The Mistress Files

“I have no breasts. I’m an A-cup.” Sheridan sounded genuinely upset with her own body. “I should get implants. My agent says—”

“Fuck your agent. You get implants and you could lose sensitivity. Are fake boobs really worth never feeling this again?” The Mistress punctuated her sentence by gently pinching both of Sheridan’s nipples, a move that elicited one of the more erotic gasps ever uttered since the invention of gasping.

“No...I’d hate to lose that,” Sheridan confessed.

“Then don’t. Your body is perfect. Don’t fuck with it. That’s my job.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl. Now shut up and lay there. I’ve got a girl to get off.”

A new smile appeared on Sheridan’s face in place of the old, nervous smile. This smile was amorous, heated, sexy beyond description and exactly what The Mistress was going for.

For a good ten minutes (a very good ten minutes in The Mistress’s estimation) she focused her attentions on Sheridan’s breasts, nipples and chest. Men rarely understood the power of focusing attention on one part of the body at a time. A few lucky women could even achieve orgasm from breast stimulation alone. The Mistress doubted Sheridan had that power but she’d need as much foreplay as she could stand if the long-awaited orgasm was to come.

The Mistress moved slowly...tracing circles around Sheridan’s breast with a fingertip before spiraling up to her nipple and back down again. Pinches turned to gentle kneading and back again. Soon Sheridan’s chest moved in rapid pants and her nipples turned from pale pink to red.

“Are you enjoying this, Little Miss?”

“So much...you really know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve got a gift for giving women orgasms. I give myself an orgasm at least once a day.”

Sheridan giggled again and her blush deepened. Good. Flushed skin was one of the telltale signs of an aroused woman. But it would take more than just stimulating her body to get Sheridan to orgasm. The Mistress needed to get inside her mind.

“You know, Little Miss, this isn’t my only job,” The Mistress said as she ran her fingers over Sheridan’s collarbone, giving her breasts a moment to recover from all the attention. “I’m also a writer.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I write erotica. I love a good sexy story. Reading them, writing them, hearing them.”

“Me, too. I learned all about sex from my mother’s romance novels. I think that’s why when Rex came on to me that first time, I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t wait to try out all this stuff I’d been reading about.”

“How did the reality of sex compare to the fictional version?”

Sheridan sighed. “It was definitely different. I was in my dad’s office for one thing. In the books, they’re always in a bed...or maybe a carriage, not bent over an armchair or flat on a desk.”

“Never fucked in a carriage. I’ll have to put that on my bucket list. Continue.”

“It hurt more than I expected. In the books there’s always just this quick stab of pain and then ecstasy.”

“Well, it’s the writer’s way of throwing in some drama to an otherwise simple and natural act. But too much pain and drama, and it turns into a horror story.”

Sheridan grinned and lifted her hips. Another good sign. Sheridan couldn’t seem to stop moving her lower body. That meant she was feeling something in the right spot.

“It wasn’t a horror story. Definitely. It just really burned going in. I was wet and excited but not ready. Not really. The next time was a lot better.”

“Can you remember your favorite time with him? The best sex? The best orgasm?”

“Yes. Like it was yesterday.”

“Tell me about it. I’m going to start touching your clit, by the way, while you tell me about the best sex you ever had. Don’t argue with me about it.”

“I wouldn’t.” She shook her head and took a quick, deep breath. “I was eighteen, just turned eighteen...about to leave Chicago and move to New York. I’d done some commercials and got an agent. My dreams were coming true. But...”

“But you had to leave Rex behind.”

“Right. I didn’t want him to know I was going. If he tried to talk me out of it, he might have. So I knew it would be our last time for a few months at least. I went to his house one evening. He wasn’t expecting me. My flight left the very next morning, but I didn’t tell him that.”

“What did he do?”

“He opened the door and saw him standing on the stoop. And he pulled me inside and without saying anything he kissed me.”

“Very nice.”

“I loved when he did that. Every time I showed up on his doorstep, I was afraid I’d make him mad. Maybe he’d have company over or something and wish I hadn’t shown up. I wasn’t even his mistress. I was just his dirty secret. But every time I went over there...yeah, just like that.”

“And then?”

“And then he was all over me...right in the foyer. I had on a plaid skirt—”

“How very Catholic schoolgirl of you.”

“Episcopal actually.”

“Don’t kill my lady-boner. I’m pretending it was Catholic. Go on. He was all over you how?”

“Hands everywhere. Mouth everywhere. He liked to bite when he kissed me. My lips and tongue and neck and ears. He’d dig under my skirt and shove his hand into my panties.”

“You wore panties around him? Such a waste of time.”

“Only because I loved hearing him grunt with frustration when he had to drag them off of me.”

“I like your style. And I’m about to touch your clit and vagina. Continue.”

Sheridan stiffened but kept talking.

“So yes...plaid skirt,” Sheridan said and inhaled right as The Mistress put her fingertip gently to her clitoris. Her whole body tensed but The Mistress did nothing and said nothing, merely waited. Sheridan continued. “And there was this table in the foyer—fancy table. His housekeeper always kept fresh flowers on it.”

“How nice.” The Mistress gently kneaded Sheridan’s clitoris with one finger. The attentions The Mistress had paid to Sheridan’s breasts had sent the blood flowing in the right direction. Sheridan’s labia had started to open and her clitoris had swollen slightly.

“Those poor flowers never knew what hit them. Everything on that table hit the floor when Rex bent me over it.”

“That devil,” The Mistress said as she lightly increased the pressure on Sheridan’s clitoris, increased the speed of her movements.

“He was.”

“Tell me what you remember feeling. Tell me in detail. And while you’re talking, try to remember every sensation he aroused in you....” The Mistress ran a single finger up and down the seam of Sheridan’s vagina. “While you remember, imagine yourself getting wetter and wetter, think of all the blood rushing to your labia and your vagina opening....”