Pantsing and Stripping Forums

[This follows on from my The Heiress Humbled series]

So, I thought, this is it. All the fault of my stepmother, Amber de Witt; and yet. Yet what?

Those of you familiar with my history (Heiress Humbled) will know how it is that I, Miss Amber de Witt, heiress to the de Witt fortune, come to be spending my summer in Paris. For most women like me, it is an opportunity to acquire some culture, some prestige and boasting rights; galleries, fashion houses, movies, everything that makes Paris the special city it is. I would, no doubt, take all of those in at some point, but for now, as I pulled up my silk stockings, attached them to my garters, adjusted my skimpy G-String and made sure that my bra gave my smallish tits some cleavage, I would be doing what my Stepmother had sent me here to do - becoming a whore.

Not too long ago, the very idea that I, the entitled and beautiful Ashley de Witt would whore myself out, would have been laughable. Those porn videos I'd watched about submissive women were just a hobby, they said nothing about me - until they did. Arrested and sentenced to community service in a women's prison, I had slipped into servitude with such ease that, as my Stepmother had commented (when she found me begging my maid, Anna, to let me "rub my cunt,") it was plain that I was "submissive."

Amber had rescued me from the degrading path my feet were on, but knowing, as she and I both did, that I craved humiliation and submission, she had decided that I should follow the path she had taken before meeting and marrying my father - become a "yacht girl," that is an escort - or in plain English, a whore.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My bra was so sheer that it might as well not have been there, but it did support and present my tits perfectly for the client. The tiny G-String was of the same material as the bra so, as so, with my hairless mons, nothing was hidden from view. As I put on the sheer open fronted robe that had been laid out on the bed, I noted it did not even cover my ass. I smiled. I looked somehow both classy and sluttish - and that was what was required of me.

The door to my room opened. A tall, black woman entered and looked at me. She was dressed impeccably in a well-tailored white suit with a white silk blouse.

"You are everything Amber said," she said, "I'm Alisha, and I run the show here in Paris, you'll do as I tell you."

Tall, commanding and looking so stern, of course, I thought, I will do whatever the fuck you tell me. I found myself saying, "Yes, Miss Alisha."

"Oh, that's good, I like that. Two generations back my ancestors were serving yours, and now, Miss de Witt, you are serving me; delicious!"

I was glad she liked it; I certainly did.

"You have the right attitude young lady. Let me check you out. Legs apart, hands on your head.

I was not sure what I had been expecting, but it was not this. That was my first lesson, assume nothing, expect the unexpected - and adapt.

I could smell her expensive Chanel perfume as she walked up to me, looking me over, appraising me.

"There is something delicious, Ashley, in seeing you like this, a well-brought up, privileged lady, dressed for business like all my other whores. I bet this excites you, doesn't it?"

Saying that, her hand patted my pussy, my G-string offered no way to conceal its wet and swollen state.

"You get off on this, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss Alisha, I do."

She spent a few moments patting my pussy, and then, suddenly, she spanked it - hard. I gasped. She did it again, and again, and again. Each time the gasps became louder. My pussy had begun to ache, my clit likewise.

"Does that arouse you, slut, being pussy spanked?"

"Yes Miss Alisha."

"It did me too, fuck, on your knees slut!"

As I knelt, she unzipped her skirt and let it pool round her feet.

"Take my panties off, using your teeth, and then put them, with my skirt, on the side."

Not for the first time, I wondered what was wrong with me, as the idea of acting as her maid and tidying up after her, added to my excitement.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, doing exactly as she told me.

"Now eat me out!"

Alisha leaned back against the wall, opening her legs. I knelt, sniffing her arousal before sliding my tongue along her smooth, dark, swollen slit; she tasted of cinnamon, with a sharp tang. Holding her thighs, I inhaled her scent, and then slid my tongue along her folds, pushing them apart so I could reach her inner sanctum. She shivered and gripped my head.

