Mistress

By Mistress Kore

Valerie is a professional dominatrix and is forced to deal with an unimaginable loss.  Valerie lost her beloved sub in an accident.  Ever since this loss, she has been alone, and cannot find her place in the world.  Reluctantly, she decides to take another sub for herself.  She also continues to work as a dominatrix, despite the challenges she faces: rejection from the small community that she lives in,  judgment of her character, and opposition to her work as a sex worker.  She also must deal with her own guilt at failing her sub.  She comes across a sub in need of her help: Desmond.  Desmond is an alcoholic priest riddled with guilt.  Thorugh punishment, Valerie helps Desmond with his guilt.  Find out if Desmond will help heal Valerie and help her overcome her doubt and grief through his submission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mistress Kore
• Release date: Mar 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386079453

Book preview

Chapter 1

Thank You

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Thank you for reading this book. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it.

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Please write review for it on Amazon. I truly appreciate any support or feedback that I receive.

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Also, if you would like to know more about upcoming releases, free chapters and notified of discounted books, please subscribe to my email newsletter at:

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kinkykore.com.

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There, you will find updates on the series, my blog, and other upcoming books.

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Chapter 2

Author’s Note

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BDSM is about transfer of power. Most of my writing deals with the female main character being the submissive. This book deals with something that I have been experimenting with. Most of my life, I sought out domineering and dominant men.

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I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a dominatrix. Would I be a good one, would I have what it takes? Being the submissive, I enter a paradise of sub-space, but being the domme, requires planning, preparation, and holding the power.

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I enjoyed exploring this part of myself, and I hope you do as well.

Chapter 3

Choosing the perfect collar wasn't a task that could be rushed. A collar was far more than just a strip of leather; it was a tangible symbol of the relationship between dominant and submissive. At its best, it should reflect both of their personalities, and that was where Valerie felt uncertain. Desmond had been her submissive for a single day, and she'd barely known him before she asked him to be hers. In many ways, he was still a mystery to her.

She'd rushed into this, but she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for it. Something about Desmond called to her, and there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she was meant to be his dominant. Even if she didn't yet know his personality, she knew his soul. The rest would come in time.

In the end, she chose a narrow collar of chestnut leather that was an exact match for her hair. It would rest beneath his priest's collar, invisible to all eyes when he was dressed. Black would have blended better in case of any kind of accidental slippage, but the last thing she wanted was to add more black to his wardrobe. She ran it carefully through her fingers, checking for any loose stitches or jagged edges, but it was perfectly made to lie flat with no discomfort.

The leather was embossed with a faint pattern of small circles, which felt right to her. A circle represented eternity, and she hoped the reference to Desmond's faith would comfort him. If that wasn't enough to reassure him, the collar's silver buckle was just heavy enough to take a little getting used to. For the first week or so, Desmond would be hyperaware of its presence around his neck, and that was exactly what she wanted. Her Desmond needed to remember that he wasn't alone in the world anymore.

Her friend Cecil boxed it up for her, giving her a chance to pick up the ingredients Desmond needed for the pasta and get home with enough time to shower and change into a casual dress. Eventually, she'd be able to lounge in her pajamas in front of him, but she didn't want to up the intimacy too quickly for fear of spooking him.

She'd present him with the collar after dinner, Valerie decided, hoping he would accept. For someone coming into this culture blind, Desmond had so far taken everything in stride, but asking him to wear a collar was far more intense than ordering him to make dinner or give her a foot rub. If he was going to balk, it would be over this.

Valerie was still puzzling over the best way to introduce him to the idea when she heard a muffled knock at her front door. Making sure not to let any sign of her inner turmoil show in her face, she moved to answer it, the sight of Desmond soothing her nerves. Hi.

Hi.

The priest’s shoulders were hunched as he moved past her into the house, and when he turned to face her, his eyes were shadowed. Valerie- he started, stopping to clear his throat and lick his lips, apparently deciding against saying anything more.

Are you all right? she asked, approaching him cautiously. Did something happen?

Yes, he said, shaking his head, then he changed his mind to No.

Come sit down, she coaxed, the tightness in her chest easing when he followed her into the living room, depositing himself at her feet without a murmur of protest.

I need to talk to you, he said, his eyes wide and frightened.

That didn't sound promising, but Valerie kept her expression serene. Desmond seemed upset enough for the both of them, and she tried to radiate peace in hopes of soothing him. Whatever he told her, she would handle calmly. Even if he had changed his mind about their arrangement, she wouldn't force him to deal with her emotions when his own were often too much for him. She owed him that.

I'm listening, she prompted gently.

He took her hand in both of his, looking up anxiously like he expected her to slap him away. When she curled her fingers around his, he let out a noisy breath and lowered his head, resting his forehead on their clasped hands. Now that he wasn't looking at her, his voice got a bit more confident. When I was leaving your office, I overheard something.

