M Sellars - The End Of Desire

This particular sub was a trample fetishist whose kink was being used as a woman’s doormat. In fact, he even went by the name “mat.” Annalise had always found this particular display of dominance enjoyable, just as she did now. However, truth be told, tonight she had been more in the mood to mete out a good flogging. There was certainly no shortage of bare backs here that she would have relished marking with the sting of braided leather. From what she had seen in the club proper, it was obvious that there were several who would have gladly submitted to that torture as well. However, Miranda had said no. She had a specific purpose for Annalise being here, and “mat” was it. She had yet to tell her why. Only that for the moment, she was to seek him out, and him alone.

It had been a long drive to get here from Baton Rouge. With restroom breaks and fuel stops, almost eleven hours to be exact. Annalise had been up and on the road several hours before dawn. She knew full well she should be exhausted, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t even napped after checking into her hotel. She had merely freshened up, changed into suitable attire, and brought herself here to do Miranda’s bidding, though she was still at some loss as to what that bidding was.

Stepping hard, she continued grinding her heels into the man beneath her, reveling in the way his soft flesh gave way to her weight. He moaned as he tensed against his bonds. She wasn’t far behind him in the endorphin rush. The tickle had become the itch, and her breaths were now coming in shallow pants.

“Thank you,” the man gasped. “Thank you for coming back, Mistress Felicity…”

Annalise stopped moving.

She stood there, frozen in place at the sound of the name-the name of the other.

After a moment she shifted her weight then slipped the toe of her shoe beneath his chin and lifted, rolling his head so that she could look directly into his face.

“What did you call me?” she asked, her tone this time far more inquisitive than demanding.

“I’m sorry, Mistress…” the man apologized meekly. “Mistress Miranda.”

“No,” Annalise said firmly. “Tell me what you called me.”

He continued looking up at her but didn’t answer.

She carefully stepped down from his chest then lowered herself until she was seated on his stomach. Smiling sweetly, she reached out and grasped one of his nipples between her thumb and forefinger. Pinching hard, she began to twist and pull the tender flesh.

“I said,” she growled, emphasizing each word. “Tell… Me… What… You… Called… Me.”

The man tensed and groaned heavily, his face screwed into a mask of pain.

“Yes… yes… Mistress…” he stammered through the grimace. “I… I said, Felicity… I… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have used…your… real name…”

Annalise eased off on the nipple, but not without giving it a final rough tweak. She remained sitting as she continued staring blankly into his face. Now she knew why Miranda had insisted she come here in search of him in particular. He must have a connection to the other.

The itch faded quickly upon the revelation, completely bypassing the tickle in reverse and becoming no more than a hollow numbness in the pit of her stomach. Anger welled inside her, and she felt her cheeks flush with its heat.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured. “Why do you think I’m her?”

“Mistress?”

“Why do you think I’m her?” she said again, louder.

“Mistress? But I don’t…”

She didn’t hear the rest of his answer as it was drowned out by the voice inside her skull.

“You will… When it is time…” Miranda said.

“This is why?” Annalise muttered under her breath. “She is why I’m here?”

“Yes…”

“What, Mistress?” the man breathed.

“Shut up!” Annalise spat.

“Mark him…” Miranda’s voice echoed again.

“No,” Annalise said aloud. “I won’t.”

“Punishment or reward, Annalise… You decide.”

“All you want is her!” Annalise complained aloud. “What about me? I’ve done everything for you! The reward belongs to me!”

“There is enough for you both… Now mark him…”

“Mistress?” the man questioned again.

“I thought I told you to shut up!” Annalise barked, flashing him an angry stare.

“Show him how much we love him…” Miranda demanded. “I promise, you will be rewarded…”

“Damn you…” Annalise muttered. “Goddamn you…”

“I am already damned… As are you… Now do as you were told…”

Annalise huffed out a heavy sigh. She knew she couldn’t truly disobey. If she did, the punishment would come again. She feared that perhaps this time it would be even worse.

Reaching back, she slipped off one of her pumps then turned it in her hand so that she could use the tip of the sharp heel as a stylus.

The tickle returned, spreading out through her stomach, forcing the anger to flee, giving way to pleasure.

Pressing the heel-tip against the man’s bare chest, she pressed down and began to drag it in a languid arc. He yelped at the new pain, tensing just as he had done before.

“Relax, little man,” Annalise whispered. “I’m just showing you how much we love you…”

Tuesday, December 13

8:19 A.M.

Saint Louis, Missouri

Normalcy had returned. Well, normalcy so far as I could consider my life normal. Several days had passed since Ben’s call about the homicide in Baton Rouge, and I’d heard nothing about it since. In addition, other than my painfully lucid nightmares, which had greatly lessened in frequency, my afflictions were keeping a low profile. I still had a bit of the chronic ache in the back of my skull but nothing like the blinding migraine I had faced before. Since I’d rarely been without the twinge for several years now, it was easy to ignore.

At any rate, Felicity and I had fallen back into our routines, and though we were unable to ignore everything that had happened or that a killer was still at large, we decided not to let it consume our lives as it had in the past. For the time being at least, we were making a go at being just plain average, even if it was in large part a lie. So far, we seemed to be having a relative amount of success on that front, at least as far as the outside world was concerned.

I took a drink of my coffee then glanced up at the clock on the microwave before bringing my gaze back down to my wife. As usual, she was in the middle of dumping what had to be the fourth or fifth heaping spoonful of sugar into her own cup.

“What time is your meeting?” I asked.

“Ten thirty,” she replied. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Well, for one thing, you were out of bed before me, and you’re already dressed. It’s not even half past eight yet.”

“That a problem?” she quipped with a smile, rattling the spoon around the inside of the ceramic mug as she added hazelnut-flavored creamer to the already overly sweetened brew.

“Can’t say that it is. I’m just not used to you being on time, much less early.”

I dropped my eyes back to the newspaper. Most everything on the front page had fallen into the category of depressing, so I was perusing the daily comics in hopes of finding a chuckle or two instead.

“Aye, well I’m not actually there yet,” she said.

“You have a point,” I agreed without looking up.

“By the way, do I look okay?”

“You look great, as usual.”

“Rowan,” she admonished. “You aren’t even looking at me.”

I lowered the paper and gave her a quick glance. She was clad in a dark grey, pinstripe business suit. Her hair was swept up off her shoulders and pinned in place, cascading into a neat fall down her back. It also didn’t escape my notice that she’d seen more than just a cursory visit with her makeup table.