Mistress Hannah

Mark looked up from his cup of coffee, and his eyes fell on hers yet again.
"It was nice of you to come along" he said calmly "If I'm honest, I didn't expect to have any company this evening".
The girl looked at him, with a smile, as she took a sip from her own cup.
"My pleasure" she said with a wink.
For Mark, it was indeed an unexpected evening. Heavy snow had fallen and the city was in chaos. The News channels reported nothing else, just choked up highways, and no look of any let up. This of course meant the airports were closed too, and that meant the end of Mark's chances of getting home. So for another night, he would be staying in Downtown DC.
That morning, he had looked up anyone he knew in the area. Facebook, Twitter and Fetlife all exhausted, the only familiar name on his netbook, was a 'Mistress' he had spoken to regular, only few months ago. He'd scanned her profile, with little hope. The girl he had been quite friendly with, had grown up, and seemed to be working professionally in a swanky downtown Dungeon. Professional Dommes never really impressed him, he'd always thought there was something false about them, and that they were more interested in a guys wallet than the actual kink. But a coffee with an attractive woman, was definately more preferable to another night alone in a hotel bar.
"I saw your website, very fancy. So how are you finding it, mixing kink with business" he asked.
"Its easy, when you love what you do. But so restricting sometimes. Sometimes you want to take that lawyer and rip his ass to shreds with a cane, but if hes only paid to worship a heel, then thats all you can do. So much for Mistress being in control".
Hannah didn't strike him as the kinda girl who would make a very good Pro. He'd re-read all their MSN conversations, and she had always had a very clear opinion of what she wanted, and Hannah's desires went far further than just "having a heel worshipped". For a girl in her 20's, Hannah was a vicious bitch, with a cruel streak that he had no doubt was genuine. He tried to imagine her "enjoying" a heel worship scene, but couldnt see it. A heel in someones throat, was much more her style.
"I'm not gonna lie to you Mark, the professional scene is too tame for me, but the money is good, $500 an hour to have my apartment tidyied by an Airline Pilot in a dress".
Mark laughed, picturing the scene. It wasnt hard to imagine Hannah having her house tidied by some slave. She looked just like she did in the pictures she had sent. An intimidating girl, with subtle but dark black makeup, and a seductive smile. A femme fatale if ever there was one. Had she been wearing a corset, and not a faded Guns & Roses tshirt, she'd have looked right at home as a Mistress. But even without it, she looked like she could walk over anyone.
Mark laughed
"$500 an hour? To be allowed to clean an apartment? Thats crazy, but perfect for you, I guess. Good money and no chores. How much for the heavy stuff I know you crave... How much to just kick the shit out of someone, to grind those heels of yours into their face"
He wasn't planning on a session with her, but he was intrigued by the dark-haired beauty before him. He was curious, though he knew he couldn't afford it. He'd seen the prices on her shiny website. Hannah, (Or Mistress Scorpion" as she advertised herself) was an expensive luxury, a luxury he couldn't afford. Even by professional standards, this girl was very expensive.
She laughed.
"I suspected there was a reason you called me... Men rarely just want a Starbucks... I learned that pretty quickly after I got the Dungeon... So go on, tell me what you want, and we'll discuss a price later"
She winked again, and licked the last remnents of chocolate foam from her blood red lips.
"Talk to me..." she purred "Tell me what you are hiding"
(there you go, theres your opening, I might write more, but I want your input too. Reply to this message with how you would respond to that question)

He was put on the spot. He hadn't been prepared for that question at all, and he stumbled over his words
"Well, err... its like on my profile... I kinda like, err need, well...."
His voice tailed off. He'd answered poorly and he knew it. He just couldnt seem to find the words. The look on her faced said it all, Hannah was not impressed.
She didnt speak, she just scribbled something on their coffee receipt and slammed it onto the glass tabletop in front of him. The noise attracted a few curious glances from the other drinkers, but they soon turned away.
With a low, and ice cold tone, the raven haired dominatrix spoke. Her words would cut through him, making him both excited and nervous at the same time.
"Theres the address... 11pm, if you're serious that is..." Her words were a command. There was clearly no negotiation. He didnt really think being up late was a good idea, he was flying back thenext day. But he looked her up and down. She was simply stunning, as she threw on a long black coat.
