Hug a Hoodie Venus O'Hara

The Day I Participated in a Professional BDSM Session

I make no secret that I love FemDom. I am always in charge, even during conventional vanilla sex. The unapologetic displays of my dominant desires have led to a predictable phenomenon; I have been receiving numerous unsolicited requests from sub men who are only too anxious to serve me. This is happening a lot lately. As irony would have it, these ‘subs’ seem to be a little too demanding, and strangely specific, when it comes to outlining what they want to do with me. ‘You need a professional dominatrix’ is my standard reply to these confused creatures.

 

I recall that one of them instructed me to turn up to a meeting wearing high heels. Let me think. Having a man who identifies himself as a sub, calling the shots? I don’t think so. I turned up wearing my most distressed pair of red Converse. The practice of professional Femdom and its recreational variety are worlds apart. I had suspected it for a long time, even before I had the opportunity to see it with my very own eyes.

 

When I contacted a professional dominatrix, my intention was to interview her for a popular Spanish newspaper. I could not have anticipated that she would surprise me with an even better idea. She suggested that I assist her during a private BDSM session to really see her in action. Of course, I did not hesitate to accept this generous offer. To study what really transpires behind the doors of a dungeon in person would be a rare privilege.

 

It was a Saturday afternoon when I arranged to go to her dungeon. It was hidden away in an industrial area of Barcelona. I had no idea what to expect and I must concede that I was a little nervous. When I arrived, she gave me a tour and showed me all of the different areas. There was a medical fetish area, a miniature chapel complete with its own cross, a cage, dozens of high heel shoes as well as random pieces of BDSM paraphernalia. I could not help but think about my sex toy cabinets at home, which contained a library of hundreds of sex toys. I boasted about them quite often. But now, they seemed insignificant in comparison to what I was seeing.

 

I watched her go through the ritual of applying makeup. We chatted about what we had been up to lately and giggled playfully. It was not very long before the doorbell rang. It was him. As soon as he entered the game began. He knelt before her and kissed her hand. Then, he bowed his head and lowered himself to worship her shoes. To my surprise, she ordered him to greet me in the same way. All of a sudden, I did not feel like a voyeur anymore. I was elevated to the status of a Goddess instead.

 

He went straight to the shower while she prepared tea for the two of us. A few moments later he reappeared naked. She put a hood on his head as I sat on the sofa and sipped my tea as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Internally, I could not help but wonder about this man. He had spent seven hours on a bus, just so that I could write this article.

 

The session did not seem to have any structure as such. The activities were determined according to the whims of the dominatrix. First, she wanted to record a video for her followers. Her cell phone was put to use between sips of tea. I become the camerawoman whilst she made the most of the opportunity to advertise her personal website. She used the sub’s back as advertising space and wrote the URL, in a permanent black marker pen in capital letters between his shoulder blades. That was going to be impossible to remove, I thought to myself. I realised that the detail only made it more fun.

 

After recording the video, she wanted to test out her new nylon whip. It was very long and red. The sub was tied up, with his hands raised above his head. He was more than ready to receive his punishment. The dominatrix got to work. The repeated lashes seemed to really hurt him. His back got marked with diagonal red slashes immediately. She carried on mercilessly. As if that was not sufficient, she ordered him to laugh and dance while she worked. I could not help but laugh at myself in the midst of this surreal situation. Then, she laughed and I joined in with her. We sounded like witches from a low budget horror film as the whiplash sounds carried on regardless.

 

When she got tired of all the lashing, she sat down on the sofa next to me. We started chatting. The sub, now untied, massaged our feet. The dominatrix told me that I could ask him questions if I wished to better facilitate the production of my article. There were many things that I wanted to know. 

 

I could not help but notice that his penis had not got hard at any time during the whole session. Then, I wondered whether the session would inspire him when he was alone afterwards. ‘He doesn’t masturbate very often’ The dominatrix answered for him.

 

In fact, she gave me a lot of the answers to my questions. In only six sessions, that they had together, it seemed as though she knew him very well indeed.

 

After some more games of humiliation, foot and shoe worship, the time was up. The sub got dressed and said goodbye with the same attention to the established protocol as he displayed on his arrival. Interestingly, I did not have the sensation that I had witnessed anything sordid. Far from it, in fact. It seemed to be something very intimate and special. Thanks to this dominatrix, that man could fulfil his most meaningful fantasies. The nature of those fantasies was almost certainly unknown to the people who had known him his entire life. I could not help but visualise him on his return trip on the bus. I imagined that he would feel all of the marks he had obtained at the session. He would feel them every time the bus shuddered over a bump in the road. He would feel them for the duration of the seven-hour ride home. I had no doubt that the plain fact of his discomfort would merely increase his pleasure.

 

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