‘Do you like them, Mistresses? I thought it might please you to see me as a real whore.’
I’d never found the idea of men in women’s underwear erotic before. But there was something about Christopher’s gleaming, coppery body, his skin as smooth as the satin he was encased in, and the fact the knickers couldn’t contain him, that looked so deviant, it was delicious. It cried out for him to be touched.
Without waiting for an invitation from Sapphire I slunk over to him and slid my hand up the inside of his thigh. God, he felt better than he looked. He wanted this so badly, his skin practically hummed at my touch. I let my fingers explore the novelty of the feminine fabric framing such a hard, muscular male body.
We locked eyes. I needed to establish my authority over him, and I wanted him to relinquish his control to me from this moment on. He attempted, for a few seconds, to return my unremitting gaze. Then he looked at the floor pitifully, then back up at me again timidly from under his lashes. So he’d conceded. Then he moaned as if to vocalise it.
‘Mistress Sapphire,’ I said. ‘I think this little . . .’ I paused. Saying the next word felt so wrong ‘. . . slut . . .’ but God, it was exhilarating, ‘needs putting to the test.’
Sapphire looked at me admiringly for a moment. See, Sapphire, I thought to myself. I can be a seductive bitch, too. ‘I’m glad you said that, Mistress Jade. I was just about to invite you to assume the position.’
I’d never seen Sapphire this excited before. We’d often talked about what it was like to fuck a man and she described in graphic detail how you judged what size dildo the slave could take, how you lubricated them up, and the best position to use depending on their level of experience. I’d even watched explicit femdom videos on my and Sapphire’s favourite kink porn site. But I’d never actually seen Sapphire do it. Usually, the clients that came to her for strap-on play wanted no one witness to that level of submission.
Sapphire glided towards the door, her tattoo glowing like neon strip-lighting as she passed underneath the bright white bulb in its red shade. She turned and looked at Christopher from over her shoulder, beckoning him. ‘It’s time, little slut.’
Then he looked up at me and I realised he was seeking my approval to follow. What Jack had started, Christopher could finish, I thought.
‘Get up, then,’ I commanded softly. He rose feverishly, and in his haste, brushed his face against my top as he did so. He smelled like leather, and expensive cologne. His trousers were still loitering about his ankles. ‘Permission to unhook myself, Mistress?’ he asked me.
‘Obviously,’ I replied. ‘I’m going to need to you to be able to spread your legs.’
Sapphire came back in. Her desire to see the main event was making her impatient. ‘Hurry up, we don’t have all evening, you know,’ she snapped at him. He shook off his shoes then yanked at his socks and trousers and padded after her into the bedroom.
I took the strap-on from where it lay on the chair and analysed how I would slink into to it. Perhaps it was better to put it on under my skirt now I thought, lest I fall over or get tangled in it or do something that would break the spell and compromise my authority. I slid first one bare leg, and then the other into it, catching my right heel in the gusset strap for a moment as I did so. Then I guided it up around my bottom. I went over to the mirror and took a look at myself from behind. It was made of exquisitely soft leather, with carefully crafted adjustable side straps, so that it hugged my curves as well as any silk thong. Then I turned around. Full frontal. I was a not insubstantial eight inches long. I wrapped my fingers around my cock for a moment and felt a surge of power. I was indomitable.
In the bedroom, Sapphire had already ordered Christopher into position for me. Up on the bed he lay, on all fours, with his head resting in the purple pillows, presenting his perfect ass to me. He was still wearing the women’s knickers. Only now it was clear that they weren’t actually proper knickers but the skimpiest of thongs.
Sapphire went over to him and spanked his bottom a few times for good measure. ‘That’s why you’ve worn these provocative panties, isn’t it, Christopher? Because you want to feel the sting of my hand on your exposed ass.’
Christopher mumbled something indistinguishable into the pillows, making his answer known instead by undulating back onto Sapphire’s hand as she stroked him between slaps.
Sapphire turned back to look at me. I had had to roll up my skirt about my thighs in order to accommodate the strap-on’s punishing angle. Sapphire noticed it poking out from underneath my skirt.
