Installment 2 – Acquisition and Training of a Pet
In all the years I have been a dominatrix, I have never had a woman approach me on her own to be dominated. I haven't been against the notion of dominating another woman though. Truth be told, I am quite bi-curious and have always craved the lush soft flesh of another fat chick, and the feel of a sweet young thing squirming against my lap as I gave her ass a good sound spanking. I have had encounters with couples where I got to play with the women, and pushed my boundaries right to the edge with them. But that's another installment for another time.
Usually I acquire my submissives after an extended correspondence. I have to know not only whether they are safe to play with, but also know whether they are serious about being dominated instead of just looking to be tied up and then fucked. I never fuck my paying submissives. Occasionally they will reach orgasm from the intensity of a session, or be allowed to masturbate themselves to orgasm. But I make it a rule never to have sex with them.
At first I thought it was a joke when I played my answering machine messages and heard a female voice. She mentioned seeing my website, and explained that she was new to the city and had been searching online for an older woman to enslave her and use her as a toy. She breathlessly spelled out an email address before hanging up. My interest was piqued. I was growing weary of the new crop of curiosity seekers who were more interested in re-enacting a scene from a porno magazine than being dominated. I decided to write back and see what she wanted, or what she thought she wanted.
I was stern and formal in my delivery. I wrote that she had better not be wasting my time with silly games. If she wanted me to dominate her, she would have to convince me that it was worth my while. I would be attending a BBW party at a local hotel lounge that Friday night, and if she was truly serious about serving me, she would be there so that I could examine her and decide if she was worthy of my time and effort. She would recognize me because I would be wearing a large silver rose shaped pendant and a black outfit.
The week passed, and it was business as usual in my spare bedroom turned dungeon. I had no pet or slave at the time, only a handful of regular clients, and the odd assortment of men who were seeking either a new erotic thrill or something to fill their particular void. In most cases, what I had to offer wasn't what they were looking for, and we parted after one session. Some however, became hooked and showed up again and again for their "fix".
Not all submissives have the time or inclination to be a slave or human pet. They want more of a structured controlled session. They come in with an agenda, and an idea in their mind or how they think the sessions are going to progress. If they want to be my slave or pet, they understand that I assume full control over them up to the boundaries of safety and sanity. The slave or pet does not have to pay for the privilege of serving me. They earn their keep one way or another. I have them run errands for me, clean my dungeon, and occasionally participate in sessions with other clients. It's not only an intense experience for them, but hard work for me as well. I do not take offers to be my slave or pet lightly. In fact, it's more trouble than I care to deal with. But then again, I have never had a female pet. This could wind up being a win-win arrangement if I played it right.
Friday night, I got dressed up in my nightclubbing best, which consists of a long black skirt with a slit on one side, a matching fitted top that shows a fair amount of cleavage, and a pair of wicked looking boots that put me at six foot four. The party wound up being the same old same old. A room full of hopeful women being cruised by the same dozen or so admirers who troll the local scene. A few men had ventured out onto the dance floor and were surrounded by giggling clusters of bountifully built women in sexy party attire. Here and there throughout the lounge, there were couples ensconced in candle-lit booths.
Most of the people in the local BBW and admirer scene know me by reputation but few know me by profession. I have a reputation for showing up to the dances alone and going home from the dances alone. However, I have met a few clients in the scene. But my profession being what it is, discretion is a must and we never greet each other as anything more than casual acquaintances outside of my dungeon.
I felt the eyes of a trio of new women at the table near the door bore into my back as I made my way towards the bar. They were sizing me up to determine our mutual places in the local BBW pecking order. They were very obviously trying much too hard, judging by the look of their cheap mail-order lingerie catalog bustiers and costume-shop tiaras. They must have decided that I was not competition because they quickly returned to their loud squeals of girlish laughter.
I was sitting at the bar sipping a cocktail, when I felt the weight of a stare on me. I turned around and a girl caught my eyes from across the dimly lit lounge. When our eyes locked, she looked like a deer caught in headlights, and she turned and fled towards the bathrooms. About fifteen minutes later, she approached the bar and stood next to me.
It was the girl who had called me on the phone. Who else could it have been? She looked at me wide eyed, and managed to stammer out that her name was Lindy. She went on and explained that she was the one who had contacted me earlier that week and she recognized me from the photos on my web page. Looking unsure of what to do next, she looked down at her shoes and wrung her hands. She was certainly fresh meat, and looked barely legal.
