Bound & Blindfolded for Rent

Bound & Blindfolded for Rent, Ch. 5

Open for business, Mistress Dominque finally gets her dungeon.

“Take off your clothes,” said Dominque. “Take them off,” she said cracking her whip against the concrete floor in her personal dungeon. Adding even more authority to her voice, with no carpet and little furniture to deaden the noise, the sound of the whip echoed in the windowless room. “Strip yourself naked now,” she said raising her voice and shoving a strong hand against his weak shoulder before slapping him across his face as if he was a groper on a subway instead of a client in her dungeon.

As if a staged Broadway play, their scene, already played out many times before, was well orchestrated, practiced, and rehearsed. With no room for mistakes or missteps, nothing changed within their BDSM session unless he told her in writing in advance. Most times, he wanted Dominque to give him exactly what she gave him last month, a spanking and/or a whipping. In the way he’s been so very bad lately, he didn’t deserve any pleasure, just punishment and discipline.

“Okay, okay,” said Walter, a grey-haired man in his fifties.

A well-educated Caucasian man, a professional in his chosen career, and very successful at earning lots of money, he was one of Dominque’s special, preferred clients. With money no object to him, he could afford to pay her what he paid his CPA and his personal lawyer, five hundred dollars an hour. To him, she was more valuable than his personal trainer, his chauffeur, his upstairs maid, his butler, his personal, executive secretary, and/or his chef. Those employees could easily be replaced but the special services that she gave him was hard to find. In the way he couldn’t do without his hairstylist and manicurist, he couldn’t do without Dominique his Dominatrix.

Today, wrought with guilt and with him needing to be punished and disciplined, he’s been a very bad man. Wanting what will reinforce his need for pain, he needed to be punished. Needing what will make him feel better about being bad, he needed to be disciplined. For him to justify his bad deeds, he needed for Dominque to punish him and discipline him in the way that he’s undeservingly punished others by stealing their money. In order to ease his conscience, he needed to feel the slap of her hand and the sting of her whip. As if she’s all the people he so wronged, he needed to know her displeasure with him for being so evil to his financial customers.

“Get up against the wall. You know the drill, you fat bastard,” she said. “Move your fat, flabby ass,” she said slapping him hard with her open hand.

A black belt in martial arts, in the way she hurt Salvy, she could really hurt him if he really wanted her to hurt him. Taking into account what her clients wanted, she interviewed her clients in depth and had them fill out an extensive questionnaire before even starting her bondage, discipline, and sadomasochism sessions. Giving them what they so wanted and needed, all she was doing was providing them with a special service.

After being bullied through all of his childhood and early adult years for his obesity, submissiveness, and weakness, no one dared call him a name now, at least not to his face. Too influentially powerful, he could break any man who didn’t do what he wanted. Now what he wanted was feeling pain but on his terms. Willing to pay for the pleasure, Dominque gave him what he needed.

The man positioned himself against her wall. As if it was his shadow, he could nearly see the outline of his fat body where he sweated all over her wall the last time he was here. Yet fastidious in keeping her dungeon clean, a mere figment of his imagination, what he saw obviously was only what he imagined seeing.

As if he was a prisoner in a dungeon in the 17th century, as if he was a black prisoner taken from Africa for America and chained down below in the cargo hold of a sailing ship, Dominque chained his wrists and his ankles to the wall. Making sure that he couldn’t free himself, unable to escape, she double wrapped the chains around his wrists and ankles. Unable to wear his Rolex watch for days after, his French cuffs and argyle socks would conceal the bruises the chains made to his wrists and ankles.

He was in her control now. He was her bitch. He was her nigger instead of the other way around. With all of it already predetermined and agreed to, no matter what he said, how much money he offered her to stop, and how much he begged, she wouldn’t stop whipping him until she was done.

“You’ve been bad Walter, very bad, haven’t you?” She grabbed a whole handful of his hair to pull his head back with it.