I parted her lips. Her clit was unhooded, aching for me, so I blew on her; she gripped my hair tight. I flicked her; she gasped and gripped me tighter. Forming a vacuum with my lips, I sucked on her pussy, pulling on her lips, devouring her juices. She pressed against me, pushing my head hard into her pussy.

"Fuck, fuck, bitch, you are such a good pussy licker!"

Her other words were lost to the moan that my sucking on her clit drove from her lips. Wetting my thumb in her pussy, I slid it round to her rosebud, circling it, moistening it with her own juices, as two fingers parted her inner lips to allow my middle finger to penetrate her.

"You, yes, you slut, fuck yes, fuck me!"

Easing all three fingers past her stretched walls, I curled them in, and at the same time, my wet thumb eased and pressed to stretch her rosebud to penetration point, pushing through the muscle and allowing my hand to clench, which stretched both her holes. As my thumb and fingers touched inside her, she began to tremble. I found her special place, I eased my fingers there, clenching and unclenching as I slid a fourth finger into her warm, gooey wetness.

"Oh yes, yes, you fucking bitch, yes, do it, do it!"

Whatever game she thought she had embarked upon, I knew she was now playing to my script. If she wanted to humiliate and degrade me, fine, I wanted that; but it would be on my terms, not hers.

My fingers worked inside her, my thumb now well entrenched. All she could do was to ride up and down, wanting my fingers to scratch her itch and my mouth to suck her clit. I kept up a steady rhythm, driving her to the edge, then stopping just enough to make her groan and then, when she was clenching to grip my fingers, I'd go faster again, gripping her pussy until, once more, she was moaning aloud and swearing loudly.

I felt her right on the edge, so I pushed her over it. A sudden hard lip bite on her clit, followed by a hard clench of my hand which stretched both her holes, resulted in my getting a face full of her squirt. Screaming, she gripped my head to stay upright as he pushed her hips against my face.

I let her shake, her pussy gripping my fingers and then, when her excitement began to subside, I eased my thumb out and, making a fist, pressed it into her, wrist deep. She screamed, and creamed, again.

Again, I let her calm down, and then, twisting my fist, fucked her hard again.

It was only after her third orgasm that, sensing she was spent, I slowly extracted my fist and, looking up at her said:

"I hope I pleased you, Mistress?"

She grinned.

"Fuck, you total bitch, of course you did, wow, girl, we are charging a premium for you."

She told me to clean her, which, of course, I did gladly.

"Do you kiss?"

"You, of course, Mistress."

I kissed her so she could taste herself.

"Damn, girl, I taste good!"

"You do, Mistress."

Alisha looked at me strangely.

"You enjoy this don't you?"

Smiling, I admitted to my sin.

"Get us a drink, there is some Chablis in the fridge. Come sit with me."

Strolling across to the fridge, dressed only in my underwear, I did as I had been told.

"I can't read you, Ash. You're rich, privileged, you could have what you wanted."

"I have what I want," I said.

"What, you want to be a whore?"

"Please, Mistress, we both know that I am a high-end escort for discerning women of wealth."

"There's a difference?" She asked, her interest piqued.

"Sure," I said. "Whores take whatever Johns there are, I will only work with women of my own class, who will, I am sure, get a thrill from the fact I am who I am."

"Shameless!" Alisha grinned.

"No," I said, "I'm just a spoiled little rich girl getting off on this over the summer before I go to Yale. I could use Daddy's money to pay my way, but this gets me off."

"Well, girl," she said, "I always use this audition to make an assessment, and you, you sexy bitch, you get eleven out of ten."

"Why eleven?" I asked, my interest piqued this time.

"Because you took charge at one point. Can you do that? Take charge?"

"You saw, and felt," I replied.

"Why did you go there?"

I smiled.

"Mistress, like many high-powered women, you sometimes needed to yield control, I sensed it and devoted my submissiveness to pleasing you. It did not jar or put you off, did it?"

"Quite the opposite. Well, my girl, we can make a fortune out of you, as you can too. As your stepmother will have explained, our girls are partners in this. You sure you don't want men? Your stepmom found your dad this way. You could find someone too."

