Literotic asexstories – The Mix Up by Clara_Bejeweled,Clara_Bejeweled
Her body is curvy and buxom, with a confidence that she liked to say radiated from every inch of her being. She wore only the most luxurious, expensive lingerie that hugged her figure in all the right places. Some would say she was ‘thicc’, others Amazonian. But they all wanted her.
She exuded an unapologetic self-assurance and confidence that some might call vanity, but to her, it was just self-awareness. She knew her worth; she was six foot-four, a giant of a woman. Men paid extra for that. Men paid her handsomely to show them their place.
Handsomely enough that she could afford her own downtown studio. She was an artist, after all. The studio consisted of three rooms; an antechamber she was in, a main playroom, and a bathroom. The antechamber was small and discreet, with only a few pieces of furniture and a kitchenette in the corner for coffee and tea. A low table stood at the side of the room, beneath a window, adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and a few tasteful magazines. The walls were bare, save for a single painting, a moody abstract piece in shades of black and gray. It was a small antechamber outside the main room, where she could meet with clients and discuss their needs.
As Zoey made her way to the console, she couldn’t help but hum along to the tune she had been singing to herself. It was a song from her youth and it never failed to put her in a good mood. Fiona Apple’s Criminal. What a tune. It made her feel sexy.
“I’ve been a bad, bad girl,” she mused. “I’ve been careless with a delicate man…”
The buzzer went again — clients were always impatient. Rolling her eyes, Zoey pressed the button.
“Yes?” She said playfully into the receiver. She heard a man clear his throat. They were always nervous the first time. Impatient and nervous.
“It’s… it’s Michael,” the man croaked.
“Hey there handsome!” she giggled.
“Ah… c-can I come in?”
“Yes, yes, come on up! I’ll just buzz you in.”
After pressing the button, Zoey made her way over the door, glancing in a mirror to ensure she still looked great. She did. She could hear Michael making his way up the stairs to her apartment.
Grinning, she unlocked the deadbolt first, then the chain lock, and finally the sliding latch that secured the door to the frame. The sound of the locks being undone was a familiar one, one that she had grown used to over the years in her chosen profession. You can never be too careful when your job involves meeting strange men every day.
There, puffing as if he’d just rushed up the stairs, was Michael. Her 4pm. In her six-inch heels she towered over him and he gawped at her height. He himself was of average height, with a build that could best be described as unremarkable. His face was ordinary, with the remnants of a strong jawline in his youth, and a straight nose, but nothing about his features stood out. Eyes were blue, or were they green? His hair was a shade of brown you’d forget the moment you looked away, neatly combed and parted to the side. He was aged in his forties, bags under his eyes, a slouch slowly getting the better of him, grey hair mingling at his temples.
He wore a plain, dark suit that seemed to have been tailored to fit his unremarkable physique. He had some money then; but it was neither expensive nor shabby, instead rather unassuming, like something he had worn for years without ever giving it much thought. A gift perhaps? Something a wife might have picked out? His shoes were black and polished, with a slight scuff on the left toe that hinted at a life of unglamorous routine. He had the look and feel of someone who wiled away their days in an office, under harsh white light. The lifeblood of a city such as this.
He’d sent her an email, asking for a session the next week. Hadn’t asked many questions at all. Paid the deposit promptly. She’d had a background check ran on him of course. One didn’t get far in her line of work without safety being a priority. He’d come up clean, but you can never be too safe.
The background check had been conducted by her PI, an old flame’s father and ex-cop. He’d ended up being a better fuck than his son. The search, like they always do, began with a search of public records. There was little to be found in terms of criminal history or financial trouble, but there were a few mentions of a Michael with the same last name being involved in various community organizations and churches over the years. Nothing that stood out as particularly noteworthy, but it was something. He was a community minded fellow, stridently middle-class, as middle American as you could get.
The next step was to search social media. Michael had a profile on Facebook, but it was set to private. A quick search of his name turned up a few other social media profiles, but they were either outdated or unused. It seemed that Michael was not one for social media. Zoey was glad he wasn’t one of those middle-aged men with a car selfie for their profile picture and far too much to say. No divorce records, he was still married to the lovely Amanda — Mandy, as her Facebook said. A few kids in college.
Her PI then turned to employment records. It was confirmed that Michael had indeed worked in an office for the past fifteen years, first as an entry-level employee straight out of college and then working his way up to a mid-level management position. Funnily enough, it was the same office that another one of her clients worked at. There were no disciplinary actions on record and no red flags in terms of performance reviews. In other words, boring.