The game they needed to play, she was just as good at pretending as he was. With each assuming their roles, he paid her for perfection. He paid her to belittle him. He paid her to make him feel how he felt when he was so abused by others. He paid her to make him feel what others felt when he took advantage of them by stealing from them. Now with his pain and suffering on his terms, seemingly, even though she was in control of their BDSM sessions, he was the one who had orchestrated this in advance.

“I have. I’ve been especially bad. I’ve been cheating people out of their money. If I didn’t feel so good and so smugly smart about cheating them and stealing from them, my way of getting even with them for calling me names when I was young and defenseless, I’d feel guilty but I don’t,” he said.

“I’ll make you feel better baby,” she said cupping his testicles in her black hand while wrapping her fingers around his cock to stroke him to an erection.

“That feel so good Dominque. Already I feel so much better. I knew I needed to see you. I needed to feel your black hands all over my naked body. As if you’re my black, sexy, female demon, I needed you to help me pay for my sins,” he said pathetically.

Letting go of his cock, Dominque pulled out a brand, new whip. He didn’t want to be touched with a whip that had blistered someone else’s skin. Willing to pay the added expense of having her buying a brand new whip with each session, knowing the whip was new and earmarked especially for him was part of his ritual. Later, she’d use the same whip on someone else who didn’t care about such things. For now, this was his whip expressly purchased and imported just for him.

“Oh, you’re going to pay alright,” she said grabbing his left nipple and twisting it before hitting him in the testicles with the handle of her whip. “With the roles reversed, you’re my nigger now boy.”

He winced and if his hands were free, he would have grabbed himself. If his legs were free, he would have fallen to the floor in pain. Only, what he felt now was just an agonizing appetizer for how very bad he’s been and how painfully bad he’ll feel soon. Seemingly, one result erased the other. Seemingly the guilt he felt by stealing money was made to feel better by the pain he’d soon feel in being whipped. With Dominque directing and controlling his pain and punishment, he could be as bad as he wanted to be without guilt or remorse, so long as Dominque made him pay for the pleasure. For him to pay her double her fee, one thousand dollars an hour and two thousand dollars for a two hour session, he wanted her to make him feel pain, real pain.

As if she was hired by the Queen of England determined to get information out of a prisoner by the use of physical torture, her own judge, jury, and executioner, she took a few steps back to allow her whip room to hit its target. First she uncoiled the whip with a loud slap on the floor and, even though he was expecting her to do just that, he still jumped in anticipation of the stinging pain she was about to deliver. As if she was a fisherman casting out her line in a rushing river, resembling cigarette smoke, it didn’t take much wrist action to let her imported, Australian whip fly and curl through the air as if it was a snake ready to strike.

Designed to coil as a rope, a Cobra, or a rattlesnake, made from tough kangaroo hide, the whip is shot loaded with a double pleated underbelly. There’s no doubt about it, more than any of her other whips, this whip will hurt. Yet, especially chosen by him, this is the whip he wanted. This is the pain he deserved. He may hurt in the beginning but he’d feel so much better after she’d done.

She removed the ball bearing at the end. Not wanting to give him an open wounds that could get infected in the way that some of her clients want, she didn’t want to leave any long lasting and/or permanent scars for his wife and/or mistress to question. As it is, it took him a week before he could drive his golf cart again. Until the swelling lessened and the pain subsided, he had his chauffeured driven Mercedes and his reclining, leather office chair outfitted with a special cooling cushion. He had another cushion made for his dining room chair and even had a cool memory gel donut he used for the toilet.

After he’s done with Dominque, or more fittingly, after she’s done with him, he’ll be sitting in an ice bath at the club for an hour until his skin is as blue as his ass his numb. With all of this worth it to him, the more pain he felt the more money he earned. The more money he earned, the more guilt he felt, and the more his need for pain. A seemingly never ending cycle, the guiltier he felt the more he needed Dominque to punish him and discipline him. A bittersweet recipe and a dish she was expert at making, for his BDSM sessions to work, he needed to feel pain with his pleasure.

* * * * *

Mistress Dominque moved to a better neighborhood and now had a better class of clientele. After moving out of Salvy’s dump, she bought her own house on the other side of town, one with a finished basement that she reconfigured and reconverted into her own personal dungeon of pain and pleasure. She knew that if she had a premium place to conduct her bondage, discipline, and S&M business, she’d get a premium price to do what she does best, give men pain and discipline before giving them pleasure.

