Pathways to Submission: Sally
Copyright© 2023 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 31: Mistress Penelope’s Demands
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 31: Mistress Penelope’s Demands - Sally is a young woman looking for a new job. A chance meeting on a crowded bus introduces her to Penelope, a professional dominatrix. Penelope needs an assistant, and although Sally is naturally submissive and not ideal what Penelope wants, she asks Sally to call her. Sally is soon in Penelope's thrall.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Interracial Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Illustrated
I arrive early at the ‘workshop’ the next morning, ready to start with the routine cleaning. I drop my bag in the locker at the back of the office, shed my outer clothes, and tie my hair back. Mistress Penelope insists that I perform the cleaning duties wearing nothing but my leather harness. The harness is like a second skin by now, and I feel the familiar mental shift into work mode. Perhaps my growing comfort with my semi-nudity is what prompted me to order Freya to undress yesterday.
I have a well established cleaning routine that I follow faithfully. Mistress Penelope will inspect my work when she arrives, and my arse is familiar with the penalty for anything less than perfect work.
Two hours later, Mistress Penelope stands in the centre of the dungeon, arms folded, watching me fasten J’s wrists and ankles to the X-frame. Mistress Penelope gestures for me to come over to where she is standing.
“Sally,” she says, voice brisk. “Take over here. I need to visit another client for a session at his home.”
My stomach tightens. Client sessions are normally booked days, if not weeks, in advance. A session arranged at such short notice is something I’ve not encountered before. It isn’t as though I haven’t run sessions by myself before. But this is the first time I been called on to do so without preparation. Furthermore, this is only J’s third session, so there’s still a lot of experimentation required to determine what really meets her needs. There are times when Mistress Penelope’s clients really need the services of a professional therapist, but they’re expensive, so they seek solace in what Mistress Penelope’s dungeon provides instead.
“Okay, Mistress,” I say, hiding my doubts. “I can do that.”
Mistress Penelope studies me for a moment, with her all-too-familiar assessing gaze.
“You’re ready,” she says. “You’ve run some sessions on your own before, and you’ve been observing long enough.”
Her certainty steadies the butterflies in my stomach. I nod, inhaling deeply.
Mistress Penelope apologies to J for her sudden departure, but reassures J of her faith in my abilities. I cannot read J’s reaction to the news ... it seems to portray a mixture of feelings.
“Alright,” I say, once Mistress Penelope has gone. “Let’s start with some tit flogging.”
J’s previous sessions have demonstrated her liking for corporal punishment. But punishment can come in many forms, and I’m not convinced we have yet found the right mode or level of severity. Unfortunately, J says she has no prior experience to guide us. She endures a tit flogging with a crop without exhibiting any overt signs of pleasure. She doesn’t pull against the restraints of the X-frame as some other clients do when enduring the same punishment.
I halt the flogging and run my hand over her exposed cunt. It’s moist but not overly wet. That could simply be a consequence of being bound and displayed on the X-frame.
“When you fuck, do you prefer a man or woman between your legs?” I ask.
By rights that’s an unnecessary question, as her preliminary interview established J was heterosexual ... or so she said. I am beginning to suspect that some, if not all, of her interview answers were false ... or at least, not the whole truth.
I abandon the idea of flogging J’s arse, in favour of something that her initial interview suggested would be wrong approach to satisfy her.
“You’re a dirty lying little lesbian whore,” I snarl at her without warning.
J is taken aback, and I momentarily worry that I’ve overstepped the mark. But the look on her face quickly turns into one of acceptance. My words have hit closer to the truth than I have a right to expect.
“Please don’t tell my boyfriend,” pleads J.
I reassess J’s personality. The profile developed during her initial interview is off the mark. J is in her mid‑twenties. She’s slim, with a nervous posture that makes her look smaller than she is. I move her to stand beside the padded wooden horse with her hands clasped behind her, displaying her tits in an attractive way. Even though we are alone, her eyes dart around like she’s afraid of being judged.
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