[peccavi]

Melissa Windeyer's Wanton Misadventures
Chapter 15 Deja Vu on the Downside

I

“Melissa, you can't go out…not on your own.”

“Why not?” I glared across the table at Britney Summers. It was the first time I'd seen her since that horrid night at Chatro. She’d invited me to a tea shop, no doubt to apologise for abandoning me to that snake Willie. Now here she was, sitting across the table from me in a low cut scarlet dress – had she gone to work like that? – and a black leather jacket, and telling me what to do! Just who, I wondered, did Britney Summers think she was? More to the point, who did she think she was talking to?

At least she had the setting right. The tea salon – not a coffee shop – was very upmarket, with rooms styled after some famous tea shops in Glasgow that, according to the leather cover of the menu, were designed by Scotland's greatest architect and interior designer, Charles Rennie McIntosh. The place was delightful, tastefully decorated, lit by the sun streaming in through large windows and by lights in sconces set on the walls. I took mental notes, resolving to find out more about McIntosh's designs. I’m Melissa Windeyer and I always seek to improve my mind, especially when it might pay off in my work.

The food – sandwiches, a scone with jelly and cream and a dessert cake – was artfully prepared and delicious. I'd have to watch my figure. As for the tea, I never knew there were so many different blends of teas. It was just the place for A-listers. Indeed, I recognised some of my employer's friends. I’d definitely have to grace this establishment in the future.

Brit had told me, before we sat down, that she was paying. So she should, after leaving me to be so abjectly humiliated at Chatro. But here she was, giving me – Melissa Windeyer! – orders. I bristled.

“Melissa, it’s for your own good,” she insisted. “You need a buddy to look out for you. So do I. Alone, we’re vulnerable. When those Bernard sisters teamed up against me, I'd have lost badly without you.”

“Thank you for your admission.” I bit back a sharper comment.

“But Mel, honey,” Brit leaned forward, brushing my forearm with her hand, “look what happened to you at Chatro, with Willie…and after.”

My anger spilled over then. “You weren't much of a buddy then, were you Brit?. No, you abandoned me to them! What happened? Did you find Mr Irresistible, or was it Ms Irresistible? No, you were no buddy to me then.”

Eyes smarting, I sat and fought back tears, not just of anger but of shame too. I'd tried so hard to block out the awful memories of that night and here was Brit, making them come flooding back. Willie – that treacherous trannie snake Willie – had played upon my excitement at the fight between Bunnie and Alixe, my deep desire for Bunnie to win, the intensity of my engagement in the fight. He’d used it to twist my mind. He'd played his evil mind games on me as Alixe had turned the fight around. The way he'd played upon my imagination – no, Melissa Windeyer is nothing but honest with myself – the way he’d played me so completely, was too horrid to remember.

“No, I wasn’t…and I’m sorry,” Britney blushed and looked at the table. “I should have looked out for you.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “But don’t you see? That kind of thing can happen again, especially so soon after…well, after that debacle. You’re fragile, Mel. You’re not yourself. Remember how you captured Kelsey…he was weak, vulnerable – ”

“I hope you're not comparing me to that gurl!” I interjected, glaring at her. “I know what to do…stay away from Chatro, rebuild my reputation somewhere else, and avoid conflict for a while.” My anger rose further. Why was Britney lecturing me? ”I'm Melissa Windeyer! I know how to handle myself!” I dug my nails into my palms to calm myself down, took a deep breath and added more gently, “I know you have good intentions, Brit.” I had to give her some credit. After all, I wanted her to remain a satellite in my orbit. “But really, I can look after myself.” I gave her hand a squeeze and changed the subject. “How’s Henry?”

I made a mistake – for once – in bringing up Henry. I realized that as soon as Brit began to reply. Henry was Britney’s lover – a rich, generous lover – and he’d been more than generous lately. Not only had he installed Brit in her own apartment, paying half her rent and giving her a generous budget for furniture and décor but now, she gushed, he was about to take her to Florida for three days. Smugly, she told me how she had arranged her nursing shifts so she could have a long weekend. They were flying out the following Thursday night.

I ground my teeth. Britney knew I was still using all my wiles to persuade either Césaire Joffre or Edward Packenham – or both – to help me into an apartment like Henry had for her, but so far without success. Britney, as inferior to me as Neptune is to the sun, had gotten what I so craved. And now her lover was taking her away for a fall break! If I wasn’t Melissa Windeyer, I'd have seethed with jealousy. As it was, I kept my composure, listened politely, then made my excuses. After all, I did have to get back to work.

Britney’s news did nothing to improve my mood though. Work was boring. I was out in the store that afternoon, fawning over shoppers who couldn’t seem to make up their mind what couch or dining ensemble they wanted to buy, or indeed if they wanted to buy anything at all. They seemed to have no problem idly browsing, though.

It wasn’t just dull, it was low-paying too. I’m no store clerk. I’m Melissa Windeyer, design consultant with a business card to prove it, and – more importantly – I make my money on commissions from interior design work for homes and offices. I wasn’t getting a lot of commissions yet, what with the state of the economy, but the volume of work, and the money I received, was growing as my reputation grew through word of mouth, with one satisfied client recommending me to the next.

That afternoon brought no commissions though, not even a hint of one, so I had nothing to break the drudgery. After four, there weren’t even any customers to distract me from brooding, so I turned my thoughts to what I’d do that night. I decided I’d show Britney and the other naysayers that Melissa Windeyer was still a force to be reckoned with. I dismissed my initial idea of going clubbing, maybe hitting Pasminco or some of the new places in Pulaski Park. No, Melissa Windeyer was going to show the world I wasn’t afraid. I was going to hit the Scene.

Fortune favours the brave, I reminded myself, and the glittering prizes belong to those with stout hearts. I wasn’t going back to Chatro though, not so soon. That would be playing Russian Roulette. Melissa Windeyer is brave but not stupid. I knew I was still fragile, and I’m clever enough not to tempt fate. Nor would I go to Ronaldo. That too would be foolhardy – too many of the Chatro crowd patronized Ronaldo too, when they wanted a little more class.

Instead, I decided to go to Galeforce. It was a sufficiently different clientele, but still part of the D/s scene, and word would get around that Melissa Windeyer was no has-been, that I was a powerful Domme who deserved respect.

I dressed for Galeforce in the same outfit I’d worn for that bad night in Chatro. The shiny latex dress was midnight blue, so dark as to look black, until it would catch the light and shimmer an iridescent blue. Sleeveless and short, it ended just below my butt and clung to my every curve like a second skin, too tight and form-fitting for any underwear. It was open for a hand’s breadth down the front to well below my navel, except for a narrow band between my breasts. It pulled them together, deepening my cleavage, revealing a lot of underboob, and emphasizing the fact that my full, firm bosom needed no support.  The open front also showed off the dangling gold charm that glinted in my belly button. The dress wasn’t quite backless, but the wide mesh panel of lace that descended from the base of my neck to almost the top of my butt cheeks revealed more flesh than it covered.

Along with the dress I wore glossy black open toed sandals with four-inch heels and slender ankle straps. I accessorized it with a sapphire pendant on a long, twisted gold chain, which hung between my breasts and set off the dress to perfection. It had been a gift from Arthur Wellesley, before that devious bitch Lauren had gotten her hooks into him.

Of course, I wore my collar too – the thick silver chain that Ms Justeen, my Mistress, had given me, with the names of anyone I’d had sex with, engraved one to a link. There were a lot of engraved links now, and relatively few blank ones – even less after that horrid night at Chatro. Some of them – my own conquests – I was proud of. Others – those who had tricked, flipped and conquered me, I wasn’t, but I viewed them as a reminder that even I, Melissa Windeyer, was not invincible. Even I could fall, but I would always rebuild myself – as I was going to do tonight.

Looking at myself in the bedroom mirror, I was impressed and even a little aroused – my nipples showed faintly, tenting the thin latex. I was, as Britney had said the first time I wore the dress, ‘smoking hawt’. I’d had mixed feelings before I put it on, but I wasn’t going to leave a smoking hawt outfit in the closet, just because I’d once had a bad night in it. When you’ve got it, flaunt it. Melissa Windeyer has it in spades, and the dress flaunted it exquisitely. I would be the object of everyone’s desire, a powerful Domme to be admired, my attention and my favours coveted by all.

And so it proved. Every head turned as I strode boldly into Galeforce, my head high, and shimmied out of my topcoat. As I always reminded myself, and others in my orbit, to look confident is to be confident. Tonight, my confidence was evident to all.

Before I could even hand it to the coat check girl at the entrance, it was whisked out of my hand by a man standing nearby. “Melissa Windeyer! Don’t you look positively delicious! Here, let me take that for you.” As he took the coat, he slid his other arm around my waist and kissed me deeply.

When he broke the kiss – and it was a very good kiss – I gazed at him with wide eyes, struggling to place him. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t put a name to the face.

As I got my breath back, I sized him up. He was tall and very handsome, a little older than most guys I knew, perhaps in his fifties, his dark hair salted with grey. The thing that struck me most was the way he oozed wealth, from his tailored pants and sports jacket to the dark red silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, and most of all the air of confidence he projected. His blue eyes twinkled with mischievous amusement. I so longed to be able to project that kind of self-assurance myself, the air every true A-lister had.

His left hand still on my back, holding me close, he handed my coat to the cloak room girl with his right. When he pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket to tip her, the movement pulled his jacket aside, enough for me to see the monogram on his shirt – JGW.

It was then I remembered who he was. “Joseph Garnet Wolseley!” It was part declaration and part protest, as he ran his hand down my back, stroking my bare skin through the open mesh, then continued down to squeeze my butt. “I barely know you!”

That was true, but I certainly knew of him. He was a regular guest at Ms Justeen’s parties, and all of those who Ms Justeen collectively called the ‘demimondaine’ at least knew him by reputation. That insulting term didn’t apply to me, of course. I'm not one of the cheap gold-digging sluts who occupies Ms Justeen’s outer orbit, the ones who take what they can, when they can. I’m Melissa Windeyer.

My winning smile faded suddenly as I heard the malicious voice of that insect Lauren in my head, “Melissa Windeyer, who takes it under the table.” I pushed that thought out of my mind. Willie, the vile snake, would pay for reminding me of that taunt. My revenge, when it came, would be sweet.

I smiled at Joe Wolseley once more. He was worth a smile. Given his reputation, he might be worth a lot more, but Melissa Windeyer does not bestow her favours lightly. He would need to earn the privilege.

Joe Wolseley was old money and well-connected. His family had made its fortune from logging and building railroads more than a hundred years ago. Joe had multiplied that fortune with astute property trading and development through his company, Garnet Developments. Its logo, a deep red garnet crystal, was prominent on the shopping malls his company owned. His family was distantly related to a famous English Field Marshal and to the inventor of the shearing machine – the same inventor who had started the upmarket English car company that bore his name. Though the car company was long gone, Joe Wolseley owned and drove an impressive collection of their antique cars.

Property development and old English cars weren’t what made Joe well known in our circles, however. He was what the heroine in a costume drama on Lifetime Channel would have called a 'rake' or what a televangelist would call a womanizer. But so what? He was a generous womanizer. Everyone knew that he 'employed' his mistresses in promotional roles for Garnet Developments. All they had to do was dress in dark red clothes, look decorative and smile for the camera. Some even went on to modelling careers. Even when he grew tired of someone, he remained generous. Stories abounded of the farewell presents he’d given out – mink coats, ropes of pearls and even a BMW. My heart fluttered at the possibilities.

“Barely? What an appropriate word, Melissa,” Joe chuckled, running his hand up and down my back again, his touch making me tingle. “I do believe you’re bare beneath that delightful dress. No panties, Melissa? I can see…and feel…” His other hand slipped onto my upper belly, onto the bare flesh exposed by the open front of my dress. He ran his fingertips upward, gently and briefly caressing under my right breast. “…that you’re not wearing a bra.”

My eyes went wide and I gasped, but before I could say anything more he took his hand away and, with the other still on my back, propelled me further into the room. “Where have you been hiding, lovely lady? Come and sit with me. You’ll be my guest for dinner tonight. I won't take no for an answer.”

I stiffened, my mind reeling. It was perfectly true that I barely knew him. I’d seen him at one or two of Ms Justeen’s parties but I’d never even spoken to him before tonight. Yet here he was, his sights clearly focused on making me his companion for the evening – and very likely more than just a companion. I was flattered of course but also more than a little confused at his sudden intense interest.

As soon as we’d descended the steps from the foyer to the main room, he turned me to face him, pulled me against him and kissed me again. His right hand slipped between our bodies and explored my bare tummy, tickling the charm there. My tummy began to do flips. Joe was powerful, charismatic and an excellent kisser. He’d also immediately homed in on my belly, which was the most direct route to my libido. The embers of arousal were beginning to glow deep inside me. It was an effort not to moan.

This was moving too fast. He'd make me look like a whore. I put my hand on his chest and pushed gently but firmly to separate us, just enough to give me some breathing space, just enough for him to get the message. Melissa Windeyer might be ‘available’ at the right time and to the right person, but I’m never cheap or easy.

I broke the kiss, panting for breath. “’It’s all go Garnet,’” I gasped, using a marketing phrase his company used, one he'd made his own to describe his determination and speed, “but...aren't you going at it just a bit too fast?”

Joe grinned at me, completely unperturbed. “Afraid people will talk, Melissa?” He gave me that mischievous grin again. “Really…Melissa Windeyer afraid?” He shook his head decisively. “Never! Melissa Windeyer a talking point?” He winked. “Always.” I found myself blushing.

Wrapping his arm tightly around my waist again, he steered me through the room, between knots of people, past the dance floor to the bar. “I'm so glad I was at the door to catch you before someone else got their hands on you.” He sat me on a bar stool, summoned a bartender and bought me a cocktail, as well as one for himself. While the drinks were coming, he stood close beside me, so close that his fingers teased my navel piercing – stroking, squeezing, tugging gently on my flesh. My tummy flipped over rapidly as he bombarded me with compliments and questions. “You’re looking particularly wonderful tonight. That dress really suits you. Now tell me, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, what’s to tell? My life is…well, boring…working, commuting…nothing compared to yours, I’m sure.”

I quickly changed the subject, trying to distract him a little so I could compose myself. “Look! There’s Angela Peccavi. I haven’t seen her in ages…nor her cousin Jenn, either. She used to be around the scene all the time. They say Jenn got herself a new boyfriend, some broker at the Futures Exchange.” It annoyed me no end that somebody like Jenn Peccavi, big and frumpy as she was, could score a rich boyfriend – a real boyfriend, not a secret lover. I gave Angela a long look as she made her way across the club in a skin-tight black tank top, matching skirt and high-heeled calf boots. “Wow, that outfit really doesn’t do anything for her! The neckline’s so low her boobs almost fall out every time she takes a step.”

