Hooker - VIP Domme

Candy carefully opens the door to your studio as you inspect your tools and instruments as you do at the start of each day. They're well maintained and cleaned, as they always are. You smile. Hiring Candy from the strip club and making her your assistant was a great idea – she’s an excellent help, diligent, always cheerful, an eye candy. And always willing to help you relax with a quick cunnilingus in between a hard work day. She's been hesitant to quit her job as a stripper, but when you hired her, you had already build seizable reputation in the best circles and have been able to pay her generously. A lot more than she earned there. As a fixed salary. And the men she gets to see here are a LOT less – presumptuous. You really think she likes the job, receiving clients and maintaining your equipment and taking care of your general well being.

She enters the dimly lit room, dressed in her usual white frilly corset, pink panties, stockings and pumps combination. The perfect contrast to your all black, all leather and chains, thigh high boots style. You find it funny to let her receive your clients looking like an innocent bride in her wedding night before they decent into your realm.

Your realm being Madam Gypsy’s Dungeon, located in an inconspicuously looking house in the outskirts of town. In the last year, it has become the first address for men who enjoy – a little downtime from their life of power and influence, and by down, you mean down on the ground, licking your boots.

You had gathered a seizable clientèle, recommended by your first and still best client – almost all of your guest are members of his consecrative party or otherwise moving in the same circles he does. The elite of the city. Keepers of the public morale. Word of mouth has spread and by now, every man with certain desires, the right attitude and a big enough bank account is in your little black book.

Candy clears her throat.

“Madame Gypsy….”

It had taken her some days go get used to calling you that. Not just Gypsy anymore, but not Mistress like your clients. She’s your subordinate, not your submissive. There's a huge difference - the spanking that taught her to properly address you once and for all had therefore been playful. Nothing major. Just a slap on the wrist compared to what you do to your subs. She could sit on her ass afterwards, if a little uncomfortably. You enjoy disciplining your only employee - and the state of her pussy afterwards let you know so does she, but that’s just light training. Your clients on the other hand...

“Your first appointment is waiting in the ante room, Ma’am.”

Your clients' disciplining is serious business. You grin. One of your favourite customers.

“On his knees?”

“Of course Ma’am.”

“Let him wait for 15 more minutes. Then send him in. I want him marinated in his own sweat."

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She walks out.

You look at yourself in the full body mirror and smile. You've come a long way. You wield power over the most powerful men in the city, make a very good living as a woman of dominance. Have your own, obedient little pet employee. Incredibly to imagine what you have been a year ago. A small little man in a small little job, without power, without influence, without money, without sex you didn't pay for. The man you were was weak. As most men you’ve met in your time as a woman are. You can look through them now, and you have no problem to take what’s yours - power, sex, money. All that because you're a woman. All that because you don't have to hide your true feelings and being any more behind a face of fake masculinity and pride. Your femininity is real. Your strength is real. As is your newfound pride. You’re the woman you were meant to be. Your best self possible.

You adjust the chains and straps on your outfit. It's a leather one piece, covering your tits, ass and pussy while hugging them tightly and shaping the top the best look possible. You don't show your body to your clients any more – not that you minded doing that as stripper – but what you loved most about that exhibitionism was the power it gave your over the men staring at you, devouring you with their eyes. You don't need that any more. Your nudity is a heavy but blunt weapon to control men. You’re a surgeon now and your new tools are scalpels. You look amazing in tight black leather – and that is all the men worshipping you get to see of you, unless you chose otherwise. Which you rarely do.

You take a big gulp of water. Your work is sweaty. Also you may need body fluids later. Some clients pay extra for drinks. You chuckle.

Sit down on your throne-like chair in the middle of the room. Look at your watch - the only timepiece in the room, the men don’t are not allowed any sense of the passage of time - and hear Candy knock, your client in tow.

As you demanded, he’s in full dress uniform. He had been hesitant to reveal who he is at first, but of course none of your clients has any secrets from you you'd let them keep.

“You again. Well. No wonder, you have every reason to yearn for punishment, am I right?”

You nod to Candy who leaves and closes the soundproof door behind her.

“You've been a bad little piggy again, haven ‘t you?”

He gulps.