"All due respect, Mistress, I am an heiress, so money is not that this is about. I like girls and want to stay with them."

"How are you with older women?"

"Why do you ask?"

"We get some older clients who like a younger girls to cater to their needs. We call them the "Sugar Mommies." You in for that?"

"Does that attract a premium?"

"Yes, a night with you would be twenty thousand dollars, any frills and other ten."

"And my share is?"

"You get forty five percent, the extra five for us covers overheads."

"Deal," I said.

And that was how the de Witt heiress became a "yacht girl."

Part 2
That night, I reflected back on my experience with Alisha - before my first "date."

I thought I had bluffed my way through pretty well, but in reflection, was I really bluffing. From the start of my venture into this world, I had always been submissive, but Alisha has been correct; I had taken control, and what is more, I had enjoyed it.

It was something I pondered while putting on my best red slip dress with a simple pearl necklace and earrings. The scoop neck suited me, hid my main defect as a sex object - my small tits, but emphasised my best, which was tight ass and nice legs. I was the "date" of a Russian diplomat called Elizabeth. She was some big shot at the Russian foreign ministry and was here for a conference; I was her "relaxation."

I waited in the lobby of her hotel. She had been sent a picture of me, and I had one of her. She was in her early fifties, a little on the heavy side with boobs to match, but the Agency wanted her to have a good time and I was the designated girl for that. The file on her was disappointingly thin - "Russian bitch," was, in its way, informative but unhelpful. Still, she hardly seemed likely to want my newly discovered ability to take charge.

My phone pinged.

“Room 413, no panties.”

I went to the lift. As I was alone, I swiftly reached under and removed the surplus item, stowing them in my handbag. There was something so deliciously slutty about going commando that I gave myself a quick feel; I was ready for her.

I reached the room. I tried the handle; it was open, so I entered.

Sitting in an armchair was the woman in the picture - minus her outer garments. Her big breasts seemed to weigh her bra down, and they appeared to be resting rather snugly on her ample tummy.

“Show me you followed orders, young woman!”

“Yes, Miss!” I followed up by unzipping my dress and letting it fall to the floor, leaving me in just high heels, stockings, and my pearls.

“Those tits are a bit small for my liking. Come here for inspection, girl!”

Well, pardon me, I thought, we can’t all have tits like cantaloupe melons. But I did as I was told. Standing there whilst she appraised me, made me shiver, and her next order made me gush.

“No panties? You are a very naughty girl. What happens to naughty, decadent girls?”

“They get spanked Miss.”

“Yes, decadents like you need some discipline. Bend over that chair.”

“Yes Miss.”

Turning, I wiggled my bum at her and parted my legs slightly as I bent forward.

“This is going to hurt you far more that it does me. I have my paddle here for bad girls.”

So saying, she speedily applied six hard slaps to my defenceless ass, three on each
cheek. The stinging had its usual effect; my pussy began to leak. Then, just when I was settling in for the pink turning to red, I felt her mouth on my arse as she sucked hard, leaving me with a bite that made me whimper even louder.

Then I felt her hand between my legs, her fingers finding and pushing apart my swollen, aching lips, as she pressed three fingers roughly into me.

“You are such a fucking wet slut, you are enjoying this, you Western whore.”

Even had I wanted to deny it, the state of my pussy told its own story.

I groaned as I felt what I took to be the end of a dildo circling and pressing into my wetness, which yielded at once.

“Fuck me, fuck your slut, Miss, please fuck me!”

She pushed it in deep, making me stand on my toes, and then spanked me again. I groaned. She kept pushing in and out, I pressed back, lost in an erotic haze and begging her to fuck me harder.

Then she stopped.

I moaned.

"Now, whore, time you pleased me."

Saying that she pulled the dildo out of me, making me gasp at the emptiness. I was being used, and there could be absolutely no doubt about the fact that I was enjoying it.

