Spanking.
The Mistress, deep in slumber, stirred. Her body, smooth and sinuous as a serpent, undulated sensuously as that seemingly innocent little word wormed its way into her cerebral cortex.
The Mistress’ brain chemistry possessed a unique gift, hardwiring the language processing area of the cerebral cortex with aspects causing strong sexual arousal in the temporal lobe – most notably the amygdala, which orchestrated powerful emotions, and the hippocampus that managed her memories. And now that word triggered memories of a helpless, grateful sub draped across her elegant thighs receiving a harsh but loving punishment spanking, and the accompanying emotion is one of…loss.
Even sleeping, she was aware that she had a sub-shaped void in her life and her palm itched to rectify the situation.
Perhaps, now was the time to wake and look for another who might prove himself worthy?
Arousing fully, Kate rolled, arching her back to thrust her berry tipped breasts up to greet the early morning sun. Running her long, slim fingers over her naked skin, dipping between her shapely thighs to tease her pearl, she recalled a time, not so long ago, when she’d had a willing boy to do it for her. How she missed the feel of an eager tongue paying her lip service.
Dressing carefully in black, strappy Agent Provocateur lingerie and sheer black seamed stockings, she slipped on her nude pumps and perused her wardrobe. What to wear? Something understated but elegant. If today was the day to ensnare a new acolyte, then he would come to her. There would be that perfect moment, the meeting of two souls that instantly recognise each other, and they would just know. There was something special, sacred, about the relationship between a Domme and her sub. A mutual trust, adoration, devotion. Each dedicated to the delight of the other, be that emotional or physical, pleasure or pain. Such relationships could be intense, addictive. It was when she felt most alive.
Slipping into a soft knee-length teal wrap dress, she added a statement pendant that drew the eye to her deep, lush cleavage and swept her long, dark hair up in a loose chignon, exposing the length of her pale neck. Picking up her car keys and clutch, she was ready to leave.
Smoothly pulling her car into a parking space outside the antique shop, she stepped out then turned and bent low at the waist to retrieve her clutch from the front passenger seat, pushing her heart-shaped bottom skywards, enjoying the stretch in the muscles in her toned calves. The daily yoga was certainly paying off, she smiled. As she straightened, her mind on the Turkish rug she’d had her eye on, she didn’t see the man that she almost bowled over as she turned. His hands went out to steady her elbows as her breasts pressed against his strong chest in a tableau of intimate familiarity.
And in that moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, her hands resting against his chest, she knew. Even as he respectfully looked away, blushing as he murmured apologies in his velvety southern twang for an accident that was not of his making, Kate was already making plans.
They had already spent longer than proprietary allowed in this intimate embrace and finally Kate was the one who reluctantly stepped back. It was surprisingly difficult; the feeling of pulling away like the needle of a compass fighting the draw of a loadstone. She knew that with the appropriate tone of voice, the skilled use of polite but insistent word choice, that this man would follow her anywhere. However, that was not how she wanted to form the basis of a meaningful relationship. No, she knew that she must release him and if he followed her willingly, eagerly choosing her over his freedom, then he would be the one, worthy of her investment.
Kate smiled at the man as she stepped back, turning towards the antique shop, her high heels clicking on the pavement as she walked purposefully away, only to hear the soft brush of steps just behind her. Without turning, she continued to the shop, gratified to have a hand reach out to hold the door open.
‘After you, Ma’am.’