Melissa's Decision

ONE.

 

“How long have you been coming to see me, Lissa?” Tamara asked.

Melissa was behind the dressing screen, which was an odd name because mostly she undressed behind the tri-folded stand of fabric and wood. It was odd that Tamara even had the screen because Melissa, and all of Tamara’s other clients, spent most of their time naked in front of her. It was a strange false modesty. She undressed behind the screen, put her clothes and possessions in the basket on the stool, and then spent the next two hours in front of Tamara completely naked.

“About two years now,” Melissa called out as she unhooked her bra and placed in the bucket along with the suit skirt and blouse. She just dropped everything in without a care. The workday was over and she was here to relax and center herself; a few folds and wrinkles wouldn’t matter on the drive home.

“Did you know that you’re one of my oldest clients?”

While Melissa had that suspicion, she had never said it out loud. There had been several improvements and changes to Tamara’s studio over the years, all of which Melissa appreciated, but she remembered when the studio was nothing more than a small converted barn with nice hardwood floors and little else.

And now it was a sadist’s dream and a masochist’s…nightmare? No. That wasn’t right. Melissa was a masochist and she looked forward to her every trip to Tamara’s place. It was her dream as well. Just viewed from a different angle.

Some women relaxed by having their hair and nails done or perhaps an intense yoga workout. Melissa preferred to be tied up and abused.

“I know I’m one of your oldest clients,” Melissa said as she shed the last of shed jewelry and stepped from behind the screen. That was one of Tamara’s rules: nothing on, no jewelry, not even piercings. That wasn’t a big deal for Melissa because the only piercings she had were in her ears, done years ago in junior high, and she didn’t wear much in the way of ornamentation anyway. A ring or two and maybe a necklace with her earrings. Nothing else.

Tamara’s eyes went up and down Melissa’s body, doing a quick inspection. The first time Melissa had presented herself to Tamara she had been scared out of her mind and wanted to flee, but made herself stay for the promise that Tamara made. Now she was comfortable with herself naked in front of the woman she paid to assume the role of masochist. Melissa didn’t really know if Tamara got a sexual thrill from hurting Melissa, but she hoped the other woman did.

“Turn around,” Tamara said.

Melissa spun on one foot, presenting her backside to Tamara. For the most part Melissa was pleased with her body. Her boobs were her best physical feature, she knew, or at least she assumed they were. They were the part of her body most men obsessed and commented over. They were big, not huge, but as she had aged, they had decreased in size from their peak during law school. Her stomach was most flat and her butt was mostly rounded. Lots of time running saw to that, though she always wished she was in slightly better shape than she was.

“Very good, turn back around. Tie back your hair.”

Taking the elastic band from around her wrist, Melissa made a quick pony tail of her shoulder length hair and secured it. Light brown and slightly curly, it was both professional and attractive.

Tamara’s eyes went down Melissa’s body. She could feel it like a physical sensation. “You shaved?”

“Yes. Of course.” The first time Melissa had been told to shave off all her pubic hair it had been weird, but now she couldn’t imagine not doing it. Legs, pussy, underarms: all hair free. Maybe it was a bit demeaning or designed to keep women sexual objects, but the attention to her body made her feel sexy and it had done wonders to her dating and sex life.

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Any physical problems or concerns?” Tamara was that sort of dominant; she cared for her client’s well-being.

“Nothing. I feel great. Just want to get this started.”

Melissa also liked that Tamara wasn’t big on formal protocol. Melissa was paying for these services and Tamara adapted her routine to please her client. There was no “Sir” or “Ma’am” or “slave”. It was all about respect.

She also liked that Tamara didn’t dress like a dominatrix during their sessions. Or rather, she dressed “dominatrix-lite”. Just from their conversations and after years of knowing each other, Melissa realized that Tamara was a few years younger than her, but not much. She had straight red hair that was cut in a practical, short style and fair skin that Melissa would die for, but almost no freckles. Either she spent no time in the sun or had tremendously unusual coloring. Generally she wore black yoga pants that were neither too tight nor revealing and a practical colored tank top over a black sports bra. This left her arms free from restrictive clothing. Melissa had never figured out if there was a pattern or reason to the colors of her tank tops, but today’s was a deep green. She wore boots with a sturdy, practical heel, not stilettos, and they didn’t lace up to her knees.

Everything she did and wore seemed to be done for practicality and yet there was an odd sexuality about her. Even though she had been seeing Tamara for year, Melissa wasn’t certain of the other woman’s sexuality. She could have been straight, lesbian, or bi; Melissa couldn’t say for certain. It wasn’t particularly important, but it remained an object of curiosity for her.

“Ready then?” asked Tamara when she was done with her brief visual inspection.

“Yes.” While Melissa was comfortable being completely naked in front of the other woman, the next step always unnerved her.

“Stockton?” Tamara called.

Less than half a minute later Stock, Tam’s partner, walked into the studio. While Melissa knew only a little about Tamara, she knew less about her partner. For all she knew, Stockton was a pseudonym because he was short for a man, and incredibly stocky. As always he wore work boots, jeans, and a black t-shirt under a flannel shirt. His slightly shaggy black hair swept low enough on his forehead to fall into his eyes. While he didn’t glower at Melissa, she always had the impression he was vaguely threatening even when he was just doing his job. Melissa had to force herself not to step back when he walked into the room.

She hadn’t exchanged more than half a dozen words with him over two years. If he spoke at all, it was to tell her to adjust her stance or move a limb.

Though Tamara referred to Stockton as her partner, Melissa wasn’t sure if that just meant they were business partners or if they were romantically linked. Depending on the day and her mood, if asked Melissa would give a different answer each time. There was no way to tell and she didn’t want to directly ask Tamara.

“Bind her on the beam today,” Tamara said to him. “Green rope today, make her feel pretty. Kneeling. Cunt and ass up and exposed. Leave the tits hanging.”

The crude language was either shorthand between the two or intentionally spoke to disturb Melissa. Perhaps both.

The beam was a twelve inch wide support post that had been re-appropriated from elsewhere in the small barn or nearby, similar structure. At about te