Chapter One

A young woman confidently strode down Main Street, her presence commanding every eye in the vicinity. She stood at five feet eight inches with a slim, athletic build, her pert B-cup breasts subtly outlined by her bold attire. Her dark brunette hair and piercing blue eyes scanned the surroundings with a predatory aura. She wore a full sleek black rubber catsuit, the latex hugging her curves like a second skin, its surface reflecting the late afternoon light. A studded belt cinched her slim waist, and her 4-inch black stiletto boots clicked rhythmically on the pavement, drawing stares from passersby, all aware of her reputation in this town. The woman was Gemma Blunt, more popularly known in these parts as Mistress Black - Queen of The Control Zone.

In any typical American town, those stares may have been on horror or disdain if someone was caught walking down the road dressed as Gemma was. However, this was no ordinary place; this was Pineview, Oregon.

Thirty years ago, Pineview was a quintessential small American town. Its streets were lined with white picket fences, and children played in manicured yards. Families flocked to its annual apple festival, and the local diner served milkshakes to high school sweethearts. However, economic decline in the 1990s drove traditional industries out, and with them went the families, seeking better prospects elsewhere.

The mayor at the time, a kink aficionado who spent his summers down in San Francisco, enjoying the hedonistic lifestyle they promoted in the northern California city, needed to make radical decisions to save his town, and so he designed Project KinkCap.

Project KinkCap was a controversial initiative to rebrand Pineview as a welcoming haven for kinksters across America, transforming the town into a sanctuary for those who embraced alternative lifestyles. The mayor leveraged his connections in the fetish community, inviting clubs, performers, and entrepreneurs to invest in Pineview’s empty storefronts and quiet streets. He offered them lucrative city tax breaks, and they headed to Oregon in their droves.

Over the last couple of decades, the project was a resounding success, turning Pineview into the kink capital of the world. Tourists from Europe, Asia, and beyond flocked to its annual Fetish Festival, where bondage demonstrations, popular meet and greets, and public play sessions drew thousands, reigniting the economy.

Gemma’s cupid bow lips curled into a satisfied smile as a German tourist couple paused outside a sex shop, their whispers carrying her name like she was some local celebrity. She considered herself Pineview’s reigning monarch, and no one dared challenge her opinion.

The brunette was the matriarchal House Domme of The Control Zone, the largest, most well-known, and exclusive fetish club in all of America. There was a two-year waiting list just to get in the door. It was the domain that the most wealthy kinksters chose to part with their money, and Gemma was their largest earner. She had earned the title; she was the Queen of Pineview.

A workman balanced on a ladder across the street, stringing up colorful bunting for the upcoming Fetish Festival. He paused, his eyes following Gemma’s confident stride, a mix of admiration and caution in his gaze. She met his stare with a raised eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement, and the man averted his gaze. Whereas tourists were eager to meet or even catch a glimpse of the famous Domme, the locals were more wary of drawing attention to themselves. They knew what she was capable of.

Pineview Fetish Festival was the town’s crown jewel, a week-long spectacle of leather, latex, and submission that transformed the area into a global stage every September. Gemma relished the excitement it brought and knew her performances at The Control Zone would draw the wealthiest clients. This was her most lucrative week of the year.

A street vendor adjusted a display of leather cuffs as she stocked her festival stand, her hands pausing as Gemma passed. The vendor’s sub, naked and kneeling beside her with a collar around his neck and cuffs keeping his hands locked behind his back, kept his eyes lowered. The brunette Domme noted their deference with a flicker of satisfaction, and continued walking towards her place of operations, The Control Zone.

Gemma’s clicking heels never faltered as she approached the end of Main Street. The Control Zone loomed before her, its castle-like facade a stark and imposing contrast to the modest storefronts around it. Stone walls rose high, punctuated by iron gates that framed a heavy wooden door, carved to resemble a medieval drawbridge. A bold sign read above “The Control Zone,” its letters etched in gothic script. Gemma’s chest swelled with pride. This was her kingdom, a fortress she had helped build and now reigned supreme. No one, not even the club’s owner, could dispute her authority.

