Odessa was at odds after returning from her time in Belgium. Originally intended to be a “Gap year” , her time had extended and she’d ended up finishing school overseas.
After Odessa had moved in with Chevigny, feared Mistress Chevigny, and her three submissive rooms, Blackie, Smink and Nara, Dess had lived a life she’d only dreamed about. Why leave?
Smink was an American Jewish businessman, Blackie a Londoner and Nara a Brooklyn Heights girl who’d met Chevigny while doing a Eurail tour.
Chevigny had been brilliant–when Blackie and Smink got into an argument about who had forgotten to purchase toilet paper, Chev locked them together, very close.
Face to face in fact, so they either had to stand looking at each other, or lie on the floor again, staring.
This by a chain in their looped nipples and forced the men to spend the weekend “bonding” until the argument was somehow resolved.
Odessa had learned to smile motionlessly when Chevigny would butt out her Gauloise cigarette on Dess’s right nipple…what a skill!
When the utility bill had been a bit high, Chevigny had forced Nara to blow the representative provider, even though the girl had been gged to just pay it out of her trust fund…
Odessa had endured singing corrections, brutal humiliations, and an occasional loving hug from Chevigny, the sort that she’d never received From her generous but otherwise distant parents.
After Dess had finished at the Lyceum, she’d found work translating and living with Chevigny and the others for nearly thirteen years.
Oh, she’d learned so much from Chevigny…and Nara’s vagina had been trained to shoot a carrot across a room! What rare lessons, eh?
Chev had awakened in Odessa a desire to submit, truly obey Without question a domina that she could trust. It had been something for a skeptical American.
Having was raised with the post-Sixties “Question Authority” even taught this by her hippie parents, to findsomeone that made Odessa heel had been phenomenally good for her mental health.
“You Yankees seem to suffer from casuistry.” Chevigny had told Dess once, “which is special sophistry, unsound reasoning, and ridiculous situational ethics. If I cannot beat that out of you, Odessa, I am not doing my job.”
But, after Chevigny had died, the four expats had tried to find another dominant that would live with them and put them through their paces.
The only one they interviewed who was attractive to all of them, a Frenchman had told the group, frankly that full time submissives were too needy.
“Master” Gaston could only do this kind of thing on the weekends, for a little while, and of course while paying no rent.
“Goddamnit” Blackie had cursed to the others after the man left. “I bloody turned down two promotions because they would have transferred me away from our little gig, here.”
Blackie was really suffering, it seemed. Chevigny had been the only one whoho could rein in the Brit’s temperature, and certainly his ego.
Once at a so-called “vanilla” party that Blackie had rebelliously attended after being ordered to stay home and poison Chev’s silver…
The Goddess herself had shown up, walked in and ordered the stuttering Blackie to unzip his pants, take out his thing, and hand her his belt.
Dess had watched (she’d been Blackie’s “date” for the evening) as Chevigny had whacked the obdurate Cockney’s penis until he sobbed in pain and humiliation…
But that night, kneeing on rice and wearing only an apron and mousetrap nipple clamps, Blackie had done the poisoning until three in the morning.
Blackie had cried the loudest at Chevigny’s memory, and within four months of her death, had returned to the U.K. to live in a dungeon, serving a bleak chap called Master Rocque or something.
And then Dess had gotten this long text from Blackie:
“I left Rocque cause he was 2 weird just wanted $$ from me. Met a vetriloquist from the BBC, a bloke called Howland. Howland had this gorgeous, stacked doll called Harriet that gave him orders.
I began serving Harriet, 2, Dess, She ordered us 2 call a male hustler to beat us both & then let us blow him.
But then Howland’s family sent a deprogrammer who throw Harriet in2 a fire and put Howland away in Colney Hatch. So I have no dominant & since 2 many yrs serving Chevigny all job prospects here are 4go10.”
That was one bleak text. Poor Blackie’s resume was dead, all because he’d put life on hold to submit to a now-dead Goddess!
And Odessa had certainly turned down a number of job offers to serve Chevigny…
Odessa had been elected Outstanding Senior at her high school, and had been on the road to being a Phi Beta Kappa when she’d gone to Europe and fallen under Chev’s spell.
