The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive (22 page)

    “This will be fine,” I said, and set my bag on the clean tiles of the bathroom floor. I had brought a variation on the outfit W wore — stockings, heels, and garter belt, as the first client wanted me to be essentially naked. While I changed, W filled me in on what we’d be doing.

    “You’re basically just going to be dealing with me. He wants us to pretend like he’s not even there. He’s a big punishment guy. He wants to see a female sub endure some pretty intense corporal for the first part of the session, and then you’ll leave and I’ll switch to punishing him.”

    I felt nervous when she first explained it to me. I hadn’t known that it was going to be a heavier session, and I hadn’t decided before then what kind of money I wanted for more intense scenes. Although it had never come up for me when I’d been working at the Dominion, I’d heard that subs were allowed to require an extra hundred dollars as a marking fee if they did heavy sessions there. Surely I could get more as an independent than the two hundred and fifty per hour I normally charged. I didn’t want to sound greedy, but I had to talk to W about it.

    “I generally accept a higher donation for heavy sessions,” I told her, as if it were something I already had a lot of experience with. “What’s the best way to, you know, deal with the money stuff with this guy?”

    “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. He’s unusually generous anyway. We never talk about money. He just hands me a wad of bills at the end, and it’s always way more than my normal fee. It’ll be the same for you,” she said.

    I wasn’t sure what to say to that. My feeling about W came from the fact that I’d trusted her pretty instantly when we’d first talked on the phone. She seemed to enjoy my sense of humor, and she talked to me like there was no such thing as one of us being a dominant and one a submissive, in sessions or anywhere else. Still, we were technically strangers, and the whole thing felt somewhat unnatural to me. I was used to handling my money a certain way. And I’d never even heard of letting a client pay whatever he wanted after the session was over, let alone considered such a thing myself. The buzzer rang before I could sort out what I wanted to say, and as W left to let the client in, I finished changing. She returned a few minutes later to get me, and I followed her down the hall with as open a mind as I could muster.

    “Come over here and get across my lap,” she ordered, sitting with her legs stretched in front of her on the large Persian rug in the middle of the room.

    There was a gurney-sized bondage table in one corner and a regular-sized couch against the nearest wall, close to the door. The client who sat on it and watched us was in full Orthodox Jewish regalia. W later told me he wasn’t one, but I forever after thought of him as
The Rabbi.

    “Why did I get here today to find unwashed dishes in the kitchen?” W demanded, holding me around the waist as I lay across her knees, my arms and legs on the floor on either side of her.

    “Um, I guess I forgot to do them before I left last night?” I improvised. It caught me a little off guard that we were doing a role-play, but it was easy enough to slip into.

    “You
guess?”

    W brought a slender hand down on my ass with a quick snap. It stung, but I could tell it was intentionally a warm-up slap, meant to look worse than it was so we could build up to a more intense level. It was easier on a person’s body than starting heavy to begin with.

    “No, I mean yes, I flat-out forgot to do them last night. I’m sorry.”

    I laughed when I said it, partly out of nervousness — I still didn’t know exactly where this was going — and partly because I was just happy.

    I considered myself genetically half-Catholic, having grown up in an atheist household, but with a father who had been devout until he was in college. I had always been fascinated with the stories my cousins on that side of the family would tell me about parochial school, where corporal punishment was allowed. God, how many times I had fantasized in my life about being in just this position, with some religious authority presiding over a spanking I probably didn’t even deserve. And The Rabbi was going to pay me for it? How could I not have laughed?

    “You’re obviously
not
sorry, but you will be,” W warned, and began spanking me at a continuous, methodical pace.

    She had a surprisingly hard hand. It felt more like being spanked by a lumberjack than by this slim blond goddess. She stopped after a few minutes, just as I was starting to get used to it.

    “I want you to pick out two different canes from the ones on those hooks over there.”

