Mittens

Samantha leaned forward and spat, a sticky white string dangling briefly from her mouth before breaking.

Humiliation, she thought, her mouth full once again, her breasts swaying with the vigorous back-and-forth motion of her right hand.

Lost in thought, she'd been brushing her teeth for a full six minutes.

No, not just humiliation, degradation, she reflected. Nina doesn't just want to feel embarrassed, she wants to feel less than human. She wants to feel like an animal.Absent-minded, she rinsed for the third time. How did we even get into that conversation?

Oh, yeah, that's right. She remembered the purple-gray froth in the sink. Red wine. Lots of it.

Samantha spat, again, and grinned in the mirror. A bespectacled, bed-headed brunette, with the world's cleanest teeth and a tendency to overthink things - especially interesting rabbitholes like this one.

For a moment she wondered what she'd look like, all dressed up in leather and holding a whip - no, a riding crop. No. No, a boxing glove, big and red and shiny and exaggerated, like in a cartoon...

...or not. Sexy, Samantha, think sexy. Not functional.

But why not both? You wear boxing gloves so that you can beat each other up without doing too much damage. Why aren't boxing gloves sexy?

She lifted the lid, slid down her underwear and sat down. And so now you get an intriguing, sexy idea, and give it a turn for the ridiculous - something you've been trying to avoid. Also, why are you even ruminating on this in the first place? What are you going to do, go up to Nina and say "Hey, have you ever thought about getting a pair of big red boxing gloves and just letting someone beat you up with them?" What's the expression, backseat quarterback?

Break it down, Sam. Why boxing gloves? I imagine more along the lines of whips and gags and stuff when I hear "Bondage" or "Erotic humiliation," why am I thinking about boxing gloves?

Samantha always found the sound of running water conducive to any sort of contemplation. Pee works too, albeit for very brief sessions. She sat and followed the thought back towards its hidden origin, brow furrowed, chin resting on her upturned fist.

Lovers Without Realizing It

I groaned softly as I settled back at my desk, reaching down surreptitiously to massage one of my calves.

"Too many trips to the copier again, Jessica?" My boss asked me sympathetically on her way by with her third cup of coffee.

I heaved a deep sigh, starting to respond, but she was already back through her office door, letting it swing mostly closed as she settled in, sipping her coffee. I shook my head and shifted my massage to my sore feet. It certainly wasn't my fault they installed the copier on the far side of the floor – and it wasn't Diane's fault that she needed things copied a hundred times a day.

I'd been Diane's assistant for not quite a year, on my fifth attempt at finding a steady job in the field. My first boss had been a kindly older man, but his second heart attack had forced his retirement, and there'd been no other job open for me that wouldn't have required more sucking up than I was willing to do. My second boss had tried to convince me that assistants always worked until 3 a.m. Don't get me wrong – I don't mind long hours. I don't have a life for them to interfere with anyway. Still, if I wanted to work eighteen hour days seven days a week, I could have gone to law school – and then I wouldn't be holding down assistant jobs for crap pay and no benefits. The third and fourth jobs...well, the less said about those, the better.

Then I had come to Elsin and Associates, a tiny law firm that consisted of Diane Elsin and her partner, the elderly man whose practice she had taken over. He was near retirement, but apparently didn't like his wife all that much – so a young, ambitious lawyer who could take over his practice while not making him work too hard fit him like a glove.

Diane also had two paralegals who worked for her, but I rarely saw them much. They worked on another floor of the office building where the law firm had its offices, and we shared them with two other such firms, so I basically only knew them as names on interoffice mail envelopes.

Diane Elsin had made a reputation for herself as a trial lawyer in her late twenties and early thirties – now forty years old, she practiced mostly as a trial consultant to larger firms. She still cut quite an imposing figure on the rare occasions she actually went to a trial, though – tall, fit, blonde, long legs, cold blue eyes – she was the very image of a ruthless, bloodsucking lawyer.

I thought she was actually a pretty nice woman, myself – quiet and private about herself, but always composed, with a ready smile. She was also one of the few lawyers I'd met that didn't treat their assistants like slaves – she wasn't one of those fruity saccharine types either. When she asked you to call her Diane, it wasn't patronizing. When she asked you to get coffee for her, it was because she couldn't get it herself at the moment, being stuck on a conference call or coming in a bit late and needing to rush straight to a meeting.

