Mistress Sarah's Special Project

By Marian Wilder

An erotic coming-of-age adventure with an unexpected twist in the tale.

Sarah Duffy is a relative debutant in the world of BDSM. She has recently been accepted as a member of the Dark Haven Fetish Circle, and is taking her first steps on the path to fulfilling her dominant aspirations.

Tony Reid is an eighteen year old college student who works alongside Sarah in the local coffee shop. When Tony despairingly informs her he is being blackmailed by the campus bully, Sarah decides to take matters into her own hands and help him out.

Initially unaware of Sarah's secret, submissively natured Tony suddenly finds himself on a rollercoaster ride of self-discovery as Mistress Sarah sets out to turn the tables on the blackmailer while simultaneously fashioning Tony into the obedient partner for her own fetish desires.
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Author's Note:
(59,600 Words)
This story contains themes of an adult (18+) nature, including BDSM and erotic roleplay. If these topics offend, then you are advised to pass this title by. If not, then please purchase and enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marian Wilder
• Release date: Apr 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224276189

Marian Wilder

Marian Wilder welcomes you to her world of Pulp Erotic Adventure novels and stories. Her subject material occasionally wanders towards the darker side of erotica, but if you enjoy a generous helping of bondage and erotic discipline with your fiction, then this is the place to be. Please check back often for new releases and updates. FACEBOOK here: https://www.facebook.com/marian.wilder TWITTER here: @SpankingTales GOODREADS here: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15270490.Marian_Wilder Marian welcomes comments regarding her stories and novels (ONLY) at [e-mail]

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Table of Contents

Mistress Sarah's Special Project

Chapter 1 - Sarah

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~ Mistress Sarah’s Special Project ~

Marian Wilder

~ * ~

~ Table of Contents ~

Chapter 1 - Sarah

Chapter 2 – Makeup Shopper

Chapter 3 - Tonya

Chapter 4 - Caught

Chapter 5 - Master

Chapter 6 - Mistress

Chapter 7 – A Matter of Trust

Chapter 8 – Dress-Up

Chapter 9 – Cats and Creeps

Chapter 10 – Training and Correction

Chapter 11 – Good Girl

Chapter 12 – Pink Rabbits

Chapter 13 - Appraisals

Chapter 14 - Perspectives

Chapter 15 – The Hair Salon

Chapter 16 – Pride and Punishment

Chapter 17 – Pain and Reward

Chapter 18 – Girls’ School

Chapter 19 – Dress Shopping

Chapter 20 – Last-Minute Details

Chapter 21 – The Dance

Chapter 22 – Dancing Queen

Chapter 23 – The Apology

Epilogue

License Notes 2024:

No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form without the written prior permission of the author, except for brief quotations used for promotional purposes or in reviews.

This e-book is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied, resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with others, then please purchase an additional copy for each person.

Thank you for understanding and respecting the hard work of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and places are fictitious. Any resemblances to persons or businesses are entirely coincidental.

Adult Topics: Please use discretion.

This e-book is intended for mature readers only (18+) as it contains themes of a sexual nature.

~ Chapter 1 ~

Sarah

––––––––

No question about it, I was one seriously lucky guy. Eighteen years of age and owning my own two-bedroom apartment in the centre of a busy college town at a time when property was scarce and the cost of renting was off the planet? I mean, how cool was that?

No scrambling around looking for a space in overpriced and overcrowded student digs, no having to worry about the rug being pulled from under my feet by some dodgy landlord? That kind of security was priceless.

Straight up though, none of this was of my own doing, and I don’t have a problem admitting it. Fact is, I am blessed with wonderfully caring parents, and both of them are really clever when it comes to money and business.

Back in the boom years, my dad owned a small construction company and my mom was a freelance interior designer. Knowing the good times couldn’t last forever, they decided to future-proof their lives by investing in a number of carefully selected properties. Most of these they fixed up and flipped at a tidy profit, but they decided to hold on to one or two, including the place I am in now.

I’ve always been a pretty awkward kid when it comes to making or fixing things, so they probably knew from early on I wouldn’t be following in their footsteps. In truth, it never took a feather out of them, never dented their confidence in me. Perhaps their son was destined for greatness in the world of academia? Who knew? Who cared? Either way, two weeks before I was due to begin my studies at Tarnspire College, they handed me the keys.

Happy days!

Congratulations, Tony, my dad had said. I have no doubt you will make us proud.

I was made up. I still am. I mean, who wouldn’t be?

Of course, with every silver lining there has to be a cloud, even if it’s only a small one. As everyone knows, owning a property these days is a costly affair. Not having a mortgage is a huge help, but you still have to pay the other bills.

It didn’t take me long to learn about overheads. There were no financial handouts from the Bank of Mom & Dad—they’d already done more than enough—so I needed to find a way of supporting myself.

With every college dude in town looking to earn a few bob, it was no easy task to find a part-time job. Eventually though, I managed to scrounge a few hours waiting tables at Benny’s Traditional Diner, and that was where I met Sarah.

