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Ms. Bitch is Mistress Susan Ch. 01

By: SusanJillParker



Sub finds his perfect Dominatrix online. The only problem is that she's his boss.

A big man, comfort while sitting for a long period of time had always been elusive. Glenn slept on an expensive mattress, had comfortable seats in his car, an overstuffed, leather recliner with lumbar support in his living room, and sat a on a cushy office chair when sitting in his office. Only, it seemed oxymoronic that he'd spend so much money on comfortable furniture when he more enjoyed uncomfortable positions in his sexual pleasure. Tied to a rack, on his knees for long periods of time, or spread eagled over a table, the only comfort and pleasure there was that he was being so controlled, punished, and disciplined in a dungeon, his favorite spot to be so used and abused.

Glenn reclined in his office chair while watching BDSM video after BDSM video. Leaning forward to reach out his finger to stop one video to view another before leaning back in his comfortable chair again, he was endlessly searching for the perfect video not only to masturbate to but also one that would reveal his perfect mistress. Shopping for a Dominatrix by watching how she interacted with her subs, he needed a new Mistress and this was his way to shop for a new Mistress. Having been through seven Mistresses in ten years, he's yet to find his perfect mistress. As elusive as trying to find the right woman to live with, one who understood his special, sexual needs, he had the same difficulty in finding a mistress as he did in finding a woman.

He watched one Dominatrix, a tall, thin, albeit shapely, sexy, blonde woman with her tits hanging out of her corset discipline and punish her sub. Even though she was good looking and had a nice body, she looked too slutty to him. Tied to what looked like a stripper's pole in her living room, she was whipping a man who was obviously in real pain. Glenn wasn't as much into pain as he was into pleasure. He wouldn't mind a little pain with his pleasure but this Mistress was obviously enjoying whipping this man a little too much.

She spoke with a heavy German accent, obviously phony, and because of that, and because her name was Mistress Hilda, the image she evoked in him was what it must have been like to have lived in Nazi Germany before the war so long ago. Certainly, this image wasn't the image he wanted to have when being controlled, punished, and disciplined. The image he already had of her ruined the one that he needed for him to enjoy being so controlled, used, and abused by her. He'd find it hard to be subservient and to please her when he didn't even like her. As if the whole thing was designed and prearranged for the camera, she was too phony, especially when she spent more time looking in the camera than she did looking at her sub.

Next he watched a video of a pretty woman with long, black hair and big tits who evoked the image of Elvira or Morticia from the Addams Family fame. She slithered around her victims and licked the sides of their faces while staring into the camera and flashing her tongue. Whenever she did that behavior, she reminded him of Gene Simmons from Kiss. He didn't like it when the camera fanned around the room to show her personal possessions, especially her stuffed animal collection. Instead of turning him on to see how she privately lived, it turned him off to see how his Dominatrix's possessions.

Then, occasionally, as is she was a vampire sucking the blood from her victim, she'd lean into her sub to feign biting his neck. She had her man sprawled over an ottoman in her bedroom and was spanking him too lightly with her paddle to be effective in disciplining or punishing him. Her video was nothing more than a joke and an insult to what he needed and wanted. He wished he could create his own Dominatrix by taking what he wanted from one video and to take what he liked from another video.

Of course, a good looking Dominatrix was important, only it wasn't so much their looks as it was their attitudes and the connection that he felt with them. Needing to feel safe when vulnerable, especially when chained or tied, he needed to trust that his Dominatrix would have his best interest in mind and not really hurt, injure, or even kill him. He needed to immediately bond with the woman first and if he wasn't feeling her through her video, chances were good that she was the wrong woman for him. 

The next video he watched showed a very obese, older mistress. She looked to be his weight, albeit on a much shorter frame, and his age. He'd prefer someone younger than him by twenty years. It seemed strange that she was torturing a sub with kitchen utensils, tongs, egg beater, and wooden spoons in her kitchen of all places. Maybe the man's peccadillo was food and his fantasy was wearing a colander on his head and an untied apron hung from his neck that didn't cover very much of his nakedness while being beaten with a wooden spoon but the video did nothing for him.

Just as he was unable to connect to the Mistresses in any of these videos and in the hundreds of others that he viewed over months of looking, he was saddened that he'd never find his perfect mistress. A sub without a Dom is a prostitute without a pimp, a man without a penis, an actor without a director, a writer without a story to tell, and a person who is incomplete and unfulfilled. He needed direction. He needed a storyline. He needed to be controlled. Only, he needed the perfect Dominatrix to focus on him and to give him all that he wanted and needed.

Moreover, a big deal for him, none of the videos that he watched today showed a dungeon. He'd never consider a Dominatrix who didn't have a dungeon. Most of the videos he watched in the past didn't show a dungeon. Most of the videos he watched showed the Dominatrix punishing and disciplining her sub in her house and in her bedroom. He could never feel sexually satisfied being on the same level as his Mistress when in her house and among her personal possessions.

He'd feel weird using her bathroom and seeing her toiletries. For him to maintain his sexual fantasy, being in her house just didn't feel right. Being on her level was not what he was looking to find when looking for his Mistress. He needed a dungeon to feel beneath her. He needed a dungeon to feel the fright and the fear of being taken, used, and abused. The dungeon was paramount to what he needed for his sexual fantasy to work.

Glenn's favorite fantasy was Dom/sub. Whenever he read a story or watched a BDSM video, he imagined himself as the main character. He couldn't even count the number of hours he's spent surfing the internet to find his perfect site to save to his favorites. Only few and far between, most BDSM sites did little but to annoy him. Compelled to find the one site that he could masturbate to while watching, he continued looking through thousands of BDSM sites on the internet.

'Boring, boring, and boring,' he thought to himself while perusing BDSM sites.

All the sites he viewed were the same old thing and, as if they were poking fun of him, too many of them appeared too contrived. Wishing he could find such a site that shows a sub kissing his Mistress' ass, licking her pussy, licking her boots, and with her even peeing in his mouth, he wished he could find a Dominatrix who lived closed by him, in the Atlanta, Georgia area. No matter, he'd fly anywhere in the country just to meet the Dominatrix of his dreams. Only, she couldn't be just any Mistress. She had to be someone special. She had to be someone that he was physical, emotionally, and sexually attracted to and someone who he could trust with his deepest, darkest, and most intimate secrets. 

Tired of wasting his time and money, realizing he'd know her once he saw her, he's seen enough Dominatrix's online in action to know that he still hasn't found her. For him to go through all the expense of meeting her, she had to be his perfect Dominatrix. He wished he could find a Dominatrix who was as good a conversationalist as she was a storyteller. He needed someone who could relax him with conversation before she told him a story and before she made him feel at ease enough to insert a dildo in his ass for extended anal play.

After being probed, pinched, watered, and a boot licked, he needed a Dominatrix who had a sensual voice and a way with words to go with her good looks. He needed her to be as persuasive in her speech as he was in his desire to please her. His all time sexual fantasy is to lower himself down on his Dominatrix's strap-on dildo and anally fuck himself while his Dom fingered his nipples and whispered what he needed her to say in his ear to relax him enough to impale his ass. It's not all about the physical sex with him, it's about the emotional sex too. He needed to find a Dom who had a brain in her head and who could satisfy him cerebrally as much as she could physically. Unfortunately in his frustrated search to find her, as he could attest to, a good Dominatrix was hard to find.

A bit Medieval, he needed to find a Dom who had a dungeon and lots of good, quality toys. He needed a Dom who was confident enough to be in control to handle every and any situation. He needed a Dom where he felt safe when so controlled while tied to wall or a rack. He needed a Dom who could sexually excite him with her words as much as with her body and by all that she did to his body. He needed a Dom who was good looking enough and controlling enough to make him want to lick her ass as well as her pussy and boots. 

* * * * *

As bitchy as she was beautiful, Susan is my bitch of a boss. A control freak and a micro manager, she's the woman who signs my paychecks for a job well done, that is, so long as I do my job her way. Always trying to get along with her so that she won't fire me, she's a difficult woman to please, an understatement. Just as she's impossible to read, she's impossible to please is more like it.

Yet, I wonder, if she wasn't so beautiful, would I want to please her as much as I do. I wonder, if I wasn't so attracted to her, would I want to please her at all. I wonder, if she wasn't so sexy, especially when she's angry at me, would I still dream of her that night bossing me around and spanking my naked ass when I disobey and punishing me by forcing me to do all sorts of naughty, nasty things. I wonder if she wasn't so beautiful and so sexy, would I still dream of her while sexually fantasizing about her allowing me permission to have my wicked way with her naked body. Night and day, she's the fodder for my sexual fantasies. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of her.

"Susan. Susan. Susan. I love you Susan," I say when stroking myself while thinking of her beautiful face and sexy body.

Oh, yeah, I'd do anything to see her naked. I'd do anything to have her touch me, even if it's only to beat me, whip me, discipline me, and punish me, especially if it's to beat me, whip me, discipline me, and punish me. Only, nothing more than a sexual fantasy, if she only knew what I really thought about her, no doubt, she'd fire me for wanting her in a sexual way. If she only knew that I was in love with her, I'd be out of a job. Moreover, if word got around that I enjoyed such sexual perversity of bondage and discipline, I'd be the laughing stock of the office. If word got around that I was in love with my boss, especially in the way that everyone else hated her, they'd think me nuts.

Yet, notwithstanding her bitchiness and always present bad attitude, deeper than a workplace crush or an imagined workplace romance, a sexual attraction developed in me for her. I wanted to please her. When most other employees rebuffed her for trying to control them, I welcomed the power she had over me. I wanted her to control me. Matter of fact, being the submissive man that I am, especially when it comes to a strong, powerful woman, I went out of my way to please her. Being the submissive man that I am and knowing full well that stupid, little mistakes enraged her, I went out of my way to make stupid, little mistakes so that she'd punish and discipline me, yell at me, call me names, and abuse and use me.