Of course, by this point in my career with her, I'd barely gotten up the courage to call her anything at all. I'm what you'd call the shy type. Very petite from head to toe, short red hair, big green eyes, still far too many freckles across my nose for a girl of twenty-eight, and a body that I worked hard on but seemed capable of attracting attention only from married men a quarter-century older than me. The fact that I hadn't been on a date with a boy since middle school didn't help with that at all. I couldn't even take advantage of it, for crying out loud – I've known I was gay since I was sixteen, when I realized that my masturbatory fantasies hadn't involved a boy in quite some time and weren't likely to any time soon. It hadn't taken very many dates with women to seal things more or less in stone for me. I was lucky, though – I came out in college, my friends were supportive, my mom seemed relieved that I had finally figured it out, and my dad's reaction consisted of one piece of advice: "Just remember, honey, a woman can be just as much of a prick as any man." Thanks, Dad – not bad advice, though.

Diane, on the other hand, was divorced, though I knew little about her life in that respect. I'd heard something about a law professor, but she'd been divorced for years, and certainly didn't talk about her love life with me. She was one of those people who you'd finish telling your life story to and then realize she hasn't said a thing about herself.

The Sybian Party

I was just a tad nervous as Beth and I strutted up the sidewalk to the front door of the ranch-style house. I was wearing red leather mini-skirt and knee high boots, with a black top. Beth had on her leather jeans, and a white t-shirt. Hand in hand, we approached the front porch, knocked on the door, and Angel greeted us with warm kisses on each of our cheeks. Blonde, long-legged, and beautiful, Angel invited us in, and we were warmly greeted by seven other women, who were all lounging in the living room. Since we were the last to arrive, the official party could now begin.

Beth had met Angel through a posting on a message board on an e-groups site, and she had worked it out to where we were both invited to this "special" party. She had ridden a sybian before at an all-girl party, and was dying to experience it again. From what she had told me, it was quite the adventure, and I was eager to try it also. Beth had sent our initiation fees of $100.00 to Angel, and we were accepted into this club of sybian-loving women.

Beth and I introduced us to the group. Her and I had been lovers for six months, and although bi-sexual before, we were totally into only each other at this time. Then each of the other women, starting with Angel, did the same. Angel was an Internet porn amatuer, a single lesbian, 31 years old, and she explained how she was entirely hooked on the sybian.

Her friend and occasional lover, Amy, was a lesbian also, a lab research assistant, and 25 years old. She had short black hair and a great figure.

Lela was 48 years old, married, bi-sexual, and ran an Internet health-food site. Her shoulder-length red hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her slim figure made her look years younger than her age.

Brooke definitly caught my eye. Although not a beautiful woman, at 22 she sported the figure of a porn- queen. She was wearing jeans, heels, and a bright pink bra; her huge titties were nearly falling out of the bra, and I couldn't help but think of kissing them. She told us how she loved the sybian, how she was hiding this from her boyfriend, but could do nothing about her addiction to the machine.

Carla spoke next. She was 35, bi-sexual, single, a nurse, and she twirled her flowing brown hair around her fingers as she talked. She wore a pretty flowered dress, which seemed to show off a very round ass. I could feel Beth squeeze my hand tighter as Carla talked.

Gabby was tall, Latino, and had jet-black hair which reached down to her healthy ass. She was married, a full-time housewife, and loved group fucking with her husband. She had a sybian of her own, which is how she spends nearly every day when her husband is at work. 

I Love My Mistress

I was at work when my phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, I saw the single letter 'M.' Mistress! I didn't let it ring a second time. From the other end, I heard the smoky, sensual voice say "Come," and I nearly did right there. She hung up, not needing to say anything more. I knew where to go. I left work early, got in my car and drove. It had been nearly three weeks since I last heard from her and I ached to see her again.

Some may think it strange to be so obsessed with this woman who I knew nearly nothing about. I do know that she's rich. And I mean super rich. She doesn't bother with cash, checks, or credit cards, things are always just taken care of. But don't think I'm some kind of gold digger or anything; I work an office job and live in anything but luxury. She's never given me any money, or paid my bills, or bought me expensive gifts. Well, there was one thing: a white leather dog collar, tastefully studded with eight large diamonds (real), and with 'PET' engraved in gold letters. It is my most treasured possession. Not because of the decadence, but because she gave it to me. I always kept it close by, and it was now in my glove box.

