Nicky
This popped-up on my socials feed. It’s an AI creation, not an actual photograph. I liked it because of its accessibility; she seems human and relatable, without big jugs and a ridiculously nipped waist and child-birthing hips, like many, more exaggerated ones I’ve seen. Being smitten by her fresh-faced good looks, I decided to use her for a writing exercise.
Nicole (called Nicky or Nic for short) is what passes today for The Girl Next-door Type. She’s pretty, if not movie-star gorgeous, well proportioned. (Forget the fact that most Americans are somewhat obese, and only passably attractive.) Everything about Nicky screams YES! The look in her clear blue eyes, that self-satisfied smile, dressed provocatively without being obscene, you assume that she’s looking at you as you walk through that hotel room door. You’d be wrong on all counts.
A few years ago, Nicky was a run-of-the-mill working girl, a secretary. But she had a bright idea, worked late into every night coming up with a new make-up line of merchandise, marketed it strategically, and is now CEO of a profitable start-up. She’s earned more this past quarter than you’ll make in your entire lifetime, Jack.
Accordingly, that’s no everyday type of hotel room. It’s one of the private bungalows on the spacious grounds of the Beverly Hills Hotel. She books these accommodations every time she flies in to the coast. She likes it, not only for its sumptuousness, but its insularity; no one will overhear the noises she makes.
Nicky knows that she’s going to make a lot of noise tonight. You see, she’s not looking so scrumptious for the likes of you. She’s ready and waiting for the Dominatrix who just walked in with her own key, Mistress Pamela. The commanding figure (in all senses of the word) stops in her tracks at the provocative sight of sweet Nicole.
“Standing just as I instructed the last time we met, right in this very bungalow three weeks ago! Aren’t you a good girl?” the imperious woman praises from six feet away.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Hands raised high over your head, just as I asked, so that I can inspect you, darling Nicky…”
“Yes, Mistress,” and the redhead lowers her gaze to the carpet like an obedient submissive.
“What will happen if you lower your hands before I tell you that you can?”
“You’ll have to restrain me in this posture, either to the chandelier in the living room, or to the shower nozzle in the bath…”
The raven-haired Top approaches her charge. She can tell before she lays a hand on the girl that Nic is freshly bathed, shaved in all the right places. But she does lay a hand on her. Coming up behind the redhead, burying her face in the sweet lass’ ginger tresses, nuzzling her neck until Nic swoons, Pamela says “Good girl!” both for the last correct answer and for standing so still as the Top yanks the gossamer camisole up above those titties and extracts the G-string from between the cheeks of her alabaster-like ass to pull it down to mid-thigh.
The Mistress kisses her way down Nic’s back side, along the indentation of her spine, into each sacral dimple, and on each porcelain ass cheek before parting her wide with both hands. Everywhere along the journey, Pamela finds the girl sweet smelling and sweetly pliant.
“If I may speak, Mistress…”
“You may,” the Dominatrix intones while gazing at the perfect, pink, puckered spot between the buttocks that her inspection has just revealed.
“I ordered the pink roses in the room especially for you… because you said my rosebud was so special…”
“What a good girl!” Pamela gushes in a whisper as her lips graze the rosebud in question with a kiss.
“Ohh… that feels… heavenly,” the submissive gushes in reply.
“You’ve done a very good job in preparing yourself for inspection, my dear. As a reward, I’m going to punish you extra hard.”
“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” Nic answers as if this was the answer to her most fervent prayer.
Pamela crosses to the large satchel she sat down just inside the door, extracts from it a leather paddle and a light cane. “I think these two implements will serve nicely.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The paddle strikes the white flesh, alternating from one orb to the other, until both buttocks are radiant red and hot to the touch.
“You’ve needed this, haven’t you, my little boss-girl?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Because you find all the responsibilities as head honcho so weighty, don’t you?” Pamela continues paddling as she interrogates Nic, no single stroke exceedingly hard, but their cumulative effect is weighty. Both cheeks, once so pale, are now a dusky rose.
“Yes, ma’am!”
