Mistress Patti

“Admit it. You want me.”

I’d been using that line on her for over a year and, frankly, had no idea of her age, her marital status, her appearance nor anything else remotely connected with her personal life. It truly boiled down to harmless fun between two people who do long-distance business but have never met and who lighten things up with telephonic flirtation. But one day Patti surprised me. Instead of the usual “in your dreams” retort I’d come to expect, she confounded me with “You’re right. I do”.

Ever quick with the repartee, I asked, “And how would you like me? Skewered, on a spit, sauteed or oven-broiled?”

She laughed and said, “Oh, I think on a spit is close to how I want to see you.”

“With an apple in my mouth and winking at you?” I laughingly asked.

“Not exactly,” she countered. “Forget the apple. I’d use a gag.”

Flustered, my best response was, “Really?”.

It was her turn to laugh. She said she’d been waiting for some time to give me a retort that equaled my wit and that it seemed she’d succeeded. I couldn’t help but agree. That’s exactly what she’d done; stopped me cold. But, going for what I thought was the kill, I recovered and said, “Okay, you want to gag me and tie me up. Does that about cover it?”

“Mmm... not quite,” she said. “I’d abuse you for all the teasing you’ve been giving me since we began talking.”

I laughed and fed her back her usual line: “In your dreams.” It tickled her that somehow the tables had been turned. We ended the call on that note but, as best as I can remember, that was the conversation that changed both Patti’s and my phone relationship.

The next time I heard from her, Patti took care of our business quickly then – changing her tone of voice to a sultry femme fatale mode, asked, “Shouldn’t you be on your knees for me?”

Patti, I thought, had no idea how close she was coming to my fantasy-of-fantasies. But something in the way my voice caught must have tipped her because there was no doubt her question had rocked me. I didn’t quip back, just mumbled a “gotta go” and hung up.

A few days later, I had to call her. The moment she answered, I said “Admit it. You want me.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I want you ass-naked and over my knee.”

“Patti! You’re starting to worry me. Any minute now I might start thinking that’s what you really want.”

“Alan,” she countered. “That IS what I really want. I want you at my mercy... and if we can’t meet so I can put you in your proper place then I’ll have to take control of you by phone and e-mail. Tell me,” she continued, “isn’t that really what you’ve been secretly dreaming of? Isn’t a woman who cares enough to dominate you exactly what you want and need?”

There were a few moments of silence because, frankly, I had no idea how to respond. All Patti heard was my stifled breathing. She couldn’t know that the heat in my fevered brain – never mind the physical reaction further on down – was playing havoc with my senses.

A few moments went by before I heard her ask, “Alan?”

“Yes, Mist... ah, Patti,” I fumbled.

“Alan, you almost had it right. I fully expect to become your Mistress. No, don’t say anything. Let’s just leave it for now but if what I’ve been saying has had any affect on you, tell me the next time we talk. Otherwise, I’ll drop it completely. Think long and hard, Alan, and remember, if you decide not to pursue this you won’t have the kind of relationship you’ve always wanted. Oh, and one more thing, did you think for one moment I wouldn’t recognize the writing style of a certain defiant_1 on Literotica? Bye for now.”

She hung up and I just sat there, flummoxed. How could she know that defiant_1 is the nick I use to post my FemDom stories and to chat on IRC? But there was no question, she absolutely did know. This obviously (and painfully) wasn’t a lucky guess on her part. And I thought I’d so carefully disguised myself; that I successfully hid behind my outrageous flirtatiousness. So much for those notions!

I sweated for a few days, alternating between deny-deny-deny or opening up to her. When it became evident that I absolutely had to call her to sort out a business situation, I still hadn’t decided which way to go.

“Uh, hi,” I said, and went into the business reason for my call. Patti took care of it in her usual competent manner and that, I thought, was that.

It wasn’t.

“What have you decided?” she asked.

With no hesitation, I said, “I think we have to talk about it.”

“Yes, Alan, we do. The sooner the better. I don’t know who may be in your office right now so I won’t push you. But there is one question you can answer with a simple yes or no. Are you prepared to become my pet?”

“Yes,” I responded, and we ended the call. The truth was that no one was in my office during that call but the delaying tactic helped me come more solidly to grips with the decision I’d made. Now that I’d given her an affirmative response, I felt better about having made the commitment.

The next day, she called. The first thing she said was, “Are you alone?”

“Yes, I am,” I said.

“Good. Now, before we get into specifics I want you to know just how much I’ve enjoyed your stories. ‘A Classified’ and ‘Snow’ both affected me deeply but there is one question I wanted to ask. In the classified story, you ended it with a phone call to the chosen one but you didn’t tell us who it was. Who was it?” (Note: If you haven’t read ‘A Classified’, it may be found in the BDSM section of Literotica.com.)

I laughed and told her that when I wrote the story I thought the Mistress I chose would be obvious to the readers. I also told her that she wasn’t the first to ask. After she pressed, I admitted that it was most definitely Stacey, the more sensual of the applicants.

“I thought so,” she said, “but I wanted you to confirm it. I liked her style, too. If you hadn’t actually made a decision, I was going to suggest it be her.”

“Why?” I asked. “What made you like her so much?”

“She had all kinds of qualities I admire, not the least of which was her amazing control. What also impressed me was her self-confidence and, of course, the way she handled you.”

“Do you see yourself as a kind of Stacey?” I asked.

We both knew that this part of the conversation was meant to be ice-breaking; working our way into this territory in a manner lending itself more to walking than running. Patti held up her part of the unspoken bargain by replying, “Yes, I do. She genuinely impressed me as being competent, yet sensual, sexy yet assertive, and intelligently domineering. She didn’t go into bitch mode. Instead, she very convincingly seduced you despite the reason she was in your hotel room.”