Boring men made the best clients.
“Welcome!” Zoey said, leaning forward and wrapping Michael in a hug. When she pulled back, she could see the lust in his eyes are the mere scent of her perfume. “Come on in. I’ve been expecting you. Just in here thanks. How was the traffic?”
“Pretty average,” Michael shrugged. He hadn’t yet made eye contact.
“Terrible down that Allens Avenue, isn’t it?”
“The-the city should do something about it.”
“They really should, I agree.”
“You’re… you’re taller than I expected, you know,” Michael said nervously. “A-and prettier. I don’t know why, but I was expecting someone… older.”
“Why thankyou.”
“That nightgown is… is it appropriate to wear?”
“You’re in my studio, aren’t you?”
“Are those ropes on the ceiling?”
“You’ll find out later if you’re lucky.” Zoey said. Although the ropes in the antechamber were more for decoration than anything else. The real fun was behind a door. But he didn’t know that.
“Oh.”
“So what do you think of my nightgown?” Zoey teased, setting herself down in a chair, and crossing her legs, giving the man an ample glimpse of thigh. She saw him swallow. Soon he’d be sweating.
“It… it looks very comfortable,”
“Pure silk. I only wear the best for my clients,” she said.
“I… you look wonderful,” Michael said, trying to glance anywhere but Zoey’s legs.
“Compliments will get you everywhere. Have a seat. Are you married?”
Michael paused before settling himself down on the end of the sofa, opposite Zoey’s chair.
“I am. Does… does that make a difference?”
“No, no. Not at all. Don’t worry, a lot of my clients are married. Would you like tea, or coffee? I love making sure my newest clients feel relaxed before their first session.”
“I’m fine thankyou.”
“No? Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Great, well, we can get straight into it. If I may ask, how did you hear about me? I don’t advertise so I always like to hear how people find me.”
“I ah… Tom told me.”
“Oh, Tom! Yes, yes. He’s been a client of mine for a long time. Comes to see me once a week, bless him. You know, I never thought he’d recommend me!” she laughed. “I must be doing something right. Do you work with him?”
“For ten years.”
“He’s a nice guy, isn’t he? Sometimes he brings me flowers, he gave me those,” she replied, pointing to a vase on the coffee table. “Pretty, aren’t they?”
“Isn’t that unethical?”
“Unethical?” she laughed. “Darling, they’re just flowers. And hey, I’m not the one who walked in and complimented me on my outfit.”
Michael didn’t reply. He smiled, shuffling uneasily in his seat.
“So, what did you have in mind for today’s session?” Zoey smiled. “I have ideas of course, but it’s always better if the client has an idea of what they want coming in to a session, so we’re on the same page.”
“I… I thought we could talk about my wife’s spending habits, I’ve been unhappily married for a long time. To be honest, I’m reaching the end of my-”
“Your wife’s what?” Zoey laughed, awkwardly. “I’m sorry, but what the do you think this is?”
“Tom said it’d help with my marriage…”
“I don’t give a fuck about your wife. I’m not here to listen to you prattle on about her. You’re unhappily married? Don’t bitch about it to me.”
“I’m not sure I like your tone, young lady.”
“Look, there seems to have been a misunderstanding, I’m not a psychiatrist, not some fucking pompous shrink,” she said. “I’m a dominatrix.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. He stared at her.
“A-a dominatrix?” he stammered, almost laughing.
“Didn’t you wonder why this therapy session cost so much?” Zoey laughed. “$600 deposit? Men don’t pay me to hand them tissues, they pay me to hurt them.”
“I…”
“So when you said in your email that you were potentially interested in CBT… you meant cognitive behavioral therapy? That’s disappointing.”
“Tom…”
“I can’t believe Tom didn’t tell you!” she laughed in disbelief. “What a fucking asshole! I’m going to have to punish him this week. You know, he loves to be beaten…”
As she spoke, she paused, her hand coming up to her chin as she seemed lost in thought. The room was silent for a few moments, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning.
“You know…” Zoey said, biting her lip. “Maybe that’s why he suggested me. Maybe he thinks this what you need…
“What are you talking about?”
“Is that what you need?” Zoey leaned in, letting the nightgown slip, and giving the man across from her a generous view of her cleavage. “A good hard spanking…”
Leave a Reply