Julie checked her stockings again; a new pair was always tricky, like a new client. She had the routine down, but well-worn instincts and two years of applied skill couldn't be exchanged for a startling first impression. 

Yes, she knew what the man would say. Julie had made her quick mental notes during this client's initial consultation, she knew what he wanted, how far he could be pushed during the scene. But there had been times when Julie caught just the slightest odd scent of the leather, or spied the shine from a chain in just a certain way, or a client's prick would bend in just the same direction Michael's had and she would be slapped back in memories to that fucking night. It didn't happen often, but when it did Julie usually had enough of her conscious Dominatrix defenses to block the memory, but why take a chance? 

Last thing Julie needed was to be back-peddling and stammering through a session. A client caught even the slightest wave of detachment, and no amount of Internet advertising or good references would help. Bad news traveled fast in the SM network. So with fishnets smooth, and seams straight, short leather skirt tight around her nothing waist and soft, silk blouse low-cut and full, Julie knew she could always divert any client for the brief seconds it would take her to regain composure if Michael's ghost did decide to metaphorically walk through her door. 

Julie was well prepared when the buzzer sounded. He was a tall guy named Ben, at least that's what he told her his name was. He had a deeply marked face, as if acne had been a close companion during his adolescence. His deep-set blue eyes showed neither intelligence nor stupidity, he simply stood in her doorway as he had a week earlier, curly-haired head bowed, and big, thin hands interlocked at his waist. 

"Thank you for seeing me," Ben said. 

Julie nearly fainted. Julie’s worst fears were suddenly made real. She was transported to another place in time in her mind's eye, to that night last night with Michael.

Michael was lying in her lap. Julie had just finished implanting the dildo in her boyfriend's lubricated anus. Rubbing her bare thighs against his hardening cock, she smiled as she felt the usual wetness form around her snug G-string. 

"Stand," she said, as Michael carefully did so. 

"Turn around," Julie demanded, as Michael slowly spun to present his erection. 

"Over to the bench," she demanded, standing and then grabbing his manhood with her right hand. Julie walked Michael across the loft to his old weight bench. 

"Tie everything," Michael whimpered as Julie released him to sit on the thin black cushion. 

"You sure?" Julie asked. 

"Just do it," Michael demanded, as he lay back slowly. 

Michael's dark-colored cock stood straight up in the air as he sat hard on the dildo inside him. Julie just loved seeing her boyfriend so excited, she would do anything to get him like this and keep him like this. 

Julie didn’t have a problem spanking Michael, and spankings had quickly led to whippings. Again, she could see how turned-on Michael became and his pleasure was also her pleasure. She’d loved watching Michael's cock grow as she teased his anus with her finger, then introduced the dildo (at his urging of course). She’d even enjoyed lubricating her boyfriend's fat penis to fit the tight leather ring he’d bought. She delighted in pulling his testicles through that little sheath of which he was so fond. But Julie was terrified of where this particular night was leading. She was scared to death of ropes, chains, or straps. She herself hated to be immobilized, and it frightened her when Michael wanted to be. As with everything else, Julie complied with Michael's desires. 

"Mistress Julie?" Ben asked. 

Ben was standing a foot from her, his lanky arm reaching out as Julie stood swooning from the vivid recollection. 

"I..." Julie stammered. 

She had to find a foothold here, she had to regain control or the session would be lost. She didn't dare even think about how long she had been away, lost in the memory. She had to push Michael back in her mind, to that little room, where that night always lay. 

"I expect my slaves to kiss my heels first thing on seeing me," Julie replied.

"It just looked like you were..." Ben started, but Julie leveled him with her toughest stare.

"I'm glad you are concerned for my welfare slave," Julie began, standing fully now and away from Ben's touch. "As you should be. But that still doesn't excuse you not kissing my heels." 
Ben looked once at her, lowered his head, then quickly knelt on the cold kitchen floor. Julie produced one shiny stiletto in front of the other as her new client puckered his lips and kissed the offered shoe.

"Good," Julie said, looking down at the man's silver-black hair.

"Now stand and strip," she ordered, walking to the high-backed wooden chair in the center of the room. 

She sat demurely, coaxing her short black skirt up over her taut thigh, exposing a only hint of the garter and-stocking beneath. "Come on. Come on. The longer you prolong this, the worse it will be for you." 