* * * *

We met about six months ago. I was in a nightclub, blowing off some steam by drinking and dancing the night away. As I was a pretty young woman in such circumstances, a number of men were eager to get to know me better. I hadn't gone out that night with the intention of meeting anyone, but as the night went on and the alcohol started to go to my head, I was getting kind of horny and began to reassess. I was considering the candidates for a potential one-night stand as we danced out on the floor when I saw her. She was in a private booth, watching the writhing bodies on the dance floor with a wicked little smile, gazing over everything like she owned it all.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I had only fooled around with other girls in high school and college, and had always preferred men, but I knew at that moment that I wanted her. Suddenly, she was looking right at me. My heart started racing even more than it had been, and I started dancing again. I don't know why I didn't just go over there and talk to her. Maybe it was the private booth, maybe I just wanted to show off a little. Kind of like saying 'I know you're watching me, look how sexy I am.' As I danced, I kept looking back to see if she would keep watching. She never looked away, with that predatory grin making my pussy just so wet. Eventually, she raised her hand and crooked a finger at me, allowing me to approach her.

I navigated my way across the dance floor and up to her booth. With a playful smile, I said "Hey there!" practically shouting to be heard over the noise of the club.

"Hey yourself," she answered. Indicating the empty bench beside her, she said "Join me." I hopped into the seat and introduced myself while she poured a couple of glasses of champagne from the bottle on the table. She was probably in her early to mid-thirties, but if she said she was twenty-one I would have believed her. Dark hair and flawless pale skin made me think of a grown-up version of Snow White. A Snow White who had become a queen, made that prince her bitch, and was now on the hunt for a new sexual toy.

She said "I liked watching you dance."

"Thanks," I said, sipping the offered drink.

"You seem pretty popular tonight."

"Yeah, I guess. But those guys will probably hit on anything with tits."

"Were you thinking about sleeping with any of them?"

Wow. Pretty direct, right? "Well...thinking about it..." I said, trying to be coy. "But then I saw you."

Her smile grew just slightly. She leaned in closer and my breath caught in my throat. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter?"

"Do you mind if I get noisy?"

She grabbed the bottle of champagne and led me by the hand to the door. One thing I noticed when we stood up was that she was quite taller than me. I'm only 5'6" and she was wearing four-inch heels at the time, which made her a full head taller than me, and actually put me at eye level with her spectacular rack. Awesome. Outside, we barely had to wait any time at all before a classy black limo with tinted windows pulled up to the curb and the driver held the door open for us to climb in the back. The interior was furnished with black leather, and there was even a bar on one side. Wrapped in out private little bubble, we drank the rest of the bottle and flirted as the limo drove us I didn't care where. Somehow she steered the conversation so it never really came to a point where we could just start making out. There was quite a bit of touching, though nothing too sexual.

A Pair of Angels

So here Ryan sat, wasting his Friday night away in his apartment playing the latest installment of a major crime video game. It had become his routine over the past few weeks and despite living near to a major university campus, he never really got into the party atmosphere. At well past the overweight mark, he had always led the sedentary video game life, and never quite had the self-confidence to go out and dance and party. He didn't have a problem talking to girls per-se, but he never built up the confidence to really flirt with them. He'd always just figured they'd reject him. However he had met a really cool girl named Chloe but after a really awkward movie date he gave up, figuring he blew it and that she probably didn't like him. Nevertheless he still talked to her every now and then, and lately it seemed that he might get another shot.

It was at this moment that he heard a classic video game 'ba-ding' come from his phone. He had gotten a new text message from Chloe. It simply read "Hey". He opened the text screen and replied with a simple "Hey what's up?"

"Oh not much, really. Kinda bored..."

"Oh that stinks. Me too..." Ryan texted back.

"Hey you wanna come to my place and hang out?" came Chloe's reply.

"Holy. Shit." He thought to himself. This is like his dream come true! And to boot his roommate was out partying and blackout drunk. He usually didn't show up to well into Saturday afternoon after passing out in whatever frat he joined, so he wouldn't have to worry about him anytime soon.