Joe’s gaze followed mine. He smiled, then turned his eyes back to me, staring unabashedly down my cleavage. “She’s certainly got nothing on you, lovely lady,” he replied, using that term for the second time that night as his twinkling eyes met mine again. I felt myself flush, my nipples tightening, poking at my dress.

“Oh! And there’s Clara!” I pointed out the cute subbie. “There, the pretty little ball of fluff with the dark hair in a ponytail, in the tight pink belly shirt and short shorts. She’s rather yummy, but far too easily led astray. The gossip is, she got a little bratty towards Paulette…you know, the cloak room attendant.”

“Paulette?” Joe looked interested. “She looks like quite a force, as well as being a cutie.” He stared across the room at Clara.

“Uh-huh.” I gazed at him over the rim of my glass. “I'm told Clara found out just how forceful Paulette can be…the hard way. She couldn't sit down for a few days.”

He chuckled again. “I wish I'd seen that.”

I smiled at him. I'd successfully steered the talk around. Gossip – particularly sexy gossip – was such a good conversation filler.

Joe plied me with drink as we talked. I had another cocktail while we sat at the bar. I ordered a tall glass of water to go with it, to help dilute the alcohol a little – I needed to keep a clear head to deal with Joe Wolseley. He took a seat on the adjacent stool, facing me, leaning in with his thigh pressing between my knees, his fingers toying with my tummy, roving up and down from my navel piercing – teasing and tugging – to the undersides of my breasts, even once slipping his fingertip under the latex to flick at my left nipple. I shivered. He was incorrigible, and he was making me very hot and bothered.

He told me stories about his business, and particularly the roles that girls like me – sultry, sensuous, street-smart girls, as he put it – played in his various enterprises. Greasing the wheels of business, he called it – promotional work, sales, dinner engagements with prospective tenants and investors. “There are a host of opportunities in a business like mine, Melissa…glittering prizes for a girl who knows how to play her cards right.”

Part of me still wanted to slow him down, to give myself time to think. Of course I wanted what he was offering, but I couldn’t seem too eager, too easy. I’m Melissa Windeyer. I’m the one in control. I needed to compose myself, but Joe Wolseley was like a force of nature. His words were tempting, not to mention what his gentle but insistent caresses were doing to me physically. And as for those eyes – I shivered again. Thinking of icebergs just wasn’t cutting it.

I needed some space, so I made the excuse that I needed to visit the bathroom. Joe said he'd find us a table. “I’ll be right back.” I made my way to the ladies’ room at the back of the club.

When I looked at myself in the mirror behind the basins, my skin was flushed pink down to my chest. My hard nipples were clearly visible through my dress. My breathing was ragged, and I could feel the hot dampness between my legs. I dabbed cold water on my face, my neck and my tummy till I calmed myself down, then made my way back to Joe.

He’d found a table away from the bar, and waved me over. “What kept you, Melissa?” he reproved me teasingly.  “You must have been in there ten minutes or more.” He slid a chair out for me as I reached him. “A less patient man than me, might have gotten bored and looked for other amusements.”

I blanched. There were way too many ‘amusements’ to distract a guy like Joe Wolseley in a place like Galeforce. I'd have to be careful not to play too hard to get.

“But as it was,” he added with a grin, “Clara came to keep me company.”

I blanched more. I'd almost overlooked the slender but quite buxom little subbie sitting with him at the table – she was almost directly behind Joe as I approached.

Recovering quickly though, I stepped closer to her, standing between her and Joe. “Hello pet.” Clara lowered her eyes, embarrassed. Her hand emerged from under the table. I gave her a much sterner look. “Girl, were you holding hands with Joe under the table?” Clara flushed crimson, lowered her eyes and mumbled something under her breath, “No, that’s not what you were doing, is it girl?” I put an edge into the word, lashing her with it.

I jerked Clara's chair away from the table. As I suspected, her shorts and her panties were down at her knees. “I…I came and sat with Joe,” Clara retorted, trying to brazen it out. “Nobody was with him!”

“Don't make excuses for yourself!” I slapped the impudent brat hard. She squealed, but she stood up and tried to slap back. I stopped the blow in mid-swing, grabbing her arm and twisting it hard till she squealed again. I pulled her close, using my grip on her arm to bend her forward, and swung my knee up, hammering her skinny belly hard. She gasped, then doubled over gagging when I repeated the knee lift. When I pounded her a third time, she dropped to her knees. I yanked on her ponytail, dragging her back and forcing her to look up at me. “Don't ever try to pick up my guy again!” I backhanded her across the face again, and she collapsed to the floor on her back, her breasts bouncing, almost escaping her cropped tee.

I turned and addressed the crowd that had gathered around us in the mere seconds since I’d first arrived at the table. “I'm Melissa Windeyer,” I said loudly and clearly, so they could all hear me. “Clara got in my way.” I shook my head regretfully. I'd thought Clara was loyal. I was wrong. I put my foot on the subbie’s crotch, the point of my heel on her bare shaven mound, and ground it in firmly, not hard enough to break the skin of course, but enough that she’d remember her lesson. I looked up again, coldly. “Don't any of you make the same mistake.”

Without sitting down, I turned to Joe and smiled. He had watched the entire episode raptly, his eyes alight. “Didn’t you say you were going to buy me dinner?”

He started slightly, then smiled. “I did indeed.” He stood up, I slipped my arm through his, and we walked out through the double doors to the foyer and up the stairs to Galeforce's gallery grill room. There was no proper restaurant on the ground floor, only snacks from the bar. A subbie landing in one's soup was enough to put anyone off their dinner.

The gallery grill was a mezzanine – essentially a balcony – with tables around the outside walls and a clear walkway next to the railing that overlooked the main room below. The tables behind the walkway were separated by floor-to-ceiling walls, creating separate alcoves for privacy, and each had a curtain that could be drawn across to obscure the occupants entirely. Several tables were occupied, but the waitress – a pretty blonde – led us to an empty one.

“You were ruthless just now,” Joe said as he slid into the high-backed leather chair opposite me. His eyes shone, and I could tell he meant it as a compliment.

“As ruthless as a property tycoon?” I replied archly. “Yes, I can be quite ruthless when I want something.” I smiled directly into those blue eyes. I had asserted myself with Clara, and showed Joe Wolseley that I was no mere floozy. I’m Melissa Windeyer, a force to be reckoned with, and that brief demonstration had served to remind him of that.

We ordered wine. As we perused the menu, Joe praised my victory, calling it “exciting and…stimulating…eliminating a threat. Not that Clara was any real threat,” he hastened to add. “She’s just not in your class, Melissa.” I smiled. Me stating a truth like that would have sounded like boasting, so it was good to hear it from someone else – particularly someone like Joe Wolseley.

As we ate – first the soup, then the entrée – Joe topped up my wine glass, toasting my speed and decisiveness in dealing with the fluffball, at the way I’d “used her to make a point to the entire room…and to me” he said with a wink, no doubt remembering how I’d referred to him as “my guy”. He effused over me, saying I’d be talked about in Galeforce for weeks, and that subbies would wet themselves with lust when I just looked at them. He was right of course. As he talked, his shoe stroked the inside of my calf. The table was small, our seats close together. His knee again nuzzled mine.

I hadn't totally extinguished my arousal in the washroom earlier. Anticipation of what Joe and I might do, both later that night and, I hoped, in the future, kept me buzzing. So easily dispatching Clara in front of the crowd had stimulated me further, and Joe’s fulsome praise inflamed me even more. What he said was no more than the truth, but that made it even more exciting. I couldn't just dismiss it as flattery meant to get in my panties – if I’d been wearing any, I thought to myself with an inward smile.

After a little more conversation, he reached under the table and grasped my knee. I didn’t brush his hand away, but I did look at him sternly. “Joe, we're eating dinner!”

“We are?” he grinned, and gestured with his other hand to the empty plates between us. He nudged my knee aside, parting my thighs slightly.

“You know,” he continued, “that dress would look so much better in garnet. The dark red would contrast beautifully with your skin, and your piercing.” He reached across the table, running his fingers down the gap in my dress. “Perhaps a silk jersey…latex is eminently suitable for a club like this, of course, but not really day-wear.” He tugged gently at my piercing. I shivered again.

I tried to distract him again by changing the subject. I knew he'd recently completed a new mall. Formerly an old warehouse, a mile or two from Britney’s new apartment, Garnet Developments had repurposed it. I asked him how it was going, and the mention of it seemed to hit a nerve. He told me they were having trouble finding tenants, and that the tenants they already had were having a hard time attracting customers and making their rent. “We thought it was a perfect location. The area is gentrifying rapidly, with other warehouses being turned into apartments and condos, and the old apartment blocks being updated. I have my fingers in a few of the residential developments too, but even those aren’t attracting buyers and tenants the way I hoped.”

I thought I’d made another gaffe in bringing it up, but he suddenly smiled. “You know, Melissa, the kind of people we want to attract to the area, to the apartments and the mall, are young aspirationals…people like yourself, Melissa. You’d love the area, and it’s not expensive.”

He was right. I’d love a place of my own, particularly in a new and growing area, but how did I tell a man that had been born with millions – unimaginable wealth to me – that his idea of ‘expensive’ was no doubt entirely different to mine. I earned so little money that clothes, meals – all the little living expenses – added up, leaving me with almost nothing at the end of the month. I sighed. It was all so unfair. I deserved an A-list lifestyle, but I just couldn’t afford it.

A wave of negativity surged through my head. I tried not to let them show. I tried to focus on just how quickly and decisively I’d put down Clara's challenge. That didn't help much though – till tonight, I’d regarded Clara as my loyal supporter. I sighed. No-one is loyal. Everyone is out for themselves. Melissa Windeyer had to be the same.

“Melissa?” Joe reached out and squeezed my hand. I must have been silent for too long.

“I’m sorry, Joe.” I'd have to pay more attention if I wanted anything from Joe.

He went on, “Maybe we can work something out, to our mutual benefit. A second job would help…no?”

I bit back the urge to reply immediately, trying to look and sound nonchalant. Digging my nails into my palm, trying not to betray the eagerness that made my heart flutter and my tummy flip over, I looked at him across the table. “I'll be honest, I can always do with some more money.”

“You're not alone there, lovely lady.” He laughed. “Why, John D Rockefeller was once asked, 'what's enough money, Mr Rockefeller?' and he replied, 'Always a bit more than you've got.' Perhaps I could find some promotional work for you. It wouldn't be much…wouldn’t interfere with your day job, of course. Just a bit extra for you…under the table.”

I tried – not very successfully – to suppress my excitement. Joseph Garnet Wolseley was offering me a job! A genuine job, not just as one of his eye candy sluts in a dark red dress.  Yes, he wanted to fuck me – his hand running up and down the inside of my thigh left me in no doubt of that – and I’d let him. I’m a normal, healthy, ambitious, twenty-first century woman with a healthy appetite for sex – perhaps a little healthier than most. Why shouldn’t I use what I had, to get ahead? Like Joe said, it would be to our mutual benefit.

Besides, I certainly wasn't the only one. Oh no. For all that Ms Justeen pretended to despise Brit and me as what she called the ‘demimondaine’, her friends were no different or better. Cesaire had taken me to see his friend Kim Curzon play the second lead in Kiss me Kate, where she sang:

There's an oil man known as Tex
Who is keen to give me checks,
And his checks, I fear, mean that sex is here to stay

And Ms Kim Curzon didn't just sing it – she practised what she sang. Kim Curzon didn't just burst onto the Chicago stage from some hick town in Ohio or Indiana and become an instant success. No, she’d opened her legs on the casting couch to get ahead. She used her assets just like Brit or I had done – and how I was about to, again.

I smiled. “Why thank you Joe. I’d love to – ” I paused and took his hand under the table, sliding it a little further up my thigh “ – work for you.” My eyes met and held his.

Then he startled me. “Your employer should open a store in the mall.” I was a little surprised that he knew where I worked. While I’m Melissa Windeyer, well-known and respected in the Scene, most people didn't know much about my life outside – and I liked it that way. I didn’t want any rumours filtering through to my employer or my family. My private life, though it certainly wasn’t entirely private, needed to remain separate from work and family.

I was even more surprised that Joe thought my boss should open a store in the new mall. He went on, “It's a great location for a high-end furniture store. You'd have all the young people who need to furnish their new apartments, all the startups wanting to furnish their new offices. You should suggest it to your boss. I could even do a special deal on the rent…maybe a rent holiday for the first three months, to help the store get established. And…” he looked hard at me and smiled, “…there'd be a signing bonus for you. Something under the table. Your boss would never know.”

“Yes Joe, I can suggest that to him. I might just say, ‘have you thought about expanding the business? There’s this new Garnet mall in Pilsen’ and talk about the new apartment conversions there.”

I was trying to think of more to say, when there a loud noisy argument started below. “What’s going on?” I asked rhetorically, glad of the distraction. I slid out of my chair and walked over to the railing, with Joe close behind.

Below us were two girls, facing off in an empty circle in the midst of the crowd. One was Jo St Leon, fairly new on the Scene but already making a name for herself. She had only to snap her fingers and some subbie would come – or should I have said cum? She was just this side of thirty, tall, slim, strong, blonde and busty. She was also a high earner, with some high-powered job in marketing or some such A-lister field. That night, she was wearing a shiny, tight-fitting red leather corset dress that barely contained her impressive bosom – she was at least a 38DD. Her big pale breasts brimmed up over the top of the corset which must have only just covered her nipples. She wore matching calf-length boots which accentuated her height.

I didn’t know the other girl. I’d never seen her before but, physically at least, she was the very opposite of Jo. Only average height or perhaps even less, she was nevertheless big – she had had to be at least 220 pounds – and so pale she was almost Goth, with a big tattoo on her forearm. Like most Goths, she was dressed all in black – in her case, an off-the-shoulder minidress revealing much of a bust that was easily the equal of Jo’s. Less attractively perhaps, it also hugged and drew attention to her bulging belly. Even wedge heeled boots didn’t elevate her to Jo’s height.

There was suddenly a voice at my elbow. “Hi, Ms Melissa.” I turned and saw Patti, one of the subbies. I’d noticed her eating with some guy a few tables away. She too had slipped away from her table and come to the walkway at the front.

“Oh, hello pet,” I replied, using the word ‘pet’ much more affectionately than I had with Clara a while earlier. Patti was a petite brunette, dressed tonight in a little black dress that set off her slender but feminine figure. I reached up and stroked her cheek, but didn’t introduce her to Joe, who was standing on my other side, his hand in the small of my back. Hopefully Patti would take a hint and not intrude.

I looked back at the developing scene below. Patti’s eyes followed mine. “That's Dezarae Dumas…she's tough,” the little subbie shuddered, “and scary. She's just so…big. She pushes people around. She stands there, real close to you, right in your face. She doesn't even need to say anything to threaten you. All she’s got to do is look at you, so menacing like… You just have to kneel to her. And yeah…she uses us…hard.” She gulped.