Sarah took a bit of a shine to me from the very first day. I am a friendly enough guy, pretty outgoing in the right company, so I am inclined to believe that’s what drew her to me initially. I am also very willing to please—it is part of my makeup—so I regularly sought her guidance when it came to work practices. Well, she was the manager after all, and there’s nothing wrong with showing a bit of respect, is there?

She ran the place with a firm but fair hand, taking no crap from her subordinates, while at the same time not acting like a bully. No one had a problem with her attitude. If anything, it endeared her to us. She was honest; what you saw was what you got.

Straight away, I have to say I really fancied her. She was about twenty-five, which made her seven years older than me, and that added a certain allure. Most lads of my age would see an attractive young woman in her mid-twenties as very desirable, while at the same time realizing they didn’t actually stand much chance there. With that in mind, I decided to keep my hormones in check, avoid boring her to death with teen bravado, and simply treat her like a friend.

It worked, and pretty soon we actually did become friends. It was great. I have always been comfortable in female company, and I particularly enjoy the more varied range of subjects covered in a typical girly conversation. Whereas I sometimes tend to nod off during male-male chats about football, fighting, and who shagged who, that never happens when I’m involved in female discussions around fashions, makeup products, and trips to the beautician.

I may have just let a cat out of a bag there. Not to worry, we’ll return to that later.

*

What’s the matter, kid? You’ve been down in your boots all day, said Sarah.

It was early October, a month into the college term, and Sarah and I were in the process of winding down after a busy evening shift at the diner. The other staff members had already left, leaving just the two of us to balance the takings and lock up.

I shrugged. Nothing really, Sarah. I’m fine. Just one of those days, I guess.

She had a habit of calling me kid. I wasn’t sure if I was on board with it. Part of me rebelled while another part tingled.

Nope, she said. There’s more to it than that. Coffee and chats?

I sighed, nodding. How could I refuse?

Good. You pour. Get something from the leftovers as well. I’ll be back in a few. I just want to change out of this.

I smiled. This was another of Sarah’s habits. The minute work was done she’d go straight to the back room to dump her uniform. She refused to wear it to and from work for some reason. I was inclined to believe it was a fashion thing.

I prepared two Americanos and took them to a booth. Then, remembering, I returned to the counter display and grabbed a couple of scones and some jam sachets.

True to her word, Sarah was back in no time at all. It never failed to amaze me how quickly she could transform from straight-laced manager to super-stylish casual. She was like one of those superheroes who entered a telephone box, did a spin, and came back out with a new identity. On top of that, she appeared to have a collection of outfits befitting a Hollywood wardrobe back there, as she never returned wearing the same thing two days in a row.

Take it from me, I would notice that.

The only constant was her preference for dark tones. Today, it was a black denim mini, a loose black and grey striped jumper, black opaque tights, and her customary patent high-heeled stilettos.

I performed my usual whistle. She grinned, posing dramatically. It was a regular routine. Very gothic, Boss I commented. Love your hair. A while since I’ve seen you do that.

Her gorgeous black mane was tied up in a high ponytail, her perfect bangs and a few strategically loose strands framing her impish face. Usually after work, she’d choose to wear it loose, allowing it to cascade freely to beneath her shoulder blades.

Thank you. She could take a compliment. I just fancied a change. You like the new skirt?

I nodded, a little too eagerly. I do, I stammered.

She winked. I bet you’d look divine in a red version of that, kid.

I blushed deeply. I wasn’t sure about looking divine, but I definitely wouldn’t have minded trying one on ... in private of course.

Cats? Bags? Oh well, you’ve probably guessed by now anyway.

When the mood takes me, I like to indulge in a bit of cross-dressing. It gives me an almost unmatchable thrill. At that time in my life though, I was both confused and not very good at it, so my special hobby only took place in the safety of my own bedroom. I’d stand before the mirror in some of my mismatching bits and pieces, hair and makeup done—badly, I might add—and envision myself as a desirable harem slave girl or a beautiful princess, or something along those lines. In reality though, I probably just looked like myself, Tony Reid, in circus wear.

What are you blushing for? she asked with a mischievous grin.

Nothing, I snapped. I’m not blushing. I certainly was, and it was getting worse by the second.

You are too, she laughed. Have I touched a nerve?

No, no. Of course not. It’s just ... err ... hot, that’s all. Can we just leave it? Please?

I thought for a moment she was going to persist, but she reeled herself in. I breathed a sigh of relief, but nonetheless felt embarrassed. If anyone was to find out, I’d be mortified, and I couldn’t help thinking that Sarah might now have suspicions. I mean, my reaction to her joke had been somewhat tetchy, and all that stammering?

She sat down and took a sip of her coffee. Moving swiftly along, she said, in a tone that led me to believe the subject was being shelved rather than forgotten. "What has been eating you all day, kid? Oh, and not just today, but for the past week really. I’ve never seen you so stressed."

I sighed, biting my lip. "Money problems. I never realized things were so pricey. Heating, electricity, food ... friggin’ crazy. All I am doing is living from paycheque to paycheque. By the time I pay my bills, as well as all my college overheads, I’m broke. Sometimes worse than broke."

But you have no mortgage.

