Bound to You (15 page)

Over the course of the next few weeks, Sapphire taught me everything she knew about domination. Or at least everything you could teach. It was clear that domming at its highest level was an art – the art of psychodrama and mindfuckery, far more cerebral than it was physical, and that it would take years to perfect. A good domme was part perverse sexual therapist, part human puppeteer; her ability to invoke an almost hypnotic devotion in her slave a seemingly superhuman power. But essentially, the secret to being a good domme was to be able to get into the head of your male submissive, to be able to run with his fantasy and then fly with it somewhere even he didn’t know he wanted to go.

In the meantime, there were still practical skills to be acquired. Spanking, for starters. Greg, our eleven o’clock, was to be my guinea pig. There was a technique required of good spanking. Unless a submissive was what you called a total pain-slut, you couldn’t just start whacking them on the backside. Erotic spanking required a combination of bodily stimulation and the build-up of suspense. The aim was to spank close enough to the genitals so as to excite the nerve endings there, and also around the anus, and to encourage your slave to slip into what is called ‘sub-space’. Depending on the client, this could be anything from a mild calming of their speech to them entering an almost meditative state.

Some of the clients never actually entered sub-space at all – Greg was one of those – but hanging upside down over an attractive young woman’s knee, unable to get up unless she let you, while she subjected you to a few sharp swipes across the backside, usually had some kind of chastening affect.

Greg liked to enact schoolroom scenes. Greg was as obsessed with costume as James had been nonplussed by it. Now that I was Sapphire’s assistant, this meant that I had to dress up as a prefect in a cropped white shirt, tie and a pinafore, which bulged unobligingly over my 34D breasts. Sapphire played the headmistress in a very tight black power suit, visible stocking tops and glasses perched authoritatively on the end of her nose.

Greg worked for a shipping company and was in his mid-thirties. He had not been educated at public school, but still he turned up to ‘class’ in cut-off pinstripe trousers and a suit jacket complete with homemade school badge. Really, he just loved to lech at us in our outfits, and to be spanked and then caned repeatedly. He also liked to push his luck.

At the beginning of the session, Sapphire informed him that she was training me up to carry out some of her spanking duties ‘since we seem to be inundated with naughty boys this term.’ Greg was the first man to ever go over my knee. As I exposed his bare bottom, I could feel his growing erection grazing my thigh. Greg was actually very attractive, with olive skin, black, slightly hooded eyes and a shaved head, which made the sensation erotic. I went to fondle him. That was the great thing about domination. If a client you found physically repulsive asked you to touch him intimately, you could simply refuse him on the basis that he didn’t deserve to be indulged. But when he was hot, you could manhandle – or should that be womanhandle him – at your own behest.

Greg had a honed, footballer’s body and some nondescript tribal tattoo at the base of his back. ‘A filthy little tramp stamp!’ Sapphire pronounced. Generally speaking, I loved tattoos on men, but this was tasteless. It made me feel disdainful towards him, and I harnessed that feeling as I gave him a really good spanking, cupping my palm slightly as Sapphire had showed me, to produce the requisite noise.

Caning was more difficult. It required absolute precision and meticulous care. If you struck too low, it would mark them across the tops of the thighs and sting unpleasantly. If you struck too high you could damage their kidneys, although that really was a worst-case scenario. Sapphire didn’t let me cane this time, but she talked me through what she was doing as she was doing it. For many of the clients, the sound of the cane whooshing through the air was what turned them on; it heightened the anticipation of being struck. Sapphire would strut about and whip it about their ears first to wind them up.

‘The thing about domination is that most of the clients don’t want marking because they have partners to take into consideration,’ Sapphire explained, placing one consummate hand on Greg’s backside and taking a few practice strokes with the other. ‘But caning is a bit different – it’s all
about
marking. You are aiming to produce half a dozen neat stripes across the backside. A lingering reminder in the days to come, of his deviance.’

After Greg had been caned, he asked if he could quickly go back over my knee. ‘Just for a final ten, Mistress.’ I surpressed a smile, but was happy to oblige. I needed the practice, didn’t I? So back over Greg went. Only this time, when I got to the third stroke, he slid his hand down my navy stocking clad leg and clutched at my ankle, and then ran his fingers back up again.

