The Day My Mistress Introduced Me to Her Apprentice

After months of messages, waiting, and half-hearted promises, he was finally there. That man, who at that moment had no name because he had given up having one, was kneeling before Mistress Vera. No one but him knew how much he had had to beg to get to that locked room, without windows, where the air smelled of leather and hot latex.

The mistress had an impossible body, wrapped in a black corset that gleamed beneath the only lit lamp. Violet hair fell over one shoulder. From her waist hung a harness with a dark rubber cock that swayed with every step she took, like a pendulum marking the time the submissive had left to regret himself.

“Fuck, finally… I’ve waited so long,” he murmured behind the leather mask that hid his face.

He was a small man, of medium height and with nervous hands. Under the mask, his breathing came in ragged gasps. He took his place exactly as he had learned on the forums and in his own fantasies: legs spread wide, hands clasped behind his back, chin down. He trembled from head to toe, and it wasn’t from cold.

“Ready?” she asked in a deep voice, with no warmth at all.

“Ready!”

“Ready what else?”

“Ready, my mistress!” he corrected at once, swallowing hard.

Vera gave a brief smile. She stepped back two paces, took a little momentum, and drove the tip of her boot straight between the man’s legs. The blow echoed through the empty room like a slap in a church. A second later came the howl: he doubled over, grabbed his crotch with both hands, and fell on his side to the floor, gritting his teeth and arching his back.

“I think that’s my best kick in a long time,” she commented, unruffled. She knelt beside him, stroked the nape of his neck with the tips of her gloved fingers. “You all right, puppy?”

The man nodded, his face pressed into the floor. Then, against all logic, he began to tremble in a different way. It wasn’t pain: his body was shaking with pleasure. A hoarse moan escaped from the mask as he came without anyone touching him, right there on the floor, curled up and pathetic. When he was done, he lay still, almost unconscious, eyes rolled back.

Vera slowly straightened up and let out a clear laugh. She had to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

“This has never happened to me before,” she said to herself. “Occupational hazard.”

***

When the submissive came to, he was still sore and dazed. Vera had sat down in a nearby armchair and was reading a book with her legs crossed, as if none of it mattered in the slightest.

“Awake already?” she asked without looking up. “Good, because we’re not finished yet.”

“Ugh… what a kick,” he complained, carefully groping himself. “I think you broke them.”

“No, sweetheart,” she replied, setting the book aside. “They’re not broken. I’ve got more than enough practice to know exactly how much each man can take.”

She walked over and slapped him across the face, knocking him down again. The submissive didn’t even complain. When he saw her sit on the edge of an examination table and spread her legs, he knew perfectly well what was coming next, because he had paid for it several weeks in advance. He tipped his head back and smiled beneath the mask. He had spent days preparing to receive her.

“Come on, time’s running out,” Vera said, making him raise his hips.

The tip of the rubber cock slid in slowly. The man gave a long groan, a sound halfway between a whimper and a plea. She moved forward unhurriedly, measuring every centimeter, watching his face like a surgeon watches a wound.

“Let the dance begin,” she announced, resting her gloved hands on his chest.

Vera’s hips began to move with a steady, deep, relentless rhythm. The submissive moaned more than he ever had in his life. It was a sensation he didn’t know how to name: the mistress he had dreamed of for so long was fucking him, and he loved it. He took each thrust with a mixture of gratitude and vertigo, feeling his whole body surrender. Vera lowered one hand and squeezed him between the legs, effortlessly, almost contemptuously.

“What woman were you going to make happy, huh?” she whispered, squeezing a little harder. “Tell me, dog.”

“I… I don’t have a woman,” he answered through clenched teeth.

“No wonder,” she laughed, never stopping. “One of these days I should leave you alone with the pain of a man, see if that teaches you what you’re worth.”

The submissive felt himself on the edge again. He opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and lifted his hips, seeking her. Vera noticed, pulled out abruptly, and let him cum on his own again, over the black leather of her corset. A few drops slipped down into her cleavage, and she looked at them with a look of feigned disgust.

