Chapter Text
There’s always a wild side to an innocent face.
-unknown
Cassie
October 2021
My name is Cassie. I am 26 years old. I recently graduated with my masters from a local Denver university – business administration and finance with a focus on nonprofits – and was a dominatrix for over six years.
Being a Dominatrix was not something on my to do list. I didn’t dream about dominating people. I didn’t fantasize about punishing men – or women – with a crop or a cane or a whip. The idea that men would actually want me to squeeze their balls or degrade and humiliate them while wearing a schoolgirl outfit or leather bustier hadn’t ever crossed my mind.
I come from a small Colorado mountain town and while I wasn’t wild and crazy, I wasn’t a saint either. I got good grades. Good enough to get a partial scholarship that brought me to Denver. I played sports, mostly soccer, but a few years of rugby. And of course, I skied and snowboarded. I had two boyfriends in high school, one of which I slept with after prom. How very cliché right? There was even a pretty heavy make out session with one of my teammates at the end of season rugby party my senior year. I wasn’t a naïf, but I didn’t sleep around either.
Then I met Andy, or Andrea, heavy accent on the ‘dray-uh,’ as if she was some aristocrat or something. She was my roommate my freshman year and the following year we moved off campus and lived together until she graduated. She was a free spirit; open to all kinds of new ideas and adventures – sky diving, bungee jumping, hiking the Continental Divide trail, or at least the part that runs through Colorado. I immediately nixed the bungee jumping, compromised with indoor sky diving, and went on long hikes on parts of the Continental Divide trail when she just had to get out or go crazy. Drama queen.
It isn’t surprising that it was her idea to go to a sex party. It took her a few months to wear me down, but after a week of grueling finals and finally submitting the paper from hell, I gave in. She let me borrow one of her short, tight dresses, one which I felt the need to constantly pull down, so my underwear wasn’t exposed, and up, so my boobs didn’t fall out, but I looked hot, so that was okay.
The sex party was eye opening, to say the least. We wore bracelets that showed we were observers, not participants, and I had an extra stamp on my hand as I was three months shy of turning 21. Andy slipped me sips of her drinks, but I didn’t want to get trashed. At first there was just a lot of bumping and grinding. The music was loud, and the lights were dim. There were probably more women than men, which surprised me. There were also a lot more couples than I expected.
At one point I went to use the facilities and when I came out there was a woman on her knees blowing a guy who was making out with another woman, the top of her dress around her waist. The bass felt like an echoing heartbeat, the room was warm and humid as more and more bodies moved against each other. I lost Andy for a while but enjoyed a bit of a grind with a red head in an almost non-existent skirt, her shirt long gone. Then there were two guys who sandwiched me between them, their dicks pressing suggestively. When one got a little too handsy, I waved my bracelet and he grinned at me and shrugged, and then moved on to another woman.
By the end of the night, I was on a couch chatting with a woman in a black leather bustier, red leather skirt, fishnet stockings, and killer knee-high boots with at least six-inch heels. Her name was Maggie and I eventually learned that she was a Dominatrix who ran her own house near downtown. We talked about all kinds of things that you wouldn’t expect at a sex party – living in Denver, school, growing up in the mountains versus growing up in Nebraska. It was good. By the time Andy showed up and dropped herself into my lap, I felt like I’d made a decent friend, even if she was 15-20 years older than me.
A young man in leather shorts came over and kneeled next to Maggie and she reached out and stroked his head, keeping her eyes on me. I watched as he turned his head into her caress, eyes closed and a look of satisfaction on his face at the attention.
“Is it time to go, darling?” She looked down at her… companion. He didn’t nod or say anything, just stared at her adoringly. “Go get my things,” she told him, handing him a ticket that had been stashed inside her bustier somewhere. He took it and quickly hurried away, his ass looking very well defined in the tight shorts.
“School is expensive,” Maggie said to me as she stood up, straightening her skirt and fluffing her dark blond hair. “I can always use some new talent. If you are interested.” She held out a card that must have been hidden away too.
Mistress Amariah’s Dungeon
Let us fulfill your wildest fantasies.
There was a whip and a leather mask embossed on the back, and a women’s face from the nose down, lips shiny and bright red.
I looked at it in shock. “I… I’m not…I…” I stuttered, stunned by her offer. “That’s not my… not my… thing.” My face was suddenly flaming hot.
Andy took the card and when she managed to focus on it her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “Whoa.” She looked between the card and Maggie, pushing herself off me and probably bruising my thigh in the process. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Maggie winked at us. She took a moment to look over Andy and then smiled. “You’re welcome to apply too.”
“How much are we talking?” Andy asked, still staring at the card in her hand.
Maggie’s smile widened, knowing she had Andy hooked at least. “It varies, but I can guarantee $80 an hour, minimum.”
“Minimum?” Andy gaped.
“Minimum,” Maggie agreed.