In addition to doing my job, pleasing her and trying to make her happy was my main focus. Just as if she was unhappy, then I was unhappy. If she was happy, then I was happy. What most of my co-workers saw as ass kissing and brown nosing was just me being submissive. Hiding it well, they have no idea who I am and what I do when not at work. My personal, private life is none of their business. When trying to please my boss everything else in my meaningless life is insignificantly unimportant. Truly, I cared more about pleasing her than about pleasing myself.

As was everyone else in the office, when I was first hired, there was an office pool on how long I'd last. Even though I was such a big man and towered over my co-workers, being that I was a sensitive and quiet man, odds were that I wouldn't last very long, even though I did. The last man standing, I outlasted everyone and my pool expired with no one left to collect the money but me. When the last employee that predated me was fired or whenever I passed the last date that someone had as my termination date, I was given my $500 pool.

Even though the office firing pools were terminally disturbing, we all participated in the pools to break up the tension that always clouded the office with doom and gloom. Yet, unlike my beaten down co-workers who had trouble working in such a turbulently negative environment, I thrived on the tension and the verbal abuse, the more the better. For them, participating in the pools were a fun way to turn office negatives into a office positives. For me, office pools didn't much matter but I went along with them so as not to be even more alienated from them than I already was.

The only ones not allowed to play the office pool was, of course, our boss and the employee of that particular pool. Much in the way of expiration dates on food at a supermarket, except for those employees who didn't want to participate, everyone had a pool with a termination date on their head. With the chance of winning several hundred dollars, depending on how many employees were left and how many participated in the pool, the lottery pools cut the edge from the misery of our boss firing us. We were constantly joking about who would go next, when this one or that one would go, and who would win the money. The termination day pools was something that kept us sane and something that gave us a few laughs in an otherwise negative environment. Whenever there was a mass firing, some lucky employee could win a couple of thousand dollars.

Able to see the other side of the coin and how all of my co-workers perceived and dreaded her, indeed, on the surface my boss was a horrible woman. Quick to rile and lambaste her employees, insult them, embarrass them, and humiliate them, with no one safe from her hot temper, she berated everyone as if she hated everyone. Perhaps she did. No matter how long someone worked there and what job they did for her, no one was safe from her hot tempered wrath. Yet, despite the anti-social things she did that made people despise her, as if she was our pack leader and we were mere animals, her powerful control over her employees made me fall in love with her.

If there was anything predictable about the woman, it was that she'd be in a bad mood over something inconsequential. With that kind of tension permeating the air, working there with her watching us and waiting for us to make a mistake was very stressful. Yet, instead of finding her intimidating and unfairly demanding, there was just something about her that I not only liked but also found sexually arousing. She made me hot in lustful desire for her. Too be honest, I enjoyed being so controlled by her. It even excited me to be on the bad side of her. I was the only one there who enjoyed her telling me what to do and when to do it. 

In the way that some people took their jobs home with them, I took the imagined images of my boss home with me. Imagining her having sex with me, I imagined her stripping me naked and paddling my naked ass for all the mistakes I made at work. Imagining her wearing some sort of sexy outfit, preferably black leather with the tops of her big boobs bobbing and visible, she was the main character in my dreams and sexual fantasies. Knowing full well that my sexual fantasy was just a sexual fantasy and would never happen, I have no idea how many times I masturbated over her with the thoughts of having a romantic relationship with her.

A way for me to relieve the sexual frustration of not having a sexual relationship with her, I masturbated over her a lot. If anything, with all of her criticism and anger focused at me, she was shaping me into a better man and a man driven to please his perceived, albeit imagined woman. Yes, I imagined my boss Susan was my woman. What some would call abuse and recoil, I called sexual satisfaction and wanted more.

Use me and abuse me has always been my motto. So long as the pain isn't too much, give me pain to make me insane with sexual desire for you is what makes my clock go around. As if hot lava seeping and seeming up the cracks and crevices in my life, it was weird how my work gradually morphed into and took over my private life. With my focus attention always on my boss and my work, I didn't have much of a private, personal life. If only there was a way that I could mix business with pleasure, I'd be the happiest man on Earth. Only, not everyone shares my sexual peccadilloes. It's never been easy for me to find my perfect mistress. If only my boss was my mistress, I'd be a happy man.

What should have been obvious for me, took me a long while to discover. Being that we shared the same secret, after all, I should have known she carried a deep, dark, diabolical secret too, long before I did. Obviously, just as my secret was the reason why I am the man that I am, her secret was her reason why she's the woman that she was. In the way that I had difficulty socializing, I imagined that surely, she didn't do well when mingling with the rest of us peons. Especially when socializing with other women, I perceived other women being jealous of her intelligence, her confidence, her beauty, and her body. Just as most of my friends were women, most of her friends were men.

With my mind always on other things, more important things, and sexual things, in the way that a crowd of ordinary, perhaps even normal people, not that I'm abnormal, just different, upset my comfort zone, I felt that I was beneath her in intelligence. In the case of Susan, as employer and employee relationships go, I had much to learn before I dared to rub elbows with her socially. Only, beyond employer and employee and beyond the sexual, physical, and emotional attraction that I had for her, even if she was even remotely interested in me romantically, I knew that things would never work between us. My need for bondage, discipline, and punishment would get in the way of any relationship that I wanted to have with a woman who wasn't my Dominatrix.

Better than the rest of us, if only my co-workers knew that she was our superior in more ways that just being our boss. Yet, one up on her, now that I know her well kept secret. Moreover, I know the way to befriend her is to please her. Perhaps, by going out of my way to please her, she'll allow me the pleasure to experience my sexual fantasy with her controlling me, disciplining me, and punishing me before having sex with me.

* * * * *

Her right hand man, I worked by her side for two years before I discovered her secret that morphed into her secret, sexual life. In the way she worked so hard and verbally whipped, insulted, and berated everyone to work as hard as they did and as hard as she did, I don't know where she found the energy to have a secret life but she did and she had. Admittedly, the verbal and emotional abuse that doesn't work for most people worked for me. I thrived on it and looked forward to receiving it as my needed motivation to please her. Only with her verbal and emotional abuse not nearly enough, just a tease for me to want even more, I craved for her physical and sexual abuse too. If only she'd strike me, I'd be a happy man. If only she'd tortured me to cause me some kind of physical pain, albeit not too much, I'd want her in a way that no employee ever wanted their boss.


Ms. Bitch is Mistress Susan Ch. 01



When I displeased her, I wish she'd slap me or knee me in the balls. Wanting her to spank me, beat me, and whip me, I thrived on her abusing and using me. Only, I still wished for more. I wished she'd tie me up to have her wicked way with me. Not allowed to touch her until she gave me her permission, I needed for her to torture me by teasing me while controlling me in her dungeon of horror, my dungeon of pleasure.

Only, thinking of her as my dream woman instead of my mere boss, I was thinking too much of pleasing her for her to satisfy my every sexual want and whim. Now that I've done everything to please her, it was time that she did something to pleasure me. Forget about sexual harassment lawsuits, I was ready to experience my boss in a way that no employee should ever experience his boss. Morphing business with pleasure, I was ready to not blur the employer/employee line but also to cross the line.

It wasn't until I accidentally stumbled over her alter ego that I knew who she really was. I couldn't believe my eyes. As shocked as I was sexually excited, it wasn't until I mindlessly surfed the internet, one day, that I found her true identity, Mistress Susan.

'Mistress Susan? Are you kidding me? No way!'

A real eye opener into who she truly was behind her mask, first I found her blog. Then I found her website with plenty of photos of her in all manners of dress and undress. When I saw her photos, still not positive it was her, I did a double take.

"Oh my God! Can it be? Is that really her? No way! Is that my boss?"

It looks like her but I don't know. It's hard to tell. She has a look of sexual desire on her face that I've only imagined but have never seen before on her face. Dressed in black leather with panties so sheer that it showed her shaved pussy, I was instantly in love. I so wanted to dive between her legs to lick her through her panty with my tongue. I wanted to push her panty aside with my fingers and pleasure her by rubbing her clit and fingering her hole. I wanted to please her and pleasure her until she screamed at me to stop.

"Enough Glenn. That's enough. Stop licking my pussy. You're already given me three orgasms. If you lick me anymore, you're going to lick me sore," I imagined her saying while pushing me away.

With her name the same as my boss, the Dominatrix on the site has the same big, blue eyes, shoulder length, blonde hair, and fair complexion as Susan. It must be her or her identical twin sister, if she even has a sister. I didn't know her on a personal level to know about her siblings, family, or personal, private life. At 5'8" tall and weighing 124 pounds, Mistress Susan had the same dimensions as my boss Susan. Yet, there are lots of 5'8", 124 pound women with blonde hair and blue eyes in the world, even some named Susan. Isn't there?

'Yet, not very many women are as beautiful as she is,' I thought to myself.

As if an artist preparing himself to paint her portrait, I looked more closely at her face and took her image home with me every night to compare her face to the photos that appear on the site. She has the same facial features, eyebrows, nose, and mouth. She has such a beautiful mouth and every night I imagined her taking my cock in her mouth and sucking me before fucking me. Yet, making me question if the photo was even of her, I never knew she had tits, big tits, double D tits according to her profile on her site. She hides them very well. Now, perhaps, I know why she always wears black. The next day in work, looking for more evidence to her secret identity as if I suspected her to be Cat Woman, I studied her to see if I could tell how big her hidden tits really were.

"That's her. That's really her. Is it her? I'm not sure," I said to myself staring at her every shape and curve every time she wasn't looking so that I compare her remembered image to the nearly naked photos of her on the Mistress Susan website.

The photos looked a lot like her but with her nearly naked in the photos, I'm distracted from looking at her face to look at her big tits and sheer, panty clad, shaved pussy. I couldn't believe that this could possibly be her website and that these photos could possibly be of her. Perhaps this website and these photos are of someone else who looks a lot like her? If these pictures were of her, I had no idea that she had this good of a body beneath those black clothes.

"Wow!"

