Real Dominance

On an ordinary day, Mac Guillory would blend in perfectly with the crowd of the busy streets of Leeds, and no one would even bother to look at him twice due to his fairly unremarkable physical appearance and ultimately quiet, subdued personality.

Yes, on an ordinary day this is what would have happened. However, that Thursday afternoon was anything but ordinary and, no matter how much one tried to not notice him, it was hard not to do so and, even more, impossible to look away after the first impression kicked in.

He was walking hurriedly with bloodshot eyes and a mouth full of meaningless, incomplete sequences, his movements completely out of synch as if he was no more than a puppet whose strings were being pulled in all directions simultaneously by a terrible puppeteer.

Despite the impeccable suit and clean-shaved face, the rest of the package screamed "mental delusion" out loud and no one knew for sure if the errancy of his behavior was not a ticking bomb very close to exploding. The truth is no one was really interested in getting to the bottom of it and, though the gawking was frequent, the heads that turned were not followed by conscious bodies and minds willing to see if he needed any help.

It all changed when a woman appeared from behind him to touch his left shoulder ever so slightly. Sensing the strange contact, Mac reacted viciously, all of his muscles twitching in an animalistic display of raw self-preservation. The woman, on the other hand, showed no reaction other than a sympathetic wide smile as she said:

"You are clearly not feeling well. Please, come with me."

Standing just a little over six feet tall due to the heels, she appeared to be somewhere in the range of early-thirties, her golden brown hair framing a face of subtle angles that stood somewhere between a sense of undeniable softness and strict resolve whenever the situation called for it. He couldn't see her eyes as they were hidden behind a pair of very dark lenses. Strangely enough, he didn't have to see them to know they were of an indefinable color, sometimes green with specks of grey, sometimes blue with hints of green, and many other variations of the chromatic spectrum.

"I... no... I..." he mumbled falling back into the land of gibberish whilst his body tried to force him to walk mindlessly all over again.

"I said: Come!" the woman insisted, this time with a prominent edge that could be qualified as the crack of a thunder under the sun. The sharpness, however, was not meant to evilly intimidate him, but rather make him spring to attention. His mind was clearly defocused and, unless Reason exteriorized itself before long, the end of his day was not going to be pretty.

Also as expected, Mac's subconscious reacted first, random thoughts coming together to issue actual orders to the rest of the body. When he glanced at her once more, she turned his back on him and walked to the right, traveling as further away as possible from the confusion of rush hour. She could hear his irregular breathing as he tried to maintain a steady pace, his lips now keeping the mumblings to a minimum, clearly imbued with a different sense of awareness, altogether.

How long he trailed behind her is something that cannot be said for sure, because his physical steps did not exactly coincide with his mental ones, and the perception of the flow changed the more he kept on moving. After that indeterminate period of time though, he found himself inside an apartment, with a set of flickering lights being shot into his eyes, her voice becoming richer, much more curious and exhilarating.

"I want you to tell me everything that has been plaguing you, and how long have your ordeals been going on," she instructed. "I want you to be completely honest and that you do not omit any important detail so I can give you all the assistance you need. These lights will help you organize your thoughts into a cohesive story. Trust the lights and trust in me. You know you can trust me, so act upon it. Trust me... trust me... trust me and begin by telling me your name."

Mac's attempts to protest and resist the enthralling combination of soft lights and silky voice were short-lived and, almost effortlessly, the blissful trance-induced state became a reality. In good honesty, he was no stranger to those experiences of the mind, as it soon became evident the moment he started telling her everything she wanted to know.

He confessed how he earned a living by working in a shady law firm whose clients weren't exactly the most respectable kind upon the face of the earth. He wasn't very pleased with it but, in a time of global crisis and major recession everywhere, he couldn't really complain and afford to lose his only means of livelihood.

Afterwards, he told her about Deborah Denning, one of the top figures in the company hierarchy and how she got herself a reputation of being a wonderful tease, but also a bitch like no other when things went south.

