In mid-September, after I had accepted the dominatrix position offered by Gilda Wasserman, she met me in front of the building I would be using for the “sessions,” as she called them. I was surprised when she had told me these would happen in the basement of a loft building on West 27th Street. My first client, a guy named Kevin, had already been lined up with me. When talking to Gilda on the phone, I mentioned that I had expected that I would meet him in an apartment.

She replied, “I’m sorry, I was thinking of what we do with our regular hookers.” She never mentioned “regular” prostitutes during her original pitch to me. Gilda giggled, “As you know, dominatrix work can get pretty noisy. Not every customer accepts it quietly, and the sound of a belt or cane on a bare male backside can be pretty intense. Thus the lower level of a loft building is ideal.”

I wondered if she had deliberately misled me. “You definitely used the word ‘apartment’ when you recruited me that day at the restaurant.” Less than a week had passed.

“But this place is an apartment, or rather it has been remade to look like one. It even has a kitchenette and a wet bar. It’s not just a bare space in the cellar.”

I tried a joke to hide my growing anxiety. “But no view, that’s for sure.”

Gilda said, “No view, that’s right. But Nora, come down and take a look at it. I think you’ll be impressed. You need to see it before you attempt a session there.”

I wondered if I could back out of the deal right then and there. “Okay, I’ll look at it at least.” I felt that visiting the place would give me some leverage if I really changed my mind. Thus I went down there the next afternoon directly after a class uptown at City College. I arrived a bit early so I could look at the exterior of the place and get a feel for the neighborhood.

The building was one of the many twenty-story or so structures that had been built earlier in the century. Back in the 1970s they were almost all still used as garment factories. It was just east of Eighth Avenue, and the red-brick buildings of Penn South Houses were on the west side.

There didn’t seem to be a doorman, which was a relief to me. I didn’t like the idea of someone keeping track of me or my customers. Of course, the doormen in the other buildings Gilda had mentioned would be paid to keep quiet about whatever was going on upstairs. I just didn’t want to be known as one of the whores who operated in a particular place. Thus my first impression was positive; it seemed like the location offered a modicum of both privacy and safety.

Gilda came uptown from N.Y.U. I suppose, and she unlocked a metal door at the far west corner of the building. We then went down a staircase and unlocked another door on the lower level. She flipped the lights on and I looked around my new, part-time workplace. It was much larger than a standard New York apartment, by a factor of four at least. The entire basement had been revamped to have various amenities, including a small bar and cooking facilities near the base of the staircase. There were partitions to break it into rooms, but none of those sub-spaces had doors.

Various sofas and chairs furnished the room. The lighting was a bit subdued but it wasn’t really dark in there. Perhaps I would compare it to a nightclub rather than an apartment.  There were also several large wooden objects placed around the floor. Gilda asked me, “Do you know what those are for?”

I had never seen anything like them, but I could guess their purpose. “I would say they’re spanking benches or trestles.”

“That’s right, there are two basic types. This kind is upright, and it’s the most common. A guy will be put over one of these with his behind sticking up, and he will either be restrained or not according to his preferences. Or maybe he has to be restrained because he won’t stay in place.” She took me to another kind, which was basically just a padded bench.

“A few of our clients like to be lying on these, face down. It’s the way it used to be done with judicial punishments in Russia and I think in China too.”

I asked her if they ever got any women who wanted to be punished. “A handful, but we only have other women do it to them. Some of them want to relive their intense childhood experiences with their mommies or teachers.” She paused for a moment. “Would you accept an assignment like that?”

I didn’t want to commit myself to it during that orientation. “I’ve never actually done it to a female; I’d have to think about it.”

“That’s fine, don’t concern yourself with it now.” I was glad that I didn’t have an open-ended arrangement for that position; I had told Gilda that I planned to out of it by the time I graduated in about ten months. Supposedly I could turn down an assignment, but I hadn’t tested a refusal yet. I remembered the old days when everything was up to my discretion.

She said, “So what do you think of this place? Not bad right?”

“I admit that I sort of like it. It reminds me a bit of a finished basement in a suburban house.” Of course, such houses usually did not have spanking benches. “It’s too big to be exactly cozy, however.”

“For what you’re going to be doing, maybe cozy is not that important. We do also rent it out to various – well, call them BSDM clubs.”

I thought I was fairly worldly, but I didn’t know much about those. Gilda must have noticed my confusion because she went on. “There are several kinds of those in New York. Some are quite vanilla, others are very hard-core, and of course, some specialize in gays.”

