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“Have you been wicked, my dear?”
“Yes, Miss Adler.”
I knelt on the floor at the foot of her bed, naked except for my collar.
“Then I’ll have to discipline you.”
It was, after all, why I was there.
She’d come to the morgue after the whole incident with Sherlock and introduced herself.
“Hello, Miss Hooper. I believe you pronounced me dead.”
Her direct manner, her poise - everything about her - caught me off guard. I’m not very assertive at the best of times, but I felt particularly meek around her. She intimidated me in the same way Sherlock does. Something about her seemed dangerous and thrilling, and it sort of terrified me.
“Right, Miss… Adler?”
“Yes.” She gave me her card.
She never said why she was there; she just introduced herself and then she left.
I typed in the website address without thinking and then closed the window in a panic when the site came up on the screen. Clear the browser cache. Hope like hell they aren’t tracking site usage. Well, it could be work related. Still.
I brought it up on my phone instead.
Jesus.
It gave me a whole new level of insight into Sherlock.
And when I realised that the feeling in the pit of my stomach was excitement, it made me wonder about myself.
I ignored the feeling for three days, but I compulsively visited her site. Each time, I told myself it was just curiosity. I wasn’t interested in women. Well, I never had been before. I certainly wasn’t interested in… whatever it was that she specialised in.
Was I?
My web browsing habits seemed to indicate otherwise.
Three days after her visit, something - I’m not sure if it was curiosity or excitement - got the better of me, and I phoned.
“Miss Adler’s office.”
“Oh, um, yes.” I’d hoped she’d answer the phone personally, but I wasn’t surprised she had an assistant. “I’d… like to see her.”
“Of course.”
We arranged a time. I arrived at her townhouse ten minutes early, and her assistant showed me to a sitting room. I perched nervously on the beautifully upholstered sofa and wished I hadn’t eaten lunch. I was so nervous I felt like I was going to be sick.
She walked in wearing a tailored dress. Very tailored. Good Lord. It made the one I’d worn to the Christmas party look like a potato sack.
“Miss Hooper. It’s lovely to see you again.”
I stood and shook her hand. It was soft. Warm. A faint trace of perfume surrounded her, so different from the harsh chemicals I was used to. I felt a bit dizzy.
I realised I hadn’t said anything.
“Um, it’s nice to see you too, Miss Adler.”
“Are you here in a professional capacity?”
I bit my lower lip. “Um, not really.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and I seriously considered bolting from the room and out of the townhouse.
“I assume you’re aware of what I do?”
I nodded.
She stepped towards me, and I instinctively stepped back. The back of my legs touched the sofa and I wasn’t sure if I should sit or remain standing.
She smiled. “Please, sit.”
I almost collapsed. Just being around her was intoxicating. And dangerous. And already I couldn’t get enough of it.
“What made you decide to visit me?”
I had no idea; I just knew I had to be here. I looked at my boring shoes and replied, “I… I’m not sure.” I could see her stiletto heels in front of me. Her toned legs just went… up. I made it to the hem of her dress before I had to look back down at my shoes.
“Do I make you nervous, Miss Hooper?”
I nodded, unable to meet her gaze.
“Look at me.” Her voice was commanding, but not unkind.
Damn. I forced myself to look up. Stay calm. Don’t panic. Fight the urge to run. Breathe. I cut open dead people. I can do this.
Her voice. Her voice was amazing, but it wasn’t that. It was her tone. That commanding tone. God help me, it was making me wet.
I was so out of my depth.
I came back for my first session the following day.
Kate showed me to a well-appointed bedroom. “Miss Adler would like you to wait here. You may sit on this chair.”
“Do I have to… get undressed or anything?” A tiny part of me hoped the answer would be ‘yes’.
“No, just wait here.”
She left, and I shifted uncomfortably in the chair and twirled the end of my ponytail around my fingers. What the hell had I been thinking?
I was just about to get up and find Kate - tell her it had all been a mistake - when she walked in. Another tight dress - white, this time. She was carrying a riding crop. Images of Sherlock wielding his crop in the morgue ran through my head and I blushed.
“Hello, Miss Hooper.”
“Hello.”
“You shall address me as ‘Miss Adler’ at all times.”
God. There it was again. That voice. That feeling that went straight between my legs.
“Hello, Miss Adler.”
“Much better. Now, take off your clothes and kneel in front of me.”
We’d discussed limits the previous day. Safewords. Boundaries. Expectations.
I’d expected this.
I hadn’t expected it to make me feel like this. I had no idea a person could be terrified and incredibly turned on at the same time.
