Read Whip Smart: A Memoir for Free Online Page B

undesirable regulars. Toilet Timmy, as they called him, was one of these. He conveniently preferred new hires. I could continue the usual apprenticeship for as long as I wanted, I was told, and certainly shouldn’t do anything I didn’t feel ready for, but Timmy was sooo easy, and couldn’t I use the money? I could. Of course I asked why the moniker.
    “Oh, he’s just a pee slut, likes it right on his face,” offered Mistress Autumn, a cool redhead whose nonchalance was tempered with a warmth that most of the other dommes lacked.
    “On his face?”
    “Uh-huh. And you might want to try not to get too close. …”
    “How so?”
    “He can be grabby. And he has accidents sometimes.”
    “Accidents?”
    “Don’t worry about it; it’ll be fine.”
    Everything did seem almost fine, after I figured out the solution to the eye-contact problem (a blindfold) and found an activity that didn’t cause me as much pain as it did Timmy (nipple torture).
    “Oh, Mistress!” He squirmed on the bondage table as I pulled on his nipples with my gloved fingers.
    “That’s right, uh, piggy, you take that!”
    “Mistress, Mistress, I am feeling very excited!”
    “Well, perhaps I should pinch them harder, eh?” I dug my nails into his fleshy nubs.
    “Mistress!” He let out something between a groan and a squeal, and mesmerized as I was by the distortion of his face, the twinkle of his dental fillings, and the excruciating realness of my situation, I felt the warmth of his urine on the back of my gloved hand before I saw it arching up over his belly toward me.
    I credit the surge of humiliated anger that rose in me as I beheld his stream of piss for the efficiency of my next move. Stepping back, I reached my gloved hand with little forethought down to his penis, which needed to be raised only a few inches for the stream to reach his yawning mouth. He wasn’t nearly so sorry as I would have been to end up with a mouthful of my own pee, but I did feel that the power in the room had shifted. It struck me then, though fleetingly, that Timmy’s incontinence might have had less to do with a physical quirk than a passive-aggressive gesture of dominance. Not until I won some power to wield did I realize how unarmed I had been; I had been sweating for the approval of a man who preferred to see dominatrices as inexperienced as me.
    As the timer near the door crept closer and closer to its mark, I knew that I would have to initiate the golden shower portion of our session. Taking into account the warning about Timmy’s roving hands, and his soon-to-be close vicinity to my privates, I decided it was also time to try my hand at bondage. I was glad to have had the foresight to blindfold him earlier. How could I have forgotten where the ropes in the Red Room were kept?
    “What are you doing, Mistress? Am I going to receive your golden nectar soon? I am feeling very thirsty today. …”
    “Still?” I replied, scouring the room. “Why don’t you do your job and let me do mine, piglet?” Where were they? I pulled opendrawers and found only clothespins, a few candle stubs, and a single pair of man-size panties with the crotch torn out.
    “What’s my job, Mistress? Would you like for me to worship your magnificent body?”
    “Right now your job is to shut up, piglet, and prepare yourself for just desserts.”
    “Ooohh, Mistress, I like dessert! You’re going to give it to me good, aren’t you?”
    “Indeed I am.”
    “I can’t wait!”
    “Well, you are going to have to, my pet. This isn’t, uh, the place for getting what you want, when you want it, is it?”
    At last I found them, in a drawer of the leather bondage table not far below the mottled legs of my client. Was it the sock garters that I had forced him to remove earlier that had rubbed his pallid calves hairless? Grotesque or not, unless in the medical or sex industry, one doesn’t get much opportunity to unabashedly observe the bodies of other humans, least of all