Dominatrix for a day

Domina Sandra discovered me right away. I thought she would mislead her with my cheap performance as an intrepid foreigner, but she knows how to recognize us, she said.

The truth is that everything was wrong from the beginning. When I asked for the appointment by phone, I made a big deal: I changed my name, refined my voice, praised his “art” excessively and, worst of all: I, who with a single monosyllable that I pronounce in Buenos Aires, betray my status as a foreigner I faked such a cheesy accent that the secretary, on the other end of the line, told me: you speak like you do in soap operas, baby, are you Venezuelan? The first appointment was on a Monday at one in the afternoon; Midwinter, slight delay due to picket road: a fairly normal day. When I got there the door was ajar. Doorbell.

Shrill voice: bad sign. I imagined the scene that continued: women dressed in leather, armed with whips and chains, were waiting for me to give me what I deserved: for being a trout, a faker, a prude, a latecomer, and a journalist! I could almost hear them preparing their torture implements. I was in my last moment of lucidity, trying to ask myself the right questions: what am I doing here? where am I running to? how does she know she’s not letting in a thief, a murderer, a whorephobe? How do I know she doesn’t respond to any of those profiles? Why the hell did I decide to call myself Betsy?!

Among. The shrill voice came from a huge body wrapped in an Indian robe that was resting in a dark room. She was surrounded by shelves displaying the products she sells: erotic clothing, SM (sadomasochism) toys, and Domina-branded home videos. On a shelf are foreign magazines in which she has been interviewed and a book called Diary of a mistress; in another there are twelve silicone cocks (penis) ordered by size, and below an old sound system. Behind everything -vigilant-, a great photo of her with a mask, corset and her best sadistic expression. I sit at her desk and see a collection of dolls like the ones that appeared in yuppies. Then I decide to face the role that corresponds to me: that of a worldly girl. I cross my legs, take off my coat, stick out my chest, and shake my hair.

-Mmm, those Domina things, you know: handcuffs, gadgets and so on. -But to play you won’t use my theoretical class. What you need is imagination. Let’s see, what are your partner’s fears? -Fears?

It was corked.

-Hey, Betsy, stop fucking around! Did you know? I don’t believe you.

The door was behind me, but this was not the time to run. I kept looking for a way to gain confidence: I adjusted my blouse, showed a little more skin, refined my look. The Dominatrix was looking at me with a frown and her arms akimbo, as if waiting for an answer. I went over my lines over and over again but I couldn’t find the right phrase.

“Look, at this point they don’t fool me anymore,” he said mercilessly; You don’t have a boyfriend, you want to work on this.

It was a perfect plot twist: I switched from being a mundane girl to being a fine whore:

-Oh, Domina, what can I tell you? My clients demand this type of service, but I don’t know how to do it. I work for a company ladies agency. -Yes, I figured. Let’s see, stop, let me look at you.

I obeyed. And I remembered my days on the catwalk at school: tuck in, stick out the tail and lift the chin.

-You can charge dearly, but you have to learn a lot. You listen to me, I’m going to tell you what you have to do.

This is how I got my first SM class at the prestigious Casona de Dómina Sandra, probably the housekeeper who knows the most in Argentina. That afternoon, after the awkward introduction, Domina and I talked like old friends. The recently emerged collegiality made us open up so much that in the end I couldn’t distinguish if what united us were the particularities of our trade, our gender, or life itself. He told me that she started working at 16 and that she always liked to humiliate her clients. At first he didn’t know that she could charge for that, he became independent as soon as he found out. He has now been in the business for twenty years and eventually does services. Charge $200; the others, 35.

We talked about how the crisis affected the business. Prices fell, although the volume of customers is maintained:

-Argentines like to suffer, I don’t know sho.

Then he asks me about my personal history. I improvised: from Venezuela, my supposed native country, I had gone to Panama because there I could get paid in dollars.

-But Panama is the mecca of business, stupid! Why didn’t you stay there? -Well, I met an Argentine client who was passing through and… -Oh, yes. We fall in love, Betsy, it happens to all of us.

We first went to a small room with mirrors where they kept costumes for nurses, maids, and others; there were also feathers and prosthetics for buttocks and tits. The carvings were huge and I thought it would be a kind of temple of Sandra’s things; Later, Sofía explained to me that it was the area of ​​the drag queens:

-Here we make up the fagots, we fulfill their fantasies. There are some men who are turned on by servitude, so they put on their aprons and clean the house, the bathrooms, the kitchen, everything.

Sofia spoke as if she was giving me an induction:

-In the background is the light torture room.

