Relatively early in my phone sex career, I received a note from Dave out of the blue. He had seen my website, liked my pictures and personality, and thought I might be the right person to play out his particular fantasy.
He described the fantasy in detail: He’s a state trooper, and I’m a gorgeous bitch with a rich husband. He stops me for speeding, and although he’s polite and apologetic, I verbally abuse him and threaten to have him fired if he gives me a ticket. He tries to explain that he’s just doing his job, but I pay no attention. He gives me the ticket, and just before I drive away, I promise him that I’ll “have his ass.”
I’m infuriated of course, and immediately get one of my rich, powerful friends to toss the ticket out. But I’m still not satisfied. I’ll get that insolent little trooper who dared to give me, Kristi Forbes-Trump-Rockefeller, a speeding ticket. I use my contacts to find out where he hangs out after work. I disguise myself as a cheap tramp, with lots of makeup, a blonde wig, low-cut clothes, the works. I sidle up to him in the bar. He, predictably, offers to buy me a drink, and I agree. While he’s not looking, I slip something into his glass.
When he wakes up, he’s chained naked to a bed in a room he doesn’t recognize. He struggles at first but soon realizes that it’s useless. And at that moment, who enters from the other room? That’s right, the rich bitch goddess, all decked out in black – thigh high boots, satin corset, sheer black panties. I amuse myself with him, tease him, drive him crazy, and finally tell him that I’m going to have his ass just as I promised. Then I pull out my big, nasty strap-on and fuck him.
Now I’d never done anything even remotely like this before. In fact, when I started reading the fantasy, I expected it to be a rich-bitch-gets-her-comeuppance story.
But what the heck, I thought, there’s no time like the present, right? I knew that lots of men like to be dominated, and Dave had written such a detailed fantasy that it ought to be fairly easy.
I wrote him back telling him how much I enjoyed his letter and fantasy, and musing about how perhaps I’d tease and torture his nipples before I fucked him.
He wrote back: “Gently, Kristi dear, gently. I’m into sensual domination, not pain.”
Hmmm. I wrote him back: “Aww, not even a few little bites?”
He answered: “Well, maybe just a few.” And a grin. Good enough.
We chatted for a short while online, and he promised to call soon. He remained on my mind for the next few days. I wanted to do his fantasy right for him, but I also know (from personal experience) that it’s very satisfying for the dominant to take the fantasy a step further. I wanted to add something new for him, something he’d never considered before.
It was tough, because most of my immediate ideas revolved around pain-play, and he didn’t want that. I started thinking about the strap-on, and suddenly remembered a passage I’d read about dildos and harnesses, and the various places one could fasten the straps – around a big pillow, a chair, or a lover’s thigh.
When I first read that, it didn’t make sense to me at all. Why exactly would you want to strap a dildo onto your lover’s thigh? It nagged at me enough that I tried to fantasize around it a bit, to see if I could figure it out. To my surprise, I was successful. I worked up a hot scenario where the dominant was lying on his back with the dildo strapped to his thigh, and the submissive straddled his thigh with the dildo inside her. Her hands were fastened behind her back, so she couldn’t brace herself, and all the dominant needed to do was twitch his leg to move the dildo inside her and make her moan.
That image played around in my head for a while. I started picturing Dave’s scene, and imagining the dildo strapped to the thigh of a submissive man. Yes. Deliciously, ultimately torturous for him. He’s desperate for sexual relief, and the woman he wants ignores his needs in favor of a dildo, one just inches away from his aching cock. He can feel her movements and her weight on him, but none of the pleasure or release. Yes, yes. Perfect.
This is about the time I started realizing that I might not be too awful at this domination business.
He called, and turned out to be a charming guy with a wonderful voice. I was surprised to discover that he wanted to role-play the entire fantasy from the beginning, including the whole stopped-for-speeding business. I obliged, but felt self-conscious and silly.
Once we got into the actual scene part, I felt much more comfortable. And I had him – he was all mine from the second he woke up in chains. My voice was soft and husky and (surprisingly) confident, as I walked him through his fantasy. He didn’t say much, other than “Yes, ma’am” and “oh, god” but he moaned and groaned in earnest. He was deep, deep into the fantasy.
My embellishments seemed to work well, and I was somewhat startled to find myself drawn in to the scene, and very aroused. I do have some top tendencies – some sadistic ones, in fact – and I had to stop myself from cracking the riding crop across his ass a few times. I was very tempted!
By the end, I didn’t have any idea whether or not I’d gotten him where he wanted to be. I knew he’d had an orgasm but that didn’t mean the fantasy was right. But the first thing he said once he was recovered enough to speak was, “My god, you just… obliterated me.”
