The Wrong House

A New Mistress At A New Dungeon

Well, the mistress I was seeing was no longer available. This has happened quite a bit for many reasons and is the subject of another blog post.

On this occasion the mistress I chose was extremely well known and a bit of a legend in the BDSM community. She was a mature lady in her late 50’s or even 60’s by the looks and I was quite looking forward to the session.

The Wrong House

Well, she gave me an address which my GPS took me to easily enough, but it was a very winding and convoluted area. I was taken to a nice house set back a little in a reasonably new housing estate.

I collected my gear then went to the front door and rang the bell. And waited. And waited some more. And rang again and waited. Then I saw it on the wall, a plaque with the address, oops, the address was saying ‘circuit’ as opposed to ‘road’. You would never believe it, in the same estate there was a ‘road’ and a ‘circuit’ address. Different and for me, vastly different. I got out of there quick smart.

A frantic adjustment to the GPS took me to the correct address. This time when I knocked the inside door opened, leaving the security mesh screen making seeing anyone inside difficult. A voice said, ‘Yes, are you my appointment?‘ (or similar, it was 10 years ago now). I mumbled out something, probably used her name then she appeared from behind the door and opened the security door for me.

The reason for the secrecy was that her narrow house had neighbors either side and she was dressed in full on leather fetish. And looked damn good also. I seem to remember one neighbor was washing a boat in the driveway (the things I remember!).

The Sessions?

I remember I had 3 sessions with her. All were heavy corporal and bondage. She was pretty good but we just sort of faded away, drifted apart. I think her spare bedroom kitted out as a dungeon just was not as good as what I’d been used to.

She was good though. A very nice lady and you’d never guess that she’d been a dominatrix for many decades and worked internationally.

Some Anecdotes.

I remember in one session she was really getting into giving me a strapping when a breast fell out of her bra. She didn’t notice it for a while, she just powered on with the strap. She was a well endowed lady and the spectacle of her breast moving as she used the belt was rather special.

In our sessions she really admired the off billet strap of mine. It really is special and I’ve not seen its like anywhere since I stumbled upon it at a horse and tack store. I commented recently to the mistress I’ve had 3 sessions with that it is the prince of straps and it feels similar to the Canadian Prison Strap when used hard. As she does. Anyway, my friendly leather worker lady made me one for her, and even embossed her name on it. She tried it out on me and it worked rather well. I remember that very well.

The last thing I remember was her commenting that she often saw university students before an exam. She’d give them a sound caning then send them on their way with sore striped bottoms and focused minds. It seemed it was a bit of a thing to get a caning from her before an exam. Strange but true.

Tea Break Strapping

I Hate It When Dungeons Close

This has happened to me 3 times. The first dungeon I had an affection for – my first BDSM experience went so well that it felt special. Also, they had a wonderful spine, a fishbone harness (an arrangement of straps) I’m rather partial to and not found the equal to since. When I heard they closed I wanted to purchase that harness but missed out. Oh well.

The second dungeon was a narrow two stored terrace house with 3 small dungeons. I wasn’t all that in love with it but the mistress I’d been seeing was very good. Super strong. I remember showing her my collection of belts and straps (in its infancy). She put her head in the bag, breathed in deeply, and said the loved the smell of leather. In the session she said the belt was her favourite even though she and her sister had got it from their father when they played up.

Anyway. I digress. The second place closed, then re opened, then closed again. They just couldn’t make it work.

Some Venues Are Different

The mistress I’d been seeing was very good, we exchanged some SMSs then she arranged another new private venue a friend of hers had. On this occasion it was close to her birthday and mine also. My wife made her a chocolate mud cake she loved.

The dungeon itself was not to my liking much. It was part of a large factory which was deserted on the day, and in an industrial estate. However the session was pretty good. As she was getting into strapping me with a belt, we heard through a high window that was open the sound of people talking. And quite close too. It sounded like their tea break time.

As she strapped me, I remember listeing to them talking wondering if they could hear it, the cracks of the belt on bent bum. They didn’t seem to which made me think that if they did hear it, maybe they thought it was some machine or other cracking away.