For many months, she had played both silly and dangerous games of seduction with him, with lots of x-rated phone calls taking place inside and outside the firm, as well as written message exchanges that could make even the kinkiest of souls blush unexpectedly. She was a force to be reckoned with in the ways of pure covetousness, and liked to play things her way, set up the stage, keep the rhythm, and make everything unfold according to a master plan of complete control.

In the face of these truths, it was obviously a mistake when, one day, he admittedly revealed to her his yearning desires of sexual submission. An even greater mistake was to allow her to use that information for a series of researches about his habits and mental patterns, for it unleashed a resourcefulness that could only spell doom if not handled properly.

Using her various charms and a series of surreptitious techniques she learned here and there, soon Deborah gave free reign to her own sadistic inclinations. She started dominating him forcefully on every conceivably inappropriate occasion, using strings of humiliation to keep most of his thoughts in check. Then, without any sort of firm directions, she slowly enveloped his mind in nebulous states of half-consciousness, pumping subliminals onto his computer screen on a constant basis, creating and combining addictive triggers that cemented the authority she wanted to establish and maintain without dispute. Mac's submissiveness was heightened but also distorted as it was swept along by enslaving routines that were an outrage to his original intent.

He was dulled to the point of responding only to mere automatic encodings, like a living computer program manifesting itself to the outside world under the guise of a sack of flesh and bones. Instead of stopping when he was already completely under her thumb, she kept on pushing things further, looking for additional ways to spoil even more something that was already rotten from inside out.

The onslaught of controlling schemes eventually caused something to snap, and Mac became subject to all kinds of visual and auditory hallucinations brought about by the disrespectful tampering of his brain. His work skills were irrevocably compromised, and reality became a fluctuating mess of physical pain and mental anguish.

On that day, the path of madness had been so inviting that he couldn't resist walking along its trails, mumbling half-sentences and broken words to everyone that walked past him. Deborah haunted him with tantalizing instructions and would have no doubt claimed his life sooner than later if the mysterious lady hadn't intervened.

As she looked at his slightly vacant expression, the woman felt Mac's aching distress almost empathically. She was truly going to help him with his ordeals, but that meant another approach, followed by an inevitable confrontation. Her resolve was so adamant though that she only had to ask this once:

"So where exactly can I find this Deborah?"

* * *

If there was something Deborah Denning hated more than anything else in life, was dealing with people that were undeniably beneath her, kind of like her new female secretary who had no idea how that blonde woman had walked into her office, or how long she had been waiting there in the first place. The haziness the young woman evoked as a cause of such a strange event felt like a pathetic excuse, and pathetic employees deserved the boot without remorse.

"You can start packing your things as I won't be requiring your services any longer," Deborah said, making a tremendous effort not to scream like an angry banshee.

Afterwards, her six inches stiletto heels dashed to meet the well-dressed stranger that, despite looking friendly enough, was still an uninvited guest in her world.

"Hello", she said disdainfully. "I have no idea who you are and I don't like having people I don't know prowling around my workspace like this. Identify yourself and state your business right now unless you want to have a word with all the security guards in the building."

"You're really as friendly as it gets, I see..." the other woman retorted with as much irony as she was able to muster in a fraction of a second. "I'm here on behalf of Mac Guillory."

"Who?!! The name doesn't ring any bell, whatsoever."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that considering all the terrible things you've been doing to his spirit for quite some time, now! Please, don't try to act ignorant again, because you know well enough what I'm talking about and, for a lawyer, your body language is terrible as it immediately shows when you're trying to lie or, at least, distort the information at hand. I won't be played the fool, here."

"Hmm...," Deborah muttered as she sat behind her desk and poured herself a glass of cool, Cranberry Vodka. "If that's really the case, and assuming I do know this Mac you're talking about, what's it to you what I do or don't do? Who are you? I won't ask again."

"You can call me Mistress Stevie Lou." was the swift response, followed by an exchange of silent unpleasantries between the two of them.

"Mistress, huh? So, you're competition... I should have known."

