The Making of a Mistress 15. The Devil

In the latest “Making of a Mistress” (15. Temperance), Katia takes the reigns with Johnathon,  squashing his impudence. With Valleri’s trip away, the boundaries begin to blur between Katia and her charge.

On and on she went like this until at last she’d tire and lay back, instructing him to watch. He was bound, after all, and could go nowhere. Then she’d open her thighs and tap them – a signal for me to crawl over and attend to her. She mewed in pleasure as I did, though her increasing arousal seemed to awake even greater vitriol in her, which she then spat at Johnathon.

“Even your tongue isn’t any use to me.” she’d moan, locking eyes with him, then pulling my head deeper into her, until she was all of my senses, and my head sailed in waves of her pleasure. I allowed myself to be Valleri’s tool against Johnathon, though initially I felt guilty at being purposed thus. I sensed Johnathon’s humiliation, and couldn’t help but have an empathy for him, even though he’d never shown me any great affection. This empathy would from time to time distract me from my Mistress’ need, and from my own pleasure in serving her. Then, with a hard yank on the end of my ponytail, Valleri would bring me  back into the word of flesh rather than mind. When satisfied, she instructed me to kiss Johnathon on the lips, when my own were heavy with the scent of her. A peck wasn’t enough. I was required to kiss him fully. His lips felt strange against mine,the first time. Cool and rough with stubble, unlike the fleshy warmth of Valleri’s own. His breath was cool and moist, like the cavities below the earth. Under Valleri’s goading, I dove my tongue between his unresisting lips, eyes closed, feeling him taste her on me. Feeling my tongue vibrate on the sounds of his lustful exaltations.”

The Making of a Mistress 14 – Temperance

In the latest “Making of a Mistress” (14. Temperance), Katia begins her training under Valleri. The Dungeon is explored, Katia goes head to head with her insecurities and Valleri’s whip – and Johnathon may be convinced to play…

“Temperance. A balancing of variables in order to work towards a goal. Of course, in my case, with Valleri, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was working towards. For the first time in my life, I was doing something entirely irrational – even, perhaps irresponsible. My decisions these past few months were based entirely on feeling, rather than anything solid. But how these feelings called to me. How could I do anything but follow?

Mother didn’t approve of my breakup with Calvin, and let me know about it until I was forced to set her ringtone to silent and replace her picture on my phone with one of a six headed dragon. It seemed fitting. But I had to remember, I wasn’t entirely alone in this process. Valleri was guiding me, and even though I didn’t know quite where, it hardly seemed to matter. I trusted her, and my feelings for her, implicitly.

The rules to this new arrangement with Valleri were fairly straightforward. I would still work, and I would pay a portion of my earnings to the household for accommodation and food costs while I resided here. The rest, she told me, I could keep. Outside of work hours, I would perform domestic duties as assigned. I was also to be abstinent from both alcohol, and – oddly – self pleasure. The latter seemed a little unusual, but when one is facing impending homelessness, it pays not to be too choosy.

For the first few days after I moved in, the arrangement was almost too simple. A little cleaning here, Valleri seizing me once or twice for her pleasure there. It seemed like nothing had changed, that it had become better, because at least now, I was where I wanted to be. Of course, I still carried guilt about Calvin’s departure, and this would come to me at night, when I was alone and sober, with no alcohol to dilute the emotions with. But by day, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. A joyful curiosity for my new place under Valleri’s tutelage. An excitement…”


The Making of a Mistress 13 – Death

In the latest “Making of a Mistress” (13. Death), Katia “enjoys” Christmas dinner with Valleri and a very distracted Johnathon. Valleri finds new ways to break the ice on an after dinner walk with Katia.

Valleri enfolded me in a long black fur jacket. It smelt of her. I wrapped myself up to the chin in it, surreptitiously sniffing for her as she got herself ready. Then I followed her out into a quiet night. A few inches of snow had settled. The streets were mostly silent. It was about eleven.

We left two pairs of footsteps behind us as we crunched together over virgin snow to the local park, where we’d met on the Solstice. With the slight saltiness of the snow on my tongue, I recalled her own salt-water in my mouth. And just the thought of it lurched my lust to life, despite my prior malaise and nervousness. As I walked with her to the lightning-struck tree, I felt my body prickle against the frisson of her energy and mine mixing. I could almost feel the curious tendrils of her own curiosity penetrating me, skin, sinew and bone.”

The Making of a Mistress 12 – The Hanged Man

In the latest “Making of a Mistress” (12. The Hanged Man), wet again at Valleri’s hands – Katia visits Valleri and Johnathon on Christmas Day. Johnathon isn’t impressed with Valleri’s Christmas gift to Katia.

