The Interview

The Interview

by Mistress Skylar

as told to WR Maxwell

Ring-ring.

I take my feet off slave’s back and say, “Bring me the phone, but don’t you dare answer it.  You know slaves can not receive phone calls.  Besides, who would want to talk to you anyway.”

Ring-ring.

“Now get your ass in gear, slave, before it goes to the recorder.”

I swat at slave’s bare ass as he dutifully gets up off his knees and goes to the other room to retrieve the phone.  He kneels and without looking up, presents the cordless phone to me, his owner.

Ring-r . . .

“Yes, this is Mistress Skylar.  Who are you? - - I’m flattered. - - Oh, so my agent thinks this article will be good exposure for me.  - - When and where would you want this interview? - - No, Saturday is impossible.  I teach two 4-hour classes each Saturday. - - No, Sunday is my day for relaxing, getting my nails done, you know – just pampering and me time.  I’m not going to give that up for some junior reporter.”

The slave starts massaging my lower legs and feet.  

I place my feet on the ottoman and say, “If you want to pleasure me, then do it right,” or words to that effect.

I kick off my slippers and say, “suck on them the way I trained you.”

Too late I realize I made no effort to mute the phone or even cover the receiver.

“Yes, I have a servant, actually a house slave, with me now. - - No, you can’t talk to him.  He’s busy.”

“If one of my scheduled clients cancels his appointment, and I have a few hours free, then I’ll call you and we can arrange a meeting at a public place.  - - Yes, I meet all my prospective clients in a public place before their first session and I see no reason to treat a report differently. - -  You can ask me all your questions there. - - No, I don’t mind if you record.  I do hope your article will increase public awareness of the lifestyle, not to mention my own notoriety. - - Goodbye April.”

The slave has finished licking the soles of both feet and starts sucking on the my toes.

“Take your time, slave, we have several hours before your afternoon’s training session. Where were we? The 8-inch dildo, I think.  Yes that was it, so today will be the 9-inch.  Are you ready for it?”

The slave says, “Yes ma’am”, and presses his tongue between each toe, several times, before moving to the next.

“Oh, yes.  That’s a good boy. Make mommy’s feet feel loved.  You do love my feet, don’t you?

“Yes, ma’am.  They are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

2 Days Later.

I make a call to April Moody of Penthouse After-Hours, West Coast Edition.

“This is Miss Skylar, can I speaking with April Moody? - - Oh, so you don’t have an assistant and have to answer your own telephone. I see.  - - I’ve had a last-minute cancelation and can meet you at The Armory Club on Mission and 14th Streets in 90-minutes. Hell, let’s make it straight-up 8 o’clock. Don’t be late, and wear something sexy.  I like girls who look sexy.”

I hang up the phone and shout, “Slave!  Get dressed, we are going out and you get to wear that smart looking chauffeur’s uniform you absolutely detest.”

My slave enters the room, naked, on hands and knees, as he was taught.  He asked, “Shall I finish polishing the stemware? I only have 12 goblets left”, or something equally silly. 

I reply, “No. Leave them for later.  You know how problematic San Francisco traffic can be during rush hour.  I don’t want to be late and miss Miss Moody’s grand entrance into that dive biker’s bar on Mission Street.  I want to see how she handles herself when she is out of her comfort zone.”

“Yes ma’am.  Will that be all?”

“Yes. Dismissed.”

7:45 Mission District

My black Lincoln stopped in front of the Armor Club.  As I exit the car, I ask, “Slave, are you wearing your K9 collar and is it tight around your balls?”

“Yes ma’am.  I even put in a fresh set of batteries.”

“Good boy. Now drive around the block or find a free parking space on the street.  I don’t want to feed quarters into a parking meter or pay a god-damned parking ticket, understand?”

I remember slapping, playfully slapping, slave’s cheek as a reminder.  He knows I am capable of much, much harder blows. 

“Come to the front door when I shock you and wait until we come out.”

“Yes ma’am. We?”

“I may offer Miss Moody a lift home.  If she is a reporter worth her salt, she should jump at the chance to be alone with me and ask some questions of a personal nature.”

