Chapter 1
I first met Rachel standing in my doorway, a bottle of wine in hand, on a hot summer evening. She declared herself my new neighbour, and everyone else in the village ‘boring old farts’ whom she wouldn’t give the time of day to. She most certainly wasn’t my neighbour, outside of a most generous definition of the term, because I’d been very particular to find a property with expansive gardens, high hedges, a driveway landscaped deliberately to discourage prying eyes, and land round about which the farmer had agreed would never be developed for houses. And yet here she was, chaotic red hair framing her face, a cherubic expression on her face, and an enthusiastic way of talking that seemed quite impossible to deflect. All of my long-practiced skills at discouraging locals and cold-callers were utterly useless in the face of her positivity, and in the end, I confess that I simply cracked and let her inside.
The wine was drunk, introductions were made, and despite my attempts to remain reserved, she and I talked long into the evening. I was never one to seek out company, but it was so easy to be in hers that by the time I packed her off home before the sun set we had already exchanged promises of future time together. And so it was that Rachel slipped into my otherwise quite solitary life, like a mini-tornado.
Still, it took a while for me to open up to her fully. A woman in my profession must be discreet, and I was not inclined to share the sordid details of my work with a new friend, especially since I thought there was every chance it would drive her away in surprise and shame. There is only so much prevaricating and hedging one can do though, especially in the face of Rachel’s determined, curious nature. The little hints she coaxed out of me were warmly greeted, and it became clear she shared some of my kinky nature. Having to decline invitations for coffee or lunch due to clients visiting made it all too obvious that my work was something unusual.
When I finally confessed that my clients were typically wealthy, kinky business-people; that I was paid well to make them feel utterly helpless and under my control; that the rooms in the back and downstairs were… well-equipped… and that I needed her absolute discretion, a warm glow filled her face. As if sharing this secret cemented our friendship in a satisfying way. Sure enough, she dropped the relentless probing, giving me a knowing wink whenever the subject touched our plans.
It was a relief, to share with someone the secret I had basically built my whole lifestyle around protecting. Because I did love my work. I was incredible at it, if I may blow my own trumpet for a moment, but more than that I revelled in the application of control, discipline, pleasure, and sensuality. My client list had grown through word of mouth, allowing me to live an indulgent life while only attending to clients I found some attraction to. Tiresome, needy, or demanding clients found that further sessions would be refused, and only those I established a good rapport with were ever invited back to my home dungeons. Yes, dungeons, plural. When I set out on this path, the array of toys, furniture, and mechanisms available to apply to a willing plaything was overwhelming, and I quickly decided I wanted them all. Call me greedy if you will.
Our friendship settled into something of a pleasant routine. She knew of my work but didn’t pry, and I trusted her with my secret. When I had to travel to meet a client, she would happily check in on my darling-but-exceptionally-spoiled cats. The country village we both called home was none the wiser as to my profession, which was good as I am sure I would have been hounded out with pitchforks and torches, or at least the modern equivalent: angry posts in social media groups outing me and passive aggressive signs and graffiti on my sizable gates.
So it was something of a surprise when I returned home from a morning trip to the city, to find her bag in my kitchen but no sign of her. Calling out to the house did not bring her out, nor did a search of the main house. Suspicion growing, I opened up the door to the playroom wing. The soft lighting of the corridor revealed an open door that I knew I would have closed.
Beyond the opening was Rachel. She stood with her back to an imposing vertical wooden slab, raised up on a platform that made it the centrepiece of the room, tears streaking makeup down her cheeks. Seeing me, her hands rose to the strap that had captured her neck, tugging uselessly at it, denied by an unseen catch beyond the slit in the slab through which it was threaded. I paused for a moment, taking in the scene, my first time seeing Rachel in this domain where I didn’t think of her.
“Oh dear, what have you done?” I chided her gently as I stepped around behind the slab.
“I was just… It’s stuck at the back… Please…” Her voice was catching, little sobs hinting that she had been freaking out here in my playroom for a while now.
“Well, yes, it’s not meant for solo play, silly.”