Even if it wasn't her, I pretended that it was. I removed my cock from my pants to masturbate over the nearly naked photos while fantasizing that the pictures were of her and that this was her sexy website. Mistress Susan, my boss and my mistress all rolled into one, wouldn't that be a sexual fantasy come true? I was as shocked as I was sexually excited. Unable to believe my eyes, looking for a mole, a freckle, a visible tattoo, or some type of identifiable imperfection, I stared at my computer screen for some modicum of evidence that these photos were of her. Only, she was too perfect to be so indelibly marked.

Even after staring at her photos on the computer screen while masturbating, I gave her the benefit of the doubt that those sexually, explicit photos weren't of her. If it wasn't for what she had written in her blog and had I not read her favorite reference in the way that she always refers to herself as Ms. Bitch, I may not have put two and two together. Strange that my boss would not only refer to herself in such a derogatory way but also that she'd use the same term that everyone calls her behind her back, Ms. Bitch. This must be her. Now finally believing that this was her website and these were her photos, I decided to go out of my way to please her so that she'd notice me as her potential sub.

She wore that Ms. Bitch term as if it's her badge of honor and, obviously in the way that she so referred to herself, she used that term with pride. Without doubt, even with evidence of the photos and having the same name, I never would have known who she was until she used that familiar term not only in the office but also on her website for me to make the connection. The Ms. Bitch term frequently appeared on her website as an endearment of herself and as a description of the type of woman she was. After all, in her particular type of business she ran and services she offered, she needed to be a bitch for her not to be run over by men in the same type of business.

It all started when she overhead two employees talking about her in the lunchroom and she fired them on the spot. Knowing it was only a matter of time before they were dismissed in the way they so openly criticized her, instead of feeling bad for the two employees being fired, I pulled their firing pool dates from my back pocket to see if I had won some money but I hadn't. The one closest to guessing the firing date wins the pool but I was off on both of them by several months. Matter of fact, being that they were hired only a few months ago, no one figured that these two employees would be fired so soon. Now that I think of it, most of her employees were hired a few months ago, except for me. She hires and fires lots of employees. For me to have outlasted her wrath, having gone out of my way to please my Mistress Susan, she must like me. 

"You're fired," she said to the two employees. "Collect your things and get out. Now!"

I stood there shocked. Normally, she calls employees in her office to fire them but, as if to make an example of them, she fired them right there on the spot and in earshot of all of us. Boy, if she wanted to up the tension in the office, she just did. If she wanted everyone to put their eyes down and busy themselves working they did. By the angry looks that instantly appeared on their faces of the two men she fired, I was waiting for one of the men to slug her. Even though I'm not a fighter but a lover, big enough and threatening enough to do so, I was standing there ready to protect my possible, probable, and potential Mistress Susan. Without doubt, she has big balls or, in her case, a set of hard ovaries to talk so disrespectfully to employees in the way that she does.

"Bitch," said one on his way out the door.

"Ms. Bitch to you," yelled Susan correcting him.

Be it our grammar, our word choice, our work ethic, or even the way we dressed, she was always correcting, micromanaging, and controlling everyone. Most employees hated her interference in their personal, private lives, but I welcomed her controlling me. Instead of wanting her to control me less, I wanted her to control me more. Instead of only verbally and emotionally using and abusing me, I wanted her physically and sexually use me and abuse me too.

'Wow! What a woman! What an unbelievable woman! I only wished she'd yell at me like that,' I thought to myself.

Instead of firing me, I only wished she'd order me to strip naked, assume the position, and paddle my ass. Nonetheless the firings and the tension she just created in the office, it was such an odd thing for her to say what she said in response to being called a bitch. Ms. Bitch is what she referred to herself on her website and on her blog, if that truly is her website by what she told her fired employees to call her. She referred to herself as Ms. Bitch. I couldn't believe she referred to herself as Ms. Bitch. In the way that she referred to herself was something that I read just last night on her blog. Could she be Ms. Bitch? Was my boss, Susan, the same Mistress Susan that appears as one of my favorites on my computer? Excited to find out, I needed to know if this bitch was the Ms. Bitch. 

'Oh dear Lord,' I silently prayed to myself. 'I don't ask you for anything but please make my boss Susan my Mistress, Ms. Bitch Susan.'

That night, I opened her website again to read every word she had written, to view every photo she had posted, and to masturbate over the thoughts of her abusing me, using me, controlling me, beating me, spanking me, whipping me, disciplining me, and punishing me.

"Mistress Susan, a professional dominatrix, invites you to join her escapades on the internet and in person, that is, if you can afford the airfare to pay to play," she wrote for those who dared enter her website.

Immediately, after feeling convinced that my boss was Mistress Susan, I now opened her website on my work computer. As if wanting to be caught monitoring her website and reading her blog, I wondered what her reaction would be to my reading porn during my working hours. Would she fire me or would she discipline me by punishing me? Would she demand that I drop my pants, put my elbows on her desk, and assume the position? Would she spank me?

Over and again, I stared at her sexy photos. Different clothes and hairstyle made her look different than the woman who stood before me in the office now. When at work, she had her hair pulled back so tightly that it removed every wrinkle from her pretty face as if she just had a facelift. If I ever pulled my hair back like that, I'd have a migraine headache and my eye would bug out like a frog.

It's funny how women sometimes look so different without their clothes. Concentrating more on her body, especially on her huge 36 double D breasts, she was my ideal woman. My perfect choice for the woman that I want to dish out the punishment and the discipline that I need, crave, and desire to have in my life, I wondered what it would be like to be married to such a woman. I imagined my children, three girls, dressed in black, leather outfits just like Mommy's daily wear. Just beautiful, sexy, and funny by all that she wrote in her blog, Susan is so very special. Just perfect, she's so wonderful and I'm so bad to want someone so bad that she's so good.

In real life, a micro manager and a real bitch in the work environment, I never suspected that she was a worse bitch, my perfect bitch, in her private life. I knew she was a bitch, of course, all of us who worked for her knew she's a bitch. A taskmaster, everyone feared her, respected her, and obeyed her without question, that is, if they wanted to keep their job and, in this bad economy, good jobs were hard to find. Only, even though she was demanding, she was fair and paid higher wages than average and then most competitors. Perhaps, she figured the higher wages were much like combat pay to put up with her office shenanigans as if we all worked in a battle zone.

Already with a firing day game plan, if she fired me, I'd grovel. I'd crawl. I'd kiss her feet, that is, while peeking up her short skirt. I'd plead for mercy. I'd beg her not to fire me. I'd demand that she'd discipline me and punish me in exchange for her not firing me.

"Do with me whatever you must Susan," I imagined saying to her while hoping to rope her private life in with mine and to bring us together not only at the work environment but also after work and on weekends. "Slap me, kick me, punch me, beat me, whip me, and spank me, do whatever you want to do to my naked body. Just please don't fire me."

I imagined and hoped that my begging and my pleading would evoke something that stays hidden inside of her during the day but that comes to the surface at night and over the weekend. I imagined arousing the sexual Dominatrix beast within her by my groveling. I imagined her using me and abusing me in the way that I dream that she'd have her wicked way with my naked body. I imagined us becoming lovers instead of employer and employee and with her commanding me to do things to her shapely body that I never imagined doing to any other woman. Going so far as drinking her urine, I'd do that if she asked me and if it meant me spending more quality, sexual time with her.

So long as her employees pleased her by doing all that she wanted and needed them to do, she was a good boss. Except for the constant and continual emotional abusive and verbal, tongue lashings, she treated her employees well and offered them a full benefits package with dental, life insurance, and even a retirement program. In this day of employers offering not much more than day labor, she offered paid holidays, sick days, and even a two week vacation, three weeks after five years but no one stayed working for her long enough to get the extra vacation week. Nonetheless, always lashing out enough to make everyone feel so small, so insignificant, and question why they still work there for her, she was sometimes hard to take, an understatement.

"Did you do that? Did you get that? Did you find that? Do you have that? What are you waiting for? Go! Who were you talking to on the phone? What did he want? What did she say? And what did you say when he said that to you? Why would you say that to her? What's taking you so long? Get out! I'm on the phone. Get out! I don't have time for you now. Get out! I need to be alone with my thoughts. Hello? I need coffee. Someone bring me my coffee! Where's my damn coffee? Must I do everything myself around here? Can't you do anything right? You're fired! You're fired! You're fired!"

Always in the same harsh tone, barking orders as if she was a Marine Corps drill sergeant, and with never a please, a thank you, or a compliment for a job well done, she unmercifully lambasted her secretaries and receptionists until they were in tears and ran to the ladies room to collect themselves. Assuredly what turned off my co-workers sexually excited me. What angered them pleasured me. She was amazing in demanding what she wanted and needed from us to make us all better employees. What angered my co-workers into sullenness and into wanting to quit aroused me into needing to not only obey her but also to please her. More than anything else, wanting to see that delighted twinkle in her eye, I so wanted to please her. Nothing else mattered to me than my pleasing Mistress Susan. I couldn't get enough of her.

'What a woman! Such an incredible woman. I love her. I want her. I must have her,' I said to myself as if a looping mantra in my head. 'I love her. I want her. I must have her,' I said to myself every day, many times a day as if praying to God to grant me my wish to be with her and to be part of her private, personal life than being relegated to just being her invisible employee.

With all of my co-workers thinking of me as a wimp and a wussy, a man afraid to stand up to his 5'8", 124 pound, female boss, they'd never understand that I actually enjoyed the constant and continued female domination in the way that I did. No, correction, I craved the constant and continued female domination in the way that my co-workers enjoyed their first cup of coffee in the morning. I wanted her to so control me. Submissive to her demands, I wanted her to overpower me. For me to feel complete, wanted, and needed, I needed her to so control me. What they'd call verbal abuse, I'd call sexual pleasure. A bond that transcended our employer and employee professional relationship to a more personal one, even if she wasn't aware of it and aware that I knew her deep, dark secret of domination, I enjoyed something with her that none of my co-workers would ever share of even understand.

As if we were secret members to a very private and very exclusive club, if only they knew that my boss and I shared a secret and had a special behind, closed doors bond, I can only imagine what they'd say. If only they knew what I knew, we'd be more ostracized than we are now. Surely, in the way that no one would want to work with me, no one would want to work for her if they knew she was my online Dominatrix and I was her online submissive slut of a sub. Unless they tried it and unless they needed the punishment and discipline themselves, few could ever understand why I craved her sexual attention in a way that others would deem as physical abuse. 