She pointed over to a wooden wall. “This slides back, and there is a dungeon space on the other side. It has different kinds of equipment, quite elaborate in fact. For example, there is a wooden wheel you can tie a person to, and then spin them around.”

That baffled me. “Why would anybody want to do that?”

“I don’t know, a few people get a kick from being upside down during their session. Suspending people from the ceiling is another gimmick that can be done back there.”

“That one I’ve heard of but I’ve never seen it.” Maybe I should have been grateful for that.

“Nora, you seem a little jittery today.”

I had been nervous back in 1973 and 1974 during my first go-round as an amateur hooker, but I hid it well under an attitude of brazenness. Now that I was older I knew better what I was getting back into, and that seemed to get on my nerves. This time, I would exclusively be doing dominatrix work, and I would be doing it as a professional. I was also trying to finish my final year at City College. As a history major, I had no idea what I'd be doing for a living when I graduated. Whatever it was, I promised myself it would be something legal and legitimate.

I admitted the truth to her, “I’m surprised myself, because I used to be so bold, or at least I pretended to be that way with the customers.”

“That’s one of the reasons I had you come down here, so you could see the place first before having to do a session in it. It will seem more familiar to you and you can concentrate on the task at hand. Don’t worry, as I said before, we are here to support you.”

That was another aspect of it that bothered me. I didn’t yet know who “we” referred to and I doubted Gilda would tell me. When I had been an amateur hooker before, I had no one to answer to except myself. Now other people – unknown to me – would be keeping track of how I was performing.

I didn’t say it to Gilda, but I hoped that this second hooking era would be short enough that I would have the luck to stay beneath the radar of law enforcement. That included both the police and the IRS. I had never been arrested or in legal trouble, but that was mostly because the security at City College was so lax in those days. Nowadays a student hooker would probably be snatched up within a few weeks, or maybe a few days, at most. I had been quite sloppy and inexperienced in those days, and I had solicited men right on campus, during the daytime.

You may be a part-timer, but this is like being in the major leagues now. Gilda looked so calm with her long dark hair, not like we were about to commit some crimes that could get us fined or put in jail.

I asked her, “When the client arrives, I guess I should meet him down here?” I was surprised that I had asked such a naïve question.

“Sure, that’s what you used to do in Maspeth, right?” That was still my neighborhood in Queens. “You didn’t stand out in the street, did you?” I did remember meeting my old boyfriend Paul once in a nearby park. We went back to the house for a spanking session on him. But that episode was a kind of lark, not actual business.

“Where can I talk to this Kevin on the phone?”

“Since you don’t have your own place yet, you can do that in Maspeth, or at the college newspaper office uptown. He can call you, depending on what’s convenient for him.”

“I don’t know if those places are so great for phone calls; the lack of privacy, you know.”

“You can use the phone down here. I’m going to give you the keys today.”

I said, “This is a bit out-of-the-way for me, I mean just to use the phone.” I seemed to be complaining a lot on that day.

“It’s not so bad. The E train stops a few blocks from here, or you can drive your car down and park it in a garage. And when you have your own place, that of course that will be available.”

I was still feeling fluttery, and I wished I had my bottle of Valium. However, it was back home in Maspeth. I used to take more of it to deal with the stresses of my freshman hooking year, but I didn’t need it as much since then.

Gilda could sense my emotions. “Nora, let’s sit down and have a drink. You seem to have the jitters, as I said. There is a whole bunch of items in the fridge. What would you like?”

I didn’t hesitate, “A vodka and tonic would be great.”

Soon Gilda and I were sitting on facing sofas with our drinks. I knew I was drinking mine a bit too fast. She said, “You can have another one if you like.”

“Let me see how his one goes down first. So this Kevin guy, what exactly does he want?”

“We talked briefly about that, but it’s best if you two discuss it directly. Nora, relax, you’re going to do fine.”

I nodded reflexively. Then I thought about the amount of money I was going to make in one evening, and that made me feel a bit better. I also remembered what the Roman writer Publilius Syrus had said: fortune is like glass – the brighter the glitter, the more easily broken. That I kept that to myself and didn’t mention it to Gilda. It would make me seem ungrateful for the opportunity she had offered me.

********

The following evening I spoke to that Kevin guy. He didn’t tell me what his motives were, but he had a very specific discipline in mind. He requested that I use a tawse on him as he was bent over a spanking trestle. That was no problem because there was a whole closet of implements to choose from down there.