Before I’d even had a chance to strike him for it, Sapphire swooped on him immediately. ‘WHO gave you permission to manhandle my prefect like that?’

Sapphire was fanatical about boundaries and had always told me that I could end a session right then and there if a client overstepped the mark.

‘No one, Mistress.’ Greg smirked into the carpet and wriggled about over my knee. He was such a cheeky bastard but his good looks and charm made it funny rather than sleazy. Even Sapphire was trying not to laugh.

‘Right! Up with you!’ Greg clutched at his burning backside, boxer shorts around his ankles, tie and shirt askew, grinning up at Sapphire like an extra from
Gossip Girl
. ‘Bend over the horse. You’ve earned four strokes with your own belt.’ And just like that she whipped it out of the loopholes of his makeshift short trousers.

Being hit with your own belt was particularly humiliating; it implied that you weren’t worthy of being hit with one of Mistress’s implements. Suddenly I had a flashback to that time when Christos had accidentally caught me across the backside with his. I smiled. Greg interpreted the smile as a sign of something else.

‘Mistress Jade, would you like to be hit with the belt?’ ventured Greg.

‘No. She would not,’ growled Sapphire, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him towards her.

‘But Mistress Sapphire, something tells me Mistress Jade needs a small punishment, too.’

‘Why?’ asked Sapphire suspiciously. ‘What’s she done?’ She let go of him, pushed him back.

‘Looked provocative in her uniform. Look at the way her tits protrude out of the top!’

Sapphire scoffed. Then she sidled right back up to Greg and asked seductively, ‘What sort of punishment were you thinking, Greg, for Mistress Jade? A ten-strokes-across-my-knee sort of punishment?’

‘Yes, yes!’ he replied, rather too eagerly, rearranging his cock. She smiled indulgently at him, reaching out her arm to pull me towards her. Shit, was she actually going to do it? I felt my bottom tighten in anticipation of being spanked. I’d never been spanked. How hard was Sapphire planning on hitting me? Was I going to be able to take it? At the last moment she brought her arm swiftly back towards Greg instead, and grabbed him by the balls. Greg let out an excited whimper.

‘You’ll get to kiss her plump little ass before I get to spank it. Neither of which is ever going to happen. Mistress Jade does not get spanked.’

‘So do I get punished again for my insolence, Headmistress?’

Whatever the outcome, it was a win-win for Greg.

For many of the clients, domination was a much more conflicted experience. Some of them were deeply ashamed of their submissive desires, desires which they had often carried around for years without confessing them to anyone, let alone enacting them. Sapphire and I worked hard to explore their fantasies with them in an accepting and compassionate way – providing, of course, that what they wanted to experience wasn’t going to result in any actual harm.

One day a hirsute, twenty-something builder turned up at our door. He was quite short, stockily built with a beautiful cleft chin. He had with him a bag full of chiffon and lace and needed, he told us, to be transformed into Victoria, a need he’d harboured since he was barely a teenager. Victoria was a little girl who deserved a thorough hair-brushing – and by that he meant two hundred strokes on his backside, rather than a girly grooming session.

Victoria liked to wear old-school bloomers under her pale pink petticoats and even had an adorable black wig neatly arranged with Hello Kitty hairclips. There was something about Victoria that was impossibly sweet, and Sapphire and I just wanted to cuddle him, dressed as he was like a nursery rhyme.

But as eager as he was to share his seven-year-old girl style with us, he was also clearly deeply troubled by his predilection. He lived in fear of his friends finding out about his kink and asked us if we thought he were ‘normal’, a question we heard on an alarmingly regular basis. ‘Honey, no such thing!’ Sapphire would reassure him, but that didn’t seem to be the answer he was looking for.

Public humiliation was one of the trickier kinds of domination to pull off. Sapphire had one client, Xavier, an incredibly charming and impeccably groomed Swiss financier with a mop of dark-blond hair and the light hazel eyes. He also had a luscious French accent and the most inviting dimples I’d ever seen on a client.