Oh dear. Clearly whatever he'd overheard had upset him, and Valerie tried to think which of her clients would have been outside when he left. Her next appointment had been Kenneth Wallis, but she couldn't imagine pleasant, unassuming Kenneth upsetting Desmond. Had he overheard passers-by saying something about her business?

You can tell me, she assured him, stroking his hair with her free hand when he again trailed off.

I don't know how to say it, he said, his voice agonized. I don't want to upset you.

I'm a big girl; I can take it, she promised. Whatever he'd overheard couldn't possibly be worse than the bile her neighbors had spewed at her when they found out about her proclivities, much less what her family had said about the matter. Valerie had learned long ago not to concern herself with outsider's opinions.

Desmond adjusted his grip on her hand so it was pressed against his mouth, muffling his words, and Valerie could feel how hot his skin was. The guy… He's one of your clients. He doesn't come to you for punishment.

As Valerie tried to puzzle out his explanation, Desmond looked up at her, rubbing his thumb soothingly against the inside of her wrist. "He… he gets off on it. I'm sorry, Valerie. I had to tell you. You had to know."

Come here, she said, guiding his head down to rest in her lap before he could see her smile. Apparently Desmond had finally figured out what a dominatrix did. Beneath her hands, he was trembling, and that took some of the humor out of the situation. For Desmond this was no laughing matter. He was genuinely concerned that Kenneth was taking advantage of her.

She was going to have to tread very, very carefully through this territory. Thank you for telling me, sweetheart, she began. No matter how badly Desmond had misinterpreted the situation, he was still trying to protect her.

I already knew, she confessed, feeling him tense as she rubbed his shoulders. That's why most of my clients come to me. Some people are wired to like that sort of thing, and it's not really something most people are comfortable talking about.

Desmond jerked his head up so fast that she nearly ripped out a handful of his hair. "Most of your clients?" he repeated in horror.

While Valerie was aware that a large chunk of Yarrow Heights probably thought she was a prostitute, the thought of Desmond's condemnation hurt in a way that she wasn't sure she'd be able to endure. I give people something they need. Discipline. Pain, sometimes. I won't apologize for it. She chewed on a corner of her bottom lip, waiting to hear him reject her.

Instead, Desmond whimpered, burying his face in her lap and grabbing hold of her skirt in a death grip. Valerie… he moaned, and she could hear tears in his voice.

What, sweetheart? she asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the endearment right now, but he burrowed closer at the word.

Is that what you want? he rasped. Do you wish I was like that?

Desmond. She waited for him to look up before taking his face in her hands, meeting his watery eyes sternly. "That has nothing to do with you. They're just clients. You are mine. I wouldn't change anything about you."

Do they touch you? he asked, his eyes agonized.

No, she said firmly. I discipline them. How they react is their business, not mine. Her pleasure came from getting inside her clients' heads and figuring out what they needed. The satisfaction of fulfilling those needs was deeper than sexual gratification. If pressed, she would have described it as something akin to therapy.

Desmond gnawed on his bottom lip. And I'm your only submissive? he asked anxiously.

Look around, she commanded, gratified when he immediately obeyed. Do you see anyone else here? Have you ever seen anyone else here?

He shook his head, his eyes brightening. No.

That's right. Valerie cradled his stubbled jaw, enjoying the rasp of his whiskers against her palm. "You are my only submissive, Desmond. The first one I've taken in years. I never planned to take a submissive again, but then I found you and knew you had to be mine."

This time when he chewed on his lip, Valerie had a feeling that it was to hide his smile. You're special, sweetheart. Right from the start, you were special. Remember how I wouldn't let you pay me? With them it's business. With you it's so much more.

His grip on her skirt eased, and Valerie pressed a kiss to his forehead. And I would never give them what I'm about to give you, she continued, recognizing an opportune moment when she saw one.

The box with the collar was in the dining room, but there was no longer any point in waiting until after dinner. Go to the dining room and bring me the box on the table.

He agreed at once, and Valerie smoothed her crumpled skirt in the brief time it took him to fetch the box and return. That's for you, sweetheart, she told him as he resumed his place at her feet. Go ahead and open it.

Desmond ran his fingers over the long white box in wonder. I can't remember the last time someone gave me a present, he confessed, and Valerie made a mental note to shower him with gifts.

I hope you like it, she said, feeling her stomach twist with tension. He wasn't going to have any idea what to make of this, and she hoped she had the right words to explain it to him.

I'm sure I will, he assured her with a sweet smile that made her even more nervous. Valerie held her breath as he lifted the lid off the box, revealing the collar. Carefully he took it out, draping it over his hand as he traced the length of it with his index finger.

Do you know what that is? she prompted.

A collar, he answered, looking puzzled but not horrified as she'd half-feared.

This is your proof that you belong to me, she explained. You wearing this ties us together. Whenever you have it on, I'm with you.

Desmond froze, his breath going shallow. Give it to me, she commanded, and he offered her the collar with a hand that trembled.

As slowly as possible, Valerie reached out to withdraw his white collar insert and unbutton the first two buttons on his shirt. Wrapping her hand loosely around the base of his throat, she stroked her thumb over his Adam's apple. Will you wear this, Desmond? Will you let me claim you?

