We may all have had different boundaries, but what we all agreed on was a single, exacting standard of safety. Sometimes Sapphire and I would perform outcalls, visiting one of the clients at their home or at a hotel, in which case we would ask one of the other dommes to be our security call. This basically involved us giving them the address of where we were going, with instructions to phone us twenty minutes after the session ended. If they called us three times without us responding, they were to call the police.
It was for the same concern about safety that I declined Sapphire’s offer to train me in medical play. She told me that she had on occasion practised urethral play – ‘you basically stick something long and fine down the end of their cock’ or covered their scrotums with needles until their genitals looked like a pincushion – but it made me shudder and I had absolutely no interest in practising it. I drew the line at using the violet wand, an electric shock-box that plugged into the mains and pulsed out a mild current which you could then direct to whichever part of the client’s anatomy you had dominating designs on. You could shock yourself with it if you grabbed the end without the correct fixture mounted, something I had done several times, even under Sapphire’s guidance. I was risk averse, and the violet wand was both as sadistic, and as masochistic, as I got.
In the week before Christmas, Sapphire and I were booked up to three or four times a day. I made more money in that week than in the whole of the previous two months put together.
‘It’s just because everybody wants to get a bit of pleasurable masochism in before the miserable masochism of enforced family-time begins!’ Sapphire would joke. But I knew she had a point.
It was now that awful maudlin point in the year when Christmas is aching for New Year, and New Year knows it’s going to disappoint Christmas. Christmas was hard enough with half my family on the other side of the world, but this year was my first for several without Christos and I missed him terribly. I struggled through the compulsory jollity, resenting it all. Everything served to remind me that this time last year I was deeply in love with the only man I thought I could marry. But after a tearful Christmas Day, I steeled myself. Christos and I were over for good reason, and I had a life to be lived – and it was an exciting one, at that.
Fortunately, business had slowed but not stopped completely. The clients that came to us at this time tended to be melancholic and lonely, single men for whom the holiday stretched out in an empty waste of solo drinking sessions and hastily declined invitations to share homemade mince pies and carol-singing with their colleagues’ children. I could empathise all too easily.
But it was impossible not to be cheered by the countless Christmas gifts we received from clients: perfume, chocolates, Kurt Geiger shoes, thoughtfully selected books we’d mentioned we wanted to read, leather boots and jackets. Admittedly, my vegetarianism struggled with the leather but then the animal was already dead, right? It would have been a waste of a good hide, I decided.
‘A good hide for a good hiding!’ Sapphire reassured me.
We were also cheered by the number of party invites we received. One night just before New Year’s Eve, Sapphire and I found ourselves at the office with nothing to do after a client had cancelled on us last-minute.
‘We’ve got three options,’ Sapphire informed me. ‘So there’s that cocktail party in Green Park that Roger invited us to, but I’m not sure how we pretend we know him, and besides, it will be full of old men.’
‘Young people! I want young people, please!’ I pulled a mock pout.
Sapphire nodded knowingly. ‘Hell, yes. Hmm, well, there’s drinks in Camden with my friend Rosie. Doesn’t she work in TV or something, you knew some of her friends, don’t you remember? Or we could go and hang out with Violet and Co. somewhere up in East London. She’s having a party in that monstrous dilapidated townhouse she shares with about fifteen other people. Knowing Violet, it’ll also be full of her male dom exes from across the global fetish scene, so be prepared for your sweet-looking little self to be accosted, Nichi! You know that, outside of work, she’s obsessed with being dominated herself, right?’
I nodded. Whenever we had lunch with Violet she would talk as much about her ‘Masters’ as her clients, of how they would tie her to the bed, force her to suck them off and slap her face, bottom and breasts when she didn’t comply. It might have sounded alarming if it wasn’t for the very obvious pleasure that possessed her face as she told us about her latest conquering. Intriguingly, the more domming she did professionally, the more she herself wanted to be dominated. That interested me a lot, and I wondered if it was only a matter of time before I became similarly ‘wired’.