"How much though, I really can't afford...."
She cut him off and turned away as she spoke, heading for the doorway.
"You'll pay...." she snarled "but not with your wallet"

Mark left Starbucks with ten thousand questions on his mind. He'd talked to Hannah online, and for a few minutes in Starbucks, yet she was in his every thought. He wrestled with his options. He knew he should run away, Hannah was clearly no ordinary Mistress.
He re-read her profile when he got back to the hotel. She was a terrifying character, with pictures to match. He flicked through them slowly. Men under her heels, bruised, bloodied and battered men, even guys with nooses around their neck. The pictures terrified him, but he couldnt turn away.
Pouring himself a cold beer, he came up with a plan. It made sense to him. He'd go to the dungeon, make the appointment and talk to her. She was a pro, he knew how the pro-scene worked. The sub paid the money, the sub bought the service, The customer was always right? There would be a formal negotiation, and definately a safeword. What could go wrong.
He smiled as he thought it over...'yeah, why not... she might be an extremist, but he could safeword, leave and never speak to her again. He lived miles from here... what did he have to lose?
So with 11pm approaching fast, he hurried down a side alley, just off one of the busy streets of DC. The bars were empting on an icy saturday night. He was just one of many who passed by an in conspicuous red door.
It would have been an easy place to miss, just a single red door. A door wedged between a Subway and a closed liquor store. He pressed the intercom, and looked at his watch. He was calm, and quite excited as he awaited a voice.
A cold wind whistled down the alley, and something in his mind changed. Maybe it was the whirr of the motor, as CCTV camera locked its lens onto him. He was being watched and it made him very nervous. Mark looked around at the alley, and suddenly felt very alone, and worryingly vulnerable.
'You may enter' came a fuzzy female voice. The cheap intercom distorted it wildly, but he was sure it wasnt Hannah.
There was a soft clicking sound, as he pushed the door open......

The door swung open easily, and he peered inside.
'Hello?' he called, expecting someone to be on the other side. But there was no-one there. Just a dimly lit, and intimidatingly steep stairway. There seemed like fifty steps, each one covered in deep black carpet. It was narrow too, only a few inches wider than he was, and he couldn't help but notice the blood red curtain at the top of it.
But what really caught his attention, was the art work. Each wall had several framed pictures, and each picture showed scenes of torture and suffering. Some seemed ancient, men on crucifixes.... others were realistic computer rendered scenes, but they all shared one common theme. The were all male victims, all in the throws of agony.
Mark couldnt imagine a more terrifying location, and with each step he questioned his sanity. But as quick as he doubted it, he reassured himself with thoughts of safewords and negotiation. That was what made the pro-scene what it was.
He took a deep breath, and peeled back the heavy red curtain, not sure what to expect on the other side.

Mark pulled back the heavy velvet material. He had no idea what to expect. He'd never been into a professional dungeon before, and wasn't really sure what would be lurking. Gathering his nerves, he poked his head into the room.
It wasn't anything like he might have imagined. It was a bright, well lit, and comfortable, lobby-like place. Huge leather couches, and a desk. But that wasn't really what caught his eye the most.
Sat on the desk, with her legs crossed, was a young girl, maybe in her 20's. With long blonde hair, and a typically beautiful figure, Mark could only imagine her as one of the Cheer Squad in some corny highschool comedy.
Her dress made her look all the more desirable, a little black creation, seductive, tidy, and short, but without a hint of sluttiness to it. He stumbled for his words, as she got to her feet. Balancing perfectly on low heels.
"err..." he stammered "I'm here to see..."
She cut him short, with a violent lash of her tongue.
"I know exactly who you are hear to see, you stupid piece of shit"
Mark was stunned, and lost for words. He had expected at least a 'hello' from the angel that stood before him. Yet again he didn't know what to say, her attitude had killed any memories of how he had planned to introduce himself.
The girl approached him. "Dont you know how to behave, didn't you read the fucking rules?"
She kneed him hard in the balls, and he doubled over in agony and fell to the floor.
"Rule one..." she sneered "Even female slaves are above you, and are to be treated as superior"
He looked up at her will tears welling up in his eyes. He was shocked to notice her broad leather collar, and shiny brass padlocks, the marks of a slave. And yet here she was, putting him, an intelligent man, firmly in his place. She certainly didnt seem to be so submissive.