I went into the bar and ordered 2 glasses of wine - red for me and white for April.  I presume slave circled the block, as instructed, until his services were needed again.  

April was right on time. She wore a dark skirt, no hosiery, a white blouse, san the top 2 buttons, flats that looked like they were design by Adidas and an oversized black leather bag – or maybe it was a briefcase.  There was nothing sexy about her attire, unless she had left her panties at home.

I was decked out in my ‘working uniform’, which shows an ample amount of cleavage, and is all black kidskin, but lots of people wear black leather these days.  The waitress recognized me and instantly changed her ‘flirty’ attitude to one of servitude.  The only outward symbol of my professional dominatrix status was the diamond encrusted pendent that said ‘beg me’.

As April set down her recorder,and said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.  If we can cover all my questions, then maybe the article can be in the next issue.  The dealine is tomorrow.”She looked around, observing the character of the Armory Club, and asked, “Do you meet all your prospective customers here?”

“They are clients, and yes, I meet most of them here, but it’s not like I pick them up here.  Most of my clients live across the bridge and only frequent the Mission District for ‘adult entertainment’.“

“You mean to get laid, or to pick-up a hooker?”

“Well that could happen, but usually they are looking for something a lot less pedestrian than vanilla sex; something more edgy, something with a little more bite.  And that is why they seek me out; for the bite.”

We had more wine and talked until nearly 10:00.  The bar had gotten progressively noisier, and the meeting/interview was uneventful.  No surprise questions, no references to California politics, no gang fights; too early for that, but plenty of attention from the usual drunks, bikers and bar-flies that frequent the Mission District.  

April asked, “Can we finish this tomorrow?  I haven’t covered half of my questions, but I don’t want to miss my train.”

I looked at her sternly before saying “No.”  Then I said, “however, I can have my chauffeur drive you home and you can ask me your remaining questions in the quiet of the backseat.  That way you can still make your deadline.” 

“Oh, that would be wonderful. Frankly, this place is a little too loud for my taste and I doubt that my recorded can deal with all the background noise.”

“Fine. I’ll call my driver and have him pick us up,” I said, as I removed the transmitter from my bag and pushed the solitary button on the device.

“Oh, is that one of those antique pagers?” asked April.  “I’ve never seen one up close.  So, all you do is push the button? No numbers to dial?”

“The receiver and transmitter are a wired pair.  They only connect with each other.  Here, you can try it,” I said as I handed the unit to April.

“So all you do is push the button – once – like this?” April pushed the button on the transmitter.

“That’s all. It has a range of about 2 miles.  You can push it once, or push and hold the button down, if you like, and if my driver is needed immediately.”

April pushes the button again and holds it for about 5 seconds.  “How do you know he got the signal?”

“He can respond by pushing a button on his receiver, or just say ‘I’m coming ma’am’, since he is rarely very far away.”

As if on cue, a green light flashed on her transmitter. “There, he has signaled he got our message and is probably waiting at the front door.”

We left the bar and walked out on to Mission Street, but slave and the Lincoln Town Car are nowhere to be seen. “worthless bitch”, I muttered.  I retrieved the transmitter, held it high in the air and pushed the button again.  From around the corner there was a shrill male scream of pain.  Slave had parked in front of the 14th Street door. 

Slave got out from behind the wheel and hustled around the front of the car with his bare ass showing like 2 full moons through the cutouts in the trousers of his charcoal grey uniform.  He stood at attention, opened the door for me and April with one hand, and held his crotch with the other.

A group of men whistled at slave’s exposed ass. “Hey girly-boy, come with us.  We can fill that pretty butthole.”

I grabbed slave by his collar, held up the transmitter threateningly and demand, “where the hell were you? Jacking off in some dark alley?”

“Ma’am, please no, I beg of you. I was just around the corner.  I got here as quickly as I could. Please don’t shock again.”

“Very well. I’ll delay your punishment until we get home,” but then I tapped the button and slave yelped in pain.  I’m sure he got the message.

The Ride Home

April gave her address to slave and he drove off.  I raised the privacy panel, turned on the interior lights and was alone with this naive, young reporter. 

“Does that little box really shock his balls?”

