This may come as a shock, but it's time you knew the truth. The Mistress has, actually, made mistakes. Incredible, I know, but there it is. I think my most dramatic fuckup was the time, quite early in my professional career, when I accidentally set someone's ass on fire.
It all began sweetly enough: a paddle with tiny, sharp spikes on it, and a masochistic boy with his butt up in the air. Afterward, I looked at the red droplets of blood on his ass and thought, I should put some alcohol on that, just to kill any stray germs. Of course, it will be a bit sting-y, won't it? Lovely.
I sprayed rubbing alcohol all over his butt, enjoyed the noisy reaction, and then thought, Hmmn, since his ass is already nicely sensitive, I'll use the ultraviolet wand on it.
Those of you who know about UV wands are already snickering. If you don't, this toy is a cousin to those glass globes with the arcing violet light inside, where, if you put your fingers on the globe surface, the light jumps to your fingers. A UV wand looks like a purple glass sparkler, and it's more powerful; having the sparks touch you feels like being zapped with static electricity.
Yes, I did say "sparks." On skin I'd just doused with alcohol. Hard to believe I didn't think this through to its logical conclusion, but, as I said: It was early in the game. I turned on the wand, touched it to his ass, and presto! The alcohol ignited and blue flames raced all over his behind. I dropped the wand with what I'm sure was an un-Mistressy yelp of dismay, and quickly ran my hands over his butt, smothering the little flames and making the rest of the alcohol evaporate. I'd done fireplay in other BDSM scenes, you see, and I'd been taught the procedure. I'd also been taught that doing fireplay without precautions and planning frequently leads to similarly unplanned visits to Harborview.
However, the patron saint of perverts was looking out for us that day. I examined his ass and let out a huge breath of relief. Oh, thank you fucking God, he's not burned.
This all took place very quickly, and I could tell that my client didn't realize quite what had happened. Okay, Matisse, I thought, just be cool and he'll never know. Then he sniffed the air. "Um... Mistress? Does something smell like burned hair?"