    She helped me up and pointed toward the far wall. They hung there from black iron hooks, in different sizes and shapes. Not yet having much experience with these things, I wasn’t sure which ones to grab. There was a thin one much like the cane Marcus had used on me that had felt so good, so I picked it up and held it under one arm while I considered the others.

    “I don’t have all day, and you’re making it worse the longer you stall!” W called out to me.

    I hurriedly picked the closest one to me, one similar to the other I held but twice as thick in diameter. I presented them to W and stood with my hands behind my back, hoping I was making a good impression on The Rabbi.

    “Get on your knees in front of the couch, and lean over with your elbows on the cushion so that your bottom is presented to me nicely.”

    I knelt down next to The Rabbi’s legs and positioned myself a few inches away from him. Because he was a somewhat sizable man, there wasn’t much room to leave between us and still be on the same couch. I figured W would tell me if I was too close to him, so I put my head down on the couch and waited.

    “You’re going to take six hard strokes with each of these, and you’re not going to move out of position or make an unseemly amount of noise while you’re taking your punishment. Is that understood?”

    “Yes, Mistress,” I said, no longer as lighthearted as I’d felt moments before.

    The sound of what she was planning to do excited me, but after getting a taste of that Popeye arm of hers with just the hand-spanking, I guessed the caning she was about to give me might hurt a great deal. I started taking slow, deep breaths.

    “We’ll try the thick one first. Raise your ass up a little more for me — good. Ready?”

    “I think so, Mistress,” I said, and felt my body tense.

    A second later, the thick cane drove a searing line of pain into my skin. I moaned, and felt something touch my hands. I’d pressed my face into the cushions to muffle myself in case the caning made me yell, and when I looked up I saw The Rabbi’s right hand covering both of mine. I hadn’t realized I was holding mine together like I was praying, and I was surprised by the tenderness of his gesture. His hand was pale, with hair down to his knuckles, and deep wrinkles visible up to his wrist where his arm disappeared into a long, dark sleeve. Up to that point I had simply imagined him as a cold, almost academic observer.

    The second stroke hurt as much if not more than the first, and that time I did scream into the cushions. The Rabbi took his hand from mine and placed it on the back of my head, slowly running his palm over my hair as I caught my breath before the caning continued. It was unexpectedly comforting, but I felt like I needed something more to help me through.

    “Mistress, may I please touch myself while you’re caning me?”

    It wasn’t necessarily that I was so turned on by it all, but I had learned, back in my days with T, that rubbing my clitoris could act as a sort of mild painkiller during certain torments. It wouldn’t have worked for getting a filling at the dentist’s office, but it had helped me not only endure but even enjoy some things that might otherwise have been pretty difficult. When W gave me the go-ahead, I slowly pulled my right hand out of The Rabbi’s grasp and slipped it between my legs.

    As W resumed caning me, the work of my right hand caused me to go from stiff anticipation of each stroke to nearly drooling immersion in the different sensations that were overwhelming my body. One second I would be gasping from the pain of the latest swing of the cane, nearly weeping from the surprise and severity of it, and the next I would be craving more of that same ache, as it seemed to accentuate what I was feeling between my legs. By the time W was done caning me, what had started as a way to help myself through the ordeal had turned into the single focus of my attention.

    “Mistress, would it be okay for me to make myself come, now?” I asked, hoping such a self-serving request wouldn’t put a damper on The Rabbi’s fantasy hour.

    “Absolutely,” W purred at me, and came to sit near me by the couch.

    It was awkward to try and come in this position, leaning forward on my knees, but The Rabbi’s silent encouragement coupled with the stimulation of what W had just done pushed my buttons in a way that had me breathless before I knew what hit me. With W stroking my hair on one side and The Rabbi clutching my left hand on the other, I quickly came not once, but three times before my entire body was so fatigued I had to lie down in front of the couch.

    “That’s my girl,” W grinned down at me.

    “Jesus,” I exhaled. “Thank you, Mistress.”

    “Thank
you,
that was amazing,” she laughed.