I remember I was in my 50’s, so she gave me my birthday in cane strokes. Plus one to grow on. Ahh, happy memories.

Builders and Belting

Sometimes Words Aren’t Necessary

It was a few years ago now. The mistress was a tall German ex fashion model who took her profession very seriously. She said after our first session she’d had some muscle soreness from giving all the corporal and to combat that she’d taken up exercises in the gym. Well it worked.

During this session, the building was under repairs or renovations. Builders were working on the roof and during the session the clomp-clomp-clomp of their boots could be heard in the dungeon.

Well, if you’ve read my blog you know I have a significant belt fetish, and straps, and tawse too. I have a goodly collection and the Canadian prison strap is a feature. It is hard to say which are my favourites as they are all a little different but a common thing with them is that doubled belts make a nice loud crack when applied with force. When the perfect stroke is given, it sounds exactly like it should, like a gun shot almost.

Well, mistress was using a 2 inch wide doubled over belt on my butt and the cracks really were impressive. Her strength training sure was paying off and her enthusiasm meant she was throwing herself into it fully.

Then it happened. The builders started to use a nail guin. “POP” went the nail gun then “CRACK” went the doubled belt. This started to take on a life all its own. Mistress looked at me, I looked at her, then I smiled, then she smiled. She took that as a challenge. Each time the nail gun let one off, mistress wound up and strapped the belt down as hard as she could. Both echoed through the dungeon and down the corridor outside.

It was one of those moments where it’s not necessary to say anything. Besides I couldn’t as I was gagged.

Well, after a short while of this, the builders stopped. I said to my self, “naughty blighters, they’re listening” and that was what it felt like with just the sound of the belting happening. Mistress gave me a few dozen then selected another implement. in that short time of silence their clomping on the roof resumed. Maybe they were thinking about what was happening?

Iced Bum After Corporal

My First Caned Bum

My first pro-domm BDSM session was in the early 2000’s and I remember it rather well. This anecdote revolves around an iced bum.

Let me explain.

I had never experienced corporal punishment in a BDSM session before and I found that I was marking up very badly. Basically, the welts from a medium severity strapping and flogging were looking awful.

The mistress asked me if it was OK to continue, and considering it had taken 3 decades to have my first session, I said ‘I put myself in your hands’ as there was no way I wanted to stop.

Anyway, the session went very well and I got a lot out of it, even the caning at the end. She’d given me a six-er and asked how it felt. I asked for more and harder so she obliged.

So all in all, though I’d never been caned before, it had gone well. The problen was that my bum was looking rather second best. It looked pretty red raw and devastated. I remember it certainly stung.

After my shower, the mistress went off to get some ice for me, something to take the swelling down. When she returned, she had a steel salad bowl with about a half a handful of snowy ice in it, looking like the scrapings from a refrigerator freezer compartment.

It looked SO tragic.

At that moment we bonded. We both looked at the ice, then we looked at each other. It was so totally inadequate we both came close to laughing. What was I to do? Sit in it? The amount of ice, the size of my bum, the marking of my bum – it just made it all the more funny.

Sitting in the car on the way home I was wishing I’d brought a pound of frozen peas to sit on. Like wow, the stinging was surprising. I was later to find that the welts lasted a full week.

Clearly a pristine bum not used to corporal was easy to mark.

Changing Mistresses

Twenty Mistresses in Fifteen Years

I’ve seen many mistresses in my time. A valid question is, “Why have you seen 20 Mistresses and not settled on one or two?”

Well the reasons are quite simple and instructive.

Some I’ve had a falling out with, some have left the scene, one died, some were just not for me.

Here are some anecdotes.

Bust Up

My first Mistress and I became quite friendly, not intimate (get that out of your head), but we did enjoy each others’ company outside of a session. We could talk to each other and had a similar world view, shared interests and a shared similar sense of humor. Over that time I indulged myself with her, sending her bigger and bigger emails about my problems and not being much of a friend back to her. Perhaps I abused our friendship.

Our friendship ended when she sent me a stinker of an email that left me in no doubt that she wanted nothing more to do with me. It was the most brutally rude and deliberately hurtful email it was possible to receive. To my discredit I tried to contact her a few years later but she thankfully ignored that stupid advance of mine.

