Framed in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind Her, stood the Mistress. She entered, closed the door behind Her and turned towards me. I could see Her better now. She was wearing a black satin bodyshaper that showed off Her splendid figure. Her legs were encased in thigh-length boots atop the most lethal-looking heels I had ever in my life seen. The leather clung tightly to Her legs hinting at a fine, athletic musculature beneath. She began to walk slowly towards me and raised Her right hand: in it was a brown folder. As She came closer I could see my name inscribed on the cover.

“Your file,” She said, “naturally I have been making enquiries of my own.”
She opened the folder and started leafing through the contents pacing from left to right in front of me, the percussive report of Her sharp heels on the floor echoing around the room. Then, in front of me, She swivelled with a dancer’s grace on Her toe and looked down upon me. “Hmm….you obviously made no impression on your first two Mistresses as neither can remember anything whatsoever about you. Your previous Mistress has, however, made the following observation, and I quote: ‘The subject Paul is remarkably unremarkable; notable only for his all too literal interpretation of the phrase. Keep your hands to yourself. He has, in short, an inveterate and uncontrollable compulsion to masturbate as often as possible. After every audience with me, he has pleasured himself before being given my expressed permission. Whilst his confession to his refractory behaviour was commendable, it nevertheless demonstrates that this slave still has a great deal to learn about the difference between transient sexual pleasure and the true happiness that comes from being in the service of a real Lady. You are welcome to him, Mistress Chloe, though I should recommend a salutary application of the cane to his bare backside. Please be sure to leave some marks’.” With that, She closed the file and looked down at me. There was a slight pause. “Well?” She said.
“I…I can’t help it, Mistress. Really I can’t” I whimpered, “It’s like an addiction and the only sexual outlet I have. I..I..”
“This does not sound to My ears like a valid excuse, slave,” She interjected witheringly, placing Her hands on Her hips. “You ought by now to know full well that that thing”, at which point She placed the toe of Her right boot onto my penis causing a rush of arousal, “is the property of your Mistress. As such, the decision as of when and how to use it is your Mistress’s decision and Hers alone!”.
She released the file from Her clenched fist and let it drop to the floor, the papers scattered. Needing no command, I frantically collected the pages together, inserted them into the file and handed them back to Her.
“Can’t you count, you stupid man? The order’s all wrong!!” At this She let the file fall to the floor again and once more I fumbled to pick up the papers, taking care this time to place them back in the file correctly.
“Place it on the shelf over there”, She said, nodding towards the one by the door. Crawling towards it, I heard Her footsteps recede as She walked towards the far corner of the chamber. Returning to my position in the middle of the floor I could see that She was surveying Her array of whips, canes and riding crops.
“A salutary application of the cane….” She said, echoing the words of his previous Mistress. “Spoiled for choice aren’t I, slave?” She asked, playfully. “Eenie, Meenie, Minie, Mo! Ahhh my favourite!” She exclaimed, selecting the terrible riding crop I’d seen on Her web-site.

She span round to face me and I’ll swear I could see a glow in Her eyes. “To avoid injury, it is always advisable to limber up before whipping a slave,” She said: as though quoting from a training manual. She swung Her elbows in arcs about Her shoulders and Paul could discern the impressive definition of Her pectoral muscles. She obviously worked out a lot. Now She was walking towards me. “This is going to hurt Me more than it will hurt you, slave”, She added with a sigh; though I doubted this was true.

“Pick a number between one and five, slave” She asked playfully. Up to five, I thought. Thank God She’s a lenient one. Five I could just about take and it would doubtless impress Her if I chose the upper limit.
“Five” I replied eagerly.
“Five squared makes?”
Oh God no, I thought. She can’t be serious.
“Come on! Five squared makes?”
“T..T..Twenty-five, Mistress”
“Good. Twenty-five it is then. Now position yourself this way”, She said, indicating that I should crouch at right-angles to Her, with my bottom facing to Her right. I started to plead. “No Mistress. Not that many. I can’t stand it. Not even my previous Mistress used to whip me so much. I’m a good slave in other respects aren’t I?”

“It is no earthly use in complaining, slave,” She replied. “This is no more than you deserve. The assessment by Your previous Mistress squares with my own recent experience of you. There is clearly a pattern of behaviour that needs to be addressed. I am going to administer such a thrashing as will really teach you not to play with yourself. You won’t dare appear before me again after having disobeyed My commands.”
“Never!” I cried. “You can’t control me that much. I’ll….I’ll just find another Mistress!”

Throwing Her head back She gave a contemptuous laugh, “Ha! No you won’t.
I know that I enjoy a hold over you as no Mistress previously has. You will need to see a Mistress again be it in one month, two or even six. And that Mistress will be Me. Already you have admitted that I have entered your dream space; unlike the others. So I have even assumed the reins of your subconscious. You cannot
escape me. Truly are you my possession, slave.” In my hopelessness I started to sob. She was right, of course. From the moment I had first encountered Her I had been drawn to Her like a needle to the lodestone. She was the Lorelei and I the hapless sailor dashed against the rocks below Her feet.