"You got it all wrong. I don't compete with anyone, especially with the likes of you, who prey on innocent people and use their dreams of servitude against them."

Deborah laughed furiously as if Stevie Lou's remark had been the joke of the century. "Oh, but Mac is such a tool... he wanted so badly to be enraptured that I was happy to provide all the mindless obedience he could handle... I did him a favor when I turned him into a pet and if you're here because you found him in a gutter somewhere and his brain started rebelling against my control, know that I'll be wanting him back so I expect you to provide..."

"You expect too much of others and too little of yourself, Deborah. That's not good."

"Did I give you permission to call me by my proper name? No, I didn't, and besides, if you're a Mistress, why do you seem to care about a worthless and pathetic subject anyway? Go get yourself a groveling drone someplace else and leave me be as I have better things to do than put up with this crap right now!" She sipped her drink, once, twice, three times in a row and signaled the office glass door with derisive eyes.

"I care about submissives because that's how things are meant to be. I also have a lot of experience under my belt regarding the complexities of a mind that longs to be of service."

And she was being nothing short of truthful. Not so long ago, Mistress Stevie Lou was but a footnote in a novel of living, robotic dreams. She had tasted the submissive desires on her path to self-discovery via hypnosis. As a result, she was more than qualified to come to terms with both sides of the equation and thus make a seemingly impossible problem become as easy as adding two and two.

"I'm afraid I can't leave until I fix the injustices you brought forth," Mistress Stevie Lou concluded, an icy grin now perfectly visible on her face.

"Ooh... scary!!" Deborah mocked, and emptied the glass. "If you think I'm afraid of you, you're dead wrong!"

Mistress Stevie Lou rubbed her chin, sensuously.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me (not yet, at least!). Right now, I'm only interested in waiting here."

"Waiting for what?"

"For the drugs I used to tamper all the drinks of your private bar to start working, of course! They all work pretty fast once they're thrown into the bloodstream, so you should be getting dizzy any second, now."

"Why, you...!" Deborah shouted, enraged, her left hand tossing the Vodka bottle against the farthest wall with vehement force. She stood up briefly and fell loudly on the revolving leather chair, her balance already being blown into smithereens by the explosive cocktail that was every free mind's unspoken nemesis. Mistress Stevie Lou looked idly at her watch, then at the spasmodic brunette and closed the blinds to allow them some much-needed privacy.

She was about to show the evil Domme some things that were best kept between them...

* * *

Many hours went by. The day became night and then day again, and countless dreams were lived, relived and broken by the galloping sun rays that just wanted to run free in the world.

Waking up from a long slumber can be a wonderful or a terrible thing, depending on the contents being played inside the subject's mind. In Mac's case, it was definitely a good experience.

When he opened his eyes, the oppressive devilish sounds that made him hallucinate were nothing more than faint mutters bursting into flames before simply ceasing to be. Human traits that had been deeply buried were now coming back to life, in a reincarnation process he was sure to enjoy. He sighed with contentment two times in a row. The first was when the realization of freedom firmed itself in its spirit; the second was when his gaze met the wonderful Mistress Stevie Lou.

There she was, close to him on the sofa, her firm body heightened by a clingy silver latex catsuit. The opera gloves and knee-high glossy boots were of a contrasting black, but the combination of all elements in play was breathtaking.

"Welcome back", she cooed. "I trust you are now closer to your former self, are you not?"

"Yes, definitely", he responded, his words half-suspended alongside his breath as he proceeded to admire even further the tight-fitting attire with lustful eyes. "Good. I am very pleased."

"How... how did you do this, if I am allowed to ask?"

She crossed her legs and pointed to a subservient figure dressed in a revealing French Maid's outfit.

"I simply had her remove the triggers she placed inside your mind the moment I took control of hers", she explained, gently. "Deborah simply had too many eschewed views of how a proper Dominance and submission relationship should work, and so I saved her from those foul manners by ensuring she will get the most appropriate mesmerizing training as possible. And for that, I am sure she is grateful, is that not so, my little pet?" she asked rhetorically to the subdued woman.

