Do you have permission to speak, GOD DAMN IT?!

My eyes are dark and my lips are pressed together. WHACK. The whip hits white flesh. His ass, to be exact. While he is on his hands and knees he hangs his head apologetically. Sorry, mistress. My apologies, mistress. Shut up! WHACK. Another lash to his bottom. I can see the red lines are starting to form a nice piece of art. I feel the corner of my mouth curl up in a twisted grin.

He is rich. God-awfully rich. His apartment overlooks the Dutch Vondelpark and is stylishly furnished. The high ornamental ceilings and big windows breathe history. I don’t want to know what he paid for it.
We have an agreement, he and I. I don’t get paid, I’m not an escort. Not that there is anything wrong with that, you do you. I would be a bad whore though, with only one non-paying customer. Nope, this girl works a 9 to 5 job as a manager at a recruitment firm. Boring work, long days, a lot of hassle. Well, it pays the rent. The deal that I have with this cash cow is one of mutual understanding and comfort. I get to use his apartment whenever I please, he gets to choose two days a month on which I humiliate him. Okay, sometimes he leaves presents for me at the appartment. Sexy outfits, perfume, jewellery. Very courteous. I use his appartment regularly, it’s a nice place to stay after going out in Amsterdam. It’s not his only appartment, you know. He doesn’t even miss it.

His wife is aware of his kink, she is repulsed by it. She’s not really into this kind of shit. The wife functions as a kind of veil of respectability. She’s the wife who has witty conversations at soirees and galas. One of those women who will age gracefully, walking through the most expensive shopping street of Amsterdam, designer purse in hand.
He can be himself with me. We don’t have a relationship, I don’t love him. I sometimes feel just the teeniest bit of repulsion when I think about him. That actually comes in handy when it’s time to rape his asshole with a dildo. We will get back to that part. First, let’s start at the beginning. How did I end up here? Well, I met him through my ex – THE ex.

Oh, my ex and I. A classic love story. NOT. That dude broke me. We were together for six years and I took more shit from him than I ever thought possible. When we fought he would stay out all night, I was left at home to wonder whose dirty cunt he was fucking this time. Yet, I returned, time and again. He had this magnetic pull, this fatal attraction. You couldn’t miss him. He exuded sex and dominance and I was like an addict trying to get her fix. He was manipulative, he often gave me the feeling that I was the crazy one and that everything was MY fault. After we moved in together our fights grew worse by the month. I had the feeling that he started hating me. I held him back in life, he would yell at me. I was a good-for-nothing woman without ambition who dropped out of college and would never amount to anything. He told me to eat less and work out more. He got annoyed when I had a friendly chat with one of his friends at a party. All in all our relationship was super toxic. He would use me for sex, did what he wanted. I thought it was supposed to be like this between a man and a woman. I felt that way until our sex got more and more violent. He would just start having sex with me, even though I didn’t feel like it. Sometimes he would choke me and stop just in time so I wouldn’t pass out.

One night he came home, drunk off his ass, smelling like cheap perfume. I was SO done. I stomped towards the bedroom and started packing my suitcase like a madwoman. He stumbled towards me and sounded super drunk when he asked me what the fuck I was doing. I pushed by him and dragged my suitcase to the living room. With almost inhuman strength he pulled the suitcase from my hands and flung me against the wall. I want to leave, I said. I can’t do this anymore. His eyes were blazing. Can’t do WHAT anymore? He growled. This. Us. Everything! I started crying. He gave me a brutal slap in the face. I staggered and almost lost my balance while I grabbed my cheek. My mouth was open but I couldn’t say a thing. My cheek burnt like hell. He obviously scared himself because he took a few steps back and looked at his hand. I slipped past him, grabbed my suitcase off the floor and rushed to the door. I heard him start to chase me but he tripped over the coffee table. Stupid drunk fuck. He was screaming at me while I slammed the door shut and ran downstairs, to my car. My hands were shaking violently but I somehow managed to start the car and drive to my mother. My heart felt like it would explode.
My ex tried to apologise. He shouldn’t have hit me, he said, but I kind of had it coming. I was acting like a child, according to him. Even now he tried to make me look like the bad guy to patronize me. He tried to win me back with gifts and declarations of love. When this didn’t work he tried to manipulate me in every way he knew how. My mother and my friends reminded me to stay strong. This girl wasn’t going back. I was so fucking DONE with men. I didn’t want to date, I didn’t want to have sex. I just wanted to feel in control of myself and my own body again.

About a year later I was going out in Amsterdam when I suddenly laid eyes upon a business associate of my ex. I waved at him and his eyes lit up when he recognised me. Hi pretty lady! He gave the appropriate three kisses on my cheeks. We got to talking and he paid for my drinks the entire night. My ex had told him about what happened between us and of course he left out the details that would have made him look like an asshole. I told him my side of the story. He looked puzzled but I could see that he believed me. He wasn’t very handsome, but he wasn’t ugly either. He had the beginnings of a paunch and he was on the higher side of thirty, about ten years my senior. The combination of a good sense of humor and an easy temperament won me over. I knew he was rich. He let a college dude drive him home in his own Porsche after a night out on the town and ordered champagne like it was tap water. He was never arrogant, not to me anyway.

