The Black Widow Rises

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

A Date With Destiny

“The black fetish-wear might seem a little clichéd,” says Madam Destiny, “but it is instantly evocative. It might be hot and constrictive but it is also enhancing and forgiving, and there isn’t a man on this planet that it doesn’t immediately say ‘s*x’ to. It shows your confidence and your dark mind. Witness you in this and a slave knows instantly that they must be subservient to you. The mere sight of you will have them quaking. Wear some denim Daisy Dukes and you can look sexy, but you also look easy, a floosy. Wear the same item of clothing in latex and you look only powerful and in control. It gives you strength and makes you feel impenetrable, especially in black.’

Destiny isn’t her real name. It’s Pauline, so maybe she is better off with the pseudonym. She is attractive but she looks like she puts her make-up with a trowel. I’d put her at mid-thirties. She is tall in her prerequisite heels, and more than amply-chested. Her hips don’t have the same curve as mine. Her raven hair doesn’t have the same length or shine and she doesn’t have the same porcelain paleness to her skin. However, she does have her very own dungeon, and that’s why I’m here.

“Pay attention to all you wear,” she says, “because slaves respond to perfection. Frayed and patched-up costume gets you only frayed and patched-up slaves. You are only as powerful as you are perfect. However, that doesn’t mean you should confuse the issue. Make one thing the focus. It can be either a body part or an object. My prime focus is the ‘Queen of Pleasure’ – a beautiful, long, smooth dildo in black smoked glass that I wear at my waist. You might choose to accentuate your breasts by leaving them partially naked, or your bottom by having it in netted stockings. Those shoes you are currently wearing would drive many to complete distraction. I know men who would give anything just to see you in them, let alone kiss them. You, maggot, come here!”

The final bit isn’t addressed to me, obviously, but to the nerdy-looking male stood facing the wall. He is dressed in grey schoolboy shorts that reach halfway down his scrawny thighs. To pair them he has long grey socks and clumpily awful black shoes. He has an off-white cotton T-shirt to cover his brawn-free torso and a ridiculous, undersized mock school cap perched atop his head. He goes to Madam Destiny with his head bowed and his hands behind his back.

“This sorry specimen is Drummond, my husband,” she says to me with disdain. Drummond! What the f**k kind of name is that? That’s the kind of name you give to a particularly disappointing tortoise. “Bring us drinks, maggot. If you don’t guess exactly what my guest here wants, I will cane your horrible backside and send you to your bedroom for the day – and you know what that means.”

What does it mean, I wonder? Those are the secrets this woman will teach me. Whatever it is, it is enough to have Drummond shuffling hastily out with his head bowed and his eyes fixed upon the floor. I’m going to see her wipe the floor with his pasty frame.

“He is an accountant by trade,” she informs me. “He works to keep me in good things and to send me on luxury holidays. All the money I earn from my clients I keep. We share his money and pay for everything out of it. I’m sure he embezzles a few of his employer’s accounts to ensure there is enough for me to want to keep him but he knows I could comfortably exist without him. He looks a little pathetic, granted, but he is surprisingly well-endowed. Do you have a husband?”

“I had one but he betrayed me, so I got rid of him.”

“That sounds wise. If a man cannot adore you entirely then what is the point of him?”

“I’m not sure any man can do such a thing,” I say. “It is just their instinct to put their s****l organs where they are not meant to be. No matter what the cost, what the harm, or what fleeting pleasure they get from it, they just seem to be incapable of stopping themselves.”

Drummond returns with a silver tray bearing two champagne flutes and something, if not champagne then certainly sparkly inside them. I hadn’t actually considered what I had wanted to drink but if I had it would have been this. Drummond’s ass should rightfully thus be spared a caning and I nod towards the woman to signal this. She looks a little smug that her slave did so well.

“That is where you are wrong,” Madam Destiny informs me. “My husband would never cheat on me. He knows his life would be worthless if he did, so it would never begin to enter his head. He is not even allowed to look at another woman whilst I am present. I will teach you how to make a man live only for you, to never even think of another woman but you.”

She sounds a bit sanctimonious and I’m a privately a touch riled that this woman presumes to think that she can enchant men more successfully than me. I’m not talking twerps like Drummond here. I’m talking men worthy of me. I flash the scrawny f**k of a husband a nasty look, since it’s his supposed fidelity that’s allowed her this little one-upmanship. He keeps his sorry eyes firmly at the floor, the little s**t.

“Each man has an invisible chain that can link to you, a mental bind that makes him put you first,” she lectures me. “Find out what that is or find a man who will worship whatever it is about you that you want him to adore. If you want your bottom to be worshipped, then make it your focus. There are enough men out there just waiting to give it their all. Put the detail, attention and money into that one chosen area. Whatever you choose – body part, apparatus, clothing item – it can be something you give them as a reward to work towards, or something they are strictly forbidden from ever knowing. It depends on your slave and how their mind works, so hold it back until you know. Never give it away too quickly or too cheaply. Make them earn it or yearn for it; that is your power.”

“Surely all men are different and all have different stimuli that turn them on?” I say. Perhaps she isn’t the expert she claims to be. I know enough to know that it’s every bit as much about specific mental stimulation, not just physical.