When I commissioned my furniture-maker, he’d asked me a similar question on its intended use, but I knew very well the intent I had in mind. Conveniently placed slits in a solid, polished-wood slab, tracing out the outline of a human figure in various compromising poses. I caressed the wood, appreciating its quality as I untwisted the metal catch on the end of the strap that ensured that, once fed through, it could not be pulled back through from the other side, especially not if it was tightened up snugly. Versatile and simple, I thought, no mechanical parts to fail. He had made it so deliciously solid, and no amount of thrashing or straining would tip it over or allow any joints to fail. The straps, though made of a deceptively soft and smooth leather, would defeat a man six times Rachel’s strength, and I should know because I had put such a man to the test.
On the side Rachel was on, one half of each strap was anchored and I typically left the other end dangling; several such straps were attached and loose. She had gone for the neck strap, presumably without much thought as to the mechanisms involved, and pushed the other end through. With no way to reach back around the giant slab to the other side, the catch might as well be on the moon. I never tighten the neck strap, for obvious reasons, but even with the strap loose, there’s not enough slack to pull an adult head out of its embrace.
I had to tighten it slightly around her neck to fold the catch horizontally and slide it back through. The noise she made as it gripped her throat was part whine, part primal moan, I noticed, before I slipped it free and she could step down off the ledge at the bottom of the slab. Sitting with her on the front of the platform, I put my arm around her shoulder, helping her breathe more calmly. It was a few minutes before she was ready to speak.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be back here, I know.”
“It’s okay, I never ordered you to stay out of the playrooms.”
“I didn’t even know how long you would be away for.” A little sob escaped her again. “I thought you were going to come back in a week to find me, dangling from my neck, dead. I’m so sorry.”
“It definitely wasn’t a smart thing to do. But you’re okay now, nothing bad came of it. You can stop apologising, I’m not upset with you.”
She looked at me, drying her eyes with her sleeve, relief evident on her face. It wasn’t until a little smile snuck onto her lips that I knew she was past her freak-out. “Thank you. I owe you big-time. Saving me from my own stupidity.”
We sat for a little while as her breath slowed, and I contented myself with fussing over her long red hair, tangled and mussed by her thrashing on the slab. With anyone else it would have been an awkward silence, but we had long since gotten past worrying about such things. But even as she calmed, she showed no desire to get up, leave the room, or get away from the scene of her predicament. I’d worked at my craft for long enough that I can read a lot from body language, and this silence was growing into something else. She wasn’t looking at me, just ahead at the open door, still a little tense.
“So…” I started. “You came to look at my playrooms.”
“Yeah…” Her voice was soft, and quiet, unusual for her.
“While I was out.”
“Yeah…” The colour was rising in her cheeks now.
“You could have just asked for a tour.” To this she didn’t reply, nor did she look at me. The doorway was suddenly riveting to her. “But you were wondering what I do, back here.” It was deliberately not a question.
Her eyes darted to me, guiltily. I could feel the tension in her body, squirming at having to confront this, now the adrenaline had faded. But still no answer.
“This isn’t the first room you’d open up. So you’ve seen some of the other themes.” A little nod, a sidelong glance, confirmed this. “But the slab drew you in, and you decided to try it out?”
She still didn’t answer, but this time I let the silence grow, awkward and ripe, until it burst forth from her nervous lips. “Lots of the other stuff I couldn’t figure out. It didn’t look like any of the things I’ve seen on the internet. But you can tell what this one is for.” She looked around nervously at the slab behind her, staring at it. “With all the dangling straps, and the shape of the person. And I thought ‘oh god, what would it feel like if those straps were around my neck?’ and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” I followed her gaze to the straps, letting her babble. “And it looked like you just slot the straps in and then take them back out again, and as long as my hands were free I’d be fine.”
She didn’t need me to point out that she wasn’t, in fact, fine. So I let the babble hang there between us for a moment, before I asked, “so how did it feel?” I could feel her breath start to accelerate again, heart thumping through her tense shoulders.
“I…” Her guilty eyes met mine, fearful, pleading. “I knew I was stuck.”
“And…?”
“I felt like my heart was going to leap out of my chest.”
“And…?”
