- Mistress Incognito

I was checking out the 3 CDs for £25 rack in Virgin (thinking why can I only ever find two I want? How do they know?) when I bumped against the woman looking through the A-D section. "Sorry," I said, looking up at her. By all logic; the bright lights, the everyday setting, the ordinary, sensible clothes, I shouldn't have been able to recognise her but there was no mistaking that face, that hair, those eyes. Especially the eyes. Oh my God! The giveaway eyes widened just enough to tell me that she had recognised me, too. She smiled. It would have completed the disguise, Mistress never smiled, but it was already too late.

I looked down at my feet. It was instinctive. "Mistress?" I said.

"Sh! Not here!" She hissed. "Janine, pleased to meet you." She offered her hand. I had never actually touched her and there was no way I could touch her now. I couldn't say anything, either. Seconds passed. She took the initiative and grabbed my hand. Hers was warm. I suppose I had expected it to be cold like plastic. "I can hardly call you Pup can I?"

I snapped out of it. "Martin." Didn't she remember me?

"Don't worry, of course I remember you but I doubt if any of the others use their real names. Christ, your hand's actually shaking! You look like you need to sit down. Tell you what, I'll get us a coffee and you find us a seat. The health police still let us smoke outside, thank God. We can chat. Sort things out."

Sort what out? There was a coffee place next to the record shop. She went inside. I, of course, obeyed.

"You can look at me, you know," she said when she brought the coffees to the table. She took a cigarette out of her handbag and lit it, taking a couple of hard long drags. "I needed that." She tapped the packet. Her nail varnish was pale pink. "Do you?"

"No. Thank you."

She put the pack and her lighter away. "Had a client once liked me to stub them out on his back," she said it as if she were talking about the weather.

"Yes. I think James Dean liked that, too." I tried to keep the shake out of my voice. Keep it casual. I failed.

"Well, whatever - "

"Turns you on?"

She tapped the side of her head. "Makes you tick. Calmed down now, have you? You should have seen the look on your face! You went grey, then bright red." She laughed. Mistress never laughed, either, unless it was a short contempt-filled snarl.

I realised I was blushing again. It felt like I had a fever. "I feel better now," I lied.

"Don't worry, I don't embarrass easily." She sighed. "It's a shame. You were a good client. No funny stuff. A long-term earner."

"What do you mean were?"

"Oh, you won't want to see her again. Not now." She changed the subject, a little, "how's the book coming along?"

"Article."

"Article. Can I read it?"

"I never finished it." I'd barely started it. The fact was, I'd forgotten all about the article.

ii - The Theory and Practice of Sexology

"The fact is, love of my life, you're the magazine's resident sexologist and that's that."

"I studied journalism at college, not sexology. The sexology course was full."

Carrie was Reality Magazine's assistant editor, my boss. We also slept together on and off when her nominal boyfriend was away on business abroad. He went abroad quite a lot. "That undercover article on swingers really hit the mark with our readers."

"It involved having sex with women. This kinky stuff is for dirty old men who can't get their jollies any other way. I also suspect there may be some pain involved. You don't pay me enough for that."

"So, maybe not S&M, as such. How about this - " She pushed a clipping across her desk. It was an advertisement in a specialist publication. I wondered who did her background work. Rumour control said she and Paul in records - ?

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Go on. You might like it. You like powerful women, don't you." She was trying to be lascivious but Carrie could only do Carrie, the power-dressing wannabe big circulation editor.

"Why don't I call the number? To see what's involved." She knew how to tweak my sense of humour. And curiosity had always been my weakness. I groaned; knowing I was trapped. As she had known I was going to do it before I'd even walked through the door.

"That's the spirit, lover-boy."

iii - Rules of the Game

It was a pretty ordinary looking place. Not quite in suburbia but hardly in the ghetto either. I wondered if the neighbours knew what was going on. I expected they did but discretely ignored it as long as there was no trouble. The clientele probably looked fairly respectable. I took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing.” I couldn't help looking around first, just to make sure there was no one around who knew me.

It was well lit inside and this was obviously a place of residence as well as a den of perversion. There were plenty of subtle signs, a telephone table, and pictures on the wall. There was a staircase. A man, a very large man, was sat on a stool at the bottom.

“You the writer?” He never wasted space with elaborate sentences.

“Yes,” I was nervous despite everything. I decided it was designed to be intimidating. To create the right atmosphere or dissuade the uncommitted. You're a journalist, I reminded myself, journalists ask questions. Even sexologists. "So, what do I do?"