Once again I found myself in Valleri’s shower, this time enjoying a torrent of frigid water from the showerhead. It rained down on my skin like a hail of needles. Valleri wasn’t being deliberately cruel with the temperature. When Johnathon had picked me up from my drunken Christmas adventure in town, I’d been in quite the state. So, on arrival, Valleri had insisted on sobering me up. And while her method was valid, it was also a torment. I squirmed around between Valleri’s strong hands, which pawed and kneaded my skin as if with dough, prior to proofing.

The proof was in my arousal – the raised heartbeat, how I could only look on her with my open mouth and make insensible sounds. She laughed at me, holding me in place as she lathered the fragrant oil around my shoulders. Each stinging drop of ice cold water a trance percussion, building to a frenetic sense of devotion to her. Under the heat of her hands, bubbles formed, sliding over my body – each soft peak, each valley, like white horses, made of lust, inciting me to submission at her hands.

Valleri had expressed her dismay at the state I’d arrived in. Quite unecessary, she’d stated,  it cannot continue. As my face fell, the kindness seeped into her voice again. She commented with approval that I had been a good girl to remember to maintain myself in the other ways. Still dazed, I asked – what other ways? At this, she slid a hand approvingly between my thighs, over the bare skin. I felt the pulse of her blood hot hands against my frozen genitals as if it were moving through my own body. As if we were one. She pulled up then and I rose, to tiptoes, wanting her. Her gaze held mine, allowing nothing, her dark irises crackling with the intensity of control. As I leaned in to kiss her – for I couldn’t help it – she pulled away, taking her hand with her.. A refusal. Perhaps a punishment? I felt instantly ashamed. She sighed then, placing a hand to my cheek, her voice dark and deep like a siren on coastal rocks. Comforting and chastising me.”

The Making of a Mistress 11 – Justice

In the latest “Making of a Mistress” (11. Justice),  Katia returns home to Calvin, who confronts her after her wild night out at Valleri’s…

“And faced with this knowledge, I was caused to question my own intentions. I had known where this potentially might go, and yet had continued. Perhaps in one sense I might excuse myself by saying that this came from nowhere – all those weeks, she taught me art, just art, so I thought that was all there was. But there had been that shower when she had shaved me. That kiss. Those little moments and touches that were anything but innocent. The hints and the little looks.

I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t want it too. That while she sat so close to me while I was drawing, that I didn’t want to lean in and kiss her. But I had left the boundaries for her to define, whilst also waggling myself provocatively over them, and in doing so, I had cheated. No one had made me cheat, I had gone there all by myself. If only I could have been under her skirt for longer, perhaps hid out there for years. But as soon as that episode ended, as soon as I washed myself clean under the shower, as soon as I bade her and her party goodbye in the park, I was bashed headlong into a wave of dissonance about walking back into my previously defined life.

And it was about to get worse.”

The Making of a Mistress 10: The Wheel of Fortune

In the latest “Making of a Mistress” (10. The Wheel of Fortune), Katia and Calvin approach their move to Slough. Valleri mentors Katia in art as their friendship blossoms. And wine is not the only thing Katia imbibes at Valleri’s Solstice party…

I couldn’t imagine a part of her I wouldn’t like. Let me taste all of you, I asked. Suddenly embarrassed at myself. She peeled off her garment and bade me lie down. The floor was hard –  cold, but my desire burned hot enough to negate any discomfort. I did as I was asked, then she crouched above me, enfolding me in a veil of skirts, heavy with the scent of her. She stroked my hair as she crouched above my face, and hungrily I dove forward to find more treasures there, feeling her buck against my face, clinging to her thighs so as not to lose her. This moment.

“All of me?” she gasped, crushing me into her. I gasped under her. Yes, yes – I said. She chuckled, as the tide changed – sweet milk to hot, salty fluid. I opened my mouth wider as she released a golden stream into it, It was salty, warm and yet still smelled of her. I was both disgusted with myself and deeply aroused. All I could do was keep my mouth open, until it stopped. Then she began to dance upon my lips more intensely. She was a wheel of blades, over my previous innocence. Tearing all asunder. I let her macerate against the lips that prior to this had only worked in service to the acceptable. Teeth and tongue, she now commanded, lips and moans she now possessed. I was roiling in lust, delight and hunger – completely her possession. When she came with a roar, she pressed her lips to mine in a kiss that stole my breath. I didn’t need it anyway, if this cost to her body’s pleasure at my own was so easily paid, I’d give it away ten times over.

The Making of a Mistress 9: The Hermit

In this latest episode of TMOAM, Katia commences her training with Valleri. Soap suds, shaving, and a growing sense of unease. And Katia spies Johnathon in a state of dress “most perculiar”…

Valleri came for me, with a definite stride that made me flinch.

“You’re not a child, Katia. Come on, before you ruin the floor.” She guided me back in the bathroom, pulling off my robe abruptly and fetching the towel. The way she patted my hair, so slow and sensual, delighted me, though at the same time I felt most embarrassed at my nakedness. The chill from the landlight window blew past my body, raising a hilled terrain of goosebumps down my torso, and hardening my breasts as she moved to towel them too. I felt myself stiffen against her touch. A touch I both feared and desired.