"Sorry," Ben said peeking out from under the right sleeve to add, "Just a second. Just a second." 

Another strong flash hit Julie's brain as she was taken back to Michael, to that dreadful night from which she felt she’d escaped, but never had. 
 
 

"Just a second," Michael said, as he tried to maneuver his soft butt on the bench. 

"Lay on it, now," Julie weakly demanded and Michael groaned as he pushed his ass firmly down on the bench. He was smiling deliciously; the wetness between Julie's legs increased as she watched his pleasure.

Without speaking, Julie deftly cuffed Michael's hands overhead to the heavy barbell that lay suspended between the arms of the weight bench. It worked so much better for Michael, and for Julie, to use as many every day items as possible, as with the weight bench and the very real handcuffs Michael purchased from his friend, a cop. Michael said it added a sinister nature to the ordinary items. Julie just enjoyed the salacious pleasure she felt when staring at the bench, or the stool in the kitchen where Michael often lay as she stood upon him. They lived their normal, everyday life around items they used in their sadistic play.

Michael's breathing deepened as Julie raked her way down his muscular, tan body with her short, sharp nails. Coming to the two straps at the end of the bench, Julie quickly bent to bring them up and around Michael's ankles. Julie worked quickly, staving off the dread she knew she would be feeling if she really thought hard and long about what it was she was doing here.

"Lay your ass down!" Julie barked, her anxiousness adding to her feigned temper. If Michael thought it genuine, all the better. She smacked her boyfriend's cock as he lay flat and the dildo fed into him even deeper. 

"The hood," Michael cried. "Please, the hood." 

"Almost, ready," Ben sighed, struggling with his left pants leg. 

Had Julie been in present mind for the past minute she might have laughed at the sight of this big guy in pale blue boxers, hoping around.

Jesus, Julie thought, what the hell was happening here? She never, ever, had flashes this intense. Occasionally she would recall a fleeting moment of bliss, or if she allowed herself, a moment of real heat between her and Michael, but never anything like this. She smiled quickly at her client, standing to shake off the last reverie. 

"Everything," she said when Ben stood still wearing socks and underwear. 

The man complied and Julie was pleasantly surprised at the man's naked physique. In these two years she had seen plenty of sorry male bodies; minuscule pricks, or balloon flapping-guts, or a combination of  both, at times. This lanky guy had a good, strong frame, a bit on the lean side, but he had definition, and his prick was a bit long, not too veined, and probably thick enough for a medium-sized cock-ring. 

"Turn around." Julie walked across the tiled floor painfully slowly so he would hear every last click of her heels.

"Now, I don't care about how hard you are," Julie growled in Ben's ear. "I don't care that your fat prick is ready to explode. I don't care that you want to grab my big tits, or that you'd just love to lick my hot pussy... and it is hot baby, I can promise that." 

"All I care about," Julie stopped. She stood back and brought her open left palm across Ben's ass hard, "is that you get the beating you deserve!" With this Julie procured a small cat-o-nine-tails, swishing the instrument in the air between her and Ben's quivering butt. 

Ben was doing his best not to move; Julie had to give him credit. She was rubbing her thighs against his prick vigorously, and even with the condom on him, Julie knew he could still feel her rough fishnets. The spanking would be brutal.

"Twenty more," she soon announced, continuing the open-handed assault. 

Ben's tight, white skin was a scarlet battlefield now; she had used the cat, a tawse and most recently her hand on him. He had told her what he had wanted was a spanking, a long, torturous one, and Julie had spent the better part of this hour trying to fulfill her client's wishes.

"Get up," she softly ordered, slapping the man below her one last time. Ben slowly stood. "Maybe I should give you the last five where you need it most," Julie laughed, reached across and smacked Ben's purpling penis with her open hand. 

"Ah," the man said, and gulped as Julie drew her hand back for another swat.

"I..." Ben stammered. 

"What?" Julie asked, turning back to him. "Don't you like this? Don't you like me smacking your nice, big cock?" Again Julie smacked, a bit lighter this time; a quick flick of her wrist to the center of the man's shaft. Ben leaned forward and breathed deep. 

"No more, please," he pleaded.

"Had enough?" Julie asked, raising her hand again. 

"Yes, yes. I..." Ben tried. Faking motion in her open palm, Julie chuckled as the man held his breath.

