Fifty Shades of Domination - My True Story (15 page)

What he did want was for me to criticise the size of his penis and compare it in the most unfavourable terms possible with the dildo cock collection he had prepared on the bed. ‘I want you to tell me my cock is too small,’ he haltingly explained, his voice mumbling into his boots and sounding as nervous as a kitten. I was, luckily, that day wearing high boots with high heels and so I was already towering over him as he nervously stammered out an explanation of his needs. ‘I want you to compare me with these dildoes and tell me that they are what women need, rather than someone small like me. I need you to humiliate me as much as you can.’ His demands were desperately light on detail because he could barely speak, either from excitement or fear. Little did he know, but he was probably talking to the only woman in London more nervous than him. My nervousness stemmed from the fact that I had never even considered such a scenario before. I’d always thought that you should big-up, rather than belittle, the size of a man’s penis. Outwardly I was oozing confidence but I wasn’t feeling confident at all. Could I do this without laughing or losing the plot? Well, I thought: ‘Let’s give it a whirl.’

I cannot tell you how much fun I had. I started slowly by making him strip naked in the middle of the tiny bedroom with its sole bedside cabinet, a mirror on the wall and a rack of ‘sexy’ uniforms all chained together. He obeyed instructions and just stood quietly whilst I walked around and around on
the tatty grey carpet staring at his genitals. Truth is, I can’t remember now, all these years later, whether or not he really
was
any smaller than average. After the first few thousand penises they all seem to merge into one. But I had no trouble in selecting suitable insults. ‘You weren’t exactly first in the queue when it came to handing out willies, were you?’ I sneered. ‘How could you possibly think that any woman would be interested in that? You can’t even make it hard, can you; it’s useless, absolutely fucking totally useless.’ As the session continued I was going into more and more graphic detail of how inadequate a man ‘Penfold’ was. At one point I tried measuring his flaccid cock in inches and estimating how tiny it really was. Then I picked up each dildo in turn form the bed and made him hold them against himself, laughingly pointing out that I was most definitely not comparing like with like here. Spotting that he was wearing a wedding ring, I got more and more personal. ‘Does your wife even know if you push it inside her?’ I asked. ‘She must still be a virgin. You’d never have broken her hymen with that thing. I bet she’s probably out right now fucking the milkman, or any man with a decent sized prick.’

I was absolutely loving every minute of the game and, amazing to see, he was clearly growing more and more excited the nastier my creative imagination became. I was being an actress because this was all completely alien to me. I’d never encountered this type of play before. My only personal interest was in fetish wear and bondage play with my boyfriend, and the idea of humiliation was a bit of a revelation because I found it quite exciting and something I could really be good at. Over the years since I’ve learned that it is the
‘feedback loop’ which creates my excitement As my client’s excitement mounts I get excited by the fact that I’ve excited him – if you see what I mean. I may not find what I am doing exciting per se, but the effect it has can be a major turn-on. I hadn’t thought so far ahead as to consider whether or not he might want to climax but, in the event, he showed no interest in any form of ‘relief’. I could have stayed there all day hurling out insults but in the end I thought I had best bring things to a close.

‘I can’t look at such a pathetic specimen anymore. It’s insulting that you could even dare show me something that small. Put it away
now
and get out of my sight.’ Then I sat on the bed with my back towards him whilst he stumbled around trying to get dressed. With his clothes back on, he regained a little of the dignity I had so effectively stripped away over the previous half-hour. The transformation was astounding; Penfold the submissive little cartoon creature vanished and a confident businessman emerged. Now it was my turn to be on the back foot as he asked me how much he owed for his session. I didn’t have a clue what to charge him. ‘I’ve not actually touched him, just give him all this verbal abuse,’ I thought, ‘I can’t charge him much.’ So I just said £30 – the first figure that popped into my head.

Considering the amount of time I had spent in the bedroom and the brothel’s normal range of fees, I had cocked-up (pun not intended) completely. Double that price might have been more appropriate. Unsurprisingly Penfold was delighted to settle his bill. ‘Thank you Mistress,’ he said, ‘a wonderful session, thank you so much. You’re the best Mistress I’ve ever seen.’ I may have undercharged, I may have been
inexperienced, but I’d had a bucket load of fun… and Penfold went away as happy as Larry.

I was happy too. I had just earned what for me was a lot of money with the greatest of ease and without even having to touch my first client. The other girls were impressed when I told them the story, not with the unusual kinkiness of his request but at the way that I had been able to dream up so many insults and keep the abuse flowing. ‘How can you do that,’ asked one of the women. ‘I could tell a man his dick was small, but not in enough ways to keep him paying for an hour.’ I wasn’t sure myself how I had done it; I had quite liked Penfold but it just came so naturally to humiliate and abuse him and obviously my creative juices must have been in full flow. It was a routine that was to be repeated many times, not always with small-cock insults but with a veritable smorgasbord mix of humiliation that could pour from my lips. I had to use a lot of creative imagination because I had precious little BDSM equipment with which to work. In the weeks to come, one of the other girls even asked to sit in a session and watch me in action. She said she wanted to learn my secrets – but in the end she decided to stick to safer sex.

The fact that none of the other women could handle the domination clients was an ideal opportunity for me. By then I knew what each of them would, or would not do and I knew that none of them would consider performing any sort of anal services on a man. Guys would ask all the time to have fingers stuck in their arses or would want the women to use a strap-on to fuck them. The girls all had a similar reaction: ‘I’m not doing that; I’m not touching them there.’ So I would constantly be taking phone calls asking for various anal games
and I would have to turn them away. I soon recognised that a common theme was developing.