It’s a small room with a single bed and blue sheets where services are provided to not so submissive submissives and soft masters. Basically, he explained to me, they use it to “play and fuck”.

Both Sofía and Dómina Sandra follow a somewhat fundamentalist line. Both show a certain contempt for sex itself: for them SM is not necessarily accompanied by “fucking”; It would be said that, since you love, falling into that seems to them a weakness.

The third room is at the end of the house. Dozens of torture instruments hang from the ceiling and walls. In one corner there is a colt -the one used to stretch the limbs-; in the other is a cage and a leather-wrapped padded cross for crucifixions.

-And this is our real stage.

Sofia smiles proudly and takes a whip from the ones on the wall. Enter Maia, the slave: a skinny, full-lipped brunette in boots and a skimpy skirt.

-There you are, filthy bitch!

Sofía yells at him and whips him on the buttocks; she kneels down and kisses his feet. The mistress looks for a rope and ties it around her neck:

-This is what you always have to do on the move. Remember that the slave is a dog.

Change the tone of your voice to explain to me; He looks at me and smiles like he’s offering me a cheese tasting at the supermarket. Maia, from the floor, also looks at me.

-And what’s wrong with you?! Do you like the new one? Answer, whore! -No, she loves.

Sofia is once again the promoter of cheeses:

-You see, all a slave can say is ‘yes, mistress’, ‘no, mistress’. The key in a master is mistreatment and in a slave, submission.

Maia’s gaze is buried in the floor, and Sofia orders her to say hello. She comes closer and kisses my feet.

Oh, do you like this? Am I not enough for you? Pretentious whore!

Sofía pulls her by the rope and begins to hit her with the whip, first gently, then harder and harder. But Maia doesn’t say anything.

-He doesn’t complain because it doesn’t hurt. The force is in the hand, not in the whip, I make quick movements to pretend that I am hitting him hard, but not really. Now, if I give it like this.

A louder whip cracks, and Maia surges forward.

-.It may hurt.

The phone rings and Sofía goes out to answer it. Maia stands up and asks me if I’m going to work on this, and I say yes.

-You will like. -Do you like it? -Yes I love it. -Do you like being a slave or mistress more? -Do you like men or women?

I did not understand the consequence of your question in relation to mine. I thought Sofia’s advances were getting to us.

-What? -If you like working with women, it’s good to be a slave: they pay better.

Sofia came back:

-Ah, did they become friends? Get down, bitch!

Before Maia could bend down, Sofia lifted her onto the rack. She tied his hands to her sides, pulled her legs up, and tied them to her head with a noose. She told me to come closer and gave me some hooks. And there we had, in a very close-up, the entire intimate area of ​​Maia expanded and exposed.

-These are put on the lips of the vagina; if he is a man you put them on his foreskin. The same with the needles, but here I only put them. You have to be careful, because if any blood comes out, it’s all over. You don’t play with blood, do you understand me?

It was the most serious thing he said. He looked at me, I held his gaze and answered: I understand. But she stayed there, a few more seconds.

-Do you remind me of your name? -Betsy -Ok, Betsy, now you are going to put the hooks on Maia

The dominatrix kit includes some elements such as látivos, handcuffs and goggles, as seen in the photo

My hand was shaking, I was terrified of causing it pain, I was terrified of seeing that in front of me, I was terrified of touching it. Then Sofia took off her corset: she had tiny tits, like a girl’s. The image of her was one of total defenselessness: bound, uncovered, vulnerable. Maia smiled flirtatiously. Sofía, meanwhile, lit a candle: the next lesson was the rain of sperm.

-The secret is to hold the candle very high, so when the sebum falls on the skin it is not so hot. If the guy or the chick asks you for more pain, you bring it closer.

Sofia lowered her hand, Maia closed her eyes and trembled.

-Piety!

The mistress removed the candle and was a little embarrassed. It seems that the scream of the slave was not in the script. Then she put on her smile again and told me that the main lesson is that you have to respect the pact of mercy:

-If a slave asks you for mercy, you have to give it to him, you cannot continue torturing him, unless he asks you again. This is all about building more honest relationships.

Maia got off the rack; a tear was coming to her eyes, but she suppressed it. Sofia tied her hands to a device that she hung from her ceiling, leaving her slightly suspended. She stood in front of him and took out a tit:

-Suck, bitch, don’t you want to suck me? -Yes, mistress -So, idiot, why don’t you suck me?

He was pulling her forward, by her hair, and Maia’s tongue was sticking out, trying to reach his chest.