Then some years later and rather amusingly, she started working at the establishment I was going to. She was even scheduled onto the same and only day that the Mistress I visited worked. Unfortunately the Mistress I was seeing only worked one day of the week otherwise I would have changed my visits. Of course the inevitable happened when I was leaving the dungeon after a very pleasant session, eye contact between me and my first Mistress was made and words were not spoken. Email was not exchanged. She did look good in the skin tight rubber cat suit though.

Leaving The Scene

Quite a few Mistresses left the scene, some for other employment, one left the city for a warmer climate, some because the establishment I visited closed.

One left to another state which had more liberal sex worker laws. She felt like her life was made too difficult to remain.

Breast Cancer

One Mistress died. She was gorgeous, an ex-model with peaches and cream complexion, very tall and slim, lovely to talk with and she was excellent in a session.

She loved the whole corporal and bondage theme and seemed to be a natural at the whole thing enjoying the role-play of a strict Mistress disciplining a slave. Most of all, sessions with her whilst being nicely intense and ‘forceful’ were still fun.

I was extremely upset when she died after a protracted battle with cancer. I learned later that many of her clients attended the funeral and I wish I had done that. I assumed, wrongly, that it wasn’t the accepted thing.

Another Bust Up

I had a falling out with another Mistress I had nine sessions with.

She was very tall and slim and athletic, another ex fashion model. She really loved heavy corporal to the extent it could not be faked. She was really into it.

On our second session she said she’d had a little upper body stiffness and muscle pain after the first session but she’d been working out.

My goodness, she loved my implements so much so I even had a copy of a favorite strap of mine she liked, made specially for her by a saddler.  It was the off billet strap, the ‘prince of straps’ as I commented to another mistress recently.

She said she used it on some other clients who squealed which I believe as it is a very severe implement if used with any force (which she would have).

Anyway, she had an enormous fight with the establishment I was going to. I didn’t ask for details but she was absolutely furious and insisted I have nothing to do with that place again. She said it was unprofessional and not a nice place. Over the ensuing weeks my needs grew and grew as they do; the longer without a session the more they grow.

We exchanged email, she wasn’t able to find another dungeon to work at then she exploded in rage when I told her I was going to see someone else. She then moved to another city then left the country to work in Europe.

No Idea Why I Saw Her Again

One Mistress I saw three times and in hindsight I don’t know why. She was nice enough as a person and the corporal was OK and the session was OK but she was plainly a bit out of her depth.

On talking with her it came out she’d been abused as a child, then abused by partners, then had problems in her life.

She said she was returning to university and working three jobs; waiting on tables, as a cleaner, as a dominatrix. One day she just left and never came back. I didn’t have a fight with her, she just left.

A Broken Rib

As mentioned previously, i broke a rib on a session once. It was in a dungeon I didn’t like and the mistress and I just seemed to not really connect.

I share the blame for the broken rib and also, for accepting the dungeon that was not my preference.

I never saw this mistress again. Maybe I should have given her a second chance.

Almost But Not Quite Right For Me

One Mistress worked out of a large inner city brothel. The dungeon is quite small and I found it had too much equipment for the space. She was very good and the only Mistress to offer me hand relief. When I declined she said, “Should be more like you.” I found the session with her to be somewhat lack luster. There wasn’t a connection.

The other thing is I thought she wasted time in the session. It just didn’t seem to flow. Next, she was super sure of her self, almost arrogantly sure and that rankled. I never went back again. She is quite prominent in the industry.

There were a few Mistresses like this. The gut-feel just didn’t work.

The Princess

One mistress was quite young and she really did have some personality issues. I suspected at the time she’d been told how beautiful she was one too many times, and that affected her attitude, badly.

The session was just plain average. She was not really into it and I felt she would have rather have been checking her mobile phone for messages or whatever.

The thing that absolutely stopped me from ever wanting another session with her was the comment, ‘If I have to sweat, you pay me cash.’ A sweet young thing!

Any Conclusion?

So those are the reasons. Of the ones where they were just not for me, maybe half of them were because I didn’t read their profiles properly.

