When my boyfriend told me he wanted to visit a dominatrix, my first instinct was to assume that I wasn’t doing a good enough job of ordering him about at home. I immediately felt horrible for thinking like that, but if we were both completely honest with each other, it was true; the chances are he would never get anything done if I wasn’t around to give him a kick up the… well, you know. I was ambitious, career-motivated, and he may have been many wonderful things but he wasn’t that, bless him. So we had this de facto arrangement where I had to make nearly all the important decisions at home as well as at work, and trying to do everything was beginning to drain me.
Maybe he wanted to make it more formal, maybe he really wanted to be my… my servant? My slave? I giggled at the thought of that, and reflected that I was the only slave around here at the moment with all the responsibilities I had. If I could make him a little more useful around the house, where was the harm in it? He quickly assured me that these women didn’t offer any kind of sexual favours, that they catered strictly to the fantasies of their client – strictly was the operative word, I guess – and so I gave him my blessing.
We looked up sites together online and found a domme who worked in a place in the centre of town, only about half an hour’s drive from our home. The price was affordable too, on our income; well, largely my salary. Suddenly what seemed like an idle fantasy for him was now actually possible, and I could sense the nerves on his part. He hemmed and hawed over whether he should go through with it or not, until finally I told him that he should at least explore his feelings about it and see where they lead him. The thought of what might happen to him there certainly made me curious, and turned me on a little, but inside I was still thinking about what I could get out of it rather than what the sexual dimension would really be like.
I left him to make contact and sort out all the details with her, all the kinks that people want to explore in their sessions; he wanted to keep them private for the time being and I didn’t mind that. The following Tuesday I went off to work as usual knowing that in the middle of the day he’d be in a darkened chamber being worked over by a woman. It was really hard to concentrate on my job that afternoon.
When I got back around six, he was already sitting on the couch looking quite relaxed. I gave him a kiss and asked, “So, how did it go?”
“Oh, it was… OK,” he said phlegmatically, crossing his legs.
“OK?” He wasn’t the type of guy to make grand statements, but I thought he’d feel more strongly about it one way or the other.
“Well, it was enjoyable up to a point, but I couldn’t take it all seriously – I mean, the experience is a turn-on, but I don’t know whether I really believed everything she was saying. I kind of wished you were there towards the end.”
“What was she like?” I queried, wondering what sort of things she had done to him.
“She was good at what she did. Very firm. Controlling. Your kind of woman all right,” he grinned at me, and I felt like hitting him for the controlling comment until I saw he was half-joking. He was right, of course, but it’s funny how the things we enjoy doing don’t seem attractive when they’re pointed out to us.
“I’d like to see what she did for myself…” I wondered aloud; he heard me.
“Well, there’s only one way you can do that. Book a session yourself.”
“Oh Stuart, don’t be ridiculous,” I replied instantly. “They don’t do that kind of thing for women… do they?”
“As far as I know, she’s an equal opportunity-dominant,” Stuart said in a breezy tone. “The female customers are a lot rarer, but she told me she gets a few in every now and then. She said she likes working with them just as much.”
Why on earth would a woman want to do it?, I pondered. I could understand the role-reversal being an arousing thing for men, and that they liked the sight of a woman in leather and high heels, but unless all her female clients were lesbian, or at least lesbian-inclined, surely they’d just go to the male equivalent instead? I knew they existed from what me and Stuart had read about on the net.
“I wouldn’t want to be part of a session, anyway,” I assured him. “Maybe if I could be there and watch how she handles other people, but I guess that’s not possible…”
“Not unless you fancy training as one yourself.”
“Those boots would be hell on my feet,” I quipped, and headed into the kitchen to make some coffee. We had a nice relaxing evening in front of the TV, both of us doing nothing when we probably had something better to keep us occupied. But the only thing occupying my thoughts, time and time again, was the possibility of seeing that dominatrix in the flesh… of actually being close to her as she did her job… and the only way to do that was if I allowed myself to be the one who was dominated.
Finally I made a decision, and cuddled up closer to Stuart. “I’m going to do it, you know,” I whispered to him.
“Book a session with her.” His eyes widened slightly, and he looked away. “What, you don’t think I can do it?”
“No slight against you Ellie, but I can’t really imagine you being ordered around by anyone, man or woman.” He seemed amused, which annoyed me. More than that, it challenged me, and I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.
“Well, I’m going to do it,” I repeated. “There are safe words you can use at any time if you start to feel uncomfortable, aren’t there?”
“Yep.” Stuart was staring ahead into the middle distance, a slightly glazed expression on his face, and I knew him well enough to interpret that.
“You’re going to jerk off thinking about this, aren’t you?”
“Well maybe. That is to say… I mean, you can’t blame me,” he finished, with an apologetic look that suggested I could. I smiled, put my arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Just make sure you leave some in there for me, OK?”
I went online, found the same site and put in my own application. Her name was Linda, and from the photos available she was certainly a striking woman, with flowing chestnut hair, green eyes, a pale complexion and a very curvy figure. She had such a sassy, confident attitude that projected itself in her photos, and I hoped that Stuart saw a little bit of the same attitude in me when he was first attracted to me. I think he did.
