I had a call from a friend last night. Not just any friend. It was Mistress Max, a pro-domme, and she was asking me to take part in a session with her in the next couple of weeks. Paid, of course. And of course, I said yes. So I guess that makes me a domatrix. Sort of.
Truth be told, we had already been making arrangements for something similar. I clean Alistair's house once a week. Yes, also paid! I am not about to crawl around on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, with a carrot up my arse just because he said so. I don't like carrots very much. Max will soon be working regular Thursdays in Alistair's dungeon. Regular readers will already know that Alistair has a dungeon in his basement, used both personally and commercially. I have been asked by Max to clean the house on Thursdays. and to remain in the house all day, so that I can assist her if she needs, and offer a double-domme service, so to speak.
And financially benefitting.
I am reminded of the time when I was overseeing the removal of a very large, very ripe pile of rubbish that had been heaped up in the yard at the back of Alistair's house. I had arrived there, had a quick shower, and then proceeded to deal with men and van, still with soggy hair and bag-lady clothes. And I was not a happy camper. I was as close to cross as I get. This is because none of the rubbish was mine, and the ex was in the house... But she was too tired to deal with the men, but awake enough to spend the whole time surfing the web. Yes, I am sometimes a fool. So, back to me, my mood, and the men.
They did a good job, I paid them, and was just making my way back into the house, when Max bounded down the hall. She had come up from the basement, and was mid-session with a client.
"Can I as you a favour?" she said, "I am sticking needles in the client downstairs, and he wants someone to watch me do it. Would you mind?"
Mind? Hah! It would be therapy. Jab them in, I thought.
I agreed, but lamented the fact that I looked like a soggy shower-creature. I told Max that, had I but known, I would have worn something more befitting. We trundled downstairs and went into the medical room. There, secured to the gynae chair, was a very hairy middle aged man, wearing stockings and silk (well, nylon) panties. Yeah, sure, it 'aint sexy, and I have strong opinions on the whole "feminisation" thing, but ya gotta laugh. Max peered at him and told him that I had been in the middle of something.
"Yes," I said in a pissy voice, "You disturbed my shower."
And as Max proceeded to push needles through the skin of his scrotum, pausing every now and then to ask me where the next one should go, I thought: You couldn't write it...
Now, there actually isn't all that much money in the whole domination thing. Especially in the saturated market of London. However, it may be something I explore just a little bit, because if I am going to be pursuing my art, I am going to need to make some money wherever I can. And to be honest, several people have been surprised that I have never tried, including a few pro-dommes. I am told I "have the look". Hmmmm, yes well, not on a Friday night, high as a kite, with Alistair's cock down my throat, I don't....
And yes, the phone box was fun.