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

supposed to curtsy and leave, or what, exactly? Fortunately, Bill took the lead by asking for permission to hug me and then gave me a clumsy embrace before opening the door.
        If Bill’s had been the only appointment booked that afternoon for me, I might have felt discouraged. But after he walked me out to the front desk, another man headed back with me to where I’d just been. Hillary, who had relieved Samantha at the desk, told me his name was Robert. He was around my age, stood about a foot taller than me, and looked pretty well built under his button-down shirt and loose-fitting slacks. His thin lips split over slightly bucked teeth when he smiled to introduce himself, and it was hard to tell if his eyes were sad or if he was just really tired. He was somehow cuter than the sum of his parts might have suggested, and it made me nervous as we passed through the small kitchen area and what I thought of as the tool shed (an open closet space where most of the equipment hung or was stacked).
        The Dean Martin was the smallest room for sessioning in the house. Pictures of Dean Martin and his friends decorated the walls, and, in general, the room was decked out to feel like some fancy Rat Packer’s den. The spanking horse in the far corner — a piece of furniture that people could straddle or sit on for prime corporal punishment positions — made it harder to picture Frank and Dean sitting around with their cigars and brandy snifters, but otherwise the room was pretty straight-looking. As Robert politely motioned me into the only comfortable chair in the room — an under-stuffed armchair covered in some metallic-green vinyl — I noticed for the first time the magazine and hairbrush that lay atop the small table next to me. WHAP! exclaimed the headline of the publication. “Women who administer punishment,” read the type underneath. I felt the familiar flush of excitement that such materials always caused me; it was like a tiny space heater had been turned on in my stomach.
        Robert sat across from me on the narrow bondage table, smiling as he folded his hands together in front of him, and I hoped my involuntary reaction to the magazine didn’t show on my face. Even in this environment, it still caused me some embarrassment. What was business as usual for everyone else was still like winning the sexual lottery for me, and I felt somehow unsophisticated because of it.
        “Hillary tells me you’re new,” Robert finally addressed me.
        “Yeah, I just got out of my first session.”
        “Did you enjoy it?” I noticed he had a way of holding my gaze with his own while he smiled and talked, without it seeming like one of those cheesy look into my eyes maneuvers. Already I hoped this interview would end with us deciding to have a session.
        “It was fun,” I nodded. “Just some spanking, pretty simple and easy.”
        “Great. Can I ask you, do you prefer sessions like that or are you into other things too?”
        “Well, I like a lot of stuff, actually. Over-the-knee spanking is one of my favorite things. But I like nipple-clamps too, some bondage, maybe flogging. I mostly just want to play with someone I’m comfortable being around, and try whatever they’re into. The only thing I don’t really do is humiliation.”
        “That’s good. I’m not into that either, and I can’t really relate to subs who are. It’s not my thing.” It was the best thing he could have said about it, from my point of view, and I hoped even more for a trip upstairs to another play-room with him. “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about my own style?” he asked.
        I nodded for him to go on.
        “I consider myself a sensual sadist, meaning I only want to cause erotic pain to an extent that feels really good to the person I’m doing it with. I’m not into hurting anyone in a real way. I just like to use lots of different sensations, including