Creative Writing: Danger For A Dominatrix

Danger for a Dominatrix I felt I was on the verge of a mental meltdown after a full year in my torture chamber and Ronnie had deserted me because of Mistress Carla. Late one afternoon when I was home alone, after a mind-fuck of a session, I sat on the cold terrazzo floor, huddled in the dark corner of my walk-in hall closet. I don’t know how I got there, or what drove me there. I was trembling, weeping, and delirious, aching and crying out loud to my mother asking, why did you leave me? I cried out to my grandmother too, asking for forgiveness for leaving her on the eve of her suicide. I was pleading with God not to desert me like everyone else had. I sat in the darkness, my body crunched up into a tight mass. Through my fog of terror, I

Are you hungry or thirsty?” Jean inquired as she carefully led me down the echoing hallway into the bedroom and helped me into the comfort of our mammoth, fur-covered waterbed. Jean sat on the wide platform siding until I drifted away into a more peaceful world where everything could be temporarily forgotten. I was safe there and where all past and present traumas could be suppressed until the next unpredictable trigger unearthed a flood of anguish and torment. Jean’s soothing voice and her presence gave me an immediate rush of security and reassurance. She came to save me. No screaming, no criticism, no reprimand or rejection, no one begging to suck my toes, or to jerk off in my dungeon No one, not even Jean could have imagined the weight I carried with me every waking moment. No one would have ever guessed the loneliness and sorrow which plagued me. I had become a master at more than role-play when dominating my clients in the dungeon. I had become talented in masking my true feelings, as though I was playing a character role in the movie of my life. Jean handed me my prescription for valium. I took ten milligrams and closed my

"What are you talking about, it's not necessary?" "It's not necessary because I will not be taking off my clothes for any reason." "How can you be an escort if you don't take off your clothes?" He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit a Marlboro. "I will have sex with the women but I am going to be the dominant, aggressive one. I will not be letting anyone reciprocate. I will be wearing a tailored suit, boots, and maybe a tie, it depends on the date." "Let me get this right. You are going to have sex with women, leave your clothes on, and you think they're going to be happy with that?" He took a deep, long drag off his cigarette. "This is how I operate and I'm sure I won't have any complaints." It was amazing to watch this man's reaction to what I was telling him. "I've never heard of an escort who didn't get naked - but if you want to give it a try, I'll do it." Steven scratched the cheek of his two-day stubble. "I'll give you a call if anything comes in but don't count on much." The following weekend, Steven called. I headed out into a new world of sexual