I smiled nervously as I stripped naked and placed my clothes in a neat pile on the floor. I’d never been comfortable in my own body. I usually had sex with the lights off. Undressing in a sunlit room certainly pushed the limits of those boundaries we’d discussed.
I knelt in front of her.
“Look at me.”
God, she was gorgeous.
“Pull your shoulders back. Don’t be ashamed of your body.”
“Yes, Miss Adler.” I felt so exposed - not just because of the nudity, but because she knew I was ashamed of how I looked.
She circled me, lightly dragging the riding crop across my skin. I expected her to strike me with it, but she didn’t. She just observed. I looked straight ahead, willing myself to stay calm. It really wasn’t working.
“What did you do yesterday after you left here?”
“What?”
She swatted my bum with the crop - it stung, but it didn’t really hurt.
“First, you shall never ask me ‘What?’ Don’t make me repeat myself. If you don’t understand, you may ask for clarification. Second, it should have been ‘What, Miss Adler?’ Now, tell me what you did yesterday after you left. Be specific.”
“I went to the shop and bought some dinner, then I went home, Miss Adler.”
“And then?”
I knew what she was getting at. I really didn’t want to say it.
“I ate dinner, Miss Adler.”
Another swat on my bum, harder this time.
“Did you masturbate, Miss Hooper?”
My cheeks burned, and I looked down at the ground. It was all I could do to reply, in a quiet voice, “Yes, Miss Adler.”
“Good.” I couldn’t see her, but I could hear the smile in her voice.
I could still feel where the crop had touched me. Warm. Not what I’d expected.
“Tell me what you thought about.”
“Looking at your legs as I sat on the sofa.” I’d never managed to look her in the eye except when she’d ordered me. “And the way your voice made me feel.” I got lost in my thoughts and forgot to add her title. A quick swat from her crop reminded me. “… Miss Adler.”
“And how did it make you feel?”
It took me a few long seconds before I could verbalise it - or perhaps it was just before I could admit to it, I’m not sure. “I realised I wanted to…” even now, I could barely say it. “… submit to you, Miss Adler.”
A warm hum of appreciation crossed her lips, and I felt the leather tip of the crop at the base of my neck. She pulled it slowly down my spine until she reached the top of my arse.
“Have you ever been with a woman before?”
“No, Miss Adler.”
We’d discussed my sexual boundaries the previous day, but the topic had never come up. If it had been an issue, I doubt I would have been there.
“Good. I do love a blank slate.”
She walked back in front of me and stood there, examining every inch of my body. It seemed like she took hours. I tried not to squirm.
“Look at me.”
I did, and promptly wished I hadn’t. I felt so exposed, but I’m sure that was exactly what she wanted.
She held out a hand and I took it, following her cue to stand.
“You seem almost delicate,” she mused. “Breakable.” But then she grabbed my ponytail and pulled my head back, hard. Despite her actions, her voice remained soft. “But you’re not, are you? You’re just quiet. You cut up dead bodies, and you’re good at it. It takes a lot of strength to do what you do, both physical and mental.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Another sharp tug on my ponytail answered that. “Yes, Miss Adler.”
“You’re here because you crave submission. Why?”
“I… I honestly don’t know, Miss Adler.”
She let go of my hair. “No, I don’t suppose you do. Sometimes, these things just are.”
Standing in front of her, almost eye-to-eye, made me intensely uncomfortable. It just didn’t feel right. At all.
She smiled. “You may kneel if you wish.”
“Thank you, Miss Adler.” I dropped to my knees and a surge of relief washed over me. This. This felt right.
“Why did you decide to become a doctor?”
I looked up at her, confused. The question seemed bizarre and off-topic. I was about to ask for clarification when she added, “What event in particular made you realise it was the right profession for you?”
Oh. I didn’t have to think about that. I knew. “When I was ten, I slipped with a knife while I was chopping vegetables. My mum started running around in a panic, but I was fascinated with the wound. I kept flexing my finger so I could see how deep the cut was; I wanted to see the layers of skin. My mum wrapped it up in a teatowel and dragged me off to A&E, and they gave me six stitches. It was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to me.”
I’d got so lost in the memory that I forgot to address her as ‘Miss Adler’, but she didn’t correct me.
She leaned forward with an intrigued expression on her face. “How did you react to the pain?”
I frowned. I didn’t remember any pain.
“I… I don’t think there was any, Miss Adler. It was a sharp knife.” I tried to think back. “It was just warm. It throbbed a bit.”
“Fascinating. Show me the scar.”
