Venice Heat
by NovaDChapter One:
Dagmar
"Dagmar Olanoff, you've really out done yourself," she thought as she stood on the beach with her back to the evening surf. The House, her house was an incredible gem - well worth the asses she had to kiss in earning the money. It was three stories and made of a rustic looking dark wood. The living room faced the beach. The whole front of the house was made of glass doors to give the a maximum view. There was a balcony leading from the master bedroom. That balcony ran around the entire second floor and had a hot tub in the northwest corner with a view of the Malibu Hills off in the distance. The third floor guest room had a smaller, ocean facing balcony of it. The whole building was surrounded by incredibly exotic plant life. There were huge aloe plants and strange palm trees and other flora which Dagmar couldn't identify. The dense vegetation obscured the house from outside view but allowed her to see everything. That made for wonderful possibilities.
Those balconies had a great deal of potential. The view of the beach and surrounding area was magnificent while no passer by could see her. This feature, the privacy, interested her intensely. It aided her in the pursuit of flesh.
Dagmar was a hedonist. She lived for the pursuit of pleasures of all sort from the physical to the intellectual. And she pursued each pleasure with equal vigor. Dagmar appreciated the taste of perfectly ripe nectarine, or a firm, pink jumbo shrimp. She enjoyed touching silk or sand or velvet. Hell, if the sea salt spray was in the air or it was time for honeysuckle or night blooming jasmine was about, she got off on breathing in the same way she enjoyed the taste of a man or the taste of a woman that she found beautiful. She enjoyed these experiences with all of her senses: tastes, touches, scents and sounds. She craved all stimuli and relished it. She was a hedonist. Gender mattered not. Preference mattered not. If she found one beautiful physically or spiritually or in the rare instances both, she would find a way to enjoy their presence. The enjoyment was sometimes as simple as the occasional evening spent eating and talking. Often her openness and apparent pleasure in their company would persuade even the most reluctant into the bedroom for mutual pleasure.
Dagmar wanted more than just personal pleasure from the men and women who caught her eye. She was always determined that they enjoy themselves as much as she savored them. If they came with her, she wanted them to crave her forever. Dagmar could read them, because she watched them. It didn't take long to know who was tactile and who was oral. The path was a short one to intense shared pleasure.
Dagmar the hedonist and the Dominatrix had many transient slaves as she called them. A session here and there while she struggled her way up the ladder at the movie studio. With the purchase of that lovely house on the beach, it was time for her ultimate fantasy, house slaves.
Mistress Dagmar. The title made up for being saddled with the Hungarian family name while her sister breezed through life with the handle of Jennifer. Dagmar was a formidable name suitable for a six foot woman, (height courtesy of the American side) with a penchant for leather. She kept a lot of her European family aside from the name. Like her grandmother, the heavy wavy hair was kept long. She had the dramatic gypsy looks that needed no makeup -- deep set large dark eyes, high cheekbones, full lips. The tendency toward Eastern European curves was kept to an attractive sleekness with a lot of exercise and an uncompromising nutritional regimen. Of course, most of the men were quite grateful for the bosom of her well endowed ancestors.
Exotic, she was called quite often. It had been a term which was the kiss of death for her acting career. No matter, the power of producing was more appealing in the long run. Her personality was better suited for it.
And that career choice ultimately lead to her having the House. Dagmar was quite happy despite the fact that her belongings were in crates all over the livingroom. She was glancing at the evening joggers when she saw him running toward her.
At first, Dagmar thought she was imagining him. No one could look that perfect. He was well over six feet... maybe six four. His coloring was unusual, very tawny but not tanned and spectacular against his blue black hair which had a rich wave as it fell to his shoulders. He was stretching that long, muscular body which was sleek and defined but not overly muscular. The young man was hairy in a beautiful way -- lightly over his chest legs and arms.
The man's face was exotic and stunning -- high cheek bones, deep-set dark eyes, full lips and a strong jaw line. Dagmar was stunned by this vision of male beauty. Up until that point, Dagmar hadn't decided upon where she would get her house slaves.
"We have a winner," she said to herself as the beautiful boy jogged away. "Now, how do I catch him?"
