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The Wrong House

A New Mistress Operating From Home

I was between  mistresses. A well known and renowned mistress I’d heard about was operating not that far from me so I decided to get her a try.

A look on the internet then a phone call, a discussion about what I wanted resulted in me writing down her address and making a booking.

A few days later I arrived. It was a new estate, small blocks and arranged with winding roads. The address she gave me was on a circular ring road. All good I thought, it looked like a normal suburban home. Who am I to worry about that.

I have quite a bit of gear. There is a large luggage bag full of belts an straps and such like. Then I have a long triangular mailer my Canadian Prison Strap came in. This also has about 8 other straps and tawse shoved in there also. These two things make a reasonable load to carry.

Well, after parking in the driveway I headed to the front door then rang the bell. No answer. I rang again, and again. No answer. Damn. What’s happening?

Then I looked around and there it was on the wall. On a plaque. The full address of the house. It turned out I was on was in the right street name but it was “Circle” and not “Drive.”

Who has an address on a plaque on their front wall? I don’t. Turns out it is people who get callers who choose the wrong address in their GPS.

It made me wonder. How many had shown up looking for “Mistress XXX” and then the embarrassment.

It could have been me.

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Helping hand in a BDSM Session

Mistress Was Giving Heavy Corporal

I think there is a trend. If I have three sessions with a mistress, she is outstanding. The first can be tricky as we are finding out about each other. The second session is the make or break – if this works well then I’ll have a third and usually this leads to a longer term relationship.

For this anecdote (absolutely true) I was in session with a lovely mistress who had me in suspension and was using my gear on me. She was giving me a folded belt strapping, using my tawse collection, the straps and all the gear I have in turn.

She was a very good looking woman (as they all are in fact). She was English and had been a model in the years prior. She was very pleasant to talk to and certainly a favorite. I still smile when I think of her. A lovely lady.

Well, I was of course watching her, taking all the corporal she could give and it was working out pretty well. That was until she left the dungeon suddenly. It surprised me but it wasn’t that there was much I could do. I was in suspension with my hands in cuffs clipped to a bar above my head. There were straps around my legs and I was gagged. No way was I moving.

Not long later she returned with a shorter woman, maybe a little older and blond. Another mistress in fact, that was all she could be. Strange, I thought.

Without saying another word this new mistress took up a folded belt and strapped me really hard. Much harder than I’d been having. These had an effect. Then she changed to another belt, then another strap, then another tawse.

Well, this went on and it challenged me, lifted me onto my toes. Got through to me, Then the new mistress left.  All without saying a word. My original mistress continued then we completed the session as per normal. It was EXCEPTIONAL.

After my shower the mistress confided in me. She had breast cancer and was in remission. Her energy levels were down and she’d been struggling to give me the corporal at an intensity that she thought I needed. She had called in a friend.

I was totally and absolutely gutted. She was gorgeous, had a smile and a way of talking and making me feel comfortable. She was delightful in the extreme. The thought of her having, suffering, breast cancer was obscene.

Well, all I could do was grab the only money I had from my wallet, a $50, and ask her to give it to the other mistress. We chatted for a while and she seemed comfortable with what was happening.

Some time later she died. She had my mobile phone number and her friend sent a message to say she’d died on the 10th of November. I had to pull over on the side of the road and shed a tear. I texted back that the world had lost a beautiful soul and was poorer for her loss. Her friend showed mistresses parents who had taken some comfort from my heartfelt message.

To my great annoyance I didn’t attend the funeral. I thought it would be inappropriate. It turned out that many of her clients did attend, sitting at the back of the church and her family had been comfortable with that. On her coffin she had crossed riding crops. I still think of her at times.

Well, I mentioned this to the psychologist I was seeing. She commented that my mistress would have just pocketed the money.

Turns out she was wrong. I had a session a few years later at another establishment on the other side of the city. The mistress commented about my gear and mentioned she’d been called in to aid a mistress who was suffering while recovering from breast cancer. She even commented that she’d been given a $50 for the 10 minutes she’d helped out. It was an instant and close connection we felt when I told it her it was me.

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I’ll Have What He’s Having

The Sound Of Folded Belt On Bottom

A strapping from a folded wide leather belt across the full part of a bottom makes quite a loud crack. If the mistress is strong (and they usually are) then it can really be quite loud when they put their heart into it.

One session I had at a since closed down establishment was memorable for this (as were 2 others on other posts). I do like the sound of a well applied belt, and it seems other people do also.

It all started when I was in a session, in suspension. I had cuffs on my wrists which were affixed to a winch that was pulling me upright. There were a bunch of belts wrapped around my legs strapping me up in bondage.

I was also gagged with a plated ball gag. I do like them, it silences me and seems to make the corporal easier take and it helps send me into sub-space.

The mistress was very good (as they usually are) and she liked corporal. She said it was something she felt good at and quite liked using the gear.

I have a lot of my own gear. On this occasion she was using a belt, a wide doubled over and supple one. You can tell a good stroke. It cracks down crisply, sharply and it sounds just like it should, almost like a gun shot.

Well as she was giving me a strapping we heard the front doorbell ‘ding dong’ and that made me smile. Since i was gagged it was difficult to see I was smiling, but I think the twinkle in my eyes was the give-away. We shared a moment in time as she smiled and looked into my eyes for a moment.

Then it occurred to her, she strapped me harder, very hard, making the gunshot crack echo out of the dungeon, down the concrete corridor into reception.

That made me smile round the gag, she smiled some more, and it set her off. She gave me a dozen of the absolute best strokes of the doubled belt as we distantly heard voices in reception. She was playing to a crowd.

After the belt she chose another implement, then another, then another and so it followed. When the session finished after a hard caning I showered, we chatted and I left.

A month later on my next session she was almost laughing when she recounted what happened. Seemed that the person in reception heard my strapping and had said ‘I’ll have what he’s having’ so they put him into the room next to us where he waited and heard the session.

She was also delighted as she’d got a new heavy corporal client.

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The Hairdresser

Some People Really Are good To Talk To

My new hairdresser was a younger woman in her early thirties. She has an open happy face that almost cries out to to make you open up to her. She also oozes a sensuality, a sexuality that is captivating.

Maybe this is a women’s hairdressing thing? They like to chat and hairdressing salons is where it happens? Well she worked her magic on me.

Since we were the only people in her salon, I opened up to her about my secret little BDSM kink. I have no idea how we got onto the topic of sex and fetish, but it happened.

Well, I described what I like and she lit up like a light bulb had gone off inside her.

She said she had a close male friend, had been friends for years. It wasn’t a sexual thing, they were just great friends.

Well, it turned out he was into BDSM play also, but in a more full on way. He had only a few sessions a year but they were big ones, going for three or four hours and he was usually beaten so badly he could hardly walk.

One last time she’d been called late on a Saturday afternoon because he was desperate for her to take him to hospital. She collected him from the place he’d had his session at then taken him to E.R and been with him during his treatment. It turned out he’d sustained a few broken ribs and the bruising and bleeding was significant.

They patched him up but it was super embarrassing for her.  She said they were looking at her thinking she’d done it.

Then it got better/worse. One nurse said ‘don’t worry, I do a bit of this after hours too.’

Sometimes BDSM flares up in the oddest of places.

Not only that. Since I was separated and heading into a possible divorce, she tried to set me up with her divorced mother. It was not a good match, but she did that knowing about my little kink.