Xavier came to London on business every couple of months. He was obsessed with buying women’s knickers, which he liked to wear to multi-million-pound deal-making meetings. He loved to fantasise about how shocked his colleagues would be if they found out, and how humiliated this would make him feel. Mostly, he told us, he fantasised about telling them that his Mistresses had ‘made’ him do it, that he was our sissy slave, and he wrote Sapphire long, exquisitely constructed emails in which he would detail his servitude to us and general abuse suffered at our hands.

One day he asked if we might accompany him on a shopping trip to a lingerie store. Being paid to chaperone someone, especially an affable good-looking guy, around a shop seemed too good to be true. But it was a little more complicated than that. What Xavier actually wanted was to be forced to try on and then buy women’s underwear.

Together, the three of us browsed the store. Despite his chic appearance, Xavier had really quite tarty taste in underwear, and Sapphire and I spent a good ten minutes tutting and steering him away from the tiny bordello-style scarlet thongs he gravitated towards. After a few more minutes of ‘correctional’ styling, Xavier had settled on several pairs of knickers in an array of styles and colour-ways. He was desperate to try them on over the top of his own midnight blue, microfibre boxer briefs. We knew he was wearing these because Sapphire had demanded he send a picture when he was getting dressed this morning. Back in Geneva he played water polo and trained hard to maintain his six-pack; his scantily clad body was a joy to behold.

The first hurdle was getting him into the changing room. As you’ve probably noticed, men aren’t generally allowed in the women’s, and sales assistants are trained to prevent coupling among the coat hangers. We tried a few tactics, claiming that we needed a ‘man’s opinion’ (which amused us greatly – as if we were the approval-seekers), then, that he was just bringing us different sizes, both of which were foiled. Finally, we managed to sneak him in when the sales assistant’s head was turned.

Squeezing us all into a tiny boutique ladies’ changing room was like piling two wayward monkeys into a phone box with a skittish springbok. We clawed and wrenched at his clothes, fondled his heaving, hairless chest, sporadically sshing at one another through stifled giggles and matching scarlet manicures. When Sapphire clamped her hand over Xavier’s mouth to prevent him from complaining and demanded he put on a saucy panty parade for us NOW, Xavier was clearly in some of kind submissive paradise. His chocolate-pot eyes pleaded with the pair of us to push the game even further.

Hang on a minute. ‘What’s that?’ I asked. The bulge beneath his briefs looked too boxy to be merely his penis. ‘That’s not just his hard-on, surely?’

Sapphire smiled and patted his thigh in approval.

‘Oh, he’s such a diligent little slave, I’d completely forgotten about that!’

Sapphire peeled back Xavier’s briefs to reveal what looked like a grated metal cage around his cock. It prevented him from getting an erection and from masturbating, and had a combination code lock set into it. At Sapphire’s touch I could see him start to strain within it. But the cock cage was forbidding. There was no room for manoeuvre.

‘Do you need any help in there?’ came a voice from outside the cubicle.

‘No, thank you!’ Sapphire chimed back as if she didn’t have a nearly naked slave in a chastity belt hidden behind the curtain. I laughed again, this time in panic.

‘Relax!’ said Sapphire. ‘She’s hardly going to waste police time reporting a couple of giggling girls with their hands on a silly man’s trussed-up junk, is she?’

When she put it like that, I supposed not.

‘Now, Xavier, since we’re running out of time, choose the pair of knickers you think Mistress Jade and I would most like to wear.’

Xavier groped desperately towards the dressing room chair and selected some violet silk Brazilian-style briefs. They had a full bottom, then small but not shoestring sides, and were designed for wearing under low-rise jeans. Sapphire had steered him towards them.

‘Excellent. You’re going to buy us each a pair, plus a matching bra. Then we’ll all be knicker-sisters!’

Xavier gulped and nodded as if he were a teenage boy we’d just accosted for a threesome on his way home from swimming practice. Sapphire and I slunk out from behind the curtain and waited for him by the tills.

Xavier already had our measurements noted down in his phone. He selected the underwear and approached the till. He was sweating, his dimples tightening as he tried to affect a polite smile for the pending interaction.

He looked over to us. Sapphire arched her eyebrows and turned her head slightly to the right. It was a signal but for what, I didn’t know. Xavier went up to the sales assistant, a pretty young Asian woman, and offered up the two bras and three pairs of knickers.