I stood, turned, and knelt, looking at her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with her panties missing. She grinned at me.

"I may give you your climax, whore, but first you will worship my pussy."

The thrill that shot through me at her words was one which confirmed my view that I was actually doing this for my own pleasure.

"Yes Miss," I whispered, submissively, falling to my hands and knees and crawling between her thighs.

"What a good girl, I did not even need to tell my pet to get on all fours. Now, slut, show me what that expensive education you had has taught you."

That she knew who I was, and was counterpoising that with my current position, just excited me more; yet another thing to ponder.

Her thighs were surprisingly slender, clearly her weight was on the upper part of her body, and, I was guessing, her ass. Get to work girl, I reminded myself.

A hand on each thigh, I lowered my face into her bush, which smelt of her arousal - and other things. Moving my hands to her pussy, I parted her pubic hair and then applied my tongue to her wetness; I was not the only one aroused by what we had been doing.

"Yes, yes, girl, push your tongue in me!"

A thought came to me. I acted on it.

Instead of going where she wanted, I decided to use an old trick, and blew on her clit, which made her moan, and, at the risk of a mouthful of hair, I then sucked on her thick, swollen lips, tasting her juices, and making her moan loudly. Then, again ignoring my instructions, I moved my tongue so that it flicked her clit, pressing her up, then sucking her out. She fell back, moaning loudly.

The dildo she'd been using on me was on the floor on top of her panties. 'What the hell? I thought.' I took it, and deciding that she was wet and open enough not to need finesse, I peeled her lips back and, even as she was moaning about wanting my tongue to fuck her, I pressed the nine-and-a-half-inch dildo into her. Lubricated as it was with my own juices, and with hers, it was easy to ram it straight in and, as she lifted her legs, to angle it so it filled her.

Her words were incomprehensible to anyone without a knowledge of Russian erotic vocabulary, but her moans spoke a universal language. I lapped at her clit each time the dildo pulled out, and left it each time I rammed it home. Getting up a rhythm, she responded.

"Fuck me, yes, yes, hard, hard, I am a bad motherfucker, take me hard."

My assumption had been as wrong as my instincts had been correct, and the harder, deeper, and faster that I fucked her, the more she showed her submissive side.

"Do you need to cum, bad mother?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, pupsik, I been a bad mommy, I wanna fuck my girl, I so bad!"

So, that was her kink, she had erotic fantasies about her daughter! I could so do that.

"Well, Mommy, your pupsik is fucking you, you are such a bad Mommy."

That had her writhing, and ignoring my tongue, her hand strayed to her clit, and she began to rub.

Fuck that, I thought, and instinctively smacked it away.

"Bad Mommies don't get to play with their clitty without asking their little pupsik, do they, bad Mommy?"

That elicited a great groan.

"No, no pupsik. Oh may your bad Mommy touch her button; you are fucking me sooooooo hard."

I thought that she was about to lose it, so stopped, leaving the dildo deep in her, her red lips framing its blackness; she was leaking copiously, and her clit was hard and swollen.

"Will Mommy do as her pupsik says if she is allowed to cum?"

"Yes, yes pupsik, please, may I?"

I put her hand to her clit, resumed my fucking, and waited for the explosion, and my was there one. I found my face full of her squirt, she came that hard that my hair and tits were sprayed. She convulsed, legs kicking, as the spasms of her orgasm consumed her.

I let the orgasm take its course, but had no intention of stopping. As she began to calm down, I twisted the dildo and began to fuck her again, which soon set her off into a second orgasm - I only just missed being hit as her legs kicked again.

Improvise, girl, improvise, you're a de Witt, use your initiative, I told myself. So, keeping the dildo in her I turned her over.

"Mommy grip that big cock, if it slides out pupsik will be angry."

"Yes, yes, Mommy is gripping it."

So she was, so tight it was moving with her clenching.

She had dropped the paddle she'd been using on me, and that fat arse was far, far too tempting a target not to use it on.

