A LIFE IN THREE DOMMES (kotw)

Well, obviously I have to write a Kink Of The Week post on this week’s theme of Dominatrix. How could I not? About half my blog is tales of female domination and male submission as I explore the outer reaches of my masochism. But where to start? A session description? A tour of the different type of professional Dominatrix and the varying services they offer? A peon of praise to my beautiful Mistress?

I think I’ll just start and see where I get to.

When my first wife left me, I finally decided to venture beyond the perennially uncomfortable weirdness of self inflicted pain and see if I could pay someone to hurt me. In the pre-internet age in which I had grown up, it had been difficult to understand this strange predilection and to label it. In truth, I had been rather incurious as to the “Why”of it.

I will never forget that first session, a tall powerful woman of about 50 in a large and stylish basement flat. I had read no “how to book a Domme” blog posts, or lists of things you should include in your pre session chat. I didn’t know what a safe word was. The resources available to the putative submissive today are vast in comparison. I muttered something about punishment fantasies as I handed over the money.

“Oh, yes! We have a room for that,” she replied.

I remember being surprised and confused by over-sized school uniforms, gingham dresses, and high heeled shoes in the room we walked though. This was 20 years before my visit to the Femdom ball, and I knew nothing of this world. My fear, as she used a long leather belt to tie me over a tall stool, the kind of thing you might sit on in a school chemistry lab, was a palpable, living thing, squirming in my gut.

She beat me and beat me and beat me. I phoned her a week later and asked how long I could expect the bruises to last.

“Perhaps another week,” she answered before offering to book a second session. I politely declined.

I think if that session had been less horrific, I might have explored further, trying other sessions and different mistresses, just as I did later. What shocked me was not so much the incredible violence, as the knowledge that I wanted more. I have a theory that my fear of what she had unearthed in me is why I bounced straight into a second vanilla marriage so soon after the first. I went back to hurting myself, weird though it was.

Twenty years later, after a long period of having the same session with the same girl once ever month, I had a similar “turning point” experience with Mistress Kikko, in Las Vegas. Although it was much more recent, my memory of the session itself is only sketchy. I just remember being completely lost in wave after wave of indescribable pain. I remember gripping the Mistress’s arm like I was drowning, terrified lest I let go and the waves pull me under. I remember the silence when it ended, and the way she stood quietly next to me for an age, her hand gently on my thigh as I returned from the place she had sent me. I’d never experienced subspace before. I went back three days later and she did the same thing, though in completely different ways. She was and, as I know from subsequent visits, still is, very skilled.

This was my “through the back of the wardrobe” moment, and I knew immediately the wonderful world of sensation and emotion I had discovered would become important for me.

So I went in search of a guide.

My first encounter with Mistress Elita was a three way session with the beautiful and very kinky escort who had introduced us . It was super erotic and featured some real challenge. The second was at a well known rental dungeon that is more like a museum of all things kink. I think we were feeling our way with each other that day. It was our third encounter that made me realise I had found the right Mistress for me. We were in a hotel near Kings Cross that has since become a favourite venue for kinky encounters. My most read blog post: “anatomy of a caning,” has its origins in the beating she gave me at the end of this session.

In the eighteen full force strokes, I went from initial panic, to a desperate fight to get on top of the sensations, to a glorious state of equilibrium where my body felt full of pain but the amount entering with each stroke was somehow in a beautiful balance with the amount leaving in each sharp exhaled breath. I felt so strong at the end of it.

Had she stopped then, this would already have been my most memorable experience with a cane, but, with that sixth sense that tells her exactly where I am, she started again; light fast strokes that became heavy fast strokes, WACKWACKWACKWACK. It was so intense, overwhelming all my senses until only the pain was left. When I eventually rose unsteadily from the bed, she gave me a long hug. I’d never been hugged by a Mistress before. There was no sex in it; it was more a big-sister hug and, lost as I was, I clung to her for support and comfort, needing to know, in the child-like state to which she had reduced me, that I had done well.

So I chose Elita as my guide into this strange new world: for her ability to see deep into my soul; for the way she blends pain and pleasure like an artist mixing paint; and for the excitement in her eyes when she hurts me. It’s been quite an exploration.

For more posts of the theme of Female Domination visit Kink Of The Week: