“He will, unfortunately. He’ll be again accompanied by a rather young lady; the nature of it hasn’t been explained to me, but thevetting has verified her as eighteen. He has been thoroughly instructed and reprimanded. I do hope it has an effect. If not, you’ll enforce protocol. Anything else?”
As nothing comes, I tell them, “Let’s get ourselves ready then.”
I slip into my changing room, shower, and let the stylist know I am ready to be worked on.
She has been doing my makeup and hair for over ten years now; we’re a great team and work without many words.
It takes me half an hour to get into my costume. The corsage alone takes ten minutes. The stockings and leather harnesses over my legs follow. My stylist attaches everything, adds the long black leather train skirt with a side opening for one leg, and then helps me into the long-sleeved devil’s-collar, made from soft nubuk leather.
She is finishing the outfit by applying black glitter with skin glue to my face and legs.
“That’s a new one,” I say when she is done, and I look at myself in the mirror.
“I thought it would fit the evening, black, mysterious, while giving the appearance of being slightly otherworldly, almost magical,” says my stylist as she slips on my heels. Not too high, but high enough to make an impression.
As a younger woman, I did everything I could to look young, but now that I am older, I embrace every single one of my wrinkles. I enjoy my age to the fullest—something many people do not understand.
I do treat myself, of course. I weight-train to stay fit, I see a dermatologist every month, and I look fresher than ever—the real magic. So many others my age let themselves go; I do not. I enjoy life, and I wish to keep it that way.
“Mistress, how far along are you?” asks my assistant through the door. She knows I am not to be called Victoria the moment I step into the role, as everyone else is.
“Ready in five,” I answer. Before I go out there, I always take five minutes where I step into the role. Five minutes of becoming.
I rarely get nervous after all this time. I am not going out there as Victoria; I go out there as The Mistress. It is a role I play for my own enjoyment—stepping into a different personality is what makes it so appealing.
A couple of deep breaths as I close my eyes and walk myself through the timeline once more. I am The Mistress—the Lady of the Ceremonies.
I step out of the room, trying to hand my phone to my assistant. It vibrates in my hand, and I glance at it.
unknown number
Thank you. Mia
Three words. I read. Re-read. Draw back my shoulders, but I cannot shake the sensation her message caused in me. Simple, yet so powerful.
“Do you want me to react?” asks my assistant.
My eyes close for the briefest moment as I take in the effect her message has on me, but I have to let go of the thought, let go of the sensations within me.
All the way to the stage, my mind is occupied with forming images. Images that will never come to reality. I have always found it unwise to linger with imaginative thoughts too long, but this time, I cannot stop them from coming.
The show must go on.
A woman kneels gagged at my feet, ordered by her dominant. The flogger in my hand brushes over her skin in a playful moment of anticipation. Every other day, I would have invited her to a lesson in submission; today, my mind wanders, imagining the shy, scared wallflower Mia kneeling before me.
I find myself distracted all evening.
Usually, I engage with members sexually, but today, I cannot. I guide them, entertain them, push them become their feral self, but I am detached.
My mind wanders to Mia at every possible moment, and because I am not completely in focus, I cannot engage—everything else would be negligent. After all, the rules of risk awareness in consensual kink are the highest law in what I do.
I cannot wait for the event to be over. The desire to leave has never been strong; today has been an exception that should not have happened. I deliver perfection; that is why my reputation travels far beyond the normal influence. I cannot have anyone interfere with my business, let alone my ability to focus.
And while it would be a prize to uncover her depth, I know I cannot pursue her. It would be foolish. Not because she is so much younger, I have played with younger women, but because she confuses my mind.
“Get me home,” I tell Henry as I step out of the venue into the night that has become a morning with greyness lurking on the horizon of the darkness. “I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone until Monday morning,” I tell him, and he nods.
What I need is sleep, peace and quietness to release thoughts and sensations. A smirk hushes over my face with the thought, because I think of Mia, who is such an advocate for peace and quiet.