This looked to be a considerable problem. Over the next few days she watched the jogger -- runner actually -- as he passed by her house at the same time each evening. He was not just well built, he had spectacular stamina. Dagmar did as well, but her form of exercise did not include running. She only noticed him stop to stretch that first time she saw him. And he was very fast.
The young man's speed did present a problem for Mistress Dagmar who preferred a slow and careful seduction of a perspective sub. That approach appeared to be out of the question. Dagmar would have to fall back on the Emergency Measure taught to her by one of her favorite gay men -- just grabbing it. That is, once she got the boy to stop. Her first thought was to simply throw a net over him. Dagmar smiled to herself -- why not? Besides, it was time to call the studio.
She hit speed dial on the cell phone then settled into the rattan lounge chair. As always, her personal assistant, Kimberly Huty answered mid way through the first ring.
"It's me, Kimberly."
"Good afternoon, Dagmar. How is the house shaping up?" Kimberly asked in that low, melodic tone. The woman had a voice of silk and satin that did not match her five foot two inch two hundred fifty pound physique. Many a man's countenance fell when they connected the voice with that face.
"It's looking good. I'm trying to find out if there is such a thing as Feng Shui for dungeons," Dagmar replied.
Kimberly chuckled. Dagmar could envision the woman shaking her head while her chubby cheeks flushed bright pink. Another advantage of having an assistant whose only real drive was perfect organization of Dagmar's extensive contact database, was that she had no life beyond the job. Kimberly enjoyed living vicariously through Dagmar and the other office freaks. Thus, Dagmar had no fear of her lifestyle offending her assistant. That had been a real concern for the Mistress with the potential of sexual harassment suit's making even Hollywood more discreet with its debauchery. And powerful women were great targets. Dagmar had enough co-workers trying to move up the ladder by stomping up her back without having to keep one eye on her personal assistant, keeper of her schedule and her secrets.
Kimberly was a perfect match for her. The portly woman was a career secretary at the studio and content to be so. Her dedication and skill were legendary, but she rose no further than lead secretary in a four person pool that worked for Dagmar's division of the studio. Even older exec's wanted an assistant who was more eye candy be they male or female for the sake of prestige over efficiency.
When Dagmar's previous assistant who'd followed her from another studio left to get married, the choice for a successor was an easy one. The Mistress liked her efficiency and admired her dedication and endless patience. Pressure didn't bother her. Nor did long hours. Kimberly brought out Dagmar's generosity. She saw to it that the Assistant got to attend the posh parties and openings. Kimberly often had the most interesting conversations at these events. She was never afraid to be sarcastic. Dagmar would often pick up an item of clothing or handbag when getting something for herself. It was harder to get the woman to take a vacation. She just wanted to work.
Dagmar had offered to send her on a five star trip during the three weeks she'd be gone, but Kimberly refused saying there was just too much work to do. It was just as well. Kimberly was so unobtrusive, people often made the mistake of speaking in front of her. Dagmar would still know exactly what kind of maneuvering was going on in her absence.
"Anything interesting going on at work?"
"I'm not sure yet."
That sent Dagmar's brow up. That was Kimberly way of saying that she's heard some intriguing snippets, but did not have all the pieces of the puzzle yet.
"Keep me informed," Dagmar replied.
"I will, as always. What can I do for you today?" Kimberly said.
"I need a big net," the Mistress said. "One of those old fashioned rope nets fishermen used to use... I'm decorating."
"Of course," Kimberly replied. "Anything else?"
Dagmar toyed with the idea of the tranquilizer darts but thought better of it. "That's it for now."
"I'll have it sent over today."
Dagmar knew she would. The Mistress had no clue as to how she would get the item but knew that at some point it would be delivered to her home.
And it was delivered late that afternoon. At first, Dagmar doubted the wisdom of this choice. The net looked to be twelve by twenty and despite the light weight twine that composed the individual strands, the net in its entirely was heavy and cumbersome. But on further thought, the difficulty of the net would further her claim of an accidental netting.
