I tucked my disgusting contraband carefully into the inner pocket of my laptop bag after double-bagging it. I couldn’t hide the wicked grin on my face as I sat back down at my desk and started to count down the hours. This was going to be good.
My appointment with Alex was scheduled at 5 p.m., so when 5:20 rolled around and he still wasn’t there, I was worried that he wasn’t going to show. By six, I was pretty convinced that he wasn’t coming, but he did have a four-hour window blocked out, so there was still a chance he would come late and just do a shorter session. I was thrilled when a fantasy wrestling guy came in and wanted to do a scene with me. Since I was pissed that Alex looked like he was going to stand me up, going Ronda Rousey on some guy’s ass was exactly what I needed to work out my frustration. It helped that he was a good-looking firefighter. After an hour of sweaty, nearly naked wrestling with a hot, muscled dude, I had completely forgotten about the poo that was still stashed in my bag. My mind was occupied with far more appealing thoughts of taking said fireman home with me and continuing our wrestling where there weren’t any rules.
For the sake of my dignity, I would like to say that I remembered shortly after that and promptly threw the baggie of shit away. Unfortunately, if I tell the truth, it was a full two days later that I remembered it was in my laptop bag … or, more accurately, was reminded.
If it had been discovered at the Dungeon, I could simply have explained the truth to whomever had found it and had a good laugh at my expense. Instead, it happened at the jobsite. And it was my mother who pulled it out after reaching into my bag to find my car keys.
As soon as the words, “Sure, they’re in my laptop bag. You can grab them,” left my mouth, I instantly remembered my stowaway. I jumped up from my desk, but it was too late, she was lifting the sandwich bag out and the recognition of its contents was written all over her face. She promptly dropped it and looked up at me dismayed.
“Sorry! Totally forgot that was in there!”
In hindsight, I had a few options that made a decent amount of sense to explain it away. I could’ve said I was having stomach issues and needed to take a stool sample to the doctor. I could’ve denied that it was human poo and claimed it was dog shit, and I hadn’t been able to find a trash can, so I had stashed it and then forgotten about it. Did either of these pop into my head? Nope. The best I could come up with was, “I was in traffic and had to go really bad. I didn’t have time to pull over, so I went in a sandwich bag.”
“Should you maybe get rid of it?”
“Uh … yeah. I just forgot about it when I got here. This morning. It hasn’t been in there long. I’ll take it to the bathroom now.”
“Okay. Would you mind getting your car keys out for me as well?”
“No problem.”
I pooped in a sandwich bag because I was in traffic?
I shook my head. It would take years before the mortification faded enough for me to be able to share that story with someone. The silver lining, I mused, was that no matter what my mom was thinking in that moment, there was no way she had concluded that I had pooped in a bag to convince a client at the Dungeon where I worked as a Dominatrix that he was eating real shit. The ludicrousness of my secret would keep it safe. For now.
38. CALLS
It’s easy to portray working in a dungeon as nonstop action, but in reality, there were shifts that were so slow the minutes seemed to drag by, and we all begged the desk Mistress to leave early. Sometimes we handled this by turning one of the rooms into a slumber party and curling up to binge-watch a TV show together. Other days, we invented raucous games or practiced the skills of our trade on one another. Occasionally, we went looking for trouble and devised elaborate pranks. Because I was new, Erin’s first-day ruse convincing me that the delivery guy was my client had felt like she was bullying me, but I had quickly learned that it really just meant I was part of the gang.
During a slow shift, Raven and I switched all of the CDs in one of the rooms to play the Barney & Friends soundtrack. We barely repressed our giggles when we realized Erin would be the next one to use that room. She picked a CD out of the stack that was labeled Nine Inch Nails, but it was really one of our decoys. We left the first song alone, but after that it changed to absurdly annoying kiddie songs. I wish I could have seen her face when it started to play. In typical Erin fashion, she was unfazed and blamed her sub for the error. She made him listen to it while she caned him to tears. We tried to act innocent when she got back from her scene, but we cracked under her gaze and laughed hysterically.
