“Why yes, yes, I did. Speaking of tips...she’s just had her first scene ever. This is a big damn deal. She’ll need a lot of aftercare. Hold her a long time. Tell her you’re proud of her. Hell, rock her if she likes that sort of thing. Then give her a long hot bath. No more playing. If you want to fuck her again, fine. Just go easy—bondage at most. No more hitting. Also...tell her you love her and that she’s your prized possession. Tell her that a lot. Every day even...” The Mistress said and heard those words ringing in her ears. Someone had said that to her a long time ago, and the echo of them had never fully dissipated.

“I will. I promise. And I guess I need to get one of those,” he said, nodding toward her toy bag.

“No need. Neckties make good blindfolds. Garbage bags are great for tying up wrists and ankles. Spatula for a paddle. Well...I better leave this with you. Not easy to MacGyver a decent flogger.”

The Mistress took out the light flogger and handed it to Robert.

“Thank you...for everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” The Mistress said as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “The flogger’s going on your bill.”

END OF SESSION

Whew. Robert and Cara. I never saw them again after that. Not together anyway. Robert could handle Cara just fine on his own. But every now and then he’d show up during my office hours and ask for some suggestions. I taught him my trick for the perfect zipper, gave him some hints on how to tie better knots, helped him trade up to a heavier class of floggers.

I never went home with them again. Never had to. But sometimes when the job gets too dark, too difficult, too ugly, I unpack my memories of them and bring them home with me.

THE CASE OF THE RELUCTANT ROCK STAR

Tiffany Reisz

The Mistress Files #3

The Case of the Reluctant Rock Star

By Nora Sutherlin

Okay, King. You’re going to love this one. Don’t pretend you weren’t drooling over this guy when he walked into Headquarters. We all were. Lean but muscular, perfect bed head, two full sleeves of tattoos, big damn smile...remember him? He came to you with a stack of Benjamins an inch high and a request for “a couple hours with your hottest Dominatrix.” I remember it well. Not that I was eavesdropping from the next room or anything. I just happened to be in the next room standing by the door with my eye at the keyhole. What? I was practicing picking locks. You told him that you had the perfect Dominatrix to meet all his needs. Beautiful, intelligent, dominant, extremely experienced, and ready and willing to perform any sort of sadistic service for him.

Of course you were speaking about me.

Name: Dante Burns...if that’s his real name, I’ll eat my riding crop.