A couple of times a year I book in with a professional Dominant for a three hour session. It’s expensive but worth every cent. The skill and close attention involved in this work is everything I want and have wanted for decades. I save diligently and earn the privilege. Since the pandemic I book an Airbnb instead of the risk involved with sharing air with others on the premises of the dungeon he works out of. The first time we did an outcall I booked a serviced apartment and the parking was a palaver, the walls were shared and I had to be quiet, which I didn’t care for. This time a suburban three bedroom house with infinite spaces to fuck, time to settle in, much easier and conducive to the unfurling I seek.
I do like that dungeon though. I like how people can hear me while I’m finally out of my head and existing only as nerve endings and cavities to fill. The first time I met him at Fetish House there was an IT guy fixing the NBN. Sir James returned with a glass of water for me mid session. I was completely still just as he’d told me to be, bent over a bench with my face down. He had the giggles and gleefully relayed “The IT guy was being a sexist asshole to one of the Mistresses and he just left, she told me he was so freaked out by all of your screaming, it was the best!” I would have high fived him but my wrists were tied down.
I’m not afraid today of the relentless danger of the air, of sharing spaces with other people. I don’t dwell on a painful and terrifying death, alone in a hospital. I’m taking the precautions I always take, but my needs are met so everything feels easier. I’m ravaged and fucked just the way I like and I transcend edge after edge, closely witnessed and told earnestly that I’m a good sub.
Back at home I can still feel the ripples of warmth shuddering through me, the echoes of pleasure exploding in and around and on and above. My god, the high of it. I tremble whenever my mind drifts into the session, and somehow I’m intensely present with where I am now. I have immense capacity to give what people need of me.
The first few times I met up with him I kept wondering out loud why I liked what was happening so much. It felt so subversive and weird to cum as a result of a huge wolf of a man grinding his boot into my neck. I don’t bother to question any of it anymore. I just give in and let myself feel good.
The moment it feels anything other than good, he knows. I’m halfway through calling out “orange” to signal that I need him to ease off immediately and he’s holding back already. His excellence at reading bodies never skips a beat. I wonder if he has an an earpiece with a GPS for my nerve endings, feeding him all my secrets.
This is what happened when we met in that suburban house, 36 hours ago:
It’s hotter than hell and I found all the air con units and turned them on when I arrived, but even after a cold shower I need to drape a sopping tea towel around my neck to keep cool. I’d taken a RAT that morning and sent him a pic of the result with my serene face beaming with relief. “Novid is the best kind of Covid” he replies. So we were on, at last. I had reiterated my limits and no go zones, finishing with “see you at 6”.
He messages me on arrival and asks if I have a RAT for him. I invite him in and hand him the test, and we stand at either end of the kitchen while he penetrates his face. I watch intently because I like his face and can’t wait to see it while he’s doing unspeakable things later. Initially I feel relaxed but the more chitter chatter we exchange about unsexy things the more nervous I become… in a good way. He asks about my day and I can’t think of any way to answer the question so I flit around a bit before admitting my nerves. He smiles. I feel better.
With a negative test result clear on the table between us, he looks at me and says he’ll be right back after getting his bag of tricks from the car.
I’m not sure what to do so I hover in the foyer thinking about how I’m sure this time I’ll be able to withstand his clear instructions. I’ve had enough practice now and I want to push back, because it feels fun. He’s fucking massive and strong as an ox, and I love how when I run my hands over his legs they’re pure slabs of muscle, and that he doesn’t react. He is indifferent to what I do to him for the most part because what we are doing is about me.
He steps inside and closes the door behind him, locking it. Click. I start panting without realizing it and my eyes grow wide as I take in the huge duffel bag and the cane he’s carrying. He is going to take it on it’s maiden voyage tonight, with me. It has a ridged wooden handle and I don’t know what else anything looks like because he’s approached me and grabbed me by the hair.
He pulls hard and it’s so strange because it doesn’t feel like someone is pulling my hair. It feels like he’s reaching inside me and scratching an itch. The pressure is firm and unyielding, and his focus is laser sharp. I always become confused at the start… I have all these plans and they crack like eggs on tiles while I cease to have control. He’s pushed my buttons and all I want to do is give in and please him.
“Get on your hands and knees on the couch”. I do so in the blink of an eye and he shoves me down so my face is on the leather. I can barely contain my glee and then WHACK. Oh shit. His palm connects with my butt and I can see through time. It stings in the best way, and like the hair pulling it is beyond delectable. I break out in goosebumps and make general indiscernible lusty sounds. I have no idea what it sounds like but I feel it all echoing through me and I think I might have said “is that all you got?” and he lets out a low chuckle.
“Oh really? Ok. Let’s go”
And Jesus fucking Christ the force of his hand as the hard and fast spanking lands, I can’t believe I can take it and that it feels so good. He has not a drop of aggression in his body. It’s smoothly delivered. Precise.
“Oh, you’re MEAN today!”
And I don’t mean that, I just mean that he’s being a bit more intense and menacing which is precisely what I asked of him. We’re leveling up and I’m ready.
At some point a heavy leather collar is snapped shut around my neck. It has the effect of sending me into a hazy sleep state where I know I’m in his hands, and they’re good safe hands to be in so I don’t worry about a thing.
Having reduced me to a pool of sweaty gasping horn, he takes a few steps over to his bag and unzips it slowly. I look up like a meerkat and can’t stop smiling at what I’m seeing. He’s getting some things out and I can’t explain it – I can see but not see what’s happening. I’m too horny to see properly – I can only process small bits at a time. “Enjoying the view?”