The first time that I heard her talk to an employee in such a disrespectfully disturbing way piqued more than my interest and aroused more than my curiosity. Instead of being afraid and instead of putting my head down to pretend that I was working harder, I was unable to remove my eyes from her. Unable to stop myself from watching her lambasting and humiliating someone, wishing it was me being so abused, I was immediately sexually aroused by her public display of control and domination. In just her angry, irreverent tone, wishing she'd use that tone with me, she gave me an erection. As if she was standing there in an abbreviated outfit of black leather that left little to the imagination and as if she was holding a whip or a leather paddle, I was suddenly driven to please her every whim, even fetch her coffee as if I was her lowly secretary instead of her top executive.

'Use me. Abuse me. Beat me. Whip me. Spank me. Tie me up in your dungeon. Make me beg you to stop,' is what ran through my mind when she was verbally abusing someone else while wishing it was me that she was so berating.

Negative attention is what I craved from her. What my co-workers dreaded, I craved. Unable to stop pleasing her, I knew the only way to get what I wanted from her was to not to please her. A fine balance, for fear of her firing me and for fear of me ending my relationship with her, I didn't want to go too far in making mistakes that made her angry enough with me for her to verbally abuse me.

Now that I suspected who she was, it was my job to anticipate her wants and needs not only before she verbalized them but also before she even thought of them. I needed, no, I wanted to be her perfect slave. Now that I suspected who she was, I could use my inside, insightful information to get in her head for her to notice me enough to want to punish and discipline me in the way that I needed her to punish and discipline me. I thought of all the sexually erotic games I could play with her while she disciplined me, punished me, and humiliated me. I was ecstatic that my perfect job now included business with pleasure. My perfect job paid me to be submissive and subservient to not only my boss but also to my Mistress Susan. So long as I continued being used, abused, and working for her while being belittled by her, my life can't get any better than this.




Ms. Bitch is Mistress Susan Ch. 01



Yet, now in hindsight, even though it should have been obvious with her wearing nothing but black, obviously I was attracted to her. I was attracted to her not because she was so damn beautiful, sexy, and shapely but because she was what I wasn't. She was who I wanted. She was so forceful and controlling. Thinking of her just being my boss, I never took note of her in a Dom/sub sexual way until now and until I found her professional Dominatrix website on the internet. Had I not found her website, I may have never known who she really was beneath her black business suit and black knee high, high heeled boots.

Black dress or a black blouse with a short, tight, black skirt, black jacket, black coat, black stockings with knee high, black boots with three inch heels was her daily uniform of choice. Then, factor in her shoulder length, blonde hair with blue brown, angry eyes, she was as captivating as she was an enigma to me. Now that I knew she was a 36 double D, I looked more closely at her breasts. She hid them well but now that I knew they were there, the fact that she had enormous tits added more proof to my suspicions. Absolutely, now that I was aware she was so busty, her breasts were further proof that she was Mistress Susan from the website.

She carried a black, oversized pocketbook so big that I wondered if she carried her toys and implements of domination back and forth to work with her, just in case she needed them in the parking lot, on the elevator, or in the lunchroom. I imagined a leather whip that when pulled out of her pocketbook, and with just a flick of her wrist, instantly opened in the way of a police baton. I imagined her carrying a paddle, in case she needed to discipline by punishing one of her employees with a spanking. I imagined all sorts of toys and implements of bondage that she carried around with her in her huge purse. 

Her eyes, now that I know her secret and who she is, is her portal to not only to her soul but also to the queen of punishment herself and the Devil of discipline that she was. With just a look, her eyes are what makes me want to obey her and please her. Her eyes haunt me every day and are what I see in my sexual dreams at night while stroking my cock over the sexy thoughts of her in my bed. Yet, just as few would even understand her dark side, no one but me and her following of loyal slaves knew her dark secret. Moreover, one up on her, even she didn't know that I shared her dark side and kept her dark secret.

Yet, in the way that I couldn't tell that she was a Dominatrix before I happened upon her website, I wondered if she could tell just by looking at me, observing me, and watching me in the way that I watch her that I was a submissive, sexual slave. If only she knew I was, I'd come clean. Perhaps my telltale sign was the fact that I was always trying to please her. Perhaps my giveaway was that she never rattled me in the way she did the others when lambasting them for making a mistake. Maybe she saw something in me that she recognized. Even if she suspected that I wasn't already sub, maybe she believed that I had the potential to be one. No matter what she thought of me, after a while we developed a friendship and a kindred spirit as if we were old friends instead of employer and employee.

If only they knew. No one even suspected what a real bitch she was, the Queen Bitch, my sexual fantasy come to life. The perfect man to use as a foil and for her sexual scenario to play out, her need to control was obviously something that she carried forward from her private life to her job and back, the same as I did. Only, the difference between us, I didn't even want to control myself. I wanted her to control me.

Even though she looked so different in work than she did on her website, I nearly didn't recognize her with her clothes off. Even though she only wore black clothes, thinking that her lack of color was her fashion statement to make, now that I knew her as an online Dominatrix, I looked forward to going to work. I looked forward to working with her, to hearing her voice, to talking and interacting with her, and to endlessly staring at her, my dream woman.

My secret and before taking this work relationship to a more private, sexual one, she was soon to become my anonymous mistress to take me to the disturbed side of my darkest sexual fantasies of sadomasochism, bondage, punishment, humiliation, and complete domination. If only my co-workers knew the dark secrets of my boss, they'd rebel. If only my co-workers knew my dark secrets, they'd recoil. If only my boss knew that I was one of her most loyal online minions, I wonder if she'd give me a raise and a promotion.

I couldn't wait to play out my version of the movie, The Secretary, with James Spader as Mr. Grey and Maggie Gyllenhaal as Lee Holloway. Only, I'd play the part of Ms. Lee Holloway and my boss Susan would play the part of Mr. Grey. Even without the spanking, especially with the spanking, The Secretary was one of my all-time favorite movies. I loved that movie.

I couldn't wait for Mistress Susan to order me to remove my clothes. I couldn't wait for Mistress Susan to spank me. I couldn't wait for Mistress Susan to discipline me and punish me. I couldn't wait to reveal to her that I knew her deep, dark secret. I couldn't wait to see her dressed as my Dominatrix. I couldn't wait to be her sexual, slutty slave.

All this time, I had been working side-by-side with the woman of my dreams. Now that I knew her secret, mixing business with pleasure, I couldn't wait for the sexy and naughty games to begin. If only she'd used me and abuse me, I'd be the happiest man on earth. Her inherent skills of domination in the corporate world were her perfect foil. Her mask to hide was what she was really capable of and what she was really like on the inside. Having loved her from afar, now that she was here standing before me, not even knowing who I was, I had an uncontrollable willingness to please her.

Then one day, a day like any other day at the office, Susan didn't show up for work. Never was she been absent from work. She was always there. Without her there to lead us and berate us, it was as if the teacher didn't show up for class. My co-workers were as wild as junior high students. No one was doing any work. Everyone was laughing and talking, that is, until the phone rang and it was her.

"Everyone be quiet," said the receptionist. "Glenn call for you on line one. It's Ms. Bitch," she said after putting Susan on hold.

"Hello Glenn," she said.

By all the other names she called me and that I answered to, moron, idiot, stupid, and useless, I didn't even know she knew my name. In the more than two years that I worked for her, never has she called me by name.

"Hi Susan," I said.

I enjoyed saying her name, a name that evokes the memory of her nearly naked photos that appear on her website. Yet, as if a line as long and as deep as an incestuous line, so long as I wanted to keep my job, I'd never cross the line of employee and employer. She'd have to cross the line first. It was up to her to reveal her identity to me before I revealed my motives to her. Alas, never believing that she would cross the employee/employee line because of sexual harassment laws, my sexually fantasy, no doubt, will never be.

"I'm not feeling well and I need some things to work on from home. Would you be so kind as to drop them by my house?"

'What? Seriously? She wants me to come to her house. Maybe her house is where the dungeon is,' I thought to myself.

My pulse was racing. My mind was on overdrive with all the sexy scenarios I imagined. My heart was beating. My cock was hardening with all of the naughty things that I was thinking. Was this just a ruse to get me to her house and into her dungeon? Did she know that it was me, her dirty, little slut writing daily, multiple times a day, on her blog?

"Of course," I said stunned and waving my hand at everyone to be quiet. "Where do you live?" I asked her knowing full well where she lived. I even had the audacity to ask her for directions.

"I live at 10 Oceanside Lane. It's just a small cottage but it's right on the ocean," she said.

"How do I get there from here?"

"Take the first exit off the highway for my town, exit 8. Continue strait until you see water and can't continue forward anymore," she said. "I'm the first street on the right and the last house in the middle of a secluded cul-de-sac."

From passing out the paychecks, I knew exactly where she lived. Once I learned her address, I drove by her house many times on the weekends to see if I could catch her outside walking the beach or walking her dog, if she even had a dog. What she called a cottage was a mansion to me. Knowing that she did after seeing one on her website, I wondered if she had a dungeon downstairs in her house or if it was out in the garage. I wondered if this was a ruse just to get me alone with her. After all, I've been bad, very bad lately. I wondered if she knew that I was her little, sexy slut who continually posted to her blog and who needed to be disciplined, punished, spanked, and controlled.

To be continued... 



Ms. Bitch is Mistress Susan Ch. 02



Mistress Susan invites Glenn to her dungeon for discipline, punishment, and humiliation.

Glenn knew enough about bondage, discipline, punishment, and humiliation to know what he liked and didn't like. Glad that he had put a safe word in place, 'Meow', when things got too rough and he wanted to stop that particular action, Glenn didn't like pain. He never understood those subs who preferred pain to pleasure and who had sexual sessions that were more painful than they were pleasurable. Their need for pain was more about being punished for something they did or perceived they did wrong in the past. Tied to pain in the way they enjoyed being tied to the bed, maybe their sexuality was all about being beaten, hit, whipped, and tortured in the way they did to prisoners in the dungeons of old, that is, so long as there was a sexy, sexual twist to it.

