Fifty Shades of Domination - My True Story (3 page)

In Colin’s case, even such an extreme outfit is rarely enough. He needs strapping down to my medical bench and tucking up tight with one or more heavy rubber blankets around his head and body. Only when every inch of his body is pressed down under multiple layers of latex will I consider offering some form of sexual relief. I’ll sometimes attach him to my ‘milking’ machine, a converted agricultural unit once employed on milking Friesians but now capable of masturbating and sucking up to four slaves at once. It rarely takes Colin long to achieve the desired result if I decide that his good behaviour has earned him an orgasm.

By contrast with my difficulties in choosing an average man, an easy choice presents itself when it comes to couples. I love playing with couples; they are always such good fun. Sometimes, if they are living and playing together as a couple in real life, they bring their own equipment which will always excite me. As an equipment and sexual gadget junkie, I adore anything new I can get my hands on: ‘Oh please let me have a go.’ On occasions, both partners are submissive and then I can have the titillation of linking them together in bondage.

Jonathon and Elaine are an unlikely pairing who really know how to party. Both married, but not to each other, they met on a BDSM internet website and come together only for sex and domination games. Both cheating on their straight-sex partners, they are the perfect example of the way in which the internet and a desire for ‘unusual’ sex can connect people who would otherwise never have met. Today’s more public face of BDSM is perhaps the reason why more and more couples now visit my chambers together. I’ve always had a preponderance of male clients, although lone women are far from unknown. Now there’s a noticeable trend towards the idea that ‘couples who play together stay together’.

Elaine is a charming, flirtatious, highly submissive young lady; Jonathon, 20 years older, is equally charming and switches between the roles of dominant and submissive with consummate ease. I sometimes session with Jonathon on his own but Elaine only visits West London Towers in Jonathan’s company. I described her above as submissive but that’s not quite correct; she is a confirmed masochist who sometimes refuses to submit at all. She can be defiant and cheeky in order to goad Jonathon and me into increasing the severity of whichever punishment she is suffering at the time.

On one visit, Jonathon tied Elaine, naked, to the medical bench and spread her legs apart in the gynaecological stirrups. Her blindfold prevented her from seeing who might be touching her or what might happen to her next. As arranged with Jonathon, I left him to play with her for a while but then slipped silently into the room to run my rubber-gloved hands across her helpless body. I could see she was desperately trying to work out what was happening as two hands started
caressing her nipples and a further two hands delved between her legs. The hands pinching her nipples were Jonathon’s; the hands stroking her clitoris were mine. Now I should perhaps say here that I am completely heterosexual in my private life. I can appreciate when a woman is attractive, but I am not attracted myself. In my own wildest fantasies I am always surrounded by men – preferably about a dozen of them all playing with me at any one time – but I have no problems in dominating women if it enhances the fun of couples who are paying for my time.

On this occasion though, Elaine was not there to be lovingly caressed; she was seeking pain and discomfort and that’s something I’m always happy to provide. She had never experienced needle-play – something of a speciality of mine – and I wanted to introduce her to those new sensations. Before inserting the finest of needles, scrupulously sterile and obtained from a leading medical equipment supplier, I cleaned her breasts with alcohol swabs. Elaine’s blindfold had by then already been removed so that she might fully anticipate what was about to happen; as always, it is the prospect of pain, more than the pain itself, which starts the adrenaline pumping. With fingers clad in surgeons’ latex gloves I carefully inserted a needle on either side of each nipple. She winced and whimpered as each point broke the skin but was clearly enjoying both the pain and the sight of her nipples now interlaced with the gleam of metal pins. My final task was to push the needle tips into two small corks; I would hate any of my clients, or me, to jab themselves unnecessarily.