“Right now, Ms Dezarae’s got her claws into Paulina.” My surprise must have shown on my face. “Oh you didn’t know?” She went on, “Yeah, Paulina's been coming here since the summer. Like, I think she’s been trying to rebuild herself after what Carmella did to her.” I gritted my teeth at the mention of that pole dancing slut Carmella, making a mental note that I had to deal with the skank – soon.

“She did okay to begin with,” Patti continued. “She kept her head down, making friends and trying not to get noticed too much. That went well…she stayed under the radar. But then she couldn’t help herself…she started flirting, teasing guys and girls…just light-heartedly. It was all good fun…and she was fun to be with. Sure, she attracted some attention, but everyone knew she was just playing the room.”

I half smiled. It sounded like Paulina had been doing everything right to rebuild her confidence and her cred. She reminded me of myself in that regard. I’d stayed away from Chatro after Colleen had so horridly humiliated me, going to the Loft and to the Silk Stockings lounge to rebuild myself, winning decisively against Vivian and Holly – only to have to start all over again after Brooke Harris and Jimmy Berwick played such evil mind games on me when I ventured into the main bar at Ronaldo. I shook myself mentally – no, I didn’t want to dwell on that. I pushed those memories out of my mind. I’d rebuilt myself even after that, and I would do so again.

I looked below. Dezarae and Jo were standing face to face and bickering, glaring at each other, trading insults snappily. I watched them while I continued to listen to Patti.

“It all changed…it all went bad for Paulina…when she tried to assert herself.” Patti grinned. “She started making us fetch her drinks, mind her seat if she went up to dance with some guy, to join in with her…you know, the usual. Well, it wasn’t so much what she did – we might have done it anyway – as the way she tried to order us about. She expected us to obey her, like she was something here…like she was an actual Domme.” Patti’s grin turned into a giggle. “She got noticed.”

“Then one night, Ms Dezarae stepped in. Paulina had just sent me on an errand. She wanted me to go fetch her topcoat. Just as I came back, Ms Dezarae walked up to her, dressed like she is tonight, all in black, and asked, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Without giving Paulina time to reply, Ms Dezarae got right in Paulina’s face. ‘Since when does Patti do your bidding?’

“Paulina took one look at Ms Dezarae…I mean, she’s a mountain of a woman…and went white as a ghost. Ms Dezarae stepped even closer, all up close and personal…like you couldn’t have slid a sheet of paper between her and Paulina’s breasts. ‘Who do you think you are, anyway?’ Ms Dezarae’s questions were like machine gun bursts…hardly a pause between them.

“Paulina tried to answer, ‘I…I just wanted Patti to…’ But Ms Dezarae just cut her off, not giving her time to speak or even think. ‘Answer my question, little girl! Since when does Patti…or any other girl for that matter…do your bidding?’ She said ‘your’ like Paulina was dirt…like she was nothing, like she was even less than the rest of us.” Patti’s voice was very small.

Listening to her, imagining the scene in my mind, I gripped the balcony railing tight. I almost trembled. I tried not to feel for Paulina. “Sounds like it was flight or fight time for Paulina,” I remarked, trying to sound casual. Paulina had done all the right things, just like I’d done – more than once – but from what Patti was telling me, she’d run into a powerful woman who could undo her all over again.

I looked down again. The two women below had stopped trading insults. They were glaring at each other silently now, as if each wanted the other to say or do something first, so she could be labelled the aggressor. I sensed that if neither made a move, the standoff would fizzle out. One of them would back down, eat crow and walk away.

“You’re right, Ms Melissa…but Paulina couldn’t fight Ms Dezarae. I mean, Ms Dezarae’s twice her size! She stepped back…maybe she was going to try to run…but Ms Dezarae grabbed her top and held her. There was no getting away. Ms Dezarae stared into Paulina’s eyes, forcing Paulina to look at her. ‘Where do you think you’re going, little girl?’

“Paulina tried to free herself by grabbing Ms Dezarae’s hand, but Ms Dezarae just clapped her other hand on Paulina’s shoulder and shoved. Paulina was all caught up in Ms Dezarae’s eyes and didn’t see what I saw…Ms Dezarae’s foot had snaked behind Paulina's. When Ms Dezarae shoved, Paulina tripped on Ms Dezarae’s foot. She would have fallen to the floor if Ms Dezarae hadn’t had a tight grip on her.

“Ms Dezarae shook Paulina, like she was a little doll or something. ‘Don’t get ideas, little girl!’ She shook her again, even harder. ‘On your knees, little girl,’ she ordered.

“And Paulina did as she was told. She knelt to Ms Dezarae.” Patti giggled again. “And since then, Paulina’s been the weakest of the weak.”

I was holding the railing so tight my knuckles were white. Slowly, deliberately, I relaxed my grip. I couldn’t let Patti see my emotions. My heart was pounding. Joe’s fingers on my back felt like red hot pokers.

I knew, only too well, how Paulina would have felt. It had happened to me, time after time. Colleen had humiliatingly flipped me, but I’d risen like a Phoenix from the ashes, only to have Jimmy Berwick and Brooke Harris take me apart and leave me as a slut, a room whore to be used by – I didn’t even know how many people had fucked me that night. Again I’d put myself back together, exerting myself, trashing Alixe, capturing Lisa, conquering Britney, only to have Lauren undo all my work in the Crystal Garden and steal Arthur Wellesley away from me. Once more I’d carefully and painstakingly rebuilt my confidence and reputation, vanquishing Chelle, subduing Kelsey, breaking Seba, only to have Willie break me. Now here I was again, trying to put the pieces back together.

Staring down from the balcony, looking at Dezarae, I trembled. What would this ‘mountain of a woman’ as Patti had described her, do to me? Could I resist her? Would I just kneel to her, like Paulina had done, or could I fight her? Yes, I told myself. I could fight her – but how would that turn out for me? Again I shook myself mentally. I wouldn’t let my imagination loose again – I couldn’t! I steeled myself with an effort.

Jo and Dezarae were still glaring at each other, but I’d been right, it looked like the confrontation would fizzle out. Dezarae was right in Jo's face, hands on her broad hips, her body language aggressive. Jo stared back just as pointedly. But neither of them did nor said anything.

“Since then,” Patti went on, “Paulina's done whatever Ms Dezarae wants her to. She's Ms Dezarae's gofer…her pet. Ms Dezarae doesn't use her…well, not in public anyway, not like she uses others. No, she treats Paulina like some kind of prized possession.” Patti spat out the last words, sounding jealous and bitter. I reached out squeezed her hand with a smile.

She smiled back, gratefully, but she continued, “Jo likes Paulina. She wants her. Everyone wants her. She's Ms Popularity, is Paulina.” Again there was venom in her words – venom heavily tinged with hurt. I slipped my arm around the downcast sub’s shoulders and gave her a hug. She melted into me. “Jo's made a big fuss of Paulina,” she finished. “That’s what this is all about. Yeah, Paulina's the prize.”

Below, Dezarae broke the standoff. She raised her voice. “Come here, Paulina.”

A girl stepped out from the crowd. She was perhaps the same height as Dezarae, but slender and olive skinned, with a heart shaped face, big eyes and long, dark brown hair. She was dressed – barely – like most of the subbies here, in a short skirt, high heels and a cropped tank top that barely came down past her small breasts. I realized I’d never seen Paulina before, only heard about her from Kelsey’s tale of how Carmella had tamed her.

She came to Dezarae's side and immediately knelt. “Good girl, Paulina.” Dezarae reached down and ruffled Paulina’s hair, her eyes still locked with Jo’s.

Jo whitened. Her face fell. She looked at Dezarae, then at the girl kneeling beside her. Her shoulders drooped and, slowly, she turned on her heel.

Patti looked down too. “Ms Dezarae just stared her down. She’s just so…powerful.” She trembled against me.

“You know to obey a real Domme, Paulina,” said Dezarae, still watching Jo intently. Her voice carried clearly to the retreating blonde as she began to shuffle away. “Not just a wimpy wannabe.”

Jo suddenly spun and, in the same movement, swung her fully extended arm out in a sweeping arc aimed at Dezarae’s face. The big girl anticipated the swing though, thrusting her own arm up, blocking Jo’s slap. Lunging forward with her whole body, she crashed into Jo, sending the taller girl staggering backwards, off balance.

“Such an obvious move,” Patti remarked, cattily but correctly. “And Ms Dezarae countered it so well. What a body slam!”

Dezarae followed up more quickly than I would have thought, given her size. Just as Jo seemed likely to dodge away, Dezarae seized a handful of her foe’s hair. She yanked hard, sending Jo off balance, again, but this time pulling the taller girl in towards her.

The Goth girl thrust her other hand at Jo’s chest, tearing with her jet black nails at the blonde’s exposed upper breasts. Jo screamed with pain. She tried to pull away, but Desarae held her tight by her hair. She tried to grab Dezarae's grasping hand but the big girl yanked hard and again Jo stumbled, her heels scrabbling on the tiles, spoiling her retreat.

Dezarae yanked hard again at Jo’s hair, arching the blonde backwards, thrusting her chest up and out as the shorter woman once more ripped her nails across Jo's breasts. I saw her hand dive into Jo’s cleavage, down inside the scarlet corset, clawing and slashing at the soft flesh.

Jo shrieked in anguish. She tried to twist her chest away from her enemy’s talons, but the big girl had too firm a grip and continued to control her by her hair. All Jo’s struggles did was cause her more pain. I could see the deep scratches on the upper slopes of her breasts, livid red against her pale skin. Her wide eyes brimmed with tears of pain.

The blonde changed her tactics, and clapped her hands to her foe’s sides, trying to shove Dezarae away from her. She failed in that too, as the shorter but heavier Goth jerked even harder on her blonde tresses, twisting her to the left, side on to Dezarae, getting in her own way as she tried desperately to defend herself, while Dezarae continued to attack her with both hands.

Again Jo changed tactics, grabbing Dezarae’s wrist in both hands and trying to drag the Goth’s claws from her cleavage. Dezarae dug her nails in and, as the blonde pulled, her enemy’s grip not only tore harder at her soft tit flesh but popped her left breast free of her overburdened corset. That only made it easier for Dezarae’s nails to rake her flesh, and Jo’s howls intensified.

Almost as bad as the suffering Dezarae was inflicting on the blonde, was the way she controlled – dominated – the blonde. Jo was totally defensive, simply reacting to Dezarae’s attack. Since that first failed slap, Jo hadn’t even tried to land a blow on the Goth.

“Jo’s desperate,” remarked Patti, with relish. “She’s doing everything…anything she can…to try to stop Ms Dezarae from clawing her boobs…but she can’t. Ms Dezarae’s just rag-dolling her!” She bit her lip. “Ms Dezarae’s so cruel!”

“You say that admiringly,” said Joe, speaking for the first time, “like cruelty is a good thing.”

“Dommes have to be cruel!” argued Patti. “They have to be powerful! Ms Dezarae's so powerful! Yeah, she’s going to destroy Jo…serves Jo right, for crossing Ms Dezarae.”

I looked at Patti. The silly girl seemed smitten with the squat, obese Goth. I sighed – and to think that, the night I'd met her, I'd thought Patti was mine for the taking. She'd even fought Paulette when the cloak room girl insulted me. She’d lost, but I’d been flattered by her devotion, though I’d been rather too occupied with Britney at the time to reward her properly.

What had happened since then? Yes, I hadn't spent time building a relationship with her. In truth, I'd hardly seen her since that night. But whose fault was that? The little fluffball should have sought me out, should have danced attendance on me. I’m Melissa Windeyer! It’s not up to me to chase subbies like Patti.

But perhaps Dezarae had. Perhaps Dezarae had courted the fluffball. But what had attracted Patti to her in the first place? Dezarae was short, fat, with no dress sense. She was absolutely nothing to look at. Watching her though, the answer was obvious – sheer power. Dezarae's strength, her cruelty, the force of her personality, was what made Patti swoon.

Beneath us Dezarae's grip on Jo's hair controlled the blonde. Dezarae used her weight to anchor herself, to swing Jo around almost at will, pushing her, pulling her, turning her this way and that, continually keeping her off balance, never letting her regroup for a counterattack. Jo's boots scrabbled on the tiles as she slipped and staggered. All the while, Dezarae's other hand was tearing Jo's tits apart. Blood was flowing from the scratches and welts on the blonde’s heaving chest.

Jo buckled, as though her body began to give out under the onslaught. Her knees sagged, though she didn’t fall, and then she bent double, her face closer to the ground than her butt as she no doubt tried every possible defense to shield her ravaged rack. Despite her lesser height, Dezarae had to bend over too, to maintain her assault on Jo's assets. It was more difficult now though, since Jo’s shoulder was in the way.

Suddenly Jo shoved her body forward, making Dezarae step back, then quickly pulled back herself, breaking the big woman's grip on her breasts. Jo rose to her full height again, with Dezarae still gripping her hair.

Now Jo went on the offensive, and grabbed a fistful of Dezarae's hair too. She leaned hard to the left, away from her foe, then suddenly snapped Dezarae's head to the side, right into a hard slap from Jo's other hand.

Dezarae shook herself like a dog coming out of water. She countered by slapping at the outside of Jo's exposed left breast, knocking it inward against the other. Jo didn't even try to parry the blow, just taking it as she swung a closed fist into Dezarae's face. The Goth grunted as the blow snapped her head back.

The Goth didn’t let up though. She tightened her grip on Jo's hair, and again she used her weight to anchor herself as she yanked Jo about. Jo tried to use her own grip on Dezarae's hair to keep herself steady, but she failed. Dezarae kept the blonde reeling and unbalanced, using her greater weight to her advantage as she went back on the offensive, making Jo dance to her tune.

Jo kept trying to fight back, to land a blow. Most of her attempts went wide, and each time she got clobbered with another heavy slap to her face, her shoulders, but mostly to her bouncing breasts, both free of her corset now. Even when Jo managed to hit Dezarae, making her gasp or groan, it did nothing to stop or even slow her rain of slaps. As the blonde tried another punch, Dezarae swayed backwards and Jo’s fist whizzed past her face. She jerked Jo off balance yet again, swinging her around and letting go, slamming her up against one of the pillars that supported the balcony where we stood.

“Work her, Ms Dezarae!” I glanced at Patti as she watched spellbound. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open. She was breathless, panting, her face flushed. She didn’t even seem to care that the guy she’d been with had long gone. She only had eyes for Dezarae and the fight. “Destroy her!”

Even assuming she heard Patti, the Goth didn't need much encouragement. She closed on her foe, swinging from her thick waist to slap the taller woman. Jo ducked and scurried away. “Come here and take it, bitch!” Dezarae's harsh laughter resounded through the room as she followed the retreating blonde. I had to admit, Patti was right. The big woman was strong as well as heavy – she had power and presence.

