Today, I am assisting Mistress Max with a client who has been in session with her since yesterday, and will remain so until tomorrow.
He is into heavy bondage, and has been spending most of his time gagged, hooded, and blindfolded. Nevertheless, I thought I would wear something a little nicer than my usual mid-week bag-lady attire. I went for a classic, slightly vintage look today. I love to fashion my hair in a 1940s style, and so have used this as an opportunity to do so. I have my little pink blouse on, and grey pencil skirt with a waist cincher, and my very lovely pink peep-toe heels. No, not all mistresses are permanently clad in thigh-highs and latex. See how I crush your dreams?
I am mainly here to watch over him when he is left tied up and "alone" to make sure he doesn't get into any difficulty etc. However, I have been taking part here and there. This morning, before Max arrived at the dungeon, she had dressed the client as a woman and sent him off to Harrods to buy a pen. She is in no desperate need of a pen, but it was to serve as proof that he had indeed ventured to Harrods whilst dressed as a woman. Meanwhile, she made her way here.
Obviously "here" is not my home, but Alistair's. For those of you that don't know, he has a dungeon in the basement, and rents the space to pro-dommes. It was early, and he was tying up some loose ends before going to work. I was tying up my hair, and was rather hoping he would be unable to resist me in all my retro glory. Not even so much as a "You look pretty." Still, Max thought I looked lovely.
Now, Mistress Max is a woman who can be one of the most hyperactive people I have ever met. And when a client books a 48 hour session, that is exactly what they get. This man had been repeatedly tied up in various extreme bondage positions all night long. Max makes sure she wakes up every two hours to do this, so when she arrived here, she had had very little sleep and was still bouncing around. She filled me in on his likes and dislikes, and possible things we would do to him. she also asked me to answer the door to him to worry him a little. (He did not know I would be involved.)
He phoned to say he was outside. I opened the door, said hello, and told him to come in. Later, Max said that I have to alter my tone, she said it was too "friendly". Personally, I thought it was a very level tone. I don't really favour the stern, severe thing. Oh, don't get me wrong, I do favour nasty, mean, cruel, etc, however, as I have said before, these things are best served with a more gentle manner. It makes them seem more wrong, and somehow nastier. At least I think so. Still, they are paying for a service.
Anyway, I opened the door, and a small, skinny little man came in, with a little blond wig on his head. A Harrods carrier bag hung in his hand. I told him to kneel down, and I put a blindfold on his head, and buckled a gag onto him. Then (heehee) I wrapped tape around the whole thing. I helped him up and led him down the stairs to the dungeon, where Max was waiting for us. He was told to undress, and it would seem that he had removed the butt plug that he was meant to be wearing on his shopping excursion. Apparently, it hurt. What a wimp.
Max lowered the swing-bed from the ceiling. She tied his wrists with satin (he has a real thing for satin), and draped some scarves on him for good measure, then we zipped him up into a leather body-bag, which was placed on the swing. I went and grabbed a book, and Max popped out to the shops. She had to buy some food-stuffs, because the client wanted to be pelted with food. Not that uncommon, but this man wanted to have a "garbage can" emptied onto him. Well, whatever floats your boat. We weren't going to empty the bin onto him (though he is so petite, I think we could probably have thrown him in the bin...) What we were intending on doing was covering him in smelly, paticularly unpleasant food. Max came back with asorted tinned fish (and the standard baked-beans type things.) Being involved in this sort of thing does make you contemplate humanity often.
Whilst she was away, it was my job to make sure he stayed alive and breathing, and to torment him a little. Essentially, I took a seat, and nudged the swing here and there. When I got a bored, I dug out the Hitachi Magic Wand and buzzed him through the leather. If he had not been secured, he would have jumped a few feet into the air.
**written next morning**
When Max arrived back, I went upstairs and she gave her client some more playtime. Unfortunately, it would seem that he was coming down with a virus, sniffling, and beginning to look rather unwell. Since he had not had any sleep, and had not yet been allowed to eat, she put him to bed on the matress in the cage in the medical room. Fear not, he had blankets and was warm and snuggly. Sadly, sleep did not help him very much. We went to check on him, and he requested some more nap-time, in the hope that he would improve. Typically, I was very concerned for him, and suggested that he might need a t-shirt to keep his chest warm, then I gave him some ibuprofen. Don't think I am not capable of performing some quite grotesque acts on boys, but what can I say, I am inescapably fuzzy.
In the end, he called things to a halt. This saddened me, because were going to dress him up in something silky, and I was going to be let loose with the makeup. (Here I must state that I do not do enjoy enforced feminisation. The pleasure would be merely that of dress-up and makeup. It is irrelevant right now, but in a nutshell, it irks me that appearing "feminine" should be something humiliating, or submissive.) No frills and spills fun for me. Though there was some amusement. You see, after Max had packed him from the hotel room to get a pen from Harrods, and then to make his way here, she cleared his room of all his possessions, leaving only one set of clothes, and his wallet. She took his luggage to another dungeon space in London that she works from, and left a note on the bed saying "Hah! You thought it was over, but if you want your stuff back, you have until 2pm to find me a suitable gift." He was meant to have stayed the night at Alistair's, have been abused all night long, then to have been thrown out in the morning with the impression that it was all over...
On another note, I cooked dinner for Max, Alistair, and Courtney last night. Courtney arrived to find me still in my forties finery, not a hair out of place, vigorously whisking gravy. It was a kodak moment. Max and Courtney believe I might find a suitable niche if I approach the whole domination thing from a domestic angle... You know, smacking boys round the head with a wooden spoon, my hands still coated in flour from kneading all that dough, and all the while having to contend with such naughtiness. Don't make me get the rolling-pin.