“I read about you in the news. Corruption. Cover ups of misdemeanours of your officers. Police brutality. Well, that one is – pretty much the norm, isn't it, little piggy.”

He nods.

“You think your friends in high places will help you again?"

He sweats profusely, now.

“The mayor was here a couple of days ago. He's not too happy with his Chief of Police… If he fires you, you’ll probably not be able to afford me any more, hm?"

You giggle. His eyes open wide as if That was the worst part of his current situation.

“Mistress. I… could you…”

You frown.

“Could I? What could a humble service worker like me do for a big man like you!”

You laugh out loud.

“Well. Of course I’ll meet with him again pretty soon, so.. I could just Order him to keep you…”

“Could… would…”

“But why should I? You're not the only one form your branch of the administration who frequents me. I'm sure your successor will be a good client of mine, too.”

“Please. Mistress…”

“Well, well. We shall see. If you’re a good little, piggy, I might consider the trouble worth my time.”

He just looks at you expectantly.

“We'll start with my compensation. Given how much money has been circulating in that corruption scandal, I think you have some to spare. Also, in case do you get busted, you gut lose it anyway. Better give it so someone who needs it, hm?”

"Y… yes. Mistress. “

“Alright, double the usual fee for my services today, then, it is. And then…”

You stand up, take his double chin into your hand and make him look up to you - thanks to your heeled boots, he has to.

“You’ll prove to me you're a good little piggy and regret the bad things you did. That's what you're here for, right, atone for all the stupid, terrible stuff you do in your job...”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Alright. Pay up, pay-pig, then undress!”

He puts the banknotes - a lot of them – into the drawer you reserved for the purpose and then takes off the clothes he always does. You enjoy letting him keep on as much ass possible - the jacket covered in colourful bands representing his decorations and rewards, and his hat with the golden embellishments. All the symbols of the power he DOESN'T have in here. But his pants go. There's noting more pathetic than a man fully dressed but for his pants, his pale, hairy legs and his small dick all out. It stands up erect – not an impressive sight, he’s one of your least endowed clients. Fitting into your theory you developed. Its not perfect and doesn’t apply to all men, but the higher they go the smaller their dicks are. Compensating goes a long way to motivate men. You giggle - didn't work for your old male self, you have to admit, stuck in his stupid job despite yr tiny dick. But that's the past. You were never meant to be that man.

You begin with light warm up. Back on your throne he kneels down at your feet and begins kissing your boots, licking the soles and polishing the leather with his tongue. You giggle as his cock grows harder. Good - you love torturing erect cocks more.

He licks and kisses up the shaft of your boots and then you order him to he remains in the position you allow him – between your legs, as close to your pussy as he'll ever get, separated by the leather barrier of your domme outfit. He never saw it, never will. You make it clear to almost all clients that that is way beyond what they're worth getting from you. You do let him get a smell of it – metaphorically and literally before you move on.

You go to your instruments rack and pick a simple cane. You have a lavish collection of **** devices but you've found this simple thing most effective and practical. You use others for the sake of variety, but this is your favourite.

He remains on all fours on the cold stone floor of your dungeon and over the course of the next 20 minutes you paint the Chief of Police's ass red, then blue, then black. Making him apologise after every single blow for begin a bad little piggy.

He screams his throat hoarse, but he doesn’t cry. Yet.

That happens when you move to torturing his ball. As swift hard kick and he collapses onto the floor, screaming, babbling and moaning. You give him time to recover, then you let him stand up and move over to the the St.-Andrews cross, the huge wooden X on the wall, and strap him to it.

You grab his balls, punch them and for the next 15 minutes, make him regret he was born a man for every single second, punishing, torturing, almost smashing the dangling disgusting things. How pathetic men are. How easy nature made into crying little worms. You grin. You have no desire to show mercy. If nature hadn't intended the balls to be used to inflict pain, she shouldn't have made then SO damn ****.

You know more than most other women, probably, HOW much it hurts. You had your own balls kicked some times by bullies in the school-yard without being able to defend yourself. The worst pain in your life. Or maybe as mere man you were just that weak. One way or the other, you can imagine what the pain must feel like for as long as you inflict it on the Chief of Police now. He cries, screams, begs for mercy. Doesn't use his safeword, though. They almost never do. You've made it clear that you'd respect it – but never again would make use of any male too weak to stand your treatment. Pathetic. Made to suffer. Men.