He could tolerate some pain but too many Mistresses acted as if he was the one responsible for their personal problems, their psychological issues, and for the way they turned out in life. As if he was the reason for their displeasure with life, those Mistresses were too heavy handed when dishing out pain. He didn't want a Mistress who was more about pain than pleasure. Not the kind of Mistress he wanted to have, pain was the specialty of some Mistresses but those weren't the Mistresses who gave him the pleasure he needed. He'd rather have a Dominatrix who showed more emotion, sensitivity, and compassion rather than being cold, detached, and uncaring. Mistresses who were more about pain always seemed so angry. He'd rather have a kinder and more loving Mistress than a Mistress who showed no mercy.

"Meow! Meow! Meow!"

Before it got out of control, he's had to use his safe word more than once when a session got too physical too fast. Being that he was a wanting to please sub, not wanting to break from his role to dare complain to his Mistress, some Mistresses took advantage of him when he did dare to complain. Hard to find the right Dominatrix, a one woman type of man, Glenn had 7 Mistresses in ten years. He's had quite a lot of Mistresses by his standards, especially when he was only looking for one, particular Dominatrix. A one Dominatrix type of sub, he preferred to settle with one, special Mistress. Still unable to find her, what seemed a good match at the outset, for one reason or another, as if a nagging itch, didn't feel right as their sexual relationship progressed.

The first few times with a new Mistress, especially the first time, were always as excitingly tenuous as they were unbearably uncomfortable when not knowing what to expect from one another. Too tense to relax, he never knew what to expect. Tied to the bed or chained to the wall, splayed over a bench, or prone face down on a table, he didn't want to be a victim. Too often playing things by ear until he grew more comfortable in trusting his new Dominatrix to try something new, especially all things anal, the first few times with a new Mistress explored his sexuality all over again.

Their time together was as exciting as it was disconcerting. She had some favorite toys to use and special ways of doing things and he did too. For their union to work while giving her control of his body, they had to find a common ground, somewhere in the middle, of pain and pleasure. Realizing, of course, that he needed to take some pain for the sake of pleasure, sometimes physical discomfort translated into a much explosive orgasm. Yet, sometimes too much pain ruined the pleasure.

Yet, needing to explore the limits to find what worked and what didn't, with his sexual guide directing all of his actions, it wouldn't work if the Mistress didn't know what in the Hell she was doing. Not up to her sub to give her ideas and suggestions, it's up to the Mistress to give her sub orders and demands. If a Mistress and sub don't get along as a man and a woman first and if the things she does doesn't gel, then their sexual session not only won't flow but also becomes disjointed with pauses in between with the Domme thinking what to do next.

As much as he didn't want an inexperienced Domme, definitely, he didn't want a disrespectful Dominatrix who'd stop their session to answer the door or talk on the phone. This was his time and he wanted his Mistress to only focus on him. Stumbling and bumbling through a Domme/sub session was always a disaster he never wanted to repeat. When control is in the wrong hands, some Domme/sub sessions were sometimes more unpleasant than pleasant. It's never easy exploring new territory with a Mistress who is inexperienced or uncomfortable with certain sexual peccadilloes and fetishes but he was willing to make concessions for a Mistress that he liked because of her looks.

Growing old fast, depending upon the level of pain and upon the willingness of a Mistress to make her sexual sessions more exciting, she needed to mix things up and constantly introduce new things, along with new toys. Just as some things that excite the Mistress and/or the sub must remain the same for the sake of their mutual pleasure and sexual satisfaction, other things need to continually change for them to explore their sexual fantasies while finding their much needed comfort zone. Just as he never wanted to feel fear for what his Mistress was about to do, the last thing he wanted to feel was boredom. As if she were the conductor of an orchestra, she needed the sexual pleasure to flow in the way of a musical piece. 

Glenn soon discovered that not all Mistresses have the willingness, the desire, the intelligence and the creativity to keep him interested enough in not only wanting to play their sexy, sexual games but also in enjoying them enough to want to return to play them again and again. Just as not all women are cut out to be a Mistress by just donning a leather outfit and holding a whip, it takes a special, sexual woman to have the confident wickedness in herself to control a man, especially such a big man as he was and especially when meeting him for the first time. At 6'4" tall and 240 pounds, being that he was a big man, a man who dwarfed all of his Mistresses, the first time with him could be a bit intimidating.

With the outside package as important as the inside package, his preferred Mistress had to be beautiful for him to obey her and for him to give her his undying loyalty. His perfect Mistress was made from wishing he could take the traits from one Mistress to add with the traits he liked from another. After perusing so very many BDSM sites, he knew what he wanted and the Dominatrix he needed but finding the woman who possessed all what he hoped her to have was impossibly difficult. All seven of his Mistresses had ingredients that he enjoyed having in a Mistress but none of them had all of the ingredients that he needed to be totally and completely sexually satisfied.

If he was going through the time, the trouble, and the expense of hoping, wanting, and needing to have a particular sexual experience, he wanted a Mistress who'd understand enough of what he wanted to give him that. Yet, whether he went to this Mistress or that Dominatrix, there was always something not right that kept him from remaining in the sexual moment longer and from him having the sexual experience that he paid her to have. Always an optimist and a glass half full kind of guy, yet when it came to critiquing a Dominatrix, instead of focusing all the things that went right during the sexual session, he tended to focus on all that went wrong. Unable to find his perfect Dominatrix, he just wasn't happy with any of them.

As frustratingly elusive as trying to catch a beautiful butterfly, finally, he now knew the something that was missing from his Domme/sub sexual experience was something not easily explained to his Mistress. How do you tell a Mistress that she doesn't know what she's doing? He more could explain what he wanted and needed to have to a new Mistress rather than a Mistress that he was already seeing. Once already in a Domme/sub relationship, Mistresses didn't take too kindly to constructive criticism from there lowly slaves of a sub, especially those who enjoyed dishing out pain and who took more pleasure in hurting him than in pleasuring him.

By revealing his dissatisfaction, how could he possibly tell his Mistress how he felt without her feeling criticized and personally attacked? It never boded well for a sub to overstep his boundaries and to step out of character to tell his Mistress what she was doing wrong. If anything, she was the one to tell him all that she was doing right.

After he pleased and pleasured her, was it too much to expect to have a Mistress know how alter her play of their sexy games of bondage, discipline, dominance, and submission to pleasure him? Too often, it was a feeling that he always had and didn't like having that he was just another customer. Never wanting to be just anyone and no one special, he didn't enjoy the feeling of just being anyone. He didn't want his sexual session to be the same sexual session as the sub before him or the sub after him. How could he explain that feeling to his Mistress without ending his relationship with her? With money getting in the way of his perfect sexual time, he didn't feel as special to his Mistress as his Mistress felt to him.

Maybe part and parcel of having a Domme/sub relationship where the Domme stayed more reserved in her emotions but, notwithstanding that, he needed more than just lip service. Just as he gave his unquestioned all to her in pleasing her and in pleasuring her, he needed to feel her connection to him. If there was such a thing, he needed a Dominatrix who was more human in showing her feelings for him and who was more compassionate in her emotions. A big contrary to the rules and roles of Domme and sub, if there was such a thing, he needed a Dominatrix who was more sensitive to his needs, wants, and desires than to her own needs, wants, and desires. He needed a queen who not only had an iron fist but also a kind heart.

With her trying to control him, he always felt a disconnect and the disconnection was that she was only giving him what he wanted for the money and not because she wanted to make him happy and sexually satisfied. The nature of the beast, it was always more about her than it was about him but there needed to be some ground rules first. Just as he's sexually satisfied lots of Dominatrix's and lots of Dominatrix's have sexually satisfied him, he's never felt real happiness after ending a session. Always there was something wrong and something just not right.

What he usually felt was pain, shame, and humiliation, along with a sense that she wasn't the right Dominatrix for him. Going home alone to his empty bed, what he usually felt was an emptiness that wasn't fulfilled until the next time he was with his Dominatrix. Wishing he had more of a relationship with his Domme than that of a business one that was masked by pain and pleasure, he wished he had a girlfriend who was his Domme.

He needed someone who more understood his needs to give him a fulfilling sexual session. He realized that was impossibly difficult to do when meeting someone for the first few times and especially when meeting someone for the first time. Too impatient, maybe he was rushing the process. Maybe he wasn't giving their particular Domme/sub relationship a chance. When he's yet to find the right Dominatrix, he realized that the feeling of happiness and sexual satisfaction was something that, perhaps, developed over time.

Only, in the way of touching a flame that was too hot knowing that he'd be burned, he couldn't bear to returning to some of the Mistresses he had in the past. He had already been down that road and had left that Mistress for a reason. Yet, there was always that burning desire in him to make him go back to try her again, even after knowing that she wasn't the Dominatrix that he was looking to have. Just as he knew that his one and only Dominatrix was out there but where, he felt that he was wasting his time and money on those who pretended to be his Dominatrix. 

Sometimes feeling as if he was with a prostitute instead of a Mistress and not enjoying the feeling that he was buying her emotions and affection for money, even though he was, he needed to remain in the illusion that he needed her to completely control him. He needed to find a Mistress who enjoyed punishing, disciplining, controlling, and humiliating him as much as he did. He never truly felt that his Mistresses liked him enough to enjoy what they were doing to him as much as he liked them and enjoyed what they were doing to him. That feeling of mutual satisfaction and erotic enjoyment were the biggest pieces missing from his Mistresses. Now that he knew what was missing, he was confident that he'd find what he was looking for in a Dominatrix. Only, in the way of looking for love, how do you find a feeling?

Having cheated on his Mistresses before and having been unfaithful to them in the past, Glenn had been to lots of Mistresses houses over the past ten years. Some Mistress' homes even had dungeons. Not ever thinking that he'd enjoy being taken to a dungeon, he now liked the idea of having his sexual experience in a dungeon. At first thinking it'd be too primeval when imagining the cold, dirty, smelly, and rat and roach infected dungeons of old England, he never thought he'd enjoy his sexual session in a dungeon. Yet, after having experienced a Mistress with a modern day, temperature controlled, clean, and fresh smelling dungeon, he needed to find a Mistress with a dungeon. Pretending he was taken there as a prisoner to the will of his Mistress, dungeons enabled him to remain in the fantasy longer.