I held out my finger. The white line was obvious if you knew it was there, but no one had ever noticed. Well, perhaps Sherlock had, but he’d never mentioned it.
“It looks like quite a deep cut; it must have hurt while it healed.”
I nodded.
She must have seen the odd look on my face, because she squinted and asked, “What? Tell me.”
It was that voice again. Commanding. Compelling. I swallowed and tried to concentrate on the story. “Well, we lived in a dodgy area. It did hurt while it was healing, and I didn’t want anyone to see me in pain; they all made fun of me as it was. So I made sort of a contest out of it. I would squeeze my finger as hard as I could and force myself to get through it without crying.”
I stopped. I couldn’t say the rest; didn’t want to. I’d never told anyone about this.
“Go on.”
Withholding it from her wasn’t even an option.
“Well…” I took a deep breath. “I started to enjoy it. Not the actual pain, so much,” I added quickly, “but the way I could sort of ride it out. It gave me a rush. It was frustrating, actually, because as the wound healed, it hurt less, and there wasn’t as much to…” I had to search for the word. “… endure.”
“Fascinating.” She walked slowly around me. “Did you ever do anything to replicate the pain?”
“No. I thought there must be something wrong with me.”
“Such a shame,” she said. “I can assure you, Miss Hooper, there’s nothing wrong with you; you simply experience sensation in a way that differs from the rest of the population.”
Then I remembered her original question and looked up brightly. “But I did discover that I liked cutting people open - too see how they worked.” Oh dear. That sounded bad. “Dead ones, I mean. Oh God,” I added with despair, “that sounds even worse…”
She laughed - a rich, deep, honest laugh. “It’s quite all right, Miss Hooper, I believe I understand.”
She ran her hand slowly down the length of her riding crop.
“How did it feel when I used my riding crop on you just now? Be specific.”
“It stung a little, but then it felt warm. Throbbing.”
She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
It took me a second before I caught on. “Sorry… Miss Adler.”
“Your lapses in etiquette must be remedied. I believe you need to be punished.”
She got up from the sofa and stood in front of me. Her tailored dress clung rather distractingly to her thighs, right at eye level. I gave a moment’s thought to what lay between those thighs and dropped my eyes back to the floor.
She gave a small laugh.
“You must be fascinated with my shoes, Miss Hooper; you can’t seem to keep your eyes off them. Perhaps you should take a closer look.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant until she placed her hand firmly on my shoulder and pressed down.
“Besides, it’ll give me a better look at you,” she said, lasciviously.
I dropped down on my hands and knees, keenly aware that my arse and pussy were now rather unavoidably displayed.
“What do you think? Do you like them, my dear?”
They were patent leather; blood red. I could see my reflection in them. Almost irrationally, I wished they were open-toed; I wanted to see more of her feet. I saw so many feet at work - dead feet, most of them rather hideous - but I imagined hers were beautiful. I wondered if she’d ever let me find out.
“Hm?” She prodded my shoulder with her crop.
I had to learn to focus my mind. If it kept wandering off like this, I’d be doomed. “Yes, Miss Adler. They’re beautiful.”
“I do love this shade of red. I had them specially made. Now, I think you’ve seen enough of them. Put your chest on the ground. You may cradle your head on your forearms.”
I swallowed. I lowered myself to the light hardwood floor. Crossing my arms at my wrists, I rested my forehead on top of them. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it wasn’t awful.
She walked behind me and stood there for a few seconds. Then, I felt her drag the tip of her riding crop up the inside of my thigh and push. I let out a gasp.
“Legs a little wider, please. I’d like a better view.”
I shuffled my knees further apart. It pulled my chest lower to the ground and made me more stable, but my God. I could only imagine what I looked like. I’d started getting wet from the moment she had me on my knees, and now I could feel the cool air of the room brushing across the lips of my pussy. My arousal was obvious, to say the least. With horror, I realised my arsehole was probably on full display as well. I don’t know why, but the idea mortified me. I’d never associated it with sex or pleasure, and given the choice, I’d certainly never show it to anyone. And yet here I was, arse in the air, displaying both it and my cunt willingly - and if the throbbing in my groin was any indication, completely getting off on it.
“Well, I must say, it looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Yes, Miss Adler,” I mumbled.
“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Hooper. There’s not much point in you being here if you’re not enjoying it.” She paused, and then added, “Well, at least part of the time.”
I felt the leather tip of the crop press against my clit, and I jumped.