When it came time to fill out the details of what I was looking for, I made the first of several really dumb mistakes which showed how naïve I was about the whole process. There was an option for an introductory service for novices, which was a much gentler exploration of D/S practices that would have been perfect for me. I was certainly a novice, I wasn’t even sure whether I really wanted to do this, but I guess my curiosity got the better of me… so I took a slight leap in the dark when I agreed to being restrained, and verbally dominated. The kind of error that only a sceptic like me would make.
I got a day off work specially for this, but started to feel the same nerves that Stuart had and understood exactly why he’d been so hesitant. What if I made a complete fool of myself? I was reassured, though, by the fact that I was another woman – she’d be a little bit easier on me, I was sure, and would understand what I felt. My application certainly got a prompt reply, I must have stood out from the scores of men whom she dealt with on a regular basis. We exchanged a few nice, friendly emails finalising exactly what time I should come, and then all was settled. Friday, 1.30pm.
My stomach was churning as I drove into town, finding the area where she did business. It was a quiet street, and the address she had given me was a normal-looking house, giving no clue as to what lay within. I arrived several minutes early, the conscientious hard worker in me showing again, and spent my time sitting in the car twiddling my thumbs and allowing my anxieties to build again. Then I abruptly got out of the car, locked the door, and prepared to face the challenge head-on.
I went down a small flight of steps to a door set below street level, and rang the bell. After a few moments it was opened by a figure with the same chestnut hair and piercing green eyes I’d seen in the photos, only she was dressed in a sweater and jeans and she was a little shorter than me – we were both above average height, but she certainly didn’t adopt any of the overpowering poses that you saw on her site. The two images were hard to reconcile at first.
She smiled and held out a welcoming hand, which I shook. “Ellie, I presume?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’m Linda. Please come in.” She led me down a carpeted, well-decorated hallway into a kitchen, where she beckoned me to sit down at a table. She sat opposite me and went through the things that I had agreed to, which was another chance for me to backtrack and go for something softer which I didn’t take. In a funny way I didn’t want to disappoint her, since she was such a nice lady and she seemed excited at the prospect of doing these activities with me.
“You’ve done something like this before?” she asked me.
“A little bit,” I lied. “Actually, my boyfriend Stuart was here just a couple of weeks ago, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
Her face lit up in recognition. “Oh yes, I thought I recognised the email address! He… didn’t mind telling you about it, then?”
“Just so that’s clear. Well, he was an interesting client, but I don’t think it worked out in the end, not his fault really. I hope I’ll get a little more out of you,” she smiled.
Don’t count on it, I thought to myself, but the attention she was paying to me felt flattering. “How do you feel about pain?” she inquired, catching me unawares.
“I like a little bit,” I said awkwardly, which was true. It was fun having my hair pulled or my ass pinched now and then in bed with Stuart, but it happened rarely and I didn’t get any real kick out of it. I didn’t think I was in too much danger if I said I liked it, and I could always stop if it got out of hand. We agreed on a safe word together before we went any further.
“OK, well, I think we’re just about ready,” Linda announced. “I’m going to get changed upstairs, which is back the way we came. My chambers are through there,” she said, pointing towards a door on the far side of the room. “It’s a short flight of stairs leading down into them. When I go, I want you to strip down to your underwear, and go stand in the middle of the chamber waiting for me.”
She must have seen the fear that broke out on my face, as she was quick to reassure me. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you, you won’t have to do anything against your will. Enjoy yourself.” With another smile she stood up and left. Now alone, I had to prepare myself swiftly. I only had on a pair of plain white bra and panties, nothing fancy. Should I have worn some really sexy, elaborate lingerie to impress her? No, best to leave the dressing up to the dominatrix, I figured.
I slipped off my shoes, took off my top and then undid my jeans, really wishing that I felt sexy instead of stupid. I didn’t want to have the usual hang-ups about my body that were seemingly compulsory for women my age, but I thought I was too tall and gangly, no matter how many times Stuart told me I had nothing to worry about. I knew I wasn’t stick thin, but by the same token, I wasn’t curvy either. I wasn’t voluptuous.
When I stepped out of my jeans I felt the hairs on my skin stiffen in the cool air, and walked uncertainly over to the door, glad that there was no mirror for me to see myself. The staircase on the other side was lined by black walls, leading down into a very dimly-lit room. I tiptoed cautiously down it, my bare feet treading on the boards, and found myself in the windowless chamber, the walls black on every side. At the far end there was a wide mirror on the wall in which I could see myself, and a rather pale, feeble sight I was too; everything about me was pallid apart from my long dark hair.
As I got closer I could see some bars and chains fixed to the wall beside the mirror which made me rather concerned. I guess I would have to see how they would be used… how I would be used. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold; actually, it was a very well-heated room. I stood there in the center as instructed, staring straight ahead, hardly daring to move, long enough for me to start thinking that I had made a terrible mistake.
Then I heard the first imposing footfall. Spiked heel on wooden floor. Then another one, and another, until the clicking rhythm began to grow louder as the footsteps drew nearer. If it was meant to intimidate men, then it certainly worked on me too. I carried on staring ahead, looking into the mirror, until I saw a female shape moving faintly in the shadows.
