A dominatrix is an enigma. To me she encompasses the ambivalence of sex.
The Old Chandelier
The reception room was elegantly decorated. Above me stood a high corniced ceiling and a candelabra chandelier. To my left, if I had been able to observe it, was a fireplace and imposing mantelpiece. The carpet was Paisley type weave of blue and beige and the wall paper Herbert Morrison. Behind me was a wood panelled screen that enabled the room to be opened into a still larger one. This screen normally functioned to allow the adjacent space to serve as an office. As such, its thin wooden panels did nothing to attenuate any sound between that office and the chamber in which I was currently stood. In this case attenuation would have made little difference since, in accordance with my express wishes, Mia had left open the reception door on her way in. This permitted the various sounds of the proceedings to be audible not only in the office, but throughout this Victorian Town house in the heart of Sydney.
Had I had time to ponder my predicament, I might have wondered if my childhood days at a catholic school had left me with the fantasy in which I was currently engaged. Certainly there were similarities between those days and the present. For example, it was the case that the interior of the building had the same old house flavour as that of my school. Equally there was the current sight and sound of that leather strap as it was raised and delivered with painful force across the palms of my hand. The fact that the sound was audible to others going about their business in complete disregard to my plight bore yet another resemblance. It was there, however, that the analogy stopped. For a start, we did not undress for discipline at school. Yet here I was, stark naked, stood to attention for all to see. At school a woman did not deliver the strap. Yet this delivery was from no ordinary woman but one bedecked in knee length high-heeled boots. Finally, I do not recall having an erection during school punishment. In this case, so huge was my penis that its tip was coming tantalisingly close to the piece of black leather as it followed through across my outstretched palm. Thung! "Hand out" Thung! "Get it up nice and straight" barked the authoritative female voice like that of a sergeant major. The session had begun some ten minutes earlier when I had been lead out of that self-same room to The Brass Room - the name given to one of several fully equipped dungeons in the establishment of Salon Kitty in Surry hills.
Following my arrival, Mia had been briefed by the receptionist to be assertive from the outset of our initial encounter. It was thus after only a short meeting I had outlined the session in which we were now engaged. Following this, I had been lead away to the place where I had undressed and began a nervous wait deliberately unaware of what Mistress intended to do. One thing was agreed upon "Wanking" was strictly forbidden" Was it from my school days that I had requested the strap? Was it because of those self-same days that I wanted it in public? Heightened by tension and fear, I had spent the next five to ten minutes alone like a condemned man in a cell. I tried unsuccessfully at first to produce a hugely bloated knob. I had lain on the back leather couch placed centre stage facing a ceiling mirror. I was so nervous that, no matter how I tried, my tool remained limp and dormant. The muscles in the back of my neck were taut as I rolled my head from side to side in an attempt to release the tension. I closed my eyes and attempted to allow my mind to wander into a dream of fantasy away from the awful truth of what was going to happen. There was certain paradox in this since I was almost as fearful of the shame to my manhood if I failed to present Mia with a decent spectacle when she entered the chamber. Gradually, I managed to unwind a little, closing my eyes as I played with my weapon. I tried to imagine all those mastubatory things such as fish net stockings, suspenders, and high heel shoes. I dreamt about that lovely soft skin between the tops of a woman's stocking and her crutch. I thought about whips, tawses and gazed around at the abundance of other bondage paraphernalia surrounding the room. Imperceptibly at first, my knob began to inflate. Then as I looked down I was able to observe my penis slowly rising to the occasion. I began to think about it challenging Mia's authority as the purple tip began to take its shape. I started to have more self-confidence at the thought of annoying her by showing her my erected cock. Thus it was that by the time she entered the chamber my weapon was stood in proud contempt of the very dominatrix I knew her to be. Indeed, as I heard the door open and her first footsteps approaching, I deliberately and wilfully polished the tip that bit harder to make absolutely sure she was in no doubt of my disobedience. I continued to polish it as she stood before me in an air of complete contempt idly running her fingers along the shaft of a thick leather strap similar to the one we used to receive at school.
"Come with me" she barked assertively. As I hesitated those same words were stridently repeated as I began to realise that perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all. It was, however, the look on her face that made me have second thoughts about the wisdom of my actions of a few moments ago in so deliberately exhibiting my cock. It was fear of that look than soon had me following Mia, stark naked, like a lamb to the slaughter, as I followed her through a series of rooms back to the reception, chandelier, fireplace and all. My penis, seconds ago so proud and swollen had already begun to droop. "Get that hand flat! Hold the thumb down!" Thung! "one" Thung! "Two" Thung! "three" Mia has beautiful style when she operates. She holds the tip of the strap above her shoulder with her left hand taking careful aim. Then she squeezes tension into the handle with her right, lets go of the tip and follows through with her whole arm like a champion golfer. It is thus, as the leather impacts the palms, that the deep "Thung" sound emits followed by my voice counting out loud the number of the stroke. Realising that that sound can be heard all over the house my cock quickly returns to its "flagrante" mode. As the session progresses I find the need to dance in pain waving my hand in the air like a butterfly in the wind. As I dance the tip of my cock thus bounces to and fro like the weight of a recoil spring in simple harmonic motion. "Showing me that cock of yours" bellows Mia as the purple extremity vibrates.
Suddenly and unexpectedly Mia pauses. "Follow me and keep that cock up this time" My heart is racing as we retrace our steps towards the dungeon taking a right out of the reception and the further right back past the office. Just before the next door ahead, she unexpectedly turns left and I realise we are outside at the rear of the mansion. I thus find myself in a yard unable to discern exactly the level of privacy afforded. Mia points to a spot in front of a blind covered window. From my limited knowledge of the building, I am left to assume the adjacent room forms the girl's private suite. Although I have no way of knowing, I equally assume at least some of the staff are not only behind but able to see the spectacle of my naked self with my ridiculous protruding knob. To my right I can hear the sound of a tumble drier and the noise of someone working in what I assume is a laundry room. In the corner to my left, is an open window and I am aware of the receptionist smiling at my predicament. Mia pauses for a moment running her fingers gently along the length of the strap reminiscent of stroking a penis preparing to re start the noisy session of a few moments earlier. In my case, such is the adrenaline rush provoked by the thought of being voyeured, that I become conscious that the matter in hand is about to explode. Without a single strop being delivered, uncontrollably, I fall to my knees and from the depths of my bollocks I ejaculate a huge quantity of semen on the dusty concrete with a series of huge sighs which cannot fail to be heard by all in the vicinity.
Mia stands over me for few seconds magnanimous in victory like a statue at some Latin American independence memorial. For me I have a sudden feeling of embarrassment and cannot wait to hide myself from the hidden audience. I stand and we retrace our steps to the Brass room where my clothes lay scattered in pile. Mia's voice is more gentle and I am left to interpret the meaning of "Very Good" followed by "The receptionist will come and escort you to the door when you are ready." Crossing the threshold into Cleveland Road I bid goodbye to my erstwhile voyeur and contemplate the real world of cars and people. It is difficult to believe that the world of fantasy has been just one short step.