I’m pretty sure that was a compliment.
•
Dave became one of my first regular callers, and as he began to trust me, he revealed more and more of his fantasies. I find his kink absolutely fascinating. It’s not about submission, exactly. It’s about being overwhelmed.
All his fantasies involve gorgeous women in tight clothes (think Emma Peel of The Avengers) overpowering unsuspecting good guys with sleeping potions, gas, blow-darts, or other technological gimmicks. These potions make the men obey in spite of themselves.
Essentially, he has a fetish for femmes fatales. He’s always the strong man who would never submit. He never obeys willingly, but the technology or drug forces him to. Not only that,it forces him to like it. It’s a stunning piece of psychology. He can be dominated without being weak. He can submit to the evil villainess without having to reconcile it with his good guy conscience – it was all the drug’s fault.
He likens his fantasies to the old Batman TV show. Batman is the good guy crime fighter who flirts with the lovely innocent woman at the party. She takes out a compact to powder her nose, and without warning, she blows some powder in his face. BAM! He’s unconscious. He wakes up to discover that the girl from the party is actually the evil Catwoman, and he’s helplessly under her spell. He’s been drugged, and now he’s her puppet – he’ll do whatever she says and love her for it. Until the drug wears off, of course.
These scenarios are appealing to me on one level. I’ve never been altogether comfortable with the so-called “sissy boys.” I know that a fair number of submissives like to be servile and groveling, but that’s not my preference on either side of the whip. Dominating someone strong and challenging, though – that’s attractive to me. Not a naughty little boy, but a tiger in chains. Definitely.
•
My second scene with Dave was about hypnosis. In this fantasy, Dave is an FBI agent. He and his partner are trying to crack a ring of smugglers, and they’ve traced the headquarters to a high-priced lingerie shop. They know the place but not which people are involved. Dave leaves his partner in the car and enters the store to investigate. Of course all the sales girls are wearing the merchandise, showing off their long gorgeous legs.
One of the things I like about Dave is that he knows his fantasies are a little juvenile and sexist – he acknowledges that – but he doesn’t care. He has an unabashed joy in them. “Hey, it’s my fantasy, I can make it as much like a bad late-60s science fiction TV show as I want!”
Anyway, he’s in the lingerie shop, trying to figure out who the ringleader is, when a fantastically beautiful redhead (me) in a short dress and long black satin gloves approaches and offers to show him some lingerie.
As I’m showing him a beautiful silky corset, he notices a shiny ring on my finger. He becomes fascinated with watching the ring and listening to my voice. I start telling him to relax, and I hypnotize him right there. I implant the phrase “black velvet” into his subconscious – whenever he hears it, he’ll go right back into his trance. While he’s under, he’s in love with me. All he wants is to please me. Obeying me gives him great pleasure.
My other ladies take him into the back room, strip him, and chain his wrists to the ceiling. When he’s secure, I clap my hands to bring him out the trance, and he struggles wildly. He’s infuriated at having been tricked. He curses, he threatens to put me in jail, and he reminds me that his partner has probably gone for back-up by now.
I drop the bomb on him. I already have control of his partner. His partner was right there in those same chains a week ago. He knows he’s in deep trouble. Just as he’s bravely telling me I’ll never get away with it, I whisper “black velvet” in his ear. He immediately falls back under my spell.
I actually enjoyed playing with him. I walked around behind him and ran my satin-covered hands all over his back and chest. I kissed him lightly, then let him pull one of my gloves off with his teeth. I unhooked the chain from the ceiling, yanked him forward by his still-bound wrists, and made him lick my nipples. Then I made him kneel on the floor and take off my panties with his teeth. Finally I had him bend over an ottoman. I buckled my strap-on to my hips and took complete advantage of my little captive.
The first time we played, we stopped the scene right after his orgasm, but this time I kept it going a little longer. As he was recovering, I whispered, “Now you’re going to go back to your car, and file a report about how there’s nothing unusual going on in this shop, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, still trance-like.
“You were on the wrong track,” I continued. “There is no crime ring. It’s all random break-ins.”
“Random break-ins,” he said softly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Afterwards he told me that the scene had been incredibly realistic to him. I was pleased and flattered.
•
He’s called me many times, and I enjoy creating these scenarios for him. Once I was a jewel smuggler, and he dressed up as a bellhop to get into my room. He didn’t know I was onto him, so he made the mistake of opening my suitcase. Oh no…what’s that hissing sound? What’s that purple gas coming from inside the suitcase? Oh…I feel so woozy…
I was also an evil nurse who gave him an injection of a drug that rendered him entirely helpless to my will. (Actually, I turned out to be an alien who wanted to collect DNA samples from his helpless body. Guess which part of him I wanted the DNA from and how I collected it….) My favorite inspiration was the “knockout lipstick.” One kiss and poof!
