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wanted: dominatrix. will train.



***** That was exactly how the ad was posted on craigs list. How could I resist? My dominatrix life lasted three days as a trainee, and I certainly got an eyeful.

I got hired,with shockingly little experience with this sort of, ahem, thing, in real life, and put to work right after the interview.

Now stop right there, I know what youíre thinking, so let me clear up a few things up before we go on. For those who don't know, being a professional dominatrix is about role-playing and acting, and no sex takes place. I'd once had someone assume that 'dominatrix' was the same as 'prostitute.' It is not. We get paid about twice what prostitutes do, and WE are in charge. We tell the clients what to do. That still surprises me.Each paid mistress brings in about $195, and get a little less than 50% of that. As a trainee, I worked on tips alone.

My "First " Time

Anyways, as part of the intake interview for each session with a prospective new client, the mistresses lined up outside the door to meet the person one at a time. He was to tell us what sort of scene he was looking for, and we were to mutually decide if we felt comfortable with each other. When it was my turn, I walked into the room known as 'Dungeon Two' - the one with the blue walls and leather spanking benches (uh, yeah) and the guy stood there somewhat timidly. I don't blame him ñ I was terrified myself. Luckily it turned out that describing myself as inexperienced and merely a trainee works wonders in this line of work.It means new girls being bossed around by the experienced girls, and at no extra charge - what's not to like?

He described an imaginary scene where he's repairing a fixture in our house and all three girls return home peeved that he's not finished with the repair yet. From there we were then to launch into an impromptu house party until a magic lotion suddenly puts us all to sleep. Yes, that's how it was described to us - could we do it?

He picked me and two other girls from the selection. Since I'd only just completed my job interview and been accepted to start training, I was in my street clothes. Hell. I was dressed like a mini-lawyer, having come from a meeting. One of the other girls loaned me a tiger-striped nightie and tall boots...not exactly my thing, but definitely better than what I had. I was later to discover that the main thrills of this line of work were the chance to design your own character costumes (like Halloween every day!) and improv acting. There was plenty of other stuff I could take or leave, but those two were somehow the most fun - that, and the opportunity to play amateur therapist figuring out the guy's motivations...in real-time.

The scene went smoothly, despite my scantily-clad ass hanging out more than I'd like from under the ill-fitting nightie. I worried vaguely what would happen once we were 'passed out' from the magic lotion, but I was also reminded that we're allowed to walk out of a scene at any time if it doesn't go as planned, or we're not fine with anything that goes on.

As the scene progressed, bad acting and all, and I couldn't believe he was lovin' it. I remember thinking the bottle of lotion was well, lotion...and upending the bottle, only to find it was way more liquidy - scented baby oil, in fact, that I dumped all over the floor mid-scene. I got to act domineering while wiping up the floor hastily but no one seemed to notice. Then it was time to faint...and I wondered what he'd be up to now that we were all being passive. Eyes closed, I heard him run from one girl to the other, leaning over us and touching our feet. That's it - touching our feet. He whispered worriedly to himself hoping that we were alright. I was ready to smack him if he touched any no-no body parts, but he just whispered wishing we were all alright. Then the time was up and I'd survived my first session. Afterwards on break, the three of us speculated that maybe this guy had grown up with a sick but domineering and critical mother or female figure, because obviously he wanted us to re-enact treating him badly but then he wanted to look after us when we were 'passed out.' In his own timid way, it was incredibly sad and sweet, and I wish I could have asked him the real story behind this scene he wanted to experience. I also wondered if he did this frequently, or whether this was a one-time thing, sort of to exorcise his past demons by repeating them and perhaps demystifying them just a little bit more, I guess.


The next intake came within an hour and we were sent to the big room, the black dungeon room with the St. Andrews cross and wardrobe full of whipping instruments. (Heck, I think every room probably was fitted out with the whipping instruments, I just barely noticed with everything else going on.) This one was double the size as the others and came with its own marble bathroom. The prospective client, who asked us to call him "Rich," requested that all the mistresses come into the room at once for a group interview. He presented us with a printed note from a female friend which described that Rich had lost a bet to her and now he had to wrestle a girl. If he won, then he was fine, but if he lost, he would have to serve the mistresses he'd lost to based on a complex inverse chart detailing the hours he would have to serve. With us all standing there, he called Lisa and she explained the details to us, and asked us to make sure we whupped his arrogant chauvinist ass. I was one of two girls chosen.

Amber went up against him first, having actually been on a wrestling team in high school. At one point she had him on the ground pinned and nearly sat on his face, laughing that she was on the rag too. When it was my turn to wrestle him he was pretty well beat, not that I was even that good a wrestler but the man was already tired so I won. So Amber and I each got a certain number of hours that Rich would serve to us personally, if we wanted to cross that line and have him involved in our private (non-dominatrix ) lives. (I did make him pick me and my boyfriend up at JFK airport, and he was stuck in 4 hours' traffic and had to bring us up to Westchester, which was punishment in and of itself. He was mortified that I might tell my boyfriend why he was giving us the ride and constructed an elaborate 'pre-existing friendship' with me so that my guy wouldn't guess how Rich and I had met. He already knew.) But I digress, back to my dominatrix world.

On the way out, Rich outright asked Amber for a handjob. That's of course illegal, and I excused myself from the room before I could catch what her answer would be.