Seeking to bring the couple’s session to a suitably climatic end, I donned one of my biggest strap-on cocks and
positioned myself between Elaine’s thighs. Jonathon had readied his video camera to record the abuse I was about to inflict on his partner. I have an enormous variety of rubber, plastic, and even metal dildos available to use on either men or women. Some are rock hard plastic, some are made of softer rubber and quite a few of them vibrate. They all fit interchangeably into a custom-made leather and elasticised strap harness which sits securely around my waist and thighs to give me a faux erection of which any man would be proud. This ever-ready penis collection comes in a variety of colours, although that never seems to be of much importance to male clients – perhaps because they are often blindfolded or because I am usually standing behind them when I put them to use. Women, however, seem to care far more about the visual impact of a scene and so it was for Elaine’s benefit that I was that evening wearing a particularly fetching pink cock which I knew would stretch her to her limits.

I took my time ensuring that the dildo sat securely in my harness and then took even longer ostentatiously lubricating the tip and the shaft of the erect member in order to increase the theatricality of the occasion. So much of what I do in my sessions is, in reality, pure theatre; a carefully choreographed performance designed to heighten my clients’ sexual desire and therefore their subsequent pleasure. It’s never enough so simply spank, or crop or cane a man’s behind for example; far better to render him helpless, warm his rear with some stylishly delivered slaps from my hand and then allow him to watch as I take my time in selecting the next implement from a hook on the wall. I’ll be chatting to him or just to myself throughout the process: ‘Hmm… now let me see, this crop
might be good… or perhaps this one… it’s a little whippier and more painful… which is just what you need.’ Performing like an actress on stage is, of course, also the reason why I have wardrobes full of exotic and erotic rubber and leather uniforms, along with racks of thigh-high boots and stiletto-heeled shoes. All are needed for the constant costume changes required to keep the Miranda Show up and running: numerous performances a week, and matinee appearances on demand.

However, returning to my couple’s story, I could hear Jonathan’s breathing grow heavier and see that his excitement levels were visibly burgeoning as I readied Elaine for penetration. He was having trouble holding his camera steady as I gently eased my faux-cock between her outer vulva lips and pushed in to the hilt. After an hour of steadily increasing pain and discomfort, Elaine was more than ready to receive me. Like all true masochists, her excitement increases with each step up her personal pain ladder as a session progresses. Her pain is no less unpleasant than it would be to you or to me, but, for her, the sensation of pain translates into sexual pleasure. To increase her fun further I pressed a vibrator against the hood of her clitoris and told Jonathon to lightly touch the needles piercing each of her areola. It was a combination of pain and pleasure which I knew Elaine would be unable to resist: in due course, she proved me right.

Her climax – which, although I say it myself, was a rather spectacular example of my work – left one person in the room still frustrated and desperate for relief. Poor Jonathan was begging for one of us girls to lend him a hand. Elaine, who clearly was used to doing his bidding, duly reached out and started to stroke him. My urgent command stopped her in her
tracks: ‘No… Elaine, don’t touch. He hasn’t earned any pleasure… and he is not getting a climax tonight.’ A look of desperation crossed Jonathan’s face but he knows better than to argue with his Mistress once a decision has been made. I’m amazed that women don’t always appreciate the power of sometimes leaving a man frustrated and desperate to ejaculate. They may get a little sulky and stomp around for a bit but that mood passes, leaving them compliant and attentive enough to make any woman happy.

Having dealt with ‘typical’ male and couples clients, that leaves one other category unaccounted for – the single women who occasionally fall into my hands (ignoring for a moment the many men who come to me seeking to be made-up and dressed as a woman). Women do add a spice of variety to life but I can’t deny that they can be hard work. Perhaps it’s because I am a heterosexual woman that I find pleasuring a man to be a relatively simple affair. A few rapid strokes, a little verbal erotica to get his heart racing and voila: a climax is almost guaranteed. Much of the time one doesn’t even need a full erection; what could possibly be easier? Women, on the other hand, exhibit a bewildering multitude of variations when it comes to exciting their ladyparts. In my professional life I’ve tried every possible method of bringing a woman to orgasm. I’ve employed my latex-gloved fingers, a mixture of pain and pleasure, erotic stories, penetration at every possible depth and speed, my variable-speed fucking machine, the tongues of my willing male slaves, and vibrators of every shape and size. Some women do come easily, over and over again, while others struggle to reach that moment at all,
despite hours of patient work by their partners. No one method guarantees success and it is only when a woman tries giving another woman an orgasm that she appreciates the problems men face throughout their lives.