“What about sex?” A good question, I thought. Didn’t think Andy was sober enough to think that well.
“No sex. You decide what you are willing to do, and the clients agree, or they will no longer be our client,” Maggie told them. “I take care of my girls.”
Andy nodded her head slowly, back to staring at the card. I knew that look and it didn’t bode well. I was in for a lot of pestering.
“You pick the days you want to work, and the times, for the most part,” Maggie continued. “Within reason.”
“But what…?” Andy started, but Maggie leaned forward and placed a manicured finger against Andy’s lips.
“Call me, sweetheart. We can meet up and chat. Be sure to bring Cassie here.” She winked at me and then blew us a kiss and waved goodbye, her boytoy now standing behind her with a long fur lined coat and Gucci purse that probably cost more than my yearly rent. “After the New Year, ladies. I look forward to seeing you again.”
It took Andy a few weeks to talk me into calling. Rent was due and I was going to be short. I had to do something and a few extra hours waiting tables wasn’t going to do it. We met Maggie at a cute little coffee shop downtown, just off the 16th Street Mall. We chatted for an hour before Maggie suggested we go back to her office to talk in more detail. Her office was in a typical medium rise building on the outskirts of downtown. It looked no different than any of the law offices and accounting firms in the building. There was only a suite number on the door. No name.
We talked for another three hours, covering training, attire, names, what men were looking for, what we felt comfortable doing, laws in Colorado, and any question that came to Andy’s mind. When we left, we had an appointment to come watch one of her ladies in action. Some guys liked to have an audience when being dominated, apparently.
Two weeks later I had a $500 advance from Maggie, and I was officially Mistress Calista and Andy was Mistress Sapphira. We spent our first few months teaming up with more experienced Dommes, either as junior Dommes or submissives, watching any sessions that were available for viewing, and using the many books and videos Maggie had in the Goddess Room – the staff lounge – for research.
Maggie declared that in order to be a Domme, one must know how to submit, so we each had sessions being the submissive, and then moved on to being a ‘pet’ of the chosen Domme during a scene, adding a bit of envy or competition for the client. I found both aspects, domination and submission, intriguing. Andy not so much. Though it was her idea to meet with Maggie, she decided that the submissive aspect was not for her and as it was a requirement to work for Maggie, she didn’t continue any further.
It was all fascinating. In my first month I made $1200 – after taxes and my advance were deducted, working barely four days a week and I wasn’t even fully trained or working yet.
After discussing things with Maggie, we agreed that my specialty would be girl-next-door or daddy’s girl. I could pull off a schoolgirl skirt without a problem. My long hair in a ponytail or pigtails depending, completed the picture. I could glam it up with make up and leather, but it never looked right on me – not like it did on the other girls. I did eventually purchase a kick ass pair of white leather knee-high boots and a several custom satin bustiers and garter sets for special occasions, but overall, the younger and more innocent I looked, the better.
I started simple, for a dominatrix. Light punishment, bondage, edging, verbal humiliation, and comfort or coddling.
Maggie had encouraged me to do what felt comfortable and assured me that clients would seek me out. Not every Domme had to be a bitch. Working at Maggie’s dungeon meant that clients were prescreened and well aware of each Domme’s interests and limits. Every client met with Maggie first and had to pass a basic background check. She’d then guide them towards Dommes who met their needs or recommend other dungeons or independent Dommes who might be a better fit.
In all, it was a safe place where I could explore parts of me that I never knew existed. I wouldn’t have thought that I would be any good at role playing, but it came easily enough after my first few solo sessions. I was most definitely a softer Domme, but I enjoyed it and when a client had a breakthrough, or finally surrendered and let go of whatever had brought them to me, I felt pride in a job well done knowing I had helped them. Tears of release rather than pain were not uncommon, once I found my groove in the dungeon.
Over the years, I had plenty of regular clients who came to see me specifically – weekly, monthly, or whatever worked best for them. I was fond of many of them. Proud of the progress they made in becoming or accepting their true selves, but I felt no attachment. I certainly grew as a person, the confidence I gained in my regular life was evident to anyone who knew me, and sometimes a shock to those who hadn’t seen me in a while.
I dated and had a few boyfriends during my years at Maggie’s. They all knew what I did and when the relationships ended it was mostly amicable. I wasn’t ready to settle. Some friends wondered why I needed or wanted a boyfriend considering what I did to make money. The answer was simple – sex and companionship. While some of my clients got sexual satisfaction – never by my own hand, I did not. It was a job for me. I touched them, sometimes softly, sometimes causing pain, but they didn’t touch me, at least not without my permission.
Usually.
There’s always an exception to the rule. There’s always the possibility that someone may get through the professional armor. I wasn’t expecting it and it didn’t happen right away. It – he – sort of crept up on me, as I took him deeper into his own issues, helped him get out of his head, become more focused, and he did the same for me, only I didn’t realize it until it was too late and by then we’d already said goodbye.