Mistress Extreme (2 page)

David waited and waited for Isabella to call him again, and waited and waited some more. He didn't work these days – was in the privileged position of not needing to – so he had all the time in the world to spend waiting. Every day that passed was an intense erotic torment for him. He waited by the phone when he was at home, and kept his cell phone with him all the time he wasn't. He shivered with sexual anticipation each time either phone rang. But whenever it happened it was never her.

David thought of nothing, nobody but Isabella. He thought about her dark and dominating allure, her perverse sexuality. He thought about her flawless beauty: her glossy black hair, her arrestingly beautiful face, her perfect alabaster skin, her full lips, her hypnotic eyes that were the colour of black ice and just as hard. He thought about the electric touch of her hands on his skin, the commanding tone of her voice. He played over and over in his head like an endless tape loop the few words she'd actually ever spoken to him.

Why did he yearn for Isabella so much? Why did he ache for her the way he did? What was the secret of the hold she had over him? How had she been able to bewitch him so totally? Isabella's face and body and voice were unsettling enough to David, but what had really got under his skin was her cold-hearted impulse towards domination and – he was sure of it – great cruelty. It had touched a raw nerve of submissiveness in him that had previously lain buried well beneath the surface, sublimated by the very conventional way of life he'd led before meeting her. But it was more than submissiveness. David now recognised his innate sexual masochism too, something of which he'd previously been entirely unaware at any conscious level. With each passing day, his yearning for Isabella grew stronger and so did his yearning for her to dominate and discipline him.

Every morning, David's first thought as he awoke was that maybe this would be the day Isabella would call him. But she didn't call. Perhaps she'd forgotten him, he wondered, or had decided to turn her attentions to someone else, or perhaps even return her attentions exclusively to her husband. Such ideas were too unbearable to contemplate.

Maybe Isabella had thought about it and decided that he wasn't worth bothering with, that he wasn't worthy of her. That would be understandable; he knew he wasn't worthy of her. But he was willing to give his all to her, pay homage to her, devote himself to her pleasure. She could do what she wanted with him. She could treat him as sadistically as she liked, beat the fuck out of him. He could take it,
wanted
to take it. He would do anything she ordered him to do, no matter how humiliating it was for him, no matter how painful, how perverted.

David thought about Isabella all the time and it was driving him crazy – literally. He realised that he was now in the iron grip of some powerful form of erotic dementia. And, strange though it may seem, that didn't concern him, not at all. He wanted to be in its grip. David couldn't do without Isabella. He waited in a permanently sexed-up state of anticipation for her to call him, prayed for her to send for him.

Whenever David thought about Isabella it made his cock hard and he masturbated. He thought about her constantly and his cock was constantly hard. He took to going nude and tumescent around his house, which had thick net curtains at all the windows – David was a man who greatly valued his privacy. Naked and stiffly erect, he masturbated constantly, thinking about Isabella all the time. He would fantasise about her and masturbate for hours at a time, edging all the while – holding back his climax – and when he finally allowed it to come, it would be overpowering, the shuddering spasms seeming to go on forever. And then before long he'd start thinking and fantasising about Isabella all over again, and get hard again, and masturbate again for ages and ages, and eventually climax again, and the climax would be overwhelming. And so it went on. David was racked with desire for Isabella, consumed by his desire to see her. Every day his burning desire to see her grew stronger.

Isabella had to phone, she just had to. After all, David couldn't prove to her what he was capable of if she didn't at least give him a chance. He couldn't show her how submissive he could be, how degraded, how much pain he could take. He couldn't prove to her that he was willing to give himself to her totally, unreservedly.

David was unable to sleep without thinking about Isabella, was unable to sleep because of thinking about her. He couldn't get through a single hour of the day without thinking about her constantly, masturbating constantly – stroking, stroking, always stroking. David thought about Isabella all the time as he stroked his cock, imagining S&M scenarios where he was completely at her mercy. He thought about prostrating himself naked before her. He thought about being trussed up tightly by her, his limbs immobilized. He imagined being beaten most cruelly by her as he struggled futilely against the tight ropes with which she'd bound him, gasping into the ball gag with which she'd gagged him.

David imagined Isabella bringing her flogger down harshly on his backside over and over again, every one of her lashes intensely sharp and stinging. He imagined the series of angry red welts that would appear on his naked flesh as a result of the harsh beating she was inflicting on him, imagined the muffled cries he would emit from beneath his ball gag as the beating went relentlessly on. He imagined Isabella flogging him with amazing savagery now, beating him so harshly that agonizing pain began coursing through him.

