This is the second of a series of "Session Diaries" inspired by sessions with pro-Dommes in Manhattan in the late 1990s.
I waited, naked, on my knees leaning forward with my head and hands on the floor. The room was a windowless space in an industrial loft in Midtown. One harsh light shone down from the high ceiling.
When the sound of her boots clicking across the floor announced her arrival, I sat up.
"How have you been?" Lady Vick asked.
"I have been well. And you, my lady?"
She cocked an eyebrow and said, "It has been a rough week."
Whatever type of week she may have had, to my eyes, she still looked stunning. Jet black hair, pulled back in a pony tail. Pale skin. Flashing obsidian eyes, a sharp jaw and beautiful full red lips. She was built solidly with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Her muscled arms and shoulders were decorated with elaborate tattoos of serpents and sea monsters in lush scarlet, greens, and blues.
She wore all black. A leather bodice, tight black leather pants and boots. The bodice was festooned with straps and rings and was cut just low enough to accent her ample cleavage.
She always wore leather. She rocked the role of a Leather Daddy, rough and hard edged, yet somehow managed to gracefully blend the beautiful and the butch. She looked a bit like a goth, dark-haired Marilyn Monroe with just a hint of Marilyn Manson, heading off to slay a dragon in her leather armor.
But there was no dragon to be slayed. Just a naked man kneeling on the floor, ready to accept whatever torment she had in mind.
One thing caught my eye, which gave me a hint of what might be in store. She wore a single-tail, braided in black and red leather, held by a strap coiled on her hip. Specifically, by the braided handle I knew that it was what is called a snake whip. It went well with the tattoos on her arms. Seeing the whip, I felt both threatened and excited.
She looked down at me. "Are you up for some intense play?"
"I noticed the whip," I replied.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Whatever you like, my lady. The choice is always yours."
Again, she lifted an eyebrow. Small creases formed on her forehead. I could tell that she was becoming impatient with me. It occurred to me that when kneeling naked before a powerful woman with a dangerous whip on her hip, annoying her might not be the best approach.
She asked, "Do you want to play hard?"
I took a deep breath. "Yes, my lady," I replied.
She grasped the whip and unhooked the strap with her thumb. The coil fell to the floor. In a quick flick of her wrist, the whip went from being a fashion accessory to a dangerous extension of her arm. The crack of the whip sounded like a gunshot and reverberated in the enclosed space.
"Its new," she said. "You'll be the first for me to test it on."
"Thank you, my lady, I think."
She smiled. "But not yet." She walked over to one of the cabinets along the wall and in a few minutes came back to the center of the room with a rolling cart. Having expected to be be being beaten immediately with her new whip, I was surprised when she put on latex gloves and started wiping my nipples with an alcohol swab.