Her dungeon is where she conducted all of her torture and sexual business. Her upstairs was off limits to her clients and was her private space. The last thing she wanted was to mix her private life with her business life. Some older, white men asked to see her on the side, behind their wives back, in hopes of beginning more than just a business relationship for a sexual relationship. She’d readily have sex with a white man for money but she’d never date a white man for romance and for love, no matter how rich he is. Never mixing business with pleasure, she’d rather that whomever she was dating not know what she did to earn her money.

Saving love and romance for later, after she was done with being a Dominatrix, she ignored men of her race. Her only customers were white, older men, men who had the money to pay her for what they wanted. With her beautiful skin the color of creamy milk chocolate, and her small facial features of a woman born on one of the Caribbean Islands, she had what Caucasian men wanted when fantasizing what it would be like to have sex with a black woman.

They wanted sex and she wanted money. They wanted her to dominate them and she wanted them to give her their money. They wanted her to give them pain before giving them pleasure and she just wanted them to give her their money.

A fair trade. They each had what the other wanted. They bondage, discipline, sadomasochism, and sex from her and she wanted their money. After these older, white men accumulated the money that could buy them the best houses, cars, trips, wines, clothes, and jewelry, it was then that they turned to the forbidden. It was then that they were ready to delve into the perversity of being punished and disciplined by a beautiful, strong, black woman. They enjoyed being slaves to her will and under her control. They’d not only lick her boots but also they’d reward her handsomely for the privilege of being so submissively subservient to her. Ah life was good when in control and when being paid to be in control.

* * * * *

Sex, sex, sex, nothing personal, it was only about the sex with them after all. Money, money, money, nothing personal, it was only about the money with her after all. A perfect fit and the perfect pair, they were a perfect match. Sex for money, it was only all about sex for money and nothing else.

With most of her clients not looking for friendship or romance, she wasn’t either. Just as they’d want no part of her in their richly successful lives, once they were done with their sexual session, she wanted no part of them in her private life. Playing the faithful husbands with their wives and children, she played the professional business woman with her black relatives and friends. Just as no one knew their private peccadilloes, no one knew her Dominatrix secret.

Dealing only with older, upper class, white men, men who had money and men who always wanted to be punished and disciplined by a strong, young, sexy, black woman, she was happy to oblige by accommodating them. Matter of fact, for all the abuses that the white race has done to the black race and to her personally, she enjoyed spanking and whipping their fat, rich, white asses. Moreover, a distant memory of her horrid past, she was happy to have moved away from her old landlord, Salvy. If she ever saw him again, that would be too soon.

With her website business word of mouth and referrals from her sexually satisfied clients, it wasn’t hard for her to attract customers and continue to expand her business at her new address. If things continued with her getting more new clients, she may have to hire an assistant, another young, beautiful, sexy, black woman or maybe she’ll branch out and hire a young, beautiful, sexy Asian woman. Or who knows, if her business warranted it, maybe she’d hire one of each.

With these men able to get whatever white woman they wanted, they didn’t want a white woman to give them punishment and discipline. Her special clients didn’t want a white woman, unless she was a special, white woman with a body to match her beautiful face and an intelligent, savvy mind, along with the discretion to match her beauty. With a beautiful black woman their first choice, Dominque was who they wanted.

Only, problematic for Dominque to find an employee and possibly a partner in her business, it was much easier to find a young, beautiful, sexy, black woman or Asian woman than it was to find the right young, beautiful, sexy, black woman or Asian woman. Afraid of being blackmailed or being extorted for money, her clients were quite specific in their demands and not trusting of strangers. Being that they already had a mutually beneficial relationship with her, they’d rather things not change. If Dominque introduced another person without their permission, she’d lose them as a client.