As David imagined the agony Isabella was inflicting on him with her whip, he wallowed in his imaginings, luxuriated in them, got more and more turned on by them. And the more turned on he became, the more he masturbated – although he was always careful to hold his climax in check. Eventually however the sensation became so intense that he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out very much longer, that he was ever closer to climaxing, and he began to surrender to the feeling.

The closer David got to climaxing, his hand moving rhythmically over his pulsing erection, the more intensely he fantasised about the incredible torment to which Isabella was subjecting him. In his mind, she was showing him no mercy whatsoever as she sexually tortured him, making him writhe and squirm helplessly within his tight rope bondage in intense pain as the ferocious lashes from her whip carried on landing across his rear.

In his mind, Isabella continued beating David without mercy, causing him to breathe heavily with the pain that he fantasised was searing through his body. And as he drew breath after shuddering breath in reaction to this imagined torture, he felt himself on the very brink of climaxing. The waves were spreading, filling him with wild pleasure. He was shaking, palpitating; his heart was thumping.

And then David was past the point of no return. He felt his cock swell and throb within his fist as he reached his peak. He tensed his body in his imaginary rope bonds, gasped into his imaginary ball gag and then gave himself to the surging sensations that had taken over his body. David stroked his aching erection to a gushing climax, ejaculating rope after rope of creamy come as the torture being inflicted on his body by Isabella continued unabated … inside his mind.

Masturbatory fantasies such as these –
constant
masturbatory fantasies such as these – about Isabella and the sadistic things he'd like her to do to him were all very well. But when would he actually see her in person again? He already knew he couldn't do without Isabella. But she could obviously do perfectly well without him. Because she didn't call. She'd abandoned him, it seemed, after giving him a tantalising glimpse of her dark and deviant world. David wanted so much to be part of Isabella's world, wanted to let her take him into the very darkest parts of that world, parts more utterly depraved and sexually perverted than he'd ever dreamed could be possible.

Time passed – weeks – and the torment of not hearing from Isabella did not ease. It got much worse. How could he have let this happen to him, he wondered desperately. Why couldn't he just forget all about Isabella, forget the seductive lure of pain and submission that she held out for him? But he couldn't forget about her. She had become his complete obsession, consuming all his thoughts and leaving no room for anything else.

David didn't know who he was any more, felt he no longer really existed. Except he did exist because he belonged to Isabella. But that was the only sense in which he existed. Never in the past could he have foreseen that he would end up in a situation like this, ready to submit himself totally to a woman he hardly knew, who treated him in such a cruelly indifferent and cavalier manner – ready to submit totally to her
because
she treated him that way. Isabella had done all this to him. He felt as if she'd pulled some invisible lever causing him to plunge through the false floor of his “normal” world and drop into the wholly different reality of her dark world, the place he'd wanted to be all along without ever before realising it.

The old David Alexander had been a footloose and fancy-free bachelor. That's how he'd liked to think of himself anyway. He was very good-looking and dead sexy; he'd been told that enough times by former lovers, of whom there had certainly been no shortage. They never used to boss him around either, those legions of young women. David had always been the one that made all the running, who'd loved them and then left them when he wanted to, tossing them away as casually as sweet wrappers. Then Isabella had come into his life and changed it beyond recognition, changed
him
beyond recognition. And now he had to endure the emptiness of not seeing her, the pain of her sheer indifference, his insatiable aching desire for her.

David's cell phone rang.

It must be her.

It had to be her.

It wasn't her.

Why didn't Isabella call? She had to call soon. David was desperate for her to call. But she didn't. Why had she deserted him like this? He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

Why couldn't he go back to living his life as it had been before he'd met Isabella? Why? Because in some devilish way she'd turned him into another person, that's why, a person who only existed for her cruel pleasure. If she'd only call he'd come running instantly. He was ready for anything she wanted to make him do, no matter how depraved it might be, no matter how painful for him. As long as it gave her pleasure, that was all that mattered. Isabella could do what she wished to him, order him about to her heart's content, bring him to his knees again, make him crawl naked to her. She could mistreat him horribly if she wanted to, beat him as hard as she liked, beat him so hard that he
bled;
she could make him her
thing
.