Over the next few hours, Dagmar dragged the net upstairs then practiced hurling the net off the top balcony onto the jogging path below. It took only a few times to get the thing to land dead center unfurled. Dagmar was quite exhausted and needed a nap and hot shower before continuing.
But she was there stiff and sore at twilight posed for action with her net, binoculars and stop watch. Dagmar knew that when she spotted him cresting the slight rise in the jogging path two blocks away, her quarry would be at ground zero forty five seconds later. He was prompt, her golden boy toy to be. She hit the timer and at 42 seconds let the net fly. A grunt and thud could be heard above the gentle surf.
"Bingo!" Dagmar squealed bolting down the stairs. It took her less than thirty seconds to get outside just in time to see a little old man wearing Bermuda shorts and black socks tangled in the net while her illusive quarry was headed farther and farther away. From the position of the net Dagmar calculated the trajectory and figured that the strong evening breeze through her aim off by just enough.
"Dammit!" She exclaimed.
"Um... if it wouldn't be any trouble," a small voice said from the ground. "Can I get some help here?"
"Oh," she replied. "Sorry."
"What's with the net any ways? You after some new kind a fish or something?" He asked as Dagmar untangled the frail man's limbs from the netting.
"I was decorating my balcony and it kind of got away form me. Are you hurt?"
"No... lucky for you and your insurance, I work out." He said with a symbolic flex of the scrawny arms which were covered loosely with brown speckled flesh.
Dagmar was barely listening. She was looking at the sleekly muscled bare back retreating over the horizon.
"Yes," she said drily. "I'm so lucky."
"You twisted your back doing what?" the lispy voice demanded petulantly.
"Decorating, Mr. Stiffy, decorating." Dagmar growled out. "You're here to adjust me -- adjus ---- OW!"
She was in agony -- not even the fun kind for a few moments. With the next move of those nimble fingers along her spine, Dagmar felt bliss... pure and simple bliss.
"Thank you," she moaned. Dagmar could breath without discomfort.
"I thought you controlled the acrobatics here, Mistress," the chiropractor quipped.
"Keep a civil tongue in your head or I'll have to tear it out."
He laughed at her with a shake of his head. Dagmar glared at him. There must be a way to discipline impudence without arrest. She tore a check from her check book and sent him on his way. Frankie, her pet pug chased after the chiropractor. His extending leash flung out after the little beige and black dog. He entangled the man's feet and sent him sprawling on the ground. Dagmar smirked. Vengeance for insolence was nice. She also had another way of capturing Adonis.
That same afternoon Dagmar was in front of the house with Frankie and his favorite toy, a lime green bally-ball.
"Frankie... Frankie boy... get the bally... get the bally-ball." She said. The little dog's curly tail wagged rapidly as his big brown eyes followed the ball. He barked before Dagmar threw the ball across the jogging path. His little legs were a blur of movement. The leash extended quickly cutting off a rollerblader.
Dagmar reeled the dog in then sent him out a few more times. Dear Frankie never lost interest in his bally-ball.
"Frankie's a good boy. Let's have some of the good pate," Dagmar crooned. "You have to rest up for later, yes."
While the happy dog enjoy his expensive snack, Dagmar was soaking in her hot tub on top of the balcony. She had a clear view of the beachy and part of the jogging path, but she couldn't be seen because of the foliage. The Mistress was naked in fragrant steamy water in the cool salty breeze.
The tub was large enough for two, so she could stretch out as far as possible allowing herself to nearly float. The sensation was totally relaxing, but Dagmar wanted more. She wanted those beautiful tawny hands on her body. She wanted her hands on his body.
First, Dagmar would have him bend that remarkable ass up to the late afternoon sun where she would liberally apply the riding crop until that tawny muscular flesh was well welted and stinging. Her arm would be sore again from the number of strokes. Then she would spread his cheeks and make him accept a butt plug of respectable size. Unless he was no virgin there -- which she would never assume -- he had to be readied for her later assaults with the strap on. Then, he would be compelled into the hot tub welts and all. His wrists would be shackled to the post holding up the balcony fencing. Dagmar would then mount that very long hard shaft (thank god for bike pants, they revealed a lot of detail) and go for a late afternoon ride. Kissing him would be inevitable. Such a beautiful mouth. And he would have to have him use that mouth on her nipples.
