No Mercy, Adrian Pein

No Mercy v. Adrian Pein

Michael has always wanted the relentless training. Now it is real, but different and not just as he hoped for in his dreams. Elena is not only a mistress, but a sadist…

Words: 7.665, 27 p.

Content: FemDom, dominatrix, dominant female, fetish, erotic, erotic literature, erotic story, sex training, devotion, BDSM

Extract:

Excitement, coupled with fear, but also anticipation of the unknown makes his steps resound hesitating from the building walls. He takes a deep breath, a last reflection, and then the decision with all its consequences when he rings the doorbell. There is a faintly readable name on the nameplate: Elena, the family name is barely recognizable. Michael only realizes that it must be rather long, starting with an L, two more Ls in the middle and ending on the typical Italian -ardi. After a few seconds, a buzzing sound signalizes the opening of the door. But the intercom remains quiet. Obviously more aroused now than moments before, Michael opens the door and enters the hallway. He ascends the steps, second floor, four apartments, no open door and no name starting with Elena on the nameplates. The same is true for the third floor which is identical to the one below; only kids’ shoes in front of one door indicate a family living there. Basically, he knows nothing about that woman, Michael thinks, not if she’s single, not what she does for a living and many more things you should know when meeting a hookup for the first time.
Finally there’s a door on the fourth floor that’s open a crack, light spilling to the corridor. A final moment of hesitation, a brief reluctance, and then Michael approaches the door, slowly opens it and enters the apartment.

He locks the door twice like Mistress Elena has explicitly ordered him to on the phone.
Then, he immediately undresses, as ordered the day before on the phone. Soon, he stands in the hall naked, his clothing neatly folded. A long carpet with a reddish, somber pattern shows him the way to the living room at the end of the hallway to the left. For the moment, this door remains closed, there is no sound, only a soft hint of classical music lingers on the air.
Michael kneels in front of the door, waiting. Seconds stretch into infinite moments. He is immensely tense by now. But he suspects that that’s just what the unknown Mistress wants.
Then, the door opens, and the Mistress appears. For Michael, seeing her is a dream that comes true.
Probably in her late thirties, brown hair, slender, very good figure, wasp waist, endless legs in nylons of the sort that Elena loves to wear, at least that’s what she emphasized in their short phone conversation. The small feet in high stiletto pumps, a tight skirt ending just above the knee, not leather, rather satin, Michael guesses, elegant yet still seductive. A white blouse with lace at the collar and puffy sleeves stresses her aura of dominance that he has been feeling clearly since entering the apartment.
She has dark eyes that look down upon Michael with humor, but also cynically and full of distaste. He cannot clearly discern which emotion they really show. Full lips, painted dark red, but cheeks, forehead and throat powdered rather white, almost a pallor that you’d find in geishas and women spreading disaster. Michael’s breath almost catches in his throat: This woman knows how to make an entrance; the whole world seems to revolve around nothing but this one woman, this mistress, this sadist. Every pore of her body, every fiber of the outrageously expensive nylons, and every tip of her hair exude the fact that she has a penchant for cruelty. Pain, torture and forbidden lust seem to linger in the room like a hot-air balloon in summer. Her nose has the typical Italian sweep, the bridge is slightly arced, and her eyes are cat-like. She’s a gorgeous sight that arouses and frightens Michael at the same time.