“There, there,” she said calmly, “nothing to worry about.” She dragged it across my wet folds and up between the spread cheeks of my arse. She lingered as she brushed it across my arsehole. I’d been right; my arse was completely spread. There was nothing I could hide from her at this point; I felt my face burn, even as the damp trail left by the crop cooled my skin.
She walked back and held the crop directly in front of my face.
“Clean this.”
My juices had soaked the leather tip. I took it in my mouth, eagerly; I was so turned on I would have done anything she’d asked. My own taste was familiar enough; I think every woman has sucked their fingers clean at least once after masturbating. I’d always enjoyed it, personally. But the feel and the taste of the leather was new. Although the tip was smooth, it was almost rough against my tongue. And although the leather smelled deep and rich, the taste wasn’t nearly as powerful - more of a sensation of dark chalkiness than flavour. Mixed with my own juices, it was rather delicious.
I must have seemed quite enthusiastic.
“I see you like that. I’m not surprised; it’s always the quiet ones who prove to be the most interesting. I think that’s probably clean enough. Now, about your punishment.”
I should have been nervous. Or something. But the idea just made me more excited. “Yes, Miss Adler.”
“Very good. You’re learning. But for your earlier forgetfulness you’ve earned yourself five strokes with my crop. We talked about safewords yesterday. You may use yours if you have to, but I believe you’ll be able to cope with this.” The hint of a smile crept into her voice. “You might even enjoy it a little.”
“Yes, Miss Adler.”
“Good girl. Now, count them off as I give them.”
She moved behind me then, and without warning the crop landed low across my arse.
I’d been determined not to make a sound, but a small squeak escaped my lips, regardless. “One, Miss Adler.”
Unconsciously, I started counting off the seconds. Another one - slightly harder this time, but still bearable. “Two, Miss Adler.”
The third one: higher on my arse, but about the same intensity. “Three, Miss Adler.” She was timing them exactly.
The fourth landed in the same location as the first. It stung far worse. “Four, Miss Adler.”
I braced for the next blow, but instead, I felt the crop between my thighs. Without thinking, I pushed down onto it, desperate for the pressure against my clit. She quickly removed it and struck the sensitive area at the base of my arse, hard. I gasped in a mixture of pleasure and pain. “Five, Miss Adler,” I managed to croak out.
“Very good, Miss Hooper. Now, it’s polite to thank me for your punishment.”
“Thank you, Miss Adler.” I almost wanted to beg for more.
The sting from the crop had been replaced by a warm glow. I wondered what my arse looked like. How long would the marks last? There had to be marks. I wondered if I’d be able to feel them when I sat down. Despite the earlier pain, I was still impossibly aroused. I wasn’t sure if was from her presence, being exposed like this, or the endorphin rush from the beating. Perhaps it was all three.
She placed her riding crop on a side table and wandered towards the window. I watched her stiletto heels click their way across the floor.
“Do you feel you’ve been adequately punished, Miss Hooper?”
My cunt throbbed. She was giving me a chance for more, and I desperately wanted to take it.
“No, Miss Adler.”
“Really?” She sounded both surprised and thrilled. “Well, well. Aren’t you a find?” She headed back towards me like a large cat stalking defenceless prey.
She bent down and traced the crop marks with a well-manicured fingernail. The action left little sparkling trails of pain that should have bothered me, I suppose, but they just aroused me more. I think I leaned into it a little, unconsciously.
“Look at you; so responsive. Lovely.”
She soothingly rubbed her palm across my entire arse. Once again, the remnants of pain were nothing more than a warm buzz and a surprisingly pleasant memory.
“Now tell me, Miss Hooper, why don’t you feel as though you’ve been adequately punished? I deemed five strokes to be sufficient. Are you doubting my judgement?” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was not a light-hearted question.
Instant panic. “No… no, of course not, Miss Adler. I…” I fumbled for words and couldn’t find any.
I felt a single finger slide between the folds of my pussy and withdraw. A second later, she was by crouched by my head.
“Now, now,” she said softly. “Words can be so difficult when you rush them. Let me occupy your mouth while you think.”
I eagerly took her dripping finger and grasped it gently between my teeth. I rolled my tongue around the tip and sucked my taste from it. The simple, repetitive action helped my mind go slack once more.
“Now,” she continued, “do you believe your punishment was inadequate for the infraction? Or do you just crave more discipline? Those are two entirely different things.”
Ah. Now I saw what she meant.
“I crave more discipline, Miss Adler.”
“Of course you do, my dear.” The tone of her voice positively glowed, and I basked in it.
I realised that this wouldn’t be my only session; far from it.
This was very much ‘my sort of thing’.