She slapped him hard, without warning, turning his pale cheek a bright shade of red.
"Rule 2 - You never look a woman in the eye. You aren't worthy to gaze on our beauty"
He immediately dropped his gaze, and began to wonder just what the hell he had got himself into. Where was the delightful Miss Hannah, and where was the consent, where were the safewords. He was on the verge of getting up and just leaving, when something fell on his lap.
Fearing for his own fate at the hands of the teenage bitch that towered over him, he didnt even look directly at it, just a sly glance. It was an expensive envelope. His name was written on it, in fancy, calligraphic writing.
"Come on pervert... read the fucking letter". She spat at him. Mark was getting annoyed. This kinda treatment had never been part of the deal. But what choice did he have? Even if he did go downstairs, he'd probably need this devil girl to open the lock. It simply had to have been her voice on the intercom. Trembling, he opened the envelope, and his eyes danced from line to line.
"Dear Mark.
If you are reading this, then you are standing on the edge of my world. In front of you, is a door, which is the boundary of fantasy and reality. You are free to leave now if you desire. Ask Melissa nicely, and she will show you out. You can return to your hotel, and jerk off over the fantasy of what might have been.
Or you can cross the line, into my realm, and experience the reality. I am very real Mark...
So make your choice...
Mistress Hannah
xxx
P.s. I would be very nice to Slave Melissa if I was in your position, she can make your time here very uncomfortable"
He chuckled at the last line. "Bit late for that warning" he thought, as he felt the bruising start to form on his balls. He read the letter again, making sure he hadnt missed a line, before it was rudely snatched from his hand.
"Gonna chicken out on us are ya? Go on, beg to be allowed back outside..." and she laughed. Mark felt very very uncomfortable.
Marks discomfort had quickly become irritation. He'd come here to see Mistress Hannah, not to be pushed around by some highschool dropout. He gained a little confidence and stood up to the girl.
"Look, you can drop the fucking act. I'm here to see Hannah, and I'm getting sick of your shit".
He was sure it would work. Pro-dommes were usually just exceptionally good actresses. But it didnt seem to work. Melissa grabbed him by the hair and pushed him up against the wall. Despite the fact she wasn't very tall, she had a surprising amount of strength. She also had viciously sharp nails, because as her one hand grabbed his hair, the other was round his throat. Her talons clawing into his neck.
She put her face right up to his.
"Oh you are gonna fucking regret what you just said"
She brought her knee up, sharply into his balls. He tried to fall forward, but melissa had a vice like grip on him. Her fierce eyes focissed on his, as he winced in agony. Then she let him drop.
Mark fell to the floor and curled in a ball at Melissa's feet. His face just inches from the low heeled black courtshoe that she was wearing. But he didnt notice that too much, his eyes locked shut as he squirmed in pain.
He also didnt notice that the girl had stepped back, taking something from the draw of the desk. She slipped it over his head, and felt it tighten. Tighter and tighter.
It was the unmistakable smell of fresh leather, and its cool texture tightened against the flesh of his face. He tried to shake it off, but it was no good, Melissa had clearly done this little act many many times.
Then the tightening sensation reached his neck, as he felt his collar tighten. He couldnt see, as the hood had no obbvious eyeholes, and he could barely hear a thing. only his own breath, and heartbeat.
So he had no idea where he was being taken when he felt the leash pull on his collar. But he had no choice but to follow. He was actually scared of the girl now, and had no idea where Hannah was. Questions ran through his head time and time again. Surely this was all just a staged game. Things where surely to change.
Melissa though, was showing no mercy. she tugged hard on the leash, and led him deeper into the building. He staggered along behind her, blindly following. They made a few disorientating turns, then he heard the faint thud of a door shutting. The hood depriving him of the sounds of the outside world. A leatherbound prison of his own.
She removed his clothes, one item at a time. His shoes were tossed aside, and his shirt nearly ripped from his back. He offered little protest, he simply couldnt. His senses removed, he just had to comply, and hope that the blonde haired bitch might go easy on him.
