Fifty Shades of Domination - My True Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

to stop but Iknew she could take more if she tried. I had already laid out the exact number of needles ready to be inserted and in such cases I work on the same principle as those governing the Samurai warriors of ancient Japan. Legend has it that a Samurai sword, once unsheathed, cannot be put away without being used: and so it is with me. Once the needles are ready and waiting they have to find a home. In such situations I have found that a calm but utterly determined tone of voice can encourage any slave further along the path of complete submission than they may have expected.
‘You are going to take more needles, young lady,’ I insisted. ‘I know you don’t want to… and I know they hurt, but you do want to please me, don’t you? That’s why these needles are going in now… then we can get this nasty stage over and done with and move on. That’s what we all want, isn’t it?’
My script may sound ineffective when viewed in cold print, but whispered close to a slave’s ear, with the correct tone of voice and the authority that I’ve spent decades perfecting, it works every time. I backed up my words with actions by popping my half-a-dozen remaining needles right through her outer labia lips to accompanying squeals of pain from my now-quiescent client. Even now, Lorraine’s fun was not over. I pointed out that the unsheathed needle points were now resting gently on her inner vaginal lips and that any movement from her would likely result in a fascinating but unusual self-piercing experience. ‘I suggest you lay very still,’ I instructed as I left the room. ‘Don’t move and I’ll be back in a while to set you free.’ Still nervous, still shaking a little and still crying, Lorraine had little choice. She meekly accepted her fate.
Examining the enjoyment I received from ill-treating my slavegirl, I realised that I do get a thrill from imposing my will over her, from making her obey my commands, with appropriate discipline and encouragement if required. There is, however, a huge difference between the reward I get from dominating a woman and the sexual charge I can get from dealing with a man. As a heterosexual, I still get my own sexual kick out of sessions with any male, even after two decades of practicing just about every imaginable form of domination game. I’ve never been one for self-reflection or for analysing why I am the way I am, so I don’t know why it is that I relish submission from others in both my professional and personal lives. The debate between ‘nature and nurture’ seems to me to be a mystery with so many variables that no answer will ever be found.
Even so, I do recognise that my life has taken an unusual course and that this might well be related to my somewhat unusual childhood. It was a happy childhood, running smoothly for years… until the day I discovered that all of my happiness was built on a lie.

CHAPTER 4
‘YOUR MUMMY ISN’T REALLY YOUR MUMMY’
A s is the case for many of us, my life thus far has been an ever-changing mix of joy, happiness, sadness and occasional despair. Yet, looking back over the decades, one day in the spring of 1983 stands out as one of the worst moments of my entire life. I’ve never forgotten the cold, sinking feeling in the pit of my nine-year-old tummy as my best friend at school uttered words that broke my heart.
‘Everyone knows – except you of course – your mummy isn’t really your mummy.’
Seeing the words in print cannot convey the sheer, ice-cold fear that gripped me as I struggled to absorb and understand the words my friend was speaking. What on earth could she mean? What a silly thing to say, what a stupid lie to tell. Or was it a lie? Of course I loved my mummy dearly: as is the case for all young children, she was the heart of my schoolgirlworld. How was it possible that the certainty of such a relationship could now be threatened? I was fighting back the tears as I ran home in a daze to what I believed was the emotional