Yes Ma'am (A Lily Huang Story)

You wait for the lift. You could leave work forty minutes earlier, but you wait because Alison Kharkov leaves at precisely this time every day. The minute or two of catching the lift in her presence is all you live for. Alison is personal assistant to the CEO of Unicorn Legal, where you work as a paralegal, invisible to everyone. You arrive at the lift at the same time as Alison and feel a warm flush. You swallow hard. She's tall, an ex-fashion model with a fashion model attitude and Russian accent. Her look today is faux Goth: silk black hair in a bob, deep mauve eyeshadow, lipstick the colour of dried blood. She wears skin tight leather jeans, ankle boots with stiletto heels and a halter neck black top that reveals her cleavage and the black pencil-line tattoos of skulls and ankhs on the plaster pale skin of her slender arms.

She stands alongside you. You have never been this close to her and as the lift fills with people on the descent, the flesh of her cool arm presses against you. You feel goosebumps. As you shuffle back to let more people in, her stiletto steps onto your big toe and you gasp. Before you can speak, she looks down at you, her large green mascara lined eyes fixed on yours. She inclines her head in a query and her lips curl in a smile. She presses harder and harder, until your toenail cracks, but she does not remove her heel. Alison stares into your eyes until the elevator reaches the ground floor. As the door opens, she leans down and whispers in your ear, 'I see you, you little cunt.'

A week later and you are still limping, your toenail surgically removed under local anaesthetic, the nail bed raw and sensitive. You are using the office bathroom when Alison enters. She has a country girl look today, tight blue jeans, cowgirl boots, a man's checked shirt. She wears candy coloured lipstick and blue eyeshadow. You stare at her in the mirror above the vanities, a second too long, a fatal second and she's onto you. You snap your eyes away, but she steps behind you pressing against you.

'How's the toe?' she asks. You glance at her in the mirror. 'Don't fucking look at me,' she says. 'You require my permission to look at me. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' you reply, staring down into the sink. You are trembling. She presses against you, harder. You feel the belt of her jeans rub against your back, her breasts pressing against your neck.

'Yes what?' Your fumble in your mind. What does she mean?

'Yes ... Ma'am?'

'That will do for the time being. Now, how is the toe. Tell me the truth. I can see you're limping.'

'The toenail was broken. They had to remove it. It's tender and sore.'

She brings her right hand to your throat and squeezes. You gasp at the touch of her hand and feel your pussy wet against the corner edge of the porcelain sink.

'Does the pain make you think of me. Every time it hurts?'

Will you tell her that at night you masturbate, pressing your toe against the bedsheets in agony, thinking about her body against you in the lift, her heel crushing your toe and those words, 'I see you'? Nobody else sees her. None of the partners know her name. She never gets invited to drinks by the other paralegals.

But all you say is, 'Yes Ma'am.'

'That pleases me. Do you masturbate, thinking about me?'

'Yes Ma'am,' you stammer.

'Do you orgasm?'

'Of course Ma'am. The strongest orgasms I have ever had.'

'Of course? Correct answer.'

There is silence. Your desire to look at her is an ache in your heart. It is pain worse than your throbbing toe. You feel your clit pressed against the cold porcelain. You want to cry. You want to cum.

'You may look at me,' says Alison.

You look at her face in the mirror, falling into her green eyes and your ache deepens into something you have never felt before. Your whole body feels inflamed, flushing with emotion. Is this love? Are you in love with this magnificent, unattainable woman pressed against you?

She moves her leg and holds the heel over your injured toe. Even the mere presence of the heel makes makes you twitch and your legs begin to quake. Alison's hand is still on your throat, choking you gently. She brings her other hand under your T-shirt, finding the nipple under your A-cup, twisting hard. She presses you harder against the sink. You can't help yourself and grind you pussy against the edge, moaning softly, as your orgasm builds.

Alison presses her heel against your toe. It's a wider, flatter heel than the stiletto, but the pain is still exquisite. Your knee quivers. You feel a wave of nausea, but the orgasm is still building.

'Look at me you little cunt,' says Alison. You realise your head is down toward the sink and your eyes are tight shut. You open them and straighten your spine. 'So disrespectful after all I am doing for you.' You gasp in pleasure and pain. You can't cope with much more.

'Now,' says Alison, releasing the pressure on your toe. 'Pay close attention to the rules. I'll make it plain if it is not already -- I want to hurt you. Physically and emotionally. I am a sadist and I am cruel. Inflicting pain gives me pleasure. In return for your submission, I will let you cum and I may give you the opportunity to worship me. Is that what you want? To worship me?'

Your breathe heaves, your heart leaps, your skin sweats. You know this woman is out of your league. You know that pain, submission and worship is the best you can hope for, the only way you can be close to her. You whisper, 'Yes Ma'am.'

'When you can't handle the pain, you have a safe word. The safe word is, 'Mercy,' and if you say Mercy, I will desist. unless I hear 'Mercy' I will do whatever the fuck I please. The words 'stop' and 'no' are meaningless to me. I only respond to Mercy. But if I am required to grant mercy, I will not let you cum. That is the price you will pay and you will regret what you missed out on. But that's life, huh? A legacy of missed opportunity. Choose wisely.'

She brings her heel back to your toe. You are a slave to her desire for pain, to your desire for ecstasy. Your need for orgasm transcends the agony as she tightens her grip on your throat and nipple, choking and twisting. You are under her total control as you grind hard against the corner of the sink. When when your orgasm arrives she removes her hand from your throat and clamps it over your mouth, muffling your screams. She releases you and you crumple to the floor. You lie in a foetal position, your body heaving with sobs. She stands over you, legs apart, your conqueror, your queen, as you whimper on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

'I see you Lily Huang,' she says. 'You are my bitch now.'

Your sobs recede, the orgasm replaced by a hollow feeling of serene peace and emptiness. You occupy a place of pure contentment.

You say, 'Yes Ma'am.'