‘Now, Christopher, Mistress Jade is here and ready to begin your deflowering. And what a sight she is, too.’ She sighed as if she were a proud mother admiring her daughter dressed for her first date. She gestured for me to go and flaunt myself to him. I edged round to where his head lay on the pillows.
Christopher looked up at me with adoration. ‘Please, Mistress, may I touch it?’ This amused me. He reached out his hand in reverence.
But just before his fingers reached my tip, Sapphire pounced forward and slapped his hand away.
‘Christopher, didn’t anyone tell you it’s very rude to fondle someone else’s cock?’
I was confused. Didn’t Sapphire usually let them do that? In fact, didn’t she usually make them give her head, as she put it?
I looked up at her, and she tapped her finger to her wrist, gesturing to an imaginary watch. Damn it, she was right. There was no time for foreplay. We needed to cut to the main event.
‘Now, Christopher, Mistress Jade has never done this before. She’s actually losing her strap-on virginity tonight, so do bear that in mind, won’t you, if her thrusts are a little . . . unnatural.’ Wasn’t this whole thing pretty bloody unnatural, I thought to myself. I supposed Sapphire was only trying to cover our backs in case the experience left a lot to be desired, but it irritated me. I was determined to do a good job.
Sapphire took a bottle of lube from the table and, after removing his thong until it lay around his knees, binding them, began fingering his ass. ‘Oh my,’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s very open already. You’ve been using butt plugs, Christopher, haven’t you?’ He nodded vigorously into the pillow. ‘She slapped him hard. ‘You really are a little slut then. Let’s see how hard Mistress Jade can fuck you.’
I went round the back of the bed and clambered up on to it, positioning myself in between Christopher’s splayed legs. He was shaking. I placed my right hand gingerly onto his bottom. He jerked, and startled me. His movements were so bold, and so unrestrained. At any moment, I thought, he could rise up, turn over and haul me down on to the bed, pinning me under him. Thinking about this possibility made knowing that it was I about to fuck him even more exciting.
Sapphire approached the bed. She was holding a condom. She unwrapped it and rolled it on to my cock. How surreal, I thought to myself. A woman has just sheathed my prosthetic penis. She looked up at me reassuringly. ‘Now, remember everything I’ve ever told you, Mistress Jade. Go steady to start with, and find your rhythm.’
I took a deep breath and eased the tip of the strap-on into Christopher’s anus. Sapphire was right. There was hardly any resistance. It slid right in, almost up to the hilt, immediately. Christopher moaned. He moaned the way I moaned when a hot man slid himself into me that first time when you begin to have sex. His moan aroused me. It made me want to make him moan again. I inched back and slid myself gently into him again. And then again. And then, slowly, I started to rock my hips back and forth, attempting to build up a rhythm.
At first the motion didn’t come naturally. My hips were too used to gyrating circularly, like the way I moved when I danced. I tightened my core and tucked my pelvis under. Then hesitated. I thought of the time I had learnt to walk on stilts at circus camp in Italy. ‘Until the stilt becomes an extension of your leg, you will not move naturally with it,’ the instructor had told us. I wondered if this applied here, if I had to claim the cock as my own temporarily, to make the motion work.
/> I tried again, imagining the strap-on was a real extension of my body. That was it. I had it. And then just as quickly I lost the rhythm again. Jesus! Was fucking really meant to be this hard work? Were men actually putting a hell of a lot of effort in to do something that we women though was instinctual to them? Thank God I did yoga. There’s no way a weak core could work a strap-on.
Sapphire looked at me with encouragement. ‘You’re doing a great job, Mistress Jade. Trickier than it looks, isn’t it? How is it for you Christopher?’ she enquired teasingly. I had become so absorbed in perfecting my technique that I had almost forgotten there was a man on the receiving end of my thrusts.
‘It’s heaven, Mistress. Pure heaven.’ Sapphire and I both laughed at the surrealism of it.
‘So I can work you harder, Christopher?’ I demanded.
He arched back on to my cock. ‘Oh God, Mistress, yes, please, please give it to me even harder. I’m your adoring slut and I deserve to be pounded.’
I found my rhythm again and resumed fucking him, gripping on to his hips the way I liked men to grip me. God, was this how inert we females were? How merely receptive? No wonder fucking made men feel dominant.