Her eyes were darting, shifty, and it was a moment before she responded. “I imagined you coming back. Telling me off for getting myself caught.”
I let that sit for a moment. “And…?”
“Then…” She looked like a rabbit in headlights, but I knew better than to relent. This needed to be said. “You finished the rest of the straps.” Her eyes were locked onto mine now. “And you punished me.”
Mmm, there it was. I tried not to smile, because I knew it would look so very smug. In truth my own heart was pounding, but she didn’t need to know that. In that moment she was so very vulnerable, and already lost, even if she didn’t realise it yet. I couldn’t think of anything sexier.
I took a deep breath before responding. “Do you want to feel what it is really like, up there?”
Her gaze was haunted, but to her credit, she didn’t blink, reading every inch of my face. In the end her reply was a nod, small, but undeniable.
“You should know that the people who go onto my slab don’t get to wear their clothes.” At that I felt her breath catch a little, but the little nod came again. “And when I come back into the room, I won’t be your friend Kate. I will be Mistress Kate. Do you understand?”
She paused for long enough that I believed she really did appreciate what this would mean, that this wasn’t just a game. When the nod finally came I let myself indulge a little smirk.
“You will be able to stop, if things go beyond what you can bear. Your safeword will be ‘red’, I assume you know what that means?” Another nod. “I am going to need you to say it out loud. Tell me what it means.”
“I… If I say it, everything will stop. You will stop. But I shouldn’t use it unless I really need to.”
“You should use it even if you aren’t sure. I won’t resent you for it. But until you do, Mistress Kate will be in control. I think you will enjoy that, but not if you are afraid.”
I could feel her body shivering a little under my arm. The adrenaline was beginning to flow, as expected, and she needed to feel my confidence before she abandoned the whole thing.
“Are you ready?” I helped her to her feet, and the look in her eyes was equal parts fear and desire. She kept looking at the slab, as if it was going to leap onto her and bind her. But to her credit, she nodded again. “Clothes first. Every. Last. Stitch.” Already I was feeling my dominant persona begin to flow. Calm. Control. Confident expectation.
She hesitated, but only for a moment, before her cute little dress was being lifted. I made no move to help, only watching as she discarded it to one side, revealing lacy, well-fitting underwear and sheer tights. Under my intense gaze she peeled off each item in turn, making a little pile of her clothing at the edge of the platform. For a high protocol submissive, I might have punished her later for being so messy, but she knew nothing of those expectations. Instead I simply stepped in to guide her to the slab where she had trapped herself, a firm hand on her bare chest pressing her backwards until she thumped firmly into the solid wood, eyes locked into mine, mouth tightly closed.
I don’t know how long she spent faffing with the straps on her own, but I knew very well just how to apply them, swiftly and confidently. Neck first, then wrists, arms spread wide on either side of her, forearms and hands upright. Ankles came next, not standing upright as she had placed herself, but pulled to either side until her ankles were pinned directly beneath her hands. The exquisite little gasp she exhaled as I tugged her legs without asking permission will stay with me forever: the beginnings of her drop into my control, accepting my decisions about where her body should be. The rest of the straps were easier to apply: knees, thighs, waist, chest, upper arms. Every stroke with the cool leather over her bare flesh was met with a little shudder, and I could see the goosebumps raised on her skin.
Stepping behind the slab, she watched me until I disappeared from her view. The little ratcheting screws in each catch made a delicious sound as they took up all the slack in the straps pinning her limbs and body in place, and a little twist brought them tightly in until I could feel the resistance of her firm body. The involuntary moans from Rachel with each limb secured were impossible to ignore, but I just smiled and went about my work.
Returning to the front, I couldn’t help but admire the artfully framed figure before me. Her long, flowing red hair draped down over her shoulders, not quite covering her pert chest. Not as well endowed as I am in that respect, but with the beauty of youth and athleticism. She was clenching her fist absently as she watched me, testing all of the straps. I understood that motivation entirely, one of the reasons why I intended to let her stew in her bondage for a little while.
“Nothing too tight, I hope?” A plaintive little moan was my only reply. Funny how her usual chattyness had entirely deserted her. “I am going to get dressed now. You are going to stay here, obviously.” That brought a little bratty stare, as I’d intended, and I couldn’t help but smirk. “I will be able to hear you in the dressing room.”
