Ms. Bitch is Mistress Susan Ch. 01

When I displeased her, I wish she'd slap me or knee me in the balls. Wanting her to spank me, beat me, and whip me, I thrived on her abusing and using me. Only, I still wished for more. I wished she'd tie me up to have her wicked way with me. Not allowed to touch her until she gave me her permission, I needed for her to torture me by teasing me while controlling me in her dungeon of horror, my dungeon of pleasure.

Only, thinking of her as my dream woman instead of my mere boss, I was thinking too much of pleasing her for her to satisfy my every sexual want and whim. Now that I've done everything to please her, it was time that she did something to pleasure me. Forget about sexual harassment lawsuits, I was ready to experience my boss in a way that no employee should ever experience his boss. Morphing business with pleasure, I was ready to not blur the employer/employee line but also to cross the line.

It wasn't until I accidentally stumbled over her alter ego that I knew who she really was. I couldn't believe my eyes. As shocked as I was sexually excited, it wasn't until I mindlessly surfed the internet, one day, that I found her true identity, Mistress Susan.

'Mistress Susan? Are you kidding me? No way!'

A real eye opener into who she truly was behind her mask, first I found her blog. Then I found her website with plenty of photos of her in all manners of dress and undress. When I saw her photos, still not positive it was her, I did a double take.

"Oh my God! Can it be? Is that really her? No way! Is that my boss?"

It looks like her but I don't know. It's hard to tell. She has a look of sexual desire on her face that I've only imagined but have never seen before on her face. Dressed in black leather with panties so sheer that it showed her shaved pussy, I was instantly in love. I so wanted to dive between her legs to lick her through her panty with my tongue. I wanted to push her panty aside with my fingers and pleasure her by rubbing her clit and fingering her hole. I wanted to please her and pleasure her until she screamed at me to stop.

"Enough Glenn. That's enough. Stop licking my pussy. You're already given me three orgasms. If you lick me anymore, you're going to lick me sore," I imagined her saying while pushing me away.

With her name the same as my boss, the Dominatrix on the site has the same big, blue eyes, shoulder length, blonde hair, and fair complexion as Susan. It must be her or her identical twin sister, if she even has a sister. I didn't know her on a personal level to know about her siblings, family, or personal, private life. At 5'8" tall and weighing 124 pounds, Mistress Susan had the same dimensions as my boss Susan. Yet, there are lots of 5'8", 124 pound women with blonde hair and blue eyes in the world, even some named Susan. Isn't there?

'Yet, not very many women are as beautiful as she is,' I thought to myself.

As if an artist preparing himself to paint her portrait, I looked more closely at her face and took her image home with me every night to compare her face to the photos that appear on the site. She has the same facial features, eyebrows, nose, and mouth. She has such a beautiful mouth and every night I imagined her taking my cock in her mouth and sucking me before fucking me. Yet, making me question if the photo was even of her, I never knew she had tits, big tits, double D tits according to her profile on her site. She hides them very well. Now, perhaps, I know why she always wears black. The next day in work, looking for more evidence to her secret identity as if I suspected her to be Cat Woman, I studied her to see if I could tell how big her hidden tits really were.

"That's her. That's really her. Is it her? I'm not sure," I said to myself staring at her every shape and curve every time she wasn't looking so that I compare her remembered image to the nearly naked photos of her on the Mistress Susan website.

The photos looked a lot like her but with her nearly naked in the photos, I'm distracted from looking at her face to look at her big tits and sheer, panty clad, shaved pussy. I couldn't believe that this could possibly be her website and that these photos could possibly be of her. Perhaps this website and these photos are of someone else who looks a lot like her? If these pictures were of her, I had no idea that she had this good of a body beneath those black clothes.

"Wow!"

Even if it wasn't her, I pretended that it was. I removed my cock from my pants to masturbate over the nearly naked photos while fantasizing that the pictures were of her and that this was her sexy website. Mistress Susan, my boss and my mistress all rolled into one, wouldn't that be a sexual fantasy come true? I was as shocked as I was sexually excited. Unable to believe my eyes, looking for a mole, a freckle, a visible tattoo, or some type of identifiable imperfection, I stared at my computer screen for some modicum of evidence that these photos were of her. Only, she was too perfect to be so indelibly marked.

