What are you going to do about that damned great stiff thing poking into my thigh, I had asked. Not what you might traditionally expect of a domme, I suppose, a polite question or civil request: I had a bit of work to do on this part of my personality, I reckoned.

"Whatever you like," Paul replied. "May I call you Mistress?"

May I, he asked. May I! Could he ever...

"I think that would be most appropriate," I rejoindered as sternly as I could. "Now then, all this thrashing has got me excited. Get your head up this skirt and start licking." As those words escaped my lips I felt as though I were out of my own body, observing myself, or at least someone who looked and sounded like me, but who was in every other respect radically different. I couldn't believe what I was saying, or what I was proposing; and I couldn't believe that this was happening, that this extraordinary scene was really unfolding in my mundane living room. My ears were ringing as the excitement pulsed through my body, and I felt my entire being become ultra-sensitive. Every touch was like a feather tickling up and down my spine.

I sat back in the settee and parted my legs slightly. Paul was kneeling before me. "Yes, Mistress," he murmured and lowered his head towards my knee. I raised my fortunately loose fitting skirt and he ducked his head underneath it; he paused for a moment, as though adjusting to the darkness, and I felt his face graze against my bare thighs as he pushed his head upwards towards my pussy.

I had been at work all day, and what with the spanking I had just administered I was soaking with excitement. I must smell pretty ripe, I felt sure. Still, that was his problem... I lay back and let the sensations wash over me. I felt his tongue rasp at my sodden panties and his nose press against me as his tongue began to probe and stroke. Whether by design or accident, the bridge of his nose was lodged firmly against my clit, and with every movement it pressed deliciously against it, sending waves of anticipation shuddering through me. I widened my legs and pushed at the back of his head, forcing him harder against me.

"Keep rubbing, that's it," I sighed.

He knew how to work his tongue, that was for sure. I could feel myself flying higher and higher, soaring towards ecstacy. For all his skill, however, I knew I would never get to a climax without some direct stimulation: the panties would have to go.

"Pull my knickers down," I ordered. "Keep your head under my skirt, but pull them off. Now!" I eased myself up slightly from the settee to assist him, and delightedly I felt him tugging firmly at my panties, easing them over my hips and downwards to my knees. He had some difficulty sliding them off me without releasing himself from the confines of my skirt, but finally he succeeded and triumphantly pulled them clear, depositing them in a soaking heap on the carpet.

"Now," I sighed, "Now suck.

And he did. Jesus, he did. It was incredible. I was wetter than a Bank Holiday weekend in Skegness and my pussy lips, as his tongue slid up and down between them, were engorged and so sensitised I felt I could scream. Frantically, I grabbed his head again and slammed him into me, flattening his nose against my clit once more and rocking him up and down, up and down, showing him the rhythm I wanted him to adopt. Willingly, he took my lead and began to lap at me eagerly, stroking his tongue up one lip and down the other, up one, down the other, up and down, up and down, a frantic, busy torrent of activity; all the while his nose circled my clit, round and round, pressing directly against it, then sliding off and round, off and round. Oh God, this was heaven, heaven, just heaven.

As my head lolled in delight, I spied the half smoked joint Paul had rolled for me earlier. Snatching it, I lit up and dragged deeply. My God, Harriet, I thought, this is the life, girl. This doesn't happen every day does it, a stonking joint to smoke and a willing subject with his head buried deep in my skirt, licking me to a frantic climax. If my boss could see me now; but then again, maybe not...

I ran my fingers across my chest, feeling my nipples taut and stiff beneath the fabric of my blouse. Undoing the top three buttons, I slid my hand in and gently kneaded the left breast through my thin bra. I slipped a couple of fingers inside and felt for my sensitised areola, rubbing it and stroking it; with the bra in the way I couldn't work up a decent rhythm, and impatiently I eased it upwards, releasing my breast and allowing my hand free access. I began to tease and tweak the nipple, rolling it, rubbing it, feeling it stiffen and grow between my fingers, feeling the tingling, glowing sensations it aroused mingle with the general mélange of flushing excitement arising from Paul's ministrations down below.

Paul had started to dart his tongue between my lips, at first only the tip, but gradually penetrating further and further, and I could feel it lapping deep within me, rubbing against my pussy walls. I grabbed his head again and started to move it forward and back; Paul took his cue and started to fuck me with his tongue, probing deep, with his nose crushed against my clit, then drawing out, deep and out, deep and out, in a steady, heady flow. My pussy was so hot I felt I was on fire, my whole vagina a seething mass of ferment. My body began to tense and I felt the distant rumblings of a crashing climax emerging from deep within me. My sphincter muscles contracted and the waves of passion started sweeping out of my womb, flushing over my body, up through my stomach, down my legs to my toes, careering through my head and into my brain, giddying, electrifying eddies of lust overwhelming me, overtaking me, overdosing my senses with stimulation. For a second I passed out, sheer exhileration causing a momentary short circuit in my system, and I let out the most enormous scream, a primeval wail of joy, of satisfaction, of sheer, unadulterated delight. My body was shaking and trembling, fingers and toes tingling; my mouth was dry and numbed, and I could feel my heart booming within my chest.

"Shit," I said.

I lay limply, with Paul still entrenched between my thighs, lapping very, very gently at my pussy, drawing in the juices which I am sure must have just flooded out of me. Sprawled on the settee, my legs indecently wide apart, I puffed languidly on my joint, pulling it deep into my lungs, adding a new jolt to the parade of stimuli which had so recently engulfed me. I felt light headed and dizzy as I began gradually to gather together my senses. I lay like that for some minutes, five perhaps, or even ten, as a purling indolence overtook me. A soporific haze descended, and my eyes closed with mute satisfaction, a contented snuffle emanating from my mouth. Wow, I thought, this is the life.

Just then I heard a rattle from the front door, then a slam, then a series of clunks and bangs and clashes. In my sex and drug induced befuddlement I looked up as the living room door swung open. Fetishdoll stood framed in the doorway taking in the scene: calmly her eyes lighted on the naked body with a crimson, recently spanked backside, whose head was hidden deep inside my skirt; incuriously her gaze moved upwards to take in my bared, heaving breast; impassively she looked into my glazed eyes and at the butt-end of the joint in my fingers.

"Hi hon," she said. "You've met my brother then."