"Get out," Julie said. "Sissy boy, can't even take a few swats on your cock?" 

"I..." Ben tried again, not moving his position. "I was wondering, if..." 

"What were you wondering, sissy boy?" 

"I’ll give you another hundred, if you... you, tie me down?" Ben stuttered. He lifted his head and stared straight at Julie.

Christ, she thought, his eyes were the same murky green and brown mess Michael's had been.

"Please," Ben pleaded, fell to Julie's feet and began kissing her heels again.

"Please," Michael said as Julie fumbled with the leather hood.

"I... I," Julie said to Ben.

"I... I," Julie said to Michael. 

"Just do it, goddammit!" Michael yelled. 

It was all Julie could do to make it home in time from school; sprinting from class, undressing and then redressing into her tight leather bodice, five-inch heels and open halter. If Michael found the least bit wrong, a lace untied, buckle forgotten, nipple exposed, he'd brood the rest of the night, and Julie would never get close to his dark smell or his thick cock. Michael's need wore off quickly when he became this agitated. No amount of recovered demanding, whipping, yelling, could bring the scene back once it was lost, and it was in danger of being lost now.

"Just do it, goddammit!" Michael yelled.

Julie spread the tight leather of the mask as wide as she could, and placed it quickly over Michael's head. Thick sweat formed on her upper lip as she pulled. Julie furiously fitted the open zipper over Michael's mouth.

"Close it," he demanded, his hips rising and falling as he rode the rubber phallus stuffed inside his anus.

"Michael," 

"Do it!" he shouted as best he could from under the hood. Julie smacked the zipper shut and lowered her mouth to Michael's throbbing penis. 

"Hundred and fifty?" Ben asked, groveling at Julie's feet.

She hadn't noticed before, but this man had two cowlicks to the front of his scalp, nearly in the very same spot Michael once had. 

"Please," Ben pleaded, "I may never get the nerve to do this again." 

"All right," Julie heard herself say.

This was not how a scene was supposed to go: no new rules, no unknowns, from the client. No fucking surprises. Surprises led to confusion and miscommunication and maybe harm, or even death. Real death. Not just bleeding. Not just pain. Not welts, or discomfort, or tears. But lights-out, over-and-out, an exit this life, run-out-of-the-apartment-with-just-one-suitcase-through-a-noisy-neighborhood-that-never-knew-you-anyway-and-never-saw-the-two-of-you-together-get-a-bus-ticket-forget-school-DEATH! 

"Get up," Julie said, and the man before her stood.

"Great," he sighed, his cock bobbing in the tight condom, "Great."

"Great," Michael exhaled, as Julie unzipped.

"Can we stop now?" she stammered. 

"Are you fucking kidding?" Michael spat. "Do it again, and this time I don't care how much I moan, keep that fucking zipper closed." 
"But honey," Julie tried. "I'm really afraid. Let me just push the dildo and..."

"No, fucking no!" Michael growled. "The dildo is boring, you are fucking boring if you don't fucking zipper this thing and do exactly as I say!" 
Julie reached over and slowly re-zippered the mask.

"I tie as tight as I see fit," Julie said, securing the knot on Ben's left wrist. It had been a long time since she had used these ropes. She'd had a client who liked to be tied to a chair and made to watch as she walked around the apartment naked. It wasn't a usual scene, but Julie obliged the older gentleman since she knew him well, and he paid double for her time.

Try as she did to be an all-service Dominatrix, Julie did her best to steer scenes away from any type of bondage. Many clients wanted it, but Julie had an arsenal of good strong paddles and whips she liked to use on standing, non-bound men. In fact, that was slowly becoming her trademark. She would make a man stand in the center of a room, get him to bend and grab his ankles and take his punishment unrestrained. She felt it taxed nerves so much more to have only ones' will and resolve to rely on, rather than ropes. 

"There," Julie said, looking down at the still body of Ben. He was bound to her high-backed chair, legs secure around the chair's legs, arms pulled tightly around the chairs' sides, hands tied behind the chair's back.

"I don't want to be able to see," Ben said, his erection bobbing even more in his lap now.

Julie went to her dresser and produced a heavy, red headband she used for just these occasions. She had nothing against blindfolding. 

"I'm going to take off all my clothes," she teased, pulling the band across John's eyes and tying it in his thick hair. 