He wanted the first eight on the seat of his trousers, and then perhaps thirty more on his bare behind. The exact number would be determined when we knew how the punishment was proceeding. I of course would see the results while he would feel them.

I didn’t know the reasons for his requests, but I was used to having all sorts of preferences from my customers two years earlier. That I just chalked up to undergraduate weirdness, but it was obvious that adults had them too. BDSM is a very personal activity, and people have different fantasies they want to live out.

On the very next evening, I was waiting for Kevin in the basement room. It was discomforting to be in that large space all by myself. I had decided to go with the “strict business manager” look; I was wearing a dark gray suit, white blouse, nylon stockings, and heels. My glasses were in place; I thought I should be able to see what I was doing. My dark blonde hair was in its usual brush cut.

I thought I looked pretty good, very different from the slutty outfits I wore during my freshman year. Nora Kimmel was the name I was using in my new career, and Kevin was going to call me Miss Kimmel.

The whole “slave” concept repelled me, and I didn’t want to be called “mistress.” Instead, I was merely a professional lady doing what I was paid to do, which was mainly to get men back on a straight path – or rather have them believe that was going to happen. Collecting the money was not my responsibility, however. Gilda took care of all the financial transactions ahead of time.

I was sitting on a couch having a big glass of wine when the intercom rang and startled me. Being a nervous dominatrix would not go over well, so I stood up and tried to pull my emotions together. I had planned to be polite and not too loud, unlike the brazen and even nasty bitch persona I used to favor in the old days. I needed to get some experience with this new setting and then I could modify my dominatrix personality to fit these different, older clients.

The guy who came down the stairs was about thirty, and he was wearing a jacket and tie. He was pretty tall and good-looking too. You know that expression that a lady can tell within five minutes if she wants to fuck somebody?

Well, I had been going through a long, sexless summer that year, and I wanted to bang this Kevin person within the first ten seconds. Immediately I was getting pussy tingles, intense ones in fact. For a moment I was tempted to forget the whole punishment thing and start off just having a drink with him. Then, we would have a choice of many sofas we could use to copulate on. I don’t remember ever being that horny that fast.

But I had a job to do that he had already paid for, and I tried to rein in my lust. I got glasses of wine, and we sat facing each other as we talked. We had a few preliminary pleasantries, and he told me he was a broker in the financial district. So he has a good job as well as good looks. My pussy vibrated even more. It’s amazing how sudden and insistent sexual desire can be.

I asked him, “So Kevin, what exactly is bothering you?” It struck me how much politer I was compared to the earlier self of my freshman year.

He replied, “You see, Miss Kimmel, I have a girlfriend but I haven’t been faithful to her.” I had heard that complaint before from customers.

“So how many other ladies have you been with?”

“Only two so far, but that is two too many.”

“Are you having sexual relations with these other women right now?” I knew I had smiled when using the word “relations.”

“Yes I am, Miss Kimmel, I just can’t resist their seductive powers.” Where did he get that phrase from? I was reminded of the sirens who had tried to lure Odysseus off-course. Also, his Miss Kimmel thing was starting to annoy me. Just call me Nora, okay? Or how about Calliope?

For a moment I lost my focus again, and I wondered what he thought of me and my appearance. Hey Kevin, how about I insert myself into your life as the fourth lady in the mix? Nothing really serious, but as you can see we have plenty of space right here to get into some passionate screwing – right now if you wish.

That would be completely inappropriate, so I said instead, “I see. So you think that a firm tawsing on your rear-end would help straighten out your attitude?” I felt like I was talking in somebody else’s voice.

“Yes, I’m sure that would put me back in the right direction.” That was weirdly formal. He didn’t sound like he was using his normal tone of voice either.

I already had the tawse I was going to use on him. It was on the sofa next to me. I picked it up and showed it to him. It was a thick leather belt that was divided into two tongues, I’d call them, on the business end.

“Have you ever been struck by one of these?”

“No, Miss, I never have.” Why had I chosen one of the longer ones? I knew from previous experiences that the client’s reasons for punishment were merely pretexts. What excited these people, what made them pay for it, was the idea of a powerful woman imposing her will on them.

“It’s going to hurt, you are aware of that right? I mean, it’s made of thick leather.”

“Yes, Miss Kimmel, I already knew that.”

I confirmed his request. “So it’s eight on the seat of your pants, and an unspecified number on your exposed buttocks, am I correct?” I was very eager to see said buttocks.

“That’s right, I think that will work.” Actually, it won’t work, assuming you haven’t just made up those details about the three women. But that wasn’t the real point of this whole thing.