Yet not all dungeons were the same. Some dungeons were nothing more than a cellar with a corner space cleared to house a table and a few assorted toys and restraints. He never could fall into character when taken to the Mistress' bedroom or to a dungeon that was nothing more than her cellar. When he thought more about what he felt was missing and what more that he wanted, oxymoronic in nature, he laughed to himself over the thoughts of a more human and more compassionate Dominatrix, albeit one with a dungeon.

If only her neighbors knew that the woman next door was a Dominatrix, what would they do? If only her neighbors knew that his Mistress had a dungeon, what would they say? Another bothersome thing, he didn't like driving to a neighborhood where there were kids playing outside. He'd prefer his Mistress was isolated, at least at the end of a cul-de-sac or residing on a dead end street instead of living on a busy street. When unable to hear children playing or cars whizzing by, more privacy than less allowed him to remain in his sexual fantasy longer. 

He more appreciated a Mistress who did her homework and who paid attention to the smallest of details. He wanted a Mistress who wasn't in it for just the money. Just as he needed to be so controlled, he needed a Mistress who needed to control. He wanted a Mistress who enjoyed their sexual interaction as much as he did.

Yet, now that he's experienced Mistresses who had a dungeon, as important was the Mistress was the dungeon. Just as the right Mistress ruled him, the proper dungeon enhanced the experience. Without doubt, the right dungeon more added to the aura to make being held a prisoner of his Mistress more authentically and erotically enjoyable. Adding so much more to the sexual and erethral experience, needing his Mistress to have a dungeon to fully feel as if he was being punished, disciplined, and controlled against his will, now he wouldn't even consider a Mistress who didn't have a suitable dungeon.

Thinking back over his prior Mistresses who had dungeons, even those Mistresses who had dungeons weren't as beautiful as his hoped for new Mistress, Mistress Susan. Moreover, judging her dungeon by the pictures and video of her dungeon on her website, none of them had such a realistic dungeon in the way she did. She even had a prison cell with bars.

Mistress Susan, just saying her name gave him sexual pleasure. None of the Mistresses he had experienced in the past were as beautiful and as curvaceously shapely as Mistress Susan. None of the Mistresses he's had in the past were as playful, creative, dominating, and sensitive to her sub's needs as he perceived Mistress Susan was by all that he saw and read on her website. Definitely, she had the possibility of being his perfect Mistress. Even better than that, how perfect would that be if his boss Susan was, indeed, Mistress Susan too. He had an erection just thinking about the possibilities.

Only, hoping beyond hope, he hoped that his boss Susan and Mistress Susan who had the website he was frequenting were one in the same. If only by their name, Susan, not a common name, they had to be the same woman. Difficult to tell. he's never even seen his boss with her hair down never mind without her clothes. He's never seen his boss wearing the sexy, leather outfits that Mistress Susan wears on her website. He's never seen his boss' semi-naked body in the way that he's seen Mistress Susan flashing her big tits and spreading her long legs to show her sheer, black, panty clad, shaved pussy. He's never seen any part of his boss' body in the way that he's seen most of Mistress Susan's beautiful body.

Suspecting his boss was busty, he couldn't really tell in the way that she always wears black clothes every day. For sure, Mistress Susan's 32 double D's would be difficult to hide, unless his boss wore a confining sports type of bra beneath her black blouse and black jacket. His boss always wore black. She only wore black. By all of the semi-naked photos on her website, Mistress Susan is not shy about showing her assets in the way his boss dresses so mannishly modest, and professionally non-sexual at work.

A female version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, if these two women are, indeed, one and the same, a total transformation and at the opposite ends of the spectrum, one just doesn't go with the other. It doesn't make sense and yet it does. In the way that his boss was such a bitch at work, Ms. Bitch, all she needed was to let her hair down literally and figuratively and expose her hot body while holding a whip to make for the prefect Dominatrix. Now that he thinks more about it, he wouldn't mind having his boss as his Mistress. If only his boss Susan was the Mistress Susan that he's been lusting over on her website, he'd be that happiest sub in the world.

Something so seriously important to him, just as he sensed that Mistress Susan was different, he sensed that his prior Mistresses were only playing a part for the money. A prostitute masquerading as a Dominatrix wasn't what he wanted. He wanted someone who was more sincere and who enjoyed Dominating him as much as he enjoyed being so controlled. With money more important than their role as Dominatrix, he needed someone who more enjoyed being a Domme than making money. Now that he found her website, he thinks he may have found that with Mistress Susan, a 24/7, professional Dominatrix. He could tell by how professional her website was that she wasn't just in it for the money. 

Surely, just as he's out there looking for such a woman, there must be a woman looking for such a man. He didn't want a hooker, a stripper, and/or a mother with children pretending to be a Mistress part-time to earn a few extra dollars. He wanted a real Dominatrix as his Mistress, someone who was into the lifestyle 24/7 as was Mistress Susan. He wanted a professional who would make him feel so owned in the way that he completely and unselfishly wanted to give himself to her. A sexual slave looking for a safe haven, he wanted someone who had a dungeon.

He wanted and needed to have a woman who was as aroused dominating him, controlling him, disciplining him, punishing him, and humiliating him, as he yearned to be dominated, controlled, disciplined, punished, and humiliated. Now that he's found someone like Mistress Susan online, he imagined that the sexual experience wouldn't be the same with anyone else, that is, unless Mistress Susan was really his boss Susan. A two for one, if his boss was Mistress Susan, his sexual fantasy come true, that would be a huge bonus in helping him to find the perfect Mistress. In the way she controls him, bosses him around, and verbally abuses him, he's already there with his boss, if only she was his Mistress too.




Ms. Bitch is Mistress Susan Ch. 02



If Mistress Susan was actually his boss too, the sexual experience of his boss being his Mistress, no doubt, would be so much more sexually gratifying and erotically satisfying. With one woman secretly being the other, after having a two year relationship with boss Susan as her lowly employee, a sexual relationship with boss Susan as Mistress Susan would be so much more rewarding. After having visited her website more than a hundred times since he discovered it, he reread every word of her website every day as if he was reading from Mao Tse-Tung's little, red book or memorizing passages from the Bible. Without even having met her, as if he was a new cult member, he was already a disciple and a devotee of Mistress Susan.

Yet, still unsure if his boss Susan was Mistress Susan, he waited to make an appointment with Mistress Susan until he knew for sure that she wasn't his boss too. Not wanting to jeopardize his job by unmasking her secret identity and revealing the closeted sexual lifestyle of his boss, he needed to know if one woman was, indeed, the other woman before making a fool of himself and embarrassing her. Only, how does he do that without meeting Mistress Susan? Even after studying her website and reading every word over and again, he's still unsure if Mistress Susan is his boss Susan.

Already sexually attracted to his boss as much as he is to his newly perceived Mistress Susan, the attraction is more than just physical. More than just her beauty was their intelligence. With both women leaders of men, both were wicked smart. Perhaps, all of this time, it would be so ironic if his perfect Mistress was right under his nose. The fact that he already had a relationship with his boss, if what he had with his boss was called a relationship, was a big plus. If Mistress Susan was his boss, hoping that Mistress Susan was his boss, he felt as if he's been interviewing her for the position of his new Mistress for more than 2 years.

Yet, even though he's known his boss longer than he's known any of his Mistresses, he suspected that he knew more about his boss than she knew about him. Now that he knows so much about her from working with her, from watching her, and from stumbling over her secret life, that is, if that really is her online, he'd love for her to fill the role as his new Mistress. She was perfect. She was his ideal Mistress. He'd be happy working for his boss during the day and playing with his Mistress at night and on weekends.

Wishfully thinking, he imagined the best case scenario instead of his worst nightmare. His best case scenario was that she'd invite him down her basement to experience her dungeon. The worst case was that she wasn't the same Mistress Susan on the website he found and he'd be fired for making sexual advances to his boss. Wishfully thinking, he hoped her asking him to her house to drop off her work on the pretense that she was not feeling well was just a ruse to start a Domme/sub sexual relationship. Oh how happy he'd be if she was, indeed, Mistress Susan and he became her sexual slave.

Already contemplating his future career responsibilities with her as his boss, while sexually fantasizing about her as his Mistress, it was then that he realized that he may be getting ahead of himself. What if his boss wasn't Mistress Susan? He may be getting excited over nothing. Based upon who he thought she was by just some damned website and by some woman, referred to as Ms. Bitch, who resembled her, that may not even be her website. She may not be his hoped for Mistress Susan. After suspecting and hoping she was, he'd be devastated if she wasn't.

Here he was reading into her as if he knew everything about her, including her deep, dark secret of being a Dominatrix but he wasn't positive that was even her on the Internet. What if he was wrong about her being Mistress Susan? If he was wrong, not only would he be mortified for accusing her of being a Dominatrix but also he could lose his job by humiliating himself and embarrassing her. Suddenly getting sexually aroused over the thought of humiliating himself, his preferred state of mind, humiliation was nothing new to him. So long as she was the right Dominatrix, he enjoyed being humiliated, but in this situation, he'd save the humiliation for later, when and if he learned that his boss was, indeed, Mistress Susan or not.

She had to be Mistress Susan. She just had to be. She looked so much like her. As more evidence that she was Mistress Susan, she referred to herself as Ms. Bitch, the same phrasing that Mistress Susan uses on her website when describing herself. Yet, not having seen his boss with her hair down and not having even seen so much as her bra strap, he couldn't be sure that boss Susan was Mistress Susan. His boss would have to have one Hell of a body beneath those black clothes.