As she reached the gates, a young 18-year-old festival volunteer in an inviting latex vest handed out flyers for a shibari demonstration in the town square that evening. The volunteer froze when she recognized the Domme she was presenting the flyer to, her hands trembling as she was caught between two minds as to whether she should withdraw the offered paper.

Gemma noticed the young girl’s nervousness and chuckled, assertively approaching the cute woman and cupping her chin with a latexed hand. Gemma looked deeply into the girl’s brown eyes as if she were searching the volunteer’s very soul. The Domme eventually spoke with a low, methodical tone. “You are pretty. It would suit you much better to be the star of a demonstration instead. Head inside, and ask for Mistress Knot; she will know what to do.”

The 18-year-old gasped, fearfully looking back at the imposing Domme, internally fighting the command. However, she eventually resigned herself to her fate and nodded, trotting inside the club. Gemma watched the woman head inside and grinned widely. She was an intimidating figure, but for anyone who resisted her control, Mistress Black had a supernatural trick up her sleeve. Eventually, Gemma tottered inside the castle facade, ready to enjoy another night of profitable, debaucherous fun.

❖

Gemma stepped into the club, her lips curling into a satisfied grin as she spotted a red-headed Domme leading the trembling 18-year-old festival volunteer from earlier into a private room. The girl’s nervous steps vanished behind a burgundy velvet curtain.

A Control Zone bargirl approached the Domme, her slutty fetish ensemble of fishnet stockings, a black leather mini-skirt, dark red tightly cinched bustier and black spiked choker were a staple feature of the club; Gemma loved the waitresses uniforms.

“Mistress Black,” the girl said, her voice low and deferential. “Slave G is waiting for you in your dungeon.”

Gemma grinned, her eyes glinting with anticipation. “It’s about time I earned myself a near pedicure,” she said, her voice laced with entitlement. She sauntered toward her private dungeon, the click-clacking of her stiletto heels echoing around the large, mostly vacant, main hall. The night was young, but Gemma knew this place would be full in a few hours.

The latex-clad Domme pushed open a high-arching door at the back of the room and carefully descended a dimly lit staircase, her fingers trailing along the iron railing as she approached her private dungeon. She unlocked the black door to her space and strolled in. There was a small dog flap beside the main door, allowing her subs to enter before her, but once they were inside, there was no way out.

Inside, Slave G knelt on the stone floor, naked except for a leather man thong hiding his genitals and a matching black collar, his hands clasped submissively behind his head, his eyes cast downward. Gemma circled him slowly, her heels clicking ominously. “Well, hello there, my worthless pencil-dicked slave. Are you ready to play?” She spat venomously. With his eyes staring at the floor, the wealthy submissive couldn’t witness the wide grin across his Domme’s face; she loved her job.

The slave remained silent, his body trembling under his Mistress’s gaze. Gemma leaned down, the latex forming around her body creaking softly, and grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “You are a pathetic little worm,” she sneered with contempt. She released her hold, and his eyes automatically drifted back to the floor. “Tell me what you are!”

“I-” he started nervously. “I am a pathetic little worm, Mistress,” he repeated.

Gemma smiled, tottering back behind the kneeling man before pressing her stiletto boot against his shoulder, pushing him forward onto his hands and knees with a grunt. “That’s right. You are a pathetic excuse for a man.”

The latex-clad Domme reached for a metal leash hanging on a hook beside the door, its chain clinking as she clipped it to the man’s collar. She tugged sharply, forcing him low to her boot, prompting him to kiss and worship her footwear. “That’s a good, dumb slave. Lick them clean,” she barked.

Slave G’s tongue darted out and he lapped at the polished leather of her boot, his breaths shallow and rapid, as his 4-inch penis grew hard between his legs, straining against the leather pouch. “Look at you,” she taunted. “The dirt on your tongue is more valuable than you.” Gemma loved verbally abusing her slaves. That mental superiority she felt when the submissives accepted her words was exquisite.

She let the man worship for a moment longer before yanking the chain upward. “Crawl,” she commanded, leading him across the stone floor to a St. Andrew’s cross mounted against a brick wall.

