Sometimes, you put on your latex and heels, slap on your lipstick, walk into a dungeon with a client who is begging for your attention, and you own the fucking room. Other times, you put on your lipstick because you need to get yourself into that headspace; because otherwise, you would much rather be home watching tv and eating popcorn. And sometimes, if you get really lucky, you get a client or two who actually rescues you from your daily life. That’s my Sweet Little S.
Client S is a CD, or cross dresser. He’s biologically male, but will always in my mind be female, as that’s how she presents when we chat and email. She has my personal cell phone number. I know a bit about her personal life and job. We’re never going to come home and braid each other’s hair, but it’s not nearly as clinical as some of the other clients I see.
When I’m with S, my entire world drops away. She gets so into her scenes, so desperately wants to submit, wants to allow all power to be stripped away and is so happy when it happens, that it’s hard not to share her enthusiasm. It’s a bit like taking a kid into a toy shop and telling them, “Sure, anything you like, it’s yours.” Her focus is my focus, and it spurs me to want to be a better Dominatrix. But more than that, she’s an escape for me. Some people knit, others write, and still more go out shopping and wrack up credit card debt. Me? I tie my Sweet S to a piece of equipment and alternate between soft touches, and brutal, painful control.
Sweet S came to me via Fetlife, like many new clients. She had never seen a Domme before, and certainly not a professional. We chatted for weeks, and I met her at a café prior to any sessions, as it my typical protocol. She presented in male attire, consistent with her biology. What struck me though, was how absolutely polite, verging on reverential, she was. Kind, sweet, open, honest; the type of person you almost want to protect to make sure they don’t get eaten alive by the rest of the world. The first time we played, she was dressed as S; presenting in her female garb. And there’s something… arousing… for me in the contrast between how society demands that a man dress, and how a cross dresser presents. When people say they experienced their sexuality at a young age, I think back and know that one of my first pre-sexual arousing moments was wondering what a man would look like in a dress. With S, I skim my fingers up her skirt and I know exactly what I am going to find. She resists, but it’s a token; I’m always checking in with her on her breathing and reminding her that her safe word is an option. She’s never used it. She wants everything done to her that I can do. She wants me to explore and play, but most of all, she wants me to be myself. My truest, darkest, deepest self, and in that way it’s a bit of therapy for us, both. She pays me to let her dress as a woman, and to arouse her in a variety of ways. She’s a part of herself with me that she cannot be when the lights are on and the world is watching. But then, so am I. I’m the Dominatrix who will tie her to a bed, tease her, bite her, beat her until she’s breathless… and that’s not something society wants to see from a pregnant soccer mom.
I have nobody in my “vanilla life” with whom I can be so dark, and nobody in my kink life with whom I feel I can be truly vulnerable. S may be the closest I ever get. When her blindfold is on, she can’t see how grateful I am to have clients like her in my life.