Joe had stepped behind me. His hand slipped around my waist, pulling me firmly back against him as he stood watching the fight over my shoulder. His fingers played with my piercing, just as Jo tried to sidestep past Dezarae, out from between two tables where the Goth had herded her. She wasn’t quick enough, and Dezarae’s fist plowed into her belly. Even through the protection of her corset, the heavy blow doubled her over.

I shuddered against Joe. I knew just what a punch like that would do to me. It would all but lift me off my feet, send me crashing into a wall or hurl me across a table. It would break my will to fight, to resist. I bit my lip and dug the nails of both hands hard into my palms. I couldn’t submit to Dezarae Dumas. I didn’t even know her. Someone like Patti or Paulina might kneel to her, but I’m Melissa Windeyer!

But I couldn’t help but wonder – was I outclassed? Was I really a strong, powerful woman – or was I really Melissa Windeyer who takes it under the table? My breath caught in my chest, as though a fist had closed around it. No, I couldn’t let myself think that way. I had to keep myself from actually shaking my head in denial. I couldn’t let them see. I couldn’t!

Jo managed to break away from Dezarae. The Goth moved quickly for a woman of her bulk, but this time Jo moved even faster, and Dezarae’s next punch whizzed past her foe. The blonde fired a punch that buried itself in Dezarae's huge gut. Dezarae grunted and pressed on again, sending another heavy punch of her own, but again Jo stood back and the blow missed.

“Dezarae underestimated Jo.” Joe whispered in my ear. His chest was against the back of my shoulders and, in my heels, I was only a few inches shorter than him. He only had to bend his head a little. His breath was hot against my flushed cheek. “She almost had the fight won when she threw Jo against that pillar…but Jo’s finally starting to fight smart. She’s using her assets. She’s taller, she’s got far more reach, and she’s faster than that mountain.”

I hoped he was wrong – I wanted Dezarae to win this fight – but Jo proved him right. She kept backing away, keeping out of Dezarae’s reach, making the big Goth come to her. She chose her moments carefully to attack, peppering her foe with punches. Dezarae’s defence coped with most of these. She blocked most and dodged others. Even the few that did hit home, seemed to do little harm. It wasn’t like the bigger woman was immune to pain – she gave a sharp grunt whenever a blow landed – but still she pressed on.

Now that Dezarae no longer had a hold on her, Jo kept herself at the full extent of the Goth’s reach. She ducked and weaved, bare breasts bouncing and swaying, hair whipping back and forth. Most of Dezarae’s blows missed and even when one landed, all the force had been expended.

I glanced at Patti. Her face was pale. She shuddered as Jo surged forward and landed a solid punch in Dezarae’s heavy paunch. I expected the blonde to duck away again, out of reach, but instead she fired another hard blow into the Goth’s belly, which brought Desarae to a halt for a moment. No longer could the big woman just shake off the pain and keep attacking. She was breathing hard, her huge chest rising and falling. Her size was beginning to work against her. She needed to pause and recover.

“Take it to her, Ms Dezarae!” Patti’s voice was hoarse. Her eyes shifted to Jo and narrowed. Her lip curled and she suddenly thrust her head forward and spat. Her aim was true and the gob of spittle landed in Jo’s hair. Her eyes shifted again to glare at Paulina, who still knelt obediently where Ms Dezarae had left her.

I stiffened suddenly against Joe’s chest. What had I just done? I’d called Dezareae ‘Ms’, albeit only in my head, but why? She didn’t deserve that mark of respect. What was she to me?

Joe bent and whispered in my ear. “She hates her.” Then he clarified. “Patti hates Paulina. She wants to be where Paulina is, the center of attention, with two women fighting over her.” I didn’t need to look to know he was smiling.

I looked down at Paulina again, her eyes fixed on the fight. The thought of how she must feel – kneeling there, submissive, obedient – washed over me. She had tried to rebuild her power after Carmella had seduced her, but she had fallen again to Ms Dezarae.

There I was again, giving the Goth that honor. I clenched my teeth. That mountain didn’t deserve the honor of that term – so why I was giving it to her? I kept careful control over my thoughts and repeated to myself, that Paulina had fallen again to Dezarae.

How would it feel, to kneel like that, to be made a possession, a trophy, a pet? Yes, Ms Justeen had taken me, but privately. Almost no one knew I was her collared girl. Paulina, on the other hand, did Dezarae’s bidding, in public. How must it feel, to be known as a fickle sub, to have Dommes lusting after you, fighting over you as you knelt, awaiting your fate with no say in the matter, that you were just a prize? I shivered. My tummy flipped over.

I’d suffered my own public humiliations, of course, but I’d been exploited by liars and tricksters who’d taken advantage of me in brief moments of weakness. Colleen, Jimmy and Brooke, Lauren, and most recently that vile snake Willie had flipped me and used me, but each time I’d recovered, and resumed my rightful place as a Chatro queen.

Until now. I shuddered again at the memory of what had happened to me, that last night in Chatro. But even after that, I was rebuilding. I’d already dealt decisively with Clara.

Dezarae knew the fight had changed. She growled, she cursed, she began to take risks. After getting the worst of an exchange where the two opponents stood and traded punches, Dezarae closed in and reached up for Jo’s hair, trying to get control of the tall blonde again. Joe ducked low however, under Dezarae’s grasping hands, and sent several unanswered fists into the Goth’s gut that stopped Dezarae in her tracks, leaving her gasping and wheezing.

Jo danced away. Dezarae tried to close with her again, but couldn’t. She slowed, pausing to get her breath back, panting. Seeing her opportunity, Jo moved in and slugged the Goth girl hard again. I heard her groan.

Then Dezarae lashed out, her hands grasping both the blonde’s shoulders, pulling her closer still, hunching her over. Dezarae’s knee flashed up – once, then twice – slamming Jo’s stomach below her corset, where she had only her less substantial leather skirt to protect her. I winced, imagining the damage two such blows would do – the shock, the awful moment of anticipation before the pain came. My tummy churned in sympathy – and in heat.

Jo’s breath exploded out of her. She folded forward, and that movement saved her from the Goth’s third knee. Head still low, she threw her arms up, knocking Dezarae’s grasping hands aside and allowing her to scuttle backwards out of range.

Dezarae tried to capitalize on her success, but again Jo used her reach, peppering her enemy with light slaps and punches, keeping the Goth at bay. As she recovered and her strength returned, she began darting in just close and long enough to land a blow on Dezarae before retreating again, out of the bigger woman’s reach.

“Look,” Joe whispered in my ear again. “Dezarae’s puffing like a horse that’s been ridden too long and too hard. She’s out of condition. She’s tiring. She needs to do something…take another risk. If she doesn’t, Jo will just wear her out.”

A moment later, Dezarae did just that. Jo rushed in, hit her enemy again and ducked back out of range. Dezarae roared and charged, trying to close on her tormentor. Jo neatly sidestepped and sent a slap flying into the Goth’s face as she lumbered past. It split the big woman’s lip. Blood streamed down the Goth’s chin. She snarled and spun to face her foe. Jo hammered her belly with three vicious punches. Each of them sank in all the way to the wrist, and the Goth gagged.

As each blow slammed home, my body shook as though those fists were pummeling my own belly. “Melissa? Are you okay?” Joe asked softly. He gently pulled me closer, both his hands folded over my navel.

How could I tell him what was going on in my mind? How could I explain how it had felt when Lauren had weakened me in the fight at the Crystal Garden, or how Brooke Harris had finished me that night at Ronaldo? I knew that three punches – even just one – like Jo St Leon had just delivered, would destroy me as surely as Brooke had done. I whimpered softly.

“Are you sure?” Joe persisted. He held me a little tighter, and I felt his hardness against my butt. He was aroused by all this, but was it the fight, or my reactions, or both? Whatever it was, his arms felt good around me – warm, protective, reassuring. I pressed back against his chest – and his crotch.

Dezarae stumbled backwards, and managed to get herself between two tables, where she could more easily fend off Jo’s attacks as she recovered. Her breath began to come back, her color – what there was of it – returned and, with it, her confidence and aggression.

The Goth began to attack again, and once more Jo retreated more quickly than the bigger woman could advance. She drew Dezarae out from her defensive position, into the open, and began to dance around her again, firing light punches. Dezarae still brushed off most of them, but she wasn’t able to hit her foe. She began to slow down again, her body sagging. The brief respite hadn’t been enough. She was tiring again – perhaps this time, she wouldn’t have a chance to recover. I bit my lip.

Jo stepped in closer, where her punches could hit with more force. She drew her fist back, ready to deliver the crushing blow that would finish the Goth for good. As she did, Dezarae’s arm arced out in a massive slap to the blonde’s left cheek, with all her weight behind it. The blow rocked Jo back on her heels. Stumbling backward, she almost fell but caught herself on a table just in time.

That was when I knew that Ms Dezarae was stronger and more powerful than me. The blows Jo had landed on her would have done for me, but Ms Dezarae kept fighting. I knew Ms Dezarae could take me – physically and sexually. I shivered and whimpered, hanging in Joe’s arms.

I had to keep it together. I had to recover. I thought of icebergs, cold and vast. I thought of my victories in the past. I reminded myself sternly that I’m Melissa Windeyer. But still the heat burned in me.

Dezarae advanced on the beleaguered blonde and reached for Jo’s hair, but Jo slipped away. The Goth followed, chasing Jo around the table that had saved her a moment ago, until the blonde fetched up against another pillar, hemmed in by two tables, with nowhere to retreat.

“Yesss!!!” Patti squealed with glee.

Jo tried tried to sidestep but she didn’t have room. Dezarae moved to block her. They crashed together and Dezarae’s thick arms encircled the blonde’s waist. She squeezed and Jo groaned, her back arched, her battered bare breasts pushed up under the Goth’s chin. Dezarae groaned too – a groan of power and supreme effort – and lifted her enemy off the floor. Jo’s feet kicked helplessly in the air. Her face was white. Surely it was all over.

Then Jo whipped her head forward, craned her neck down and sank her teeth into Dezarae’s neck, just below her right ear. Dezarae roared in pain as Jo twisted her head savagely, digging her teeth deeper into the big woman’s neck. Dezarae’s grip weakened. Jo shoved hard, broke free and squirmed away.

We saw the bite on Dezarae’s neck. Joe whispered “wow!” in my ear. The wound was bigger than a silver dollar, streaming blood. Yet still Dezarae lumbered forward into the attack. She was hurt and tired, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking, but she increased her speed and closed with the blonde, arms out to drag Jo back into her clutches.

Jo ducked into a crouch and surged forward. Staying low, she headbutted Dezarae deep in her massive belly.

Dezarae’s eyes bugged wide. She folded forward with a sound like a deflating balloon, as spit gushed from her open mouth along with all her breath. Jo stepped back and fired an uppercut into Dezaarae’s chin, straightening the Goth up. The blonde followed up quickly, sending three quick, solid punches into her foe’s belly. Each blow rocked the big woman, hunching her over and sending her stumbling backward.

Jo stepped forward and facepalmed her foe, shoving her upright and forcing her back. She took her time to set up and aim another punch. It drove deep into Dezarae’s gut. The Goth gagged again, doubling over, stumbling backwards, holding her belly. Jo flung herself forward and fired a punch that hurled Dezarae onto a table, which collapsed under her, sending her crashing to the floor. She didn’t get up.

“Nooo!!!” Patti screamed, and rushed down the stairs.

Stepping up to the defeated Goth, Jo thrust her foot into Dezarae’s middle. Dezarae shuddered, groaned and writhed weakly, but otherwise did nothing as the blonde ground her heel in.

Jo turned around. “Paulina.” She held out her hand. “Come with me, sweetie.” Paulina stood and approached Jo. She took Jo's hand, and the two walked away.

“Melissa?” Joe's hand on my belly piercing pulled me back against him, my butt pressed firmly against his tented trousers. “You're shaking like a leaf.”

“That…that bite,” I stammered breathlessly. “It was so…vicious. Jo is nasty.” I was so conflicted. I'd watched Ms Dezarae fight. I’d seen her strength, her tenacity, her sheer power. I’d admitted her superiority. I'd prepared myself to kneel to her, if our paths crossed.

Then I saw her taken down by utter brutality. Dezarae was still groaning on the floor. Patti was trying to help her stand, but the little subbie couldn’t hope to lift the Goth’s bulk. Her total defeat so reminded me of what people had done to me – and what I'd done to others too. My mouth was dry again, my tummy roiling. I was shaking all right – shaking with lust.

“Nonsense,” Joe argued gently. “Jo only did what Dezarae would have done to her. She just did it better.” He stroked my tummy with one hand, his fingertips rolling my charm in a slow circle. My insides twitched at his touch. “All successful people have that attitude…’whatever it takes’. I’m sure you’re the same, Melissa.” He lifted his other hand, cupped my chin, pulled my head around and kissed me. His tongue plundered my mouth. His hardness pushed firmly between my buttocks, through his trousers and my dress.

When he finally broke the kiss, I gasped. “You didn’t get where you are by being nice,” he went on, “and you won’t get where you want to be, playing by the rules.”

He turned me to face him, my back against the balcony railing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dezarae finally struggling painfully to her feet. Patti was dabbing at the bite on her neck with a wet napkin.

“You know what you want, Melissa,” continued Joe, staring deep into my eyes, “and you must go all out to get it. Totally unscrupulous.” He stood close to me, his right hand cupping my butt, hard cock nuzzling my lower belly. “People like you and me…we use what we have…everything we have…to get what we want.” His left hand explored the plunging gap in my dress, his fingers wandering downward inside the clinging latex – I moaned as I remembered Willie doing the same – then up my bare skin to my breasts, slipping under my dress there too, to gently pinch a nipple. I moaned even louder. My knees were weak, for a different reason now.

He was right, of course. Everyone knew you had to look out for yourself. No one got anything worthwhile, or got anywhere in life, by being nice. What did I want? Where did I want to be? I knew the answers – living the A-list life, with my own apartment and the power to do what I wanted, when I wanted, and with whom I wanted. Joe Wolseley was holding out that chance for me. It was in my grasp. I knew what to do.

Slipping my hand up behind his neck, pulling his face down to mine, I kissed him deeply, my tongue pushing into his mouth. My other hand slid between our bodies, and I gently rubbed his hard cock. Joe Wolseley was my chance, and he was in my grasp. It was his turn to moan into the kiss.

I separated us gently, pushing him back a step with a hand on his chest, then took his hand and led him back to our booth. Our plates had been cleared away. I pulled his chair away from the table and pushed him gently but firmly into it, as I reached behind me with my other hand and drew the curtain across.