Then, another realisation. The harder I pounded up against Christopher, the more the strap-on was inadvertently stimulating me. Even with my own knickers forming a barrier between me, the strap-on and Christopher’s body, I could totally have an orgasm like this if I wanted to. I was turned on and alarmed by it. I couldn’t let Sapphire realise this. And I certainly couldn’t let myself climax in front of her, even though the harder I went at it, the more I wanted to let myself. I was going to have to hold myself back. This really was like being a guy!
As I became more excited so, too, it seemed, did Christopher. He had reached back and was clenching on to his own cheeks now, as if presenting himself to me. In my determination to control myself I grabbed onto his hair and pulled him hard up towards me.
‘So you like that, you little whore? Is that what you’ve been waiting for all your life? For a woman to come and take you the way you’ve been forced to take woman after woman? Is that what you’ve thought about every time you’ve been up in side them? About getting pounded yourself?’
I reached between his legs and grabbed his cock. It was rock hard. It was such an ego trip to be able to fulfil someone’s long-held fantasy like this.
‘Oh, Mistress,’ he pleaded, ‘If you touch me there, if you touch me like that I’m going to cum.’
‘No, you’re not.’ I took my hand off his cock and gave him a single, exacting spank. ‘You don’t cum until I say so,’ and instead began increasing the vigour of my strokes, digging my nails in to his backside to anchor myself as I worked him even harder.
As if in direct contravention of what I’d just said, Christopher started to tremble violently. Oh God, please don’t say it was too late already, that in ordering him not to climax I had somehow pushed him towards it?
‘I’m cumming, Mistress, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.’
How could that momentary tease of his cock have produced this? They could be such indulgent little pricks sometimes, these submissives.
Suddenly, alarmingly, Christopher burst into violent climax and cried out in pleasure, hauling himself up by the bedstead, pulling away from me and my strap-on, bucking, and shuddering and squirming as he did so. I’d never seen a man climax like this before. This was more like a full-body orgasm, more than a mere physical release.
When his orgasm was over, Christopher released his grip on the bed posts, sank down to his knees, and then rolled on to his back, utterly enervated. There were tears in his eyes. Of relief? Of despondency? I sensed no trauma. Still, he had an erection. How?
‘But Christopher, your cock is still hard!’ I exclaimed. I didn’t understand this.
He looked at me as if I’d just asked him why he wasn’t speaking Greek when he’d already told me he only spoke Russian.
‘Oh, but I didn’t cum like that, Mistress Jade. That was an anal orgasm.’
I turned swiftly to look at Sapphire. She had never warned me about that.
With impeccably poor timing, or perhaps it was impeccably good timing, Sapphire’s BlackBerry cried out from the other room. It was unlike her to forget to put it on silent. It distracted the clients and made them feel as though we weren’t paying them enough attention. Ever the pro, she averted the faux pas by saying nothing and merely sweeping out of the room.
I turned to Christopher and began the usual post-coital pleasantries.
‘Would you like a shower, Christopher? There are fresh towels laid out in the bathroom. Or is there anything else you require?’
He looked at me intensely, gravely, even. He looked as though he had something serious to say. Uh oh. Had I done a bad job? Worse still – had I hurt him?
‘Was that OK?’ I hazarded.
‘Yes, Mistress. It was exquisite.’ He was nodding rapidly, his breath still shallow. ‘You’re exquisite. I have to see you again. Would you come visit me at my flat?’
‘Well, of course. Sapphire and I are always happy to do outcalls . . .’
‘Not Sapphire. Just you.’
CHAPTER 13
Domming with Sapphire was never the same after that night with Jack and Christopher. The comments she had made about my lack of authority really stang, and I couldn’t help thinking she might be right that it was time I struck out on my own. I owed Sapphire a huge debt of gratitude, and always would. There was no way I would have been able to stay in London after I broke up with Christos without her, much less continue to pursue my dream of becoming a journalist. But it was time to fly solo with the sex work. Once the decision had been made and we discussed it, there was no tension in those final sessions. The intimacy of our curious friendship was changed, but it was time for us to part company.
