"What about during sex?" I asked, the words falling out of my mouth without stopping at my brain for a once over first.

"I blindfold and bind my partners, most often. It's fun to leave my prey helpless," was her simple reply. She stared me dead in the eye as she said it. You'd think that would primarily have been a strike at my libido, but instead, it was as genuinely frightening - which struck at my libido in a new way.

She simply stood there as I coughed and cleared my throat, before shaking my hand out of my sleeve a bit and turning the tatooed arm to her. The tattoo, after all, was from my wrist to just below my elbow.

"Thank you, for this. The work is beautiful."

"I've spent sixteen years learning to draw and paint. It is... theraputic, for me, at times," she replied. "Look around, please. As much as your eyes lingering on parts of my body I did not expect, I'd like you to become familiar with this room. You will be here often, I am sure," she replied.

So I did just that, I looked around at her office. The bookshelves built into the walls were beautiful, the desk was gorgeous, the tile on the floor was exquisite. There was a hologram monitor on her desk, a comfortable leather covered chair behind. The wall behind her desk had no integrated shelves but instead was merely papered nicely in black. Four frames held the most surprising yes unsurprising things about her yet.

"Wow," I whispered softly.

"What? Those? Necessary for my work. It is my job to know people, and know how to manipulate them. It is helpful," she told me. "It was... difficult. I had to call in some favors with some old friends to be allowed to send my work in, and to work remotely."

She was a doctor. Dr. Artemis graves. Doctorate of Psychology, a Masters in Atypical Thaumaturgic Practice, bachelors in engineering, bachelors in physics. It was incredible.

"How old are you, Mistress?" i asked softly.

"It is rude to ask a woman her age, but I understand your curiosity. I am forty-three," she replied dryly, watching me. I blinked, feeling that cold blush touching at my cheeks again. I hoped that I had darkened my skin enough to hide it.

"You uh... Look... great for forty-three, really, Mistress."

"I don't age, for fuck's sake. Stop being a horny teenager and get over here and dress me."

We both stared at each other, her giving me an even look and me giving her a 'are you fucking serious' look?

"Ummmm.... you... aren't... able to dress yourself?"

"Oh, I can. I just don't like to. I prefer my assistant to dress me. Have you ever been dressed by another? It's a pleasing experience."

"N... No, Mistress. I'm afraid I haven't... experienced... Um. Your clothes... are..."

She gestured to her chair. I shrugged and made my way behind her desk and found her skirt suit laid out perfectly on it. A tie was draped over the arm. I had never dressed someone before, so I was decidedly nervous. We started a damned belt and garters, which she lifted her feet so I could work them up and cinch them. Then came stockings, which were... plain, black, professional. She sat on the edge of her desk and I worked them up, taking closer looks at the tattoos on her legs. Every one of them was as detailed as those on her back, and they continued up her inner thighs and underneath her panties. That close, certain... things made themselves apparent.

"...you're..." I said, blinking and looking up to her. She stared down at me impassively.

"I'm what?"

"Transgender?" I asked slowly. "You were born male?"

She chuckled.

"How can you tell I am not simply hermphroditic, as you are?" she asked.

"Medical program, Mistress. Species identification. Obscure species haven't been covered too well, but Cambiaphims were one of my professor's specialties, she studied them for years. Your species has an almost zero incidence of hermaphroditic configurations in surviving specimens," I reeled off from memory. She mmm'd and told me to finish up and not linger on her biology much longer.

While I belted the stockings, I asked her if her beauty was natural.

"Would you be put off from my attractiveness if I told you it was by design?" was her simple question.

"People change themselves all the time. It's not hard. They want to be perfect. They want to look different than they are. Your expression of yourself is different. Your nose is too big to be perfect, your eyes are slightly asymmetrical, your ears are too. It's beauty, but natural. If that is what you choose, I see no shame in it. It's the same reason Harris refuses to have his nose bridge straightened or his one weird eyebrow that's cut in half by the scar fixed. Loving yourself, or some shit, as he says," was the best answer I could give. It was essentially true. We lived in an age of synthetic beauty anyway. Theoretically, she could have chosen a variety of ways to turn her looks perfect - perfect symmetry, perfect everything.

Instead, she chose to be beautiful in a way that was natural. That's what I found beautiful about her. She was unique. It was effortless because she worked hard, I had no doubt, to do her makeup, to keep her hair in control... In the age of synthetic beauty, she was rocking it old school and was confident as Hell about it.

Thinking on it, it really is her confidence that's sexy.

And I mean, she's also fucking pretty, regardless of imperfections.

"I draw my faces before I have my regeneration profile altered, yearly. Perfection is impossible. I expect not perfection, but pursuit of," she told me, almost wistfully.

We were silent while I slipped on her corset, which was... confusing and difficult and she had to direct me on how to get it tight enough for her to be satisfied. She informed me she really is not required to breathe near as much as I am, when I was confused how she could tolerate the tightness. The corset was simple, matching her bra and panties, garters and stockings. We followed with a dress shirt, skirt, suit coat, tie, so on, so forth.

She even made me put on her damned gloves, not that I minded. The last thing to go on was her heeled boots. I was instructed to make sure they were tight.

"Is that all, Mistress?" I asked.

"For now. We have a meeting to get to. Let's go - and straighten your damn posture up. Light us each a cigarette," she replied, her tone going firm and controlling again. I headed for the door behind her, while lighting the cigs, but she stopped in it and faced me with her 'bossy' expression. "What the Hell are you doing, precisely?"

"Uh... Um... F... Following... you...?"

"My bag?" she demanded. "What the Hell did I say about my bag, exactly?"

I blinked, racking my brain.

"Nothing that I recall, to be honest, Mistress."

Her bossy expression went to her 'you have disappointed me' glare and I felt an angry guilt in my soul.

"I said 'you carry this for me now,' back there in the room, before your surgeries," she said coldly.

"How the fuck do you expect me to remember that!?"

I swear she basically vanished, and all of a sudden, there were sharp impacts to the backs of my knees and my knees met tile floor very fast. She blurred in front of me, grabbed my tie, and pulled me close to her face. Her breath was faint, cold, and smelled of blood and cherries. Unlit cigarettes fell from between my lips. She fucking caught them.

"I don't care how you remember it. Start remembering everything I tell you. Try to anticipate things I don't tell you. Don't be a bad sport... play the game right. Give it your all," she hissed. I was basically choking. The tie was... well, it was pulled incredibly tight. "Am I abundantly clear?"

"Yes... Mistress," I rasped.

She let my tie go and I quickly loosened it enough to breathe again. She stood there, smirking.

"Glad you're learning. Now get my goddamn bag and let's go. Make me late, I'll find pains you don't like for punishment," she muttered, turning her back. I stumbled to my feet, gasping, and found my way to her desk. Anger was screaming up in me, an intense rage at her half choking me to death over a minor mistake...

But that was the game. The anger subverted into determination pretty quickly. Her bag was behind her desk, packed with all kinds of shit that was probably deadly in some way. I slung it over one shoulder and returned to her. She lifted one hand, two fingers up - and my cigarettes still caught between it.

I sighed tiredly, took them, lit both, and handed them back.

We walked.