Gemma tugged the leash more harshly, squeezing the collar around the slave’s neck. “Faster, you useless slug,” she snapped, prompting him to crawl more urgently towards the wall. The Domme halted at the cross, pulling the chain to make him rise. “Stand against it,” she ordered the mostly naked man, and he complied instantly.

Gemma secured the older man’s wrists to the leather cuffs at the top of the cross, her fingers deft as she tightened each strap. She bent at the waist and fiercely yanked down the leather man thong to expose his erect cock. The brunette Domme flicked the cock, prompting a gasp of surprised pain, before she removed the garment and tossed them in the corner.

Dropping down to one knee, Gemma spread the man’s legs apart and bound his ankles in the open leather cuffs, leaving him spread-eagled and vulnerable. She stepped back, smiling cruelly as she surveyed his trembling form. “You are a disgrace to the human race,” she sneered. “Look at that tiny thing. You should apologize for having such a worthless, tiny cock.”

“I am sorry, Mistress,” Slave G stammered, his voice quivering with shame. “I apologize for my worthless cock.” His very words caused his cock to flinch in excitement. Gemma never understood how someone could gain pleasure from being humiliated like this, but she was glad those people existed.

The brunette’s sneer widened as she reached for a small leather whip on a rack beside the cross. She trailed its tip along the slave’s chest, watching him shiver with anticipation. “You don’t deserve my attention,” she said with dismissive disdain. The Domme suddenly snapped the whip against the man’s exposed balls, eliciting a sharp cry. She followed it up with another smack, and another. Her fingers followed, pinching his hard cock tightly, then squeezing his balls with her latex-clad hand until he gasped and whimpered. “This pathetic thing doesn’t even qualify as a cock,” she mocked, slapping it with the whip’s handle.

“Thank me for taking the time to show you your place,” Gemma ordered. “Worship me.”

“T- thank you, Mistress,” he started with a heavy breath. “You are a divine queen who deserves the very best, and this worm thanks Mistress for wasting her time on me.” His pleas were sincere and desperate, allowing the young Domme to smile.

“That’s good,” she said, tracing the whip along his cock and balls. “But I want it louder!” she barked before smacking the man’s crotch again with her small whip.

“Thank you, Mistress Black!” The wealthy man shouted, his voice cracking as a new, larger whip struck his vulnerable potbelly stomach. “You are a goddess, and I am nothing but your worthless slave!”

Gemma stepped closer, her whip snapping across Slave G’s stomach one final time, leaving a temporary red mark. She tossed the whip onto a nearby table and grinned at him with folded arms. “You are barely worth the effort,” she said with a subtle smile. She ran a latex-clad finger along his trembling jaw, and patted him on the cheek, savoring his submission. It wasn’t the most brutal session she ever had, but it was difficult to give him a proper punishment when she wasn’t allowed to leave permanent marks on the man.

“So,” she said, lighting a cigarette and pressing it between her bright red lips before blowing smoke into the naked man’s face. “How was my performance?” She asked him.

“It was incredible as always, Mistress Black,” the slave replied, his breathing a little steadier now that the session was over.

Gemma exhaled another puff of smoke, her lips curling into a mocking sneer. “Your little cock looks like its bursting to cum,” she ridiculed the man. The 22-year-old Domme tottered to a wooden cabinet in the corner of the dungeon, her hips swaying with deliberate menace, and retrieved a silver metal chastity cage. “Perhaps I should lock it up,” she mused, sauntering back towards the bound slave, dangling the device before his wide eyes.

“Please, Mistress,” Slave G suddenly pleaded, his voice rising with panic. “My wife cannot find out about these sessions.”

Gemma enjoyed the sound of his pleading voice as she twirled the sadistic cage between her fingers, letting the metallic shine catch the dungeon’s flickering torchlight. “Oh, your wife,” she mocked with false sympathy. “She must be so disappointed with that pathetic excuse for a cock. I’d probably do her a favor by locking it up.” She stepped closer, pressing her latex-clad body against the slave’s naked frame, prompting his erect cock to twitch and leak precum.

The brunette Domme leaned in and softly bit her red lower lip, her breath hot against the slave’s ear. “Perhaps something else will change my mind,” she whispered. “Perhaps my performance is worth a $300 tip.”