Even after staring at her photos on the computer screen while masturbating, I gave her the benefit of the doubt that those sexually, explicit photos weren't of her. If it wasn't for what she had written in her blog and had I not read her favorite reference in the way that she always refers to herself as Ms. Bitch, I may not have put two and two together. Strange that my boss would not only refer to herself in such a derogatory way but also that she'd use the same term that everyone calls her behind her back, Ms. Bitch. This must be her. Now finally believing that this was her website and these were her photos, I decided to go out of my way to please her so that she'd notice me as her potential sub.

She wore that Ms. Bitch term as if it's her badge of honor and, obviously in the way that she so referred to herself, she used that term with pride. Without doubt, even with evidence of the photos and having the same name, I never would have known who she was until she used that familiar term not only in the office but also on her website for me to make the connection. The Ms. Bitch term frequently appeared on her website as an endearment of herself and as a description of the type of woman she was. After all, in her particular type of business she ran and services she offered, she needed to be a bitch for her not to be run over by men in the same type of business.

It all started when she overhead two employees talking about her in the lunchroom and she fired them on the spot. Knowing it was only a matter of time before they were dismissed in the way they so openly criticized her, instead of feeling bad for the two employees being fired, I pulled their firing pool dates from my back pocket to see if I had won some money but I hadn't. The one closest to guessing the firing date wins the pool but I was off on both of them by several months. Matter of fact, being that they were hired only a few months ago, no one figured that these two employees would be fired so soon. Now that I think of it, most of her employees were hired a few months ago, except for me. She hires and fires lots of employees. For me to have outlasted her wrath, having gone out of my way to please my Mistress Susan, she must like me.

"You're fired," she said to the two employees. "Collect your things and get out. Now!"

I stood there shocked. Normally, she calls employees in her office to fire them but, as if to make an example of them, she fired them right there on the spot and in earshot of all of us. Boy, if she wanted to up the tension in the office, she just did. If she wanted everyone to put their eyes down and busy themselves working they did. By the angry looks that instantly appeared on their faces of the two men she fired, I was waiting for one of the men to slug her. Even though I'm not a fighter but a lover, big enough and threatening enough to do so, I was standing there ready to protect my possible, probable, and potential Mistress Susan. Without doubt, she has big balls or, in her case, a set of hard ovaries to talk so disrespectfully to employees in the way that she does.

"Bitch," said one on his way out the door.

"Ms. Bitch to you," yelled Susan correcting him.

Be it our grammar, our word choice, our work ethic, or even the way we dressed, she was always correcting, micromanaging, and controlling everyone. Most employees hated her interference in their personal, private lives, but I welcomed her controlling me. Instead of wanting her to control me less, I wanted her to control me more. Instead of only verbally and emotionally using and abusing me, I wanted her physically and sexually use me and abuse me too.

'Wow! What a woman! What an unbelievable woman! I only wished she'd yell at me like that,' I thought to myself.

Instead of firing me, I only wished she'd order me to strip naked, assume the position, and paddle my ass. Nonetheless the firings and the tension she just created in the office, it was such an odd thing for her to say what she said in response to being called a bitch. Ms. Bitch is what she referred to herself on her website and on her blog, if that truly is her website by what she told her fired employees to call her. She referred to herself as Ms. Bitch. I couldn't believe she referred to herself as Ms. Bitch. In the way that she referred to herself was something that I read just last night on her blog. Could she be Ms. Bitch? Was my boss, Susan, the same Mistress Susan that appears as one of my favorites on my computer? Excited to find out, I needed to know if this bitch was the Ms. Bitch.

'Oh dear Lord,' I silently prayed to myself. 'I don't ask you for anything but please make my boss Susan my Mistress, Ms. Bitch Susan.'

That night, I opened her website again to read every word she had written, to view every photo she had posted, and to masturbate over the thoughts of her abusing me, using me, controlling me, beating me, spanking me, whipping me, disciplining me, and punishing me.

