Hidden Voices

I should have hung up as soon as I heard him speak. Dear Readers, never discount the voice of council when it comes from within. When Wayne realized that it was I that was calling, he ratcheted up his already whiny and petulant voice. It was maddening as he dragged out everything he had to say and all of his sentences trailed off reproachfully. It was like he already thought I owed him something.

As I listened to his aimless and redundant pleadings, I realized that he was attempting to sound like a young, bratty boy. Yuck. Why this would skeeve me out more than some of the freaky carnage, mind melding and psychologically elaborate operettas that I had both orchestrated and bore silence witness to, I could not say. Maybe it was because I felt he was manipulating me by pissing me off so much from the onset. Later I found out this type of approach from a submissive is called topping from the bottom. This is when the submissive, slave etc...attempts to seize psychological control from the Dominant by means of indirect defiance, questioning the Dominants role and so forth. They are really looking to be "broken" but of course they can never really yield to that need because that is one hell of a commitment for most subbies who have jobs and families. Submissives so often speak of "testing their limits" which in reality would takes months of dedication, money and time on their part.It's just talk for most, as the lot of them could never explain hour long absences where they return whipped, with marks and wallets emptied. Like most people in general they are reluctant to put their money where there mouth is.

"Mistress I wrote to you so many times but you didn't write back." Wayne sniveled on the other end of the line. My back stiffened.

"No I didn't." I answered coldly and took a deep slug of my cognac.

"Why Mistress? I just want to talk to you, to hold you and be near you."

"I do not feel the same. I haven't even met you. You already aggravate me." I loved this job as speaking my mind eloquently seemed to actually be appreciated. I was always sincere in my dressing downs. No filter needed.

"Mistress PLEAAAASE!"

"Please what? Communicate in full sentences-you will get farther in life that way and certainly farther with me. Don't snivel and don't whine when you speak to me. I only want to dominate those that are my equal. I don't fuck with children so stop speaking as though you are one."

"I just want to HOLD you Mistress and SERVE you!" Wayne had the whiny bitch role deeply ingrained into his psyche. He was determined to play it to the hilt like a tired old queen in some self indulgent off Broadway show.

"Wayne. Listen to me. I don't like being held, it makes me antsy and irritable. More so than usual. I'm a Pro Domina so I give discomfort, not comfort. Get the idea of holding me right out of your head. Also what do you mean by serving exactly? I have received about 10 e-mails from you and as many calls on my cell phone. Not once have you defined what it is you think serving me means"

"I don't know...just serving you."

"What do you want? When you contacted me what were you thinking of? What do you see on the internet or read that excites you?"

"Mistress I don't know." Wayne mewled at me in that ridiculous put upon little boy's intonation. I had the uncharitable vision of his Mother beating him viciously in order to silence that somehow indignant, mosquito like unwavering delivery. My sympathy was with the Mother. I made an intuitive leap and realized that was exactly what he was doing. Assigning me the role of the scolding all powerful vagina and so forth. I was suddenly indignant. I was in my mid thirties more or less and already cast in the role of the crone?

"How old are you"? There was a quick silence on his end and I could hear him considering my question.

"Why"? He asked his voice suddenly flat.

I listened closely my intuition poised like a ballerina on tip toe. He sounded as though he could fall within the range of twenty to mid thirties but it was hard to say and even harder to shake him from his little boy delusional tap dance. At the exact same moment I had this thought, it seemed to manifest itself by an audible tapping I could hear at my window. I looked up with sudden dread almost expecting a smudged looking raven or a bony finger beckoning. A meaningless synchronicity. Evidently I was drunk and scolded myself for being an ass as I realized the insistent sound was only the branch of a tree being tossed against my window by the ever aggressive wind. A March storm was picking up. I waited silently on the other end ( he who speaks first loses.)of the phone as I wandered over and opened the window wider. A sudden plume of sullen, smoky wet complex wind blew in, snapping the curtains and alarming the cat. I had nothing in my fridge but I was sipping fine cognac. However my cupboard was bare. Typical these hazy crazy days. To eat or not to eat. That was the question. I was exaggerating but not by much. Some months I was in the red and others black. There were days when I ate buttered toast and caviar and others just toast.

"I'm thirty four. I'm old enough." I supposed that he was and asked him my usual questions about verifiable work numbers and profiling him in general. He gave me more personal information than many other subbies had that I had dealt with.

Still...I did not want to see him. So I decided to price myself out. I name a sum that I am almost certain that they won't part with. Aghast they drop me or they covet me all the more for having the balls to ask for it. I worked on a sliding scale based on need, opportunity, skill set and interest. It's never a ridiculous sum but its always one that I judge they would hold dear based on their circumstances or frugality. Or of course level of interest.

He accepted. Luck of the Irish.

We agreed to meet that very evening as he seemed so hot for it and I needed the appointment as metaphorically the wolf was outside the door. We agreed to meet at eight, a civilized hour and I could be snug in my bed by no later than ten with an encouraging amount to start out the month.

By the time my buzzer rang I was outfitted like cat woman but I wore low heeled boots in case I had to either kick some ass or run. This was the first time in the eight months that I had been doing this that I felt truly uneasy with a submissive client. I wanted to think like was drawn to like which was why I advertised the way that I did. I chose my words and photos carefully being ever mindful of my marketing image. I kept the hours that I did ( basically 10 am until 8pm with some exceptions) because I wanted family men, company men, men who had something to lose if they invested to heavily in me. Men who had a reality that kept their fantasies in check.

I peered through the peep hole and saw a smallish, black haired and fidgety man, who seemed to be deliberately keeping his head down. I stepped back and opened the door to Wayne. I watched him as he silently ducked past me as though he was waiting for me to cuff him on the ears. I immediately fought the urge to do so. My nostrils flared unpleasantly as he sidled by me, leaving behind a faint scent of cat piss, as though he had been rolling in it.

He was now standing in the light so I could get a good look at him. His gaze flicked up at me with jittery blue eyed hatred. My heart skipped a beat. He jerked his glance away hastily and kept his head down. His posture was cringing and defensive but I knew as with certain nasty tempered dogs, he was just looking for a reason to turn on me. He had done nothing for which I could turn him out but as he reeked of cat piss, so did he of hostility. Perhaps I could defuse it.If not I had an authentic machete my Parents had bought home from a holiday in the Dominican Republic. It was one of those odd things everyone has growing up that they tug along behind them for years.It was an object of my childhood but the blade was still sharp and I kept in hidden in my back room along with a BB gun and pepper spray.

Damn. I really needed to step up my employment search and get on that resume.