Slave G’s face widened, his face paling. “U-umm, sorry, Mistress. I can’t afford that right now,” he protested with a trembling stutter. “My wife would find out if I spent too much.”

Gemma narrowed her eyes and scowled at the man. How dare he refuse her suggestion? Luckily for her, she had another means of getting what she wanted. She stared into the frightened man’s eyes with an intensity that searched deep within his mind. “You would love to give me a three-hundred-dollar top,” she said with a low and commanding growl. Slave G’s face contorted, his eyes darting as he fought the compulsion, beads of sweat forming on his brow. The man’s lips parted to protest, but no words came. He had been in this situation before and already knew the outcome. After a tense moment, his shoulder slumped, and he nodded in resignation.

“Very good,” Mistress Black purred, stepping back and setting the chastity cage on the table. She unfastened the leather cuffs, first his ankles, then his wrists, her movements deliberately slow to prolong the slave’s submission.

Slave G staggered slightly, his legs shaky from the session, and headed to the opposite side of the room where his casual clothes were neatly folded. He slipped on his boxers and a pair of slacks before slipping his gray and white vertically striped shirt and buttoning it up. The slave’s hands trembled when he reached for the wallet in his back pocket and extracted three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. With averted eyes, he timidly handed them to Gemma, the shame etched into his expression.

“I cannot wait to see you next time,” the Domme mocked with glee as she tucked the bills into her studded belt. The slave mumbled a response and hurried out, visibly worried about the inevitable conversation with his wife later this evening.

Alone, Gemma confidently strode to her bookshelf and pulled out a plain book. Opening it up, she revealed a hidden box filled with cash. The Domme slipped the three hundred dollars inside, alongside the other undeclared tips, and sealed it shut before placing it back on the shelf. The club required the Domme to report all earnings and share a percentage with the house, but Gemma believed her hard work entitled her to a little extra. She smirked, satisfied with her secret stash, and adjusted her skintight catsuit.

With her heels loudly clacking along the floor, Gemma exited her dungeon, placed a sign that indicated the room required disinfecting with the club’s cleaning staff, and headed back upstairs to examine her domain.

❖

Gemma stepped into the main bar area of The Control Zone, her gaze immediately catching Lila Voss, aka Mistress Knot, leading the 18-year-old festival volunteer Gemma had manipulated earlier around on a leash. The girl was naked, her body encased in an intricate rope harness that wove a tight crotch rope between her legs and framed her pert breasts, accentuating and enhancing their shape. The harness pinned the girl’s arms behind her back, displaying her figure to the sparse crowd. A wide red posture collar encircled her neck, and a large ball gag stretched her innocent lips, muffling the girl’s discontented whimpers. The manipulation Gemma had seeped into the woman’s mind had worn off, and the volunteer’s eyes burned with reluctant submission, no longer under the Domme’s supernatural sway.

Gemma’s mouth twisted into a satisfied smirk; Lila had done a good job. “I was right,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery as she addressed the gagged girl. “You look much better as the center of attention.” The volunteer’s muffled response was unintelligible, a garbled “Mmmpph!” that only widened Gemma’s grin.

The brunette Domme turned to Lila, who gripped the leash with a steady confidence, her red corseted bodysuit accentuating her gothic allure. “Bind her to the central pillar,” Gemma instructed, her tone leaving no room for debate. “Then fetch the others. We need to discuss business.”

The redheaded Domme nodded, her movements precise as she guided the unwilling volunteer to a sturdy pillar in the club’s center. She looped additional rope to secure the girl’s harness to the structure, ensuring she remained a focal point for onlookers.

The volunteer’s muffled protests grew louder, a series of “Mmph! Mmmph!” sounds, but Lila ignored them, tying the final knots with practiced efficiency before heading toward the back rooms to summon the other Dommes.

Gemma swayed her hips as she sauntered to the far end of the bar area, where a grand throne-like chair sat elevated on a platform, commanding a view of the entire club. She settled into the cushioned seats, placing her hands on the lavish armrests, and crossed her legs. Her eyes swept over the bare crowd, noting a few early patrons nursing drinks, nervously chattering with each other as their gazes flicked between the commanding Domme and the bound volunteer.