‘That’s fine,’ I laughed. ‘I think I have a few ways of pulling a wayward man into line these days!’
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s not a “kink” party, and it’s not that Violet is only friends with sex workers. But that just makes the conversation all the more fun when you start revealing details about what you do, right?’
Violet’s townhouse was a lot harder to find than either Sapphire or I had bargained for. It took us a full twenty minutes, shivering up and down the same murky streets, before we chanced upon it, taking a left when we presumed it could only have been a right. The fact that both of us were wearing our domming shoes with needle-thin stiletto heels, made the quest that little bit harder. ‘Usually I never wore shoes I couldn’t run in – that was the feminist compromise I had made with myself over high heels. I just loved them too much to forsake them completely.’ – but my KG stilettos were the only suitable shoes I had with me to wear with a black lace minidress.
Violet’s house was indeed bizarre. She and her cohorts paid a security company to let them occupy the house, and in return, got an affordable London rent. For some reason, though, there was no handle on the outside of the door. We had to ring Violet on her mobile to get her to let us in. ‘Look up into the security camera so we can check it’s you!’ she trilled.
Sapphire was short-tempered after our odyssey in heels. ‘Violet, who do you think you’re talking to, you know it’s me and Jade, who else would ever have access to THIS number? Now let us in, I need a drink!’
‘You don’t drink!’
Violet dared to wind up Sapphire in a way I never would have done.
‘Exactly!’ replied Sapphire and hung up.
Two minutes later and there was Violet, barefoot in a tight red dress and sheer sequinned leggings, ushering us across the threshold. She had the right wild hair and art-school style to pull off the outfit and made it look more quirky than cabaret.
‘You understand now why I’m good in dungeon spaces, having to work this fortress entry system every day!’ she joked. ‘Lovely to see you, ladies, happy Missed-it-mass!’
We followed her along a high-ceilinged corridor, the walls of which were hung with exquisite collages and paintings of Indian goddesses. ‘My friend Sebastian did them. Aren’t they beautiful?’
I stopped in front of one particularly gory-looking image. It depicted an Indian deity I didn’t recognise, her standing leg mounted on a copulating couple, head in her hand, and some kind of bodily fluid spurting out of her decapitated neck. I winced and thought back to the, by comparison, very tame statue of Kali we had on the office mantelpiece. ‘There’s a goddess more violent than Kali?’ I exclaimed.
Violet came over to the painting. ‘Oh, that’s Chinnamasta. She’s a figure of self-sacrificing sexuality. She resonates for me!’ Violet laughed.
We passed into the main living area. It was a stunning open space decorated with dressmaker’s mannequins in vintage aprons and a clutter of mismatched sofas and armchairs. The walls were covered in snapshots of Violet and her housemates on their various travels around the world and about the capital. In the corner, the piece de resistance was a Christmas tree made of wire coat hangers and decorated with women’s underwear. In the top left-hand corner of the room was the kitchen space, where at least half of Violet’s flatmates were cramme
d, busily mixing homemade cocktails and carving up an enormous iced cake.
Violet ran over to them and threw her phone down on the worktop. ‘Not the cake, not yet! We have to wait until everyone’s here to serve it, especially Dan!’ Sapphire turned to me and mimed a whip crack.
Suddenly Violet’s phone started to ring again. Hands now covered in cake, she craned her head over the screen. ‘It’s Sebastian! I can’t open the door sugared . . . will someone let him in?’
Nobody made a sign to move. Violet called out to me.
‘Jade – would you be an angel? My friend Sebastian’s at the front door now. Hang on, let me just check the screen.’ She ran over to a small television screen which was linked to the outside security camera. ’Yep, that’s him, lovely man, beautiful man . . . just make sure you come straight back here, yeah? Don’t get caught out there in the corridor with him for too long!’
I tottered back down the corridor, taking care not to catch my heels in the strip of red nylon carpet in the now darkened passage. I had no idea where the light switch was. When I got to the door, I realised I also had no idea how to open it; there didn’t seem to be a handle on the inside, either. I groped about the frame and then about the wall for something that would release it. Finally, I found a button and a resounding clicking sound suggested that I had made the right choice of fixture. I clawed at the letterbox and pulled the door awkwardly towards me.
