Fifty Shades of Domination - My True Story (22 page)

And one activity proved especially popular as time went by and my stock of clothing grew: more and more men wanted to turn into women.

CHAPTER 21

ALL GIRLS TOGETHER…

T
he female slave sitting patiently, tightly bound in ropes, in the corner of my room had gone to great lengths to dress to impress. An expensive designer dress was teamed with sheer, seamed stockings and an equally expensive pair of high-heeled shoes which perfectly complemented the small clutch handbag. The make-up, the eye-liner, the mascara and the lipstick were all almost perfect. Perhaps the only things out of place were the full, dark, beard and moustache and the unmistakably masculine voice as ‘she’ complained periodically that the ropes were too tight.

‘Shut-up, Theresa,’ I instructed. ‘You spoil the fun by talking. Just sit there and suffer.’

Theresa, one of the first transvestite cross-dressers I played with in the early days of my career, was a very pleasant, 40-year-old, married businessman I’ll call Terry. He’d booked my
services several times to be dominated and humiliated before finally feeling comfortable enough with me to confess that he wanted to be dressed-up as a woman. From that point onwards he changed from Terry to Theresa. He would wear female lingerie and together we gradually accumulated a full wardrobe of women’s clothing to suit his new gender assignment in our sessions. He became one of my first ‘personal slaves’, a privileged position in which he would still pay for sessions with me but would also be treated, once in a while, as a ‘sub’ on whom I could experiment with new techniques that I wanted to try out before unleashing them on my other paying clientele. It meant that Theresa was often hanging around the dungeon for hours – sometimes literally hanging around, as he was suspended in full ‘en femme’ costume – waiting whilst I dealt with other clients.

In his day-job, Terry ran a successful double-glazing business, managing a staff of scores of people in a factory that supplied sealed window units to some of the biggest housebuilders in the country. As Theresa, his life was very different. He did all of my basic domestic chores: cleaning, tidying, polishing and taking care of the dungeon equipment as well as fetching and carrying anything I might need to keep me happy and contented. I would never chat to him as though he was a friend, because our game demanded that he stay in a submissive role whenever he was with me. Sometimes he would just sit silently in the corner waiting to be used and at other times I would try out something new that was suitably painful or humiliating. He was in his usual place in the corner on the day that I decided to spice up his life, and mine, with a little enforced bi-sexuality.

Even at that early stage of my career, I’d been asked many times for ‘forced-bi’ activities but was not really sure what to do. I was very inexperienced and there was nobody I could ask about it. I wasn’t even sure if forced-bi had to involve penetration, or if mere oral sex would suffice. Some of my submissive, male clients would say, ‘Oh, I would love to be strapped down and raped by a man’ – but I had no men who wanted to do the fucking. Without an active participant I was never sure if making a man suck another man’s penis would count. In the end it was actually just a case of saying to myself, ‘Oh bugger it, I’ll give it a go and see what happens.’

Although Terry/Theresa, like many men, enjoyed being made to dress in women’s clothing I knew that he did not consider himself to be gay or bisexual and that he had no desire whatsoever for any sexual contact with other males. On this day I had another slave strapped down and helpless in the next room and so I began teasing Theresa that I was going to make him/her do new and dreadfully humiliating things. She looked more and more nervous but I told her she had a clear choice: do everything I demanded ‘however humiliating, however demeaning’ or leave the dungeon and never return. I was gambling on the fact that she was so addicted to our sessions that she would go along with anything rather than face her ultimate fear of being banished forever.

So I led Theresa into the next room where the other slave was already bound naked and blindfolded to my bondage bench. In my most authoritative voice, I ordered Theresa to kneel between my other sub’s legs. ‘Now, lick his balls,’ I commanded. There was a delicious moment of silence and stillness as my words sank in. I knew that Terry, a married man
who thought of himself as totally heterosexual, was struggling to come to terms with this new bisexual role I had demanded of Theresa. The thought was strangely sexually arousing for me because it was a true test of how much power I now had over this man. Could I overcome his own ingrained sexual programming to do something he truly did not want to do? It was doubly exciting because I knew that his passive and unwilling ‘partner’ in this game was also strictly heterosexual and would not want to have a man’s tongue anywhere near his genitalia. The problem for him was that he was in no position whatsoever to object.

Needless to say, Theresa duly leaned forward and started licking; the fear of displeasing me was greater than her fear of performing an overtly homosexual act. The initial, tentative few licks soon developed, on my explicit instructions, into performing full-blown oral sex and I found that I was getting really excited as, for the first time, I watched two men together. I could see that both guys were getting a kick out of what was happening, even though it was the last thing that either of them really wanted. Neither of the men liked it and yet their bodies were betraying them with clear signs of sexual arousal. It was a new and exciting experience for both of them and that made it hugely exciting for me. I was enjoying it because they were
not
enjoying it; my excitement stemmed from the power trip of making two men do things they didn’t want to do. I was the puppet-master pulling all their strings. Could that perhaps be the mark of a true dominatrix?

As it transpired, the session was a great success. We were all excited by trying something new and the two guys both clearly got off on it. Even better for me, the fact that they had
been excited blew both of their minds as they calmed down at the end of the afternoon. What more could a good Mistress ask for?

Such power trips at that early stage of my career sum up what has since become my ethos in all of my sessions. I get a thrill if I know that the person isn’t enjoying what I am making them do, but is still getting a kick out of it. It doesn’t have to be true in every session because we are all so different from one another, but I still get a buzz from pushing limits and showing my clients things that they never believed they would be able to accept.

