The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive Read Online Free PDF Page A

was good to know that things weren’t likely to get out of control. One of my biggest worries had been that I might get hurt in the wrong way at this job.
        As if reading my mind, Taylor looked at me with real concern and said, “If anything ever starts to happen in a session that you’re not comfortable with, you can end it immediately if you want. We’re all here to back each other up.”
        “Thanks,” I said, nodding, although I had a hard time understanding how that would work. If all went well, there would be other sessions where I’d be alone in a room with a man, perhaps bound, but certainly at a physical disadvantage no matter what. “If that should ever happen, how would I, you know, ever get out if I needed to?”
        “There’s an intercom in every room if you need to call for help,” Samantha explained.
        I didn’t want to risk being called a coward now, after establishing that I was, at least, not a lightweight, but I still had to ask. “What if I’m, you know, tied up, or have a gag in my mouth?”
        They looked quickly at each other. Samantha shrugged. “It really boils down to the fact that if you ever get even a tiny bit of a weird vibe from someone, or if something in your gut tells you not to do the session, you shouldn’t do it.”
        Since these women were still strangers to me, I didn’t just take their word for it that Bill was harmless. I decided to use my pre-session interview with him to practice my vibe-getting skills.
        “Is there anything we should talk about before we start?” I asked Bill as we sat facing each other in the lounge. We’d been ushered there after his arrival and now the door was shut. Whether someone booked a session with a specific woman or came in and picked someone working the shift, the two of them were supposed to talk for no-less than a couple of minutes and no more than a few before starting their session.
        “I’m told you can take a pretty good spanking. Is it true?” Bill asked. He looked an awful lot like R. Crumb, minus the hat.
        “That’s right. And you’re mostly into hand-spanking?” I asked.
        He nodded. “I heard you came in late today, and I know Hillary wouldn’t want you making a habit of it.” Hillary was the blonde, buxom, semi-mother-figure who’d hired me. She owned and ran the dungeon, the actual name of which was “The Dominion,” after having worked there as a submissive and dominatrix herself for years.
        “You should know that she comes to me regularly with any disciplinary problems she has with staff.” Bill looked pleased with himself and was apparently trying to impress me with his sternness.
        I kept a straight face just barely. Did people really believe this shit or was it actually a campy joke on their part? I had some curiosity myself about certain kinds of role-playing that seemed exciting, but to be talking in normal conversation and then have someone act like he’s really taking me in hand and I’m really going to let him?
        I had no talent for pretending to believe myself in need of guidance or punishment. Well, truth be told, I had no talent for pretending much of anything. I’d failed Beginning Drama my freshman year of high school. Lucky for me, Bill’s own theatrics were enough to satisfy him. He got up and I followed him out to the front desk.
        “We’re going to go for half an hour,” he told Samantha.
        “Why don’t you take her into the Dean Martin room?” She marked down our starting time in the ledger. “Don’t forget, Bill,” she turned to look at him, “you need to give her a good warm-up. She hasn’t been spanked in a while so start easy, okay?”
        “I gotcha,” Bill answered, and walked me down the hall to the Dean Martin room.
        After closing the door behind us, he sat down immediately on the long bench that ran along one wall and patted his right knee.