The Dominatrix Next Door (or My BDSM Birthday Party)

I knew her as Tia. I worshipped her as Mistress Lao.
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I knew her as Tia. I worshipped her as Mistress Lao.
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When my fashion photographer friend introduced me to Tia, I was starstruck.  I was familiar with Tia’s stunning face and sublimely lithe body from my friend’s work and went a little weak in the knees as I shook her hand. My slightly flaccid shake may have also had to do with another piece of knowledge my buddy had laid on me: Tia was a very successful dominatrix.

Intimidation almost ended our relationship before it started. I reached out to her at the behest of OkCupid, but the arrows – and, eventually, my responses – fell weakly to the Earth. I moved on – as one does. Then I saw her in a Whole Foods. Under that normally unflattering lighting and involved in the one of the most mundane, everyday tasks, Tia looked even more beautiful. I prepared to reintroduce myself but lost my nerve as she decided between brands of almond milk.

Shortly after that sighting, I started seeing her in the neighborhood and correctly surmised that her dungeon was very close to my apartment. It took me a while to find the website, but I busted out some intense Google-Fu and there it was – along with I dozens of pictures of Tia wearing, at most, very little.

One of the voices in my head told me that becoming a paying client of Tia might destroy the possibility of convincing her to meet up for a drink as a civilian. Another hornier and more pragmatic voice reminded me that in spite of several opportunities to ingratiate myself to her, I’d been too timid to do anything about it so, why not treat myself to a session with her – a sort of consolation prize, a gift for my upcoming birthday.

I’m not a big BDSM guy per se but I figured that a lascivious encounter with Mistress Lao  -- Tia’s professional name – could be sexually satisfying in a narrow, but still interesting way. Beggars can’t be choosers, but choosers can decide to beg. I knew what I wanted.

She was going by the nom de guerre Mistress Lao. I wrote the dungeon administrator a note:

I'd like our playful, one-hour session to begin with Mistress Lao giving me a birthday present: her dirty underwear and socks to sniff while I play with myself. Over the course of the session I wish to worship Mistress Lao's ass and feet as she reads a magazine, uses her phone, occasionally giggling and/or offering comments.

The booker suggested two other dominatrices who specialized in having their various parts worshipped, but I let it be known that it was Mistress Lao or no one.  The hour-long session set me back $300, which seemed more than reasonable. 

I knew that the dungeon was close by but I was shocked to realize that the entrance was less than 10 paces from my stoop. The rickety elevator opened into a cage and a disembodied voice asked me to place my driver’s license into a metal drawer. It was returned to me then I was asked to walk along a pink corridor and enter the last of several pink doors on my left. I dutifully did so and found myself removing my clothes in a pink vestibule. I was then asked to open a door into an adjoining pink playroom, which had an ambient temperature of around 80 degrees – and wait for Mistress Lao to come and appraise my personal pinkness.  

I can report that standing around waiting for your naked body to be gazed upon by the girl of your dreams (if she wasn’t already watching from every unflattering angle on a bank of TV monitors) is a very vulnerable feeling indeed. Though it felt much longer, I had around three minutes to decide how I would present myself to her and experiment with a number of postures. Arms crossed? Too unfriendly. Hands on hips? Too boastful.  Cupping myself? Too bashful. When Tia finally walked in I had my hands behind my back like Prince Philip inspecting a battalion of Grenadier Guards.

Tia wore vampy black underwear, stockings and heels and looked so incredibly cat-like and sexy that I almost forgot to return her smile.

As per my request Mistress Lao – as I addressed her throughout the session – handed me the only lightly soiled items I’d requested and invited me to sit next to her on a high, circular plastic-covered pink play bed. She smelled delicious and, for better or worse, gave no indication that she recognized me.   

Tia challenged me to remove all of her underwear using only my mouth, used my erect penis as a hanger for her undergarments and smothered me with her taut, round bottom. I was having the best birthday ever and when I wasn’t being asphyxiated by golden undercarriage I told her how overcome with joy I was.

“I like you,” she said between giggles. “You’re so earnest.” 

At one point, Tia- Mistress Lao, whatever - instructed me to get on all fours before tying my balls to a hook on the wall . She then got on all fours in front of me, presenting her perfect bits just millimeters from my face. Attempting to nuzzle my face in all that goodness would mean leaving the dungeon with my testicles no longer attached. Surprisingly I found the cognitive dissonance she created by this game a lot of fun as her perfect butt filled my field of vision, became my only thought. 

“We have a friend in common,” I said after we (well, mostly I) got cleaned up. I was still naked, but approaching dignified. “In fact, he’s one of my very best friends.”

“Oh my god!” she said also still naked. “I adore Peter.”

Emboldened, I went on to tell Tia about the movie, the OKCupid exchange, the aborted Whole Foods run in. “You’re so silly,” she playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “You should definitely have said hi. “

We chatted for another five or six minutes before it was time for her next session. As friends of friends, we hugged nakedly before it was time for me to get dressed and take my leave.

I practically skipped out of the dungeon , thrilled that not only did I have a really fun session with the girl I’d been crushing for over a year, but also that we’d broken the fourth wall. I waited a few days then added Tia as a friend on Facebook. In a subsequent message, I invited her to my house for tea. She sent me her cell number. 

It’s now almost a year later and somehow I haven’t summoned the chutzpah to use that number and ask Tia to meet up off the clock. I think I’m still intimidated. I guess that’s both the problem and the point.

Photos by Steve Prezant / Corbis