There was a lull between prospective client interviews, and I think we went in to meet with one guy who chickened out and left after meeting each of us. A few of the girls were pissed about that, but hey, I understand that's his choice. Whatever he's looking for, he didn't find it among us, and with things being so highly subjective, I'm amazed the clients can find a connection with each of us at all on such short notice - made me wonder if their compulsions or desires, or whatever brought them here, were so prevalent that it didn't matter who acted out the role, you know?

The Mental Dental

Late in the evening, I was invited to join a fellow mistress with a regular client whom she referred to as "Mental Dental." An older gentleman my grandfather's age requested two 'nurses' to help him with tooth pain. He'd brought his own kit of dental tools, including tooth 'elevators' used for pulling back teeth, and hypodermic needles with novocainee which we were to use on him. The other mistress had worked with him before and also had training as a nurse and apparently knew enough to operate the needle convincingly - at any rate, I realized that his fantasy, and our willingness to play along with it, was more important to him than whether we actually knew what we were doing or not.I was intrigued with the fact that this was consensual. We were using his own tools and following his directions. I was uneasy about using a needle on him. Did you need a license to do that? Well it wouldnít hold up in court anyway, he'd have to divulge why he was here in the first place. There was that understanding and strange sense of trust between us. This scene took place in what was known as the 'Crossdressing room' - the most normal-looking of the rooms incidentally, which had a leather sofa, coffee table, and dresser drawers full of wigs and man-sized panties and girdles and stockings. It looked like a 1970s living room out of a house; no torture wheels here.

While every experience that first day was blowing my mind, I did a pretty good impression of looking blase when grandfather just up and dropped his slacks right in front of us. Oh my. Everyone else had been clothed (if you count wrestling shorts as clothing). The other gal was used to this and was friendly and conversational with him, getting him settled on the leather sofa. Apparently as part of his 'pain management' during the imaginary tooth surgery, in addition to novocaine it was to be expected that he used masturbation to stave off the pain.

Look, I've never been this close to a bare grandpa weiner before, and normally I would have been freaking out. But given the events of the day, and how normal this seemed to everyone else, made it easy to go along with it. It did make me curious about how peer pressure works in other situations as well, since I'd rarely been susceptible to that sort of stuff in high school (yes, how boring of me I know). The strange thing is, despite the situation, this guy wasn't creepy and was really rather...er, nice. He was definitely very preoccupied with the pain and worried about whether it would hurt, but repeatedly told us that he had to have this tooth pulled. So the other mistress, "N" set about examining his teeth, agreeing that one in particular looked very inflamed. He was very worried, but also comforted that she had identified the same problem (the tooth, obviously, was either actually fine or had been pulled a long time ago).

Mental Dental asked to touch my tooth while his was being pulled. Uh, okay. Everyone was wearing latex gloves (believe me, this is not something I would have looked forward to explaining to my own doctor if I got cooties somehow) and he put his finger on my front tooth while N. started sticking the pliers and novocaine in there. The interesting thing was that I'd presumed the whole point for him was to get off (and yeah, I still hadn't decided how I felt about this) but I learned that for some reason the focus on the imaginary pain and our examining of his teeth were what were doing it for him - not at all what I'd expected. In his case, he seemed to be here for our attention and concern over his health. At the end of the 50 minute session (same amount of time as a shrink!) he tipped well and was very grateful to us. At the exit door saying goodbye, he asked me if I would be willing to do some research on more dental details so that he could schedule another session with me too. I called a dentist the next day to ask for the names of additional tools and terminology, and the funniest thing is that they understood why I was asking and still decided to provide me with some answers. Made me wonder if dental fetishes are relatively common out there because the receptionist who'd answered the phone didn't seem surprised at all. In what turned out to be just three days at the dungeon, I didn't have a chance to see that particular client again, but it was interesting getting a peek into those imaginations.

What did I get out of it?

I was mostly in it for the costumes, if you really must know. I'd played some version of a dominatrix for at least the past 5 Halloweens, and I was both sheepish and fulla pride when they asked upon hiring me if I had my own outfits to fulfill their most-requested themes (corset, nurse, etc.) and yeah, it turned out that I already had practically everything. What does that say about me? ;) I also got to sew a few quick things to build up my mistress character for future sessions. I loved that part of it too. Who knew arts and crafts would play such a role in my enjoyment of this thing?

I am also still completely intrigued by what motivates people. Who are these people that hire a Dominatrix? And why are they sexualizing the things they fear most ? Does this lack of control give them a sense of control? That is a theory I am still testing in other areas of my life. I've had an ex-boyfriend start to deal with his insecurity and jealousy while we were broken up by exploring the idea of being cuckolded, or cheated on, as a way perhaps to get more comfortable with that fear (in the end we created a bit of a monster, as he urged me to cheat on him all the time ñ when that wasn't really in my interests anyway. Hell, I'm an old-fashioned girl! ;).

Another lasting effect of my short live dominatrix life, I canít take a subway, or be anywhere in public without wondering about the men around me. I wonder if the executive across from you really does like getting bossed around and spanked when he's not being the boss himself.

Over the course of the next work day, I would meet the CEO who insisted on wearing womens' panties while being spanked, the German wrestler who begged for poo, the infantile man who wanted to be shaved, and Dagwood, the real-life submissive who experimented with dominant roles only while in these rooms ñ one of the most polite men I'd ever met.

But those are stories for another timeÖ


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