Mistress of Souls, page 14
“Mistress! Hello! I am so happy to see you again,” he exclaims with true cheer.
I put on my best sultry look and try not to vomit in order to maintain my professionalism. “It’s always a wonderful to see one of my best clients,” I force myself to say with enthusiasm.
“No one knows how to pleasure me like you,” he compliments. “I find the humans of this city easy to scare off if I am in the moment and…oops, forget my glamor.”
He smiles with sharpened yellowed teeth.
I swallow the bile in my throat and cross the room to sit on the opposite armrest of the couch, placing my elbow on my thigh and resting my chin on my hand.
A key point about my oozy client that often has my spine tingling with annoyance and dread is that when Mayor Gloam comes, the entire room splatters with it.
No, he is not a being with one simple gland that releases cum. He has more than I can count.
The ooze he leaks is pre-cum, and it is a constant sluggish drip from his asshole-like orifices while he is at The Snuggle Pit.
I have hit my max level of toleration. I am too old for this shit. This will be my last session with him. He can either have one of the trainee demons or move on.
Once I wore a face shield, thick plastic gloves to my elbow, a rubber apron, and a rubber bodysuit to his session. He did not take kindly to this, and threatened to make it known to the supe and paranormal community that my establishment wasn’t willing to cater to ALL beings’ needs and desires.
At the time, I couldn’t afford any loss to my business. He knew it too; but that is no longer the case.
My outfit for Mayor Gloam now comprises a rubber halter top that exposes my midriff, skin-tight rubber pants, and black combat boots. I put my hair up in a long fishtail braid, beginning at my forehead and running down my back. If I must face a monster, I will face it like a mother fucking Viking warrior queen!
“So, Mayor Gloam,” I say with a forced smile aching my face. “How can I pleasure you today? I know you’re very busy and need to get back to business as soon as possible.”
My smile turns into a grimace as he sits up and runs a slippery tentacle up my thigh. The sheen of his slime trailing in its wake.
“Oh, my dear, I am in no rush today. I want to explore all the pleasures you have to offer with that tail of yours.”
Not my poor tail. It doesn’t deserve this kind of offense. It’s a beautiful tool, a weapon for the senses, and using it on him feels like I’d be defiling it.
“You have been teasing me for years about how it can bring the most intense pleasure…and pain. But I am still not sure about the pain aspect,” he says with a gurgling laugh. “I would much rather just be pleasured by it.”
This is one of the worst parts of my business.
Fuck this day. One more session, I tell myself.
I constantly feel the threat of vomit at the back of my throat. No matter what his request for drawn-out pleasure will be, I will get this session over with as soon as I fucking can.
Schooling my features, I purr, “Alright, I will wring pleasure from you with my tail as requested. But on one condition. You must restrain from touching me. This scene requires total trust on your part, and mine.”
“Yes, Mistress. I do look forward to your ministrations.”
I can tell, as pre-cum is creating a puddle around him on the couch, steadily dripping onto the floor.
“Well, just in case, I am going to bind your tentacles. It won’t be painful unless you pull on your restraints. These are made for beings with your type of slick flesh, so you don’t slip the restraints.”
I stand and push the back of the couch he is laying on down. It is more of a futon, but he doesn’t have to know that. The Mayor laughs as his folds of flesh ripple and roll from the movement.
I yank on three of the tentacles on the left side of his body and cuff them with the extra large spiny cuff I have permanently attached to this couch. There is one cuff in each corner. I make quick work of the rest of his tentacles.
I step back, feeling a slight release in my chest. He can’t touch me. I can do this. Take this creature by the balls and get this over with. Does he have balls?
“Do you consent to the use of my tail to pleasure you as I see fit?”
“Yes, Mistress, do continue. I fear any more of your ministrations with those cuffs will have me coming before we know it.”
Noted. The kinky fucker does like the slight pain of the spiny cuffs.
I whip my body around, closing my eyes for what must be done. I rub my tail and apologize for everything it is about to endure. Opening my eyes, I pivot on my heel, walking with purpose to the couch.