With these rich men able to get whatever beautiful, Caucasian woman they so desired at the country club, the high class hotel, or at their private, VIP strip club, they wanted someone more exotic. They already had a bevy of beautiful, white, sexy whores to line their yacht. They wanted someone who already knew the pain she was about to give them. What they wanted was as elusive as a butterfly. What they wanted was Dominque.

After growing bored with dumb blondes and gold digging bitches, they not only wanted a woman with a brain in her head. They wanted a woman who could make them cum with just a dirty, nasty word, a sexy look, a hard slap across their face, and/or a quick, hard whip to their naked ass. They wanted a one-of-a-kind woman. They wanted the rare female. They just didn’t want a black, call girl. They wanted a black Dominatrix. They wanted Dominque.

They wanted the forbidden flesh of a black woman or an Asian woman but not just any black woman or Asian woman. Being that these men were captains of industries and highly successful in their own right, the woman had to be as sharp as they are for her to hold their interest, to take charge, and to control them. With them never relinquishing control to someone beneath them or lesser to them, they’d only relinquish control to someone they deemed their equal or vastly superior to them. Other than a witch, who would be superior to them than a Dominatrix?

Nonetheless the color of her skin, they needed her to have a beautiful face and a body to match, along with an intelligent and creative mind. They needed her to have a sexy demeanor to compliment her in charge personality. They needed her to be a very special woman to demand such a premium price. They’d never pay for some average woman masquerading as a Dominatrix while pretending that she loved disciplining and punishing her clients. Much more specialized and customer driven, the discipline and punishment business was so very much more than just that. They needed her to dish out her punishment and discipline with as much pleasure as she dished out the pain.

* * * * *

Quickly becoming a wealthy woman, a woman who no longer needed a man to support her and take care of her, Dominque didn’t need all that much money to live a comfortable life. At the rates she charged, as much as a Philadelphia lawyer, she didn’t need as many customers either. The mistakes that some Madams made was taking on too many working girls and having too many clients. The clients she had were faithful to her. They didn’t discuss what they did behind closed doors just as they expected her not to discuss what happened behind closed doors.

Wanting to remain beneath the radar of the police shutting her down or the IRS knocking at her door, she’d rather keep her business low key, word of mouth, and small enough for her to handle by herself. Without taking in a partner that she couldn’t trust or control, with her always wanting to be in control, she’d rather run a one woman show that was more a cottage business than a corporation. Much like having two roosters in a henhouse, deciding against hiring another woman, it didn’t work to have two Dominatrixes in the same business.

She’d rather maintain control over her roost. She’d rather that they’d remain loyal to her than go get use to someone else. Maybe when she grew older and tired of punishing and disciplining old, fat, white men, she’d find someone to take over her business and pay her a monthly franchise fee. For now, things were good, real good. For now, there was no reason to change anything.

* * * * *

With her not wanting to fall in love, never wanting to fall in love especially with a white man, she found it safely comfortable sexually servicing white men. Had she been doing her Dominatrix business with rich, older, black men instead of rich, older white men, chances are she would have fallen in love. Chances are she would have been married with children by now. Chances are, she’d no longer be a Dominatrix but a sexually frustrated housewife while her husband was out doing what he did to her to some other Dominatrix.

Able to distance herself by not servicing her own race, as far as she was concerned she’d never fall for a man not of her race just as she couldn’t imagine a white man falling in love with her, a black woman, a nigger. Too large of a gap to bridge, there was too much water between the races. With all the terrible stories her parents and grandparents told her of racism, there were things that she could never forgive never mind forget. Always there under the current, just having to scratch the surface to reopen the wound, as far as she was concerned, all white people are out in the open or closeted racists.

With racism and racists violence still continuing all throughout America, she knew that deep down inside, no matter how intelligent, educated, kind, and beautiful she was, she was just another nigger to a white man. If Washington was serious about gun control and if the majority of the Caucasian population weren’t still such racists, they’d never allow an entire generation of black men to continue killing one another. Instead of sending all of our money and resources overseas, they’d make sure that every person in America, regardless of skin color not only had a good paying job but equal opportunities. Even to a man or to a woman who wasn’t as intelligent, educated, kind, and good looking as she obviously was, she was nothing more than a lowly nigger.