Fifty Shades of Domination - My True Story (29 page)

One of my favourite clients, a regular visitor to see me in London, was based just a few miles away in the pressure-cooker environment of Silicon Valley. Knowing that I was visiting the area, he had been begging for weeks for the chance to meet. It took just moments for me to call and arrange a special treat for my computer-geek friend. Within the hour he was standing naked in front of me in one of Serious Bondage’s extensively-equipped playrooms. Around us on the walls was a cornucopia of chains, manacles, hoods, cages and the astonishing range of elaborate equipment that appear in the company’s films. I, however, had been plotting for weeks to reduce my American slave to a submissive mind-state he had never experienced before. This particular client is extremely claustrophobic and had confessed to me months before that his greatest terror was of being buried alive: perhaps not the wisest phobia to be afflicted with in a city synonymous with earthquakes. It was a confession I had stored away for future use and had never forgotten. This night, I had decided, he was going in ‘the pit’.

In the centre of a wooden patio deck built out behind the film company’s studio is one of the prized possessions of the Serious Bondage crew: a concrete-lined, six-feet-long underground chamber with a heavy, foot-thick hatch that can be padlocked in place. Once shut it allows barely the tiniest chinks of light to filter through into the depths below. Still in the summer dress in which I had travelled out from London, I led my submissive onto the deck and showed him the hole. He was by now visibly shaking and begging that I should inflict any other punishment I wanted, if I would grant a reprieve from the horrors of a night
underground. Just for a moment I considered taking pity on the wretch and finding another game to play. But I had waited a long time to bring this slave truly to heel and no self-respecting bondage Mistress can ever go back on her word. I enlisted the help of Dalton, my Serious Bondage host, to fit a strait-jacket in place and then ordered my victim into the pit. He was soon chained to the shackles on the wall – a necessary precaution to foil any attempt he might make to touch his cock in the hours ahead. In the end I actually had to stand on his head to force him down far enough for the hatch to be lowered and locked into place. It meant his last sight of the open evening air was a clear view of my knickers as he stared up my skirt; a little sexy gift from me as a parting reward for his submission.

Now, the more attentive of my readers will have remembered my repeated assertions that sanity and safety are always at the forefront of my mind in every bondage session. From long experience I knew that leaving anyone bound, locked-up and alone is potentially deadly; it is something I have never countenanced over the years, even when clients have begged me for long-term lonely bondage. So as I left my slave’s muffled, frantic, begging pleas behind me and returned to the house, I was not truly abandoning him without the prospect of help if he needed to be freed. A hidden beauty of the pit is a night-vision camera and audio system that constantly monitors what is happening underground and provides a real-time visual and audio feed to computer screens in the building. In my somewhat jet-lagged state, I am not sure quite how long we did leave my Silicon Valley slave in his claustrophobic hell, but watching his panic build and listening
to his increasingly desperate pleas for help was an amusing end to what had been a busy, busy day.

The next day my hosts had provided other American slaves for me to torment on camera, and I had the world’s most kinky-friendly city in which to do it. One of the reasons for visiting San Francisco was the possibility of a level of public play not easily available in London. I am not sure that this most liberal of cities quite knew what had hit it over the following three days of Miss Miranda mayhem. Stopping the traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge, wheeling a strait-jacket bound and hooded slave along a busy road in public to a city-centre café, and riding the cable cars in full rubber-domination uniform – these were just some of the highlights of that USA trip. Day One started with me strapping my own travelling slave into a white canvas strait jacket, dressing him in fetching turquoise hospital pants and a heavy duty white canvas hood and then taking him out for a public outing to accompany me seeing the sights of San Francisco. I was not sure that even this laid-back town was ready for me in full rubber-nurse outfit wheeling my slave package across the famous Golden Gate Bridge on a luggage cart, but nobody complained. We did however have our pictures taken by a large number of locals and tourists. My shapely ‘tush’ (as they call an arse over there) barely covered by my mini-length, nurse’s outfit, did attract a lot of honking attention from a host of American truck drivers. Oh yes… and the bridge was a great sight too.

Next stop for my wheelie slave, tied upright onto my trolley, was the Aladdin’s Cave of the ‘Mr S Leather’ shop, one of the great bondage stores of the world. As you would expect
in this gay capital of San Francisco, most of my fellow shoppers were from the leather-biking community but they accepted this humble visiting British dominatrix warmly into the heart of their USA gay world. The assistants could not have been more helpful as I showed them my gagged slave, still tied to his trolley, and explained that I was badly in need of their best and biggest strap-on cock in order to complete the next stage of his treatment and training. And oh-boy, does Mr S have a good selection of strap-ons to choose from! I was spoiled for choice as I removed my slave’s blindfold so that he could appreciate the size of the dildo that was later going to stretch of posterior. I
think
he appreciated the gesture but it is never easy to be certain when he is mumbling and drooling through his canvas hood like that. Never being able to resist new devices for my teasing and tormenting games, I also had to pick up a unique double-gag that I knew would come in very handy on slave multi-days back home.

Finally it was back home to Serious Bondage for some truly serious, kinky fun with their extensive range of equipment. With the sun now dipping low on the patio deck I wanted to try out another unique feature of ‘The Hole’ and so I placed a slave inside with just his head – and only his head – left above ground to see the daylight fading. It is a surreal sight to see a disembodied head, seemingly detached from its owner, popping up through a head-sized hole in the middle of the patio floor. The pleading look in his eyes made me laugh so much that I almost wet myself. Well to be honest, I did wet myself in order to produce a full ‘golden shower’ of my special champagne, all over his face. I think the film that was shot of him trying to cope with being both scared and half-drowned
with the gushing flow is a classic that my club-site members will enjoy over and over again in the years to come.