When Linda emerged, it was the same woman whose authoritative stare stood out so vividly in her site photos, only now she was real, she was just a few feet away from me and getting closer. She was dressed in black knee-high leather boots that easily made her taller than me, and a tight leather basque tied down the front that absolutely clung to her body, emphasising every curve. She had the figure of a mature woman, but she looked so strong in this outfit, her creamy white thighs powerful and well-defined, her breasts jutting outwards. And on her face she wore a cool, sadistic smile that couldn’t have been more different from the warm, friendly one she’d offered me on the other side of that door.
In her hand she carried a cane which she rubbed against her other gloved palm, and it was the light touch of that cane on my rib that I felt first of all, followed by her delicate, probing hands as she walked around me in a circle, inspecting what she’d been presented with. They were velvet gloves, and the feeling on my skin was exquisite. But what happened next was another terrible miscalculation on my part.
“So, you’re the girl I have to work with today,” Linda said softly. “The girl who needs disciplining. I can see that’s what you need.” There was nothing wrong with what she said, it was the kind of thing I’d expected, but for that very reason it felt so rehearsed and contrived. No wonder Stuart had found the whole experience under whelming. I let out a snide little giggle.
“Is there something funny about what I said?” she asked coldly, still holding her cane imperiously in her hand.
“No, no… it’s just that… well, it’s all a bit silly, isn’t it?” I ventured, seemingly determined to ruin the atmosphere she was trying to generate. I had no business being there in the first place if I wasn’t going to bother, but now that I could see what it was all about it did seem a little… silly, and I told her as much, digging myself a bigger hole in the process. “I mean, you can get men to bow down before you by wearing these outfits, but it’s all a bit of an act in the end, isn’t it?”
Linda regarded me with a sassy, pouting face, tapping her cane against her thigh, to me confirming everything that I’d just said. She looked like a man-fantasy caricature. I thought for a moment that she was just going to stay like that permanently. Then, with a polite cough down at the floor, she took one step forward and looked me square in the face.
“Where the fuck does a little bitch like you get off speaking to me like that?”
I was struck dumb by the force of her words and the intensity on her face, and that moment of hesitancy was all she needed to take control of me. “Get down on your fucking knees now, and stay there,” she hissed. “On your knees!” It was as though I’d been slapped; I obeyed at once, and as I felt the cold wooden floorboards on my legs, the only idiotic thought that ran through my mind was, This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Linda knelt down beside me, grabbed me by the shoulders and flung me forwards until I was lying down flat, my face pressed against the floor; I had only just recovered from the shock when I felt her breath on my ear and her head was right there beside me. “We’re going to have to teach you some manners, aren’t we?” she said in a haughty voice.
“I… I’m sorry…” I tried to say, but she was having none of it.
“Oh sure, someone makes you shut that big running mouth of yours and now you’re sorry. Somehow I doubt that. You will be sorry in due course, I promise you that, but it’s going to take some time. And some effort on your part.” She was in a rage that I really couldn’t tell was real or manufactured; maybe a more experienced person would have been able to tell.
Linda grabbed a handful of my hair and tugged at it, enough to make me wince. “How can you begin to be sorry when you can’t even address me properly?”
“I’m sorry, mistress,” I murmured unconvincingly.
She shook her head dismissively. “Try again,” she said, with another tug at my hair. “I do have a name, you know.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress Linda.”
“Good. You can simply call me Mistress from now on, but I’m glad you remembered my name. Your name is whatever I decide it is, and nothing complimentary comes to mind at the moment.” She started to run her hands along my body, displaying a tenderness that was completely at odds with what she’d just said. I shuddered, and my breathing quickened, as she rubbed down the small of my back and brushed her fingers over the waistband of my panties, massaging my hips.
“You have a very nice figure, you know. Very nice indeed. Your skin is lovely and soft. Don’t you think?” Her hand squeezed the back of my neck. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I gasped in fear.
She leaned towards my ear once again. “It’s a pity it’s going to have to undergo some punishment, then,” she said in a gleeful whisper.
Before I knew what was happening my bra was undone and being ripped off my shoulders, and a moment later my panties were around my ankles and then off. Squealing, I put my arms over my chest and tried to fold myself up into a protective ball, my private parts hidden from sight. Linda grabbed me by the elbows and pinned my arms behind my back as I lay on my side flailing helplessly, then straddled me and pushed my knees down with her right leg so that I was completely exposed to her. “My, you are a difficult one, aren’t you?” she said as though I were a teething child.
She stood up, hauling me to my feet in front of her. With my arms still locked in her vice-like grip, she shuffled me over to the far wall, where she grabbed a pair of handcuffs from a small shelf. Seconds later they were snapped securely around my wrists and my arms were held in position; no chance of me escaping. “There, that’s better,” Linda announced happily. She walked me across to face the mirror, and pressed her face against my shoulder as I saw my reflection. “Yep, I’m no fashion designer but that’s basically the look I was aiming for,” she beamed.