And third years later, her degree was fairly stale, and all she wanted was to serve another sexy, exciting dominant.
Now, Odessa was stateside, and at loose ends. She had taken a job as public policy prof at Buttermilk State U., in a shitty little village called Buttermilk Falls.
Was there any action here, she wondered?
Smink had met a kindred spirit in Parsippany, New Jersey, a dominant redhead called Marilou. Dess had stayed with them a week or two, having a fervent love affairs with Marilou…
This while Smink had watched from the corner, his body bowed as Marilou had locked his junk in a Humbler.
Marilou, one afternoon had given Odessa forty whacks with a paddle after ordering her to go out to the front porch and bring back the paper in her mouth.
And of course, Odessa’s teeth had torn it slightly!
And Marilou was gracious when Odessa told her how lucky she thought Smink was.
“Well, babe,” Marilou had responded in her Jersey City-Long Island accent, “I heard Buttermilk Falls has a real nice hotel, the Paincafe, and lotsa folks like us hang out there.”
Then she’d put out her American Spirit “Yellow” on the end of Smink’s bulging cock.
And Dess couldn’t just stay forever with Marilou and Smink. Apparently, just before she’d come to visit, Nara, their other former room had shown up, signed her paychecks over to Marilou…
“Yeah, you haven’t seen Nara, ‘cos she spends her free time in kneeing stocks in the cellar.” Marilou said, yawning…”She kinda gets on my nerves.”
So something in Buttermilk Falls HAD to work out for Odessa. I mean, really. Dess had lost contact with her family and old friends, and being a sadomasochist was everything.
So, at a party at the Paincafe, Dess had looked around…it had been a “pay” to “play” party, of course, but Dess had paid less because there never were enough women.
Rossilyn, across the room watched Odessa carefully. What beautiful thick hair, curly and a Jane Austen face. Reminded Ross of Angelia, who had just ended their nine-year relationship to move back to Kansas City to take care of her ailing mother.
Angie had still not found a Mistress to serve in K.C., and Ross found some solace in this. Misery loves company, right?
Rossilyn was tall, black and a bit commanding, much like the famous actress from the eighties, Grace Jones. Many male and female subs that came to the parties sought her company, but there was always something missing.
One big problem of course was, they could Never seem to take what Ross had to offer. “I can take it hard, you can leave marks” but a moment later, there would be copious weeping, and the screaming of the over-used safe word.
One of her ex-boyfriends, Churchy was watching her balefully from a table. Ross and Churchy had tried to make a relationship work. But if you say you fantasize about being forced to suck cock in drag, you really should let it happen, right?
Contrast this with Angelia, who had once endured her pretty Irish tits thrashed hard with singing nettles, just barely biting her lower lip.
Angelia, the commodities broker who came over every Saturday to scrub Rossilyn’s house, and took it so meekly when Ross shoved her head into the toilet and scrubbed it by pushing Angie’s cheeses against the commode grime.
Often Ross had forbidden poor Angie to touch herself, and when caught, would whip Angie’s palms until they were swelling, but then have mercy on her, allowing her to frig her vaj while licking Rossilyn’s bush at the same time…
What fun it had been to order shy, reserved Angelia to dress in slutty outfits…to go to a bar in the worst part of Buttermilk Narrows with only three dollars in her pocket and to have to kiss up to grotesque men to get her dinner and drinks paid for!
Now, Rossilyn felt Hannah T, a former slave, looking at her reproachfully. Hannah had been a dominant, but had always looked at Rossilyn longingly when Ross would come to the parties, leading silent, naked Angelia…
Then, upon Angelia’s department for Kansas City,Hannah had pounded on Ross…
But, although Hannah had come easily to being a pain slut, she liked too much to “top from the bottom” and that had been so repulsive.
Now, Rossilyn felt OTHER eyes on her, it was Odessa, who Ross only knew by her name tag.
Ross’s eyes furrowed, her eyes narrowed, and Odessa dropped her head, looking at her feet. But, when she looked back up, Rossilyn gave her a rare smile, the white teeth gleaming against the ebony skin.
And Odessa smiled back hesitantly and began shedding her designer gown as she trusted towards her new Mistress.
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