“You're late." He looked at his watch. The twenty minutes comes off your thirty. Unless you want to pay for an hour.”

“I suppose I’d better.”

We waited. “You’re only getting later. She won’t like that. Shouldn’t you be opening up your wallet by now?”

I handed over the notes. He glanced at them and then folded them before putting them in his pocket. “As it’s your first time, there are a couple of rules. I'll only need to tell you once.”

His voice was cool and mean and even. He didn't have to threaten. He was a threat and he knew it. “Okay.”

“One,” he held his thumb up in case I couldn’t count to two, “if you’ve had enough say the keyword. The keyword is ‘goodbye.’ If you say the keyword it stops right there and then. What’s the keyword?”

“Goodbye.”

“Correct. Two,” index finger pointed at my face. This was the important one, “this isn't a brothel. If you touch her I’ll break your fucking neck. Got that?”

“Sure. My neck, snap. No problem.”

“Just do what she says. You might even enjoy it.” He snorted. “First door on the left. Don’ t go into any of the others.”

I climbed the stairs. Looking back, the guard-receptionist-bouncer was grinning. “Thanks.”

Behind the first door on the right was a surprisingly large, badly lit room, perhaps. There was one other door, presumably for her. Whoever that turned out to be. There was a padded chair in one corner and a wicker chair in another. I imagined sitting on it naked and winced. On one wall were honest to God manacles on leather straps. Ah, this was more promising. At the back of my mind a story was starting to form. There was a hamper in the centre of the room. I went over and started to lift the lid -

There was a slam behind me. “What are you doing?” It was a low, stern voice, full of authority. I turned around and came face to face with Mistress.

iv - First Impressions, Wrong Impressions

“What did you think when you first saw her?”

“To be honest, I thought you were a bit of a cliché.”

“She was furious when you laughed.”

“But - there was something - fascinating.”

v - First Lesson: Introductions

I had to grin. She was such a stereotype. If it hadn’t been for the voice I would have burst out laughing. The voice commanded respect. She was quite tall anyway but her heels added three or four inches so she just about topped six feet. The boots were ridiculous, not ending until half way up her thighs. Apart from foot-ware she only wore one item of clothing, a laced up bodice, at least one size too small. Initially it looked quite striking, shiny black PVC stretched tight, but on closer inspection areas were scuffed and the seams were coming undone. Her face was pale, the only colour on her other than black and white were her bright red lips and yellow hair tied back in a severe knot like a plume behind her head. In her right hand she held a riding crop. I had to swallow another laugh when I saw it. This wasn't going to work. I'd just do a quick interview about how she got into this game and then leave. I started to speak but she was asking the questions.

"I asked you a question."

"Sorry, I was just curious."

She started to walk around the edge of the room, taking very even, precise steps, heel-toe clacking on the uncarpeted wooden floor. All the way around she kept me fixed with her dark green eyes. The contempt seemed very real. As hard as I was trying, it unsettled me. She was one hell of an actress, I had to give her that. When her circle reached the basket she used to guide me a few steps backwards. She opened the basket and brought out what looked like a belt. She slid one end through the buckle to make a loop. "Curiosity is for cats." She spat the final word. "You are a dog." She threw the loop onto the floor. "This is your lead, dog. Put it on."

Despite everything, I was a cat, and curiosity had made me a journalist in the first place. The only way to get what I wanted was to play along. I looked at her for guidance but got none. I shrugged and let the loop drop around my neck. "Okay."

She continued to pace a circle. "In this room, there are rules. First: I am to be obeyed at all times. If you please me there will be rewards. If not, punishment. You will not look me in the face."

I was nodding and looking directly, trying to find one small crack in the façade.

She repeated, "you will not look at me directly."

Play along, brave sexologist, I thought and looked at my feet instead. Still smirking.

"You will address me at all times as 'Mistress.' Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Evidently not."

"Yes, Mistress." Saying the words for the first time changed things. It just felt right, the only thing I could say. She had won the first round. I realised that I had stopped smirking.

The circle brought her around to my back. She took the belt in one hand. "You're much younger than the others they sent me. That accounts for your insolence. It does not excuse it, however. You obviously need house training, Pup. Do you understand?"

"I guess."

Without a second's hesitation she yanked the lead. The loop tightened around my throat. It hurt. With one flick of her wrist she had nearly choked me. "Jesus Christ!" She yanked again. I realised there was only one thing I could say to stop her doing it again. "Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress."

She dropped the lead. "Better." She turned her back and started to leave.

