Objects in the Rearview Mirror

London Mistress

I’ve loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
The Old Astronomer – Sarah Williams

RUSHING out of the metro station I was met by a cold drizzle. The entire city was wet, reflections smeared into blurry colors across puddles.

I moved quickly towards the venue – the last thing I wanted was to be late. I had been invited to a private party, one of a few uncollared subs to have the privilege of serving a group of Dommes for the evening. Serving at this event was a coveted role, only the best were invited, but had to make themselves available to be used indiscriminately by the dominants, without their own preferences for attraction being considered. It was ultimate submission.

The air smelled damp and fresh, as it always did after a thunderstorm.

The air smelled damp and fresh, as it always did during a thunderstorm. Her body, linen draped curves, was naked and still, except for the gentle rising and falling of her breath. I knelt by her bed, naked, tray in hands, quietly waiting. The view from this position on the floor was divine – I always loved the shape of you.

My lady loved to wake to breakfast in bed and it was my joy to serve her in this way. The window was open and a breeze played with the drapes while lighting lit up the sky and the sound of thunder rolled through the street outside. The storm tapped out a melodic rhythm just for her – raindrops make the perfect lullaby.

Her body stirred gently, first only a twitching of her hands, followed by a sleepy cat-like stretch as she awoke. Her eyes opened and slowly took the room into focus. She smiled when she saw me, kneeling as she had taught me – my tall body folder neatly – with a tray of pancakes, strawberries and a china cup of tea. Without even sitting up, she reached out and took a strawberry, then rolled over on her back before popping it in her mouth and chewing gently. I knew from her smooth movements that she was pleased with this awakening and I was pleased to give my Mistress a great start to her day.

She reached for another strawberry and, as she did occasionally when she was feeling generous, ran it along my lips, opening my mouth with her fingers and placing it on my tongue. For a moment, I just knelt there, naked, mouth open with the strawberry balanced on top, before she gently closed it and I was met with a rush of sweet flavour.

The door to the event venue was discreet and easy to miss. Any other person walking past might have thought the building was abandoned rather than housing the secrets I was about to indulge in.

I entered and was escorted to a back room where other men were undressing in silence. We were not permitted to chat to one another – this was service, not a social meeting. I stripped naked and knelt as the Mistress of the House affixed a collar around my neck and cuffs around my wrists.

I was then escorted to the kitchen where there were trays loaded with glasses of red wine. Picking one up, I floated through the house, naked and exposed, silently offering a glass to each guest. From the glasses, the aromatic scent floated up to me.

The aromatic scent floated up to me from the glass as the waiter poured a bit of the red and waited, accustomed to those who swirl it around, breathe it deeply and take a slow sip before commenting. Instead, I looked up and gestured towards the glass to have him pour it completely. I knew this glass would be my making or undoing and there was little I could do about it.

She had asked me to choose a restaurant after she had a hard day at work – I was to meet her there in the evening. On the way, I received her message asking me to order a glass of wine for her and have it ready for her arrival. This was the beginning; we had only met twice before, but I was already infatuated – she invaded my thoughts multiple times, in all of the normal breaks and pauses in my day’s rhythm. I suspected she felt far more mildly about me. Unusually desperate to make a impact, I knew I was not the only one who wanted her time and attention.

She arrived in a swirl and I instantly stood from my seat to acknowledge her entrance. She sat across from where I stood and nodded her approval for me to sit again.

I pushed the glass across to her and watched her take a sip. It was then that I realised that I was holding my breath, but then often when I was with her, I felt there was no point in breathing. I wanted so badly to be hers – to be possessed, owned, consumed. I wanted her to have everything I had to offer – my body, my life, my soul, all exposed and vulnerable, all hers, but for now, I desperately hoped that I had chosen well from the wine list.

I knew I was being analysed by the women at the event. My nakedness laid me out in my truest honest form, now overtly considered by the ladies who discussed my shape, my arms, ass and limp cock, occasionally touching or squeezing me as if I were a fruit or a piece of meat in the supermarket. There was nothing to fortify what I had to offer in the flesh – no influence from my career status, financial prowess, tailor-cut suits that tapered my waist and broadened my shoulders, my intelligence or wit in conversation. I was reduced solely to my naked body, available for any of the ladies who wanted to use it. I both hoped and feared that I would be chosen.