“You fuckers!” she jokingly shouted as we ran away and hid.
She retaliated by planting fake dead mice for Raven and I to find. I swear I didn’t squeal like a little girl. At least I didn’t freak out as bad as Raven did.
The three of us eventually turned our devious minds on Lady Caterina. We sat on the patio out back and took turns prank calling the desk. Cat was unflappable: always calm, polite, and firm no matter what the call was about, and she almost never hung up on anyone. She would end the call when she felt they were just trying to get a free phone session and weren’t actually moving toward booking anything, but even then she was patient. We passed the phone around, doing different voices with each call and asking for everything from sperm cupcakes to poo finger paintings. When that didn’t work, Raven tried being as offensive as she could manage, using racial slurs that had me blushing. Cat didn’t sound amused, but she handled it gracefully. When Erin used a baby voice to describe exactly how she wanted her diaper to be changed, it was too much. I don’t know who broke first, but we started to giggle before Erin hung up the phone. From inside we heard Cat squeal with sudden realization. She charged outside with a crop in her hand, sending us fleeing through the Dungeon. She pursued us as we scattered, swinging the crop and yelling, “You little monsters! I thought it was a full moon or something and all the crazies were calling! Were all of those calls you three?”
Raven and I did the only sensible thing. We both shook our heads and pointed to Erin.
* * *
I was scrambling to get ready to go to a Rammstein concert with the girls, and was running terribly late, so when my phone rang with an unknown number, I answered it without thinking. I rarely answer numbers I don’t have saved, but in the back of my mind I thought maybe it was one of the girls I was about to meet calling me. They were always changing numbers and phones.
“Hello?” I answered distractedly, while trying to zip up a thigh-high boot.
“Hi. Jenny?”
I froze and my heart started to race. I knew that voice. It was probably the first voice I heard when I was born. But I hadn’t heard it in nearly eight years. It took me a long moment to say, “Yes. This is Jenny.”
“Jenny, it’s your dad.”
The flood of emotions that happened then is hard to describe. At first I was angry that he felt he could still use that title. But to hear how unsure he sounded, the vulnerability in his tone, I wanted to hug him and tell him it was all going to be okay. I knew how hard it must have been to call me. But I hadn’t told him it was okay to call me. What made him think he could just call out of the blue and disrupt my life like this? And somehow more dominant than all of those warring thoughts was a memory. His voice, that deep voice with his perfect British accent, reminded me of him reading The Lord of the Rings to me when I was little. It all came racing back in an instant: being curled up next to him in bed listening to the story unfold and feeling so safe and so very loved. I could still hear him in my mind doing each of the characters’ voices. And it hurt. Fuck, it hurt. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him, but I didn’t deserve what he had done to me either. I had missed him desperately and knew I still loved him, but it was all clouded by rage so potent I could taste it.
“Hi. How are you?” I managed to get out after a long pause.
What a stupid question to ask, dumb-ass. Eight years of thinking about what you would say to him and that’s the first thing out of you
r mouth?
“I’m doing okay. I lost a few months there, but I’m starting to piece it back together.”
“I’m sorry. I thought about calling you, but I didn’t have your number.”
“It’s okay. Look, I don’t want to keep you long, but I wanted to make contact and thought maybe we could talk again sometime … maybe start to rebuild.”
“That sounds … good. Can I call you sometime next week and we can chat some more?”
“I would like that. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“You too. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay. Bye for now.”
I pushed the End button and just stared at my phone. I was keeping my mind blank lest the floodgates open. I was not going to cry. Fuck him. He wasn’t getting any more of my tears. And fuck her for all of it. It didn’t seem real that I had just spoken to my father. I had accepted that I was never going to talk to him again, had mourned him as though he was dead. I desperately wanted to just stay home and cry. I took a shuddering deep breath and decided that wasn’t happening. I was going to the show and I was going to feel good … even if it took some drugs to get me there.