He stood, barefoot and topless. She'd allowed him to keep his jeans, but that was about it. Then there was more leather. Thick heavy straps attached to his ankles and wrists. He didn't however see the chains they were attaached to. Long thin black chains, which went from each wrist, bfore disappearing up into the cavernous roof of the dungeon. His ankles were also bound, to a heavy iron plate on the floor. Escape would be near impossible. The cuffs were rough, tight and surprisingly uncomfortable. Mark had been bound before, but never with anything like this. He began to panic.
Sensing his panic, Melissa removed the hood. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dark a little, he saw his surroundings for the first time.
The room was terrifying, and unlike anything he had seen. It was a large cavernous place, in the roof arches of the building. Deep purple walls, and a cold black wooden floor. A highly polished floor, so clean that he could almost see his reflection in it. On the wall, hung an impressive collection of chains and ropes, cuffs of all colours. He tried to look around, to see more, but he wasnt sure he wanted to. A few feet in front of him, was something that made him want to scream. A highly polished table, on which lay a variety of devious looking devices. He recognised many of them from the websites he visited. Some he knew looked worse than they were, but some would be deadly. There were knives, scalpals, and a scary looking collection of clamps and clips. Then there was the 'ball crusher', and many more. He was terrified, vulnerable and lost for words.
Melissa however seemed to be having a great time. She stepped right up to her prisoner, and ran two fingers under his nose. Instantly he recognised the sweet scent of a womans sex. Melissa was clearly more than just amused. She'd probably been touching herself all the way through his ordeal. She walked behind him and whispered into his ear. "I'll see you later", she purred, and he heard her footsteps recede as she headed to a door, across the other side of the room.
He was half aroused himself. Melissa had just walked all over him, in a way no other woman had. She was stunningly beautiful, and now he knew how horny she was as well. A lethal combination, and he felt his cock begin to rise.
But Melissa had one more nasty little game to play. She flicked a switch on the wall, and a hidden winch began to draw in the little black chains. Slowly but surely, Mark would notice the loose wristchains tighten, and climb into the heavens. His wrists were drawn slowly upwards, high above his head. He began to rise with them, standing on nearly the tips of his toes. Then the winch stopped. Melissa called out to him.
"Don't go anywhere"
And she laughed, and closed the door behind her, leaving him to hang there.
For Mark, he sighed. It was a relief that the bitch had gone. But at the same time he had no idea what would happen next. he was totally helpless, in a strange place, and with no guarantee of what was to come. What was worst of all though, was his position.
He looked at his wrists. Melissa really had made his life uncomfortable, just as Hannah had warned him in her letter. His cuffs were made of the roughest, most amateur construction he had ever seen. Real primitive, tough leather, so rough that it chaffed his skin. It hurt like hell.
Trying to relieve the agony in his wrists, he took his own weight on his toes, but that was no better. Agonising, shooting pain flew through his body, and he soon relaxed, and hung there. His muscles ached under the tension, and the cuffs bit into him. This was agony in its worst form, and no sign of release.
It was only a few minutes, before the door opened again. But it had seemed like hours. Every few seconds, in search of relief, he tried to change his position.
"Impressive" came a familiar voice from behind. "My little princess has done a very good job with you..."
He knew the voice instantly, it was Mistress Hannah. Finally a chance to reason with someone, do some negotiating, and find out what the fuck was going on. The unmistakable sound of womens heels on hardwoord echoed through the chamber. he waited in nervous anticipation.
She stood behind him, he could feel her presence and smell her deliciously spiced perfume. But he couldnt even guess how far. he felt vulnerable, excited, but over all terrified. His mind rushed back to the pictures he had seen on her website. He began to wonder just how much consent those guys had given. Maybe he wasnt the first, maybe his picture would be up there. he shuddered at the thought, as the brutal images flooded his mind.
"Cold?" she said in a tone that matched the word itself.
With all that had happened, and in all his discomfort. Mark hadn't noticed the temperature in the room, but it was cold. Very cold actually. And of course, he only had his pants to offer any protection from it.
"A little" he replied through tightly clenched teeth. He shuffled to find a more comfortable position, those rough cuffs biting into his wrists again.
She laughed, but only very quietly.
"What I find so amusing about you Mark, is that you are in a position that no-one else has ever been in. Every other man who has walked through that door, has had a good idea of what I would do to them. They have agreed everything in advance, from what I will wear, to what names I can call them. You however, have no idea what will happen to you"
There was a silence, while Mark began to think about this. It was certainly true. They hadn't discussed a single issue. And more worryingly, it didnt look like he was going to get that chance.
