I have a friend who was a Dominatrix. I say “was” because I don’t think she
actively pursues clients anymore, having other interests, but I suppose one
could argue, “Once a Domme, always a Domme.”
I invited her to the Cape
house. She arrived at the lower door
wearing a wig and a tightly belted trench coat.
She entered and we went upstairs to the living area. She unbelted her coat with a wicked grin, and
there she stood before me in all her Domme splendor. I laughed.
Delightful. She had a crop and was
playfully thwacking at the furniture.
“Bring me a drink, Slave!”
She heard footsteps above her head. The master floor and bedroom suite. She looked at me with a puzzled
expression. Footsteps came down the
stairs, and you entered. She
gasped. It had been a while.
I think she wanted to be embarrassed, but something else
kicked in and she adjusted her head back and stared at you defiantly. Domme to Dom.
I knew better. I took
one look in your eyes and saw it all. How
much you were going to enjoy yourself. The undoing.
She was my friend, but you were
my Dom. This takes precedence.
She looked at me. I
looked at you. I fell to my knees and
lowered my eyes. Her mouth opened in
astonishment. Then she looked at you
again.
You met her wavering gaze head on. A slight smile on your lips. She
knew she would have to pay for this moment of frivolity. “Slut?
Get upstairs. Now.” I left.
I knew I would have to bear witness and participate in the falling of a
proud Domme. I dreaded it.
The lessons she thought she so gleefully played at? She was going to learn the impact of what
they really meant, for the first time in her life. I am sure she was starting to tremble,
realizing her error.
But you? I knew she
would weaken. I knew she would be
humbled. I knew your gaze. I had paid for disobeying that gaze. I understood its full power and the need for
obedience. I heard her cry out. I heard a thud. I could only guess. You had grabbed her hair and dropped her to
her knees in front of your hard cock.
Such begin the lessons.