“We’re done,” she said, unclipping the harness. “Not bad. You held out longer than most. Congratulations, puppy.”

“Already?” he asked, sitting up with difficulty. “But… it lasted so little.”

“Don’t be sad,” she said, stroking his head like a puppy’s. “We’ll do it again another day. If you behave.”

The man left the place dragging his feet, still sore, no longer wearing the mask. At the doorway, she promised him she’d call soon for another session.

***

Two weeks passed. Two whole weeks in which the submissive forbade himself from touching himself, a penance he had imposed on himself convinced that the next time would be even more intense. It wasn’t easy. He dreamed of Vera almost every night, waking soaked in sweat and with his heart racing. When he finally saw the mistress’s name flashing on his phone screen, he answered before the first ring ended and rushed out of his apartment.

He went into the room naked, with the mask on, just as she had ordered.

“I’m here, mistress!” he announced.

But Vera wasn’t alone. Beside her stood a young woman, also naked, with blazing red hair and a half-mask covering part of her face. The submissive got hard at once, almost without meaning to.

“This is Mistress Daniela,” Vera explained, running her fingers through the girl’s red hair. “She’s new to this. She’s come to learn, and you’re going to be her first lesson.”

Daniela’s eyes were cold, serious, calculating. When they locked on him, the submissive felt a shiver run down his spine and, for an instant, even his erection faltered. Vera noticed and chuckled softly.

“You start,” said the mistress. “She needs to practice the kick. Get into position.”

“Very well,” he obeyed, spreading his legs and clasping his hands behind his back.

Daniela imitated the gesture she had seen her teacher make. She took a running start and drove a sharp kick into the unprotected crotch of the man, who collapsed screaming to the floor. There was not a trace in her of Vera’s mischievous smile; only concentration, like someone driving in a stake.

The punishment went on for at least ten minutes. When the submissive could no longer stand, they had to tie his wrists to a ring in the ceiling so he wouldn’t collapse.

“Learn from the rhythm,” Vera told her apprentice. “It’s not force, it’s aim.”

The mistress showed her how to do it: her blows seemed measured to the millimeter, painful and, at the same time, strangely pleasurable for the man, who hung from the straps moaning. Then she handed the turn back to the girl.

Daniela moved closer slowly, like a hunter studying her prey before the leap. Her gaze made the submissive swallow hard beneath the mask; something inside him warned him that this woman was not playing. She took a run-up and struck with a violence that surprised even Vera. The man let out a cry unlike any before, one born of fear and not pleasure, and began to convulse hanging from the straps.

***

He woke hours later, lying on a narrow bed at the back of the club, his mouth dry and a dull ache between his legs.

“Hello,” Daniela greeted him, sitting beside him, smiling.

“I remember that I…” he began, and, seized by a bad feeling, pulled back the sheet.

Under the bandage there was nothing but the memory of what had once been. The submissive stared at that spot, eyes wide, unable to process it. He looked for Vera, but the mistress wasn’t there; she had gone to attend another session and, according to the note they had left her, she would return later to apologize. The apprentice, the note said, had struck too viciously the first time.

It took him a while to take it in. This couldn’t be happening to him; it had to be a nightmare he would wake from sweating, like so many others. Then he heard the door. Daniela was still there, standing, wrapped in a robe. She gave him a smile that chilled his blood. Slowly, almost coquettishly, she removed the half-mask.

The submissive recognized those eyes. It was the same girl who years ago, on the crowded public transport, used to press herself against him and brush against him shamelessly in the crowd. The same one he had never dared to look in the face. Now she wore red hair, but the gaze was identical.

“Enjoy the rest of your life thinking of me,” she said with a little laugh, before turning around and leaving.

And there he stayed, crying silently on the bed, remembering how he had gotten to that point. For being eager. For giving himself over. For being a dog and a submissive.

***

As I always say: this is pure fiction. And it’s dedicated to a very patient reader.