I did feel a little guilty for stealing her client. Not that I exactly engineered it. A few days after that session, Sapphire forwarded me a thank-you email from the eloquent Titan himself. It came complete with an attached picture, a gratuitous thong-clad, bent-over-bed shot. But I only had eyes for his email address.
Christopher became my first regular. His working hours meant that finding time to dominate him could be tricky. Luckily, I have always been an early riser and he liked nothing better than a bit of morning strap-on sex. So every couple of weeks I would find myself boarding the tube at 5.30 a.m. with only a black belted mac covering my highly immodest underwear. With each visit my strap-on technique improved, and I also got better at remembering to transfer one of the £20 notes from the requisite white envelope into my purse before I tried to buy breakfast at the Pret round the corner afterwards.
By 8 a.m. I had earned half a week’s wage and was free to work on the increasing number of freelance articles I was now getting commissioned to write, following my most recent, and very successful internship. I’d saved the day helping to pull together a new feature article just hours from going to press when it turned out our lead piece had already run in another magazine. Even so, most of the work I was doing was unpaid. Would I ever be able to give up domming entirely and make a living out of journalism?
Though actually, I wasn’t ready to give up on the domming just yet. As well as my bank balance, sex work had transformed my libido. I thought back to the days of my anorexia when I was as asexual as a tablecloth. Every so often I would have sex just to test whether the desire had returned and find, disappointingly, that the most pleasurable bit was the post-coital cuddling. Later, Christos had rekindled the flame of my desire and I had always adored sex with him. But it was domming that had truly stoked my sexual imagination. I had never felt better about my body, my mind, and how the two coalesced. I had come into my sexual power.
Sometimes I would get on the tube and find myself packed against some old lech preparing to creepily press himself up against me. I would angle my elbow just so, and if the driver pulled on the brakes too sharply at Stockwell, well, I always had the
excuse of accidental impact. Drunken men on the night bus got a withering stare and a stiletto-stamped foot if they tried it on with me. From time to time, when I was feeling particularly imperious, I would catch some pinstriped, professional gent lingering his gaze on me just that little bit too long – and I would know immediately he was but a slave-in-waiting. Some days I was so confident in my domme powers that, given the right set of circumstances and prop-concealing lighting, I believed that 90 per cent of men could be persuaded to submit to me.
The only real problem I had with sex work now that I was my own boss was that it troubled my socialist conscience. My vast hourly sum was completely unjust when compared with the minimum hourly wage. I thought about my hard-grafting Labour family, imagined my ancestors turning in their graves at the fact I had become such a fearless free-marketeer. Of course, I justified it with the fact I was still not being paid for my actual career. But still, it troubled me. And so I came up with the concept of charitable domination, whereby, every couple of months or so I would get my clients to donate to various charities and emergency appeals in the wake of flood, famine and civil war. On occasion I also chose anti-trafficking charities, which I supported myself. I was painfully aware that my sex-worker status was one of luxury and choice, a rare thing in a global industry full of individuals who were far less lucky than me. I remembered the character of Belle, the prostitute in Gone With the Wind, who is far more giving than the heroine, Scarlett O’Hara, and smiled at the tart-with-a-heart stereotype. I hoped my own Maid Marion act was , however paltry, at least one way of helping out those a lot less fortunate than myself.
Although I was a lucky sex worker, I wasn’t a lucky journalist, and I still didn’t have a job. I had set myself a deadline of 30 April. If I hadn’t found a full-time paying position by then, I decided, I had to seriously reconsider my career choice. And domming was not to be a permanent alternative option.
One thing that had become apparent now that I was domming alone was that boundaries were getting more fluid. When I first started working with Sapphire I had come up with the slogan ‘we sell boundaries not services’. What I meant was that it was safer for a client to get his kicks with us than with an extra-marital affair or a play partner. We knew where the emotional lines were when it came to BDSM, and we never crossed them. In some instances though, it was clear both you and the client wanted to cross a boundary – the boundary dividing a professional relationship and a real friendship, for example. Eventually, some of my regulars became dear friends, people that, to this day, I could call upon for anything from help putting a bookcase together to their opinion on a new personal relationship. But only once they weren’t clients any more. I learnt this the hard way when Christopher and I found ourselves in a grievous misunderstanding.
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