Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her skirt, took a deep breath and walked towards where he was sitting.
She felt her insides dance, as she strode across the pub, trying to appear confident but feeling very nervous. “Michael?” She asked. The man looked up from his textbook as the cash-strapped University student swept her hair behind her ears and licked her lips seductively. “May I?” She gripped the back of the chair beside him and he nodded without saying a word.
“What … who … ummm,” he stuttered, but Angela forced a smile to hide her nervousness.
“I understand that you arrange a …” she racked her brains for the right word while staring into his eyes. “… a playdate with a mistress and I can …”
“How do you know that?” He started, and scooped up his papers. “I use that agency on the strictest of confidence and …”
“I know,” she panicked. “It’s just … I do that, and I do it much cheaper.” She waited for a split-second as her hands stopped trembling. “I do it much, much cheaper. We have a mutual acquaintance who told me and …”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, growing in confidence. “I understand you have a room rented in a hotel tonight. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it for nine hundred for the night.” He blinked, as she adjusted her blouse. “Obviously, I wear an outfit, and all. But that’s half the price of your regular gal.”
He sighed. “But, I know Lucy really well and …” His voice trailled off as a smile flicked across her face. “You can do rope, candles, …”
“I can do everything,” Angela promised and then rubbed her heads as the Sales Manager began to recount his fantasies.
* * * * *
Michael opened the door a few hours later to the busty prostitute, who removed her long coat as she entered the room to reveal a jet black corset with knee high boots and fishnet stockings. He gasped, and stepped back as Angela put a bag on the floor by the bed, and pressed her finger into his sternum. “Why are you still dressed?” She asked, glancing at the table where a pile of used banknotes lay waiting for her, as agreed.
She grabbed her client by the throat, watching him squeal, before throwing him backwards onto the bed. “I’m sorry … Mistress,” he simpered. Angela smirked as the man frantically undressed, and the young lady picked up two lengths of rope from her bag.
She snorted at the overweight man, pushing her left foot out to him, and demanded that he clean her dusty boots. “Kiss it,” she snapped as he hesitated. “Who’s in charge, here?” The naked gentleman reluctantly lowered himself to the floor as Angela cackled nastily. She loved the humiliation, savouring his clear discomfort as he licked her left boot clean.
“Please, I don’t want to,” I begged as she pushed her right boot into his face. “This isn’t …”
“Do it!” She demanded and smirked as the middle-aged manager reluctantly fulfilled the mistress’s wishes. “Good,” she cried, as he finished, and she grabbed his throat before propelling him upwards and onto the bed face-down. He cried out in pain, but Angela ignored him and tied his hands tightly to the headboard with her black cord.
“It’s too tight,” he moaned. “It’s tingling.”
“It’s meant to be tight,” she yelled and slapped him across the back of the head, before picking up a couple of candles from her bag, and lighting one of them with her lighter. “Any more from you,” she warned as the first drop of hot wax fell onto his rear.
He screamed and swore, taking huge breaths as Angela dripped more of the molten white liquid onto his skin. “Fuck, help, no! Popcorn! Popcorn! That’s too hot. Too hot.”
She sneered at him looking at his expression with fear etched on his face and reached for his discarded sock to stuff it into his open mouth.
Angela slid the wax candle into his butt crack, as she found her duct tape and bit some of the grey tape free to cover his mouth. “Take it like a sub,” she taunted at his muffled screams, and held his ass cheeks apart to pour a river of molten wax directly onto his anus.
His body thrashed as intense pain rocketed through him. Angela laughed, and pulled out her cheaply-made flogger, as she slotted the candle back into his abused crack.
His muffled roars grew in intensity as Angela flailed his back, smashing her weapon hard against his skin; covering every inch of his skin from his neck to his arse in bright red welts.
He had stopped complaining.
He had stopped screaming.
He had stopped squirming.
She smiled and taunted him, but got no response. She thrashed his back again, but he made no sound, or movement. “You fucking worm,” she cried, but there was nothing, and she felt for a pulse; there was none.
Angela screamed and dialled her friend on her phone, waiting in the car outside, who raced up to the room.
“What did you do?” Michael’s colleague asked as he walked into the room and saw the tape across his friend’s mouth. “Duct tape?” Angela nodded.
“I read that it was …”
“You stupid … and you whipped him across the kidneys …”
Angela tearfully nodded. “I thought he wanted it and …”
“What candles are these?”
“Just from a hardware store.” He groaned. “Well I’ve read Fifty Shades and that’s …”
“Fucking ‘ell,” he muttered and shook his head. “You better get out of here,” he muttered. “You killed him.”
“You said it was easy money,” she snapped.
“It is. If you know what you are doing.”
I consider my wife and I to be BDSM newbies; we’ve been playing very sporadically for a few years, but more seriously for around one.
We’ve been lucky as we’ve had some great and fantastic advice along the way from some very experienced people, as well as reading some great books and blogs. One of the best set of lessons I received was at Eroticon 2013 during a “live demonstration” of the “tools of the trade” for BDSM writers from Molly and her partner: it was incredible and it was drilled into me, and all the attendees, that communication and safety in BDSM is just paramount.
Common sense, huh? But in many of the books I read and have read, there is none of that and it’s straight to the action with none of the essentials.
So take care, and stay safe! If Angela had attended Eroticon 2013, if she had listened to the experts and sought the knowledge out there, then Michael would still be alive. And would have probably enjoyed himself too.