In an already perfectly conditioned response, Deborah knelt before her owner and kissed the tip of her boots, ecstatically.

"I live to serve, Mistress Stevie Lou," she said and buried her forehead on the fluffy carpet until instructed otherwise.

Mac smirked upon seeing her reduced to such an obedient and horny plaything but, on the other hand, many questions assailed him, the most prominent of which was: "Are you going to keep her like this, forever?"

"Oh, no! Just long enough for her brain to register patterns of conduct that are truly befitting of the responsibilities of being in charge of another human being... By being a good servant for a while, she will learn all sorts of basic tricks to become a good Mistress to someone else in the future. Despite all the nastiness, there is some potential in her, but the great majority of it is still waiting for better days. Does that make sense to you, Mac?"

A little yes, he thought, as he finally managed to stop being transfixed by her stunningly kinky outfit. He got up, took a deep breath and made the one million dollar's question:

"What about me, now? What does the future hold?"

Mistress Stevie Lou placed both hands on her legs.

"That is something you will have to find out on your own, now. Just take care not to get yourself involved with other women of dubious intents. You have been hurt too much, already. I would hate to find out you were to continue to be so after you walk out that door."

He did not want to, but he still shivered. He was also getting a little pale under the artificial lights of the room and felt bad about himself, ashamed even in the face of such a wonderful woman, the embodiment of all the wet fantasies he would ever have for the rest of his life.

"I... I suppose I should be on my way, now", he blushed. "Thank you for noticing my predicaments when no one else did, and thank you for helping me get rid of these voices that were ruining my life. You are truly an amazing person... Mistress!" and this last word was mumbled so low he convinced himself she had not perceived the attempt to hide the rush in saying it.

"Thank you for the compliment, dear. I will walk you out, then." She got up and headed towards the door. Deborah remained perfectly still in her utterly subservient position, dreaming of the next command that was to send a tingling wave of pleasure across her body.

The front door opened far and wide, signaling the division between cold reality and warm fancy. No other words were exchanged between them as Mac slipped away into the sunlight, yet now experiencing the pressure of another shadow upon his heart. Rediscovering his boundaries would take a while and certainties were scarce. Only the healing properties of Time could make everything seem less grey in the end. He just hoped he would be able to recognize that strength when it finally erupted from within.

* * *

A few more hours went by with increased speed within the flow of things. Mistress Stevie Lou was in the process of selecting one or two toys that would make the subtle reprogramming of Deborah's twisted thought patterns much more interesting when the doorbell rang a couple of times in a row. Intrigued by the sense of urgency accompanying the sound, she decided to answer the door herself instead of ordering her pet to do it and what she got to see was clearly a surprise.

Standing by the door, his head slightly low and hands trembling, was Mac once again. Though it was obvious he wanted to say something, he was having a hard time mustering the strength to do so, and so she made things easier for him.

"I honestly did not expect you to be back after what happened, Mac. Is there something else I can do for you?" she asked.

"Hmmm... huh...," he bit the fingernails of his left hand. "Mistress Stevie Lou, I..."

"Yes? What is it?"

"Hmmm... there is no easy way to say this, so I will... I will try to get it out of my system as fast as possible..."

Leaning against the frame, Mistress Stevie Lou raised a curious eyebrow. She could have invited him in, yet her sixth sense told her that the closed space would just make things worse at that particular moment so she gave him enough room to breathe and find the necessary sentences within the space of each word.

"I am all ears, then," she smiled, openly.

"I... for years, I always wondered what it would be like to serve a woman worthy of such treatment. I honestly believed Deborah was one of such women even before she started tampering with my mind, but it is clear now I was mistaken. You, on the other hand..."

"Mac, you...," she muttered before he went down a path she wasn't sure he was really prepared for.

"No, please... let me finish! You... you, on the other hand, you came to my rescue and did everything in your power to set things right in my life, again. You certainly did not have to go to such great lengths and I cannot ever possibly thank you enough, yet... yet, I would like to try from the bottom of my heart."