    It wasn’t the first time I’d had an orgasm in session. I had soon discovered at Catherine’s that there were plenty of clients who got aroused by watching me come. Frankly it had surprised me that a client would spend a good chunk of his paid time watching and waiting for me to climax, since it hadn’t usually been as quick there as with W and The Rabbi. As liberal as my views were about what sexual submission could look like, the one thing that hadn’t previously occurred to me was that it could look like a career in compulsive masturbation. Which isn’t to say that I got to come in session every time I felt like it, or that I even felt like it all the time; sometimes the exchanges left my body in a state of arousal and subsequent satisfaction that seemed to bypass the concept of orgasm altogether. Still, in its own way it was a confidence-builder for me. I seemed to have a real talent for churning out orgasms in front of an audience. When things sometimes got slow in sessions, it was my ace in the hole, as far as showmanship went.

    As I was gathering myself to leave, The Rabbi surprised me by speaking for the first time.

    “Thank you,” he said softly.

    I looked up to see him smiling warmly at me, and I thanked him, too, before slipping out the door.

    I changed back into my street clothes and waited in the office while W finished the session. We were set to do our second appointment together about an hour after The Rabbi’s time was up so there was no point in leaving and coming back. Still a little jet-lagged, I started to drift off on the comfortable love seat next to her desk, and woke up to the sound of the front door closing.

    “This is for you,” W said moments later, handing me a thick wad of bills. “That was great. Are you okay? I wasn’t too hard on you?”

    I shook my head. “God, no. It was awesome!”

    I looked at the money in my hands, a little self-conscious about caring how much was there, but curious nonetheless. What I had first taken to be several twenties turned out to be twelve one-hundred-dollar bills.

    “Whoa — are you sure this is for me and not
us?”

    “Yeah. It’s all yours. He gave me mine at the end,” W laughed. “He must have really liked you. This is the most money he’s ever paid anyone I brought him, and the most he’s paid me as well!”

    I couldn’t believe it. I had been in there barely over thirty minutes, and he had paid me twelve hundred dollars for it. Despite the Orthodox Jewish thing, he was Santa Claus as far as I was concerned.

    

    

    An hour later, W prepped me for our second session.

    “I’ve been seeing him for years now, and it’s taken this long for us to figure out even a little of what he likes,” she whispered as she rifled through an open drawer in her dressing closet. The client, Al, was in the next room waiting for us to get dressed. “Here, put these on.” She held out an unopened package of beige pantyhose. “And then, let’s see — okay, you can wear my cowboy boots. They’re over there by the door.”

    I took the panty hose and started getting undressed. “Should I wear a bra and panties too, or just a bra if he likes the pantyhose by themselves?”

    “No, no, just the hose and the boots. No bra, nothing else.” W began pulling on a pair of similar stockings.

    “Wow,” I said, wondering how in the world this man could find such a get-up sexy on me.

    Or on anyone, really. W’s cowboy boots were too big for me, and I had to scrunch my toes to sort of hold on to the soles so my feet wouldn’t slide out. I gingerly practiced walking around the closet, which was actually a small room that had been converted. Satisfied that I could at least move around without stumbling, I joined W in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the door. She had on a leather thong and leather bra with her panty hose and another pair of boots. Like most pro dommes, she didn’t even get topless in session, let alone fully naked.

    “You look great.” She smiled at my reflection. “Ready?”

    Al was waiting for us, completely nude on a leather bench, when W ushered me through the door and introduced us. He had a cute, New-York-Irish-guy face, with light brown hair and a stocky build. He also had the biggest cock I’d ever seen in real life.

    “Hi.” He held up a hand to me and grinned.

    “Look what I brought you. Isn’t she adorable?” W stood next to me and stroked my hair. “Turn around, let him see the whole beautiful package.”

    I clomped around to face away from Al as daintily as I could, and W put a hand on my arm to bring me back full circle. It looked convincingly mistressy to Al, I imagined, but I knew from the light pressure of her fingers and the look in her eyes that she was just trying to help me keep my balance, bless her heart.