Two ladies seemed to agree; too far from where I stood eyes gazing down, I could not hear what had been said, but their laughter rang out loudly and I was grabbed, not gently, and pulled into a private room.

Immediately assuming a waiting position – legs spread, hands folded behind my back, eyes gazing down – I heard the door close behind me. I hoped that they could see how well I had been trained – even though I was no longer hers, I still yearned to make her proud.

The ladies circled around me, touching me, their fingers seemingly charged with some unknown electricity that both shocked and energised me.

One of the women came before me and I could see her studying my face even as I kept my gaze averted. She looked at me as if she knew me and that we were not strangers in a strange place. With two fingers, she pushed me backwards towards the middle of the room before lying me down.

I could now see the room around me, elegant and well appointed. I was spread out on a luxurious four poster bed with sturdy hardware to affix restraints on each post.

The other woman sat next to me and slowly lifted my arms, her fingernails trailing the tender flesh on the inside of my arm, and fastened my wrists overhead. As she leaned over she kissed my neck soothingly before biting me, seemingly enjoying my sharp intake of breath.

She traced her fingers along my lips and opened my mouth, pushing them firmly inside and towards the back of my throat, probing to see how much I could take. I immediately relaxed my throat as I had practiced many times before so as not to gag. She slid her fingers out and wiped the wetness on my bare chest. My cock had already begun to stir from this rough intrusion and I willed it to be still. I wasn’t sure if my arousal would be flattering or earn me swift punishment. I could feel her body pressed against my hip, hands exploring my shape, scratching her nails over the definition in my hips, up and across my chest. She slipped a blindfold over my eyes, the rich meaty smell of the leather making me lightheaded.

The rich meaty smell of the leather made me lightheaded. She had told me to fetch my belt, which I swiftly did, pulling it out of the belt loops in my jeans with my teeth. The buckle filled my mouth with a metallic taste, like stale blood, the aftermath of a cut in my mouth. The leather tasted raw, the texture of the unfinished side soft against my tongue in sharp contrast to what I knew would follow. Using only my mouth, I folded the belt in a small pile and picked it up, crawling back across the hard wood floor to her.

I thought the punishment would be easier to take cuffed to the bed, face down, ass up; exposed, but saved from having to see her face and the disappointment she felt in me. The physical pain was not more than I could bear, while the knowledge that she was angry and disappointed in me, the fear that she would walk away and never return, smothered me, stealing my breath away.

She knew I didn’t want it – I really wasn’t one for pain, but she made me beg anyway; beg for each stroke as if it were the most delightful caresses.

Afterwards she made me stroke my cock in front of her, refusing to touch me. She looked in my eyes as they filled with the lust I did not welcome but could not control, mixed with desperation to feel her hands on me – some reassurance that I had been forgiven and she still wanted me. This distance was far worse than any amount of strikes. Watching her, watching me, yearning for her touch, but declined when I asked to feel her hands on me; desperate to ensure that connection was still intact. Always embarrassed to be keenly observed while engaging in such intimate, yet lonely pleasure, the feeling of humiliation of being watched never faded, except when she touched me as I touched myself. Starved of this affection, the feeling was almost unbearable. The lesson I learned – that no physical pain would ever outweigh that of her absence – nearly crushed me.

I could feel the weight of each of the two women lift off the bed and their steps retreating towards the door. The room was deeply silent, in the way that blackness often times has thickness. I found myself straining to hear – something – footsteps, voices from other guests, noises of a party – but the silence was complete. I lied there and time moved on – I tried to count the seconds, but I lost track and had to start over several times.

The door opened. My hearing strained to identify footsteps which were so light they were nearly imperceptible. For a moment, I thought my mind had played a trick on me and I was indeed still alone, when I felt the bed tilt gently again. My body once again felt hands on it, but differently this time, as if that person was already familiar with me and savouring my flesh at their mercy again.

I could smell it – her scent. The one that became my favorite.

I took a deeper breath.

Describing it is like trying to describe a colour… sweet, milky warmth… breath in and it floats gently back to your throat, tasting like a simple little cake and teasing you… hanging in the air like longing.

The yearning immediately rose in my chest, how much I miss the smell of her, her lips, her kiss, impossible to decouple that scent from my heart.