I agreed, then became quiet.

“In all your stories,” she said, “you give away your turn-ons; foot worship, collaring and doggy training, bondage, discipline, humiliation and eating your own cum. But you don’t like butch Dominas. You like your BDSM sensual. I do, too, but I’ve got a few more things I’d like to add. Care to hear more, Allan?”

“Yes. Please,” I responded.

“Allan,” she softly said, “you almost addressed me as Mistress the other day. Today, you will begin honoring and obeying me by using it in every sentence.”

“Yes please, Mistress,” I corrected myself.

“Good. Are you sitting at your desk, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Push your chair back, then kneel on the floor, your knees spread wide.”

I moved quickly into the submissive position as Mistress Patti had instructed. Picking up the phone, I said: “Mistress, I am kneeling for you, legs spread wide.”

“Good boy,” she said. Strangely, her praise made me feel pride in my obedience and I told her as much. There was a moment of silence at Patti’s end of the line before I heard her say, “Slave, you will do everything in your power to obey, serve, honor and worship me. You will both earn my praise and you’ll earn discipline... but you will always be my boy. I want a slave I can be proud of.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

“Now,” she said, “there isn’t any doubt at all in my mind that you masturbate to thoughts of being dominated. The question is, how much do you wank? Monthly? Weekly? Daily? More? If you’ve got the libido I think you do, I’d say it’s at least once a day. Which is it, slave?”

“Daily, Mistress. On average. There are occasions when I won’t but that’s really a matter of time and opportunity... or those rare occasions when I’m not in the mood.”

She said my response made sense and thanked me for my honesty, then asked for my most predominant fantasy as I jerked off and, more importantly, how and where I did it.

I took a deep breath, gathered my wits and my bravery, then laid my vulnerability at her feet: “Mistress, I do it right here at my desk. I bring up a .jpg image of my latest fantasy lady, then kneel and lower my pants and underwear and – often – will wear my cock and ball harness. I imagine her as being a seductress who has me wrapped around her little finger. Her natural dominant ability shines through when she puts me in a kneeling and submissive position by simply saying what she desires, much like a dog owner simply says “sit”. I’m overwhelmed by my desire for her and my intense feelings of sexuality.”

“And you have those feelings right now, don’t you?,” she said more than questioned. “My telling you to kneel for me and to spread your knees wide already has you in a doggie frame of mind. And I know your cock is hard for me, too.”

“Yes, Mistress, it is.”

“Good. Put the phone in your left hand, then use your right to stroke it for me. Slowly, pet, slowly. Think of me watching you, sitting on your desk top, my legs crossed, my high heels just inches from your face. Oh, I know you want to kiss and lick my feet. Shall I let you? Hmmm?

“Oh yes, Mistress. Please let me worship your high heels. Please.”

“Keep pulling that cock for me, slave. Tell me when you’re getting close.”

“I’m so excited right now, Mistress. It won’t be long.”

“Then slow down your strokes for me, slave. I don’t want you cumming too fast. And, I definitely do not want you cumming without my permission. Understand?

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. Awww, is my boy all hot and bothered by Mistress? Just imagine I’m moving my leg, pet, aiming my shoe at your mouth. Do you see it coming? Do you see the black leather and my spike heel? Do you want to worship my shoe, slave? Keep stroking.”

“God, Mistress... YES! I can actually see it, Mistress. Please allow me to lick your shoe.”

“What a pretty sight you are, pet, kneeling there with your pants down and your hard cock in your hand. Faster, stroke faster. Good boy. I just wish I had my little cat’o’nine tails with me. I want to whip you, Alan. Now, go ahead. Close your eyes and lick my shoe. Adore it. Worship it. Make love to it.”

Entirely caught up in this theater-of-the-mind, I was as close to actually worshiping her shoes as I could be. Eyes closed, I extended my tongue and licked air but my mind told me it was her leather. At one point I moaned, entirely captivated by the fantasy of lips and tongue on her shoe and the reality of stroking my cock. And all the while, her voice through the phone encouraged my submission and obedience.

“Keep kissing, lick them, worship my shoes,” she demanded. “Stare at them and submit. My shoes control you. Kiss and lick them all over, and keep stroking. Stroke it quickly for me. Oh yes, you're such a good slave. It makes me wet to see you there, on your knees in front of me, stroking your cock and obeying, my feet controlling you.”

My imagination was aflame. I was entirely caught in the web of submission.

But Mistress Pattie wasn’t finished: “Now take my high heel into your mouth. Do it, slave. Like how my shoe slides in and out between your lips? I think you do. I think you love it when I fuck your mouth with my heel. Keep sucking. Stroke my cock while my high heel slides in and out of your mouth. Concentrate on my shoe. It controls you. You'll do anything for my me.”

“Keep licking. My shoes own you. You're going to cum for my shoes, aren't you? Beg for permission, slave. Beg me.”

I rasped into the phone, “Please, Mistress, please allow me to cum for you. Please.”

“Good boy,” she said. “Cum for my shoes now, slave. Cum for them. Give in. Make yourself my slave. Cum for me. Do it for me now. Do it for my shoes. Suck them, worship them, obey them. My shoes control you. Cum for my heels. Cum for me, slave. Cum on my shoes... Mmmmm.... Hurry. That’s it. Good boy.”

My moans told her I’d ejaculated wildly, but Mistress Pattie kept at it. “Go ahead, lick it all up for me. Swallow. Mmmm. Yes. Oh yes, very good, slave. Oh yes, you're all mine now. You belong to my spikes, and they control you now. You're addicted to them. Whenever you think of my feet, shoes, boots, and legs, you'll get hard. Whenever you suck my toes, you'll be ready to cum, and you will cum, won't you, over and over. Your cock is mine. I control it.”

What could I say but, “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”