Making himself crazy with all of this speculation running through his mind, returning to reality, he thought, what if she really is home sick? What if she just wanted him to bring her work home to her so that she could work from home? What if she's not the online Mistress that he thinks that she is? What if she's not interested in him being her sub? What if this is all a horrible mistake and he's about to make a fool of himself and embarrass her? Unable to believe that she wasn't the website Mistress, Mistress Susan, the one he's been posting his messages to her blog, tweeting to, and flirting with online, he'd be crushed if she was no one other than his boss who was home sick and he was nothing more than her errand boy.

Still, even if she wasn't Mistress Susan, Mistress Susan is still out there and so long as she was interested in seeing him, he could make an appointment to meet her. Yet, afraid to make the appointment, he was afraid he'd embarrass his boss, if she was Mistress Susan. He needed to know first, if his boss is Mistress Susan. Without doubt, it would have been so much more fun if both women were one and the same. Yet, if he accused his boss of being Mistress Susan and if his boss wasn't Mistress Susan, he'd embarrassed her and humiliated himself. Moreover, she'd fire him. He'd lose his job.

"How dare you accuse me of being a Dominatrix. You're a sick man. You're fired," he imagined her saying. "Get out. Get out of my house." 

Committing professional suicide by throwing himself on his own sword, he'd have no explanation other than to confess his secret sexual life to her. There'd be nothing else to do than to throw himself at her feet and ask for her forgiveness while kissing and licking her boots in the hopes that she'd urinate on him. Either way, for embarrassing her and for him revealing what she'd deem him having as a perverse lifestyle, she'd no doubt fire him. Yet, for once and for all, with his private life taking precedence over his career and his sexual lifestyle being more important than his job, he needed to know once and for all if his boss Susan was Mistress Susan too. Being that he was invited to her house and would be alone with her, a risk worth taking, he'd never forgive himself if he didn't pounce on this perfect opportunity to unmask her, even if it meant losing his job.

* * * * *

Barely 9 am in the morning, he rang her doorbell. Expecting to wait for her to get up out of her sickbed to drag herself to the front door, obviously in the way she so quickly answered the door, she wasn't asleep in her bed. While walking up her front steps and before ringing her doorbell, he imagined catching her in the shower and her appearing at the front door just wearing a towel. He imagined seeing her naked when her towel fell as he handed her the box of work. Proof positive that she was Mistress Susan, he imagined her double D breasts and her shaved pussy exposed before his horny eyes.

As if she had been standing by her door waiting for him arrive, he didn't have to wait very long for her to answer the door. Opening her front door immediately, as if she was excited having him come to her home as much as he was excited visiting her at home, she surprised him as much by her quickness in opening her front door as she did by the big smile she gave him when seeing him. She smiled at him. She actually smiled at him. Having never seen her smile before, she's so much more beautiful when she smiles. Having worked for her for more than two years, routinely glaring at him, she's never smiled at him. He wondered if she was on happy drugs for her illness.

Only, with her hair and makeup already done, she didn't look ill at all. She looked fabulous. If he was to play this all back in his mind later and, no doubt, he will, a surprising transformation in her typical business like appearance, it was shocking to see her smiling and looking more like the beautiful woman that she truly was rather than his bitchy boss that she always is. Normally in work, looking more masculine than feminine, by removing her femininity from the office equation by wearing black instead of color, wearing her hair pulled back, and wearing less makeup, she's somehow able to remove the woman within her by looking more like a man. Shocked by the stunning way she looked today, he was stunned.

Always in black, she downplays her makeup and she removes her hair from the equation of her femininity by pulling it tightly against her head as if making room on her head to don a wig. With her hair pulled back in that way, so tight that it removes the wrinkles from her face and moves her mouth in a tense, permanent grin. When dressed in Johnny Cash black with the only color on her eyes and lips, she reminds him of one of Robert Plant's models in his music video, Addicted to Love. Every time he sees her, as if Addicted to Love is her theme song, he thinks of that song.

Only today, by the beautiful way she looks now, different at home than she normally is at work, he noticed that she was wearing more eye makeup than she normally wears at work. Even more erotically exotic than wearing more eye makeup, her lips were totally covered with glistening, bright, Corvette red lipstick. She wore so much lipstick that he had the sudden need to kiss her. She looked so incredibly beautiful.

Whether she was Mistress Susan or not, she had those mesmerizing blue eyes that forced him to stare at her. Even when she was being a total bitch, especially when she was being a total bitch, he couldn't stop staring at her angry eyes. Accustomed to seeing her eyes from behind her big desk glaring up him, he sexually fantasized about her sucking his cock while sitting at her desk and looking up at him with those magnificent eyes. Her eyes when at work are always angry but here at her home, a total makeover, that is if she's, indeed, the same person on that Mistress Susan website, her eyes were confidentially in control. If he was charmed by her eyes when she was angry, he was even more captivated by her eyes and enthralled by her when she was smiling at him in the way that she was smiling at him now.

Always enamored with her eyes, even when they were angry, having never seen her eyes happy before, he more loved how her eyes looked now. No matter if her eyes were angry or confidentially in control, the windows to her inner beauty, he truly loved her big, blue eyes. He dreamt of her eyes every night. In addition to taking her voluptuous and curvaceous body to bed with him in his nightly sexual fantasies of her, he took her eyes. He loved her eyes, especially when they looked at him. Now smiling at him, he could see his image in her pupils.

Even if she wasn't a Dominatrix, having stumbled over his dream woman, done searching the world for her, it was evident to him now that he wanted his boss as his Mistress. Whether she was Mistress Susan or not, she was the one that he wanted. Already dominating him at work and loving how she abused him, he'd love for her to dominate him in her home too. She was so perfect for the job as his new Mistress.

Only, if she wasn't a Dominatrix, how in the Hell would he make her one? Even more than that, how in the Hell would he even broach the Domme/sub subject with her without her knowing that he was into such things? If she wasn't into bondage, discipline, dominance, and submission, how would he make her interested enough in that kind of kink to make her his pervert lover? Sadly if she wasn't into domination and control, no amount of wishful thinking would make her ready to play the part that he needed her to play to make his life complete with her as his Mistress. Yet, if only in the way that she acted at work, so domineering and so in control, she'd make for the perfect Dominatrix and his sexual fantasy come true of a Mistress.

With her blonde hair hanging free, going from white to blonde to gold, the light from the crystal chandelier in her foyer reflected her multi-colored highlights in her hair. He never knew she had such beautiful blonde hair. He never knew she had multi-colored highlights. With her office lighting so subdued and with her hair always looking so dark, nearly brown, when pulled so tightly back, her hair seemed painted to her head.

Now with her hair cascading down and free to curl and to collect around her shoulders as if hugging her neck in the way he wished he could hug her neck, instead of being pulled so tightly back in the way she always wore her hair at work, she looked more beautiful now than she ever did at work. She looked more feminine. She looked sexier. Once he discovered Mistress Susan's website, she now looked exactly like the woman that he imagined her to be.

Maybe her looking so much like Mistress Susan was nothing more than a coincidence. Maybe it was just him wanting her to be his Mistress Susan, especially now that she smiled at him. With her hair down, she looked more like Mistress Susan than she ever did before. With her looking so sexy and with him being so close to her, the scent of her perfume made him dizzy with sexual desire for her.

If only he could see her body, he'd know for sure if one woman is indeed the other. Having memorized every inch of Mistress Susan's beautiful skin, he wouldn't have to see very much his boss' beautiful body to know if his boss Susan was his hoped for Mistress Susan. Unless she had an identical twin who was a Dominatrix, how can one not be the other? They looked too much alike.

She was wearing a bathrobe, a white terrycloth all encompassing robe, and not a very sexy robe for what he imagined a Dominatrix would wear around the house when awakening from bed. Instead of defining her shapeliness with a thin, silk, sexy robe, her white terrycloth robe evoked the image of what his mother would look like wearing a white, terrycloth bathrobe or what a polar bear would look like with eye makeup and lipstick. Not that she's as old as his mother or as big as a polar bear but just as he was surprised by her extraordinary beauty, he was surprised that someone so beautiful and so shapely would wear a robe so ordinary and so unflattering. The robe did nothing to enhance her shapely figure.

Not evoking much of a sexual image, if only judging her by her terrycloth, white robe, maybe she's not his Mistress after all. Yet, now that he's seen her with her hair down and her extra makeup on, she looks so much like Mistress Susan even with the white, terrycloth bathrobe instead of a black, leather corset. Nonetheless, his aversion to her wearing white terrycloth, he had the uncontrollable urge to rub his face in her bathrobe in the way he used to do with his mother's bathrobe when he was just a toddler.

Assuredly, if he doubted that she had big tits before, clearly seeing the big impressions her breasts made in her bathrobe and with her robe pulled so tightly around her, he could even see the impressions her erect nipples made through the thickness of the terrycloth. Without doubt, he knew she had big tits now and as big as Mistress Susan's double D's. Just as the impression his cock suddenly made in his pants, he couldn't believe his eyes when he could clearly see the impressions that her big nipples made through her robe. He could only imagine how big her nipples would look if she was wearing a form fitting, silk robe. As if they were reaching out to him and beckoning him to touch them and finger them, before sucking them, he'd loved to finger her nipples before taking them in his mouth to suck them.

Only, a well mannered and respectful man, he'd never dare inappropriately touch a woman, especially a woman who was his boss, and especially a woman who was his potential Mistress in such an improper way without her expressed permission. If she was indeed a Mistress and he took such uninvited sexual liberties with her by dare feeling her big tits and fingering her erect nipples through her bathrobe, no doubt, she'd discipline and punish him for dare touching her. Definitely but still difficult to tell through all of that white cotton, as if trying to see something through a cloud or a fog, her breasts appeared as large as Mistress Susan's breasts. Her breasts appeared as large as those breasts that he saw on the website, the breasts that he sexually fantasized and masturbated over nightly, and the breasts that he imagined were his boss' breasts on Mistress Susan's website.

Not wanting her to catch him staring at her breasts or at the impressions her nipples made in her robe, he looked up at her pretty face, her shoulder length blonde hair, her big, blue eyes, and her red, full lips. Even if she wasn't Mistress Susan, he'd be taking home this image of her tonight. Even if she wasn't a Dominatrix, he'd be masturbating over her controlling him, punishing him, and disciplining him in her perceived dungeon before having sex with her. Even if his boss Susan wasn't his beloved Mistress Susan, she'd be playing a starring sexual role in his erotic dreams.