It was impossible to decouple that scent from my heart. In that place, where everyone smells like sweat, there was no escaping it. The sweetness of her smell was sent to me by the breeze as we walked hand in hand, but myself led a step behind.

Away together, in that sweltering, humid, bustling place, I was her pet, her slave, and her, my master.

After dining in the evening, we would return to the room and I would bathe her, cleansing her pale skin of the day’s dirt, listening to her recount moments from the day, massaging the tension from her muscles and begging to bury my face between her thighs and taste her. She did not allow me to cum such that my cock would always be ready for her desire. I stroked myself every day so the torment would build and build and would only be relieved by her when she choose to use me.

It was flawless, until the night it was not. When we discovered that one insurmountable difference that tore our relationship apart.

She was always one to handle things gracefully, directing me to stay behind at the restaurant, while I watched her walk out. I stayed at our table until they finally asked me to leave and returned to the room to find her gone, only her scent lightly in the air to know she had ever been there.

The next day, I got on an airplane and headed back. Our shared home was empty when I arrived, empty of her, her clothes, her possessions, having left only the most important one behind. So empty, it could have been that my memories of her were false and that she never existed.

I slept in our bed, this time, not asking permission as I did every night as rote, hugging a pillow that smelled faintly of her and praying for sleep to take me.

My memories played over in my head and I could almost feel her body tucked in mine, like I could just restart the song when I missed my favorite part.

I feel a petite hand stroking my body, pinching my nipples and scratching down my chest towards my cock. This time, it would not cooperate and rest easy, instead standing straight up, harder than I remembered in a long time. The touch felt familiar, but foreign as well; as if experienced with my body, but a little too rough as if touching for the first time.

I could feel the bed tilt gently again as she climbed over me, her warm thighs pressed against the outside of mine as I was straddled. My hands strained against the cuffs in an effort to touch, to explore the flesh above me, to confirm if it was indeed familiar or that of a stranger. She gracefully slid up my body until she hovered over my mouth, probing my lips with her fingers, opening them. She lowered herself down to my reach and instinctually I began gently licking and sucking her. She tightened her thighs around my head and the sounds of her pleasure were muffled. I strained to try to recognise her moaning, unsure if my mind was projecting memories on the blank canvas of this stranger’s flesh.

She then moved back down my body and, despite my best efforts to calm down, my erection betrayed me. My cock was truly no longer mine, but the possession of this strange woman, responding only to her touch. She rolled on a condom and slid down on it. She felt incredible – warm, wet and clearly happy to take her pleasure from this toy. She rode me slowly – I could feel the pressure building, but knew that I was not in danger of tipping over the edge just yet. It would have certainly been a poor show if I had cum without permission. However, when she began to move faster, it became much more difficult. Focusing my mind, I willed my cock back into my control while the waves of pleasure rolled through me.

I could feel her small hands wrap around my neck and then I felt myself becoming light-headed and my vision in the blackness turning grey, before she released her grip and I coughed and regained consciousness. She squeezed my neck again, bringing me to and from the brink multiple times, ripping control of even my own breath from me.

I felt her cum with my cock still inside, the telltale shiver through her body. She collapsed on top of me in a heap and I longed to see her face, that beautiful look as a woman cums and the peaceful aftermath as she rested. She slid me out of her, still hard, now throbbing as every touch was nearly painful. I felt the bed tilt again and heard the padding footsteps in retreat. For a moment, I thought to say something, but I could not find the words.

I lied there for another spell of time, my mind spinning, my cock throbbing, my memories threatening to crash over me.

The two women returned; I could hear their laughter although it sounded distant through my daze. They released me from the bed, removing the blindfold and tipping some water into my mouth. For a moment, I forgot to fold my hands behind my back before my training kicked back in.

The remainder of the evening was a blank, my only memory being my subtle, but acute search around the room for her shape. Each time a shadow seemed to tease, it sharpened into a stranger and I began to think that it was not her at all.

Eventually, I was dismissed back into the drizzle, streets still smeared with reflections of the city lights, and a yearning in my chest that threatened to break me down, to consume me and in some strange way, comforting, knowing that you were still with me in my heart.

I can’t stop missing you, wanting you. I just live my life in dreams of yesterday.


My writing is fueled by copious coffee and the generous inspiration of my submissive muses; if you enjoyed this story, continue to support my creativity by making a contribution or sending a tip.


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