Dagmar pinched and rolled her own nipples with her left hand as she used her right hand to bring herself off. It was a release, but not nearly as satisfying as what she had planned for that beautiful boy.
The evening found Dagmar refreshed and more committed than ever. With Frankie happily in tow, she waited. Her stop watch was ready.
"Frankie," she crooned. "Bally-ball. Watch the bally..."
The little pug was again excited and attentive. Dagmar spotted her prey. She stepped up the excitement level. The dog was barking at the ball. The timing had to be perfect. The leash needed to cross his path right in front of her before he could avoid the entanglement. Just before the boy god was on top or her, Dagmar threw the ball. However, the pug was distracted for a second by a car alarm. He flew out after the ball just behind her target. And just in time to trip the same man Dagmar netted the day before.
Dagmar was again distracted from the frail body on the asphalt by the sweat glistening muscled back retreating from view.
"Is this beast yours?" A voice said from below. The Mistress looked down finally. Frankie had dropped the bally-ball on the man's narrow chest and was licking his cheek.
Dagmar groaned in exasperation then began to extricate the fragile limbs from the leash. Handling the near skeletal form was not what she had in mind.
"Is it joggers in general that you don't like, or is it just me in particular?" He asked. "I didn't have this much trouble in Central Park."
"Maybe I'm subconsciously fighting my longing for you." Dagmar replied.
"Well that'll keep me from calling my lawyer," the man replied. "Until next time, toots."
Dagmar glowered after the man. When she looked down, Frankie had his bally-ball in his mouth wagging his tail enthusiastically. She had to smile at the dog.
"You were a good boy, yes. Mommy just has to smash in that Beamer's windshield, yes she does," the Mistress said scooping the dog up. "Let's have some dinner, okay?"
It was unreasonable for Mistress Dagmar to be angry with a man because he didn't know she wanted him to stop for her, but she was angry nonetheless. The boy would have to be punished for his inadvertent transgression. She would welt his ass as she had planned earlier, but instead of a pleasant fucking in the hot tub, Dagmar would have him on his knees between her two favorite chairs. She would be in one of the chairs which was straight backed and had strong arms at the sides where the boy's wrists would be shackled. The other chair was really an adjustable stool with a square steel seat in which dildos could be screwed into place. The stool would be up against a wall for support. The boy's red, welted ass would be impaled upon the dildo and while he was shackled into a position for thoroughly eating the Mistress' pussy, Dagmar would use one of her booted feet against his broad shoulder to push him back against the stool forcing him to fuck himself. He would remain in that position eating her and being fucked until the orgasms exhausted her. Any slowing down would be met with merciless lashes from her riding crop along his already welted ass or on the untouched flesh on his back. Yes, that would be very sweet indeed.
"Ms. Olanoff?" the man's voice conveyed confusion. "I thought you were on vacation."
"I am, but the mind is always working," she said. "And I have a question about those rocket powered roller blades in the 'Malibu Bikini Patrol..."
"Oh the cgi in that was so good that the people actually thought those skates worked." He said. "We've been getting orders for them. Why?"
Dagmar blanched. "Er... can you do that with a skateboard?"
There was a slight pause. Dagmar was near panicked that she looked like a fool. "Bitchin'! I used to board myself ... Wow... what's the project?"
"Premature for that."
"Understood. But I'll get on it."
Dagmar hung up the phone with great dissatisfaction. Now, she had to think of a film project involving rocket powered skateboards.
"Maybe I should just club him Cave Woman style." She thought. Her ire had whittled away her creativity.
Her eye's lit upon the 8 foot pole the gardener used to extend his trimmer.
"Hmm... it's brutal but it may work," she mused. "Men are more pliable with a concussion anyway."
Thus, twilight found the Mistress poised with her latest weapon. Since she controlled the pole and the timing, success was finally in sight. The adrenalin had her pumped enough to tackle a line backer. Never had she been made to wait for a sub so long. Her composure was beginning to fray around the edges. There was a real possibility that the first encounter would be fueled by anger not desire.