Striding out of the room, I allowed myself a deep breath. No matter how often I did this, no matter who I took into my control, it never ceased to bring out that intoxicating rush. I let my hands roam over my jacket and skirt, feeling the sensitivity underneath. Even just out on an errand I always took care to dress well. Nothing that hinted at my profession, or my passions, but the sort of impeccable dress that told everyone I interacted with that I was a woman in control; fitted jackets and demure skirts when I needed to look business-appropriate, pants-suits when I could afford to be more casual. But no matter whom I met, out and about, a frosty reception and little tolerance for sass helped me keep the other residents of the village at arms length.
In my domain though, I dressed for pleasure. Not to impress my clients, though they invariably enjoyed my choices, but to satisfy me. As I stepped into the dressing room, the deep breath brought in the overwhelming scent of rubber, and I could not help but smile. Rachel was going to have a bit of time to ‘contemplate’, because there was a lot I wanted to do.
The outdoor clothes were quickly shed; folded and put to the side because I am fussy that way. Browsing the racks of meticulously organised clothes, I quickly picked out my outfit. Rachel had never seen Mistress Kate before, and she deserved the full effect. While I am blessed with curly brown hair that copes well with the outdoors, I would need some more elaborate makeup that the rest of the village would never see. But first, my favourite catsuit: black, front-zipped, exceptionally-thin chlorinated latex. Dressing-aid liberally applied, pulling it over my legs and up my body, I quivered with every touch. Perhaps Rachel’s willing submission had put me into a heightened state of awareness, but today I felt every inch of the rubber sliding over my skin. Smoothing out all the wrinkles was a delight, as was slowly, carefully, zipping up the front and feeling it compress my breasts. I decided to leave the zipper just above my chest, for maximum cleavage. Sure, it might unzip itself at any point, given vigorous action, but a little show of flesh was hardly a big risk to take.
With such a cleavage, it would be criminal to neglect my waistline, so over the catsuit went my second favourite corset. My favourite, if you must know, is at its best when I am wearing absolutely nothing else, and that wasn’t in the plan for tonight. Hook by hook it nestled into place on my waist, and I went about tightening. One pass on the laces, then two, then a third for good measure, though the last barely budged the tightness.
By now, I knew Rachel's head would be swimming. The playroom is dark, and quiet. The straps creak, as does the wood of the slab, but neither would be loud enough to hide the sounds of rubbery dressing from the room next door. Anticipation is a cruel thing, especially to someone who does not really know what comes next, and I am sure her imagination was beginning to fill in all manner of wicked fantasies.
The boots came next. Gods, they are so very long, practically all the way up to my crotch, and so very fiddly to get on, especially once the corset is tight. But the look of them is just exquisite, and they make even the bossiest of souls think submissive thoughts.
Last to go on would be the gloves, but before that I needed a pass on my make-up. Darker eyes, luscious, deep red lips, all combine to complete the look. I took my time, knowing that every moment in the soft light, Rachel would be straining against the straps. It takes time to really feel bondage, it can’t be rushed. I wanted her to purge that memory of crying, bound only by her neck, and replace it with the real thing: soft leather pinning every limb into place, trapping her like a fly in a web, ready for me to devour her.
I fanned myself quickly. ‘Devour her’? Where did that even come from? My hands were roaming over my tightly squished chest, finding my nipples hard under the thin rubber. But seeing her struggling, giving in to her desires, taking that first step into my power, it was all so deliciously hot. In her innocence she was managing to trigger all of my dominant pleasure centres, without even realising. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted to take someone over so badly.
Deep breaths were needed to bring me back to the confident, centred place I needed to be. She deserved the best experience of submission, of bondage, not some horny, careless mistress. As I stood up, picking up my short, latex gloves to complete my outfit, the rubber tugged itself into my crotch, making me acutely aware of my own arousal and pulling an involuntary gasp from my lips. This was going to be a challenge.