Holding his gaze with mine, I sank slowly to my knees, smiling. How different it felt, kneeling to Joe, compared with kneeling to a Domme. Here I was, getting what I wanted on my knees, whereas had I knelt to Desarae, I would have been surrendering my wants to serve hers.

I slowly, teasingly unbuckled Joe’s belt, then unfastened and unzipped his trousers. I eased them down, along with his shorts. With the privacy curtain, there was no need for modesty. His cock sprang to attention, already fully erect. I smiled at it, then up at him. I was getting what I wanted, not even counting the future benefits I was sure to earn. Yes, my appetite was even healthier than the average twenty first century woman.

My eyes never left Joe’s as I leaned forward and extended my tongue. I licked the head of his cock teasingly, lubricating it and exciting him so he moaned, before I eased my lips around its girth, took him into my mouth and gave him the kind of blowjob for which Melissa Windeyer is justly famous – in a select circle of course. I let him think he was in control as he held my head and thrust into my mouth, but it was me who tilted my head up, angling it so he could deep throat me. It was me who set the rhythm, who sped things up to take him rapidly higher and higher. It was me who sensed he was close to climax and slowed my sucking, making him groan out loud in frustrated need. It was me who chose the moment when I made him – let him – cum, and it was me who chose to slurp his cum down, swallowing it all so as not to spoil my makeup or hair.

I stayed and made a show of licking him clean, then rose and resumed my seat. “You were saying about things I might take under the table.” I raised my wine glass to him as he wriggled back into his pants. “There are some things I can give under the table, too.” I winked as I took a sip.

Joe summoned the waitress and gave her his American Express black card. As soon as the bill was settled, I smiled at Joe and said, “Our glasses are empty…the band is playing…shall we dance?” I might have just given him the best head he’d ever had – or was likely to have – but Melissa Windeyer doesn’t rest on my laurels. I wanted everything Joe Wolseley had to offer – the job, the apartment, all of it. To get it, I had to complete the sales pitch.

He smiled back, stood and offered his arm. We descended the stairs and hit the dance floor. I kept my arm tightly around his waist the whole time, warning anyone who, like Clara, might have wanted to get their hooks into him, that Joe Wolseley was mine for the night – and for as long as I could keep him interested.

[peccavi]

II

I danced with Joe, my arms around him, my body pressed close to his, kissing him, tasting his mouth with my tongue as I allowed his deep into my mouth. We were the center of attention, though the admiring stares were outnumbered by jealous glares. They all wanted to be where I was, dancing with the generous wolf, but most women simply couldn’t compare to my sultry looks, or wouldn’t dare to dress as daringly as I did.

Some would choose to veil their jealousy in disapproval, of course, whispering spitefully to one another that I was a gold digger, a cheap whore out for whatever she could get. So what if I was? Would they be any different? Joe Wolseley’s reputation preceded him, and they’d all have dropped their panties in a flash, given half a chance at a taste of his largess. I kept my eyes open for threats. No one was going to take Joe away from me.

We danced for most of the band’s set, until Joe suddenly started, and his arms slipped from my waist. He turned around. “I’m so sorry…oh! Laurie! Did I just back into you?” He was addressing a skinny brunette with fluffy hair and gold-rimmed glasses, in a red sheath dress with a plunging neckline that showed off the bosom she didn’t have.

“Hey Joe!” she greeted him with a smile. “It’s no problem. How are you?” Then she gazed past Joe to me, and gave me a look that would have frozen a blast furnace. I knew this bitch – Laurie Boreas. Memories of my first encounter with her at Chatro, flooded back. She’d tried to insult me, but a few choice words had been enough to put her in her place. Later the same night though – after Colleen had flipped me – she’d dared take advantage of my temporary weakness to put me over table and slap my ass a few times. I glared back at her.

“Slumming tonight, Joe?” Laurie continued, her eyes still on me. “I thought you were after the up-and-comers,” her eyes narrowed even further, “not used-up skanks on their way down.” She smiled at him. “You be careful with that one. With all the people who’ve been through her, there’s no telling what you might catch.”

I bristled. “Two’s company, Laurie,” I hissed. “Three’s a crowd.”

“Tell me about it.” She hooked her arm around Joe’s elbow. “I’m sure Joe will tell me if he wants me to leave.” She smiled up at Joe, reached up to turn his chin toward her, and kissed him.

Joe hadn’t backed into Laurie. She’d deliberately bumped into him. I knew just what the bitch was after – Joseph Garnet Wolseley. That wasn’t going to happen if I could help it.

“Get lost, Laurie!” I hissed threateningly.

“Make me!” She snapped back “You has-been whore.” She tensed, stepping clear of Joe, ready to pounce if I made a move.

Instead, I stepped back from Joe and from her too, as though I was about to back down. “Ever heard of Dorothy Parker, Laurie?” She looked at me, perplexed. “Oh you must have…I’m sure you’ve heard her famous saying…’guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses’…no? Here…let me help with that.” My right hand whipped out to slap her glasses off her face.

She reacted by seizing my wrist – just as I expected. I stepped in, simultaneously using her grip on my wrist to pull her toward me, and my knee pounded up into the pit of her unprotected stomach. She doubled up, coughing. I ducked low and sent a left uppercut into her chin that jerked her upright. She let go of my right wrist and I planted that fist into her belly right where my knee had landed, doubling her over again. She crumpled to her knees, and a final punch to her chin laid her on her back.

Joe swept me into his arms, his eyes alight. “Brutal!” he proclaimed as he kissed me, “Swift!” as he gave me another kiss, “Decisive!” with yet another. He led me away from the dance floor – I made a point of stepping over the moaning Laurie – to the bar, where he slid onto a stool and pulled me onto his lap as he ordered us drinks.

His arm encircled my waist. “I’m picking you up at your work, Monday lunchtime, and taking you to a jeweler, to get you a new belly piercing…one with a garnet centerpiece!” His fingers played with the charm in my navel. With the thrill of my latest victory – my second of the night – his gentle caresses sent ripples of pleasure through me. I squirmed in his lap. “And to a boutique for a garnet dress…the same style you’re now, but in silk jersey as I said.” He kissed me again. “I want you wearing that dress Monday evening, when we look at an apartment for you.” He grinned. “A generous discount on the rent, of course. After all, you’re going to be part of the Garnet family.”

I shivered with delight. I’d been trying for weeks – months – to get Edward or Cesaire to help me into an apartment. Even Ms Justeen had taken up cause, without success, but here was Joe Wolseley, whom I’d only met tonight, offering me his help! Of course, I wouldn’t burn my bridges with Edward or Cesaire. They would certainly help me too, as they had already. But it was Joe Wolseley who was offering the most – and it was Joe Wolseley who’d receive the most from me in return.

I kissed him deeply, lingeringly again. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I can guess.” He smiled. “A place to call your own.”

I smiled back. “A place you can visit whenever you want.” I wriggled in his lap, rubbing my breasts against his chest a little to reinforce my meaning. I wanted to ask him so much more, but I bit my tongue. I couldn’t seem too eager – or too greedy.

Turning my head to gaze across the room, I nudged Joe and pointed to the dance floor. “Look…there’s Jo St Leon…enjoying her prize.” The tall blonde had cleaned herself up and was dancing with Paulina, making out with her, kissing her deeply. Her hand was up under the subbie’s top, massaging her left breast. Paulina’s head rested on Jo’s scratched-up but still impressive breasts, her eyes closed, clearly loving the blonde’s domination. “Wow,” I murmured, “I always thought Jo was straight!” Joe chuckled.

I had a sudden inspiration. Jo St Leon worked in promotions. She managed events. If I could get close to her – make myself useful to her – I could learn some things, perhaps enough that I could organize an open house for potential buyers at Joe’s apartment block. I’d have to do some favours for her, of course – but that might not be too onerous. I still shivered at the brutal way Ms Jo had destroyed Dezarae.

I caught myself – there I was, doing it again. Why was I calling Jo ‘Ms’ even in my head? The answer was immediately obvious – Melissa Windeyer is nothing if not realistic. Ms Jo had shown her power by defeating Dezarae. Dezarae was tough, but Ms Jo had shown herself to be tougher.

Besides what I might learn from her, Ms Jo herself was part of Joe’s target market – an aspiring A-lister just like me. She was young, professional, the kind of person who wants the convenient bars, cafes, restaurants and stores that inner city living provides.

I couldn’t let her get too close to Joe, of course. Rumour held that Jo had bedded more than a few men to help her rise to where she was in the professional world. I smiled to myself. She was no different to me. Business and professional women like Jo St Leon or Kim Curzon might look down on girls like Brit and me, but they put out for much the same reasons.

Joe had begun speaking to some guy who’d just sat down on the vacant stool next to us. I turned my attention to them as they talked business. As I listened with my arm around Joe’s neck, only speaking occasionally – I reminded myself of the old adage ‘you were born with two ears but only one mouth’ – Joe’s friend began looking me up and down with obvious hunger. He certainly wasn’t discrete, and Joe must have noticed him undressing me with his eyes. I blushed a little. Admiration was no more than my due, but this man’s blatant stare made me feel naked – and, to my horror, aroused.

He winked as he noticed me noticing him, and leaned forward to touch the large sapphire pendant nestling between my breasts. As he did so, he casually stroked my bare skin with the back of his hand, making me blush more. “Such a pretty bauble,” he smiled, “and expensive too…not the kind of thing you could afford on a store clerk’s pay. A gift, perhaps?” He looked me right in the eye and winked. “From a…generous admirer?”

I blushed even deeper at his implication, and slapped his hand away. “How dare you!”

“How dare he be so right on the mark?” chuckled Joe, pulling me closer against him. “Oh don’t pout, Melissa. On Monday you’ll have a garnet pendant too, to match the piercing I promised you. Yes, you can keep the sapphire, but I prefer my girls to wear garnets as well as garnet.”

His casual words ‘my girls’ weren’t lost on me. I’m Melissa Windeyer, not just one of his girls, and I’d prove that soon enough, but I wanted that garnet pendant and everything that came with it. To be fair though, I had called him ‘my guy’ earlier, and to have him reciprocate wasn’t exactly a bad thing.

I turned to watch the room, and was almost instantly sorry I had. Maeve Strasser strode in. The big, curvy brunette wore calf boots so glossy they shone like mirrors, with heels so high I couldn’t help but tremble momentarily, my tummy churning at the thought of one spearing me there. Maeve’s outfit was severe – a black leather skirt that didn’t quite reach her knees, with a matching jacket open to show her low-cut ivory tank top. A hanging silver chain drew attention to her big bust and deep cleavage.

Maeve was clearly on the prowl. She made a circuit of the room, watching the crowd like a hawk on the hunt for prey. A circle of subbies scattered out of her way. As she came closer to the bar, I reminded myself that Maeve was little more than a collared sub herself. It did me no good however. I shuddered and nestled even closer to Joe as I remembered what Maeve had done to me – no! I shook myself mentally again. I wasn’t going back there! I blocked the memory from my mind, thinking of icebergs, of a garnet piercing and a glittering future in a new apartment of my own.

She made her way toward the other end of the bar, where they served snacks as well as drinks, pushing between a knot of women gathered there. “Maeve, watch where you're going, please. You spilled my drink.” Angela Peccavi spoke politely yet firmly.

“So what if I did?” Maeve’s tone would have cut stone. “You shouldn't be in my way, woman.” She stood with her body almost touching Angela's.

“I am minding my own business,” replied Angela levelly. “I'm not in anyone's way.” She turned to face Maeve and added, again politely but firmly, “No one else has complained.”

“You're in my way,” repeated Maeve. She was so close to Angela that their breasts brushed one another. Angela’s hair was blonde and halfway down her back, longer than Maeve’s dark brown mane which fell only to her shoulders. They were nevertheless similar in height, both heavyset, both wearing high heels and tank tops so tight their breasts struggled to escape. The outfits didn’t suit them – their tummies and the love handles at their waists bulged over the waistbands of their tight skirts.

“That's because you won't walk around me.” Angela gazed into the brunette’s eyes.

“Why should I?”

“Everyone else has.”

“I'm not everyone else…and you're still in my way.” Without taking her eyes off Angela, Maeve took one step back, peeled off her jacket and tossed it aside. It landed against a startled fluffball standing nearby. “Hold that for me, girl,” Maeve commanded. The subbie’s jaw dropped but she obeyed, folding Maeve's jacket and cradling it in her arms.

“Now move!” Maeve stepped forward again, her arms outstretched, ready to push Angela backwards. The blonde bobbed down to a crouch though, and Maeve's lunge only made her overreach and stagger. Staying low, Angela wrapped her arms around Maeve's legs and pushed forward, trying to topple the big brunette. Maeve staggered, grabbing at Angela’s back, desperate to keep her balance.

Angela shoved harder and Maeve stumbled backward, crashing hard into a table. The occupants grabbed their drinks hurriedly and scattered aside. Angela thrust her head forward, aiming to headbutt the brunette’s belly. Maeve seized a fistful of blonde hair and yanked her foe’s head up, thwarting the headbutt, but it did her little good. Angela's head crashed into Maeve's shoulder, bending her backward over the table.

I squirmed in Joe’s lap, delighted that Angela was more than frustrating the big brunette bully. ”Ha! Angela just outsmarted Maeve!”

Joe laughed. “It’s not nice to gloat,” he said teasingly. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“Not many,” I retorted archly. I leaned back and kissed him, wriggling again in his lap, rubbing myself against his crotch. I could feel his cock hardening again. “Aren’t you glad I’m not a well-mannered ‘good girl’?”

“Well, there is that,” he conceded, kissing me back as Maeve struggled to prevent Angela from toppling her off the table to the floor. The brunette still had hold of Angela’s hair, more for support than to inflict pain, and she slapped and clawed at the blonde’s arms, trying to break their grip on her thighs.

“But Maeve's not nice!  The bitch has an attitude problem. From the time she opened the door, she was looking for trouble. And,” I giggled, “she found it. Angela's outsmarting her. Come on, I want to watch Angie stomp Maeve down to the bottom of the pile.” I slipped out of Joe's lap and, holding his hand, led him toward the fight.

We pushed our way into the front row of the spectators, just as Angela, by now crouching on the floor, raised her left hand to the base of Maeve’s butt and heaved upwards. Maeve folded forward over Angela, her shoulder drove into the brunette’s belly and for a second, Angela hoisted her foe's feet off the floor. That was all she needed to send Maeve crashing heavily to the ground.

“Oh yes!” I giggled – and so what if I gloated? “Maeve’s bought herself a fight!” I relished the thought of Maeve taking a beating – at Angela’s hands or anyone else’s. Revenge is sweet, even if it’s delivered second-hand.

Maeve lost her grip on Angela’s hair as she fell. She kicked out quickly though, forcing Angela back and preventing the blonde from capitalising on her success. Maeve rolled away and got to her feet, her eyes flashing with rage. Angela kept her distance, raising her hands to the spaghetti straps of her top and tugging them upwards to help keep her breasts from spilling out.