If I’d known how to give a low, long whistle, I would have done.
Illuminated by the dull haze of a Victorian street lamp, a tall and beautifully built man, clad in an elegant full-length wool coat, stood on the doorstep. I drank him in. Black hair, shaved at the sides and left slightly longer on top, and a shadow of cultivated stubble that accentuated the planes of his incredible cheekbones and caressed his square jaw and defiant, dimpled chin. Then his eyes: electric blue and fringed with the kind of lashes that sweep you in. Matia palatia, palace eyes. That Greek phrase, which I had completely forgotten I knew, bolted back into my mind, and slunk down to my tongue. And finally, there was his mouth. Set in a sumptuous natural pout, his was the most provocative mouth I had ever seen on a man. So this was Sebastian.
He was so mesmerising that I forgot my manners and let him stand there, shivering in his own breath’s fog, as I danced my eyes up along his exquisite face, and then caressed them down the hint of throat and clavicle that his coat’s upturned collar revealed to me. Running my eyes down the full length of his body, the only other hint of clothing I could see were his grey trousers, artfully tucked into scuffed leather boots. He held, I noticed, a light leather briefcase that cut into the silhouette of his coat.
He looked right back at me, holding my gaze with an unbridled intensity. I could feel the colour creeping into my cheeks, as if he were shading them in with his stare. Then he smiled.
‘Come in. Sebastian.’ My lips tumbled about his name, transmuted to four syllables by my Yorkshire pronunciation.
His smile tightened apologetically, then he tilted his head to the left. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know your name.’ A deep, soft voice with the occasional, abrupt clipping of a consonant. Like a tape recording of a wave washing onto shore, interrupted. I couldn’t place his accent. Flawless manners, though.
‘No, no . . . I . . . Violet just asked me if I would let you in.’ I took a deep breath, revived myself to full domme power, and held out my hand. ‘I’m Jade.’
‘Hello, Jade.’ He closed his hand around mine reverently, as if taking care not to shock me with his touch, then strode gracefully across the threshold, and followed me down the corridor.
His footfalls seemed to chase upon me as we made our way, and I self-consciously clutched at the hem of my lace dress that was whispering about my thighs. As we passed the picture of Chinnamasta, I turned round to look at him. His downcast eyes shot up to meet mine. Was it my imagination or had I caught him watching my ass as I walked? No, he couldn’t have been. He was far too polite and I was flattering myself.
As we entered the main room, Violet, who was now liberated of cake, flung herself at him. He kissed her warmly on the lips and gave her a long, enveloping hug.
Sapphire eyed them suspiciously and came towards me with a cocktail.
‘Another one of Violet’s former captors, I presume.’
I shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Come on.’ Sapphire gestured with her head. ‘You must meet Violet’s friend Katia. She’s from San Francisco. She’s been making online fetish videos out there, and you have to hear some of her stories! I’ve had such a good idea for a new cuckolding scenario off the back of one . . .’
Half an hour later and Sapphire, Katia and I were still talking ‘shop’. Or rather, they were talking and I was barely listening. I was tired and bored, and had a bad case of festive-season fatigue. I was ready for bed. I looked across the room to where Sebastian was engaged in fervent conversation with Violet and a handful of the other guests. I observed him for a minute or so. He spoke little, but listened intently. But when he had something to say, his soft, low voice was entrancing. I had to be a part of that conversation.
‘Sapphire, I’m just going to go and talk to Violet for a bit, I feel as though I’ve been rude not chatting to her properly all evening.’
‘OK!’ she shrugged. ‘You don’t need my permission to go and talk to her!’
As I moved over the tiled floor, my heels tap-tapped in time with my heartbeat. Oh my God. I’m nervous. Get a grip, Mistress.
Sebastian looked up as I approached. That cobalt blue stare again. Were those eyes even natural? Perhaps he wore coloured contact lenses.