Dagmar shook herself then took aim. She found a bike cop. He took his helmet off and glared at her in confusion with his startling green eyes.
"Gracious! Are you hurt?" Dagmar exclaimed, hurling herself along side of him. "I'm such a goof. I should have waited for the gardener."
The Mistress was feeling the well muscled cop for broken bones when her jogger passed them. He slowed to jog in place.
"Is everything okay?" He said. The voice was rich baritone.
"No harm here," the cop gasped as Dagmar felt along his thighs.
For a moment Dagmar met the Jogger's eyes. She froze him with 'The Stare'. He almost stumbled backwards. Dagmar was elated. She knew at that moment how to stop him. As he jogged on, she turned her attention to the cop.
"Do you need some water? An ace bandage? Body massage," she said. "Darn this vest, I can't feel your chest ... er ribs."
He smiled a blinding smile. "I'm okay. Even the bike is fine."
They were righting themselves when the elderly jogger ambled up.
"I'm a little late and you throw yourself at another man,' he said shaking his head. "Don't get your hopes up, she'll come crawling back tomorrow."
The old man shuffled off.
"Don't mind him, he's nuts," she muttered.
"Don't worry about it," the cop smiled, looking Dagmar over. "This has been exciting...
I've got to go."
Dagmar nodded.
"But I'll be around."
She watched those magnificent legs power that perfectly delightful butt toward the horizon.
"One at a time, Dagmar," she sighted. "One at time."
Oddly enough, the Outfits were the last thing she got around to unpacking. It was thus still in boxes in the small spare bedroom. Collecting clothing for her habit gave the Mistress almost as much pleasure as the sessions themselves.
She had everything from rubber to vinyl, leather, lace. She had subtle elegant looks to full out porn movie dom wear. It was all a matter of choosing.
Subtlety, Dagmar decided, was out. She went for a leather corset which laced up the front, a studded strapless bra and a french cut leather thong. The foot wear choice was ankle high platform boots with a four inch heel.
Normally, Dagmar hated heels, but she was aiming for the classic styling and it would place her at eye level with her target.
The next day, Dagmar was ready having bathed and primped and anointed herself with her favorite scented oils. She waited until the Jogger crested the hill before stepping into the middle of the Jogging path dangling a studded leather collar attached to a fine silver leash from one hand. His eyes were on her the whole while he approached. Then he came to a dead stop.
Dagmar gazed into those large dark eyes and smiled. "You need to come with me."
She collared him with no difficulty. He was occupied with staring down her corset at her tits. She carefully slid her hand along those rock hard abs inside his shorts giving him plenty of time to resist. When he didn't, she grabbed his already hardening cock and led him inside by that. She spied the elderly jogger out of the corner of her eye. He was shaking his head.
Once inside, Dagmar pulled the boy's face to her by the collar. She was still massaging his cock. She kissed his open mouth and enjoyed his urgent tongue.
"This pretty mouth is mine," she whispered against his lips. They kissed again. She made him remove his tank top. She still held his cock. Dagmar licked his collarbone then nipped at his nipples.
"This beautiful torso is mine," she informed him softly.
His knees bucked when she pulled down the shorts to take his cock in her mouth. He ended up on his back with her sucking at him so powerfully he thought he'd be drained dry. She rolled his balls in her hands expertly bringing him off in short order.
She straddled his waist as she swallowed then leaned in to kiss him again.
"And that pretty dick is definitely mine," she said. He nodded mutely. She grabbed the collar. "Say yes, Mistress."
He swallowed hard. "Yes, Mistress."
"Say thank you Mistress."
"Thank you, Mistress."
"Good boy.... what's your name?"
"Steve."
"Good, Steve... let's go up to my balcony. There's a little hot tub fantasy I want to enjoy."
"Yes, Mistress."
His ass looked delightful welted in the setting sunlight. And he was a virgin where his ass was concerned. But Steve took the plug with a little encouragement from her crop and some distraction from her stroking his cock.
Dagmar Olanoff, you've really outdone yourself, she thought sliding down onto Steve's cock. "Suck my tits. Steve..."
"Yes, Mistress."
It was a lovely night for a ride.