A naked, collared submissive man approached, his head bowed, clutching a fifty-dollar bill. The man knelt at the throne’s base and placed the money in a bowl labeled ‘Tributes’ before retreating swiftly. Gemma smiled in approval, the gesture reinforcing her aura amongst the club’s clientele.

Lila returned, leading Sasha Crane and Nadia Holt to the throne. Lila approached first, her 5’6 creamy-skinned frame exuding gothic elegance. Her vibrant red hair was woven into a tight braid, cascading down her back, and her sharp green eyes held a guarded intensity. She wore a red corseted bodysuit, its black lace trim accentuating her pale skin, paired with fishnet gloves that added a gothic edge to her Mistress Knot persona.

Sasha, or Lady Thorn, as she preferred to be known, followed; her 5’6 athletic build radiated fierce defiance. Her African American heritage was highlighted by a full black perm, styled in loose curls that framed her angular face. Her dark brown eyes simmered with barely contained fire, and the Domme’s plump lips were painted a deep crimson. She wore a black and white leather crop top that bared her toned midriff and shorts that hugged her full hips.

Nadia, aka Miss Shame, came last; her 5’7 curvy figure demanded attention. The woman’s dark blonde hair was swept into a sleek updo, accentuating her hazel eyes that sparkled with sadistic delight. Her fuller curves, with C-cup breasts and a prominent rounded ass, were encased in a white sleeveless rubber catsuit, its glossy surface clinging to her cuddly body.

Gemma leaned forward, her fingers tapping the throne’s armrest with impatience. “The festival starts in a week, girls,” she said, prompting a wince from the other Dommes who hated being referred to as ‘girls’. “This place is dead. What are you doing to keep the clients away?”

Nadia met Gemma’s gaze and spoke with a cautious tone. “The members haven’t arrived in town yet. The club’s membership policy is too restrictive to capitalize on the tourists already here.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “Then give me suggestions,” she demanded sharply. “What are we going to do to fill this club before our members finally show up?”

Lila shifted nervously, her braid swaying slightly as she spoke. “There isn’t much we can do when Trevor sets the membership policy, Gemma,” she replied. “The rules lock out anyone who hasn’t been vetted, and most tourists wouldn’t pass our checks.”

Gemma scowled at the redhead, ceasing her tapping on the armrest. “Then get out on the streets and advertise the club! Those fetish losers out there couldn’t say no to a couple of sluts in those outfits.” She chuckled as she mocked her colleagues. “I will handle the boss about loosening the membership policy for the festival.”

Sasha’s eyes blazed with indignation, her red lips parting as she stepped forward. “We are Dommes, just like you,” she snapped at her colleague. “We’re not some sluts or prancing show ponies to command around for your amusement.”

Gemma’s gaze snapped to Lady Thorn, her blue eyes locking onto the other Dommes with a chilling intensity. Sasha froze, her defiance faltering as she realized she had stepped too close to the mind-controlling Mistress.

Without a word, Gemma’s manipulation powers surged through the African American’s mind, and a silent force began to crush Sasha’s will. He Domme’s knees buckled, and she dropped to the floor. She visibly attempted to defy the voice inside her brain, but the struggle was in vain. She crawled up the steps to the platform, and Sasha’s tongue darted out of her mouth to lick Gemma’s boot in submission. Patrons at the bar turned, their hushed conversations falling silent as they watched the spectacle.

“Get to work,” Gemma commanded the other two Dommes. Lila and Nadia hesitated, their eyes darting to Sasha’s humiliating display, the act spurring them into action. Both women turned and scurried off towards the club’s main entrance, preparing to act as the equivalent of a couple of promo girls for Gemma’s entertainment.

Sasha’s tongue continued its frantic lapping, the leather of Mistress Black’s boot becoming slick under her forced devotion. The few members of the audience in attendance couldn’t take their eyes off the display before them. The powerful mind-controlling Domme grinned; she loved demonstrating her power, and there was no better way than to humiliate a fellow Domme.