-That’s what torture is all about, it’s all in the head. You tempt him with something you know he wants but you make sure he can’t have it. It’s like when you lock him in the cage and provoke him. The poor man suffers, because he wants to go out and he can’t.

Then came the cross, with a very similar punishment mechanism, although in all of them it can be improvised by putting little things -such as weights, hooks and shackles- on the genitals and playing with vibrators.

-Two things: the point of penis shackles is to make the guy hurt when he gets hot. You put it on him when he’s down, and you start to excite him, like that, with that little body you have, with that ass, and you touch him here and there.

Sofia was fondling the crucified Maia. Maia seemed to enjoy it, and I, more and more, felt like I was in a lesbian vampire scene.

-And when it heats up, chaz! The guy finds that he cannot be stopped because the shackle prevents him.

Sofia grabbed a vibrator with her left hand and ran it up and down with the other: like models on game shows.

-The other thing you don’t have to forget is that all, all men like to be penetrated.

Thursday was the practical class, we would start by measuring my resistance.

– Get on your ass, Betsy. I’m counting to ten and you tell me how far you can resist. one, two -Piety! -Come on, again: one, two, three. -Piety!

And so on, until the sixth attempt:

-…eight nine ten. Good!

My skin burned a little, then felt numb. When I received whiplash number ten I was convinced that pain was not a source of pleasure for me. I thought that perhaps the most exciting thing about this practice was not in the physical sensation, but in the fear, in the torturous wait. Then the tips followed. Sofia spoke first of the limits:

Here you can do almost everything. Fetishes are welcome: the golden shower passes, but the brown shower does not. That’s bullshit, and none of the girls accept it.

I remembered a photo I saw in the living room of a guy dressed as a little red hood, crouched on the torso of a slave. I didn’t want more details.

-There’s every crazy person, baby, we’ve had to take naked guys out into the street because the girl asked for mercy and kept hitting him.

Then he told me about the foreigners, the best customers. In those days an Englishman who goes every time he visits Buenos Aires had been in the house. The guy has his slave in London, one he bought here -according to Sofía. And he always takes services with the most experienced mistresses, because that’s how he learns what new things to do to the little slave he imported.

-Do you know English, Betsy? -I defend myself. -I defend myself too, but for when you don’t know what to say to these guys who don’t understand Spanish at all, the best technique is to tell them Snow White, but in a bad tone: once upon a time there was a very pretty girl, she was white as snow,! she was a complete son of a bitch! Fuck you! Mirror, asshole mirror, who is the most beautiful in the world? Shut up! Fuck off, fucking dwarf! bitch!

Then came the fun part of my instruction. Dominatrix Sandra made me something like a beginner dominatrix kit: a whip, $40; a set of wristlets, anklets, and necklace, $52; a wooden palmette, $15; a corset, $75; a pair of vinyl skirts, $40, and boots, $130.

I became a mannequin: they took me off and put on corsets, skirts, wigs, they made me take the whip, wave it and look at myself in the mirror: practice. Leather makes you feel sexy. The smell, the texture of the vinyl on the skin, the corset rods suffocating you a bit, the chubby ones being crushed, the bust about to explode: all excess.

-This is your corset!

Sofia jumps when she sees me transformed in the mirror. After what it cost her to fasten it, the result had to be satisfactory:

-Betsy, you are a vinyl goddess!

How easy they convinced me: they made me really want to buy everything. They looked at me in ecstasy, as if contemplating a new work, or at least that’s how I felt. Perhaps they were only adding to the value of everything she was wearing; $350 would have been my investment, if the story had continued. I changed and told them that I would come for everything as soon as my boss gave me the money to buy it. They accompanied me to the door and said good-bye; I took one last look at the house because only I knew Betsy wasn’t coming back.

The last thing I heard about La Domina came from a couple of e-mails that reached my address [email protected]. The first announced her birthday on August 20, and the second said that due to the number of questions received about the type of presents that the Mistress wanted, he intended to give a fee to buy her a sound system. The emails ended with the sentence: It is more difficult to make admiration last than to provoke it. I decided that I would send him a congratulatory note and a CD of the Guaco orchestra, from Venezuela, so that he could listen to it on his new equipment. In the note, I would also explain that for reasons of economic convenience I had returned to Panama; she would send kisses to Sofia and Maia and tell them that the admiration she professed for all of them was more than lasting: eternal.

The episode of the post office made me remember with nostalgia that last time in the house: when I saw the dominas from the street watching over my path, I felt almost like an emancipated daughter. I thought that these women were serious about her work and that I had no right to deceive them. A lump rose in my throat, and for the first time, it seemed to me that the only whore in this story had always been me.