Domina

Natasha liked eating expensive food in expensive restaurants and Loki was willing to oblige her. 

This particular night out had to please her more than usual because he had a question to ask - a request to make - and he wanted her to be in a good mood when he broached the topic in case he might be offending her.

But she was very good at anticipating his needs and interpreting his desires – that was her job, after all, for which he was paying her a significant amount of money each month. The ease with which she read his moods was why the expense was worth it, but on occasion it made some of their interactions more awkward. 

“You want to ask for something,” she guessed, “but you're afraid of me saying no. I wonder what could be so much worse than the things you've already asked me to do to you?” She smiled at the waiter she had shocked with this last comment and the shame of being so exposed left Loki slightly breathless, shifting in his seat, embarrassingly aroused in public yet again. 

That was another reason Natasha was worth what he paid for her time and her skills. 

He waited until they were alone again - as alone as they could be in a popular restaurant - before he spoke. “It's about the colleague you referred me to when you weren't available.” 

The attempt at discretion was entirely one-sided; “Did you like her? Did she hurt you the way you wanted?” 

He could feel himself blushing now. “Maybe we should leave this discussion until later, when we're alone.”

“Why?” She wore such a placid, innocent expression that he could almost believe she really was innocent. 

Almost. But he knew her too well and she knew him even better than that.

“Do you really want to advertise what you do?” he asked, hoping to put her off for now. “They'd never let you back in this restaurant.” 

“They would. The owner can't get enough of me.” It might have been a lie, just a way to provoke jealousy from a well paying client, but it worked. It was the push Loki needed to risk making his request.

“I want to see her again. Lady S. I'll keep our usual schedule of appointments, of course, but I want to see her as well.”

“And you want my permission.”

“Of course. You're my…” He stopped and looked around, self conscious. The word ‘mistress’ could have more than one meaning when a man was out on the town with a woman who looked like her, but they all implied some kind of sin, some transgression of morality and good taste. 

She leaned forwards, elbows on the table. ‘If you can't say it, do you really mean it? And if you meant it would you need another?” She took a drink from her wine glass, eyebrows raised and eyes fixed on his.

“Domina, then,” he suggested, not letting himself break the eye contact.

“‘Lady of the house,’” she translated, not giving in so easily.

“Mistress of the house. In every sense of the word.”

That seemed to please her, at last. It did not settle the issue but it got him out of his current verbal predicament.

She set her glass down on the table and sat back in her chair. “Take me home,” she commanded. 

He tugged at the metal zip fastening, pulling it down to where the seam ended at the base of her spine, and then he paused, uncertain. 

“I said ‘undress me’ not ‘unzip me,’” she reminded him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I was just…” There was no good excuse for letting her down so he returned to the task instead, pulling the dress from her shoulders and watching as the heavy fabric cascaded downwards under its own weight. It was all those little sparkles and beads. Silly, frivolous things, but used to great effect.

No new orders followed but the sequence of events she intended was obvious, having been followed time after time in this room and probably in the rooms of the many others he didn’t like to think about. He unhooked her bra at the back and tenderly brushed at her shoulders, fingertips finding the straps and pushing the item off entirely. 

She dropped it to the floor and pointed to the space in front of her. “Here.”

He moved around and went down on his knees in the spot she had chosen. He looked up at her with a silent plea in his eyes and she nodded. With careful fingers he peeled black lacy knickers from her skin, pulling them over her hips and her thighs, allowing her the support of a hand on his shoulder while she stepped out of them and then kicked them aside. 

She lifted her left leg high, her knee hooking over his shoulder. Again she didn’t waste words on explaining what she expected, and he was left to improvise a little, hands on her thighs to position himself properly, mouth between her legs. 

Her cunt soaked his skin, wetter than his mouth as he licked and kissed and suckled on her clit. His tongue slipped between her hot folds, tasting the sweet salt fluid it had teased from her. Pressing his mouth more firmly to her flesh he pushed his tongue inside her and licked until her thigh shook and her heel pressed into his back as she came. 

She let him lap at her heat a while longer before she pulled roughly at his hair and slid her leg off his shoulder. His chin was wet but he made no move to wipe it dry, just stayed on his knees waiting for her judgement. He had done his work well, that much he knew, but that didn't mean she would have to be generous. The only things she could really be relied upon to do were to accept his money and his devotion and occasionally his cock. This time he was asking for so much more than that and he did not expect to obtain it easily. She might choose to demand something more from him, knowing he was bound to give in when he was so desperate for what he wanted. 

This time she was kind. She pressed her foot to his groin, flexing against an erection he couldn't hope to hide. He bit his lip to hold in the moan that so nearly escaped.

She told him, “You can see her one more time.”

Just one. 

He knew it wouldn't be enough, but even so he took what she had granted. “Thank you, Mistress.”

There was no way that one more visit to Lady S would satisfy his hunger for her. He would have to find a way to feed without Natasha finding out.