He comes to me quietly, as he is
supposed to. I see him on the
cameras, coming down the
hall. I brush out my hair and
freshen my lipstick, and let him
wait for a long moment after
he knocks softly on the door.

He has a small cut on his cheek, a
day or so old. I fight the desire to
kiss it, and the almost
maternal loving instinct that
makes me want to take him
straight from the chaos of the tour
and comfort him, reduce him, keep
him someplace warm and quiet
until he is calm and
centered.

Instead, I stare at him unblinking
for long seconds, then tilt my head
toward the dentist
chair. "Get naked."

I disappear behind the door of my
inner sanctum and then assemble
assorted toys - torture
implements, lubricants, vibrators,
restraints. As I push the cart out
toward the main room, I
am struck by the mirrored wall,
and my reflection.

In the sun sweeping in through the
windows,
my hair is caught on fire, long and
gold and
red, soft in contrast to the leather
that holds
my breasts, which straps and holds
and
contains me, all tight straps and
metal rings
warmed by my flesh. I am a study
in soft and
hardness, my lips look like a
painting that is
smeared, red and wet below hard
blue eyes.
"Trent." He looks up obediently. I
don't have
anything to say to him, though he
looks at me
as if to say "what." I just want to
say his name
and have his dark eyes look at me.
I wheel the
cart closer. He is looking at my tits,
my tight
waist, the place where my falling
hair meets
the exposed small of my back.

He is exquisite. Tight, pale flesh,
lying on the
chair. In addition to the cut on his
cheek there
is a long diagonal laceration on his
leg and bruises all over, purple on
his pale skin. He is
lying with one arm at his side and
the other on his stomach. His cock
is hardening as he is
looking at my crotch.

I stop the cart with a bang. "Did I
give you permission to look at me?"

"No." Eyes cast downward over
blushing cheeks like a chastised
schoolboy. He couldn't look
at the wall opposite either, since
it was all mirrored and my
reflection there was visible
also. He didn't have much to
contemplate other than his pink
erection, and this seemed to
embarass him more.

I moved behind him and took one of
the blindfolds from the back of the
chair. I waited for a
second and watched his cock try to
soften, then harden again. He
couldn't see me smiling.

Then I brought the blindfold
stealthily over his eyes, and
pulled back, hard, pulling his
head
back hard against the padded
chair. He was good this time,
giving only a momentary gasp
and start. His cock was now soft.

I pull his arm straight out and
shackle it to the end of a chain. I
take up the slack and do the
same on both sides so that
although he is resting comfortably
on the chair his arms are held
straight out from him. With
leather I strap his pretty torso to
the chair. I spread the legs of
the chair an old dentist chair that
has been modified so that the
bottom is two spreadable
legs, among other things. I tie each
ankle firmly to each leg of the
chair.

Then, so that he can't thrust up, I
tie each of his tight, muscled legs
just above the knees with
more leather.


He is silent and dormant in his
chair now. I

walk across the room, aware of the

punctuated tempo of my heels on
the parquet

floor. The room is an old ballet
studio once

owned by the New Orleans Ballet
and as I

approach the mirror I admire the
bounce of my

breasts and the tiny conpactness of
my waist.


Then, I turn to admire my
handiwork. I do this

with all my clients, appraise
them, and take

time to reflect on what I shall do to
delight

them and myself. With Trent in
particular, I

enjoy this part. He is waiting
patiently,

silently, on the chair, not moving a
muscle. He

is my favorite. Sometimes I fear I
like Trent

too much. I saw him once outside of
my

"dungeon," at a bar off Bourbon and
our eyes

met for a long moment of
recognition, and
although I was overjoyed to see
him I kept my gaze steely as I
could.

For some reason, however, my
cheeks began to burn for a reason I
couldn't identify. He had
caught me outside of my element.
When I felt the eye contact was too
hard to sustain and
that the flush of my cheeks was
unbearable, I turned away. That
night I thought of him as I
lay on the chair, something I had
never done before. That night it
made me feel closer to
him as I came hard and screaming
into the dark room.

But now I had him pinned to the
chair, stretched and ready for my
ministrations. Taut, pale
body, sprinkled with dark hair,
pink nipples.

I walk back to the chair. I stopped
and stood between his spread legs.
It is so quiet that he
could hear my breathing. Once
again in anticipation of me he
hardens. I stand and stare
straight down at his erection. His
sweet blindfolded face is turned up
toward me, blind as if
I was some hovering angel
delivering the rapture, blinding in
my purity.

Where to begin....