David's heart ached for Isabella; his cock ached for her; he continued to have an almost permanent hard-on. He got hard whenever he thought about her and he was always thinking about her and masturbating.

Perhaps it would have been different if he'd had to go to work, had to concentrate on earning a living. But he'd sold his business for a small fortune and was now a man of leisure. And just look at the way he was spending all that leisure time: obsessing and masturbating, a compulsive onanist with a raging libido and a one-track mind filled with masochistic fantasies about Isabella Stern and how excessively she might ill-treat him.

The hours and days and weeks became ever more unbearable. Isabella continued not to call David and he had to be content with … nothing, nothing that is but the pain of her absence. All he could think about was her. David felt so incredibly alone, he felt so incredibly horny. He carried on masturbating compulsively, thinking only of Isabella.

He couldn't stop thinking about the first time they'd met: that dinner party at the home of his best friend Matthew. At the end of the evening Isabella had handed David a card on which was printed her name, phone details, email address and the address of her Brighton property – she and her husband had at least one other splendid home, he knew – and he'd reciprocated, giving her his card. Isabella had then said, ‘Wait for my call.' David had familiarised himself with her address, and he'd waited to hear from her. A fortnight later, he'd received that curt instruction when he'd answered his phone and confirmed to her that he was on his own: ‘Get yourself over to my place now,' she'd said, her voice hard and meant to be obeyed. He'd gone immediately.

Weeks after that, hell, one whole fucking month after that – at last – David received another curt message when he answered the phone and confirmed that, as before, he was on his own. ‘A courier will deliver an envelope and a package to you in about ten minutes.' That was what Isabella Stern had to say to David. Then the line went dead and his heart stopped beating.

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang and David, who had been naked when he'd received Isabella's call but who now had some clothes on, went into the entrance hall and answered it. He opened the front door to the courier and took the envelope and the package he handed to him. Thanking the courier, David closed the door and returned to the living room. There were several throw rugs on the parquet floor, a black leather couch, and black-lacquered furniture. David sat down on the couch and opened the envelope with trembling fingers. He read its typed contents, his hands continuing to shake.

I want you to do the following
, the note from Isabella read.
Strip naked, and then open the package in which you will find a black leather blindfold and an enema kit. Take the enema kit up to your bathroom and clean yourself thoroughly with it. When you have done that, return downstairs and put your front door on the latch. Then go back to your living room and blindfold yourself with the leather blindfold. After that get on to your hands and knees on the floor and wait for my arrival. Finally, let me emphasise one thing: You are not to utter a single word throughout the entirety of my visit.

David sat where he was, the hand holding the letter still trembling, his heart hammering in his chest, and he tried hard to pull himself together. He realised that he needed to get a move on because he didn't know when Isabella would arrive. He must be ready for her when she got there, it was essential. She would not be at all happy if she turned up to discover that he was not yet prepared for her. David got up from the couch and hastily stripped off the clothes that he'd just as hastily put on beforehand when he'd needed to be able to answer the door to the courier.

He sat down again, opened the package, and took out the blindfold and the enema kit. Leaving the blindfold on the couch, David took the enema kit with him up to the bathroom. He got on with doing what he'd been told to do next, well aware of the implications of what he was doing. David realised that it was almost certain that he was going to be sodomized by Isabella, whether he wanted it or not. He wanted it all right, he had to admit. He wanted it an awful lot. But it frightened him too.

David padded back downstairs nervously, put the front door on the latch, returned to the living room and put on the blindfold. He got on to his hands and knees on the floor, his splayed backside facing in the direction of the door. It would be the first thing Isabella would see when she walked into the room. David was completely naked and yet felt more than naked. It was as if he had shed his skin and exposed raw nerve endings, charging his desire even further. David was ready for Isabella, his body tingling with anticipation, his veiny shaft as hard as a rock. He knew she would come because she'd said she would. But when would she come?

Kneeling on all fours, David thought once again about the power Isabella Stern had over him. He would do anything –
anything
– she commanded of him without a second thought and it seemed that she was only too aware of that. But how had she known that she'd have such an overpowering effect on him? She'd hypnotized him in some way when he'd visited her house a month ago, that was his theory in any event. But he'd read somewhere that a person couldn't be hypnotized to do things that went against their fundamental character. So, how had she recognised his fundamental character when she'd first met him, recognised exactly what kind of man he was beneath his civilised veneer? How had she been able to do that when he'd had no inkling of it himself until she'd entered his life?