“You’ve been on a spanking bench before?”

“I certainly have experienced discipline on them previously, but it was with a regular pants belt.” So he wasn’t a newbie at floggings in general. A regular belt could sting quite a bit too.

“Then place yourself over this one. You must know how to position yourself.”

He certainly did know what to do. The bench was of a trestle type. Kevin placed himself over it and gripped the support bars going down in the front. His behind was the highest part of his body, and it pushed against his tight gray trousers. I said one more thing. “Kevin, you have to tell me if you want some chicken pot pie.” That was the safe word, or phrase, that he had earlier worked out with Gilda. It did strike me as a rather amusing choice.

He replied, “Miss Kimmel, I don't like the way it tastes.” What he meant was that he was unlikely to use it. In the old days, about 99% of my spanking clients had already specified what they wanted, and they almost never tried to slow down or stop what I was doing to them.

When I stood up, I could feel myself getting wet between my legs. A nice set of taut male glutes, I thought. I felt the sexual arousal that often came before, during, and after I had punished a wayward man. But this time it was the guy himself, not merely the discipline I was going to inflict on him, that was also making me horny.

If they had requested it, I had brought a few clients to a climax afterward with my hands and even my mouth at times. Those actions had always had an extra charge, of course. Tonight I knew Kevin hadn’t made any special sexual requests beforehand, so I thought it best to play it cool for my first dominant gig since 1974. Yet I thought about how my hands and my lips would feel on his cock.

I stepped forward and dared rub both of his butt cheeks first. I admit, his ass was nice and tight under the cloth of his trousers. I wondered if he was getting an erection. Almost any guy would have one with what I was doing.

Then I swung the tawse through the air a couple of times so that he could hear the swishing noise it made. I lightly tapped his ass with my belt, then I brought it down across his gray-clad backside. He grunted and twitched at the impact. It also brought out a statement from him. “Miss Kimmel, I need to be severely disciplined for my transgressions. Please show no mercy on me.”

I was often impressed with the, well, nonsense these guys came up with before and during their beatings. I kept my voice as calm and level as possible; I didn’t use the snarkiness that had often been one of my techniques. “Don’t have any doubts, Kevin. You’re going to get a good, solid beating as you asked for it.” I sounded like a waitress describing a menu. “Are you ready to take the next ones?”

“Yes, Miss Kimmel, please whip my sinful ass with your tawse.”

I briefly smiled; such purple prose about a simple spanking. “Okay, here comes the second one.” I swiped him, backhand, across the seat of his pants with my belt. That one was forceful enough that he yelped something in pain. The noise echoed in the big room. He didn’t move much, however. I was never the kind of dominatrix who made a big deal about the movements or the voices of my clients. If they could take the beating reasonably well, then that was fine with me.

The next six weren’t too fast but they were definitely hard ones. During these Kevin tried to push his hips forward to avoid my implacable leather belt. The cloth of his trousers was dented by each stroke

When I had finished that segment, he collapsed back down on the bench and he was breathing heavily. This guy is getting his money’s worth. I picked up my wine glass and drank from it, both to steady my nerves and to give myself something to think about during the interim period besides sex.

My throat felt tight, and I was getting more tingles in my cunt. Nora, maybe you haven’t changed that much; you’ve still quite a perverse chick. I had known for a long time that I had a sexually sadistic side that would come out during these beatings. But the feelings during that session were beyond any of my earlier experiences.

I decided on something. “Kevin, I think it’s best during the bare-behind portion of this that we restrain your hands by fixing them to the wooden bars.” The bench already had leather restraints attached at the correct locations. I had the option of tying his legs down too, but I guessed that wasn’t going to be necessary. I had spanked enough guys earlier in my career that I could assess how they were doing and how they might react.

He was still gasping a bit, but he objected. “Miss Kimmel, haven’t I taken my lesson like a man? I’m not a coward.”

I was surprisingly gentle with him. “It’s not a matter of cowardice, it’s what is reasonable for the situation.” I don’t know if that made any sense, but he accepted my argument.

“Okay, get up, drop your trousers and your underwear and get back over the bench.” I had never heard the term “female gaze” before, but if there was such a thing, I had it now as I looked at his bare behind.

First I moved forward to tie his hands down. Our eyes didn’t meet; that was common before and during such discipline. Maybe both parties needed to maintain some emotional distance from each other during those activities.

Except, I didn’t seem to be maintaining that distance at that point. I looked at his hindquarters, and I noted how muscular and well-formed his rear side was. The eight blows through the pants had left red stripes across his body. “Your trousers didn’t give you much protection during that part of the session.”

