Learning to Walk the Walk

ina interrupted our giggles by entering and asking what I'd brought to wear. I gave her a strange look, reminding her that I was only there to observe. I had assumed that I'd be watching on the monitors, but she explained that I had to watch from within the room. She rummaged through another of her magic bags and produced three or four outfits that, together, bunched easily into one of her small hands. She told me to pick one and put it on, and then promptly left the room again.

I looked at the collection of ensembles and decided on the most relatively conservative combination. The only option that wasn't a G-string was a brown pair of stretch velour hot pants and a matching cropped tank top. I was feeling very nervous about the situation—almost coerced—but the threat of food stamps nagged at the back of my mind, while the fifty thou dangled in front of me like the proverbial carrot.

I took a deep breath and surveyed my nearly-naked self in the mirror. Actually, the outfit looked kick ass with my boots, and I may have felt like a brazen club kid were it not for my roiling gut.

I put my jeans and jacket on over the costume—not an easy feet with the boots on, mind you—and went out into the lobby to wait while the receptionist unlocked the door leading to the basement rooms. Immediately I was accosted by a moldy, underground stench that seemed unequivocally appropriate for a dungeon. Tangibly intertwined with the stink was the heavy scent of sweet incense. I descended the dark staircase, which, despite these smells, looked as if it could lead to any family's recreation room.

At the bottom, a large hallway led to a small area that looked like it was set up for lectures. A cheap podium and an assemblage of folding chairs accompanied a dry-erase board, complete with a generic message regarding a meeting. Tina had explained earlier that the dungeon masqueraded as a space for acting workshops whenever maintenance people needed to visit in order to protect clients' privacy.

Three doors lined the right side of the hallway. Tina instructed me to leave my street clothes on an old overstuffed chair set between two of them. Reminding myself of my college acting days, I attempted to get into character before I took my clothes off to meet some stranger. I wrestled with my jeans to pull them off over my boots, suddenly aware of being half naked in this stinky Chicago basement on a moldy, garage-sale chair, with a pant-leg comically hanging off one ankle. What the hell was I doing? I couldn't believe what I was about to subject myself to just to pay the fucking rent.

Meeting (and Beating) Client #1

ina's voice sounded odd and throaty when she asked who was at the door. I murmured my name, and she opened the door to a scene that shocked me, despite an attempt to steel myself. There, laid out before me, was an attractive, well-built blonde man in his mid-to-late twenties with his bare buttocks resting on a folding chair. His ankles had been spread and shackled to a steel bar raised to the height of my chest. This position left him uncomfortably perched on the cold metal chair, genitals vulnerable and totally exposed.

My eyes were involuntarily drawn to his erect penis, and I remember detachedly thinking that its head was an almost perfect heart shape. This odd observation startled me, and I drew my eyes to the man's face. He leered at me, insolence from a slave to a mistress, and looked as if he had triumphed somehow by catching me looking.

Tina immediately asked him what he was smiling at, and told him to behave. He responded "Yes, Mistress Fire," and appeared dutifully remorseful. Tina now sounded very different, and her entire carriage and manner were slower and more purposeful. She had metamorphosed from a strange little mouse into a calculating, sinewy snake in moments. She slunk around the room preparing candles and equipment, and I noticed that her dowdy grey dress had covered a leather G-string, garter, and an odd criss-crossed leather thong contraption that substituted for a bra.

I was almost frightened by her demeanor as she nonchalantly suggested over one shoulder that the client needed to be respectful to Mistress Heather, as I could do all sorts of nasty things to him. And, she continued, wasn't he a lucky boy to have the two of us there? Of course, he responded, "yes, Mistress," and drew his eyes down respectfully to contemplate his penis.

Mistress Fire, now fully transformed, gave a deep, spooky, throaty, laugh—bad seventies horror-movie style. It was unbelievableand silly, yet chilling in the truest sense. I felt goose bumps in addition to my still-twisting insides. She walked over to the man slowly, shielding a candle with her hand, and asked him if he was ready. After his whispered acquiescence, she knelt down to place the candle next to her on the floor, which brought her face inches from his penis. She moaned in what sounded like pleasure, and asked me "don't you think his balls are pretty?"