When he’s about to faint, you stop. Time for the grand finale.

He’s not able to walk alone, you drag him to the padded saw-horse and tie him to it, belly down. Gag him with a huge black ball-gag. You love to hear your little piggy’s muffled squeaks for this part.

You take your favourite strap-on from your instrument closet, put it on and parade in front of him. His eyes widen and he grunts into his gag, wriggles in his bonds.

You know him well enough - he's one of the men you can use with a gag – if he didn't use his safeword until now he never will. He’s enjoying this too much. He just wouldn't admit it, not to you, not even to himself.

You quite generously put lubricant on your huge rubber cock and press the head against his tight sphincter.

He grunts as you enter him. He Does sound like a pig, you hear, grinning. With one slow, steady shove, you sink the cock deep into his bowels. His sphincter grips it hard but doesn't resist it. He's a well trained butt slut by now, his first session has been a lot more like breaking in a bucking stallion. He’s more of a tame gelding now, despite still having his cock and balls. Some times you teasingly threaten to remove them, but you enjoy torturing them too much for that. You grab them, reaching around. He groans. His cock has gotten hard – you know how much that alone must hurt after having it and the balls in your – caring hands for so long – the balls are swollen and bruised. But they still work. Painfully. You let go again . You will allow him to cum. But only if he comes purely from being sodomized. For a man like him, publicly presenting a macho façade and having been filmed making homophobic comments on multiple occasions, THIS – you know very well from experience – is the ultimate humiliation.

You ram his ass hard and steady, his groans are tortured and pain-filled. But also lusty - and the longer it goes, the more that part prevails. He’s moaning and grunting into his ball-gag, rubbing his cock against the hard leather of the saw-horses' padding as you fuck his ass well and thoroughly. You know the spots, know how to move it, until eventually he cums with an animalistic grunt, squirting a thin fountain of watery cum against the saw horse.

You pull out, take his gag out and let him lick off your rubber cock. He does it without a second's hesitation, another big step on the long way since the first time you made him do it - crying and blabbering

Then untie him, let him lick the saw hose and floor clean of his cum before allowing him to put his pants back on.

“OK. You were a good piggy. I’ll have a talk with the mayor next time I see him. He'll let you keep your job. And you'll still be able to come to me and atone for your sins!"

He kneelsw down, kisses your feet gratefully!”

"Alright, alright, that's enough! You didn’t’ pay for another round, piggy! Off you go!”

He walks quickly, clumsily finishing putting his pants back on as you sit down smiling in your throne. Another happy client served.

Candy walks in.

“Everything alright Madam Gypsy?”

"Perfectly fine, Kitten. You may clean off the saw-horse, the cross and the strap-on. Shouldn't be much to do, piggy licked it all clean already. “

“Thanks for letting THEM deal with that yucky stuff, Ma’am.”

Candy giggles, gets disinfectant and cleaning rags and wipes off the used tools and furniture, mostly of your client's spit and a little bit of cum he missed.

“Anything else, Ma'am?

“When do we have our next appointment?”

“IT Company CEO in half an hour, and the local news anchor later tonight.“

You nod. Three’s a good number. You usually god rid of all aggressions and stress after three clients and aren’t too exhausted.

“Alright, get me snack, I'm starving."

Your assistant nods and comes back with a fruit platter. You'll feast after work, in between you just replenish some energy.

“And get between my legs, we have time for some short relaxation!”

She smiles happily – you don't think she's that good an a actress – pleasing her boss genuinely seems to be her favourite part of the job, gets on her knees between your legs, pushes the thin leather covering your pussy to the side and eagerly begins to lick your clit. You need this, now. Nothing turns you on like torturing men – the more they remind you of how pathetic Alexander used to be the better - and nothing takes you down as good as your assistant's swift, eager tongue.

This is life. This is where you're meant to be. A Goddess, reborn to punish men for their misdeeds - the ones you did when being a man included.

The End

Or is it?

[I will not accept chapters before the endings to not change the points, but if you feel inspired to write a story about the hero/ine's life after my final chapters feel free to write them.