Mistress C sez: Drink Your Juice

      My affection for Mistress C is well known.  My (healthy and completely well-founded) fear of her is also well known.  She is volatile.  And she is a bully. 

       She’s been on a big pressed juice smoothie whatever-the-fuck kick recently.  You know, those $5 potions you can buy from juice bars that have cucumber and wheat grass and valarian root and rhino horn and honeybee powder?  She drinks them all the time.  And they are disgusting.  

     (To be fair, though, she must be doing something right, because her figure is rockin recently.  She’s always had a great body, but she’s lost ten lbs and she’s getting totally cut.)

       So I was asking her what her workout routine is like, because I’m trying to lose another 5 lbs.

        She got a gleam in her eye and I instantly regretting the question. 

         Mistress C ran off and returned fifteen minutes later with one of her disgusting vegetable health food shake concoctions.

        “Here you go, Red!  Drink this!  It’s really good for you.  Drink one of those every day and don’t eat junk and you will definitely lose weight.”

          I cautiously took it from her and sniffed it.  It was green.  Dark, muddy green.  And it smelled foul.

         “What’s in it?” I asked.

         “Don’t worry about that.  Just drink it.”

         “How about if I just eat a salad?”

         “Drink that drink.  It’s good for you!”

         I sipped it.

         I swear to God, I almost threw up.  It was gross.  GROSS. 

          “I don’t think I can drink this, C.  This is really bad.”  I tried to hand it back to her.

          She got a stern look on her face.  “That juice is all fresh and cold-pressed.  It cost $6.”

          I stared at her, beseeching.  

          “Drink your drink!  Just down it and get it over with.  It’s going to be a lot nastier once it warms up.  Drink it while it’s cold.”

          “I really don’t want to.”

           She glared at me, and her voice got cold and hard.  “Drink it.”

         What could I do?  I felt like I was back on the playground in grade school, being picked on by the mean girl!  But what could I do?  I didn’t want her to turn on me!

         I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and started chugging the juice.

          My friends, it was disgusting.  I mean, vile, gorge-inducting, awful.  The only thing remotely normal about it was the faint aftertaste of cucumbers.  And I don’t know about you, but I don’t fucking like to drink cucumbers.

         I couldn’t drink more than half.  I burped and thought it was all going to come up.  I actually went to the sink to see if I would vomit.

        “You better not puke up that juice, Red,” C said.

         Yup.  It was like a session, except that I wasn’t getting paid for it.  Weird.  I don’t think I’ve ever been dominated by a chick before.  

         I returned to the chair.  “Let me let it settle for a minute before I drink the rest.”

         She got a sly smile on her face.  “I’m watching you, Red.”

         I eyed the rest of the juice…half of a huge glass.  My heart sank.

         For the next half hour, she kept looking at me, and then nodding at the juice.  I was trapped.

         Then: delivered!  The receptionist had a guy on the phone to talk to C.  She had a phone session!  YAY!

         She went to get the phone and I hid the juice.  I couldn’t pour it down the sink because someone had just put in their stockings to hand-wash.  

           I hid the juice in the back of the fridge behind some OJ and leftovers.  

         After the phone session, she asked me if I finished the juice, and I lied.  I said that I had.  

         Five days later, I came in to work the day shift.  I’d totally forgotten about the juice. I was getting dressed in back when Mistress C peeked at me around the door of my locker.

        “Hey Redhead,” she said.  Her eyes were twinkling.  She was smiling.

          “What’s up?” I asked.

        “Did you forget something?”

        “Forget what?” I looked at her, honestly clueless.  I had no idea what she was talking about.

         She moved her right hand out from behind the door.  She was holding the awful juice.  The half-drank juice!  Fuck!

         “You forgot to drink your special cold-pressed juice!” she said.

         I groaned.  “C!  No!”


        “I can’t drink it!  It’s old now!  It’s probably rotten!”  I wailed.


       I looked around frantically for someone to protect me.  Nothing doing.  At the Studio, C is my protection. 

        Then she started laughing at me.

        “Ha!  The look on your face!  You nerd!  Relax.  It’s totally spoiled.  I’m not going to make you drink it.  I’m just fucking with you.”

        I exhaled and started to smile.  Whew!  It was just a practical joke!

         “I’ll buy you a fresh one.” 

        Note: she didn’t actually buy me a new one.  Thank God. lol

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