So he texted her back: "Maybe. Are your room/suite mates there?"

"Well I think my suite mates are here. My roommate will be back sooner or later though."

He looked at the time on his phone, it read 9:24. "Well it's still early" he thought, "maybe this night can be salvaged yet". So he texted her back,

"Well my roommate is going to be out for a while if you want to come here instead."

"Oh ok. That sounds good . I don't have a car on campus. Wanna come get me lol"

"Ha ok. Be there in ten "

He quickly changed out of the t-shirt he'd worn all day into a nicer one. It was a good mix between casual and dressy, but obviously showed that he didn't really get out often. Hurriedly he switched over to his "nice" jeans and then gave himself a quick spritz of cologne. He did a quick once-over of his hair, decided it had the perfect appeal, threw on his jacket, grabbed his keys and took off.

Karen's Massage

Karen was setting in her car in the parking lot next door to he massage parlor. Her best friend had told her about it a month ago, right after she had discovered it. Her friend Sandy was thirty-five and newly divorced like herself. "You have to try this place. That's all I'm saying." And try as she might, that was all Sandy would tell her but she did ask if Karen had made an appointment every time they were together or talked on the phone, which was nearly every day.

So finally, just to shut Sandy up, she called and arranged for a massage and she certainly could use one. Her divorce had been final three months earlier and her life was in a bit of a mess ever since. Financially she was fine. Between what her husband, a successful and well known attorney, had agreed to pay her each month and the fair amount of cash her grandfather had left her, she would be just fine indeed.

The hassle and stress came from having to find a new apartment, furnish it, buy a car and completely change her life. She locked the door of her new bright red Miata and smiled as she turned toward the shop.

When the door closed behind her, she was standing in the waiting area. It was very pleasant with soft jazz playing. It was quite dark but she could see and smell a number of vases of flowers set around and there was a black leather sofa and two matching chairs arranged in sort of a conversation area to her right. There was a very modern glass counter ahead of her and for the first time she saw there was a woman standing behind it.

"I'm guessing you are Karen?" she asked.

Karen walked to the counter and nodded. "Yes." She said. The woman was around forty or so but striking to look at. She had long red hair with black streaks running through one side. She was taller that Karen by a good six or eight inches and very slender. She was wearing a blue floral silk wrap around her waist and a dark blue spaghetti strap tee that ended above her naval. She was quite beautiful with a flawless tan complexion.

"Please have a seat." She pointed toward the sofa. "May I offer you a glass of wine?"

"Gee." Karen said. "Sure. I never expected wine. Do you have white?"

"I'll bring it to you and I'll let Tess know you are here." The woman said.

It was only a couple of minutes when the woman reappeared carrying a glass of white wine and a cloth napkin. When she handed it to Karen she said. "By the way, I'm Samantha. This is my shop but the help all insist on calling me Sam. I wasn't sure I liked that at first but I decided I couldn't fire them so now I guess I'm Sam "

"I like Sam." Karen said. She held out her hand and the woman shook it. She had very long fingers and the softest hands she had ever felt. The woman returned to behind her counter and slid onto a stool. When she crossed her legs, the wrap exposed a lot of thigh and Karen could see that a very exotic tattoo ran from her ankle to well up on her hip and disappeared beneath her wrap.

Maybe fifteen minutes had passed and Karen had finished her glass of wine when the curtain against the far wall slid open and a very young girl walked through. "Karen, this is Tess, she will be providing your massage today." Karen stood as the girl approached her. She took the glass from Karen's hand. The girl could not have been more than eighteen. She was physically a mirror image of Samantha except she had short dishwater blonde hair and a breathtaking beauty that can only come from youth. It was then that Karen realized that the girl was wearing an identical outfit as Sam. She assumed it must be the office uniform, Well, Karen thought. Sam had great taste.

"Will you come this way please?" The girl asked as she pointed toward the curtain and the hallway beyond. Karen made her way down the short hall and entered a second room that was only lit by candles. It was dark but everything was still visible. She heard glass clink and when she turned she saw Tess pour her a second glass of wine. She walked over and handed it to Karen and then she put her left hand under Karen's right elbow and said. "It takes a bit for your eyes to adjust. I've told Sam we need a few more candles in here."

"It is quite dark isn't it?" Karen agreed.