Unable to stop himself from staring at her, he lips were so inviting. When he looked at her lips, he imagined taking her in his big arms and holding her before kissing her. She had full, perfect lips and he imagined kissing and kissing her red lips. With his lips awash in her sweet, red lipstick, he imagined her allowing him to part her lips with his tongue. He imagined her surrendering her tongue to him while he felt her big breasts through her bathrobe and fingered her erect nipples before sticking his horny hand inside. Only, he couldn't just do that. Whether she was his boss or his perceived Mistress, he needed her permission before daring to touch her. He needed her to make the first move.

Continuing his sexual fantasy, he imagined reaching around her to feel her firm, round ass. He imagined removing her bathrobe to see what she was wearing or not wearing beneath all of that damn terrycloth. After kissing her, after feeling her voluptuous body, and pleasuring her pussy with his mouth and her ass with his tongue, he imagined her falling to her knees to return the sexual favor. He imagined her red, full lips around his big, hard cock. Lipstick on the dipstick, he imagined her leaving her red lipstick stains behind as evidence that she sucked him and deep throated him. If only she would, he'd never wash his cock again, that is, until the next time that she sucked him. 

Now with his curiosity piqued, he wondered what she was wearing beneath her bathrobe. Imagining what it would be like to go to bed with her, he wondered what kind of nightgown she wore to bed. Definitely, she must have a lingerie drawer filled with Victoria Secrets barely there sexy nightgowns. Maybe she didn't wear nightgowns but wore pajamas instead. He could do pajamas, especially flannel pajamas. He loved the feel of flannel. He imagined how soft her breasts would feel through flannel while he unbuttoned all of those buttons. Then, pausing to see what each unbuttoned button revealed of her body before continuing unbuttoning her, he imagined finally exposing her big breasts.




Ms. Bitch is Mistress Susan Ch. 02



Maybe she didn't wear anything at all to bed. Maybe she slept in the nude. The thought of her naked and in bed caused his cock to pulsate in his pants and, holding her box of work one handed, he put his other hand down for fear that she may see that he was getting sexually excited. Bad enough to have an erection caused from his boss, it would be even worse for him to have an erection without receiving the expressed permission to have an erection from his Mistress, even his perceived Mistress, first.

Still wondering what she wore to bed, maybe she wore leather to bed and kept her whip beneath her pillow just in case. As soon as he thought of her wearing leather to bed, his cock pitched a permanent tent in his pants in the way it used to do when he was a teenager. As an 18-year-old senior in high school, suddenly, he remembered Miss Crabtree having him bend over her desk to paddle his naughty ass. Knowing he'd get a spanking whenever he was bad in her class, he was always purposely bad in her class and he always picked a spanking over detention. He remembered the loud noise the paddle made against his firm butt. He remembered how after the third whack his ass became warm before it turned red with the fifth sixth whacks. Always, no more and no less, as if she was keeping silent count, she gave him ten whacks.

He suspected she enjoyed paddling his ass as much as he enjoyed her paddling his ass. In the way he wished she would too, he suspected that she wished she'd pull his pants and underwear down to paddle his naked ass. He remembered masturbating over the sexually erotic thoughts of exposing his cock to her. He wondered what his teacher would do if she saw his erection. Would she stare at his cock? Would she reach out and touch it? Or would she fall to her knees and suck it? Now that he's older, imagining visiting her at her home, he would have loved to have pulled up her pleated skirt, pulled down her panties, and paddled his teacher's ass. Yet, not wanting his boss to see his erection, he covered the big bulge in his pants with the box of work that he was delivering to her.

Allowing his horny mind to run away with the sexual thoughts that he had for his boss now, he was entwined with the sexual thought that he had for Mistress Susan. Maybe beneath that innocuous white, terrycloth bathrobe was her Dominatrix uniform, her preferred outfit of choice he imagined. Maybe she was wearing a fitted corset that pushed up and pushed out her already huge, double D breasts. Perhaps the tight corset was the reason why the impressions of her big nipples were so apparent and nearly transparent, if the terrycloth wasn't so thick.

Maybe her tits were right there, mere millimeters away from his horny hands and hungry mouth. Maybe she was wearing sheer, black panties just like the panties he saw her wearing on her website. If she was wearing those transparent panties, he'd love to lick her and finger her shaved pussy through her panties. With her knees draped over his shoulders and her long legs resting against his back, he'd love to please her by making her cum.

"Hi Glenn," she purred as if she was a cat on the prowl and as soon as he opened and invited him inside her front door. "Come in."

Interrupting him from one sexual fantasy to give him another, she's so uniquely different at home than she is at work. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't believe that she was the same person. Never has she greeted him with a smile. Never has she greeted him with a purring hello before. He imagined her holding his big cock in her hand while purring in his ear before falling to her knees and taking him in her mouth.

"Hi Susan," he said having to catch himself from saying, hi Mistress Susan.

He wished he could touch her and feel her to know that he wasn't dreaming this verbal exchange. He wished he could hold her. He wished her could kiss her. He wished he could touch his Mistress where he was never allowed to feel his Mistress without her expressed permission first. He craved that control while begging for that permission but he had to consciously remind himself that this wasn't his Mistress but his boss. Even if she was Mistress Susan, especially if she was Mistress Susan, he'd never touch her without her telling him to touch her. Yet, he so wanted to kiss her while feeling her big tits and fingering her erect nipples through her terrycloth bathrobe.

"Come in," she said walking away from him to go to the kitchen.

He stared at her wiggling ass as she walked away. Then, as if awakened from a sexual dream, it was when she walked away from him that he heard her heels clicking on the Travertine tiles. He looked down and instead of wearing fuzzy slippers, she was wearing knee high boots. Boots, she was wearing boots. He couldn't believe she was wearing boots with a bathrobe. Controlling the urge to fall to his knees, as soon as he saw her boots he wanted to kiss them and to lick them. As soon as he saw her boots he wanted her to walk on him and spread her legs to pee on him.

Why was she wearing boots at home instead of relaxing in slippers? Such an odd combination, boots with a bathrobe, that unique contrast sexually excited him by making him wonder what else she was hiding beneath her plush bathrobe. He so wanted to undo her bathrobe tie a and remove her bathrobe from her exquisite body but he didn't dare. Extrapolating his erotic thought process, along with wondering what she was hiding under her bathrobe, he wondered what she was hiding in her cellar. Maybe she was Mistress Susan. Maybe she had a dungeon. Maybe she invited him here not to bring her work but to bind him, beat him, punish him, and discipline him while controlling him.

"Thank you," he said closing the front door behind him.

"I just made some coffee. Would you care for a cup or are you a tea man," she said turning to look at him and giving him a sexy smile.

Having never smiled at him before, she's never given him a sexy smile. Now, she was looking at him in a way that he imagined her looking at him when she was disciplining him, punishing him, controlling him, spanking him, and whipping him. With her hair and makeup done, being that she was wearing boots with her bathrobe, maybe she was going somewhere after he dropped off her work and left and hadn't finished dressing yet. Maybe she was fully dressed beneath her bathrobe and didn't want him to know that she wasn't really sick but was just playing hooky from work. Maybe in the way that he always wore sneakers with jeans, she always wore boots with her bathrobe.

Being that she was his boss and he was her employee, being that he was a paid subordinate, it was none of his business what she did or where she went after he left her. Obviously, unlike him, she had a life that wasn't controlled by discipline and punishment. Suddenly he was jealous with the thought that maybe she was meeting someone else, a man who wanted her to control him in the way that he wished she'd control him. Whether as a sub, a sexual slave, a friend, a lover, or just an employee, or all of the above, he'd love to be her man. Never having sexual thoughts about his boss before, that is, before he discovered Mistress Susan's website and his boss' resemblance to Mistress Susan, he was having sexual thoughts about her now.

Only, unlike the sexual thoughts that other men had where they'd just make a pass at a woman and/or just take a woman, he needed her permission to make a pass. He needed her to make the first move. He needed her to make a pass at him. He needed her to assume the dominant role and not him. He needed her permission before he could do anything.

"I'd love a cup of coffee. Thank you," he said giving her his best smile.

"How do you take your coffee?"

She looked at him and smiled again. He loved her smile. She looked so much more beautiful when she smiled. As if taunting him and daring him to accuse her of being Mistress Susan, she put out two mugs on her granite, kitchen counter in front of him. She looked at him while watching for his reaction when seeing the coffee mugs.

When he looked down at the coffee cups, his mouth fell open. He stared at the coffee cups before staring back up at her. Then, looking down at the coffee cups to make sure that he wasn't imagining things, one coffee cup was black with the word Domme on it in bold, white letters and the other coffee cup was a yellow with the word sub on it in small, black, italic letters. If the coffee mugs weren't telling enough and proof enough that she was, indeed, Mistress Susan, he didn't know what other proof he needed that his boss Susan was the woman of the website he's been frequenting.

"Just black," he said not knowing what else to say when he wanted to say so much.

Making constant contact with her magical blue eyes while excited that he was correct in guessing that she, indeed, was Mistress Susan, he looked at her stunned. Sexually excited that his blonde, bombshell of a shapely boss was his sexual fantasy come true, he was glad that his search for his perfect Dominatrix had come to a happy end.

When she leaned to pour his coffee, hoping the top of her bathrobe would fall open enough for him to see, he looked to see what she was wearing beneath her bathrobe. Hoping for a down bathrobe view, she had robe too tightly tied to give him a peek inside. Unable to get a down bathrobe look of her body for further proof that she was Mistress Susan, he looked up at her big, beautiful, blue eyes again. Mesmerized and as if hypnotized by her eyes, he couldn't help but stare at her while watching her pour his coffee.

"When you finish your coffee Glenn," she said moving out from behind the kitchen counter to untie and remove her bathrobe in the way of an artist dropping a shroud from a masterpiece, "I'd like to show you my dungeon." 

To be continued...