The remainder are the luck of the draw. Some mistresses I feel an immediate connection with and we have multiple to many sessions. I think there have been about 3 mistresses I’ve had 8 or 9 sessions with then they’ve left the industry.

Breaking A Rib in BDSM Play

BDSM Play is Generally Safe

BDSM play in a professional establishment is generally safe, I wouldn’t do it there if that were not the case. There are a number of things that good establishment do to ensure safe play such as training, hygiene and equipment quality.

However it is normal that some of the activities can certainly be dangerous if not done properly.

There are fail-safes in common use. For example, the use of a Safe Word in a session means that the slave/sub can’t take any more. If the slave is gagged, then something can be dropped to show the session is going a little far. Maybe a line has been crossed, maybe the mistress has pushed too hard, maybe the slave has not communicated what is a turn off or not wanted. No matter. The use of a Safe Word or action stops an activity and it can stop a session.

In this anecdote, I’d been going to the same establishment for maybe a dozen years. The mistress I’d been seeing was no longer available so I booked a session with another. This session was one of the two times I’ve used the safe word in a session.

How To Break A Rib

The mistress I chose was very professional, very good and obviously experienced. She asked me what I wanted in a session and what I didn’t want. She asked about any illnesses and injuries which is the mark of a good mistress. Health issues in BDSM are serious concerns.

When I booked the session I asked for a particular dungeon. When the mistress finished my pre-session discussion she said the room was not available as another client was having a longer session and so his needs were greater than mine. She talked me into using a smaller dungeon. I was annoyed as I’d been a regular and had about 30 sessions there by then. Anyway, I agreed.

The session started and she was very good. Very strict. Very heavy with the discipline. She positioned me over a caning bench then gave me some heavy corporal. I moved around a bit, put pressure on a rib which then broke. The pain was sharp and continuous, I felt it crack, and breathing was difficult.

I called the Safe Word ‘Mercy’ and also said ‘Mercy on the session Mistress, I’ve got a cracked rib and can’t continue.

She was surprised and disappointed. I wasn’t cross or angry with her (at least not that I remember). I found breathing painful and did for the next month or so.

I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. The whole dynamic had been broken.

She offered another session at a reduced rate but I declined. She realized she’d lost a client. Reading that later I see the injustice of it, she was very good so maybe I should have had more sessions with her. Maybe I was hasty.

I felt more annoyed at not having the dungeon I wanted than at anything else. She’s still doing sessions at the same place now, but I’ve never seen her again for a session.

What Went Wrong

There were some basic mistakes made.

The first one was that I didn’t listen to my inner gut feeling. The room I had booked had been given to someone else, and sure they can do that. I should have cancelled the session. It would have been hard-assed but I should have done it. Pure and simple. I booked the room. They decided a 2 hour session was more important than my one hour session even though I had been going there maybe 6 years at that time. I remember feeling betrayed/annoyed/let down.

The second mistake was that I didn’t particularly bond with the mistress, I didn’t feel a rapport or a need to try again. I felt the absence of that ‘spark’ that I’ve felt so many other times. Cancelling before the session would have been difficult and upset the mistress but I wouldn’t have had a cracked rib and she would not have lost a client. I would have come back again later. Probably.

Now this mistress herself is very good. She started by asking me many questions about health and well being which some do not ask so she clearly has all the skills. This mistress was good that way. The problem is that the caning bench allows too much movement and it put pressure on one place hence the cracked rib. In my mind is the thought that she didn’t restrain me properly. It was not a good piece of furniture and I’ve been careful to avoid anything like it since.

In the future, if the room I want is not available, then it is no session for me that day.

A Strap Called Curem Quick

The strap in my school was an accepted teaching aid. When you got strapped by a teacher, we called this ‘the cuts‘ as I guess that was an element of how it felt. It is a sharp stinging pain. I never heard of anyone actually being cut or blood or other damage other than to the ego and a little pain.

All Teachers Had A Strap

In grade five my teacher was Charlie and he was a regular user of the strap. He was renowned for it. We called teachers like this ‘strap happy’ as they tended to use it a lot.

