri handed me the whip she had held, and produced two weighted nipple clips from one of the shelves on the wall. The weights were in the form of two small brass figures of Indian women, fleshy and fecund, and of course quite heavy for their size. Terri took pleasure in demonstrating them to her victim.
“These are modelled on the carvings found on the walls of the Lakshman temple in Khadjuraho in India. Most westerners who visit are overwhelmed by the sensuality of the place. You will be too.” She attached them to Alessandra’s nipples, first caressing each breast with her gloved hand before tweaking the buds and opening the rubber-coated jaws of each clip to cover them. Alessandra tensed and drew breath through her nose, and for a moment there was silence, apart from the faint jingling of the nipple weights as they swung back and forth, before Alessandra began mewing into her gag. Terri was not finished there. The crotch rope we had tied on her had a loop hanging at the back. Terri took the riding crop back from me, swished it a few times in front of Alessandra, just for effect, then walked behind her and inserted the handle into the loop of rope. Twisting this caused the rope to tighten between Alessandra’s legs, pressing into her defenceless pussy, and pushing the butt plug deeper, and it provoked a good deal of squealing. Of course any movement now also made itself felt in her clipped nipples. Terri pushed the end of the crop under the waist chain, preventing it from coming loose, before taking a second crop from the wall.
Terri began to strike Alessandra repeatedly on her exposed buttocks. After a few minutes, she passed the crop to me and I carried on, but more slowly, and focussing on Alessandra’s tanned thighs. Any attempt to wriggle away from the stream of blows only served to increase the pressure on the crotch rope, as well as intensifying the sensation in her titties. It was a delightful situation, at least to watch.
I briefly glanced at Tiffany who was sitting forward in her chair, staring at her tethered prey with such intensity that I wondered if she was getting off on this. But then, we all were. She seemed to take in Alessandra’s bleatings like a goddess accepting the sacrifice of a helpless creature on the altar in her temple, and when she sat back she had a smug satisfied expression on her face. But there was yet more to offer her.
From another shelf on the wall one of the team took down a large clear plastic jar covered with a beautiful Indian silk cloth, and passed it to Terri. With a flourish she held it in front of Alessandra and swept the cloth from it revealing a seething writhing mass of spiders, big ones. Alessandra shrieked in fear, or as best she could with 4 inches of rubber dick in her mouth. Of course this being Britain these were only common garden spiders, collected earlier in the day, and quite harmless, but she didn’t know that, and well, you can imagine the impact. Terri grinned as she held the jar’s open mouth towards Alessandra’s left boob, and pushed it on over the brass weight hanging from her nipple, so that the little creatures began scurrying all over her flesh. Oh what a reaction that prompted! We held her whilst the jar was taped in place, and a second brought and placed over her right breast, and taped on. Finally a broad leather belt was fixed over them and buckled tightly at the back. She didn’t have much wiggle room anyway, but this would ensure the creatures stayed in place. And of course the clamps and the crotch rope would discourage wiggling.
“An Indian Maharajah once drove a concubine mad with this technique dear. She was most beautiful but had been unfaithful. They say she ended her days wandering the streets as a common prostitute.” Terri moved to stand behind Alessandra and smoothed her hands over the rich dark hair, gently at first but then winding the hair round her fingers and pulling so that as she looked down, Alessandra was forced to look up. “I wonder if that will be your fate? We have many male guests in this establishment, perhaps we could blindfold you, leave you tied to a bed whilst they have their way with you, throwing a few measly Pounds, Dollars or even Euros behind as they leave.” She released the hair, and seemed to break a spell as Alessandra looked down at the squirming arachnids on her breasts and began to breathe heavily through her penis gag, eyes wide.
“See you later....maybe”
We all left the room then, accompanied by the sound of Alessandra’s muffled cries as the insects scuttled over her skin, accompanied by the jingling dance of the Indian nipple weights, and the clank of the chain holding her prisoner. Tiffany was the last one out, and stood for a moment before her vanquished foe. “Bitch” was her only comment, as she turned and followed us out of the door. Terri switched off the lights and slammed the door shut, leaving Alessandra in complete darkness.