Violet, who was thoroughly alcohol-sodden, came over and flung her arms about my neck. She was at least five inches taller than me, and was failing to keep her cleavage out of my face. ‘Jade, lovely little Jade. How can you be a mistress when you’re so CUTE!’ She pinched my cheek theatrically and kissed me.
Then she turned to the group, ‘Isn’t she the cutest dominatrix you ever saw? She’s Sapphire’s trainee. Honestly, the way that woman corrupts innocents!’
Playing along, I placed my hand on my hip and fixed her with a domme-glare. ‘I’m not as cute as I look, Violet!’
‘What do you think, Sebastian? Is Mistress Jade mean?’
‘I bet she’s terrifying when she’s angry,’ he replied. Was that meant to be sarcastic? It certainly wasn’t ingratiating. His face gave nothing away. Then he gave me a sideways smile. ‘How long have you been working as a dominatrix?’
‘Not long, a couple of months. Although it feels much longer.’
He nodded knowingly. ‘My ex was a domme. Harder work than it is fun, right?’
His ex was a domme? Did that mean he was a submissive? I still found it hard to second-guess people’s D/s preferences. It wasn’t as though there was a physical type of man that preferred it one way or the other. And good looks had nothing to do with it, as the variety of our client base had shown. Still, for some unfathomable reason, I wanted to know.
‘Depends on the client,’ I replied. ‘There tends to be a correlation between how good-looking they are and how much hard work it is.’
He laughed softly. ‘But it’s always good to know someone is taking to account the wayward cocks of the world. Vengeful women have their work cut out, it would seem.’
So that meant he must be a submissive. An iridescent bubble, similar to when you realise the sexiest man in the bar isn’t looking at you after all, burst softly over me. What was I disappointed about? It’s not as though I wanted to find a kinky play partner outside of work. Was it?
He was without his coat now, and wore a smooth, tight black jersey which clung around his copious biceps, and highlighted every muscle that ran up along his strong shoulders and down across his chiselled chest. He leaned towards me in his chair. It startled me and I stepped back involuntarily.
Violet slunk over, and flopped onto the sofa next to Sebastian. ‘Don’t listen to a word he says, Jad
e. Sebastian is the most dishonest-honest man I know.’ Sebastian laughed at her and shook his head in protest.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means,’ said Violet, placing her fingers around his throat, and looking up into his eyes, ‘don’t let him distract you with his veneration of the vagina. He’s a Dom dressed up in submissive sentiments.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘so I like roughing up women. It’s just how I am.’ He looked right at me as he said this. His beautiful mouth seemed almost to snarl as it passed through a smile and back into its default semi-pout. ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the feisty ones. Besides,’ he added, turning back to Violet, ‘If there’s no fight, what’s the fun?’
I was confused. I thought male doms liked good girls they could lead by their hair, tie and spank up without much whimpering. Did this mean there was room for more disturbance in the power-play?
‘OK, OK, so you’re a little “switchy”,’ Violet drawled. ‘But you know ultimately you’re going to get your way.’
‘Yeah, Violet,’ he murmured at her menacingly. Then sat back, clutched on to the sofa arm causing him to tense his biceps, and affecting a mock Southern US accent said, ‘No little lady’s getting away from these guns.’
‘Oh my God, Sebastian,’ Violet groaned and shrieked, playfully pushing him away by the head as he smirked at her. Without missing a beat, he grabbed her by the arm she’d raised against him and pulled her across his knee. She shrieked again, this time in genuine shock, and he laughed at her, a deeper, nastier laugh. This man! This man was impossibly sexy.
Sapphire shouted at Violet from across the room. ‘Violet, start behaving! Isn’t Dan going to be here any second?’ Sebastian put a finger to his sumptuous lips and ‘ssshhd’ commandingly in Violet’s face, before carefully guiding her back up to the seat next to him, keeping one hand on the hem of the dress as he manoeuvred her, in a curiously polite bid to help preserve her modesty. He straightened out her hair, patted her on the head. ‘Good girl,’ he intoned. Violet clumsily punched him in the chest, and he laughed at her affectionately.
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