I peered around his leg, and saw that she'd taken one of her leather thongs and tied his testicles tightly together. Mistress Fire moaned again, and grabbed one of the hanging leather ends with her teeth and tugged gently. The slave moaned in response, and looked to me expectantly. I had no idea of what he expected, and looked for a chair from which to observe as discreetly as possible. There were none, though, save the one from which the man was leering at me, so I leaned against the door with my arms crossed over my chest, and tried to appear as if this were a commonplace scene for me.

Mistress Fire asked if I'd please help her with the naughty slave by attaching miniature clothespins to his nipples. I was a bit confused, but felt I had no recourse. I attached them, again feeling the man's expectant look. I stared him straight in the eyes, trying to keep the vulnerability I felt from manifesting itself in my demeanor. I moved behind him, which allowed me to both have a better view of Mistress Fire and to avoid his glance.

The dominatrix picked up the candle and held it menacingly over the slave's genitals. She asked me if I thought he'd enjoy a little candle wax; I had no choice but to offer an "oh, yes." He took a deep, anticipatory breath of pleasure, and she turned the candlestick on its side, allowing the wax to drip down. His back arched in pain, and he shuddered while saying "red light," which meant that the pain was too intense to be pleasurable.

Mistress Fire pouted and asked if he was sure he couldn't handle it. He nodded, and she lifted the candle higher so that the next dose of wax would be cooler when it hit his skin. This time, he arched in pleasure and craned his head back to look piercingly at me as he licked his lips appreciatively.

She asked me to gently stroke the slave's nipples as she applied more wax. I felt glimmers of shame seeping into my resolve, but again felt as though I had no choice but to go through with what I had begun. I leaned over to touch the unknown man. Again, he craned his neck to stare at me, a gloss covering his eyes. I stroked his nipples, feeling unsure and dirty, but somewhat removed from myself. The dominatrix asked me to come around and hold the candle while she readied his next torture. I apparently held it too close, because the client cried out "red light" again two more times before he showed his pleasure.

Mistress Fire unshackled the man's ankles, and ordered him to a contraption they called the horse—a modified carpentry horse with a large, round log as the middle piece. She demanded that the client lean over the horse with his wrists reaching almost to the floor on the other side, and asked me to help her tie him to it. Because she was fastening his ankles, I was forced to tie his wrists, which meant that I had to kneel in front of him and feel once again the piercing gaze. I met it again, refusing to allow this man to make me feel more embarrassed. In retaliation for his challenge, I secured his wrists more tightly than necessary.

I stood, ready to remove myself from his line of vision, when Mistress Flame handed me a long leather thong and asked me to tie up his "cock-and-balls" again, since he'd liked it so much before.

I considered walking out, but realized that it would give the splayed jerk great satisfaction to have scared me off. This was all a game, anyway—a role play—and I refused to allow the arrogant client to win. While his gaze had initially made me want to flee, it now became the fuel that kept me going. I would remove the smartass look from his eyes and replace it with one of fear.

I roughly tied his genitals with the thong, tugging harder than necessary for his enjoyment and making sure not to actually touch him with my hands. I began to improvise, fastening the thong to the leg of the horse, ensuring that if he moved too much, he would be responsible for the pain it caused.

I then glared into his eyes, daring him to cross me again. I felt in character, and decided that if I was going to have to be a part of the scenario, I was certainly not going to be vulnerable to this pathetic being. I stared him down, putting my face close to his with what felt like a menacing smile, and yanked once at the thong attached at the horse. He yelped, and I smiled in satisfaction and raised myself to tower over him, close but not touching.

Mistress Fire grinned at me over his back and pulled out a paddle. I stepped around the horse to watch as she hit him hard once on his ass, leaving an obvious red mark. He cried out in surprise, and she rubbed where she'd smacked him. When she felt she had soothed him, she drew back the paddle again and it landed with a loud thud and a shriek of "red light" from the client. She twisted around so he could see her displeased look, and asked him why he was so fragile that day. He shrugged, but made no reply.

She smacked him hard one last time for good measure while still leaning over to observe his face. I saw his muscles tense and the skin on his buttocks reddening even more, but he made no protest. She stood up resolutely then, and put the paddle down, announcing that it was obviously time for "anal training."

At this point, I was so in character that I didn't even blanch when she asked me to hand her a small dildo out of the bag. I actually was kind of enjoying it at this point; I wanted the arrogant man to be humiliated for the way he had made me feel. Besides, it was what he had paid for. I wasn't getting any erotic satisfaction out of the game, but for the sake of retribution, quickly covered the dildo with a condom and handed it to her. Over her shoulder she asked that I go back upstairs and ask another mistress to find the wand for her. We were not quite out of ideas yet for our client.