“Oh yes. That long burst you gave him back in the bar may have burnt off a patch of his pubic hair. Do you want to tease him some more?”

“No, well, maybe. I didn’t know I was hurting him. I just thought it would buzz or something.  Does it really hurt him badly?”

I handed the transmitter to April, “here, try it and see.”  I lowered the privacy panel so April can hear his reaction. 

April pushed the button, ever so briefly.  The driver yelped and I raised the panel.

“That was kind of fun, making him jump like that. I wish my boyfriend would jump every time I ask him to do something.”

“You are a natural dominant, April.” I resisted the urge to place my hand on her knee and said, “You know I give Domination lesson, to women in the lifestyle, and to women who just want to control their husbands.  But the lessons are not cheap.”

“I’ll remember that.  Maybe I can get Josh to pay for them.  His family is rich.”

“That’s the spirit.  Always make the male pay.”

April laughed. 

I asked, “Are there any more questions? You won’t have to worry about him eavesdropping in here,” I say pointing at the panel. “It is completely sound proof.”

“Well, I would like to hear about your most memorable encounter with a client,” asked April, as she turns her recorder back on.

“It was a long time ago - my first professional session.  You always remember the first session, just like you always remember your first kiss, and the first fucking.”

April cleared her throat.  “I see.”

“It started like this.  We met at a bar, but not the Armory Club.  We had a few drinks and talked about things, a lot of things. We talked about what we liked and disliked about the lifestyle. I did most of the talking because he had even less actual experience than I.” 

He said softly, “I want to take it slow and ease into my role. You know, try some small stuff first then progress and see what I like”.  

His voice was hushed, but his body language was screaming total submission, with a touch of insecurity.

“I agree”, but couldn’t help thinking to myself he was just another sub-male wanting to control the scene from the bottom. 

He was very eager to start, so we agreed to meet at a cheap motel in the Tenderloin District that weekend.

Saturday Evening - The Meeting

I waited in the parking lot, watching the parade of hookers working the motel. He was late, but booked the motel room, as we had discussed earlier in the week. 

“Number 7, and on the first floor, just as you wanted, ah, ma’am” he said, trying to sound compliant.

“Carry my bag, and any of your luggage, into the room, turn the air conditioner on, and come out when it is nice and cool.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I spent the next 10-minutes in the Camry I owned at the time, waiting for the motel room to cool down.  I can’t stand the musty smell of low-end motel rooms.  The mixture of tobacco smoke and sweat always turns my stomach.  Experience has taught me that blowing in some cool air reduces the objectionable odors.  My new client played the part of a perfect gentleman and held the door for me as I entered the room.

“It still stinks in here,” I complained.

“Should I ask the manager for another room?” he replied lamely. “But this is the last one available on the first floor.”

“It doesn’t matter. Take off your clothes," I commanded. He did, and he neatly folded each garment before placing it on the bed beside his suitcase.  What a waste of time.  I was getting pissed.

"Now turn around, so I don’t have to see your tiny little dick and put your hands behind your back." 

I tightly tied his hands behind his back then reached around and grabbed his balls.

"These belong to me now, slave, understand?" 

"Yes ma'am" he said, nearly choking on the lump in his throat.

"Good slave, now let’s get out of here." 

"What? That wasn't part of the deal.  You didn't say anything about leaving the motel." 

I reached around his head and put my hand over his mouth. "Shhhhh.  Quite slave.  You will only speak when I tell you to, or when I ask you a direct question.  Got it slave?" I slapped his ass for emphasis.

"Ah, but, I thought we were......"

Before he could say another word, I put a large ball gag in his mouth. Then I put a collar around his neck and locked it on with a small pad lock before snapping on a chain dog leash.

"Your ass belongs to me now, you are my slave, mine, and mine alone," I whispered into his ear.  

I’m sure he didn't know what to think and I could tell he was getting scared.  I love it when they are scared. 

“Now face away from the door, get on your knees, and put your head on the floor.”  He obeyed.  “Good. Now stay exactly like that.  Don’t move a muscle.” 

I left the room, turned my car around, and backed it up to the door of the motel. In the rear-view mirror, I could see him on his knees through the open motel door.  So could anyone else. 