"You have been a bad Mommy, you wanted to fuck your daughter, didn't you? Bad mummyfucker!"

"So bad, so bad," she moaned.

"Bad Mommies get spanked," I told her, as I brought the paddle down across her ample cheeks - hard.

With so little warning, she squealed as the wood impacted on her arse, where, as I pulled it bad for the second stroke, it had left a distinctive pink mark. By the fourth time the paddle made her fat arse wobble, it was turning red, and she was sobbing about being a bad Mommy.

"Does naughty Mommy need to touch herself again?"

My instinct had been right, she did, and she begged to touch her clit.

"After two more, Mommy, okay?"

"Yes, yes pupsik Mommy do as she is told."

And that is just what she did.

It was the ninth whack with the paddle which pushed her over the edge - as she messed the bed linen rather than my face this time.

As she lay there, the dildo twitching, her arse red and sore, the noises she was making told me she was spent. So, I lay beside her, stoking her hair.

"Good Mommy, Mommy is okay now, your pupski is here and loves Mommy."

She whimpered, and leant into my stroking, murmuring. The words meant nothing, but the tone meant everything; she was accepting my comfort. I lay there with her as she slowly recovered some semblance of control over herself. But just as I sense that was happening, I patted the dildo, pushing up her pussy.

"Oh, my pupski, you are like your daddy, insatiable, Mommy needs her rest."

"Yes, Mommy," I soothed, "does Mommy have some nice cream I can put on your ass?"

"Oh baby, yes, yes, in the bathroom."

I went and got it, and walking back I saw the scene of erotic devastation we had wrought. My panties and dress were neatly folded on the side, but her panties were thrown across the room, the bed linen was a total mess and stained with her juices, and her stockings were laddered to hell and back.

She whimpered as the cool cream first touched her arse. Who knew that I had such a firm hand? That paddle was a good one, I made a note of its make. She sighed and moaned as my hands worked the cream in. I lay by her side when I had finished. I stroked her hair, muttering sweet nothings to her. She was satiated.

I checked the time. Her three hours were up, but what the hell? I had no plans, and she was in no state to be left.

I stripped her and covered her with the duvet, climbing in beside her.

We must have slept for quite a while, as it was the bird song that woke me; Paris birds are noisy!

Elizabeth was sleeping the sleep of the orgasmed out her skull, so I headed for the shower, which I needed. Looking in the mirror I saw my own ass was still a little on the pink and tender side, but giggled to myself when I compared it with hers.

The hot water washed away the sweat, and, as I was wearing a shower cap, I stood there just letting it cascade over my body, refreshing and cleaning me. Oddly, I later reflected, I felt no desire for the sexual climax I had been denied the night before.

My soiled panties would have to do, but I could put those on before I went. I decided to put on one of the two bathrobes, and phoned through to room service.

Half an hour later, a maid brought the breakfast.

"If you could ignore the mess," I said, slipping her a fifty euro note.

"Of course, Miss, thank you Miss."

The irony was not lost on me. I had become "yes Miss."

Elizabeth appreciated the breakfast, and seemed shy in the morning light.

"Thank you, Ashley. You knew?"

"No," I replied truthfully, "but you told me."

"Can I book you again?"

"Of course, Mommy!" I grinned.

Whether it was that, or something else, Alisha told me I had been given a bonus of another five thousand euros and said she'd like to have long talk with me about my future.

Part 3

It was not without trepidation that I went into Alisha's suite. I had rather hoped that Elizabeth's bonus had been accompanied by a favourable report, but this was all new to me. Indeed, as I reflected on the previous few days, I could dimly see something like a pattern emerging. Quite what it meant was not clear. Indeed it was somewhat confusing.

I had started this with the settled conviction that I was submissive. I got a thrill from clients knowing that I was a rich entitled bitch whom they could use. That has been the case back home, and it was here. The more humiliation, the better. I had come to recognise that when I was in what I called "subspace" there was little if anything I would not do. The dangers in that I knew well. My stepmom, Amber, may have been a bitch, but she had rescued me from Kasia and my criminal friends, and this job was, we had both assumed, been designed to allow free rein to my instincts, while providing a safe infrastructure. I could be a slutty whore who got paid for sex, but only with women, and only under supervision; ideal.