“You can choose a different focus for different slaves if you have more than one – whatever gives you the strongest hold over them. Drummond here lives for the Queen of Pleasure. Another slave I have lives for my cunt. I bare it for him in crotchless rubber panties that squeeze it and make it look all fat and juicy. I let him smell it, blow on it. Sometimes I play with myself just above him, so the droplets of my cream fall over his face. But he will never have it all. He wants my cunt more than he wants life itself, but no part of him will ever touch it. It makes him utterly mad for me.”

Well, I can’t deny that’s exactly the kind of thing I want to hear. I want bastard men driven insane with desire for me. I want them to suffer in my company. I want them to know that the agony of not doing what they want to me is nothing to the pain of them frittering half my life away just because they think that putting their c**k inside somebody else is just harmless fun with no consequences. I want all men from now on to serve me and stoke this raging furnace of filthy thoughts inside me and beg me to heap it upon them. I want them scarred by me, for all time. I want them wailing with despair when I decide I have no more use for them.

It struck me that I don’t instinctively know how to make this happen. A month ago I watched my husband f**k a tied-up girl on his last day alive and I raged at how much of an opportunity he wasted. I would have done a much better job on her. However, I don’t know that I would have done the best job on her that I could, and that got my goat. My husband’s demise left me rich, angry, empty, and burning with unquenched desire. It also left me able to do those things he had robbed me of. My p***y was ever itching and images of bound up f**k slaves made it hotter still. It seemed obvious that I should become a Goddess of Bondage. It is my destiny.

Maybe that’s why I chose Pauline here, although it helped that she was within a reasonable drive. I wanted a professional to show me the ropes, so that it was instinctive. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to use my new-found skills but I knew that I wanted to be the best at it, that I would take everyone’s breath away. I wanted to know all the triggers and tricks. I wanted to be hopelessly and crushingly adored, to rip out hearts with a simple sight of me. I wanted to be served in any and every way that took my fancy and never let down. I wanted them to suffer in ecstasy because that is what would give me most pleasure and make me so essential to them. I wanted to satisfy this burning fever inside me by hurting them every bit as much as I have been hurt.

“I must prepare in the dungeon,” says Madam Destiny. “The maggot will bring you down when I call.”

Off she goes. Her put-on tone is starting to grate but I understand that for many it is all about the little details. You play a role and you mustn’t stray from it. Everything has to be exact, even if you are only dealing with a little s**t like her husband.

“Drummond, you f*****g pea shoot,” I hiss at him. “What’s all this bull about you never cheating on her? I bet you are jerking off over some cheap w***e’s t**s all day long as soon as she is out of sight. I know a snivelling cocksucker like you would betray her in an instant, so why didn’t you admit as much and stop her making me out to be wrong?”

“No, Mistress – I would never cheat on her!” he implores, eyes still not on me. I almost slap him.

“What the hell makes you think you are any different to any man? None of you can help yourself, especially a scrawny turd like you. I know you would jump at the chance.”

“I have never, could never, betray her!” he wails.

“Well that’s because you’ve never had anyone like me tempt you. Do you honestly think she is worth more than me?”

“She is worth more than anyone!” he kind of squeals, but his voice is cracking.

“And your life would be worthless if you cheated on her?” I spit. “Well think how worthless your life would be if you missed out on someone like me.”

He looks like he is quivering at the thought. He jumps when he gets the call from his wife downstairs, and this perhaps snaps his mind out of visions of other, sexier Mistresses dominating him.

“I could never betray her,” he reaffirms, trying to sound decisive.

“Yeah? Well maybe we are going to see about that.”

He hurries along to show me down to the dungeon. I shoo away his offer of a helping hand as I teeter down the wooden slatted staircase to the basement, even though an unaided descent could easily lead to a swift, stuntman-like fall and a broken face at the bottom. There is a sudden sense of foreboding, going subterranean with a strange perv urging me down to where his self-confessed sadist of a wife awaits me in their dungeon, but I guess that’s the whole point. It’s the psychology thing, already working. Anyway, I remind myself that I am a killer. Since there is zero chance of there being more than one murderer in this particular bit of quiet suburbia, I know I must be safe. It’s nice to know I have rendered myself statistically immune to killers simply by butchering someone who didn’t deserve me.

The stairs open out to the room. It was never going to be one of those castle dungeon sets you see in specialist fetish films but they have spent money and done a good job. It is a touch chilly and smells very slightly of damp, but I suppose I will let them live. Lighting has been chosen well, to allow good visibility and highlight specific areas against the dark walls. The equipment is enough to get one’s belly fluttering. There are racks and tables to secure the slave, plus all manner of items of kinky torture on open display, some to make the blood bubble around your veins. There is a smell of rubber and PVC, and of gorgeous, wrenching climaxes. Madam Destiny stands there in her rubber catsuit with hands on hips and a narrow, black plastic prick poking out from her waist. On the table beside her sits a wonderful smoked glass dildo standing proudly upright: the Queen of Pleasure, no doubt. I hear Drummond suck in his breath at the sight of it, and I think I might have done the same.