“You’re nervous,” she smiled. “Is this your first time with a woman?”

I stammered something like, not exactly. I’d kissed my best friend in the toilets of the local bar when I was eighteen, after all. A byproduct of first-time drinking and loosened inhibitions. It went no further than a wet and rather sloppy kiss and a bit of awkwardness afterwards. I certainly hadn’t sought that sort of thing again. At least until now.

“You’ll tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable,” she said, moving the towel down over my belly and slowly sliding it between my thighs. I felt the cool touch of a finger around the towel as she moved it back and forth, reclaiming the moisture of the bath and calling, in turn, more moisture from within.

The Making of a Mistress 8. Strength

In this chapter of “The Making of a Mistress” Katia and her coworker Joanna discuss a BDSM contract. Johnathon appears mysteriously in the local greasy spoon, and MadDog gifts a timely “oracle”…

I had opened the envelope on the way home from Valleri’s, pulling out the letter inside. It appeared to be some sort of checklist, heavy with the scent of typewriter ink – that dusty old smell that reminded me of the grandfather on my father’s side, who I’d met a few times in early childhood. He spent hours in the upstairs office, hammering out letters to customers, with the vexed heavy-handedness of the perpetually overworked.

It was a list of terms to a BDSM relationship. It listed a number of things, many of which I’d not heard of and some of which I had heard of, that horrified me. Surely she wasn’t planning all of this? But by the looks of it there was consent. Electrical wands? Swallowing semen? Tampon training? Surely this was something every girl knew – and then I read the addendum in brackets – in the ass. Certainly everything I’d ever learnt about tampons was that they were not to be played with and they certainly didn’t go there. What about toxic shock? Good grief.

Alongside each item were three boxes where the reader was to specify their willingness to perform it. Looking at the list, there were quite a few I knew I’d never stoop to. In fact, it was most of the list. Calvin would never approve. Perhaps a little paddling, but even that seemed to be pushing the line. And how would this help me with my art? The further from Valleri’s place I got, the less certain I became of her offer. By the time Calvin answered the door to me and enfolded me in a hug, I was almost certain I’d have to rethink it.”

The Making of a Mistress 7. The Chariot

The next installment of “The Making of a Mistress: part 8, 7. The Chariot” is up on Soundcloud now. In this chapter, Valleri’s artistic mentorship of Katia takes an unexpected turn…

Shadows fell from the arboreum of deciduous trees down the lane by my home in the early morning light. The last dramatic veils of Fall. Church bells peeled from somewhere over the hill, calling the faithful. I was not going there. Did that make me unfaithful? Not entirely. Not yet. But even then, before I had agreed to Valleri’s tutelage, I felt as though I was treading the peripheries of fidelity. I had, after all, for no good reason other than it followed neatly from the seam of the last lie on a Sunday, told Calvin I was going to church again. I would not have said anything, but he had asked and it had slipped out. Impressed at this new found devotion to spiritual matters, he had smiled and sent me out. I beleive the words I chose were “perhaps I will go to church”, so it was not entirely a lie. It was a soft lie, if there are such things, for after all, I may have gone to church that morning – it was on the way and goodness only knows I needed redemption from the hounding fascination that dogged me at every step. But at the street that turned onto the Church Lane, I hung a hard left and continued the journey to Valleri’s house.”

The Making of a Mistress 6. The Lovers

What Calvin, my boyfriend of three years, and I had was love. No doubt about it. It is too easy, looking back, to discount the validity of past feelings, to write them off as childish or irrelevant, because of a painful end. But love, if it ever was love – and it was – never becomes irrelevant. If the passion smolders out, it simply transforms into something else, something that lingers – indefinitely – on the mind, heart and fingertips with the tenacity of Bismuth. Time reducing, but never really erasing it.

But there are many flavours of love. According to the Greeks, 7. Eros – the love of the body, Philia – the love of the mind, Ludus – playful love, Pragma – longstanding love, Agape – love of the soul, Philautia – love of the self and storge – love of the child. The problem is while each of us as human beings hungers for most, if not all of these loves – no one person or situation can meet them And still we try. A declaration of love quickly becomes a paper basket for our expectations and we wonder why it tears. We fall in love with a person for who they are in that moment and draw our strings tighter when they deign to branch off in new directions. There is, of course, a beauty to Bonsai, but life that is so clipped and restrained is tangibly weak compared to the splendor of its natural form, with all its twists, scars and oddities. And of course, a work like that takes time and effort to maintain. So when the effort slips, the little gestures of validation fade – perhaps the bonsai wonders why its a bonsai at all. Perhaps that’s when it simply, quietly dies…