Alisha gave me an appraising look, which made me feel uncomfortable. I'd dressed sexily, but not slutty. My little black dress was slit on the right thigh and showed my ass to best advantage, hiding the fact that I had little up top, and if a glimpse of stocking was something shocking, then I would be shocking the onlooker. Alisha looked me up and down.

"What have we here then, Ash?"

"What do you mean, Miss Alisha? Have I not given satisfaction?"

"I just have the Russian's report in. It makes very interesting reading. I thought we hired a kinky submissive heiress?"

Oh geeez, I thought, she's going to can me! But then some instinct kicked in, so I stopped myself from uttering the apologetic words which came so naturally to my lips.

"Nothing to say, Ash? No explanation for this?" She was pointing at the screen as she spoke.

"I take it, Miss, that Miss Elizabeth was satisfied?"

"Satisfied, she was effusive, said you were the best she ever had and wants more of you as soon as possible. What have you to say to that?"

"Well, Miss Alisha, I am happy to have kept up the reputation of the Agency."

"Are you fucking kidding me, girl?"

Oops, I thought, but I kept my nerve.

"No, Miss, I mean it."

"Standing there looking like butter would not melt in your mouth. Look at you!"

"Thank you, Miss!" I replied, still trying to align what my emotions were feeling with what my instincts were telling me.

Alisha grinned.

"Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is for us to get women who can take charge in a way that allows our clients to come away feeling happy? Do you? Tell me this," she said, clearly excited herself, "how did you know? It was not on file, and none of her previous escorts has reported anything."

I bit my lower lip. How the hell could I explain instinct?

"I just sensed it, Miss Alisha."

"Sensed it? What the fucking fuck?"

"Like I can sense your excitement, Miss Alisha."

"Mine, you cheeky bitch!"

I looked back at her, holding her gaze.

"Are you telling me, Miss Alisha, that if you were to show me your panties underneath that dress, I'd find them dry as the great Australian desert?"

That stopped her in her tracks.

"What sort of question is that?"

"The sort that elicited an evasive answer like that one. Tell me that you don't want me to make you show me, and I shall back off. But be honest with yourself, and me, Miss."

Her colour concealed any blushing, but her eyes gave her away.

"So it I told you to give instructions that we are not to be disturbed and to slip out of that dress, you'd tell me to go fuck myself instead of getting you off ... Miss?"

That last "Miss," seemed to turn some key. She touched the intercom, told her secretary we were not to be disturbed and then got up and moved to the front of her desk.

"Dress?" That was all I said,

She unzipped it and began to slip it off her shoulders, revealing her jet-black skin against the pure white of her underwear; her tits were shown to great advantage in her underwired bra, but I knew they would sag a little without it.

"Bra too."

I was right, she must have been 36C at least, and the slight sag made me wet; her nipples were thick, dark, and succulent. Want, I thought, but restrained myself.

Standing there in her white silk thong and stockings, she looked a dream, her high heels accentuated her shapely legs. There was only one thing to be done.

"Lower those panties and let me examine you, girl!"

"Yes, Miss de Witt!"

A shiver ran through me. She had mentioned that her ancestors might have served mine when she turned the tables on me, so, perhaps? But if I was wrong? Go with it girl, I told myself.

"Coloured should always be open to inspection by their owner's daughter, shouldn't they, girl?"

"Yes Ma'am, of course."

The look on her face and in her eyes told me all I needed, but had I needed more, the fact that she lowered her thong to her knees and parted her legs to keep in in place, would have confirmed my instinct.

Smiling, I approached her, my breath on her nipples seemed to make them harder, and I inspected her soaked thong.

"And what, girl is this?"

"Ma'am, it is slutty juice."