I stood outside the open door and said, "come on slave let’s go." 

He walked over to me, but hesitated.   I pulled him outside by the leash, as I popped the trunk on my car.  I then pushed him into the trunk, saying, "Just relax, we're going to your new home, slave", then I lowered trunk lid, but did not close it.

In the room, I went through his pockets, found his wallet and car keys and left them in plain sight in the middle of the bed.  Next, I threw the rest of his clothes on the floor and I grabbed the 2 small suit cases.  I opened the truck and threw the luggage on top of him before slamming the trunk lid closed.  Good thing I had removed the spare tire, otherwise there wouldn’t have been room.

We arrived at my house, I popped the trunk open and put a blindfold on him. I helped him out of the trunk and led him into the house. Once inside, I lead him through several quick turns, around the living room twice, then down a long flight of stairs. He was thoroughly disoriented. I unbolted the heavy oak door and pushed him into my dungeon. I took off his blindfold, and he gasped, obviously impressed with my toy collection. I walked him over to a wooden horse and bent him over it. I tied his ankles together and then tied the rest of the rope to his collar. He was bent double and his ass was completely exposed - helpless and at my mercy.  

“You know I do occasionally bestow mercy on a client, by the way,” I told April.

“That’s good to know. Is that all of the story?”

“Oh no. I’m just getting to the good part.”

I asked the man, "Ready slave?", but of course he couldn’t answer, due to the gag, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

I began to beat his ass; floggers first, paddles second, whips third, and finally my bare hand. I do so love the heat coming off a freshly reddened butt. I used everything. It hurt him, but it was really turning me on. I mean he was tied up, naked, gagged, and had no idea where he was. He was at my mercy and I liked it. When I was done beating his ass, I untied the rope between his collar and his ankles and told him,  “stand up straight. No slouching.  I took out the ball gag and walked around him inspecting his body.

"Where am I?” he whimpered. “You never said anything about leaving the motel.”

I quickly put my hand over his mouth. 

“Shhhhhh, be quiet.  This is your new home, and you are my new slave".  I took my hand away from his mouth. 

"Where're just playing here right, I mean you’re going to untie me and let me go when we are done, right?”, his voice was trembling. 

I covered his mouth with my hand again, saying, “You're trying my patience slave.” I slapped his face, hard.

“Maybe I'll let you go someday, but for right now and for the immediate future, YOU ARE MINE, MY SLAVE, MY PERSONAL SLAVE, AND THATS ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW.  NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP, OR I WILL SHUT YOU UP!”

“That’s quit a story,” said April. “But I don’t think I can use it in the article.”

“Why not?”

“Because it portrays a real-life crime – kidnapping. I’m sure there is some sort of missing persons report and maybe stollen vehicle report.  The police will get involved, track you down, which won’t be hard since you advertise your services in our magazine.  They will ask about the man, locate him, and he’ll file charges.  Or, if they can’t find him, they’ll open a murder investigation.  If your story is not true, and is all fiction, the magazine won’t print it.  This edition is devoted to true exotic experiences – not made up stories.”

The Truth Revealed

I lowered the privacy panel.

The driver said, “Is anything wrong, Mistress Skylar?  We are almost to Miss Moody’s apartment.”

“Find a convenient place to pull over.  Miss Moody has a question for you.”

The driver pulled into a gas station and turned the engine off.

“Miss Moody, please play the tape back so the driver can hear the story I just related to you.”

April played the recording.  The driver listens intently; smiling at some parts and nodding his head at others.

When the recording was over, I asked, “Slave is that story true?”

“Yes ma’am.  Completely true.”

“Are you the man in the story?”

“Yes.  You know I am.”

“And do you consider yourself a prisoner – being held against your will – kidnapped, or in any way deprived of your freedom?”

“Oh no ma’am.  I am the luckiest man in the world being allowed to serve you, Mistress Skylar.”

“And would you ever file charges against your Mistress?”

“Oh no.  Never.  I know I can leave our relationship at any time, but why?  It is perfect for me and I believe you are satisfied, also.”

“There you have it,” I said to April.

“Slave, continue to Miss Moody’s apartment.  I’m sure she has a lot of typing to do to meet her deadline.”