His voice seemed a bit calmer, “I didn’t expect that they would.”

For about the first time ever, I felt sorry for one of my dominated clients. In my first year with this, I had hand-spanked and or swung my implements enthusiastically onto naughty backsides. There was a joy that came from hearing these guys yell and seeing them squirm as I thrashed the rears of undergraduates who probably had contempt for me. There I was, a freshman whore, and I felt like a goddess as I meted out my punishments to those pathetic twerps.

But this time I found that I liked this Kevin person I just met. He has polite and he was quite cute too. His ass looked so vulnerable as he lay tied there, waiting for me to whip his pale flesh, and I felt regret about having to hurt him with my belt.

His balls were clearly visible now. I couldn’t quite see if he had an erection, but I suspected he did. For a second I considered asking Kevin out for a date when we were done with the action down here. Well, maybe he would need a few days to recover. But I had only gone out with a client once, my first boyfriend Paul, and I hadn’t planned on doing that again.

I pulled myself together and remembered that Kevin had paid for his beating, it satisfied some need in him, and I had to be a professional and do what he had asked for. But I also felt something like pity for my client. Maybe I had changed more than I had realized in the previous two years.

For a moment, I considered giving him a hand spanking before getting back to the tawse. However, I doubted my ability to control myself. I felt that I was on a verge, and if I touched the skin of his backside, I’d be grabbing his cock next and . . .

Come on Nora, get ahold of yourself and do the work you are supposed to do. I stood next to him and tapped him with the tawse. I said, “They used to give students in the British Isles thirty-six strokes with this.” I remembered a detail that I couldn’t confirm, but I mentioned it anyway. “They used to have a smooth stone outside onto which the victims could press their blazing buttocks and cool it off. As you can see, we don’t have any such stones here.”

“I know Miss Kimmel, but please hit me as hard as you can.” Yet I felt both sorrow and lust as I looked at his buttocks and thighs exposed to my soon-to-be flailing tawse.

“All right, if that’s what you want, then I’ll give it to you.” However, when I resumed beating him, I didn’t use maximum force.

Kevin must have noticed my tactic, because he called out, “Give it to me harder, Miss Kimmel; I’ve been such a bad boy.”

I almost giggled at this phrasing, but I soon saw the effect my leather tool was having on him. The noise of each impact was echoing in the room. After twenty strokes on his bare backside, his flesh was turning bright red and a few purple bruises were appearing within those areas. He was also groaning loudly each time I hit him.

After a couple more blows, I said, “Kevin, I think that you’ve had more than enough to learn your lesson.”

He was gasping for breath again. “But I was supposed to get a full thirty-six, Miss Kimmel.” I had lost count, but I had probably given him thirty in total including the ones on his trousers.

I decided to rely on my old expertise as a dominatrix. He was paying for it, but it would be painful for him to sit down with what I had already done to him. “I’ve done this many times before, and I don’t want to hurt you more than necessary.” In the old days, I had sometimes given clients more than they had asked for. My attitude back then had been, fuck them, they’re already in position, let them take it. This time I threw the belt on the floor and I began to untie him.

He didn’t make any further complaints about ending the session a little early. Maybe he was really hurting more than he had expected. Or perhaps he really did respect my authority about what to do.

“All right, it’s corner time, or let’s just call it wall time. You think you can get up?”

He didn’t respond but he tried to get off the bench. It was obvious that he was having some trouble with that, so I took him by the arm to help him. That was beyond the call of duty for a dominatrix, but it had been a harsh beating.

Kevin was a bit unsteady on his feet as he shuffled over to the wall with his pants down. It wasn’t even necessary to tell him to put his hands on his head; he did it without being told to. This guy has been punished before; he knows the drill. Then I saw that he had a huge erection sticking out towards the wall.

I had seen that many times two years earlier, but his boner was truly exciting me now. That could be in your mouth, or God help you, your cunt in an instant. Nora, don’t look at him or his big cock. As I turned my head in the other direction, I could feel fluids coming out of me and soaking into my panties and pantyhose.

I saw that my wine glass was almost empty, so I went to get a bottle and refilled it. When sat down again I was feeling rather jangled. In the old days – just two years earlier – such BSDM activities were more like games, undergraduate hijinks.

That evening seemed more adult, more serious. For one thing, I usually spanked the guys with my hands. There were occasional paddles and belts, as I had once used on my old boyfriend Paul. What I had done to Kevin was more intense; possibly subconsciously I felt being more “professional” meant inflicting more damage on the clients. Meanwhile, he just stood there quietly.