The female teacher next door would send her students into our grade when they were naughty. Charlie would line them up then crack his strap over their palms one at a time. Think about that; she would send her students into another grade for corporal punishment, to get the cuts from our teacher. And that was normal.

For the reluctant visitors to our grade it would have been a difficult and trying experience I am sure. When you were in school, you never knew what another teacher was like and standing at the front of a different grade and having to put your hand out for the strap would have been horrid. Charlie also had a reputation as being a hard strapper so that would not have helped one little bit. Yet it happened.

Anyway, Charlie got sick of this and one day sent his strap back to the teacher so she could keep it and use it. For some reason, being a woman or being new to teaching, she didn’t have a strap till then. I don’t remember Charlie ever being without a strap so be must have replaced it quickly or had a spare.

Back to the story – Our Grade Six Teacher

In grade 6 we had a new teacher to the school, a Mr P who had moved from another school. Unlike all the other male and probably all the female teachers, he didn’t have a strap.

I remember him as being an OK kind of teacher. Not overly strict, not slack, not a ‘screamer’ or inclined to anything. He was a fairly typical teacher. My previous year teacher ‘Charlie’ was very strict and was dead keen with his strap which I got twice from him.

One thing Mr P did was to seat all the boys with girls. In those days we sat at 2-person desks with wooden lift up lids, a flat board to sit on and a flat board behind to lean against. There was no padding or softness to it. By today’s standards they were pretty Spartan.

I was seated next to Erin G, the daughter of the bar owner across the road. Mr P would have his lunch there on Friday which amused us.

As mentioned, the strap was in common use in my era and the technique was always the same. A good hard crack across the palm. Usually the miscreant was called out the front of the class and one stroke was given. I remember it as hurting but not all that much. The embarrassment of every other eye on the class watching was worse. I’ve never liked being the focus of attention.

In his first few weeks, as I remember, he said he’d lost his strap and that it had a name, ‘Curem Quick‘ which made us nervous.

‘Cure Them Quickly’ was the obvious implication as a dose of his strap would turn unruly children into little angels.

He said he called it ‘Mr Quick’ usually. I remember he said Mr Quick the teaching aid had once been mentioned in a school pamphlet as producing excellent results. The corporal punishment humour of the period was a little odd I suppose but it shows the acceptance of it.

Since he didn’t have a strap, we were quite pleased with that. The point of this anecdote is that one of the other kids in the grade told his mother that Mr P didn’t have a strap.

No Strap? Mrs T to the Rescue

One day Mr P made an announcement, he had a new strap and it had been given to him by Mrs T, mother of one of the boys in the grade. This was not particularly good news and I remember we were very quiet at that news.

With that he flourished it. I remember it as being a light tan in color and about a foot and a half long, maybe an inch and a half wide. I don’t remember if it was made from a belt or a piece of saddle leather. I never got up close and personal with it.

Common folk lore among us kids was that the teachers ‘starched’ their straps to make them stiffer and hurt more. Thinking about it, it was ridiculous. It was likely the stiffer straps were just dry and needed oil or were cut from stiff saddlery.

Also, I never heard of or saw a split strap, also known as a tawse. These were unheard of with us. I was later to learn that split straps have a very much increased sting to them. But that’s another story.

Anyway, Mr P’s strap was not stiff. I remember it as being much like normal belt leather and perhaps it was. Then to show his prowess he offered a stroke of his strap to the palm of anyone who wanted to try it. A taster I suppose.

In my day all the desks were lined up in rows from the front of the room to the back. I think there were 3 rows(?) of about 5 desks(?) making 30 students. More? Probably, as class sizes were quite large in those days.

“Who Wants To Try It,” which is not exactly what he said but you get the idea.

Trying Out The New Strap

Anyway, Mr P walked up each row and looked at each student. Some put their hands out and got the strap. Others didn’t.

I remember quite a few girls did, maybe because they didn’t normally get the cuts (as we called it) usually. Karen D the local doctors daughter did as did Erin G who sat next to me.

To my unending shame I did not put my hand out. I just couldn’t.

I remember Mr P looked at me. I remember him offering to give me a stroke of the strap and I think I remember his surprise that Erin who sat next to me got the cuts and I didn’t. I wimped it.

