The following story is taken from Instant Whips and Dream Toppings: a True-life Dom Rom Com, by Jacky Donovan, London’s most sought-after Dominatrix.
It’s taken me about three hours to look this fabulous. Did it take you as long? I hope you’ll appreciate all this effort…
I was shaking all the while as I applied even more lip gloss and sprayed my hair with yet more coconut oil. Too much? I don’t want you to imagine we’re both sunning ourselves on a beach. Not the impression I want to create at all.
The mirror reflects a wonderfully enticing cleavage and clothes that fit perfectly. High, high heels. I hope these fuck-me shoes are comfortable enough to spend a long time in. I take one last look around the place, it seems fine to me. Besides, it’s too late now anyway.
How many other women up and down the country are primping and preening, getting themselves ready for a big night, like me? Hundreds? Thousands? Would they be wined and dined? Have gifts bought for them? Would it be exciting and enticing? I hope so, for all of us. Or would it be as nerve-racking for them as it is for me? I pour myself a drink. Is it acceptable to do that? I don’t even know. I’m not yet entirely sure what the rules are. This is my first time, after all.
A drink will help to calm my nerves, I suppose. I’d eaten earlier on. Nothing spicy such as Thai, that would have been foolish, although phonetically appropriate for this evening. Usually in times of stress and uncertainty I turn to food for comfort. Earlier on, however, and I’d had to force myself to swallow. Maybe we’d eat later on? Again, I don’t know. I don’t know what to expect from this evening at all. It could be amazing, or a complete disaster.
You’d sounded very confident when I’d spoken to you, as if you knew exactly what you were doing and wanted me to do. Much more than me. I glance at a clock. And then hide it. I don’t think it will help if we witness our time counting down. Too clinical. I want you to enjoy and lose yourself in the situation. Eight o’clock we’d said; it’s just getting to that time. What happens if you don’t come? What do I do then, call you back and complain?
The doorbell rings. One last check for lipstick on my teeth and I totter over to the door. I open it, anticipating your expectant face, hoping to see instant desire radiate from it as you take in my outfit.
You kiss me on both cheeks and introduce me to her: “This is Abigail,” you inform me, although at the time I immediately forget her name. Great, so it’s going to be an Abigail’s Party, rather than a Valentine’s treat?But, as I open the door, I see you’re not alone. Who’s this blonde, leggy creature and what’s she doing with you? Actually, she seems kind of familiar, but I can’t quite place her. I invite you both in and she enters first in heels much higher than mine, swishing her long blonde locks. Is she the surprise you mentioned you might bring along with you? I was hoping for flowers, chocolates, or a bottle of champagne. It is Valentine’s night, after all.
“The things we talked about on the phone,” you say, sniffing for some reason. “Well, I’ve changed my mind. I thought we could all have some fun together instead.”
Already I feel out of my depth. Not to worry. Try not to worry. Proceed as planned. As normal. As normal as this encounter can be anyway. What was that piece of advice Vic gave me? That’s right: “Think of them as much as possible. It’s about them.”
“Fine. How about we all have a drink?” I breezily suggest and I go to fetch an extra glass.
“Thanks,” I reply, returning. “I decorated it all by myself… with a little help from a friend.”
I thought I’d had it all worked out earlier. I knew what you wanted and I’d be in complete control. I wished I’d asked you a lot more questions during our brief conversation on the phone, but how would I know that the main one would be: “and will you be bringing a tall, leggy, blonde stranger with you?”
The girl has taken her shoes off too, yet she’s still almost as tall as me, even in my red six-inch heels. I’m not sure if I’m going to remove any of my outfit this evening, but these bad girls are definitely staying on.
You sit yourself down and motion to the girl to sit next to you. She looks fabulous, yet it’s you who are my main concern. I want you to have the time of your life, tell all your friends and come back for more. What shall I do about her? Am I expected to entertain her too? I wish there was an idiots’ guide for this sort of thing.
I try to make conversation with her.
“How long have you known Daniel?” I ask.
“About an hour,” she replies.
I wait for her to carry on, but she says nothing. She just sits there, gazing around, looking a little bored. I turn back to look at you. You already have your cock out and are moving your hand up and down it, slowly. I hope I’ve left enough tissues out.
I steal a glance at your cock, my first one in this… situation. It’s quite ugly really, though of course I’m not going to tell you that. Big, yes, but knobbly and veiny. It reminds me of the bulging building going up in the City, near where I work. Where I used to work. It’s also bent, as if it has a kink in it. Annoyingly, worryingly, Ray Davies then flashes into my head. I push him away and think of something else… the leaning tower of pisser.
The girl has reached over and grabbed your gherkin, tugging it but looking even more bored. What do you want me to do? It looks like this could be a double-handed job, but I don’t want to touch it just yet either. Instead I start to talk dirty to you like you’d asked me to. It seems to be working, for you if not for her. I start to tell you about a boy who’s always getting into trouble. Your eyes are closed. You’re enjoying this. Good. And I’m slowly getting into it too. You like it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you? Yes, you do.What am I supposed to do? I’m not sure. Perhaps if I just keep smiling then everything will be all right? I hope you don’t want me to put it in my mouth, I don’t think that’s expected of me. Why didn’t I just take that job they offered me? I know how to play that game.
I feel a bit braver now as I whisper to you so I start to touch you too. My hand is on your bulging cock, rubbing your foreskin up and down. Blondie takes her hand away, stands up and helps herself to another drink, but you don’t seem to notice. I carry on telling you my dirty story, whispering in your ear. The naughty boy has been caught with sticky fingers. You lean right back as I pull your veiny cock faster and harder. Was that a little moan of pleasure I just heard there? That’s right – you keep listening to me while I excite your tip and squeeze your balls.
I’m really getting into this now, enjoying it more and more. I can feel myself becoming turned on as I whisper my story to you. I’m getting wetter and wetter, getting pleasure from watching you with your eyes closed, half smiling. We’re coming to the end of my story, the climax.
“Bend over,” I whisper to you and, like an obedient yet naughty little boy, you stand up and pull your trousers down. I fetch one of the four brand-spanking-new whips I’ve recently purchased, come back to you and finish off my tale.
“He knew he had been bad, just like you—”
“And the boy promised he’d never, ever do it again—”
Perhaps with just a little bit more… ah, there we go. Thanks for showing me your appreciation. Here, have a tissue.
You open your eyes. You look as if you’re going to suck your thumb.
You slip me three crisp fifty pound notes. They crackle as I take them with trembling hands. Never have I earned so much in such a short space of time. I almost want to kiss you. I’ve made you come and now I want to as well. I hope your first time with me was as good for you as it was for me.
Blondie seems to have fallen asleep. I am shaking with adrenalin, hoping you can’t see, praying that you haven’t found me out.
“Thank you, thank you,” you say, smiling and pulling your trousers up. “You’re so much better than her. I can just tell you’ve been doing this for years.”