Some time later we were sitting next to each other outside a café on Rembrandtsplein, Amsterdam. We were getting drunk. He suddenly confessed that it was one of his biggest fantasies to be humiliated by a gorgeous woman. Or to have something shoved up his ass. I laughed so hard my wine almost came out through my nose. Then I saw that he looked serious, sad even. I stopped laughing, put my hand on his arm and apologised. After this we talked about what is was he exactly wanted. For him, it was all about not having any control. Even better, having control by choosing to give away control. We laughed while talking about a potential safeword. Banana, no that was too phallus-shaped. Quesedilla, nah, too difficult in the heat of the moment. Out of the blue he swiftly turned towards me and looked me straight in the eye. He grabbed my hands in his. I think you are hot, amazing and lovely. I felt genuinly touched and thanked him. Wouldn’t you want to, you know… once in a while… He stammered. I raised my eyebrows and looked at him questioningly. What, become your mistress? He turned away his eyes and shrugged. Then he softly nodded his head. I would pay you, you know. You’d never want for anything! I pulled away my hands. I’m not an escort, I said, nor do I aspire to be. Actually, I almost felt offended that he would even offer to pay me money for this.
But… what if I were to grant you full access to my apparment at the park, for free. You could use it whenever you like! I noticed myself thinking and the urge to immediately say ‘no’ faded quickly. Maybe, I answered. He almost wagged his tail – if he had one – and took both my hands back in his. I’m discreet, my wife doesn’t have to know and there will be no strings attached, whatsoever. You get to decide how far you want to go and when you want to quit. His offer grew on me. I liked him and cared for him. We had some smalltalk while finishing our wines, we tried to keep things light and airy. When I got up to leave he touched my hand. Would you think about it, please? I nodded. I’ll send you a text.

While his head is bent down I walk around him in my heels. Black stilettos, just what he likes. My garter holds up my stockings with a French seam in the back. I’m not wearing any panties. The black corset that I’m wearing has a nice push-up effect on my boobs. My hair is loose and the whip in my hand resembles a riding crop. We discussed into full detail what he wanted to do today and just five minutes in he forgets that he has to shut his mouth until he is told to speak. He cannot do anything without MY permission. I stop walking when I’m in front of his head and he reaches out towards my feet. I allow it, this time. He then starts to kiss my shoes, first the tips and then the sides. I roll my eyes and with a crack the whip lands on his back. STOP IT! He winces and retracts his hands. Take off your underwear, I tell him. He hurries to pull down his leather panties – bought for the occasion of course. I point my whip towards the ground as I tell him to get on his back. NOW. He rolls over without me having to repeat myself. I take a step towards him, put my feet beside his body and hover over him, threateningly. My naked pussy is directly above his dick. I see his dick starting to throb a bit, he’s getting hard. However, that dick will have to wait.

“Please mistress, would you do me the honour of sitting on my face?”

Fucking is not part of the deal. We have never had intercourse. Usually, he gets my permission to jerk off and that’s enough for him. It’s not about the sex, it’s about the game. Today, he had a different request and I found myself intrigued and excited. I ask him what he wants his mistress to do. He mumbles incoherently. SPEAK UP! I yell at him. Sorry, mistress, apologies, mistress. Please mistress, would you do me the honour of sitting on my face? I inch further upwards, now with my naked pussy hovering above his belly button. Oh really, is that what my slave wants? Did my slave deserve such an honour? He nods his head violently. Please, mistress, please sit on my face, smother me until you come. Well, all right then. I take a step forward until my naked cunt is above his face. Immediately after, I drop down to my knees, thighs beside his head. My pussy is within an inch of touching his face. Then, I slowly let myself slide all the way up his face, from his chin to his forehead. His warm breath feels pleasurably on my clitoris. The excitement starts to grow deep in my belly, I feel naughty and powerful at the same time. Your mistress is going to smother you and fuck your face until she orgasms, slave. I don’t want to hear you whine, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD? He nods his head and I feel his nose going up and down my clit. I slowly move up and down again, stimulating myself. His face is starting to glisten from my pussy juice. I never stay dry during these sessions. The power of humiliating someone who really wants to be used excites me more than I could ever have known.

While I straddle his face I pick up the tempo. I grind my clit on his mouth and chin and occasionally feel his stubbles against my labia. Stick out your tongue, slave. I breathe heavier and faster. He sticks out his tongue like a good slave and I keep moving up and down in a rocking motion. His face is starting to smell like me and it shines because of my moist cunt. The control is all mine and I move how I want to, sometimes taking his breath away, just the way he likes it. The tension builds and I cannot speak. When I feel my orgasm erupting I take his head into my hands and push him towards me, simultaneously suffocating him. His tongue moves sporadically and that makes the waves of my orgasm pulse through my lower body. I pull his hair, I hear him struggle. When my orgasm subsides I gently drop his head down to the ground. He breathes in like he almost drowned – which I guess he actually almost did. I look down and I see his face, red, moist and happy. He smiles at me. Thank you so much, mistress, thank you. I smile downward. Good work, slave. Well done.

I get up and pull down my corset so that my boobs find their rightful place again. Back on your knees, slave. He moves as fast as he can go and I notice his dick has become hard as a rock. I walk past him and behind him I open up one of the drawers of a big wardrobe. I see a black dildo, not too big, not too small. Is this new, slave? I ask while I come walking back towards his behind. I take a tube of lubricant and I squirt it on my hands. I rub the dildo until it’s equally slippery and then I rub some on his anus. When he feels the dildo outside of his asshole he cringes a bit. Relax, slave, this won’t hurt. Just play with your dick a little. His butt relaxes and I start to push the tip of the fake penis in his ass. As I gradually push the dildo in further and pull it out again I hear his breathing intensify. Well, this won’t take long, I think to myself. While I keep pleasuring him I order him to jerk off harder and keep up with the tempo of the dildo fucking his asshole. It doesn’t take long for his breathing to become irregular. Then he erupts in an enormous orgasm, threads of semen leave a white smear on the laminate flooring. When his orgasm fades I let the dildo slide out of his ass, gently. I put it on the side table and give him a little pat on the ass. I can see the red lines that my whip left are starting to fade. Well done, slave. You did good.

He sighs, deeply. Thank you so much, mistress.