Stepping back into the playroom, Rachel’s eyes snapped open and fixated on me, mouth falling open. I’ve discovered that a little pause in the doorway, back-lit, allows my subby playthings the opportunity to appreciate all my effort in dressing. I was glad to see that it was just as effective on Rachel. She had clearly been struggling, eyes closed, testing the straps. I could see the red marks around the soft leather that I knew meant she had really been putting some effort into it.
Without saying a word, I stalked closer, the heels of my boots making a deliberately loud click, click, click on the hard wood floors.
“It’s really tight,” she complained. Not quite a whine, but I had expected this.
“It’s supposed to be tight.” My gloved hands traced the line of the strap at her wrist. “You have to be kept firmly in place. Can you move anything?”
“Not really.” She wriggled both wrists to demonstrate the futility of it.
Knowing my cue, I let her see a little frown on my face, and I proceeded to take out the little bit of slack I’d purposefully left in those straps. The plaintive little moan as her hands became completely immobilised told me that the effectiveness of the bondage was definitely no longer in doubt.
“How do you feel now?” I asked, stepping up onto the platform, rubber-clad body pressed up against her naked body.
“I…” Whatever sass she had managed to scrape together while I had been out of the room was quickly draining away, even more so as my catsuit slid against her, its surface slippery with shiner. “I’m really stuck, aren’t I?” I nodded, a playful knowing look on my face. “But you’re going to let me out, right?”
Mmmm, and there it was. The fear, mixed with the desire, that every submissive feels when they lose control for the first time. We’d talked, over wine, about past lovers, and I got the impression that all of her previous relationships had been very vanilla. Was this really her first time bound? Perhaps. Her first time helpless, I think, certainly.
She wanted to trust me. I could feel her desire, thrumming through her body, straining against the bonds. She didn’t want it to stop. She just… wanted to know that she wasn’t going to lose herself entirely.
“Are you afraid I’m going to make you my sexy little gimp, and keep you locked away in a chest in my dungeon forever?” The little whine she gave at that was just delightful, but I could feel her heart race and breath come faster when I said it. Fuck, mmmm, she kind of wants that. Something to remember, for later…
“Kate, please, I…” She let out a little shriek when my gloved fingertips pinched her perky, and rock hard, nipple.
“In my dungeon, when you have given yourself to me, I am not ‘Kate’. I am ‘Mistress’.” The pressure on her nipples was intense, but not, I think, cruel.
“Nnnnnnng, ahhhhhh, okay, yes, Mistress.” Her eyes had a little tear in them when I relented in my grip, but my fingers gently massaged the tender flesh I had been tormenting, eliciting a hot little moan from my plaything. When I capped it off with a little soothing kiss, she let out a little squeak and I had to exercise all of my self-discipline to stop myself from laughing. Catching her eye, I could see that she had surprised herself with it too, and wasn’t sure how to recover. I couldn’t stop myself, and leaned in for a soft, intense kiss, my freshly applied lip-gloss marking her lips. We shared a smile, and a little of her nervousness slipped away.
“If I bind you, it is because I want you helpless. For as long as I want to make use of your squirming, struggling body.” I set my gloved hands roaming over her body as I spoke. “Does it feel like you can do anything to stop that?”
She whimpered a little at that, closing her eyes, clenching her fists and tensing her body against the straps. I let her strain, knowing the feeling of the bonds would make it undeniable. Eventually, she shook her head, silently.
“Was this what you imagined? When you got yourself stuck?”
“No, I…” She turned her head to look directly at me, the soft leather strap taut around her neck like the sexiest of chokers. “You weren’t dressed like this. In my head you were wearing that ‘hot librarian’ outfit.” She’d mentioned that outfit to me before, but clearly I hadn’t appreciated just how much of an impression it had made on her. “But this…” she nodded down at my body, “Fuck, you look really hot in rubber.” Belatedly, she added, “Mistress!’
“Flattery is a good start. This is what I wear when I want my playthings to wish they could touch me. Have you ever worn latex before?”
“No, I… I’ve seen it in pictures.”
“It feels incredible to wear. And also against your skin, when someone touches you.” I caressed her cheek with one gloved hand, and slid the other down her naked body, dancing my fingers over her stomach and thighs.