"Mistress Susan, a professional dominatrix, invites you to join her escapades on the internet and in person, that is, if you can afford the airfare to pay to play," she wrote for those who dared enter her website.

Immediately, after feeling convinced that my boss was Mistress Susan, I now opened her website on my work computer. As if wanting to be caught monitoring her website and reading her blog, I wondered what her reaction would be to my reading porn during my working hours. Would she fire me or would she discipline me by punishing me? Would she demand that I drop my pants, put my elbows on her desk, and assume the position? Would she spank me?

Over and again, I stared at her sexy photos. Different clothes and hairstyle made her look different than the woman who stood before me in the office now. When at work, she had her hair pulled back so tightly that it removed every wrinkle from her pretty face as if she just had a facelift. If I ever pulled my hair back like that, I'd have a migraine headache and my eye would bug out like a frog.

It's funny how women sometimes look so different without their clothes. Concentrating more on her body, especially on her huge 36 double D breasts, she was my ideal woman. My perfect choice for the woman that I want to dish out the punishment and the discipline that I need, crave, and desire to have in my life, I wondered what it would be like to be married to such a woman. I imagined my children, three girls, dressed in black, leather outfits just like Mommy's daily wear. Just beautiful, sexy, and funny by all that she wrote in her blog, Susan is so very special. Just perfect, she's so wonderful and I'm so bad to want someone so bad that she's so good.

In real life, a micro manager and a real bitch in the work environment, I never suspected that she was a worse bitch, my perfect bitch, in her private life. I knew she was a bitch, of course, all of us who worked for her knew she's a bitch. A taskmaster, everyone feared her, respected her, and obeyed her without question, that is, if they wanted to keep their job and, in this bad economy, good jobs were hard to find. Only, even though she was demanding, she was fair and paid higher wages than average and then most competitors. Perhaps, she figured the higher wages were much like combat pay to put up with her office shenanigans as if we all worked in a battle zone.

Already with a firing day game plan, if she fired me, I'd grovel. I'd crawl. I'd kiss her feet, that is, while peeking up her short skirt. I'd plead for mercy. I'd beg her not to fire me. I'd demand that she'd discipline me and punish me in exchange for her not firing me.

"Do with me whatever you must Susan," I imagined saying to her while hoping to rope her private life in with mine and to bring us together not only at the work environment but also after work and on weekends. "Slap me, kick me, punch me, beat me, whip me, and spank me, do whatever you want to do to my naked body. Just please don't fire me."

I imagined and hoped that my begging and my pleading would evoke something that stays hidden inside of her during the day but that comes to the surface at night and over the weekend. I imagined arousing the sexual Dominatrix beast within her by my groveling. I imagined her using me and abusing me in the way that I dream that she'd have her wicked way with my naked body. I imagined us becoming lovers instead of employer and employee and with her commanding me to do things to her shapely body that I never imagined doing to any other woman. Going so far as drinking her urine, I'd do that if she asked me and if it meant me spending more quality, sexual time with her.

So long as her employees pleased her by doing all that she wanted and needed them to do, she was a good boss. Except for the constant and continual emotional abusive and verbal, tongue lashings, she treated her employees well and offered them a full benefits package with dental, life insurance, and even a retirement program. In this day of employers offering not much more than day labor, she offered paid holidays, sick days, and even a two week vacation, three weeks after five years but no one stayed working for her long enough to get the extra vacation week. Nonetheless, always lashing out enough to make everyone feel so small, so insignificant, and question why they still work there for her, she was sometimes hard to take, an understatement.

"Did you do that? Did you get that? Did you find that? Do you have that? What are you waiting for? Go! Who were you talking to on the phone? What did he want? What did she say? And what did you say when he said that to you? Why would you say that to her? What's taking you so long? Get out! I'm on the phone. Get out! I don't have time for you now. Get out! I need to be alone with my thoughts. Hello? I need coffee. Someone bring me my coffee! Where's my damn coffee? Must I do everything myself around here? Can't you do anything right? You're fired! You're fired! You're fired!"