I had an aching need to masturbate as soon as possible; I wanted him out of the room if I wasn’t going to ball him in there. But I couldn’t just rush him out; that would seem unprofessional. Just to have something to say, I commented, “Your ass is really a mess.” I didn’t have to look at it to know it was true.

Without turning around, he replied, “That’s the way I wanted it.”

“So you’ve never been struck with a tawse?”

“I said with belts, like pants belts.” I was so frazzled that I had forgotten that he had already told me. “But never a tawse before.”

“The one I used today was longer and heavier than some other ones we have around here.”

“Why did you use it?”

“I’m not sure.” I think I did know. Never having swung a tawse on someone, before, I perhaps wanted to prove something to myself by using the biggest one I could get. I didn’t want to tell him that however, and we lapsed into an awkward silence.

I changed my mind and decided it was acceptable to have him leave at that point. “Kevin, we’re done here. You can go now.” He pulled his pants up and went to get his suit jacket. Then he looked at me as if we were going to say goodbye perhaps. I think he thought I was attractive and he was reluctant to leave.

I refused to look him in the eye, and then when he continued to stare at me I made a little flicking motion with my hand to signal that he should depart. I felt like yelling, for God’s sake, either fuck me or get out of here and let me jerk off in peace.

He looked forlorn for a moment, and then he turned and trudged up the stairs. I got up and locked the door behind him.

For a moment I wished I was in one of the familiar rooms at my house in Maspeth. I knew that I would want to masturbate there too, but it had never felt as urgent as it did in that basement

I was wearing pantyhose, not straps and garters as I often did when hooking, so I had to take everything off: shoes, stockings, and panties. Then I took a dildo out of my purse, a new one I had recently purchased. It was one of those rubber ones that is shaped like a human penis, a quite large one in fact. I especially liked the way the glans at the end rubbed my cunt and clitoris. I leaned back and pushed it into myself. It felt absolutely delightful in my wet and swollen pussy. I wondered what Kevin would think if he had known how aroused I had gotten during his beating.

I sat on the sofa and had my way with myself. My fantasy was that I was getting nailed right there on the couch by my now departed customer. It only took me a few minutes to have an intense orgasm, and I yelled as loudly as I wanted. Then I rested for a moment, and I did it twice more. I can be quite an orgasmic lady with the right stimuli.

As I relaxed I tried to remind myself never to develop an attachment to any john, no matter what good qualities he might seem to possess. That had rarely been an issue before that evening. Why was it different now?

The spanking room was very quiet. I felt an expected emotion: loneliness. The previous summer I had broken up with my boyfriend, the one who had replaced Greg with the Triumph Stag. Greg in turn had replaced my first real lover (of less than five months) Paul. For a second I considered calling Kevin in a couple of days. Hey, it’s me Nora, your friendly neighborhood dominatrix, only my real last name is Meara, not Kimmel. How about we meet for a few drinks? I was wondering how your sore backside is doing? Do you have to sit on a pillow now?

I tried to convince myself that it was all a fantasy; I never dated customers, except for Paul back in 1974. Perhaps he was the exception who had proved the rule. Yet I still thought that Kevin wouldn’t mind if I called him in a couple of days and made a play for him.

But Gilda: she’s be shitting bricks if she found out I was having affairs with spanking clients. But how would she know? Those guys wouldn’t drop a dime on me, would they?

The big room was bothering me. A little while before it was echoing with the sound of leather striking bare male hindquarters. Now I couldn’t abide the silence in that place, so I quickly got dressed and put the tawse back in the closet. My panties were so damp that I just stuffed them into my purse.

Once I had reveled in being a mean, self-righteous bitch before, during, and after my domination of a guy. Now some kind of sadness took hold of me.

Maybe I don’t have the right stuff for this anymore, maybe I’ve changed and I can’t maintain that old emotional control. But that would be a sign of maturity, would it not? But man, this is only my first assignment, and already I feel like I’m falling apart.

It was only a little after 8:00 PM, but I had no desire to take the subway and then the bus back to Maspeth. In the old days, I would have cash from the client in my purse, but as a pro, I was paid separately. I already knew that, so I had money with me for a taxi.

Just before I turned the lights out and went up the stairs, I looked back at my new workplace. I should call this room The Spank-o-torium. That seemed pretty funny and it lightened my mood a bit.  But that nickname, like my reactions to Kevin, was something I couldn’t tell Gilda about.

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