To say that I was shocked, worried and disappointed when Alex told me her answer would be an apt description of my state. The shock wasn't very intense, as her demeanor didn't really match that of the serial killer. It did mean, however, that there was still someone else in the same city that liked to murder. The disappointment was mostly attributed to my own failure in this case; I had been so sure it was her. The worry was, of course, that I had no longer any knowledge or awareness of the location or the identity of the killer. It hardly mattered, considering the size of the city and the lack of my exploits in the news, as there was little chance the serial killer even knew of me. It was important to keep it that way.
Alex was, on the other hand, an entirely different matter. There were many other things I could have asked her, but they were mostly redundant. It was already reasonably clear that she didn't mind me killing, in fact she hinted at wanting to watch. There was also no question about her love for and loyalty to me. Her persona was obviously such that once attached, she'd give her life before running away. While I wasn't much of a mistress, usually, she endeared herself to me almost immediately. There was something... nice about her. It wasn't the subservience, the surrender, but rather the courageous conviction with which she acted. There are people who choose to serve, like those people in bondage clubs or even myself on occasion, following the commands only because we want to. For her, Alex, it was stronger. It was what she needed to do; it was her belief, her life. I could do no wrong.
This time she happily followed the command, slowly removing her socks, bra and panties without any hesitation. Like the top and skirt, they were folded neatly and left on top of the pile. She erotically moved back to where she stood before, in front of the window, and looked at me expectantly. With a warm smile she asked me if her looks were sufficient. Her skin was fairly pale, much more so than mine, but it looked nice and smooth. Her breasts were a little smaller than expected, her bra obviously padded to lift them, but they looked cute on her. There was an odd scar on her left leg, from her ankle to back of her knee. It was a long thin line of discoloration on her skin that looked even whiter than the rest. It looked old, actually, very old. Something must have happened a long time ago and hurt a lot to give her a scar like that, but it added to her uniqueness. Her face, her curves and even the delicately deficient derriere made her beautiful, though perhaps often overlooked. It deserved my approval, verbally.
Another command, sit and spread, was followed without any question. The chair she used before, facing me, had wide enough armrests to support her legs. It made me wonder, if only for a moment, if it had been used for that very purpose before. By her own initiative, she used her fingers to spread her labia, exposing herself to me fully. It was only a little bit erotic, as it was still mostly a test. But the way she looked at me, with complete loyalty, was much more intense than I had ever expected. Men had previously asked me to be a mistress, but always added their desires and plans to the situation. They needed to be punished in a certain way, treated in another. Alex didn't care about that; all she cared about was me. I, on the other hand, was interested in her history. There was a playful notion in the back of my mind that it could be quite quaint to hear more about her.
Masturbate and tell me.
She didn't know yet what to call me and neither did I. Mistress? Lady? Anything else? Her voice stuttered as she asked me for clarification. She smiled as I asked her to tell me about a time, if any, she had taken revenge on someone who misused her. It was a nice smile, one that showed how much she liked my idea of telling me a story while she had to keep her composure. She did exactly what I asked and started playing with herself, her nipples first, as the story began.
An old story.
Her parents, especially her father, had been stunningly strict. They didn't just make rules to prevent her from seeing boys or even girls. She was allowed no friends, no companions and had to return from school as soon as classes were finished. A subtle moan escaped her lips, an interesting juxtaposition of the dark tale against the light caresses. She did not restrain herself, playing properly without faking, to make herself feel good for her new owner. At home, it wasn't just homework, it was a zealous selection of chores, unending household tasks with no siblings assigned to help her. Her brothers and sisters, two of each, could live their lives freely. Even the one younger than her had more freedom, was allowed to date boys, go out with friends and stay up late watching TV. Another moan escaped, followed by her fingers flowing fervently over her clitoris. She tried to keep her eyes open, to look at me, but was too taken by the throes of pleasure to do so.
Her siblings never bothered her much. They didn't make as much of a mess as her parents and left the house as quickly as they could. Her parents weren't very rich, nor poor, but each of her brothers and sisters had earned enough money by themselves to leave. Obviously, Alex was never allowed to work out of the house. There was a gasp as one of her fingers slid smoothly inside, glistening gracefully in the shaded light of the sun. Her legs were still spread over the arm-rests, everything wide open for me to see. I smiled, stared and listened. Something had snapped inside of her just after her younger sister had finally left. There was no end in sight for her. Even though she'd done really well in school, there were no job prospects, or if there were any she was not allowed to know them. Her parents, again especially her father, had begun to hit her.
The reaction to those words, mixed with her fingers moving around between her legs, was unique. She must have enjoyed spankings a few times, as there was a sort of hidden blush on her cheeks, and she moaned deeply as she thrust her fingers deeper. Alex really did give it her all.
It was then she planned her revenge. They never expected her to fight back, but she had. It came out of nowhere for them; they thought they had the perfect slave. Instead, with the knowledge of all she needed to make a new life for herself, she left. But not without making them pay first. Poisoning them with cleaning alcohol, hidden in beer and wine, was the beginning. The drunker they got, the easier it was to put more in their drinks unnoticed.
She kept herself close to an orgasm while she told the rest, interspersed with suppressed moans. As her parents had gone to bed, falling asleep almost instantly, she'd taken some of her mother's clothes and almost all of the money in their bank accounts. It wasn't taken all at once, obviously, but spread out over more than a month. It had been well planned and executed. Setting the house on fire on her way out was easy enough. It was just a matter of letting the gas run, using a rag in the wrong place and a well thrown lit match to finish the job. She vividly described her surprise at the lack of explosion and the wonder of the fierce flames consuming her prison.
It was a very nice orgasm to watch. She'd been balancing neatly on the edge, caressing herself perfectly and enjoying the piercing gaze of her new mistress. The command had worked like a trigger, bypassing her mind. It caused her to fall over the edge of bliss instantly, reflected verbally in a deep, feral moan. She convulsed as the climax travelled through her body. Her toes curled, legs squeezed the arm-rest. She grabbed herself tightly, pinching her cute nipples in pure reflex. It only added to the sensation.
It was almost palpable.
She let herself come down from the explosion and relaxed without ever closing her legs. She just looked at me expectantly, wondering if it had been good and what to do now. But it wasn't a request, just a patient waiting. She would not be bothered to stay there for as long as she comfortably could, not that I minded much, it was a really nice view. I'm sure she didn't mind me enjoying it for a while longer.
However, it was time to get certainty, to ask her if she truly wanted to be with me, despite the strange male company I could choose, or the things I did to them. Would she be bothered watching me in the arms of a man, having sex, ending him? She didn't, as expected. In fact, she honestly said that she wanted to be there when I killed, to see the pleasure in my eyes and the death in his. Moreover, if I would allow it, she offered to take pictures or paint it. The idea of solid evidence, like pictures, did not attract me at all. The other option made me wonder. Were the paintings hers? She confirmed that they were. I looked at them again. Decent paintings, not too complicated. Perhaps people would buy a thing like this, but not for much money. They were meant as background or decoration, not to be stared at or admire. They showed good technique, not that I knew that much about art but you pick things up here and there.
She was good enough. Ironically, she was much better than I ever wanted, thought about, or desired, but that wasn't what I was going to say. She didn't need to know that; she needed something else. She shouldn't call me Catherine all the time, as I often used other names while disguised. Always, in fact. It needed something simpler; not mistress, not milady. A title she could always use to call me. Something that would make her feel she belonged to me, that she was serving me. It was easier than I thought; it had been staring me in the face for a while. Rejected for its simplicity, accepted for the same reason.
I told her she could call me Miss. Miss Catherine, if we were alone.
Alex was overjoyed.