One of the brothels in which I was answering the phones had one very small room that the girls never wanted to use because it didn’t have a proper bed. That was not the slightest problem for me because I had no intention of sleeping with anyone and no intention of letting men get close enough to lay me down and touch me. At some time in the past, a half-hearted attempt had been made to kit out this little room as an amateur dungeon. The walls and ceiling were painted matt black and there was an ultra-violet light in the ceiling. A bench sat on the floor and a wooden cross was fixed to the wall. If the working girls didn’t ever want to use it then I had to seize the initiative. I was still very much a student and all of this was really just for a bit of fun. But I had studied enough business theory to recognise that there was a market here, with needs that weren’t being met. Perhaps I could contribute to a much-needed supply?

I started on a small scale using the unloved room to deal with the submissive guys who called or turned up at the door. I saw some weird and wonderful people but found every one of them interesting and fun. I never tried to judge people and although much of what I was asked to do was way outside my own experience I tried hard to make them happy. There were some things that I wouldn’t do, not because I found them too strange, but because they were outside of my own limits. Even so, there were some memorable moments when even I found it hard to understand what pleasure it might bring to a client. One of the weirdest was the man who liked me to
stand on his head. At first I didn’t quite understand what he wanted me to do but then he lay down on the floor and explained it in detail. He wasn’t into boot worship, or a foot fetish, he didn’t want bondage or any form of sexual relief. He would come in and I would stand on his head in silence. Ten minutes later he would say, ‘Thank you, I’m quite happy, that’s fine’ before paying my minimum charge for one hour and then leaving.

Not all of the money was earned as easily as that, but soon I was getting enough business to think about buying some equipment of my own to help my fledgling enterprise to grow. I can still remember my first few purchases – in fact I’m pretty sure that some of them are still around my dungeon somewhere. I wanted something in rubber, something in leather and something in PVC. The solution was to get a rubber dress, a leather dress and some thigh-high PVC boots. I added a few smaller items such as some lockable wrist-cuffs and a pair of nipple clamps. I planned to use my new equipment in the brothels where I was maiding but also to start offering an entirely new service. I could do ‘outcalls’, taking my domination services into people’s homes. It meant that all of my clothing and equipment needed to fit into one small suitcase (which I also still have!).

This was to be the smallest mobile dungeon in the world.

CHAPTER 16

MY LITTLE CASE OF HORRORS

L
ooking back now on my time as a visiting dominatrix, I can see that it is one of the most scary things any young woman could do – taking a late-night trip alone to a hotel room, or to somebody’s private home, dressed up in sexy lingerie, rubber or leather wear and knowing that your customer is hungry for sexual excitement.

Although I always made it crystal clear that sex with me was
never
a part of the deal, there was the ever-present fear of not knowing precisely what situation I might be walking into. I was tall, fit and athletic and felt confident about looking after myself in most situations, but there was always the danger that more than one man might be waiting for me inside every room I entered. The job was certainly not for the faint-hearted and I soon developed my own regular ‘survival routine’ designed to keep as safe as possible and yet still allow me to earn my living.

That routine would start with the initial telephone call from somebody wanting to make a booking. By this second year of my life at university I was regularly placing advertisements in local newspapers and most of my clients found me that way. The adverts were very specific and aimed only at men seeking domination services rather than a ‘straight’ escort girl. Many of the women with whom I have become friends over the years have been escort girls, and I have nothing but respect for the tens of thousands of girls who practice the world’s oldest profession as working girl prostitutes. But I have always known that that lifestyle is not for me. By this stage of my life, my own sexual tastes were already clearly determined: I liked fetish wear, I liked dressing up in striking rubber or leather outfits, I liked being in charge, I liked, metaphorically-speaking, being ‘the one on top’, and dominating men or women was the way that my own sexual appetite could best be satisfied. Working as a prostitute and having to have submissive sex in any way that the man might have desired was the last thing in the world that would have interested me.

For all those reasons my advertisements were designed to appeal only to a particular class of clientele. They would usually say something like
DOMINATION
SERVICES
:
UNIFORMS
,
FETISH
-
WEAR
AND
FANTASY
or words to that effect and they worked better than I could possibly have imagined. My telephones rang off the hook with guys wanting to book my services because I was the only woman advertising domination work within my area.

I had long known that there were a lot of people who were excited by the thought of BDSM activity but the sheer scale
of the demand took me by surprise. I quickly developed a telephone answering routine which, with some modifications, has served me well to this day. The first essential when a client telephones me is to ensure that they are not making the call from a withheld number. I know that many men are nervous about allowing their number to be known in such circumstances, but we are about to enter into a two-way contract here and I need to know with whom I am doing business. The idea that a man might let a dominatrix have his telephone number and then be subject to some form of blackmail or harassment is the wildest form of media-induced paranoia. Quite apart from the fact that I have never wanted to cheat or steal from anyone in my entire life, there is the over-riding fact that I will want you to visit me again, and again, and again in the future. As with any other commercial concern, my success depends on making my customers happy enough that they want to return. I have always prided myself that almost everyone who ever comes to visit me comes back again to repeat the experience.

So, after weeding out those callers who had hidden their numbers, I would ask if my potential client had visited a Mistress before and what services he was seeking. The question can elicit a number of responses: some men stammer, stutter, mumble a few unintelligible words and then hang up. That may mean they were timewasters in the first place, getting their sexual kicks from the thrill of placing such a ‘naughty’ call and hearing a sexy woman’s voice on the telephone. Others may be genuine but so shy about discussing their secret fantasies that their courage fails them. That is OK with me; I am shy myself and know how hard it can be to open
up one’s secret life to another. In many cases my callers may be taking the first tentative steps towards fulfilling fantasies that have been the unspoken heart of their deepest sexual desires for a lifetime.