Yes, I know, but I am not entitled to any kind of assistance with my college costs because my parents are well-off. Serious stuff, you know; fees, books, equipment, and so on? Crazy, and it all comes out of my own pocket.

Can you not ask them for help? Your parents, I mean?

Nope. Part of the deal. They gave me the place, the rest is down to me. Having said that, if they actually knew just how tight things were, they’d probably offer to help—that’s the kind of people they are—but they’ve done enough, and I am not going to ask them.

Playing the hero, kid?

Doesn’t matter. It is what it is. I’m not asking for any more.

Sarah puffed out her cheeks, then exhaled deeply. I could try and twist the owner’s arm into giving you a few extra hours, but I don’t like the idea of it. It would encroach on your study time, and that would make the whole thing pointless.

I nodded. See? It’s a mess.

She frowned. "It’s hardly the worst mess someone could find themselves in, is it? I mean, you own your own place so you’ll never be out on the streets."

I laughed sarcastically. Yeah. Someone will end up breaking the door down and finding me inside, dead from starvation

Oh stop being such a drama-queen, will you? Seriously. Get a grip.

I nodded. She was right. I was being a whinger.

Both of us fell silent; me sulking, she thinking.

Hey. she said, grinning. That apartment of yours, how many bedrooms does it have?

Two, I replied, wondering where this was going.

And a living room?

Of course.

A big one?

I nodded.

Perfect. she laughed, clapping her hands.

What? I asked.

You don’t sleep in two bedrooms at once, do you?

No. Of course not.

Well ..., she began, but I already knew where she was going. How the hell had I not thought of it already?

"Rent one of them out!" we exclaimed in unison.

Correct, kid, said Sarah. "And I think I might have a customer for you ... not that there’s any shortage of students out there looking for a place right now. One of the regulars was in here this morning asking if we knew of anything. He seemed like a decent sort, so I told him I’d keep an ear to the ground. He mentioned he was in his final year of a higher degree of some kind, which probably makes him about twenty-four or five. A bit older than you but I imagine that’s no big deal?

I shook my head.

Actually, hold on a second. She went to the register and took out a slip of paper. Here it is. He left his name and number. You can give him a call if you like, check him out, and see what you think. If it doesn’t work out, nothing will be lost.

I was beaming. I pulled out my phone and straightaway dialled the number.

Hello? answered Geoff Bunz.

Hello there, I said. I believe you’re looking to rent a room?

And that was the moment I stepped on board the roller-coaster.

T.O.C.

~ Chapter 2 ~

Makeup Shopper

––––––––

Geoff Bunz seemed like a pretty decent guy to begin with, but after a few weeks I was beginning to spot a few cracks I didn’t particularly like. He had a certain aura about him, an arrogance that at times could seem quite intimidating. He was big, probably in or around around nineteen stone, had the build of your average rugby prop, and was inclined to use his size to rule the room.

To be fair though, he suited my needs, so I was of the mind to overlook all that. He paid his rent weekly, kept his room tidy, did his own cooking and washing, and contributed to any joint overheads. With the exception of Wednesday nights—having asked if it was okay to use the living room to play an established game of cards with a few buddies—he mainly kept himself to himself. He went home to his family on Fridays after college, and I didn’t see him again until Sunday nights or Monday mornings, which left the apartment free for me to enjoy for two days.

The Wednesday poker game was actually a bit of fun. Geoff had two regulars, Dan and Will, and occasionally there was a floater or two. The two regulars were nice lads; open, friendly, and easy to chat with, and I had no problem being dragged into the game if a place was available.

Overall, things worked fine for a while. I figured Geoff and I were never going to be best mates but that didn’t matter; we didn’t need to be. At the same time, if I’d known then we were destined to become such sworn enemies, the bastard would never have gotten his foot across the doorstep.

*

One evening, about a month after Geoff moved in, I was out shopping. It was the first time in a long time I had any spare cash, the initial rental payments having been used on catching up with overdue bills. I had just finished picking up a few essentials—pizzas and microwave snacks—in the mall’s food-store and was about to head back to the apartment, when a display in the window of the bargain shop across the way caught my eye.

Makeup. Loads of different lipsticks, blushers, shadows, and eyeliners, in loads of different colours, and all at dirt-cheap prices. Granted, the quality would probably be lacking in comparison to better known high-street brands, but it wasn’t as if I’d be attending any gala events any time soon.

I wandered over, an irresistible desire building within me, and was instantly captured.

It’s hard to explain. For me, it establishes itself as a tingling sensation in my skin, starting at my shoulders and working its way down my arms to my hands. My forehead feels sweaty, and my pulse rate usually quickens. Then comes the arousal. It doesn’t always manifest itself in the form of a full blown erection, but instead can be a tightness in my scrotum that makes me want to squeeze my thighs together.

The mental kick is equally unusual. I envisage myself wearing makeup, as well as female clothing and shoes. I imagine myself as completely feminine in appearance; nobody knows my real secret. To an outsider, I am simply an attractive young woman, striving to be as ladylike as possible, and doing girly things.

But here’s the big contradiction: I have no desire to actually be a woman. I am perfectly happy being male,