“Oh gods, that’s…” Her body bucked underneath my touches, straps biting into her pale flesh as she found just how little she could move to avoid them.
“Intense, hmm?” I laughed, and slid my fingertips back up the inside of her thigh, over the top of her mound. “But here’s the thing…” I leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “no matter how intense it feels, you can’t get away.” She let out another hot little whimper at that, and the look on her face made my own arousal flash hotter. “Playthings that get strapped on my wall have to endure the most wicked pleasures.”
Her hips thrust forward unexpectedly, and my fingertips slid across her pussy-lips, making them slick with her arousal, impossible to ignore. I couldn’t help but grin, as my lips brushed against her ear.
“You thought I would discipline you. For sneaking in. For getting stuck. For hiding from me the fact that you really, really wanted this.” My fingers sought out her wetness, delving inside, the thin latex giving such delicious friction to her sensitive spots. “But I don’t think you ever considered…” Her waist was straining against the strap, pushing forwards eagerly. “...what if your punishment was to be given such delicious, rubbery sensations, only to…” Abruptly I slipped my hand back out from her sex and planted a firm, open palm spank onto her mound, wet gloves making for a loud ‘smack’.
“Ahhhhhhhh! Fuck! Mmm! Please!”
“Denied.”
I do love that word. She thrashed and strained, whining and pleading, but there was absolutely nothing she could do, and she knew it. It was hard to maintain my composure and not just dip my arousal-slicked glove between my legs there and then. But for now, this was about her, and helping her realise that the bondage hadn’t just taken away her motion, it had given me control. There are few things hotter than a beautiful, horny, denied woman, completely dependent on you for their pleasure.
When I stepped in close again, my whole body was pressed up against hers, rubber slipping against skin. As her breast squished into mine, that straining zip gave out under the pressure, and my cleavage turned into a yawning expanse of flesh on display. I made a point of caressing and squeezing them, right under her nose. “Does my little plaything want to touch? Only, she can’t…”
She swore at that, arousal getting the better of her desire to please, and I gave her another sharp spank on her crotch, pulling out a deep groan. It was just too tempting to resist, and quickly my fingertips were at work again. Toying with her wetness was just delicious, feeling her throbbing, puffy clit through the latex. Her eyes locked on to mine, biting her lip to keep from crying out or swearing again, nodding eagerly, enough that the strap around her neck pulled her up short.
“Are you close to the edge, hmm?”
The nod was accompanied by a plaintive, growing growl, something primal deep within her.
“Are you going to ask nicely?”
Her lips pursed beautifully closed, and she closed her eyes, trying to keep focus even as my slippery hand delved inside of her. When they finally opened again, it was with a clear effort of will that she spoke. “Please, Mistress… I would really, really, really, like to cum… umumumum.”
At the last word I had added a thumb, circling her clit while the other fingers filled her. Eyes wide, she looked at me longingly. I could see her fists clenching out of the corner of my eye, her entire body straining against the straps.
“Five.” Her expression perked up as I spoke.
“Four.” Closing her eyes, I could feel her body beginning to tense against mine.
“Three.” Fingertips squeezing, circling, stretching, stroking.
“Two.” Fists become splayed hands now, every part of her body straining against the straps holding her down.
“One.” Her eyes flashed open, seeking mine, and her back arched, head tilting back to brace against the wood. We stared at each other, so very intently, as I pulled the most delicious orgasm from her body, and she screamed a primal scream of pleasure.
It took quite some time for her body to un-tense, little aftershocks of pleasure and sensitivity rippling through her. I stayed close, my catsuit hot and slippery with her sweat, my arm across her body to reassure her that she needn’t just hang limply in place.
“Mmmhmm?” I asked.
“Mmmm.”
“Good girl. Now, I think some things are going to change between us now.” A look of nervousness flashed across her face at that. “Instead of coming around for coffee on Thursdays, I think you’re going to be coming on Thursdays to present yourself at the playroom.”
“Present myself?”
I raised an eyebrow.
A blush and a stammered, “Mistress,” was quickly added.
“You’ve only just begun to discover how much fun can be had. Naked and helpless is all very well. Helpless in rubber is something else entirely…”