Always in the same harsh tone, barking orders as if she was a Marine Corps drill sergeant, and with never a please, a thank you, or a compliment for a job well done, she unmercifully lambasted her secretaries and receptionists until they were in tears and ran to the ladies room to collect themselves. Assuredly what turned off my co-workers sexually excited me. What angered them pleasured me. She was amazing in demanding what she wanted and needed from us to make us all better employees. What angered my co-workers into sullenness and into wanting to quit aroused me into needing to not only obey her but also to please her. More than anything else, wanting to see that delighted twinkle in her eye, I so wanted to please her. Nothing else mattered to me than my pleasing Mistress Susan. I couldn't get enough of her.

'What a woman! Such an incredible woman. I love her. I want her. I must have her,' I said to myself as if a looping mantra in my head. 'I love her. I want her. I must have her,' I said to myself every day, many times a day as if praying to God to grant me my wish to be with her and to be part of her private, personal life than being relegated to just being her invisible employee.

With all of my co-workers thinking of me as a wimp and a wussy, a man afraid to stand up to his 5'8", 124 pound, female boss, they'd never understand that I actually enjoyed the constant and continued female domination in the way that I did. No, correction, I craved the constant and continued female domination in the way that my co-workers enjoyed their first cup of coffee in the morning. I wanted her to so control me. Submissive to her demands, I wanted her to overpower me. For me to feel complete, wanted, and needed, I needed her to so control me. What they'd call verbal abuse, I'd call sexual pleasure. A bond that transcended our employer and employee professional relationship to a more personal one, even if she wasn't aware of it and aware that I knew her deep, dark secret of domination, I enjoyed something with her that none of my co-workers would ever share of even understand.

As if we were secret members to a very private and very exclusive club, if only they knew that my boss and I shared a secret and had a special behind, closed doors bond, I can only imagine what they'd say. If only they knew what I knew, we'd be more ostracized than we are now. Surely, in the way that no one would want to work with me, no one would want to work for her if they knew she was my online Dominatrix and I was her online submissive slut of a sub. Unless they tried it and unless they needed the punishment and discipline themselves, few could ever understand why I craved her sexual attention in a way that others would deem as physical abuse.

The first time that I heard her talk to an employee in such a disrespectfully disturbing way piqued more than my interest and aroused more than my curiosity. Instead of being afraid and instead of putting my head down to pretend that I was working harder, I was unable to remove my eyes from her. Unable to stop myself from watching her lambasting and humiliating someone, wishing it was me being so abused, I was immediately sexually aroused by her public display of control and domination. In just her angry, irreverent tone, wishing she'd use that tone with me, she gave me an erection. As if she was standing there in an abbreviated outfit of black leather that left little to the imagination and as if she was holding a whip or a leather paddle, I was suddenly driven to please her every whim, even fetch her coffee as if I was her lowly secretary instead of her top executive.

'Use me. Abuse me. Beat me. Whip me. Spank me. Tie me up in your dungeon. Make me beg you to stop,' is what ran through my mind when she was verbally abusing someone else while wishing it was me that she was so berating.

Negative attention is what I craved from her. What my co-workers dreaded, I craved. Unable to stop pleasing her, I knew the only way to get what I wanted from her was to not to please her. A fine balance, for fear of her firing me and for fear of me ending my relationship with her, I didn't want to go too far in making mistakes that made her angry enough with me for her to verbally abuse me.

Now that I suspected who she was, it was my job to anticipate her wants and needs not only before she verbalized them but also before she even thought of them. I needed, no, I wanted to be her perfect slave. Now that I suspected who she was, I could use my inside, insightful information to get in her head for her to notice me enough to want to punish and discipline me in the way that I needed her to punish and discipline me. I thought of all the sexually erotic games I could play with her while she disciplined me, punished me, and humiliated me. I was ecstatic that my perfect job now included business with pleasure. My perfect job paid me to be submissive and subservient to not only my boss but also to my Mistress Susan. So long as I continued being used, abused, and working for her while being belittled by her, my life can't get any better than this.