39. TILL
Rammstein, one of my favorite bands, are a German rock group who practically burn the venue down with their incredible pyrotechnics. Do I speak German? Nope. But I don’t need to. Till Lindemann, the lead singer, speaks my language fluently … the universal tongue of devilment and sex. Their show helped me not to think about my phone call, but even through the sparkly haze of the MDMA I was on, I could feel sadness and loss burning in the periphery of my mind. If I stopped focusing on other things, it burned more fiercely, consuming the joy of the moment, and I felt myself losing control. That simply wasn’t acceptable. I refused to give in to it, forcing myself to be present with the grinding beat of the music and Till’s gloriously rolled German r’s. I wanted to cauterize the part of my brain where memories of my dad lived. Since I couldn’t burn away the pain, I would just have to ignore it and savor the fire on stage. I suspect I have a bit of a fetish for fire, so once I managed to be present, my Molly-addled brain struggled to process the magnificence of their show.
My high was cresting just as the performance came to an end. All of the band members took a knee on the edge of the stage in a humble display of love for their fans. I was convinced they were kneeling for me and me alone. I wanted to be their Mistress. Since I couldn’t be theirs, I needed to blow off some steam.
A foolish young man catcalled me on the way out of the venue … and it was on.
“Hey, sexy! Sexy, it’s my birthday! Don’t I get a birthday present?” I could hear him yelling in our general direction.
“Just leave it,” said Raven.
“You of all people are saying to leave it? Fuck that.”
“Here we go,” Raven whooped to the rest of our crew.
I whipped around and slowly made my way to the bench he was sitting on, appraising him as my platform thigh-high boots clicked across the pavement. He was a slightly pudgy, but cute guy in his early thirties. I didn’t think he had much luck with the ladies … shocking, given his finesse in addressing me.
“Did you have something to say to me?” I asked quietly.
His friends backed away a few feet, and he looked a little less sure of himself. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting me to engage. Sorry, sweetheart. You chose the wrong bitch to fuck with.
He swallowed and looked me in the eye. “It’s my birthday. You should give me a present.”
I could hear my girls cracking up behind me and I struggled to maintain a straight face.
“Okay,” I responded simply, and I could see the surprise on his face.
I placed a knee on either side of him on the bench, straddling him like I was about to give him a lap dance. I ground forward, pressing the swell of my breasts toward his face, whispering seductively in his ear, “So you’re the birthday boy, are you?”
He nodded, smiling with anticipation.
“You know what we do with birthday boys where I work?”
He shook his head.
“We punish them.”
I bit his ear lobe and pressed my knee hard against his balls. He choked with shock.
“Aw, birthday boy thought he was getting a stripper and really picked a Dominatrix.”
I kept my knee pressed firmly against his balls, wrapped a hand around his throat, and leaned back to look him in the eye. He was a little afraid, a bit insecure, and a whole lot turned on.
Perfect.
“Do you have something to say to me?”
“I’m sorry,” he stuttered.
I slapped him hard across the cheek. From his stunned reaction, I didn’t think he had ever been slapped before, and it turned me on. As high as I was, even my stinging hand felt amazing.
“Mistress…” I suggested.
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he quickly corrected.
“Good boy.”
I twisted to sit on the bench next to him.
“Over you go,” I said mildly, patting my knee as though it was a foregone conclusion.
He laughed awkwardly, looking at his friends, not sure whether I was serious. I glanced at Raven.
“It’s only going to get worse if you make her wait. Mistress Scarlett hates waiting.”
He shuffled his weight across my legs and I could feel insecurity and tension in every line of his body. I was pushing him completely out of his comfort zone and he didn’t know if he liked it. I brought my hand down hard on his ass, making him jump, but I knew that his jeans would absorb most of the blow.
“So how old is the birthday boy?” I asked his friends playfully.