His gaze travels all over my flesh.
I shift my tail into a massive dildo. The length of it is almost my full tail. Maybe he will hate this method of pleasure and never come back. My tail starts shaking in quick movements, much like a vibrator, while I cradle it in my hands.
I risk a peek at the mayor and see his eyes–all eight of them–are honed in on the dildo. I reach my tail to the nearest piece of slippery flesh, continuing the shaking vibration.
Immediately, moans and gurgles issue from the top of the couch. I ignore them as I drag the dildo over each of his leaking holes. Precum continues to flow steadily, and I’m grateful for the grippy soles of my combat boots, the floor becoming increasingly slippery.
I dip the tip of the dildo into the hole closest to his cockapuss. I am not familiar with his foreign reproductive system. The Mayor’s eyes have closed, but he is clearly trying not to rip his tentacles in half by the cuffs.
I piston in and out of the hole with my dildo tail.
The Mayor shakes, splashes of Pre-cum flying from him. Several splashes hit me in the face, and I hold back the curse and vomit, threatening to leave my throat.
Let’s get this over with.
I pull the dildo out and insert it into the tip of his appendage. Really, it is the combination of a cock and a pussy, hence cockapuss. It is long and thick, but has a deep hole in the center. The pussy like hole is continuously opening and closing, clenching on the dildo.
“Mistress, oh Mistress, this is too much! I cannot handle another second of this torment. Make me cum now!”
Normally, I wouldn’t cater to this blatant disrespect of my title here, but I want this guy gone. He asked for it.
I close my eyes, preparing for impending doom. I pump my dildo tail into his cockapuss as fast as I can, vibrating on max.
Wet gurgles, moans, and groans are coming from the Mayor. He’s lost the ability to speak. The cockapuss starts pulsing on my tail, and then, with one strangled gurgle and a vise-like grip on my tail, he erupts.
I shift my tail to normal, rip it out of his grip, and into a rudimentary shield. I hold my breath as a wave of oozy cum bathes the entire room, myself included. The mayor is wailing in ecstasy, but has ripped several tentacles out of his cuffs. He tries to grab for me, cum pouring out of him, eyes glossy.
I slip in the mess, backing away from him and landing on my ass.
“FUCK! I told you, no touching!” I scream so loudly, the mirror on the right side of the room shatters.
I didn’t mean to act so unprofessionally, but a girl can only take so much before she wants to peel her own skin off and incinerate it.
I told him not to touch me, and with his threats of the past and his continued need to violate my personal space every time he’s in this room, I can’t take it anymore.
My boots slide around as I find my feet, using my tail to keep my balance as I careen out of PR3, leaving the convulsing mayor semi-restrained to the couch.
A repulsive shudder ripples down my back.
Sighing, I let the spray of my double-headed shower work the thick coating of cum out of my hair.
Fuck this day! Actually, fuck this week. I am so glad I am done with Mayor Gloam. When I end my day questioning if I was the one being tortured, something is seriously fucked.
Why do I insist on accepting clients like that?
Chapter 17
Mariax
I enter TT’s, the tattoo shop belonging to my best friend Tiffany, and lean against the door frame, crossing one booted foot over the other.
TT’s is small but cozy. From the doorway, I can see most of the building due to the open floor plan.
Directly in the entrance is a carpeted waiting room. A plush as hells royal blue velvet sectional commands most of the space. A round coffee table sits in the center, cluttered with binders of tattoo drawings for inspiration. An enormous flat screen TV rests on a low chest as a makeshift stand.
The scent of pumpkin emanates from countless candles on every available surface, screaming cozy fall vibes.
An ostentatious saltwater aquarium is built into the wall behind the clear case the register sits on. A yellow, blue ring octopus, which is one of the smallest but most deadly types of octopus there are, crawls through the eye of a cyclops skull planted into the seaweed and sea anemone with its own horde of clown fish in the spooky set up they call home.