Suddenly, I was alone in a dark room, wearing a dog collar. It was several minutes before I started to feel silly and took it off. There was no way I had had my hour but who could I complain to? Trading standards?

On the way out the doorman asked if I wanted to make another appointment. I told him it wouldn't be necessary. He gave me a card anyway. "You have the number. Just in case." He smiled.

Outside, it seemed very warm for November.

vi - Getting Into It

"So, what was it like? I want to hear all the pervy details."

"The article isn't going to work."

"Why not? Wasn't it what you expected?"

"That's the problem. It was exactly what I expected. The tacky costume, the props on the wall - it was all so trite and predictable. I don't think anyone would be interested."

"Unless - ?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't piss me around, Martin, you've got an 'unless' or you'd just write the stupid thing and go onto the next assignment."

"She was interesting. Not the costume, the woman inside it. How did she get into such a stupid profession? What does she think of her customers?"

"I knew it! You want to go back!"

"Will expenses cover it?"

"You're sleeping with the boss, you idiot. Speaking of which - " The thing I liked least about Carrie was that she smoked in bed. She stubbed the cigarette out on the ashtray balanced on her stomach and put it on the floor. "Or maybe you have something else in mind?" She held her hands out, wrists pressed together. "Would you like to tie me up? I'm sure we can improvise some kind of whip."

"No, that won't be necessary. I've got everything we need right here - "

It wasn't very good.

vii - Q&A

"I thought you'd seen enough?"

"I need some follow up research for the article. Can I ask a few questions?"

"Try it and see."

"Background stuff."

"Try it and see."

"Can I ask you a couple?"

"Try it and see."

"Are you a bouncer, receptionist or manager?"

"That's right."

"Can I have a receipt?"

"Sure."

viii - Out of Character

"So, what do you think of me out of costume as it were." She was wearing Levi's and a loose Next top.

“The black plastic suits you. It makes you look younger."

“I'll take that as a back-handed complement."

"The hair's the same. Apart from that I'd hardly recognise you."

"I have to keep it long for work. You recognised me straight away, though, didn't you?"

"Your eyes. You have very distinctive eyes."

ix - Second Lesson: In the Corner

"What are you doing?"

"Putting the lead on."

"What?!"

"Oh, sorry, putting the lead on, Mistress."

"Did I tell you to do anything, Pup?"

This time I remembered to look at the floor. "No, Mistress, please forgive me, Mistress."

"I might. We'll see. Go and stand in the corner."

I went and stood. She sat down on the chair and lit a cigarette. I looked around.

"Look at the wall!"

I looked at the wall. "What - "

"Silence!"

So I looked at the wall, in silence, until she got bored. Then she said, "you can go now."

As I left I was shaking.

x - Getting Out of Hand

"So what's her sob story?"

"Pretty much what you'd expect. Single mother, making ends meet, doesn't want to walk the streets, finds she has a talent - "

"I think it's time to wrap up this project, Martin. You said it yourself there's nothing there. Start making it up."

Christ, I'm already lying as fast as I can. "She does have something - compelling."

"Oh my God. You are getting into it!"

"I don't think I should give up on a project after going this far."

"You're not even denying it! Jesus, Martin, you should hear yourself." She got out of bed and backed away from me. Angry or scared? I'd never seen her scared but this wasn't entirely anger. "What further work do you want to do? Are you going to tie me to the bed and hit my arse with a cane?"

"It's not like that."

"I see, you want me to tie you up and piss on your face!" She stood up. I'm not in the mood tonight, Martin. I think you should go home." She sounded just like - " And I want to see you in my office, Martin, on Monday morning. And you'd better have that article finished and ready for editing."

Was I upset? I'd always gone between girlfriends pretty rapidly but this time Mistress had come between us and it was different. I hardly thought about Carrie at all. All I could think was; what's the next stage? What would she do next?

xi - Whatever Turns You On

I took the receipt the third time, but I didn't need it. This was my own money. "Thanks."

"That book of yours is taking a lot of research." Perhaps he meant it to be a question. I took it as a statement and started to head up the stairs. "You know," he said, "if there's anything you find especially useful for your ‘research’ I could pass it on to her."

I paused, suddenly realising that he wasn't a bouncer or a receptionist, he was a membrane. Outside was reality with its grey areas and half-truths. Upstairs only the fantasy existed. He allowed things to pass between the two but Mistress would never ask me a question herself. "Well - " I began cautiously, wary of sarcasm, "that stuff with the collar. It was - interesting."

"What ever turns you on," he said, and laughed.