"Slutty juice eh," I smiled, and spanked her cunt hard. She groaned. I felt her wetness.

"Take them off, girl!"

The jiggling of her big tits as she slipped her thong off made my own wetness more intense.

"You are to wear that as a face mask, girl, NOW!"

Alisha seemed to be in a daze, putting the sopping wetness so it ran across her nose.

"Taste and smell good, girl?"

"Yes, Miss de Witt."

"Sit on your desk."

She did as I told her.

I could almost have orgasmed at the sight, but instinct kicked in again; this was not about me.

I knelt. Her lips were thick and meaty, unlike mine, and her inner lips drooped beyond her outer ones. I tugged one with my lips, pulling at her.

"Ohhh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Her pussy was leaking copiously. I tugged at the other lip, getting the same reaction. Peeling back her lips with my fingers, her dark pink wetness no longer concealed what had to be the largest clit I had ever seen. Want. I took it.

I sucked hard on it.

Alisha shook, bending forward, gripping my shoulders so she could hold some sort of balance. Her grunts and moans were primal. She was so wet that I chanced it, I thought she would take three of my fingers, and I was right. I curled them in, making her moan. I felt her clench. She was so eager.

My fingers twisted; I held them there while my tongue slide across her clit. I sucked her, pulse sucking, pulling her, and then plunged me fingers in hard and fast. She came, she only went and came.

I was taken aback. I'd never seen a woman come that fast. She was gripping my fingers and moaning obscenities. I felt her whole body convulse. I stilled my fingers, letting her wetness grip them. She kept on orgasming.

Eventually she stopped. Instinct said I should too, though I wanted to give her more.

I looked up at her.

"Enough, for now?"

She nodded.

"I could go on all day with you, but we have things to discuss," she sighed.

"Well, that still leaves us the night," I smiled.

She grinned.

"Dinner?"

"Yours?" I asked.

"Come at eight," she said. "Let me get dressed first."

I watched as Alisha dressed, acting as though the last hour had not happened.

"So, back to where we were Ash."

I noticed the change in her tone and manner of address.

"It is rare as hen's teeth to find someone like you. Did you make yourself orgasm after seeing to Elizabeth?"

"No, Miss Alisha," I said, slipping easily back into our familiar mode.

"Why, when you had me at your mercy didn't you use me to make yourself cum?"

"Miss Alisha, I was serving you; your orgasm was my objective; I can wait."

"What if I offered to bring you off now?"

"I had not thought of that, Miss, but my immediate answer would be that I did what I wanted to do and am not in need."

That seemed to give her pause for deep thought.

"I'm going to level with you Ash. You present as submissive, and I think you think that you are one. You have many of the characteristics of the submissive, but this instinct of yours, is that how you knew what I wanted just now?"

I explained how it had come to me, remembering her comment about our ancestors.

"I am going to make a suggestion to you, which you can feel free to reject, but which I'd like you to think about. We have a select number of powerful women who, like me just now and like Elizabeth, have a need to relax. Under pressure to make decisions all day, we like to surrender control and have the pressure relieved. But it is not easy. That instinct could leave us open to blackmail or worse in the wrong hands, and many of the professionals are dominatrixes who, shall we say, take a delight in physical punishment which, speaking for me, I don't like. Do you understand?"

"What you mean, if I have you right, is that it is psychological domination and control that you need? Someone who understands where you need to go, can take you there, but can also bring you back and forget about it - until next time."

She looked at me, stunned.

"Underneath that preppy exterior you're a smart cookie. What I'd like you to do is to think about specialising in this area. The market is not big, but it is profitable, and I think you are the woman for it. What do you say?"

I looked at her.

"We are going to meet tonight at eight at yours, yes?"

"That's what I said."

"Good. I shall send a parcel to your place by six. It will help us both to give an answer to your question."

"Now you have me on tenterhooks."

"Psychologically, of course, not physically," I smiled.

I knew precisely what I was going to do. If it worked, then I was the woman for the job, if not, well I could just go back to the original yacht girl scenario.