Under her hand, she could feel him swallow. He looked up from the collar to meet her gaze, his eyes glassy. Yes.

With a silent sigh of relief, she cautioned, There are rules.

He nodded, and she continued, After I put this on you, you may only take it off in case of emergency. It won't show under your clothes. Even though no one else can see it, you will keep it in good condition because it symbolizes our bond.

Yes, he whispered, glancing from her face to the collar and back.

If you take this off without a very good reason, you are saying that you no longer wish to belong to me, she warned, and he made a noise of dismay.

Valerie released him and used both of her hands to hold the collar out. Will you accept this, Desmond?

Yes, he said almost inaudibly, then tried again, louder, Yes. Oh yes. Please.

Holding his gaze, Valerie pressed her lips to the collar before wrapping it around the base of his throat, and his eyes fluttered as she fastened the buckle, careful not to make it too tight. You belong to me now, Desmond. As long as you have this on, we're together.

He swayed a little on his knees, his hand straying to the collar which he touched with reverent fingers. Thank you, he rasped. I'll try to deserve it.

His words made her eyes sting. You already do. You're my Desmond.

He gave her a lopsided smile then buried his face in her lap, clinging to her ankles with desperation. Crooning words of reassurance, Valerie ran her fingers through his hair and over the back of his neck, loving the contrast between the cool leather and his warm skin. She'd made the right decision in collaring him. Desmond needed that reminder, and she could only hope that it helped him endure those times when his calling forced them to be apart.

Her gaze lit on his abandoned collar insert which she regarded thoughtfully. Perhaps she'd worried for nothing. Desmond was accustomed to wearing a collar to show his devotion to God. With that experience, it was no wonder he'd taken the idea of wearing a collar to symbolize her claim on him in stride. Whimsically, she considered that priests were ideally suited to being submissives, half-expecting God to smite her for the thought.

No lightning bolt struck and under her caresses, Desmond seemed to be calming down. With her worries settled, the knot of tension in her stomach finally loosened completely, and she stifled a laugh as her stomach growled. Time for dinner.

Desmond sat back on his heels with a shy smile, his fingers again straying to his collar, and Valerie impulsively pressed a kiss to his forehead. Come and have a drink before you get changed, then you can start the pasta. I got everything you need.

He stood and held out his hands to help her up, his head held higher than it normally was. With her collar around his neck, he looked more confident, and Valerie swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling something click into place inside of her. For years she'd been denying her own needs as a dominant, and this relationship was something she needed every bit as much as Desmond did.

When she poured him a glass of whiskey, she was pleased to see that his hands didn't shake even though she was spacing the drinks out more now as Richards had instructed. The regular consumption of alcohol seemed to be warding off the physical symptoms of withdrawal and keeping him occupied took care of the psychological symptoms. This was working.

Let me see your notebook, she instructed, and he handed it over before going upstairs to change into his casual clothes. While he was gone, Valerie took a seat at the island to page through it, having to concentrate in order to translate his messy handwriting into actual words, picking an entry from a week ago. "I ran into Leon Davidson on the street today. I didn't visit him when he was recovering from surgery. I felt guilty so I had a drink." There were eight tally marks after the sentence, so he'd apparently been unable to stop with just one drink, and Valerie frowned.

Hungry? Desmond asked from behind her, and she looked up with a smile, her breath catching in her throat.

He was dressed just as she'd instructed last night, the jeans and an untucked shirt suiting him far better than his black attire. The unbuttoned shirt collar framed the strip of leather around his neck, the midnight blue fabric accenting the chestnut collar. As she gazed at him, his fingers strayed to his collar, stroking it in fascination.

The hint of stubble on his face combined with the ease of the outfit made him look like he'd just climbed out of bed, and Valerie gripped the edge of the island as longing swept through her. You're gorgeous, my Desmond, she rasped, unable to believe she'd ever considered this man plain.

Color suffused his pale face, and a thousand scenarios filled her mind of other things she could do to bring that flush to his skin. He gave her a shy smile, his eyes bright and eager, and she longed to turn that eagerness to better use than merely cooking.

Her Desmond loved to be stroked and cuddled. What would he do if she ordered him to undress for her? The image of him wearing only his collar as she caressed him made her heart pound, and Valerie forced herself to return her attention to his notebook. I'm starving.

Oblivious to the lust that consumed her, Desmond hummed happily to himself as he went unerringly to the cabinet containing her pots and pans, consulting the cookbook that lay open on the counter as he gathered what he needed to produce their meal. Try as she might, Valerie couldn't keep herself from stealing glances at him as he moved around her kitchen with complete confidence, looking perfectly at home in her space. Clearly he felt safe and comfortable here, which was exactly what she'd wanted, but now she wanted something more.

Although she stared down at the notebook, Valerie's mind was far from the words on the page, distracted by wondering how Desmond would respond to her caresses. Would he be nervous and shy or