I stepped out the door and was reassaulted by the basement stench. I quickly threw on my street clothes and cracked the door at the top of the stairs and called to the woman at the desk to bring me the requested equipment. She returned with an ominous-looking black case about the same size and shape as those which hold pool cues.

When I returned, Mistress fire had returned the client to the metal chair and was lowering the shackled bar with a mechanism that made an ominous industrial sound as it was lowered from the ceiling. She shackled him quickly and reached out for the case. I glared challengingly at the client as I handed it to her, not giving him a second to regain the upper hand. Mistress Fire pulled a black shaft out of the case, about twelve inches long, with a clear shallow glass cup attached at one end, and a cord attached to the other. When she plugged the cord into the wall, the cup came alive with a throbbing purple light and an intimidating electrical buzz. The client jumped visibly, and Mistress Fire and I smiled.

Though it's difficult to admit, I was enjoying his stricken look more than perhaps I should have. Mistress Fire must have sensed this, and handed the wand over to me, allowing the cold rubber cord to brush against his genitals. He again arched his back and shuddered in obvious pleasure, laced with fear. His eyes now held the look I'd wanted as I towered menacingly over him, brandishing this truly terrifying instrument. I reveled in the feeling of power for a minute before recognizing my own fear that this could possibly really hurt him.

Mistress Fire cooed to him that it wouldn't hurt him too much; it would just give a nice little shock "right where it feels the best." I took her word for it and waved it menacingly for a moment, and then applied it to the underside of his testicles.

The client jumped violently, slammed his back against the metal chair, and gave a loud cry. He did not, however, call out the code word, so I applied the wand once again, this time running it up his thigh until it met his genitals. He cried out in genuine pleasure, and I saw a pearl appear at the opening of his penis. He looked at me as I applied the wand a third time, and this time his gaze held none of the arrogance, but instead, complete submission.

As I heard Mistress Fire say that it was time for the session to end, I knew I'd beat him. We put away the wand and unshackled his hands to allow him to touch himself. As he stroked himself to orgasm, I watched him with a gaze he could not meet. I felt a very cold detachment towards his shudders of pleasure. When done, hurried and embarrassed, he quickly dressed, my eyes following his every movement. I felt an odd sense of accomplishment.

As she cleaned up the instruments and room after the client left, Tina asked what I thought. I answered that I wasn't sure, as it was definitely different from any experience I'd ever had. She smiled and assured me that I'd make a wonderful dominatrix, and once again squealed how much fun I'd have with the job. While I was still feeling shaken, I could now sort of see what she meant.

We returned to the lounge, where Tina told me to wait to join Mistress Lisette for another training session. I sank into one of the overstuffed couches with my reading material and pretended to read while my thoughts raced. I was no longer being accosted by glimmers of shame, but instead felt I was part of a new reality.

I thought to myself that I could leave now, but after the session had turned out the way it had, I wasn't sure I still felt the need to. While I had been a victim of sorts, coerced into behavior I hadn't been prepared for, I had made a sort of triumph out of it. I was confused by my conflicting feelings. I knew I could be good at the job, and had lost myself in the game while in the room. I'd held way more taxing jobs in the past. Remembering the health insurance, and the time that the nine-to-five hours would give me to be with my son, I decided to make it through the rest of the day and see how I felt that night.

Getting in Deeper with Client #2

oon after coming to this decision, a beautiful woman walked in the door, smiled at me and introduced herself as Lisette. She had a dark complexion, long hair, beautiful eyes, an open demeanor, and a voluptuous figure that her dress hugged at every curve. She asked what I thought of the job so far. When I told her I still wasn't sure, she smiled knowingly and said that it really was fun once you got used to it.

She said that we had a great client waiting for us, and that she had to get her costume on. She rifled through her bag, pulling out an endless array of black in all different textures—vinyl, lace, fishnet, cotton, and leather. She chose a few and excused herself to the restroom off of the lounge to prepare.