"Oh! Yes, yes," Ben agreed. 

What the hell, Julie thought, unzipped her skirt and let it fall to her heels. She adjusted the garter, smoothed her stockings across her legs, then walked over to the man. 

"See what you're missing," she said, picking up the right side of the man's blindfold. She stepped a foot in front of him, turned and then bent over, showing him her long legs stretching way up to her round ass. Julie then turned to face her client and grabbed each breast through her black lace bra.

"Like it?" she asked, then placed the blindfold back over his eye.

"Oh, God! God!" he groaned.

"Gag me, gag me," he suddenly demanded.

Dammit, she knew it! Get them this far and they will always push for more. The old fear was creeping into Julie's head; the door to that little room in her memory opening slowly with a tight squeak. She should have just had Ben leave when he first demanded more. She should have stopped when she first felt memories of Michael. But Julie had to admit, this was turning her on. For the first time, in a very long time, she was wet during a scene. Maybe her sexual arousal was simply masking her fear, but something about this guy, his low liquid voice, his cock that never wavered, was getting to her.

What can this hurt? Julie asked herself, as she walked over to her dresser again. He can easily breathe through his nose.

"There you go, sissy boy," Julie stuffed another headband into Ben's mouth.

He bucked wildly, and his cock seemed to grown even harder. Julie stood back, at least five feet, almost to her door. Intuitively, she knew Ben wanted her to verbally tease him. She thought to taunt him with descriptions of what he looked like, maybe even to lift the blindfold again, or better yet, to smack his cock again. But Julie couldn't move. Despite her near nakedness and the cool October outside, Julie was drenched in a sweat that pooled in her high cleavage, that dripped down her back. For what she saw as she looked at this bound, gagged and blindfolded new client in front of her was no longer Ben, the client, but Michael; pure, real, unadulterated Michael.

Julie knew, in her logical mind, that this had to be some guy named Ben, but Michael's hooded head was suddenly interchanging with Ben's puffy gagged one. Julie watched in horror as Michael's face flipped from Ben's, then flipped back to Michael's.

"You have to let go," Julie heard Michael's voice say impossibly from the gagged mouth of the man writhing before her.

"Let go." He said it in such an even tone, Julie had trouble believing it wasn't Michael before her.

"Michael, I..." Julie tried, but the sobs were choking her.

"I wanted it," he continued. "I pushed. It was all my fault."

"I didn't want you to die," Julie managed.

"I know," he agreed. "But you think you wanted it."

Julie's deepest fear opened the door wide, ran from that room in her mind and jumped down the stairs to confront her. Yes, it was so goddamned true! Julie knew from the first time Michael lay suffocating in his hot, leather hood, his erection never abating, that she would never again travel any sexual highway with Michael unless it involved this dangerous game with the hood. Every need of Michael's had escalated thus far, why would it stop here? 

"I was dead even before I died that night," he continued. "I thought our games would help me to feel. I had stopped feeling a long time before that." 

"I am sorry for the pain," he said and suddenly the image of the mask began to fade.

Julie did believe she had somehow deliberately killed Michael. She feared her subconscious had caused her to stall, maybe an extra second too long, in opening the zippered hood to release Michael in time to save him from his death. Julie feared she had killed her boyfriend because she knew she could never bring herself to play this game again, and subsequently, she'd never be able to keep him.

"No!" Julie cried and ran toward the bound body, kneeling.

"I've searched and searched for you. I have come so far. I have come here, used this man, to tell you how sorry I am, and to convince you to forgive me... and to forgive yourself."

Julie cried as the last smidgeon of Michael's masked face receded into Ben's gagged one. She felt like puking, but only dry heaves were burning in her throat as she tried desperately to dry her eyes. Julie felt open, her breathing long and deep, as if the coiled rubber band that had waited in her body since that evil night with Michael, was now loosed and for the first time in two years. 

She looked up at Ben's hard cock and stood, stepping forward. She eased her way into the man's slightly open legs, brushing against his inner thighs with her legs. Reaching under herself, Julie peeled the soaked black G-string out of her thick lips. Julie raised herself, spread her legs and mounted her client. Ben gasped three quick "humph-a-humps" as Julie released herself to him fully. 

 Copyright © 2001 Ralph Greco. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post.