Why didn’t I? I remember the cuts didn’t hurt all that much. I think now, after all these years, it was the secret feeling that it meant something more to me than a simple slap on the hand with a leather strap. It wasn’t something I could pass off and forget. It wasn’t that I thought was damaging or abusive or evil (pick any and all similar options). Getting the strap was special to me.

Anyway, this was the first workout of the new strap. I never did get the cuts off Mr P and only one other boy did. I remember him crying. We didn’t see the event, just saw him crying and looking upset later. Mr P must have given it to him hard. Thinking back, it was pretty awful, barbaric in fact.

All of this raised questions. Firstly that Mrs T had a strap, so a mother strapped her son at home? I remember being surprised at that. Then the next question, what did she replace it with, something worse or bigger? I don’t remember the woman but her son was a live wire. I remember him as short and often in trouble.

So, getting the cuts in school was normal. In those days the parents would have received the same and it wasn’t commented on. “Oh, so you got the strap at school dear, that will teach you,” was the attitude.

I remember staying at a friends house one night. His mother and sister were talking and he mentioned he’d got the cuts at school. Both his mother and sister had been amused by it. His ability to talk about something like that defeated me. I just couldn’t talk about it.

School days.

Repairing A Prison Strap

I bought a Canadian Prison Strap from Adam And Gillian Sensuous Whip and Toys. As a play implement, it is a serious item at about three feet in length and three inches in width. One look at this and there is absolutely no doubt what it is used for.

The design is based on an actual strap used to punish prisoners. The leather of the strap end is ‘sole bend’ which means it is used for the soles of shoes. It is extremely dense and hardly bends when you hold it out flat. Two rows of holes along its length just add to the aura of it being a serious punishment instrument.

When I meet a new mistress, this strap is something they inspect closely and just about universally admire. I had one amazonian mistress who would give me a dozen strokes cold, at the start of session. And then a caning. If you want some serious corporal, that will do it.

Well, mine started to come apart. The handle is made of multiple layers of leather all sandwiched together to make it thicker and easier to hold and control. The problem was that it was coming apart. Separating. The glue used was clearly not up to the task considering the use it was being put to.

I have been using a saddler at a horse and tack shop for years. She made me quite a few belts and some items that were clearly meant for corporal punishment. This strap was in a new league.

Well, I called to make sure she was in, then put the strap into its cardboard case and took it in. Making sure no one was watching I pulled it out and showed her. She looked up at me. She looked down at the strap. Then she sighed, ‘oh dear oh dear’ she said.

Happily, a week later I dropped back in and she’d stitched it. She said it was the toughest leather she’d ever had to sew and it gave her a lot of trouble. But it was good as new. Since then it has been used quite a lot, in every session, and it has held together.

Beaming Smiling Mistress

Mistress Has Needs Also

A mistress I’d seen a half dozen times or more was positively beaming when I met her in the waiting room for a session. She looked extraordinarily happy and I made that comment.

She looked delighted that I’d noticed. “I just had a sub session, I need them occasionally,” and she pointed to some whip marks on her arms. They looked about ½ inch wide and where along the top of her arm and disappeared under her leather dress by the shoulders. I imagine she’d been suspended and whipped. She seemed quite happy about it.

I had never thought of mistress as needing her own relief, her own grounding via a BDSM session and some corporal. But it seemed she did.

Bullwhips And The Ambidextrous Mistress

Two (Stereo?) Bullwhips

You’ve probably got the idea already. One mistress loved using the bull whip and was ambidextrous. Well, she had me lay down on the bondage bench, strapped me down with a fine collection of leather straps, then put a folded towel over the middle of my back.

Then taking up two bull whips, one in each hand, she proceeded to crack them over my butt in turn, crack-crack, crack-crack. It was painful but even though it was about 10 years ago, I seem to remember not all that painful. A good hard caning made far more of an impression.

One thing about this mistress that was concerning though. When she was getting into it, really getting into it, she had a habit of taking a really deep breath. You could hear it distinctly. At the time it sounded a bit like she was losing control, going to go maybe too far in the session.

Not long after this session she left my city. She didn’t like the weather all that much. She wanted to live somewhere warmer.