Stories

The Femdom Fatale: An Encounter with a Mystery Mistress

Sex in the Workplace

I spent one summer working in a bookstore right next door to a specialty leather shop downtown. I figured a job at the bookstore would put me right in the path of adventurous women coming downtown to outfit themselves in sexy leather, and maybe an opportunity to meet some of them as well as ogle them.

One day, I was outside on a smoke break when a tall, gorgeous woman with jet-black hair strutted up. She was smoking too, balancing a thin cigarette holder between her fingers. She window shopped as she smoked, eyeing a pair of thigh-high leather boots.

“Those are really nice, aren’t they?” I said, trying to make small talk.

“Nice isn’t the word I had in mind,” she said, blowing a smoke ring in my direction.

“Either way, they’d sure look good on you,” I chuckled.

Putting out her cigarette she opened the shop door and motioned for me to follow her inside. “Only one way to find out,” she said.

It turned out that she was friends with the woman who owned the shop, who asked her if she wanted to use her “usual dressing room.” Following my mystery woman into the back, what we came to was not a dressing room but a small dungeon, equipped with restraints and a variety of whips and other flogging implements.

“Whoa,” I said. “This is intense.”

The mystery woman smiled again. “Not yet it isn’t,” she said, taking my hand and leading me toward the cross. Once I was secure, she pulled down my pants and started dragging her long red fingernails up and down my inner thigh. Then she pulled off my shirt, grabbed a corded leather whip off the wall and began lashing me, raising welts on my stomach and chest.

After a while, she left me alone in the room and came back wearing nothing but the boots that she had admired through the window. Standing right in front me, just out of my reach, she bent over and played with herself. “I bet you want to touch me like this,” she said, quite correctly.

A few minutes later, she walked out again, and I spent the rest of the day tied up in back until the shop owner came back to free me. Without saying a word, she handed me a card with a phone number on it but no name.

Amazingly, I didn’t lose my job at the bookstore – not until I’d disappeared for the afternoon two more times with my mystery mistress, an experience that was well worth losing a job!

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