When Mistress Lisette opened the door again, I felt an involuntary intake of breath. She was wearing fishnet stockings under a pair of skintight black vinyl hot pants with a matching vinyl halter-top. A pair of the most daunting platform heels I'd ever seen were on her feet, adding at least six more inches to her already tall stature and simultaneously forcing her ample buttocks skyward. She looked absolutely amazing and I felt decidedly mousy and pale, with my light coloring and brown velour getup. She through her dress over her costume and checked the mirror briefly, running a hand through her hair, and then asked if I was ready.

Once again I descended into the dungeon. Outside of door # 2, Lisette asked me to wait while she checked with the client to make sure it was okay that I come in. When I entered five minutes later, I saw a young man stretched out nude on the carpeted floor, peering up at me from in between Lisette's thighs. The walls were covered with a crude mural which attempted to give one the feel of being in a dark forest.

Mistress Lisette was raised imperiously on her high heels over the man, the crotch of her hot pants just inches from the man's face and he was laid under her, stroking his considerable erection while looking at her.

Mistress Lisette made introductions. She explained that our client was actually a very bad boy. "You see," she said, "he's engaged to my sister, who also works here, and he's popped in on her day off, because all he can think about is me. Isn't that right?" She gently stroked his face, and he silently nodded, his eyes wide. She asked him a series of questions about his thoughts about her and her sister, and each time he told her in a Scottish accent how much he wanted her. She giggled and called him her Scottish little boy, and asked him if he had learned any Spanish from her sister. They began speaking in Spanish, and although I could only understand a little, I knew they were discussing me.

Mistress Lisette told me that the client felt a bit uncomfortable with me just sitting and watching. She had been truly holding my attention, so I was surprised to look down and realize that the man was losing his erection. He had asked her if I could touch myself with his belt while he watched. Because she had aroused me, I truly didn't mind touching myself, although for a second I realized that Jay was probably also watching from the monitors in his office. I put the thought out of my head and gently tapped his belt against the velour covering me between my legs.

They resumed their talk, but it was apparent that he was distracted, and her attempts to excite him by talking dirty only embarrassed him. He sat up, and when he asked her to play with me, there was no trace of an accent at all. She looked at me questioningly, and I responded with a slight nod, actually very excited at the prospect. Mistress Lisette came and stood before me, pulled me from my chair, and turned me to face the client, positioning herself behind me. She began stroking my hair, commenting on how beautiful and soft it was. Her hands moved to my hips, and then she wrapped her arms around me and rubbed the sides of my stomach. She commented on how good I smelled, then asked if my carpet matched my drapes.

Confused, I pictured my apartment and told her I didn't have any drapes. Too late, I realized what she had meant and allowed her to think I meant I was shaved. This gave the dominatrix material to continue with, and she gushed about how she loved to go down on a shaved pussy. I felt myself cringe at her word choice, but played along for the client when she asked me how I enjoyed going down on women.

I looked over at him, now in the chair I had recently vacated, and saw his erection had returned. Mistress Lisette then took me over to a closet that she opened, revealing a giant wooden X in its recesses. She faced me against it and placed each arm high up on the wooden planks, asking my permission in a whisper. I again discreetly nodded and gripped the tops of the planks with my hands, then, after she prodded with her foot, spread my feet to meet the bottom of the X. She ran her hands up and down my body, caressing my ass and cooing how wonderful it was to the client.

She told him again how badly she wanted me, then told me she had a date with her boyfriend that night that she'd cancel if I wanted to come over and play. Despite the stirrings I was feeling, I assured myself I was only playing along for the client, and joined her in the talk of what we'd do to one another and how we'd enjoy it.

I heard an obvious sigh from the corner, and turned my head to see that the client was thoroughly enjoying himself. He asked Lisette to hand him a towel. She obliged, and for the second time that day, I watched as a total stranger brought himself to a shuddering orgasm in front of me.

Again, I was amazed at the detachment I felt as his body tensed and relaxed. I remember, too, noticing the shape of his penis objectively and wondering at my reaction. While Mistress Lisette had definitely aroused me, watching this man pleasure himself brought nothing but the realization that the session was over. I found this especially odd because, in my private life, watching my partner bring himself to orgasm really excites me.

I left the session feeling very confused by my reactions, both in relation to these anonymous men and in relation to Mistress Lisette, who had made me insane with wanting her to do what she had described. I felt dazed when I reentered the lounge, and considered calling it a day when Lisette burst back in, saying that we had a VIP session.

Moving on Up with Client #3