Shewore a black jacket, beneath that her white lycra top was tight, the necklineplunged down into her cleavage. Her hair was soft and golden brown, it fell inlayers around her face. Her make up was wearing off but her red lipstick wasstill on and her startled grey eyes were framed with heavy mascara. Her imagewas cracked, distorted. I took a deep breath and forced my self to try and besober, I was looking at my own reflection. I was reflected everywhere, theplace was lined with mirrors, they ran around the middle of the wall, all theway around the room.And every single one ofthem was broken. I took a final swig frommy wine bottle, got a mouthful of cork and spat the remains back in the bottle.I didn't want to spit on the floor in here, there was something about it thatreminded me of hallowed ground or a time capsule. I ignored the freaky brokenimages of me and went up to the bar, leaving my bottle on the floor as I triedthe grille. It was locked firmly. I tried to peer through. With. My fingers tightly grasping each wrist behind my back, legs shoulder width apart, eyes to the floor, I awaited my orders. Pushing away her chair, Mistress walked, no stalked, around me, allowing the whip to crack against the floor. I heard doors open and close as clients entered their rooms, the rustling of many pairs of pants as their cocks immediately hardened at the hardcore sight before them. My nipples hardened at the thought of all those pairs of eyes on me. Mistress stopped suddenly behind me on her third walk around. I had passed her expection. "Pick up the chair, slut." she growled, the bull whip striking my nylon-covered thigh, ripping the brand new stockings and effectively reddening the soft flesh beneath it. I did not make any noise or flinch, instead purring, "Thank you Mistress, may I please have another?" "Not yet, whore. Follow my command," the sharp edge in her voice telling me to move quickly. I picked up the chair and turned towards her, staring at the object,.
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