❖

The Control Room Queen pushed open the door to Trevor’s office uninvited and strode inside his private space. “We have some things to discuss,” she said without greeting. The latex-clad Domme stood before the large desk with her arms folded expectantly.

Trevor glances up from his stack of financial paperwork, his chubby frame shifting uncomfortably in a high-backed chair. He found the brunette Domme extremely attractive and irresistible. Still, he hated it when she stormed into his office without an invitation.

At 52, the club owner stood barely over five feet, his balding scalp exposing a receding hairline of dark, thinning hair that clung stubbornly to the sides of his head. A neatly trimmed goatee framed his round face, its gray flecks betraying his age, while his small, deep-set brown eyes darted nervously beneath his bushy brows. The man’s expensive navy suit strained at the waist, as though it was worn by a man who refused to acknowledge his recent weight gain, and a gold watch gleamed on his wrist, a relic of his wealthier days.

Once a financial titan, Trevor had built a fortune in the cutthroat world of investment banking. The business owner had always been drawn to alternative lifestyles, bondage, and domination. At the age of 45, he decided to retire early and move to Pineview, setting up The Control Zone. Back then, Trevor had always envisioned himself as an Alpha Dom, and his club was a way to fulfill his darkest desires. Gemma’s arrival, along with her mind manipulation powers, changed all that and dismantled his fantasy, eventually reducing him to a reluctant subordinate of his own club.

“You humiliated Sasha in front of the entire club,” Trevor said with an attempted firmness before Gemma could control the conversation. “I need all my Dommes to be treated with respect, Gemma.” There was a clear nervousness in his voice.

Gemma’s face contorted into a mocking smile as she glanced down at the polished finish of her high-heeled boots. She stepped closer, placing her hands on the desk separating the two. “I am the Queen Bee around here, Trev,” she said with a dismissive, arrogant tone. “This place would be nothing without me, and you know it. I will do whatever I damn well please!”

Gemma leaned forward, her curves slick beneath her catsuit. “The girls and I have decided your membership policy is too restrictive for the festival,” she declared matter-of-factly. “It’s the biggest week of the year, and you need to relax the rules to maximize our profits.”

Trevor’s fingers tightened around his pen, his goatee twitching as he shook his balding head. “The club’s exclusivity gives it its premium feel,” he countered with a strained but insistent voice. “That’s why our members pay so much to visit. Letting in unvetted tourists will ruin our long-term future.”

The brunette woman laughed. “They visit because of me, Trev,” she growled. “The girls and I have already made the decision. It’s final.”

Trevor stood, his chair creaking under his weight. “I am the boss around here,” he said as he attempted to reinstate his authority.

Gemma leaned in even closer, reducing the distance between them. “There are other ways I can force your compliance,” she whispered in a sensual, playful tone.

Trevor took a step back and lowered his head, his resolve crumbling under the looming threat. “Fine,” he muttered with his eyes gazing at the floor. “I’ll relax the policy for the week.”

Gemma stood straight and clapped her hands together. “Excellent,” she exclaimed joyously with a smug tone. The powerful Domme turned to leave until she heard Trevor clear his throat.

“There is one other matter,” he said, stopping Gemma in her tracks. He reached into a drawer and placed a hollowed-out book on the desk, flipping it over to reveal a stack of undeclared cash—Gemma’s secret stash. “This was discovered when your dungeon was being cleaned earlier,” he explained nervously. “Ugh, we agreed all income goes through the business. This belongs to the club.”

The Domme’s eyes narrowed, her fingers brushing along her studded belt. She stepped back to the desk, her gaze locking onto Trevor’s with an intensity that made his hands tremble. “That cash belongs to me,” she said with a low and commanding tone before surging her will into his mind. “You don’t mind me taking it, do you?”

Trevor’s face twitched, his beady eyes flickering with a brief struggle, but the force of Gemma’s will overwhelmed him. “I don’t mind,” he said flatly, almost mechanically, as he pushed the book toward his star employee.

She snatched the book, tucking it under her arm. “Just out of curiosity,” she said coyly. “Who was the cleaner that ratted me out?” Her voice was deceptively casual, although her eyes bore into Trevor like daggers.