As though taking a cue from that, Maeve went on the offensive, swinging from her hip to slap hard at Angela’s chest. The blow connected and slammed her breasts one against the other, again almost popping them out of her top. I could see the darker crescents of Angela’s aureolas as only her hard nipples hooked on the edge of her top kept her covered.

Angela retaliated, swinging a closed fist at Maeve’s face. She should have hit harder though, a straight arm with more weight behind it, and Maeve twisted her head and rode the blow, so Angela’s fist skidded off her jaw. With a grunt, Maeve came back at the blonde with another hard slap to her chest. Angela’s left breast bounced free as she staggered backwards. She had no time to do anything about that though, as Maeve’s third slap sent her stumbling sideways into the same table she’d bent Maeve over, moments before.

Maeve smirked and attacked again, but Angela bobbed down like she had before. The brunette’s slap soared over her head and it was Maeve, outstretched, who staggered this time – right into Angela’s fist, which plowed into her enemy’s gut. Maeve groaned and whitened but before the half-winded brunette had a chance to retreat out of range, Angela struck again with a left-right combo, both her fists driving deep into Maeve’s soft belly. Maeve doubled over, gagging.

I pumped my fist in the air. “Yes!!! Angie’s wrecking her! She’s smart…she took those slaps so she could lure Maeve in. Maeve fell for it and Angie struck!” I knew what those blows would feel like for Maeve, and the bitch deserved nothing less. It was wonderful to watch Maeve retreating, trying – and failing – to dodge Angela’s attacks. The blonde hammered her with fast, strong, well-aimed punches to her tummy, her breasts and her face. Both Maeve’s breasts were out of her tank top, jiggling and swinging wildly as she tried frantically to defend herself.

Finally it seemed Maeve couldn’t take any more. She broke away, scurrying backwards, ducking around a table to give herself from respite from the constant pressure of Angela’s assault. She stood there at bay, fists up, chest heaving as she gasped for air.

Angela sidestepped around the table too, taking her time. Maeve backed up, but she was up against one of the pillars with nowhere to go. Angela closed with her, swinging a heavy punch at her head, but Maeve dodged sideways. Angela tried again with a second punch at the brunette’s face, but Maeve ducked and Angela, unbalanced, stumbled forward into the pillar as Maeve slipped out of the way.

Maeve seized the advantage for the first time in the fight. She yanked two fistfuls of blonde hair, dragging Angela in a quarter circle away from the pillar, forcing her to bend at the waist. Cursing, Angela tried to grab Maeve’s shorter hair, flailing her arms wildly but to no avail.  Maeve used her hair like a handle, dragging Angela back and forth, keeping her off balance, forcing her to dance to Maeve’s tune.

Angela suddenly pushed forward, toward Maeve, sending her fist into her enemy’s belly again. Maeve grunted hard, hunching over. Her grip loosened enough for Angela to get upright. She grabbed Maeve’s hair too and for a long moment the two women struggled, locked together, growling and cursing as each tried to drag the other down, to rip hair, to inflect pain.

Heels scrabbled on the smooth tiles as clumps of hair fluttered to the floor. Angela let go with one hand and, jerking Maeve toward her with the other, fired a fist into the brunette’s left breast, crushing it into her ribs. The blow wasn’t as hard as it would have been if Angela had stood back and used her body weight, but the impact still sent Maeve staggering, and she lost her grip on Angela’s hair.

Angela repeated the blow, this time with more force. Maeve thrust her left arm up to block it though and lashed out with her right in a heavy slap to Angela’s face. The blonde rocked back on her heels. Maeve followed with another slap, but this time Angela was prepared and parried it, though it cost her her hold on Maeve’s hair. She countered with a slap of her own and struck Maeve’s jaw hard, snapping her head around and whipping her dark hair across her face.

For another endless moment the two big women traded slaps. Maeve used her left arm to block the first few that Angela sent her way, but Angela just kept pounding at her with her left hand as well as her right, mixing up her targets, aiming blows at Maeve’s flushed face, sweat-slicked shoulders and bare, bouncing boobs. She didn’t even try to block the blows Maeve launched at her, though she did dodge, stepping in and out, side to side, making Maeve work hard for every hit she landed.

“Yes!” I encouraged Angela. “Punish her!” I turned to press against Joe, rubbing my breasts against his chest. He needed to remember he was with me and not some floozy like Laurie or Clara. “Look! Angie’s wearing the bitch out. Maeve bought herself a fight all right…and now she’s paying way too much for it.”

“It certainly seems that way,” agreed Joe, sliding his hand up between our bodies and inside my dress. He seemed more interested in squeezing my nipples. Already aroused from the spectacle of Angela pounding Maeve, I moaned as he kissed me and bent me back, his tongue ravishing my mouth. I thrust my hips forward, grinding gently but firmly on his swelling cock through his pants. Oh yes, Joe Wolseley was definitely mine for the night, and after I gave him more great sex, I’d get that garnet piercing, the pendant, the job and so much more.

In the meantime though, I turned my eyes back to the fight. Angela and Maeve were still slapping each other, their arms and extension of their torsos as each swung from the hip, investing her full weight into each slap. Neither tried to evade the other now, standing face to face with their feet planted as they hammered one another. Their faces were flushed, their bare chests and bulging bellies heaving from the exertion, gasping and groaning, skin blotched red from the heavy blows.

I cheered when Maeve took a particularly solid hit to the side of her head. Her eyes seemed to roll back for a second. Her knees buckled and she staggered, almost falling but managing to catch herself on the edge of a nearby table.

Angela seized her chance. She lunged forward, curled her foot behind her enemy’s ankle and slammed her shoulder hard into Maeve’s chest. With a despairing yelp, the brunette crashed to the floor. She got a hand around Angela’s neck and held on, but that only dragged the blonde down on top of her. Angela again got the best of the situation, grabbing her foe’s head and slamming it into the tiles.

Maeve went limp for a second and Angela grabbed the brunette’s left hand, stretching the arm up over Maeve’s head, holding it there as she struggled to capture the other arm. Her skirt rode up, exposing the pale cheeks of her ass, bisected by the thin band of her tiny black thong. Maeve recovered a little, and writhed desperately under Angela as the blonde’s big bare breasts slapped her repeatedly in the face. She tried everything she could to shake Angela off her, but she failed.

I smiled and hugged Joe tight. Angela was about to finish the bitch, and I knew she’d have fun with her when she did. Maeve would be humiliated – so humiliated she’d never show her two-timing face in the Scene ever again. No longer would I have to deal with her malicious lies and exaggerated half-truths belittling me.

Maeve still had some fight left in her. Her legs snaked up around Angela’s waist, her own tight skirt sliding up over her broad hips. She locked her ankles together and squeezed. Angela’s eyes went wide and she groaned. Abandoning her efforts to pin Maeve’s arms, she grabbed the brunette’s legs, digging her thumbs into the backs of Maeve’s knees. Maeve growled at the pain but didn’t let go. Gritting her teeth, she squeezed tighter.

Angela’s face was reddening, her own pain evident. She changed tactics again, punching and slapping at Maeve’s face. She was too close to get much power behind the blows and Maeve only squeezed harder still. She bridged her hips up and rocked from side to side, groaning as she poured the pressure on.

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. A moment ago, Maeve was on the ropes, on the verge of being destroyed. Now she was gaining the upper hand again. This couldn’t happen! She didn’t deserve to win, to be able to spout her malicious gossip all over the scene. I didn’t want to look at Angela squirming in the scissors  – but I couldn’t turn my eyes away.

Angela beat and clawed at Maeve’s sides, her chest, her face and neck – anywhere she could – with obvious desperation. Her chest heaved as she thrashed in Maeve’s cruel hold. Maeve squeezed harder still, until Angela’s belly bulged out either side of the brunette’s encircling thighs. Angela’s face was beet red, her mouth wide open as her enemy crushed the air from her lungs.

“Don’t give up!” I urged silently as I looked on in growing horror. “Find something…anything…to break her grip!” I felt the flush in my own face as I fought my own all-too-vivid imagination. I couldn’t bear to think about how Angela was suffering, what she must be feeling – but I couldn’t help it. How must it feel to be trapped, my curvy tummy crushed between those strong thighs, thrashing frantically, desperate to break free, but knowing that every struggle only depleted the oxygen in my agonized lungs. I squirmed against Joe, but that was no help. I needed release – or a cold shower.

Joe wasn’t any help either. His right hand was under my dress again, cupping my left breast, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand was on my tummy, teasing my navel piercing. Between his attentions, my earlier victories over Clara and Laura, not to mention seeing Dezarae destroyed by Jo and now Angela in such dire straits – the fires of lust were raging in my belly.

Then Angela finally succeeded in breaking Maeve’s grip. She sank both hands into the brunette’s hair, yanked Maeve’s head up and slammed it down – twice – into the floor. Momentarily stunned, Maeve’s grip slackened. Angela was able to force her ankles apart and start to wriggle free. Maeve’s scissors had sapped her strength though, and she could barely crawl.

She never made it. Maeve recovered, rolled with her and suddenly Angela was on her back with Maeve mounting her. Angela’s arms flailed, her body twisted but she was too weakened to prevent Maeve straddling her. Maeve smiled – such a cruel smile it made my blood run cold – then thrust her hands down to grab Angela’s soft breasts, jerking and twisting them viciously.

Angela howled in agony. She brought her knees up hard, slamming them into Maeve’s back as she simultaneously swung her body to the left. Unbalanced, Maeve toppled off her, but sent a powerful punch to Angela’s jaw as she did. The force of it made Angela’s eyes cross, and then Maeve’s follow-up punch slammed her head into the floor.

Maeve leapt on Angela again. Her knee drove deep into the dazed blonde’s belly. Angela gave a strangled cry as her head and feet jack-knifing up off the floor. Her face was a picture of pain. Maeve seized the chance, grabbed Angela’s arms and pinned them under her knees. She slapped the blonde’s face. Angela whimpered. She tried again to lift her legs and buck Maeve off, but she could barely move.

Maeve slapped Angela’s face hard again, then slid up higher over her fallen foe, until her crotch covered the blonde’s face. She ground herself into Angela, sneering, until Angela’s hand lifted weakly and slapped the floor, tapping out. The fight was over.

“That was exciting,” said Joe in my ear, “But I need another drink. Come on, Melissa.”

We picked our way through the crowd, back to the bar, where Joe’s friend still sat next to the vacant stool we had occupied earlier. This time Joe introduced me. He was Bernie Bulow or, more formally, Bernhard von Bulow, another mogul much like Joe and just as much of a womanizer, judging by the way his eyes lingered on my body, and his hands idly brushed me as we talked.

I wanted – needed – to excuse myself, to find somewhere and some way to cool down. I couldn’t find a cold shower, at least I could splash water over my face. Everything that had happened tonight had me so sexually charged, and sitting here in Joe’s arms with his friend fondling me wasn’t doing anything to diminish my desire – quite the reverse. Joe could throw me on a table and take me right there in public, and I’d welcome it. I’d probably even give his friend head while he fucked me. I couldn’t let Joe – or his friend – know that of course. Melissa Windeyer isn’t easy.

It didn’t help that the end of the fight was not the end of things between Maeve and Angela. I did my best to ignore the sounds of Maeve’s cruel triumph and Angela’s cries of misery as Maeve humiliated her in front of the crowd. I kept my eyes turned away, but there was a huge mirror over the bar and, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help but look – and gasp at the awful yet horribly arousing scene.

Angela was still spread out on the floor, her clothes in disarray, her breasts exposed, her womanhood meagerly covered by her tiny mesh thong. Maeve stood over her, her foot on Angela’s belly, hands on her hips or raised over her head, fists clenched in triumph. She smiled as she posed for pictures, taunting Angela or flirting with the crowd. She turned this way and that, jabbing her heel randomly into Angela’s stomach, making the blonde moan in anguished despair, begging vainly for mercy.

Maeve pulled a guy close, kissed him deeply, then commanded him to step back and ready his cell phone camera. She raised her booted foot, shouted “Now!” and as he took the photo, she stomped hard on Angela’s midriff. The camera flashed as Angela’s entire body convulsed. Maeve laughed. So did most of the spectators, though I knew that for many of them, it was nervous laughter. The subbies were just thanking their lucky stars it wasn’t them on the floor under Maeve’s heel.

Beckoning the same guy back to her, Maeve murmured in the same guy’s ear and he went off, returning inside a minute with a metal choke collar and a leash. There was no shortage of such implements in a place like Galeforce, and no one was about to refuse Maeve just then. She bent and slipped the collar around Angela’s neck, then jerked hard on the leash. “On your knees, bitch…it’s walkies time!” Her head hanging, her hair hanging in sweaty rat-tails to the floor, Angela obeyed, and the brunette led her around the room, accepting the congratulations of the crowd, hugging and kissing, all the while taunting her victim.

I had to get away. I couldn’t watch without thinking of how Angela felt – the bite of the choke collar on her flesh, the pain, the exhaustion, the humiliation, not to mention the knowledge that this was only the beginning. Maeve would use her, thoroughly degrade her. I knew how that felt, too.

I needed to get away, but I couldn’t, not while Maeve was parading her trophy around the room. I couldn’t risk her noticing me, confronting me – not when she was so confident after her victory, not when I was so awfully aroused and weakened by all I’d seen and done tonight. Despite my own victories, seeing Dezarae and then Angela defeated had me terribly turned on. In both those fights, I’d wanted the loser to win. Seeing them lose, imagining how they felt, made me feel like I, myself, had been worked over – again. No, I was in no state to face Maeve.

I waited till her cronies shepherded her to a table well away from the bathrooms, with Angela still chained at her feet. As they distracted her, plying her with drinks, I grabbed my purse, made my excuses to Joe and Bernie and dashed off to the ladies’ room, staying on the far side of the room from Maeve, shielded by the crowd.

The ladies’ room was mercifully unoccupied, and I went to the far end of the long row of sinks. Slipping the straps of my dress off my shoulders to bare more of my upper chest, I turned the tap full on and splashed water on my face, neck, and upper chest, even on my cleavage. I soaked a paper towel and dabbed at my bare tummy and even my thighs, blushing a little as I realized how wet I was, down there.

Holding my hair back carefully, dunked my face in the basin a couple times. As I did, I started to feel a little better. My breathing slowed. My tummy no longer roiled with lust. It wasn’t a cold shower, but it was the next best thing. I felt ready to go back to Joe and Bernie – but one more dunk might be a good idea. I took a deep breath, bent over and lowered my face into the basin once more. I counted slowly to ten, enjoying the tingle of the cold water on my cheeks. I might need to touch up my makeup before I went back out into the club, but that would take only a few moments.