“I’m going to help you shrug off that heavy burden of leadership. Tonight you’re going to sleep soundly, unless I miss my guess, for the first time in about three weeks…”
“Yes, Mistress,” as if this was all she wanted in the world.
Mistress Pam parts the globes with her left hand in order to aim the next barrage of spanks directly on the divide, concentrating on that little pink valve. Nic thinks about how sublime her kiss there was, how strict this spanking is, how much she craves both the sensual and the severe from this woman. The paddling of her rosebud is intense, tears well-up, clouding the vision of those baby blues. Nicky is an easy crier, something Pamela finds most endearing. Because the Top has her victim parted and on-display, she notices that Nic is also becoming very aroused sexually. Her labia lips are swollen, oozing her fragrant cream.
“Wet at both ends, head and tail,” Pamela remarks. Nic cannot answer this time. She’s being transported. The endorphins this intimate torture is releasing into Nic’s system have her light-headed. Right now, she’s thinking about Tennessee Williams, of all people. No stranger to the inebriated state himself, he wrote one of the great alcoholic characters in all literature, Brick in his play, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” At one point, Brick comments that he drinks until he hears a click in his head. He’s gotten there, to that place where the outside world doesn’t matter any longer. Nic has just heard that click in her head, saying that she’s high on hormones, stoned in her subspace. Nothing else matters. Pamela, like any good Top, is reading her play-partner, reading her closely, reading her every reaction. She wants to reel the receptive sub back in a little. So, she quietly drops the leather paddle and picks up that thin, whippy cane. She administers the first stripe with some extra umph, bisecting Nicky’s buttocks with a vivid welt. Nicky wasn’t expecting to be recalled from the clouds, her body reacts involuntarily, both hands leaving the doorframe’s molding, wanting to grip the screaming stripe blazing across her tender flesh. Nic catches herself before her hands are half way from the door jam to her rear, replaces her hands where they are supposed to be. But the damage has been done. “Tsk, tsk…” Pamela intones. “You did exactly what I explicitly warned you not to do!” The Dominatrix does not verbally admonish any further; her actions will speak louder, more forcefully. She just talks out loud to herself, knowing that Nic is hanging on every whispered word. “We’re going to have to exchange this leather paddle for something waterproof… this rubber Spencer strap should do nicely… somebody is going to get the rest of her beating tied to the shower head… come with me, young lady….” She takes Nic by the elbow with her right hand, holds the cane and the handled rubber strap with the other, and leads the redhead to the bathroom. Inside the shower stall, she continues as she ties Nic’s wrists to the chrome fixture. “Do you know what this means, Nicole?”
“That I won’t be able to reach back and protect myself…?”
“Obviously,” she answers without recrimination, allowing that the poor girl is drunk on pain. “It also means that you’ll get the rest of your punishment across wet buttocks. Do you know what that means?”
“That it’ll hurt a great deal more.”
“Now, stick that bottom out for me.” Nic obeys. Pamela directs the nozzle downward, turns the faucet on. Nicole’s lower half is soon soaking wet. The Top takes up the cane again, takes aim, lands another scorcher across Nic’s seat, parallel to the first, just as angry a welt. But on wet skin, it does seem to reverberate more, sting the surface hotter, burn deeper. Pamela has been schooling Nicole over the course of their sessions. Nic used to only be able to withstand three stripes before begging for mercy. No pitiful, pity-inducing words escape her mouth, but after five licks, the poor girl is hanging limply from the shower head.
“I think that’ll be enough of that,” Mistress Pam proclaims.
“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” is mumbled in return.
“But your lesson isn’t over… I want to teach you something, mold your thinking, not just blemish the beauty of your backside…” She picks up the Spencer strap, gives the fatigued female another dose of cool water sprayed on to her nether region. She brings the flexible rubber down across the marked flanks. CRACK! “Your company is very profitable! Why do you worry over every little detail?”
The strap stroke makes all of the cane stripes sing at once. The muscles in the marked fanny tremble uncontrollably.