The sexual kicks I was experiencing from dominating men in this way made me even more determined to develop my skills as a dominatrix and to build up my business. My own sexual tastes weren’t something that I could talk about with anyone; I don’t think any of the girls I was friends with would have understood the thrill I was getting. Their own sex lives seemed so tame in comparison to mine. The whole concept of domination and submission was something that was barely talked about at that time and I was sure that the games I was playing were different from anything my friends might have experienced. It was just not something I could discuss.

I was also in a gentle, vanilla relationship with my then boyfriend; just straight sex with none of the domme games I was playing at work. It was creating a kind of split personality for me because I was getting all kinds of frolicky fun which I liked – but none of it was on offer at home. Even at the time I recognised that I was doing what a lot of my clients do now: compartmentalising different parts of my life and not allowing
what happens in one segment to affect the other. Even more surprisingly, and although I didn’t know it at the time, I would eventually go on to get caught up in a second, extremely vanilla relationship as well: all despite my recognising early on that my sexual desires were being neglected in my private life. The fun I was finding at work reinforced that feeling every day. I underwent a remarkable transformation with a month or two of having opened my dungeon for business: I was far happier, more content and less stressed than I had been in my previous ‘straight’ employment with the film company. I’d even lost a lot of weight that I’d piled on when dragging myself off to a job I hated each day. I knew I was looking good – and most men seemed to agree.

There was a huge contrast between the type of ‘A/B’ demographic men I was meeting each day – the movers and the shakers whose characters always seemed to have more than one dimension – and the far more simplistic guy I was living with at home. That may be one of the reasons why I devoted so much of my time and energy to building up the business. I was greatly enjoying my work and I was attracting people who seemed to share my tastes. I wanted to learn everything I could learn and cater for everything that interested me, and ignore the stuff that I didn’t. I love rubber and found that I was drawing people into rubber sessions because that was one of my special interests.

Ultimately I believe that the reason I was successful is that to me this is not a job; I have never felt that this is a job. It’s true that there are a few aspects that are like any other job: yes I have to keep accounts and I have to do paperwork, but I
never feel the way that I did in any of the ‘straight’ jobs I’ve ever been involved in. In those situations there were times when I looked at the clock and thought: ‘Oh God, is that the time, I have to get to work now.’

Once I had my dungeon I realised that I was having the time of my life doing what I was doing. It is still the same today: I love work and if I spend more than a week away from my office I start to miss it and want to get back. Ultimately, no matter what job you do, you have to enjoy it for the sake of your happiness and mental stability.

I was developing other new skills as well, skills which have stood me in good stead ever since. I was learning to filter out those guys whose needs were not compatible with the games I wanted to play. They are few and far between but there are some domination games from which I get no kick whatsoever. The men who want to be ‘adult babies’ are a case in point. I have nothing against them wanting to revert to babyhood but I always turn down such requests. I’ve no interest in babies – adult or otherwise. I tell them that there are plenty of other Mistresses out there on the internet who will be delighted to look after their needs. It’s just not for me.

One man many years ago begged and insisted that he wanted to try watersports. The ability to piss for England being one of my many talents, I was happy to oblige. I duly tied him up and gave him the treatment he requested, at which point he went nuts, shouting and screaming and demanding to be set free. He stomped away angry that I had provided the very service he had begged to receive. As the Americans say: ‘Go figure.’ In fact, most of my clients adore being peed on. The gleaming, stainless-steel toilet box in the
corner of my dungeon gets well used to dispense my special brand of ‘house champagne’ and I have long-mastered the art of dripping it, drop by drop from a syringe, into a bound slave’s mouth so that he can swallow slowly without choking… unless I want him to, of course.

Remarkably few men or women clients through the years have been a problem. Very occasionally the odd guy may be seeking services I don’t want to offer. They may mistakenly believe that I run an adult massage service or that I am offering the chance for them to have sexual contact with me. I usually pick this up in the initial vetting process by phone or email and I’m always very honest: ‘Sorry, I think that I am not quite the one you are looking for.’ Even more rarely people slip through the net and come in for a session where I think, ‘Oh that really didn’t work at all, for either of us.’ Then I’ll simply say: ‘I don’t think our sessions are compatible; I’m sure you will find another Mistress out there.’ Most clients, however, soon became regulars. I’d even say that anyone who comes to see me eventually becomes a regular, if they can. The desire always seems to be there; it depends on how far away they live and how often they can slip away from their normal lives to visit my premises.

With the exception of the lack of romance and my preferred sex at home, things were going well in my life. I was happy in my work, my reputation was growing, the clients kept on coming, the money kept rolling in and I was indulging my passions for ever-more innovative and exciting BDSM equipment for my little dungeon. For a couple of years I still kept my eye open for another ‘normal’ job that might lead to a ‘normal’ career. I had applied to join a journalism course and
had the vague idea that a job as a reporter, or a press officer, might be interesting, but the only available start date was a year ahead. By then, another year had passed and it had become harder to give up my established life and my business. I had financial commitments and overheads that a trainee journalist’s salary would never have covered. The time never seemed quite right for me to jump ship and start all over again. The truth is, I didn’t really want to, I was enjoying my life, there were no problems on the horizon and I was quite proud of myself.

As they say, however: ‘Pride comes before a fall.’

I don’t know it then, but dark clouds were already looming large on my horizon. I was about to lose those I loved most in the world and my secret life would soon be secret no more: my life was about to implode.

CHAPTER 22

AN ANNUS HORRIBILIS