The club owner’s lips pressed together, his reluctance evident, but Gemma’s powers dug deeper, sifting through his mind and discovering the answer she was looking for without the potbelly man even having to say a word.

“Kadie, huh?” She grinned, prompting a gasp from her boss. “Ensure that little bitch is on toilet duty all week.” Trevor’s eyes widened at Gemma’s demand. “I want her kneeling in the stalls with her mouth pried open until the festival ends.” She smiled sadistically.

Trevor shuddered and his face paled, but he nodded fearfully. “Yes, Gemma,” he whispered in shamed defeat.

Gemma nodded and turned on her heel, the book of cash secure under her arm. Her stiletto heels clicked with finality as she exited the office. The boss slumped back in his chair. Gemma may have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and she did bring in the cash, but she was a nightmare to work with.

❖

The following day, Gemma stepped out of her apartment. The morning September sun felt warm on her casual jeans and black tank top. Without her stark fetish attire, the brunette looked far less intimidating to strangers. However, she still sent a shiver down the spine of everyone who knew her.

The Domme strolled down the sidewalk wearing her flat white sneakers, her dark brunette hair loose and streaked with subtle blonde highlights. A tall woman in her forties wearing a long, stylish, corseted dress approached from the opposite direction, leading her husband on all fours, a leash clipped to his collar. The man was stark naked, his knees pressed into the concrete as he struggled to keep up with his wife.

“Good morning, Mistress Black,” the woman said in a respectful tone when the pair crossed her path.

Gemma smiled down at the submissive man and nodded at the woman. A satisfied sense of entitlement ran through her body; even in her casual wear, she was still treated with admiration. Further along, the Domme spotted two men tossing a football back and forth along a grassy patch on the opposite side of the road. Between them, a naked girl with pigtails scampered on all fours, wearing a collar with a jingling bell around her neck. The bell chimed with each frantic movement as she tried to catch the ball, the two men mocking her as she struggled.

The brunette woman’s smile broadened at the sight. The day-to-day views you would have found on the streets of Pineview would have horrified a regular Joe, but Gemma wouldn’t have it any other way.

Gemma pushed open the door to a local coffee shop, the chime of a small bell above signaling her arrival. The shop’s interior was as ordinary as any coffee hangout you would find across the US. Still, there were some hints of which town they resided in, such as the baristas’ uniforms.

The young blond man behind the counter stood topless, his lean frame accentuated by the skin-tight leather pants that hugged his hips and presented a sizable bulge in his crotch. Beside him, a woman balanced in 5-inch high heels—a safety hazard in most establishments—and wore a studded leather bikini set that barely covered her curves. Customers sipped their drinks and went about their day as if everything was normal and expected.

As the queue cleared, Gemma approached the male employee and looked him in the eye. “Hello, Alex,” she said with a smooth, friendly tone.

Alex halted and held back a breath when he saw the woman before him, his lean frame tensing. “Uhh, hi, Mistress Black,” he said with a nervous deference. “How can I serve you?”

Gemma smiled widely at his response. “Just my usual,” she replied, resting an elbow on the counter, her tank top showing off her tanned, toned torso and the slight curve of her modest breasts.

He nodded, turning to the espresso machine with hurried movements. The Domme’s gaze followed him, her amusement growing. “I haven’t seen you at the club in a while,” she remarked casually as the man went about his job. “Has Daddy stopped your allowance?”

Alex’s hands shook slightly as he steamed the milk, his silence a clear sign of his discomfort. Gemma’s question hung in the air, her blue eyes glinting with sadistic delight at the man’s unease.

When the barista finally handed Gemma the latte, she tilted her head and spoke with a sickly mock sweetness. “Are you buying this for me, Alex?” she asked, her mind powers nudging his thoughts, a gentle but undeniable push.

Alex nodded emphatically. The Domme hadn’t actually altered his mind or pushed a command into his brain. Still, the mental push was a subtle reminder of her power. “Yes, of course, Mistress,” he stammered.