I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t know I was no longer alone, not till I felt a hand suddenly grip the back of my neck and push my face deeper into the basin – holding it there.

I let go of my hair and clawed at the hand that held me, squirming as I tried to break free. I kicked out backwards, to no avail. I planted both my hands on the counter either side of the basin and pushed with all my strength, but I didn’t have the leverage to force myself upright. My heart pounded in my chest as I fought to suppress a surge of panic.

That panic only grew greater as I heard a voice close by my ear – Maeve’s voice. She counted to thirty – slowly – as she held me under the water. Then she let me raise my head a little, just enough to gasp a ragged breath. “You know, I could drown you here and now.” She laughed harshly. “It’d be a fitting end…Melissa Windeyer, drowned in a bathroom basin…though a toilet would be even more appropriate for the likes of you.” Her voice was heavy with malice.

She shoved my head down again. I didn’t even have time to take a proper breath. She counted to thirty again as I flailed wildly, but I couldn’t hit her anywhere.

“But where’s the fun in that?” she taunted me as my lungs burned from lack of air. She grabbed my left wrist and forced my arm up high behind my back. Pain shot through my shoulder and down my arm. Without thinking I screamed, then choked as water flooded into my mouth and nose. Maeve still held me down with one hand controlling my arm and my neck. I could hear her rummaging in my purse with her other hand. “Much better to give you a good spanking.”

I coughed, spluttering, spitting out water as she let me up. Water streamed down my face onto my heaving chest as I gulped for air. “This will do nicely.” Through tear-filled eyes I saw her hold my own hairbrush – heavy, carved from polished black lacquered wood – so I could see it.

She laughed again. “That slutty dress is so short, I don’t even need to pull your skirt up to bare your ass.” She brought the flat back of the brush down hard on my bare butt, using it like a paddle. I squealed and jumped, but she held me tight. Then she thrust my face back into the basin.

Again she counted to thirty – slower this time, one count for each heavy stroke of the hard wooden brush against my unprotected ass. I shrieked and squirmed as pain and warmth radiated out from my trembling butt cheeks – turning to heat as it reached my loins. No! I shook my head feverishly side to side, trying in vain to escape Maeve’s grip. I couldn’t let this happen! I couldn’t! Not here, not now, not with her!

At long last she let me up. My lungs burned almost as badly as my ass as I drew a massive, sobbing breath. She spanked me again and I shrieked, spraying the mirror with water and spit, but it didn’t obscure the sight of Maeve’s mocking face. “Remind you of something?” she sneered. “Like the last time we met?”

Her words echoed in my head as she shoved me under the water again. Did it remind me of the last time I ran into Maeve? Horrid memories flooded mind. I tried not to remember, tried to think of icebergs, garnet pendants – anything – but the sharp sting of the hairbrush on my ass crumbled my defences to dust.

I remembered how I’d crumpled at Willie’s feet after he’d tricked me while we watched the fight between Alixe and Bunnie. He’d duped me, goading me into imagining how Bunnie felt as Alixe hammered her, arousing and weakening me with his mind games as his probing fingers worked my body over so horribly. I was a mewling, whimpering puddle of submissive lust, hanging in Willie’s arms, even before Alixe’s brutal knee to Bunnie’s gut dropped the little blonde to the floor – just as I came hard on Willie’s finger and he dropped me at the same instant.

Maeve paused her spanking to run her fingers gently, teasingly over the exposed folds of my sex. I shuddered and moaned into the water. “Oh yeah,” said Maeve with delighted scorn, “I can see it does.” Even under the water I flushed scarlet with shame.

Willie had hauled me up off the floor, tossed me on my belly onto the nearest table, and yanked my dress up. It was the same dress I was wearing tonight and like tonight, I’d been naked underneath it. My bare ass, my wet pussy, my glistening thighs were on display for all to see as he held me there, a helpless puddle of lust.

“Melissa Windeyer, you evil bitch!” He’d slapped my butt hard with his bare hand, making me yelp. “I wanted to be yours…your sub!” He slapped me again, on the other cheek. This time my yelp tapered off to a quavering moan as I struggled to process his words through the fog of my arousal. “Remember when we first met…I was so devoted to you.” With his third slap I simply moaned. “I got you drinks!” SLAP! I squirmed. “I fetched and carried for you!” SLAP! My body shook. I whimpered. “I thought you were the sun and the moon, Melissa!”

“I knew you like trans…I saw you with Kelsey and Seba.” SLAP! “I wanted to be like them…to be yours!” SLAP! “But as soon as you found out I was trans, you wouldn’t have anything to do with me!” SLAP! My ass was on fire. So was my pussy.

What shocked me was his wounded tone, the hurt in his voice, as though it was I who’d been at fault. The vile, deluded snake had twisted everything in his head, to suit his own version of the truth.

“You thought you were too good for me!” SLAP! SLAP! One on each cheek. “You broke my dreams, Melissa!” SLAP! SLAP! “And now I’ve burst your bubble!” I writhed weakly on the table. “You think you’re so high and mighty! Melissa Windeyer!” He gave a pompous-sounding parody of my voice. “Well you’re not! You’re Melissa Windeyer all right…the slut who takes it under the table!” SLAP! SLAP! “The needy whore!” SLAP! “The bitch who’s made to be fucked!” SLAP! SLAP! “Payback’s a bitch…bitch!”

I remembered all of it like it was a movie playing in my head. No, more than a movie. Not only could I see and hear it, I could feel every sensation, every emotion as Willie had held me down and spanked me like a bratty sub who deserved to be punished – just like Maeve was holding me down now. She stopped spanking me and just held me as she counted slowly to thirty, as she proved that she was Maeve Strasser and I was – nothing.

Nor had Willie spanked me again. He had grabbed my hips, lifted me up and flipped me over onto my back like I weighed nothing. My dress had come askew. The strap had slipped off my left shoulder, and my breast had popped free, my nipple – shamefully hard – poking above the shimmering latex. My other breast was threatening to escape too as the violent movement had tugged my dress to the side.

He’d jabbed his fingers into my belly button, around my piercing. I groaned. It was too much. My tummy was already seething with heat. My dress was already up around my waist and offered no obstacle as I parted my legs with a plaintive moan. I wish I could say it had been an unconscious act, but as Maeve held me down, I knew it hadn’t been so. I’d given myself to Willie, as surely as if I’d fallen to my knees at his feet.

“Slut!” he sneered. He reached up and seized my breasts, pinching my nipples hard so I squealed and moaned louder, twisting and pulling them free of my dress. I could have fought him, but I didn’t. My arms were up over my head, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. I arched my back, pushing my breasts up into his hands. My legs parted wider. I lifted my knees.

Willie let go of my breasts and pulled his skirt up. His cock was fully erect, and nudged my sex as he loomed over me. I writhed on the table. I needed him inside me. I slid my ankles around his waist, to pull him closer, but he grabbed my legs behind my knees and lifted them up high. “No you don’t! I’m the one in control now, bitch!” He bent my legs back, my ankles on his shoulders as he leaned in. I wailed as he – Willie, the trans subbie I had despised – thrust himself deep into me.

“How does it feel, Melissa???” he taunted me as he pulled back, then thrust deep again. “How does it feel for the high and mighty Melissa Windeyer to be on the receiving end…to get fucked hard?” He jabbed his fingers into my tummy with each thrust. I moaned, squirmed, arched my back, lifting my hips to meet his cock. “Look at you! It’s just like Lauren said! You’re Melissa Windeyer, who takes it under the table!” He laughed as he pulled back, the thick hot head of his cock just nudging my hungry lips. “But that’s not right either…you’re Melissa Windeyer, who takes it on the table, where everyone can see!”

I groaned in shame-filled lust as he teased me with his cock and his words. Yes, Willie was taking me on the table, and I didn’t care. “Fuck me! Fuck me, Willie!” I cried out, writhing with need.

He laughed – but held back. “That sounded like a demand, girl!” He slapped my left breast hard. I moaned. “Ask properly! Beg for it, bitch!”

And I did. I begged for his cock. “Please…please! Fuck me, Willie! Please!” My voice, loud and clear and full of desperate need, carried all through the club. I heard Willie laugh. I heard the crowd cheer. I couldn’t have cared less as Willie drove his cock balls-deep inside me again, filling me, stretching me – owning me.

Maeve’s voice broke into my reverie. “Oh yeah, I can see you remember it all.” She laughed as she lifted my head above the water again. I drew a gasping, grateful breath, water dripping from my face and hair, streaming down my trembling body. “Happy memories, Melissa.” She held me up as I tried desperately not to look at myself, at the mess she’d made of me, at her mocking eyes – but I couldn’t help it. I whimpered.

“I’ve got to back to Angela,” said Maeve. “I can’t leave her too long, tied to a pillar. She’s such a needy thing…just like you.” She released me then. My shaking legs wouldn’t hold me up, and I collapsed against the counter, sinking to my knees.

She sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving me there on the floor – just as Willie had left me after he came inside me. He pulled out abruptly, leaving me writhing, close to cumming myself. I’d cried out for him – yes, Melissa Windeyer had begged for release – but he’d just laughed at me. “You’re such a noisy fuck, Melissa!” He’d walked away, just like that, leaving me sobbing, shaking, destroyed on the table.

It had been Maeve who had come to my aid. She’d helped me up off the table, steadied me with an arm around my shoulders, led me to the ladies’ room with gentle, soothing words, promising to help me clean up. I’d leaned on her gratefully, glad of her support – I hadn’t been able to stand on my own then, either – and for her protection too. I’d been terrified the mob would move in, and I’d be taken passed around, used, fucked in every hole. Much of my terror came from the fear of how much I might have enjoyed it.

We’d reached the bathroom unmolested – but as the door closed and I breathed a sigh of relief, I’d started at the sound of Alixe’s voice. “You cheered for that little bitch Bunnie, Melissa. You wanted me to lose.”

She’d stepped close, menacingly. I tried to step back but Maeve had slipped behind me and, as I bumped into her, she pinned my arms behind my back. I struggled but weakly. I was too aroused, too needful. Alixe came closer still. “You thought you were better than me.” She smiled coldly. “You were wrong.” Her knee slammed up into my gut. I doubled over, gagging, and Maeve released me, letting me drop to my knees, shaking.

From somewhere, Maeve had produced a strapon – a big, thick, black strapon – and she’d taken me roughly from behind while Alixe held me by the hair, bending my head back and making me eat her out. They made me cum, more than once, before Alixe exploded in my face, filling my nose and mouth with her juices. Then they changed places, and Alixe fucked me hard with the strapon, her thumb in my ass as I moaned and screamed into Maeve’s pussy, cumming over and over. They used me, ravaged me in the Chatro bathroom for what felt like an eternity.

After Maeve came too, and I lay sprawled on my belly, exhausted and spent, they’d used me as a pillow as they pleasured each other in a 69. After that, they’d made me fuck myself with the strappie as they watched and filmed me with their phones. I lay there at last in a puddle of my juices and theirs, shaking, twitching, panting. I stayed like that, too frightened to disobey Alixe’s command to ‘stay right there where you belong, Melissa…on your back!’ as they walked out, high-fiving one another, congratulating each other, leaving me alone, humiliated and totally washed out – just as Maeve had done now.

I don’t remember how long I lay there before I finally picked myself up. I wiped the water from my skin and most of it from my hair with paper towels, rearranged my dress and repaired my ruined makeup. Gazing at myself in the mirror, I reminded myself that was still Melissa Windeyer. I did my best to ignore the inner voice that whispered ‘Melissa Windeyer, the slut who puts out for clothes and jewelry, the slut who takes it under the table, on the table, on the bathroom floor, or bent over a basin.’ So what if Maeve had just humbled me all over again, effortlessly, without a fight? She’d caught me in a vulnerable moment, just like last time. I’d been weakened by everything I’d seen and done tonight. I ignored the inner voice again when it asked ‘what if I hadn’t?’ I took a deep breath, put on my best confident face – to look confident is to be confident – and prepared to face Galeforce again.

[peccavi]

III

As I stepped out into the club, my heart began to race. I’d cleaned myself up as best I could but inside, I was still seething with dark need. In a place like Galeforce, that was dangerous. Those in the Scene can smell weakness the way dogs smell fear. If they knew how I felt right then, the episode with Maeve would be only the start of my degradation.

Just looking confident wasn’t going to be enough. I needed more, something to restore my spirits and my reputation. I needed to demonstrate to everyone, including Joe Wolseley and most of all myself, that Melissa Windeyer was a strong, powerful Domme, in control of myself and all around me.

Joe was still sitting at the bar with Bernie. He spotted me and waved. I was torn. I wanted to make him wait while I found some way to revive my mojo, but I was worried some other woman might try to get her hooks into him, like Clara and Laurie had already tried to do. Perhaps that might be the way – to let some girl hit on him, then smack her down hard the way I’d done to those two. But what if it was someone too powerful for me to defeat? No, I couldn’t risk it.

I picked my way across the room, on the lookout for a suitable target, and by a stroke of good fortune I found her – Patti. The little fluffball was sitting alone at a table, not far from the bar, in full view of Joe, staring sadly into an almost empty glass. I made my way over to her, wondering how I show my dominance. I didn’t want to be too rough with her – but I wouldn’t need too. All I had to do was have her fawning over me, and that would be easy. Spurned by Jo St Leon and now, presumably, by Dezarae Dumas, she would be desperate for a shoulder to lean on.

“Mind if I sit with you, pet?” I didn’t wait for her to reply, pulling out a chair and easing myself into it, gently. My butt still stung but I kept the pain off my face. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” I touched Patti’s arm. She made some kind of reply, halfway between a word and a sob. I took her hand. “Dezarae deserted you?” It was a guess but an educated one. Dommes hated letting subbies see their weakness, no matter how caring the sub was.

Patti nodded, her eyes glistening as she fought back tears. “You’re a good girl,” I praised her gently. “I should have taken more time with you, sweetie, after my fight with Brit. I didn’t, and I’m sorry.” I squeezed her hand firmly. “Dezarae should be taking time with you too, after the way you helped her. Yes, I saw what you did. You’re a good, loyal girl…but she sent you away, didn’t she?”

Patti nodded again. Her tears spilled down her cheeks and she began to sob. I took her in my arms and pulled her against me as she cried on my shoulder. I smiled to myself. Another moment and she’d be on her knees to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Joe and Bernie watching from the bar. I’d comfort Patti, then return to them in triumph.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, girl?” I jumped at the voice behind me. My head spun around, and I gaped as I saw Dezarae towering over me. Her lip was still swollen, the livid bite mark standing out starkly on her pale flesh. My breath caught in my chest. Patti scooted away from me, fear in her eyes.

I froze as she grabbed my hair with one hand and yanked my chair from under me with the other. I dropped to my knees before this mountainous woman. “Leave my girl alone!” Her voice was a menacing growl as she shook me like a dog with a bone.