I didn't care. I left Martin downstairs. Pup went up alone.

xii - Pride in Her Craft

"I kinda think of you as my best work."

"In what way?"

"Well, you started off not being into it at all. It was just a big joke for you. That made you a challenge. It's a talent. Everyone must have one, I guess. All I just had to do was figure out the bait to make you take that first step. I knew that bit with the collar got to you, just a little. Then I held back, didn't give you any more of the same. I thought 'you know what, Janine, if you make him stand in a corner for an hour he'll come back. Just to see what happens next.'"

"You were right."

"Then I gave you just what you wanted. The thing you'd always needed without knowing it."

"I don't think - "

"Men who want mothering don't come to me. What was your mother like? Sorry, none of my business. What about your girlfriend? Is she some kind of authority figure?"

"She's my editor - boss."

"See?"

xiii - Lesson Three: Pup Learns Some Manners

What is there to say? It's etched on my mind. No, it's sliced across it like a jagged cut from a cardboard box. There probably hasn't been a day since that I haven't thought about it. It both sends me to sleep and keeps me awake.

My third lesson.

Mistress was dressed slightly differently. I tried to point my head towards the ground while lifting my eyes to catch a glimpse. She had taken her gloves off. Her fingernails were long, sharp and red. "On your knees, Pup."

I didn't need her to tell me twice. "Yes, Mistress," I said.

"That's better, Pup. Perhaps you may be of use to me yet. Will you be of use to me? Do you want to please me?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Let us continue with your house training." She walked around behind me, looping the belt. It felt comfortable around my neck. She pulled it tight. "Follow me."

"Yes, Mistress." I followed on my hands and knees, always watching the floor I could see her heels. They were scuffed and worn.

"Sit, Pup. You may look at me."

I looked up. "Mistress?"

"You were looking at my boots. Do you think they are dirty?"

"No, Mistress." It was the wrong answer. She jerked my lead.

"Don't lie to me, Pup! Or do you want me to punish you? To hurt you, perhaps?"

It was an offer, I think, coded into the language of the fantasy. At the time I didn't even realise. All I knew was that I didn't want that. "Please don't hurt me, Mistress."

"Very well. If my boots are dirty, you must clean them."

I didn't have to ask what with. My mind fumbled for the code word. I couldn't remember. Didn't want to. Using it would end everything. There was only one thing I could do. I crawled towards her feet and tentatively tasted them. They tasted clean. "That's enough, Pup. I don't want your disgusting slobber on my clean boots. Are they clean, Pup?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She lifted her foot and pushed down on the back of my head until my nose touched the floor. "You are a slow learner, Pup. I want you to think, think hard, about how you can please me next time. And I will think of how to punish you for your insolence." She lifted the boot and walked away from me, stooping at the door. "You may relieve yourself if you wish."

xiv - Out the Door

Within a week Carrie had taken her toothbrush and started sleeping with Mark in accounts. It was common knowledge, apparently, that they'd had a thing on and off for a while. My article on sexual deviance was forgotten. I was assigned a project on defective washing machine motors and was glad to get it.

xv - Lesson X: On the Wall

It could be my tenth visit or my hundredth. It's a blur. Yes, Mistress. No, Mistress. Am I upside down? Which way is up? Am I facing the wall or the room? Mistress is barking orders I half hear. My heartbeat to loud. I can't see her. I'm so hard I would explode if only she would let me. I can't breath. I can't breath -

All too soon, it's over.

xvi - Keyword and Exit

“You should get rid of that bouncer of yours.”

"I can't. He‘s my husband." She stubbed out the third cigarette. Her coffee had gone. Mine was stone cold. "See what I mean about the fantasy unravelling? For me, Mistress is a character. I can slip in and out of her a hell of a lot easier than those damn boots I can tell you. Do you know how much Vaseline I use to get into that leather corset? Never mind. The point is she's a costume, a funny voice, a job. But you are Pup."

"We could - "

"No. We couldn't." She stood up, towering over me. "And anyway, how dare you argue with me, Pup! On your knees when you speak to me!" Suddenly, Levi's and Next top or not, she was Mistress. Except now she was also Janine and I found that I could look her in the eyes when she called me Pup. "See? It's just not the same, is it? She's gone. Move on." She touched my arm, gently. "Goodbye, Martin."

As she walked away I started to shake. Nervous, curious and angry glances had been directed our way but the ground could open up and swallow me for all I cared, I was crying into my cold coffee like a teenager. All the other women were nothing, Carrie had an itch I couldn't scratch and Janine understood what makes me tick but Mistress -