However, the couch is by far my favorite part. It is covered in big squishy pillows and throw blankets. I’ve spent more time than I can calculate hugging one of those pillows to my chest while reading, napping, or talking to Tiff as she works.
Directly behind the back of the sofa is the wall of the first booth of two. Each contains a padded adjustable tattoo chair, a small rolling stool, a stainless steel tray to put all of her equipment on, and a cabinet full of supplies. The walls that make up each booth are just tall enough to offer privacy, but even a shorter customer could look over them.
Tiffany looks like your everyday human tattoo artist when she is in her shielded form. But today she hides nothing.
Her true looks are heart-stoppingly fierce and gorgeous.
Her skin is a brilliant ultramarine blue. It’s unfortunate she has to hide her tail, midnight blue wings, curving horns, and blue skin because of the humans. She’s also got an ass that makes you want to bite it. I know from her bragging that some of her sexcapades involved just that.
Tiffany is a fellow demon gifted with a ton of powers, one of which is mind seduction. Yes, it works on me, too…when she wants it to. Anyone who can force their powers on my mind is undoubtedly insanely powerful.
Her client today is certainly a supernatural. The giveaway? The dude has huge golden wings. They’re splayed and hanging down either side of the table to keep his backside uncovered.
I wonder if he would take me for a ride.
Tiffany is a work of art herself.
She’s tall, curvy, and has a personality that draws everyone in immediately. Her dark curly hair is pulled back into a messy bun; surprisingly, she has very few tattoos. For someone who enjoys forcing ink into someone’s skin with a needle moving about two thousand times per minute, she loathes having her flesh marred.
Why inflict pain on yourself when you get pleasure from giving pain to others?
The tzz-tzz of the tattoo machine is constant. Somehow, I find it soothing, like a lullaby.
Walking over to the nearest unoccupied tattoo chair, I slide down until I’m comfortable and close my eyes.
It has been a long week. Seriously, fuck this week.
My clients are causing me too much physical and mental anguish. As I enter the realm of dreams, the buzz of the tattoo machine cuts off, and I sneak a peek to find Tiffany staring at me like she’s only just realized I was there. I close them again.
“Mariax! The fuck you doing here again? Your clients not behaving?” she asks as a smile spreads across her face and her lip ring, pierced through the middle of her bottom lip, glints from beneath her head-lamp.
Tiffany is the only tattoo artist I know who uses a headlamp to see every minuscule detail of her art. The results are astounding. I have seen tattooed portraits that could jump off the skin of their eternal wearer and have a true form, from a deer prancing through a meadow of wildflowers to seascapes that make me yearn to reach out and touch the choppy surf.
Not moving or opening my eyes, I respond, “Since when do my clients behave? Their definition of behaving and mine are two very different things. If I had it my way, ‘behaving’ would involve them acting badly on purpose so that I could torture their flesh through punishment. I want to torture something so badly that it aches. I never had to fight this need when I worked in Inferuna.”
Sighing, I sit up and swivel to face her.
There has been some intense shit nagging me, and Tiffany is always up for a vent session.
I hop off the tattoo chair, coming closer to get a better look at her art. She continues to tattoo the ass cheek of the huge, winged male.
He looks human except for the wings and the slightly luminous glow of his skin. On second glance, I think he may be an actual angel. Fucking angels, as I’ve said too many times in the past, never trust an angel.
They are douchebags. Every. Single. One.
Although it will be fun to watch this angel in pain in one of my playrooms.
Chuckling, I pull a padded chair out from under the desk and straddle it, facing Tiffany.
As I sit down, she glances up, blinding me with her headlamp. “Mar, what’s got you so fucked up? Come on, spill the whisky.”
She lowers her head and resumes her work, the male inhaling sharply as the needle pierces his flesh. The soothing tzz.… tzzzz is a perfect background for what humans call ‘girl talk’.
Rolling my eyes at the idiotic term, I say, “well, guess whose day got fucked up by Mayor Gloam?”