“I want to offer the best product I can…”
CRACK! “You already do! There’s something else…”
“I want to do right by my employees…”
CRACK! “If they’re unhappy, they can go work for someone else.” CRACK! “I know that you already pay a good salary…” CRACK! With every slash of the wicked implement, a little more starch is taken out of Nicky. She is now nearly exhausted, crying from a seemingly inexhaustible reservoir of tears, shaking and spent. But the Top notices that nipples and clitty (those barometers of sexual energy) are standing up at attention and eager for more, her pussy’s lips are engorged and seeping jism. Nicole is as turned on as if Pamela had spent the last half hour frigging and fucking instead of whipping and welting. “It’s because your name is attached to the company, it’s your pride, your ego making excuses… Isn’t that it?”
Crack! The Dom judges that her sub can take that one last blow, softer than all the predecessors, but still hard enough to make droplets dash from Nic’s tush, make the baby fat ripple and jump, make her vocal cords moan one last utterance.
Pamela wraps Nicole in a huge, luxurious towel (you wouldn’t expect any less from this prestige establishment), unties her from the restraints, and half carries the girl over to the bed. Even though she’s an experienced professional Dominatrix, Pamela is still susceptible to Dom drop on occasion, and this is one of them. She holds the girl like she was her mother. She lets the girl cry it all out, in residual pain, the revealed truth.
To put her Top’s mind at ease, Nic whispers through her hiccups, “Thank you, Mistress, that was just what I wanted, just what I needed! You’re very good to me. Thank you!”
Then all is silence, such a contrast to all that has gone before that the silence seems instead to be a high-pitched ringing.
An actual ringing informs both women what real sound is like. It’s Nicole’s cell phone. Part of her wants to let it go to voicemail, but there’s another part, the part they were just discussing during the beating, that part that won’t let Nic let go…
“Hello?” Pamela watches new life return to the pretty features of the ginger’s face. It’s a long, if one-sided conversation. Finally, Nic pipes-up with “…That’s remarkable! …You’re sure of the numbers…? Well, tell them I’m interested and that we’ll talk further…Yes, tomorrow, but not too early, say after nine… Okay, good bye.” She puts the phone down, actually breaks into a radiant smile. Pam doesn’t want to pry, but is dying to know what could revive the well-whipped bitch she held in an embrace back into a sprightly puppy. “That was my lawyer… some New York conglomerate just offered to buy my company out… to the tune of… somewhere north of twenty million dollars…” A childish giggle accompanies Nic’s repeating of this healthy sum.
“That’s… incredible!” Pamela mumbles, her mind on several things at once.
“It is!” Nic exudes, her excitement clearly not contagious. “What matters to me is that I’ll finally be able to offer health insurance and benefits to my deserving…”
“What about that many millions?” Pamela questions urgently, knowing that her client is sincere. She’s known the redhead for a year and a half of scheduled sessions, one approximately every three to four weeks. She assumes that with every financial concern alleviated, Nicky won’t feel burdened as she has. She may not even need another punishment session, need Pamela’s services…
“Yeah… I guess that… hasn’t sunk in… yet…” What Pamela doesn’t fully understand or appreciate, but what she knows in the depth of her soul is that she is a dyed-in-the-wool submissive. She needs regular punishment sessions like she needs food and air. Something else she knows is that for months now, Nicole has longed to cross the line from a professional arrangement to a romantic relationship with her Top. The Mistress is expert at soothing after the pain she’s inflicted, Nic would prefer to do this via sex. She aches to fuck the tall, dark, handy Pam, and as importantly, to confide all of her secret feelings.
Neither knows exactly what to say in this pregnantly full moment, so neither says anything more. There will be time to talk sometime soon, they both rationalize impotently. Pam packs-up her satchel. She knows her payment will be wired into her account.
“Sleep tight,” Pam smiles at the suite’s door.
“I will, thanks to you…” Lost in the fog of her subspace and all the other compounding events swimming around in her red-tressed head, Nicky heads off to the bedroom, to sleep on her tummy, with visions of sugar plums dancing in her brain
.