David would follow Isabella to the ends of the earth, and she knew it. But how did she know it? How had she known that he'd wait for her to call when she first told him to? How did she know he'd wait for her like this: stark naked and blindfolded and on his hands and knees, his anal hole pink and clean and open and ready for her, his cock fiercely erect. How had she known with such certainly that he'd wait these last four weeks for her to call? All this interminable waiting, David didn't think he could stand much more of it. He didn't have to.

David heard his front door open with a creak and close with a bang. He heard footsteps, the click-clicking of high heels on the parquet floor of the entrance hall. He heard the living room door open and close, more footsteps on parquet flooring, and then muffled steps on one of the rugs. He could feel his heart beating more quickly. David reckoned that Isabella was right behind him now. But he couldn't be entirely sure she was because he couldn't see her due to the blindfold he was wearing, which cut out even the tiniest sliver of light. All he could see was black – pitch black that was made of tar. David assumed that Isabella was looking at him; she must be doing that surely. Did she like what she saw? Did she like the look of his well shaped, muscular backside, his pulsating anus, his throbbing rock-hard erection? She couldn't keep looking at him for ever. When would she make her move? The erotic anticipation David felt was acute. His breathing became ever more ragged the more intensely excited he became. He was shaking uncontrollably with a heady mixture of fear and desire and anticipation.

David felt the cold sensation of lubricant being squeezed into his anus. He realised that the time had arrived: Isabella was going to sodomize him now. Open mouthed and panting, David awaited the inevitable with a huge sense of sexual anticipation. He arched his back and spread his thighs a little further in readiness. Then he felt something being pushed against the opening of his anus, felt that same something being forced painfully through his reluctant sphincter, felt it being plunged right into the depths of his anal hole. It was a strap-on dildo, David was certain of it. And a big one too because it hurt like hell as Isabella, the palms of her hands on his hips, forced it deep into him; it felt as if he was being torn apart.

Isabella withdrew the dildo, plunged it into David again, then withdrew, then paused before plunging in once more. She then began a slow regular thrusting motion that caused the big rubber shaft to slide in and out of his anus. Isabella pushed the dildo in and out of his hole, impaling him again and again as she started to build up momentum. Finally she began to really fuck David in the arse in earnest, ploughing into him hard, and it felt wonderful, ecstatic; extreme pain had turned to extreme pleasure. His anal muscles squeezed and released deliciously around the large intruder she was pounding into him so expertly. He threw back his head and groaned with pleasure at each stroke, which made Isabella sodomize him faster and then faster still, grinding her hips over and over again as he bucked beneath her.

Then David felt the electric sensation of Isabella's right hand move from his hip to grasp his hard cock and the short brisk strokes of that same hand as she went on to masturbate him. And all the while she kept on buggering him, not pausing for a moment. Her rhythm was fast and strong, each thrust going deeper into his anus, filling him, penetrating him, exciting him beyond belief. As David felt Isabella grind into him so powerfully, masturbate him so skilfully, it made him feel helpless in a way he had never known before. Her thrusts and strokes became frenzied and his mind darkened as she rammed into him like a jack-hammer and masturbated him ever more furiously. David felt overcome with excitement, propelled into a heedless loss of control.

And that was when it happened. A shock ran through him and David started to shudder and shake as exquisite oscillations began pulsing through his body. Oh God, he thought. He reached the point of no return and climaxed deliriously. Spasms of erotic delight shook his frame and he had to force his mouth tight shut to prevent himself from crying out loudly when he started to ejaculate. The orgasm he experienced was incredible, overwhelming, the ecstatic convulsions went on and on.

Then the convulsions did finally stop. At last it was over, David was thoroughly spent. His mind was calm and blank for a while. He tried to hold on to the still silence for as long as he could, tried to hold on to Isabella for as long as he could too. Then he felt her slip her hand away from his shaft and ease the big strap-on dildo out of his anus. ‘Remove the blindfold after a slow count to one hundred,' she ordered.

And when he did, she was gone. It was like she'd never been there at all, like he'd dreamed the whole thing. David soon became anxious, felt bereft. Isabella had come to him and now she was gone. He felt so lost, so alone. He needed her words, her orders, her presence. He went back to waiting … and wanking. There was nothing else he felt he could do.