“Thank you, darling,” the woman purred with condescension as she took a sip. She turned and strutted out of the shop, the bell chiming behind her as she stepped back onto the Pineview sidewalk. The coffee cup felt like a trophy in her hand, and her chest swelled with pride as she took in the festival decorations being erected. This week was going to be fun, and no one was going to stand in her way.

❖

It was early evening at The Control Zone, and Gemma stepped out of her dungeon after another productive session with a wealthy, obedient client. She tottered onto the main floor of the club and noticed a commotion near the bar. She strode towards the noise, her stiletto heels clicking with purpose as her curiosity piqued.

At the center of the group stood Lila (Mistress Knot), Nadia (Miss Shame), and Sasha (Lady Thorn), engaged in conversation with an unknown blonde woman standing beside Trevor. The stranger was striking, standing at five feet eight inches with a slim, curvaceous figure that drew eyes. Her dirty blonde hair fell in soft waves, framing full cupid’s bow lips and big, expressive green eyes that sparkled with an internal confidence. She wore a purple leather corset, black sparkly hotpants, and black thigh-high 4” boots. The cleavage of her D-cup breasts practically spilled out of the corset.

Gemma’s eyes narrowed as she approached, her presence commanding silence from the group. “What is all this about?” she asked suspiciously.

Trevor turned, his goatee twitching with a nervous smile. “Gemma, allow me to introduce Cassandra Clarke, or as she’s known, Queen Elektra,” he said, gesturing to the blonde. “Cassie is from Los Angeles but has recently moved to Pineview. She came in looking for work, and I hired her as our newest house Domme.”

Gemma’s mind recoiled at the title ‘Queen’, a silent scoff reverberating in her thoughts. No one claimed such a title in her domain. Trevor, oblivious to Gemma’s irritation, continued with enthusiasm. “Cassie, this is Gemma, also known as Mistress Black, our star Domme.”

Cassie extended a hand, her smile radiant and disarmingly polite. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Black,” she said, her voice smooth and sweet, carrying a warmth that felt almost too genuine.

Gemma glanced at the woman’s hand and perfectly manicured blood-red fingernails before accepting the handshake, her grip deliberate. As their hands clasped, the brunette stared deeply into Cassie’s eyes, probing around in her mind for a sign of weakness, seeking to assert her dominance early.

However, a sudden, unyielding block slammed into Gemma’s thoughts, like a fortress gate snapping shut. The shock jolted the Domme, her hand jerking back mid-shake, her blue eyes widening in disbelief. No one had ever deflected her powers before.

Cassie’s smile didn’t falter, her green eyes holding a subtle glint of amusement as she tilted her head slightly. “I look forward to learning from you, Mistress Black,” she said, her tone still laced with a sweetness that infuriated the alpha Domme.

Trevor clapped his hands together, breaking the tense moment. “Let me show you around, Cassie,” he said, gesturing toward the private rooms. The blonde newbie nodded graciously and followed Trevor away from the group. The pair disappeared into the club’s depths, leaving Gemma with the three Dommes.

The brunette turned to Lila, Sasha, and Nadia. “Who’s the fucking barbie doll?” she demanded, her voice laced with contempt.

Nadia glanced at her fellow Dommes, leaning in close as if she was cautious about being overheard. “I heard Trevor hired a fifth Domme for the festival,” she said. “He believes we’re the reason people are avoiding this place, and he’s hired some new blood to right the ship.”

Gemma scoffed. “He thinks some barbie doll whore is going to bring people in?” she asked rhetorically. “That loser really has no idea how business works.”

Her comments prompted chuckles from the three Dommes. “I don’t like her,” Gemma declared, her tone icy with disdain. “By the time I’m done with her, she’ll be the new club bitch.”

The trio’s laughter grew, Lila adjusting her shiny top with a sly grin. “We’ll see how long she lasts with you at the helm,” the redhead said amusedly. “She’ll be scurrying back to LA in no time.”

Gemma nodded before dismissing the three women. She placed her hands on her hips and stared toward the private rooms. Something about the blonde unnerved her, but she wasn’t the Queen of Pineview for nothing, and Cassie would soon discover that; Mistress Black would make sure of it.

End of Chapter One