From the second I saw James, I knew that he was exactly what I wanted for my first client. He was an attractive yet nondescript 30-something white male with light eyes and sandy hair. His clothes could’ve come straight out of a J. Crew catalogue. And he was casual, cool as a cucumber. There was a familiar air about him, like he was so many men who’d approached me at bars. I knew him. I could control him. He was the type of guy that I’d never fuck because he was too easy to figure out – but he was also the type of guy I might let go down on me. Just because.
It was a few months before the election and a copy of The New Yorker was perched on a table in the consultation room, a picture of Obama emblazoned on its front. James had obviously been reading it in between meeting girls, and I wondered if we were so boring that he had to fill in the gaps with politics. I introduced myself and shook his hand, then took a seat. “Anything interesting in there?” I asked, motioning to the magazine.
“Yeah. Lots of interesting stuff.” He smiled and looked away, slightly embarrassed that he’d been found out. Then he looked earnestly at me and said, “What do you think of all this? The election? Obama?”
From his age, the way he expressed his interest, and the fact that he was a regular client of the dungeon, I knew it was safe to tell him the truth. “I’m all for Obama,” I chirped enthusiastically. “I’m just hoping he’s not full of horse shit.”
He laughed at my flippancy. “Maybe with a Democrat in office, places like this wouldn’t have to worry so much, huh?”
I tilted my head to the side, careful not to give too much of an intellectual impression. “I don’t think it matters who’s in office. It’s an election year. Places like this are easy targets, fail-safe ways for politicians to look good.”
He seemed impressed with my answer, and not threatened at all. His eyes twinkled. “I haven’t come in in a while,” he offered. “Not since the bust.”
I thought about everything I’d heard about the bust, all of the rumors that it’d been an inside job, all of the paranoia that the cops would be back. I stifled any sign of emotion and let as much girlishness flow from my face as possible. “Yeah, I’ve heard of that. The bust, I mean.”
“You weren’t here before it?”
“Nope,” I laughed, letting my greenness show. “I’m pretty new here.”
James nodded and smiled, and we continued to make chit-chat. And maybe it’s because he’d already made up his mind to session with me, or maybe it’s because I’d said that I’d only been at the job for a couple of weeks, but he didn’t mention what he was into. Nor did he ask what I was into. I was too inexperienced to know to ask. We talked some more about politics and the economy, and when the next girl knocked on the door, I knew I’d overstayed my allotted time. I smiled, felt confident about my connection with James, and left so that he could meet the next girl.
Ivy the phone girl collected James’s money and walked into the lounge. All of the dommes lifted their heads eagerly and Ivy looked straight at me. “You, M. He wants you. For an hour. It’s a sub session. Really light.”
I nodded my head, aware that I was going to make $120.
“Normally, we don’t let newly inducted mistresses take on sub sessions, but James has been a regular for a while. He was my regular back when I was a dom. He’s really respectful and very kind.” Ivy waited till some of the color returned to my face, then her soft features hardened. “Besides,” she said, her eyes widening, “I threatened to kick his ass if he tried anything unsavory with you.”
I laughed and thanked Ivy, then went to the locker room to give myself another once-over. My peep-toe high heels were comfortable and my make-up was still in place. I wondered what about me he’d liked: Was it my looks? The fact that I could speak on politics and world affairs? The fact that I’m Asian? It didn’t matter. I told Ivy I was going in and I marked the time.
I knocked on the door and let myself in. The room was dimly lit, with mirrors all around. A four-post bondage bed lay in one corner, and James was seated right in front of the door. Unlike most of the clients I’d seen while in training, he was fully dressed. His eyes lit up as I closed the door behind me. I smiled girlishly.
“I was told that this is your first session?” he asked, standing to meet me.
I motioned for him to sit, and he stayed put. “Yeah,” I said, blushing. “You’re gonna pop my domme cherry.”
He laughed at my comment and unapologetically ravished my body with his eyes. Somehow, though, it didn’t come off as skeevy. He was attractive and obviously attracted to me, and his soft tone of voice instantly put me at ease. “I want to spank you over my knee,” he said, sitting back down.
I lay, stomach down, over his lap and nervously laughed. My skirt had hiked up on its own, revealing my silky see-through black panties. I looked down at the ground, feeling blood rush to my head and wondering what to expect. “I like your shoes,” I said, as I stared at his black loafers.
When he asked me to repeat myself, I knew that he’d been gazing at my ass in anticipation.
“Thanks,” he finally said. His voice was still soft and low, like he was a teacher, guiding me through my lesson. “Now I’m gonna spank you,” he let me know. “I’m gonna do it softly at first, and you let me know when I’m getting through to you, ok?”
“Also, let me know if I’m hurting you and you want me to stop, ok?”
I agreed again.
His warm hand caressed my ass, feeling its plumpness before lightly slapping it. I could feel my butt jiggle slightly from the minimum force, and in spite of myself, it felt good. I let out a soft moan of appreciation and James continued to spank me.
At first it was soft, then as the intensity grew, my moans grew along with them. Soon we’d established a rhythm, and James was spanking me harder and harder. I could feel the warmth of my blood coming to meet the surface of my skin. He yanked up my panties to see more of my backside and kept on spanking me.
Maybe it was the fact that he pulled my panties right over my clit, or because he seemed to really be into it, but I got turned on. I could feel my panties getting wetter, and no doubt he could smell my dampness mixing with the excitement in the air. As he spanked my ass, I grew more aware of the hardness poking me in my ribs. “Harder,” I begged, enjoying the rocking motion that followed each hard spank. “Harder.”
Just as I was really enjoying myself, James stopped spanking me and told me to get on the bed. I obediently lifted myself off of him and realized that my breasts were hanging out of my top. He stared at them but made no mention of their size or nakedness. Nor did he mention that my nipples were erect and that the room was too toasty to blame. He told me to take off my shoes and lie facedown on the bondage bed, and I happily obeyed his request.
“Tell me when I’m getting through to you,” he said again. I agreed and he started to spank me. I writhed on the bondage bed, obviously in ecstacy from the beating. My moans were low and intense, and as I begged for more punishment they became lounder and more sensual. I growled with lust and contorted my torso as if some demon of pleasure was taking me over. “Harder,” I pleaded. “Please spank me harder.”
James complied with my desire and I could see his dick bulging out of his slacks.
“Please?” I whimpered, groaning. “Please? Harder?”
He was quiet as he beat me, and soon he was really letting me have it.
“Harder!” I begged. “Please, I’ve been a bad girl. I need to get spanked harder.”
Jolts of adrenaline rushed through my body as James continued to spank me.
“I’m such a bad girl. I should get punished.”
He grunted in agreement and wailed on my ass.
“Show me how naughty I’ve been. Harder!”
I relished every second until I found my breaking point, then I contracted my body tersely.
“Was that too much?” he asked, in a voice that sounded like a concerned friend.
“Yes,” I breathed, wondering if I’d just lost my tip.
“Ok.” He ran his hands up my legs and rubbed my ass. “That was really good for me.”
I wondered if he’d want to jerk off, but before I could ask him, he was requesting to go to the bathroom. I led him there and brought him back into the room when he was done. As I sprayed Lysol on all the surfaces we’d used, we chatted again about politics and he laughed at the circumstances. “Ya know, you’re really smart,” he said, mock-accusingly.
“That was really good for me,” he said again, putting on his jacket.
“It was really good for me, too.”
He put a couple of 20s in my hand and I walked him to the elevator.
After he left, I walked back to the lounge, triumphant from having landed my first session. I’d made $160 in 45 minutes. Not bad at all.