Control - I personify it. And work as a professional dominatrix suits me perfectly. Dominating salarymen in Tokyo is a hard but fulfilling job, especially for an exotic blonde like me. Bondage, domination, feet fetish, ball gags, whipping, chastity belts, I've experimented with them all. But when a colleague pulls a no-show tonight, I'm stuck with five slaves instead of one. Let the fun begin!
[WARNING: This sizzling 5700 BDSM menage experience contains heavy BDSM, shibari (bondage), feet licking, domination, slaves, pegging, pleasure denial, chastity belts, ball gags, cunninglingus and much more! Adults only.]
The heavy metal door six inches thick slams shut behind me as I set my bag on a worn table besides ball gags, candles, butt plugs, nipple clamps, humblers, riding crops and all other twisted pieces of torture equipment people have thought of. When I thought the LA scene was deviant enough back a few years ago, Japan literally opened my eyes to a whole new level of decadent debauchery.
My eyes ignore the tastefully decorated dungeon, complete with chains hanging from the ceiling, various racks of torture hanging about and a gloomy darkness that gives a first-timer the chills as I focus on the organizer in my hand. People got on with their lives without an iPhone to tell them what to do back in the Middle Ages. I'm sure I can cope without it.
The rough stone paneled walls and floor are well furnished, a reflection of Japan's high service standards. They offer the ultimate experience, a fantasy so immersive, you'll pay out of your ass to experience it again.
Gleaning over the various names and numbers on my contact list, I match the name to my schedule. Wonderful, there'll be five wanting customers, just begging me to tell them what to do tonight. One thing I like about being a dominatrix here is that everything's done on my own terms and set out in a contract before things begin. It's as closely regulated as much of society here and it suits me just fine. If a customer stirs shit up, especially a foreigner who doesn't understand the rules, well, let's just say the Yakuza does have its uses.
There are no clocks in my 'office'. Reminding customers of their coming inevitability is hardly professional. My wristwatch tells me there's exactly fifteen minutes before the first one arrives though. He must arrive on the dot, knocking on the door at exactly eight o'clock this evening. If he doesn't fulfill this basic condition, what good is he as a submissive?
My normal clothes fall away as I change out of them, donning the sexy black leather that defines Mistress Midnight to her slaves and servants. It fits snugly round the places that matter and unzips to reveal all the right parts of my body. I should know. I had it custom made for myself. Once a lady in the street, I am now the master of this dungeon.
The feeble knocks against the metal panel on the door resound in my ears. I hold up my wristwatch and note the time. It's exactly eight. This guy must have seen me before.
"Ni kuru (Come in)!"
About Annabel Bastione
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Published April 25, 2012
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.