Maybe half an hour later we returned, shocking the now exhausted Alessandra out of a stupor. She made yet another attempt to break free of the steel chain and leather straps. But freedom was only ours to grant, and we did then release her from the insect jars, the chain, the crotch rope and the straps, but only to pull her over to the bed, because her torment was not ended. Pushing her down onto the silk sheets, we strapped her legs tightly together at the ankles and thighs, then quickly tied her wrists behind her, and wound more ropes around her arms at the elbow. The gag remained in place whilst a simple scarf blindfold, and a soft velvet rope around her neck finished the job. Bending her legs back we joined ankles, wrists and neck with the ropes: a straight-forward hog-tie, but effective, the victim utterly helpless again.
Terri gently stroked her face with a leather-clad hand.
“This was another art practised by the more creative tribal rulers, influenced by the Kama Sutra, that classic Indian work so misunderstood here in the west. Deprived of your main senses, your skin becomes an erogenous zone. You will focus on physical sensations, like the invading presence of the dildo between your bottom cheeks. The Indian princes would block up their victim’s ears and nose to intensify the process, and then have chilli oil rubbed onto the skin. However we have little time so you will be spared these extremes for now.”
She gestured to me and the other members of the team, and we too began to stroke and caress the bound body lying before us. In all, 5 pairs of gloved hands teased, probed, and massaged in what I knew to be an enormous turn-on. I had been in this position, purely for educational purposes of course. It was intense and stimulating but strangely relaxing at the same time. Alessandra however reacted against it at first, then realising she could do nothing to stop it, ceased struggling and her mewling became less pronounced. Terri took a vibrator from a shelf and knelt down beside Alessandra. At this point Tiffany came in, carrying a large glass, half-full of whiskey, and ice cubes. She was obviously drunk now, and stared at Alessandra.
“Been watching the CCTV, loved the spiders. But you’re making it too easy for her. Let me have a turn. I want to see her in more pain.”
“Tiffany darling”, said Terri, “you’re really not understanding what’s going on here. This is not about pain, it’s about control, complete control. You see, with every gentle brush of a nipple, or slight adjustment of this vibrator” – she demonstrated these moves on her captive lying before her – “I can affect her whole being. On one level she doesn’t want to be tied up and tortured like this, but on another much deeper level” – and here she leaned closer to Alessandra’s face, lips almost caressing her cheek, speaking directly to her – “she craves it. I’m turning her into a submissive. Imagine what you could do with her once she’s turned”.
Alessandra whimpered, and then, as Terri’s expert hands moved the humming plastic shape over her body, caressing the nipples that only recently had been harshly clamped, the whimpers grew in intensity. As the vibrator moved down across the shiny white material of her basque, and then down to her thighs, the sounds became deeper moans, truly reflecting Alessandra’s conflicted emotions as Terri had predicted. All it took was a simple few strokes between those lovely thighs until she came in a wave of orgasmic intensity, her moans only just stifled by her gag. Terri looked on in pleasure, as if watching a favourite pet cat roll on the floor in front of her waiting for its belly to be scratched. And indeed, it seemed that she had a new pet.
Tiffany was still not happy. Pleasure what not what she was paying for. She pulled the scarf blindfold from Alessandra’s face. “Don’t think this is over yet, and Lover Boy won’t be coming to rescue you. We’ve got him chained up and he’s going to get a good seeing to. Rest assured that he won’t be getting the same gentle treatment you are.” She looked at Terri scornfully. “He’s locked up next door even as we speak. I’m going there now, I’m going to take some of these whips with me, and then he’ll regret crossing me. And then I’m coming back for you”. She threw the contents of her glass onto Alessandra, and stormed out.
The truth was, she didn’t know where her husband was at all. Her anger was as much frustration over that uncertainty as it was at Alessandra. But as I was shortly to find out, Terri knew exactly where he was...