“Yes…yes Ms Dezarae!” I gulped. My face was white. My heart sank. My plans to impress Joe and Bernie, and to reclaim Patti, were ruined.

Ms Dezarae let go of my hair. “You may go now, girl.” She dismissed me with a flick of her head, as though I was just another sub, no more important than Patti.

I got to my feet, still trembling. As I turned to walk back to Joe and Bernie, wondering how to spin what they’d just seen, I stopped in my tracks. There, brazenly chatting with them, was Vivian Henge. I hadn’t seen the tall, willowy blonde in a long time – not since that night at the Loft, a short while after Colleen had so maliciously tricked me at Chatro. Vivian had thought I’d still be weak after Colleen – an easy conquest. She was wrong. As it turned out it was me who took her down in an easy battle.

That had been a good night. I’d been tempted to steal Jimmy Berwick away from Brooke Harris, that night. I could have done it too, but I decided to pass. Vivian had gotten a few good shots in, and I didn’t want to risk a fight with Brooke. I still wondered if that had been the right choice. As it turned out, the next time I saw Jimmy and Brooke had been the night they’d played me in Ronaldo.

There had been a lot of water under the bridge since then – dirty, turbulent water that had dragged me under and cast me up on the shore more than once. I wasn’t the same woman I’d been when put Vivian down, a year ago. Back then I’d never have waited for Edward to help me with an apartment. I’d have persuaded him. I’d never have given my favours so easily to Joe. I’d have made him chase me, ply me with gifts and expensive dinners. I shivered. I had fallen a long way.

When you’re down, though, there’s only one way to go – up. I could – would – claw my back to my right place, a queen of the Scene, and launch myself into the A-list where I belonged. A skinny nothing like Vivian wasn’t going to stand in my way. I’d be polite – until I needed to not be. I walked boldly up to the trio. “Hello Vivian,” I greeted her, extending a hand. Dressed in skintight black pants and a long-sleeved, hot pink crop top that showed off her sculpted abs, she was three or four inches taller than me in her heels. I tilted my head up to look her directly in the eye. “Long time, no see.”

Vivian didn’t take my hand. “You looked good, on your knees to Dezarae,” she said coldly. “In fact, you always look good on your knees, Melissa, whether it’s blowing a guy, or cringing before a Domme. It’s where you belong. Here,” she reached out and grabbed my shoulders, “let me help you.”

I let her think I was going to submit. I bent my knees and sank down, seemingly under her pressure, till my head was level with her skinny stomach. Then I thrust forward, my head struck hard between her ribs and her navel, and she staggered backwards, trying not to fall.

My surprise was complete. I’d knocked the wind out of her – not to mention the attitude – and made her look like the fool she was. I was back upright in an instant, and swung a strong, sweeping slap from the hip with my right hand, putting all my weight into it. The blow connected with the blonde’s cheek, sending her stumbling sideways, straight into my left hand as I followed up. She reeled backwards. I sent a punch at her belly and it hit but not as hard as I wanted since she was retreating rapidly.

I knew I had to hustle. I remembered our last fight. Vivian wasn’t heavy but she was strong, fit and lean. She had stamina and had come to close to outlasting me. I needed to finish her fast. I closed on her, firing quick jabbing punches, trying to keep her off balance and stop her from regrouping. She kept retreating and I kept after her. She was hard pressed to defend herself as I mixed up my blows, aiming some at her head, some at her midsection, some in between. I wasn’t doing much damage with each punch, but I knew the cumulative effect would wear her down and then I’d go into overdrive. A decisive victory over Vivian would erase the memory of that unfortunate encounter with Desarae, from my mind and from Joe’s.

Vivian stopped retreating when her butt hit one of the wide pillars that supported the balcony above. I smiled as I closed in for the kill, but I’d grown too confident, and she shoved herself off the pillar, coming at me quickly. Before I could dodge or back away, her knee flashed up and struck me hard below the navel. I grunted at the impact.

I stepped back and took some deep breaths as Vivian slipped away into the open. I had to stick with my game plan, attack her with a barrage of light blows, wear her down before she wore me down and then – only then – deliver the coup de grace.

We circled, trading slaps, each defending with one handing while slapping with the other. My weight more than made up for her longer reach. I was hammering her, though she landed a few hard blows too. She caught me on the side of my head once, stunning me for a moment, and another heavy slap struck my shoulder and made me stumble, spoiling my attack.

Vivian took a step back and slapped again. I blocked that blow, but not the one from her other hand as she stepped in again. I’d expected her to keep defending with that hand, not strike as she did. Hitting with both hands, coordinating the blows to surprise an opponent, was something experienced fighters like I did – not nothings like Vivian Henge. The surprise blow struck my cheek, snapped my head around and almost knocked me off my feet.

She stepped back again, keeping her distance, staying close enough that she didn’t need to stretch out to hit me, but I had to extend myself to hit her. Fighting at the limit of my reach like that, slowed me down and spoiled my aim. When Vivian ducked or dodged and one of my blows missed, it left me unbalanced, an easy target for her continued vicious attacks.

Vivian kept hitting me, harder and more often now. Frustrated, I chased her, firing heavy slaps that seldom hit. My dress was hardly designed for this kind of activity, and my breasts were soon bouncing free, swaying back and forth as I swung at her. She kept backing up though, dodging this way and that, keeping me from closing with her, all the while battering me with blows to my face and head, my neck, my shoulders and my bare breasts.

The pace was beginning to tell – on me, at least. My chest was heaving, and my face was red from the exertion as well as from Vivan’s stinging slaps. I kept the pressure on though. I knew she couldn’t last much longer. She’d make a mistake soon, and then I’d have her.

I was right – she did. She dodged a blow from me, but lowered her right arm and hesitated just a moment before retaliating. I saw my chance, and lunged with a vicious open-handed blow at her right cheek that would rattle her brains.

She swayed onto her back foot though, and my fingertips whistled past her nose, leaving me so stretched out that I stumbled forward to keep from falling. It was then that she let out a triumphant cry, “Ha!” and surged forward herself, hammering me with a left-right combo that had me staggering to one side, then the other. I backed up but she came at again with a barrage of slaps before I could regroup. She rained slaps on my face, my neck and shoulders, my chest and even lower down with scythe-like, karate-style blows to my sides and belly that had me groaning.

I gave up attacking for the moment. I had to stop those heavy, damaging blows. I managed to block some, and then launched a punch of my own at her bare midriff. She avoided it, and my follow up kick, but at least I succeeded in breaking the momentum of her attack. I smiled to myself as I stood there, chest heaving, tossing my head to flick my hair out of my eyes. Of course I had – I’m a seasoned fighter. I’m Melissa Windeyer.

I needed a moment to regroup before I attacked again and finished her off, but Vivian kept the pressure up. She struck first and she struck hard with a slap to my left breast, which I blocked before I realized it was a feint. Her follow up with her left hand slammed into my jaw and rocked my back on my heels.

She just kept coming. I retreated. She followed. I blocked some of her blows, dodged others, but she kept on slapping. Again she broke through my guard, not just once or twice but often, and I shook on my feet from the power of those impacts, particularly those to my head and face which had me dazed. I was defending more and more, but less and less successfully. Not only was she sapping my strength, she was befuddling me – me, Melissa Windeyer! This was beyond horrid.

Dimly, deep in my mind, I knew I was playing to her strength. A stand off slap fight was just what Vivian loved best. That was how she’d begun her fight with me in the Loft last year. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I had to change tactics, take the fight to her.

As she attacked again, I ducked low and her slap whistled over my head. She leaned forward as she’d done before, to keep slapping me. I stayed low though as I lunged forward, aiming my head at her belly, to headbutt her as I’d done at the start of the fight, to wind her and send her to the floor.

She spun on her heel though, and I lunged forward and upward into empty space. Overbalanced, I stumbled forward, almost falling. Vivian grabbed my hair and jerked me even further forward, sending a heavy slap to my head as she did so. I went down – to my knees – with her fingers still twisted in my hair. I reached up with both hands, clawing wildly, trying to break her grip, but she held on and the slaps still rained down on my head and neck.

I had to stop her, and quickly, or I was finished. I had to fight dirty, just as I’d done in the Loft – but what was I thinking? There was no such thing as ‘dirty’. There were no rules in a fight like this. You did whatever it took to win – cleverness and cunning were weapons just like strength and stamina. People like Joseph Garnet Wolseley knew that – and so did Melissa Windeyer.

“You look good on your knees!” Vivian sneered as she slapped me again.

She had me on my knees, to be sure, but that gave me opportunities. I let myself go limp, sagging in her grip, and she took a step closer, getting in front of me, raising her free hand to batter my face again.

That’s when I struck. I reared up, and thrust my arms under her top, sinking my nails into her little boobs, twisting and tearing. She screamed like a banshee, let go of my hair and reeled backwards, slapping at my arms, desperate to get away.

Her screams were music to my ears. I surged to my feet, adrenalin pumping, and got close to her. I wasn’t going to let her keep her distance and smack me silly this time. I got close to her but not too close. I wanted to make sure I could punch her hard – and I did.

I scored blow after blow as the skinny blonde tried to parry. She wasn’t defending the way she had been. She just couldn’t match me. I forced her back and followed up, keeping the pressure on her, keeping her on the defensive. I wasn’t punching as hard as I wanted to. I was slow, my limbs stiff and sore. She had weakened me – but it didn’t seem to matter. She gasped, groaned, grunted as each of my blows hit. She made a few feeble attempts to fight back but couldn’t. She’d been taking it to me earlier but now she’d lost her momentum – and she was about to lose everything else.

Vivian seemed to wilt. She slumped forward, hands grasping my shoulders for support. I allowed myself a slight smirk. One more blow and I’d have her – and I’d make her pay for her arrogance in daring to challenge me. She clung to me. I almost didn’t see her foot slide out, behind my own, ready to trip me up – but I did see it, and I sidestepped out of her trap.

“No you don’t, sneaky – UNGGHHH!!!” She had punched me in the stomach – right in my navel. Pain – and lust – flamed in my belly as the air gushed from my open mouth. As I stumbled back, arms windmilling, she lunged, grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me forward. She struck again, burying her fist in my belly, driving the rest of the breath from my already ravaged lungs as the pain seared deep into me. I folded forward, reaching out to grab at her, to jab at her ribs, to claw at her chest – anything to stop her vicious blows, to give me a moment to regroup.

It didn’t work. Vivian stepped in closer still, preventing me from landing a solid blow, and drove her knee up into my battered, roiling stomach. I saw it coming, almost in slow motion. I knew I couldn’t avoid it. Vivian had too tight a grip on my hair. I tried to twist aside, to ride the blow, but Vivian anticipated that and twisted with me. Her knee struck me cruelly, squarely in the center of my belly, right on my piercing.

I knew even as it hit, just how much damage it would do. The pain would explode outward from my belly, radiating throughout my body. So would the horrid flames of dark lust, conspiring with the pain to take away my power, my strength, my will to fight. I’d double up, my knees would buckle, I’d hang in her grasp, at her mercy. I shuddered in terrified anticipation – and the reality was even worse than I imagined.

Vivian knew. She laughed as she yanked my head up by the hair, forcing me to look up at her from my knees. “You should have knelt at the get go, girl…you could have saved yourself all this pain.” She thrust her other hand into my hair, hauled me to my feet, then drove her knee into my gut a second time. I shuddered, gagged and doubled over, dizzy with the pain.

She let go of me. I couldn’t stand. My knees gave out but before I could fall, she launched an uppercut that struck me on the point of my chin and hurled me backwards to crash headlong onto a table behind me.

Vivian stood over me as I lay there gasping. My dress was up around my waist, my legs splayed wide, one foot up on the table, the other hanging in space. My pussy, soaking wet, was on display to everyone – including Joe Wolseley, I stared up at her through tear-filled eyes. “No…no!” I pleaded.

“Oh yes…yes,” she mocked me, and jabbed her fingers into my sensitive, churning tummy. I failed to bite back my whimpering moan of mingled despair and lust. My legs twitched feebly. My hands shook, but I did nothing – could do nothing – to defend myself. She smiled – a cold, cruel evil smile. She raised both her hands high above her head, taking her time. She knew I had no fight left in me. She knew it, and she knew I knew it. I stared at her with wide, horrified eyes.

“You could have saved yourself the pain,” she repeated as she clasped her fists together. “Now it’s too late.” She brought her fists down. I watched them descend, almost as though I was outside my body. There was nothing I could do to stop her – worse than that, I knew there was nothing I wanted to do. The blow would destroy me, break me completely – and in a moment of complete clarity, I knew that was just what I – Melissa Windeyer – wanted.

Vivian’s two fists buried themselves in my belly. I shuddered and went rigid. My arms and legs jerked up off the table. I would have screamed but I didn’t have the breath. Then the pain came. It tore through me, consumed me to my core, making me writhe helplessly on the table – and it tipped my depraved desire over the edge. I let out a wailing cry of utter desolation as I came, squirting like a geyser, spattering the table and my quivering thighs.

I lost myself entirely in the maelstrom of my orgasm. By the time I came around, I was laying limply on the table, my head pounding, my entire body aching. Vivian still stood over me. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her smile said it all.

She hauled me off the table by my hair and shoved me, stumbling on shaking legs, toward the bar. She kicked my bare butt. I lurched and fell to all fours. She grabbed me again and dragged me to my feet as we passed the stools where Joe and Bernie were sitting. I couldn’t bring myself to look at either of them.

Vivian snatched my purse from the bar as we passed. “Be right back, boys,” she said, “as soon as I take out the trash.” She marched me up the steps to the foyer, bumped the front door open with her shoulder and half shoved, half threw me into the street, tossing my purse after me.

I lay there, sprawled on the concrete sidewalk, sobbing, my night ruined. No, I realized as the cold night air sobered me, it was more than just my night that was ruined. I’d built so many castles in the air, dreaming of the life I’d have with Joe Wolseley. That future was ruined too. Why would a man like Joe, who could have anyone he wanted, bother with a loser like I was becoming?

It was all so unfair. I deserved better out of life. I deserved a place among the rich and famous – the A-listers! But here I was, on my ass in the gutter, beaten, humiliated and literally thrown out of Galeforce by a nothing like Vivian Henge. Was Willie right? Was Maeve right? Was I really nothing more than a slut who took it under the table, on the table, on the bathroom floor? The slut who didn’t care where it came from – cocks or strapons or even fists? Was I really nothing more than that?

Shaking from much more than the cold, I fetched my purse from the gutter, hugged my arms around me against the cold, and trudged in the direction of the
[/not too sure this belongs in this sub category -readers let me know what you think. my thanks to my wonderful editor and friend the Scribbler and to all the others who have helped mei]

[catfightlover40]

I hope the last sentence gets completed Everyone who helped you deserves praise for putting this together