"Its all an act" he tried to convince himself. "Any minute now, shes gonna let me down and get me to sign a disclaimer or something".
The silence continued. He shuffled in his bonds again, the weight of his body on his toes, once more too much to bear.
"you see Mark, I have to be honest with you now. I don't care much for men. I don't like the way they think, the way they look, or the way they smell. In fact, you could say I hate men. This little dungeon is my way of getting revenge on them. And you... are my next victim. Another one who will suffer for his kind".
"another one?" - his heart raced at the very thought of the words. So he wasn't the first? And "suffer", another word that went through him like a dagger. For the first time, it dawned on him... he wasn't here for his own enjoyment, he was here for hers. And he hadn't even seen his tormentress yet. This wasn't what he wanted, yet it had been a fantasy of his for years.
There was that silence again, but just as he got the courage to speak up, she cut in.
"I know you aren't a masochist Mark, but I know you can take pain... or at least you claim you can. That of course, will be put to the test... But remember, I can always inflict more than you can take, no matter how tough you prove to be".
he shuddered again, her every word was repeated in his mind.
"BITCH" she shouted, without any prewarning. Mark snapped back into the real world, his mind and senses overloaded. The thoughts were so overpowering, he barely recognised Melissa, his former torturer, as she entered the room.
She strutted in from a door in front of him. But this was a very different girl to the blonde goddess he had seen before. She had changed dramatically. GOne was the expensive, but seductive black dress. She now wore a comples network of leather straps, a harness that covered her flesh, exposing her breasts and pussy. She also wore incredibly high heels, at least 6inchers, but maybe more. He wondered if perhaps they hurt as much as his feet did. Her eyes were lowered at first, but when she saw Hannah, they went wide.
"No Mistress... please..." she pleaded. Her voice in sheer terror and desperation. "Not that... anything but that..."
It tailed off, and Mark began to panic. What had this girl seen behind him, that he hadn't.
"against the wall...." came Hannahs cold response. Melissa obeyed and stood to the wall, face first. As she turned her back,Mark quivered at the sight. Her back and ass were laced with welts of all sizes and states of healing. It was clear that Melissa took a beating regular. He didnt have to think too hard about who might have been responsible.
"Jesus" he whispered to himself, as he watched the trembling girl try and balance on her heels.
The noise took Mark totally by surprise. It was loud, and sharp. Like a gunshot. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, not wanting to open them again. Surely she wouldn't have a pistol in her hand? But by the sight of Melissa's reaction, it could well be.
The crack was followed by a scream, a scream that made his blood run cold. He'd seen plenty of Dominatrix films, even starred in a few, but the sound of the scream was unlike anything he had heard. Then there was silence, and he slowly opened his eyes.
Before him, the blonde girl was slumped to her knees, clearly trying to hold back the tears. But it wasn't a gunshot wound on her back. It was a long, red streak, broken only in the places where the leather of the harness had given her little protection. The streak was slowly filling with blood. He'd never seen anything like it, and was secretly praying that there wouldn't be more to follow. Whatever Melissa had just endured, was brutal like nothing he had ever seen.
"The Russian Great Whip" came Hannah's cold, merciless voice. "Outlawed by the king after it was discovered that barons were using them on the peasants, as well as the Oxen. 12 strokes is as good as a death sentance, but if done right, it can kill in one".
Mark held his breath at the history lesson. She surely wasn't serious? But the sobbing girl was all the proof he needed....
She continued. "If the whip was used around a prisoners neck, bleeding to death was common, or strangulation is just as effective... a really cruel executioner would perhaps use both"
He shuddered at the thought. Hannah was a psychopath, he had no doubt, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He was in her grasp, he was helpless. His mouth ran dry, but he tried to speak... he just couldn't find the words. He just hung there is total silence. Except of course for the gentle sobbing of his former tormentress.
He still hadn't seen the weapon, or the woman weilding it. But he could sense her. The spicy smell of her perfume, mixed with inescapable sense of rubber and leather. And that steady click of her heel on the dungeon floor.