Tiffany begins chair dancing to Harry Styles, serenading us with the background music of the shop. Chair dancing means she moves the lower half of her body on the stool with wheels in dance while her upper half stays stationary, not a twitch that would mar her flesh art.
“That motherfucker was there again? He’s the most revolting piece of shit I’ve ever seen. I don’t know why you still put up with that douche face.”
“You know why. You were there when he threatened to ruin me and run me out of the city in the early days of The Snuggle Palace like I was the bad guy in one of those shitty Westerns.”
“Yeah, but you’re the badass boss of one of the best dungeons in town now.”
“Actually, this was my last session. Thank fuck for that. I don’t want to push him on one of the other trainee mistresses, but there is no way I will work with him again. Plus, there is a chance he won’t come back…” a little cackle escapes as I explain.
“The fuck? What did you do?” she asks as she dry wipes the freshly tattooed skin before dipping her needle for more ink. “Don’t get me wrong, congrats, girl! You deserve better. You’re the Mistress of Philly. You don’t bow down to slimy political bastards like him.”
“Weeeeeeell, you know how he has those revolting tentacles that ooze? I strapped them to the couch with cuffs that would slice him if he pulled on them or tried to slip his tentacles out. Long story short, he begged me to pleasure him with my tail. I am still sorry I had to put it through that.”
I scoop my tail up from behind me and pet it in apology. It has been limp since the episode like it is pouting or even traumatized. I might have to get it therapy even after what I just forced it to do.
Eyeing Tiffany as she tattoos away, I continue telling her what happened, including the moment I stormed out of PR3.
“Damn, that was a horseshit of a day. Seriously Mar, douche canoe Mayor Gloam needs to be banned from The Snuggle Pit. He’s not worth the stress and nausea.”
Mr. Angel groans in pain as Tiffany tattoos a particularly tender spot on his fine ass. Of course, he can’t handle the pain. He’s an angel and, therefore, a little bitch. I’d call him a pussy, but a pussy can handle pain, being used, stretched and filled beyond capacity – he wouldn’t deserve such a wonderful title.
Mr. Angel interrupts our conversation. “Fucking hell, I can’t take another moment of this!” He bellows, glaring at Tiffany over his shoulder.
She smiles sweetly at him, but I see the gleam of amusement in her eyes. “What would you like to do, Jamie? Do you want to call it quits for today and reschedule the rest of your session for another day?”
Jamie sighs deeply and nods.
He looks like he’s had the worst day of his life. It’s just an ass tattoo. I stand by what I’ve said about angels; I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. I will die on this hill.
Tiffany wraps up his scrumptious ass with Saniderm and reminds him of the care instructions.
As soon as she’s finished, I spank him hard on his bare ass cheek, “Well, Jamie it’s been fun. Pull up your panties and fly back home. Better mentally prepare yourself next time, wouldn’t want to tap out again.” I cackle.
He grumbles, pulling on gray sweats over his very naked body.
“See ya, Tiffany. I’ll call to reschedule.”
He smiles at her before whipping his head towards me and glaring. He tosses his long dark hair over his shoulder and stomps out of the shop.
Tiffany and I stare at each other. The door closes with a loud bang. We burst into laughter for several minutes. I laugh so hard tears are running down my face, and a cramp grips my side.
“Oh fuck, that was too funny. Please let me know when his next session is. I’d love to pay him a visit,” I say as I wipe the tears from my face.
Tiffany smirks but shakes her head. “Oh no, Mar, that was fun, but I have a business to run. I will, however, take a picture of his face masked in agony for you AND tell him you’ve been asking about him.”
“That’ll do, Tiff.” A couple more soft cackles escape me.
“Well, now that half of my day is free, why don’t we give you a celebratory tattoo? A big fuck you to Mayor Gloam. May his tentacles ooze anywhere but near The Snuggle Pit.”
“Fuck yeah. I will never turn down the opportunity for a new tattoo. I’ve needed some self-care, anyway.” My thoughts and emotions have been an utter mess.
