The Mistress Files. Tiffany Reisz

orgasm. Must have been like letting your brother try to fuck you. No sexual tension equals no orgasm especially for a woman like you.”

      “A woman like me? What am I?”

      “You’re a sub. No doubt in my mind.”

      The Mistress continued to caress Sheridan’s bare legs. The girl wasn’t more than five feet tall, but half of that was leg.

      “Like a submissive?”

      “Exactly like that. You need to be dominated to feel sexual, yes? Intimidated? Overpowered? Maybe even a little scared?”

      “Yes...yes, definitely. That’s exactly it. Nothing Brett did made me feel anything. I thought I loved him because I liked him so much.”

      “Liking can get in the way of lusting a lot of the times. Some of my best orgasms have come from men I wanted to beat into unconsciousness. You know, after they were done fucking me.”

      “It would be nice to be with someone who makes me feel like it’s, I don’t know...”

      “Like it’s an honor to be with him? Like you’re his personal sexual property? Like you exist just to spread your legs for him whenever he orders you to?”

      “That, Mistress.”

      “I know the feeling. Trust me.”

      “I kind of...I sort of feel that with you. Kingsley said you weren’t taking any new clients. Too busy. Too in demand. But you made an exception for me.”

      “Of course I did. I saw you.”

      Sheridan blushed. The Mistress slid her hands between Sheridan’s thighs and gently pressed them apart. They opened easily for her. Good. Tension helped with an orgasm. Terror didn’t.

      “I’ve topped royalty,” The Mistress said, wanting to remind her new client just how lucky she was to be in her capable hands. “Real royalty with bodyguards standing right outside the door the entire time. Rock stars. Politicians. Millionaires. Billionaires. I could name them and you’d faint from shock that they were in the scene. That’s how important I am. That’s how busy I am. But Kingsley told me about you. I watched an interview you did. The reporter asked you if you had a boyfriend. I’ve never seen a sadder, faker smile in my life, Little Miss.”

      “I like that,” Sheridan confessed as The Mistress caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

      “Like that I’ve topped rich and famous people? Richer and more famous than you? Or liked that I watched your interview?”

      Sheridan shook her head.

      “I liked that you called me Little Miss.”

      Once again, The Mistress was seized with a nearly unconquerable urge to kiss the girl. But she restrained herself. Just barely.

      “Glad you like it. That’s what I’ll call you from now on—my Little Miss. Now my Little Miss needs to take a deep breath. I’m going to start touching more of you—arms, stomach, hips and breasts, in that order.”

      “Yes, Mistress.” Sheridan nodded her nervous little head and The Mistress moved in closer between Sheridan’s open thighs.

      First, as promised, she started with Sheridan’s arms at the wrists and stroked upward to her shoulders with dancing fingertips. Delicate shivers passed through Sheridan’s body at the lightness of the touch.

      Second, she brought her hands down Sheridan’s arms to her wrists, again pressed tight to her sides and crossed over to the girl’s trembling stomach. The Mistress laid her hand flat under her rib cage and felt the muscles flutter underneath.

      Third she tickled Sheridan’s narrow girlish hips with her thumbs, tracing the bones.

      “You need to eat more, Little Miss.”

      “I eat all the time, Mistress. I promise. I just can’t gain weight. I’m going to look fourteen forever.”

      “There are worse fates—working for Kingsley, for starters.”

      Sheridan gave a little giggle.

      “I like him. Is he really that bad?”

      “Terrible. It’s impossible to get any work done with him around talking French at you and being all suave and seductive. Sometimes I fuck him just to shut him up.”

      “Poor you, Mistress.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      As Sheridan dissolved again into laughter, The Mistress slid her hands upward and covered the girl’s breasts with both hands.

      Then the laughter stopped.

      The Mistress smiled. Just the reaction she wanted.

      At first, The Mistress did nothing but let the heat of her hands seep into Sheridan’s body through her breasts. Under her palms, she felt Sheridan’s nipples harden.

      “You have beautiful breasts, Little Miss. Perfectly shaped. Beautiful nipples the color of pink roses.”

      “I have no breasts. I’m an A-cup.” Sheridan sounded genuinely upset with her own body. “I should get implants. My agent says—”

      “Fuck your agent. You get implants and you could lose sensitivity. Are fake boobs really worth never feeling this again?” The Mistress punctuated her sentence by gently pinching both of Sheridan’s nipples, a move that elicited one of the more erotic gasps ever uttered since the invention of gasping.

      “No...I’d hate to lose that,” Sheridan confessed.

      “Then don’t. Your body is perfect. Don’t fuck with it. That’s my job.”

      “Yes, Mistress.”

      “Good girl. Now shut up and lay there. I’ve got a girl to get off.”

      A new smile appeared on Sheridan’s face in place of the old, nervous smile. This smile was amorous, heated, sexy beyond description and exactly what The Mistress was going for.

      For a good ten minutes (a very good ten minutes in The Mistress’s estimation) she focused her attentions on Sheridan’s breasts, nipples and chest. Men rarely understood the power of focusing attention on one part of the body at a time. A few lucky women could even achieve orgasm from breast stimulation alone. The Mistress doubted Sheridan had that power but she’d need as much foreplay as she could stand if the long-awaited orgasm was to come.

      The Mistress moved slowly...tracing circles around Sheridan’s breast with a fingertip before spiraling up to her nipple and back down again. Pinches turned to gentle kneading and back again. Soon Sheridan’s chest moved in rapid pants and her nipples turned from pale pink to red.

      “Are you enjoying this, Little Miss?”

      “So much...you really know what you’re doing.”

      “I’ve got a gift for giving women orgasms. I give myself an orgasm at least once a day.”

      Sheridan giggled again and her blush deepened. Good. Flushed skin was one of the telltale signs of an aroused woman. But it would take more than just stimulating her body to get Sheridan to orgasm. The Mistress needed to get inside her mind.

      “You know, Little Miss, this isn’t my only job,” The Mistress said as she ran her fingers over Sheridan’s collarbone, giving her breasts a moment to recover from all the attention. “I’m also a writer.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes. I write erotica. I love a good sexy story. Reading them, writing them, hearing them.”

      “Me, too. I learned all about sex from my mother’s romance novels. I think that’s why when Rex came on to me that first time, I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t wait to try out all this stuff I’d been reading about.”

      “How did the reality of sex compare to the fictional version?”