"you see Mark, I can't use toys like this on ordinary clients... but you aren't a paying customer... you are more of a prisoner... a real slave if you like. You can't go anywhere to tell anyone. You'll either do as you get told... or you'll suffer until you do. Get used to it".
He gulped. Still wanting to believe this was an act, but seeing the reality of it by the second. Hannah was right. She had him totally under her control, she could kill him in a second, choking him with that vicious whip, and leaving him to bleed. No-one knew he was here. He could easily be just another statistic.
"Melissa... you may leave. Go see the doctor, I want time alone"
"The Doctor?" thought Mark... "Fuck... if she has her own doctor on site, this was gonna get serious". The thought of it both reassured him, and terrified him at the same time, as he awaited her next move.
Surprisingly Hannah was more gentle with him that he could have expected. he heard the soft noise of the motor, and the strain on his tortured toes eased. Although he was now flat footed, his arms remained stretched above his head.
Then came the touch. A soft, but slightly cold feeling around his right ankle. He lowered his head to see her gloved fingers, loosening the chain to the restraint. The shiny black, almost oily pvc clad fingers loosened the clasp, and for a second or two, he sighed in relief that at least part of his body was free.
He considered his action. As the chain was withdrawn, his anger boiled. He could probably take a lucky swing with his foot. If he hooked it back she would probably be down low. Some small revenge perhaps.
But he thought better of it. Even if he did manage to make contact, it would be futile. There was no escape from the bonds, and he really felt that angering her wouldnt be a clever move. So he stayed in silence. He'd seen enough war movies to know that that surviving in Vietnam or Iraq, relied on getting the timing right. This was not the right time.
At least he had seen her, although only a few inches of shiny fingertip. Which led his thoughts to wonder how else she might be dressed. One of the things he had remembered from her website, was just how versatile the Mistress was. In one picture she would seem like some innocent girl, in others she was almost nazi-like, and in some she seemed strangly vampiric. In others, she just looked fierce and cruel, adorned with spikes and harsh black leather. He suspected that this was the image he would be treated with, if of course he ever got the privilidge of seeing his tormentress.
She seemed to take a while. She never spoke, but occasionally Mark would hear the sound of something being prepared, or the echo of heel on floor. Each second added to his fear.
Then came that sensation on his ankle. her gloved hand grabbed it roughly, but the sensation of the cold pvc was what really grabbed his attention. He offered no retaliation, and allowed her to do as she pleased. Maybe if he showed some compliance, she might go easy on him. Making her angry was clearly the fastest way to being torn open by that whip of hers. He shivered at the thought.
Hannah noticed the shiver. "Scared?" she asked, in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer.
"A little... Mistress" he said tenderly, not sure how she would expect to be addressed.
She laughed a little, and held his ankle as high up to his waist as she could, his heel just inches below his beltline, the sole of his foot, parralel to the black ceiling. He balanced cautiously on one leg, awaiting what was to come. He felt her grip loosen, and instinctively went to put that foot to the ground. But it was impossible, somehow she had his right foot suspended, with little chance of movement. Any tiny adjustment causing the rough leather of the cuff to chaff with his tender skin.
There was a long, emotionless silence, followed by a strange sensation on the sole of his foot. It was gentle, almost pleasurable, with a slight tickle. Mark struggled to imagine what it could be, but wasnt sure if he liked it or not. But it did make him feel very very vulnerable.
What he couldnt see, was that Hannah had removed her glove, and was stroking the sole of his foot gently with her fingertips, a bit like you might expect someone to pet a cat. She did this for a few, hypnotic minutes, without saying a word. MArk began to relax, deciding finally that this massage-type sensation was quite pleasurable. When she stopped, without warning, he purred a little, almost pleading for more. But what he got was very different

Hannah raised the horsecrop high above her head. And brought it down with some force on the soft, exposed skin that she had just stroked. He heard the swish of it, and immediately tensed up. He'd heard of the bastinado before, even seen a view of the "real life" videos that you could occasionally view on youtube. He knew that this was real torture, and far worse than most professionals would hand out.
The pain was like nothing he had ever felt. A shockwave that tore through his body. He screamed, not thinking for one second that she might want him in silence.

"one" she called out, in a cold commanding voice, and the whip was raised high again. Mark felt physically sick....

(To be continued)