“Eighty-seven!” one of the guys answered, seeing where I was heading with it.
“Eighty-seven?” I asked over my victim’s protests. “I don’t think your friends like you very much! Oh, well … eighty-seven it is.”
I spanked him five times on each cheek, counting aloud. I was being gentle, lulling him into thinking it was all just for show. I cocked an eyebrow at Raven and nodded toward him. She came over and ran her fingernails down his back, making him shiver.
“I think these pants are getting in the way, Mistress,” she said, reaching under him to unfasten them. She yanked and pulled them down around his knees, exposing his black boxer briefs.
He jerked to get up, but she held him down for a moment to say, “You can pull them back up if you want, birthday boy, but that would be the end of your birthday spanking!”
I felt him reluctantly relax back down on top of me. It was all the consent I needed to continue. Now I could give him a real spanking. I didn’t waste any more time, quickly spanking in sets of ten as I counted quietly. Most of them were gentle, but I gradually got heavier, throwing in the occasional good one just to let him know that I could at any time. My last ten were heavy enough to make my hands throb, and by then, the people who had crowded around to watch were counting along with me.
“Eighty-five … Eighty-six … Eighty-seven!”
He was panting heavily, but I could feel his boner pressed against me. I considered taking him home with me, but dismissed the idea. He had served his purpose. I felt like Scarlett again, powerful and in control … not like Jenny, the hurt little girl who was struggling to hold it together. Besides, I wanted to fuck someone, and no matter how far I had just pushed this vanilla boy, he was a long way from being kinky enough for that. Wes got quite the surprise when I got home, riled up and ready to go.
40. URETHRAL SOUNDS
Once I embraced the fact that I had a penetration fetish, I got to push the boundaries and explore outside of work, but I didn’t think that particular fixation would get much fulfillment at the Dungeon. No penetration was one of the golden rules. We all broke the rules for someone at some point. Most did it for extra cash, but I did it for the thrill. I did it to answer the call of the raging pervert inside of me, who wanted to be inside of someone else. Perhaps that’s what it’s like to
be a fifteen-year-old boy.
It had been months since I had seen my celebrity client, who we are calling Oliver, so I had begun to assume that I wouldn’t be seeing him again. According to TMZ, he had been a busy guy since I had seen him last. I wasn’t taking it personally. So I was surprised and delighted when he appeared one random night without an appointment.
When I met him in the interview room, he was once again wearing his sunglasses and smacking his stupid gum, but the smile on his face told me he was doing it on purpose in acknowledgment of how much it had irritated me last time. I hugged him and we chatted for a moment about nothing before I got down to what kind of session he wanted to do.
“I have a surprise for you, Mistress Penetration,” was his response.
I leaned back to peer out the door and see whether Caterina was paying attention, but she was battling someone on the phone.
I put a finger to my lips to get Oliver not to say any more. I didn’t know what he had up his sleeve, but I was guessing it was against the rules, so better if he showed me when we got to the room and I could decide how to handle it. I had to think through where we could play so Margaret, the house slave, couldn’t possibly be lurking and see what we were up to. As far as I knew, she didn’t have any hidden holes in the cave.
“Do you want to play for an hour again in the cave?” I asked.
“Let’s do it.”
I was admittedly nervous as we climbed the stairs. If he had brought a strap-on or a butt plug or something of the like, I didn’t really want to play with it here and risk getting caught. I tried to think through whether it would be appropriate to suggest meeting up outside the Dungeon instead, but I wasn’t sure that was something I was willing to do either. He was gorgeous, rich, and famous, but I had boundaries for a reason. I could also imagine, in this day and age of celebrity stalking, someone seeing us, finding out where I worked, and spreading it across the Internet. Waking up to a phone call from my mother to find out why I was being splashed across tabloids as a Dominatrix did not sound like my idea of a good time. That would go over really well on the jobsite too.
The Scarlett Letters Page 25