However, one female client fortunately proved to have no difficulty whatsoever in finding sexual satisfaction at my hands. Lorraine is a professional lap-dancer and television adult-channel performer with a body to die for. A genuine submissive and masochist, she likes me to push her limits a little further with each visit. I adore variety above all else in my sexual games and Lorraine gives me ample chance to employ a little-used technique to give her the pain she desires. She is a particular fan of bastinado, the ancient torture of caning the soles of the feet. Her tolerance for the pain this produces is astonishingly high, as one of my male slaves learned to his cost. He should never have agreed to take part in a filmed foot-caning contest between himself and Lorraine.

To make things easier for me, I tied the male submissive to my whipping bench and strapped Lorraine to my bondage throne, a convenient arms-length away. Each had their bare feet raised and perfectly presented for the blows to come. The winner was to be the one who lasted longest before having to use his or her safeword (as described earlier) to bring the contest to a close. As always, I began the session gently and then steadily increased the torment they were required to endure. I have found over the years that this gradual progression through any form of play or punishment is essential to get the best from my slaves. Many novice Mistresses – and, I am sad to say, some experienced ones as well – seemingly fail to understand the importance
of that rule. Given that the purpose of the game is to help the slave explore to the full his or her own sexual desire, there seems little point in steaming in so hard that limits of endurance are reached within moments. A little patience pays considerable dividends.

To that end, I began my bastinado Olympics by employing a light flogger with multiple strands of soft suede which sting but cause no serious pain. Both of my contestants knew me well enough to have realised that this was but the first stage of this unusual type of podiatry. Indeed, as is my wont, I had laid out a small selection of different instruments on the bench where both contestants could see them. Anticipation is all. We progressed to a more punishing riding crop, moved up a gear through one or two of the lighter, whippier canes and then onto the heaviest cane which I was confident would sort out the men from the boys. So it proved to be. The first few swipes across the sole of his foot soon dragged the safeword from my male subbie’s lips. Lorraine had a little smile of triumph on her face as she heard her male companion cry out ‘for his mummy’ – the particularly humiliating phrase that I make him use as a safeword when he truly needs me to stop.

It had proved to be no-contest, with my female champion easily dispatching her opponent inside a few rounds. The loser was sent from the room and I decided that Lorraine’s prize was to be a session on the medical bench with multiple needles through various tender parts of her body. This was new to Lorraine and although she tolerated a few needles through her nipples, I soon discovered her limits as the first metal tip touched the skin of her labia majora. With real tears of fear running down her cheeks, Lorraine begged me to stop but I
knew she could take more if she tried. I had already laid out the exact number of needles ready to be inserted and in such cases I work on the same principle as those governing the Samurai warriors of ancient Japan. Legend has it that a Samurai sword, once unsheathed, cannot be put away without being used: and so it is with me. Once the needles are ready and waiting they have to find a home. In such situations I have found that a calm but utterly determined tone of voice can encourage any slave further along the path of complete submission than they may have expected.

‘You are going to take more needles, young lady,’ I insisted. ‘I know you don’t want to… and I know they hurt, but you do want to please me, don’t you? That’s why these needles are going in now… then we can get this nasty stage over and done with and move on. That’s what we all want, isn’t it?’

My script may sound ineffective when viewed in cold print, but whispered close to a slave’s ear, with the correct tone of voice and the authority that I’ve spent decades perfecting, it works every time. I backed up my words with actions by popping my half-a-dozen remaining needles right through her outer labia lips to accompanying squeals of pain from my now-quiescent client. Even now, Lorraine’s fun was not over. I pointed out that the unsheathed needle points were now resting gently on her inner vaginal lips and that any movement from her would likely result in a fascinating but unusual self-piercing experience. ‘I suggest you lay
very
still,’ I instructed as I left the room. ‘Don’t move and I’ll be back in a while to set you free.’ Still nervous, still shaking a little and still crying, Lorraine had little choice. She meekly accepted her fate.