The following day my hosts encouraged me to demonstrate the pleasures and delights of mummification, a very particular specialty in the bondage lexicon. I actually used my more than willing fiancé, Tony, for this sexy mummification scene. It turned into an intense and lengthy session, with roll after roll after roll of film and packing tape being used to turn him into a tightly-bound, and very happy, guy immovably fixed and buried deep under layer after layer of plastic, all stretched tight around a body-shaped frame in the open air. As the cameras rolled to record the entire event for posterity, I slowly wrapped each limb to ensure a perfectly symmetrical start and then taped a bondage helmet in place over his face. With Tony now utterly helpless and his head tightly wrapped apart from a carefully maintained air opening, I could feel him relaxing and enjoying the experience more with every passing second. By the time I was happy with the result, the grey metal finish resembled a giant suit of armour, with an artistically created band of red around his groin like a pair of Superman pants. It was a little touch of which I was especially proud.

That first filming trip to several American cities proved a great success. I made new contacts with a range of USA film-makers and bondage models, and was soon followed by another invitation to visit Los Angeles and Hollywood itself. My partner and I did all of the usual tourist essentials, including the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the famous Muscle Beach, before getting down to the serious business of making movies. The visit was notable for my first filming
sessions with one of the stars of American BDSM movies, the beautiful young masochist, Elise Graves. With her enthusiastic encouragement to really let my sadistic side loose on her body, I made Elise weep real tears of pain and sheer terror. The fiercest of clamps all over her body, endless breath control and the fact that I was laughing at her distress, all combined to send her close to the edge. I was quite proud of myself to see real fear in her eyes and real tears on her cheeks. I think what she may not have anticipated was that I was not only going to make it hard for her to breathe with a restrictive leather hood, I was also going to push some of my freshly-worn underwear under the hood to make her life even tougher. Elise loved every moment of her torment: what a thoughtful Mistress I am: too kind for my own good once again.

To balance that kindness, I determined to be a little more cruel than usual with the rest of her session. I had bought a vast number of strong white clips which attach easily to metal hooks and can therefore be strung out from the body in all sorts of fascinating and unusual ways. Batches of these clamps on the skin under her arms, on her breast and nipples and even stretching her pussy lips wide apart soon had the tears running down her face. Tightly strapped to a bondage board which I could swing at will, Elise reminded me of the old British wallpaper advert in which a man dangles helplessly, attached to a board. He couldn’t have been more helpless than Elise was as I played with her clitoral hood and repeatedly took away her air. I was having the time of my life torturing this beautiful girl and soon found myself laughing as she wriggled, pulling on her own nipples and crying out of control. The
more she cried, the happier she made me and soon I brought in the final straw to try and take her up to her limits. One of my American purchases was a magic wand vibrator that also delivers a sharp and painful electric shock if I push the right button. Many of my London slaves would be feeling its sting soon enough; now, however, I started stroking it across Elise’s body to induce a mix of pain and sexual pleasure that brought our session to a close

Any film shoot, whether for television broadcast or for an adult movie, is an expensive and time-consuming process. Using top-of-the-range professional cameras and the most skilled production personnel is essential to ensure the correct end result of which I can be proud. For me, the technical excellence is almost as important as the erotic bondage and BDSM content, perhaps a sign of how my life has gone full circle. When I was a 19-year-old student I wanted nothing more than to build a career in the television or film world. Now that’s happening to me 20 years later, from an unexpected direction, as I become the executive producer – and the onscreen star – of productions by my own video production company.

In this internet age, the television and film industries are evolving faster and faster by the day. On my last visit to Los Angeles I was involved in what I believe represents the future of the television industry throughout the world. I was the main guest on an hour-long television talk show, streamed across the web and watched by hundreds of thousands of viewers in the comfort of their own homes. From a tiny LA studio, the Extreme Restraints website transmits a series of
chat shows themed around heavy bondage and BDSM play. As the cameras rolled, I discussed my sexuality, my game-playing techniques and my love of fetish and bondage equipment, with the two presenters. Then, taking advantage of the artistic and sexual freedom of the USA internet-based show, I was able to demonstrate some of my bondage tastes upon the beautiful body of a naked, and very willing, model. Because this was a web-based programme, rather than a national broadcast show, it is truly an international event. Viewers could log in and watch for free from anywhere in the world, a fact well illustrated by the number of comments I received about my performance when I returned home to London. All in all, the trip was once again an unqualified success. It’s confirmed my belief that working more closely with American co-producers offers unrivalled opportunities for my own UK-based film business to expand.

In the words of one of Hollywood’s most memorable characters: ‘I’ll be back…’

CHAPTER 29

REFLECTIONS

I
’ve found that writing a book about oneself can be a fascinating voyage of self-discovery. I can thoroughly recommend the experience.

As I write what may be the last words of my story so far, I’m fast approaching my fortieth birthday, perhaps time for a little self-assessment of my life, my loves and my career. And yet, until now, I’ve never much looked back at my childhood and how it may have affected my life. A short while ago I heard a radio interview with the German-born artist Frank Auerbach who, as a child in the Second World War, lost both parents at an early age. The details of our two stories couldn’t be more different, yet his words struck a chord with me. I found myself admiring a philosophy which he explained more succinctly than I could ever have done. ‘I’m not given to self-analysis,’ he said. ‘It never strikes me as fruitful. Given this brief space
between life and death, I think the thing to do is to get on with it. It’s get on, or get out.’

So, given that I share his distaste of looking backwards, I’m surprised that this book has awakened so many half-forgotten memories of events which probably shaped me in ways I may never quite understand. Over time I’ve become thick-skinned about things which once stung me greatly. Might I have buried some memories as a psychological defence mechanism? Or am I now exaggerating the impact of events that didn’t truly matter at the time? Perhaps that’s a debate best left for others to judge.