•
The next step in my road to dominatrix-hood came a few weeks later.
Ring. “Hello?”
“Kristi?” It was a female voice.
“Yes, this is Kristi.”
“Hi Kristi, it’s Marni.” Marni is one of the other girls on the phone sex site, and according to her profile she is the “Mistress of the Night, Goddess of Your Soul.”
In real life, though, she’s a sweet, corn-fed Kansas girl with a husband and four kids. (Ever see the movie Eating Raoul? Remember Doris the Dominatrix, who walked around with a bullwhip by night and was a housewife by day? That’s basically Marni.)
“Hey, Marni, what’s up?”
“Are you available for a two-girl call? I have one of my regulars on the line.”
“Sure! What’s the scenario?”
“Oh, great! Well, he’s my slave and you’d be my other slave,” she explained. “But all you really have to do is giggle.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can handle giggling.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I told him I’m going to punish him, so I’ll make him do embarrassing things in front of you and you laugh at him and stuff, okay? Don’t worry, he’s fun.”
“Sounds easy enough,” I answered. “Go for it.”
She clicked over to conference the three of us.
“Mark?” she said. “You there?”
“Yes, Mistress Marni,” a nice voice answered.
“Mark, we’re in luck,” she said. “Kristi was at home. Kristi, say hi to Mark.”
“Hi, Mark!” I obliged in my chipper “bad girl” voice.
“Mark, why don’t you tell Kristi about yourself, you bad boy,” oozed Marni.
“Well, I’m 35, I’m married, and Marni is my slave,” he answered, deadpan. He paused, then laughed.
She chuckled too. “Mark! You’re impossible.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress Marni,” he said, unrepentant.
I giggled as directed, but then commented, “Mark, I hear you’re in trouble.”
“Well, er….”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Yes, Mark, tell Kristi what you did,” replied Marni.
“Well I… well… Mistress Marni wasn’t available… and, er… I was really horny….”
“Uh oh,” I said.
“Uh oh is right!” exclaimed Marni. “Go on, tell her what you did.”
“Mistress,” he pleaded, “I said I was sorry…”
“Oh, you’ll be sorry all right,” she warned. “Listen to this, Kristi. Not only did he masturbate without permission, but he actually called someone else!”
I drew in a dramatically loud breath and tsked.
Now despite the slave talk, this was a very lighthearted conversation. Mark obviously doesn’t take himself or his scene very seriously, and all three of us were laughing the whole time.
“Oh, he definitely needs to be punished,” I said.
“Kristi!” he pouted. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am?”
“No she isn’t,” answered Marni. “Kristi’s my slave, and she’s right. You’re getting punished.”
“Now let’s get your cock nice and hard first,” purred Marni. “Stroke it for us, Mark. Kristi’s going to watch.”
Distracted by the prospect of a witness to his punishment, he made another mistake.
“Should I take my shorts off, Mistress Marni?”
“What? You’re wearing clothing?” Marni was outraged.
“Oh, er, I…shit! No! I mean… well…” He was backpedaling fast, and I could almost hear the sheepish grin. I tsked again and Marni and I had a short discussion about the low quality of slaves these days.
“Well, what’s Kristi wearing?” he demanded.
“Kristi? Tell Mark what you’re wearing.”
I glanced down at my sweats. “Why, nothing, of course.”
He grunted. I think he was torn between being annoyed at Kristi-the-teacher’s-pet and imagining Kristi naked.
“I would never talk to Mistress Marni unless I was naked,” I answered loftily.
Marni made a pleased noise. “See? Kristi is such a good girl.” I had the sudden image of her patting me on the head while he stuck his tongue out at me behind her back.
We ended up giggling for about 15 minutes, and she made him put on lipstick and perfume as punishment. He pleaded in earnest that his wife would be home in an hour and she’d notice it even if he showered, but Marni was adamant.
“If you’d have behaved yourself,” she said, “I wouldn’t have to do this, would I?”
“No, Mistress,” he answered. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
When we hung up, Marni asked if I was comfortable with that sort of call.
“Sure,” I said. “Easy as pie.”
“Oh, great!” she said, relieved. “Some people really get freaked out by guys like that.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Gail refuses to do any kind of domination calls.”
Interesting. I mean, the lipstick could have once been troublesome for me, but overall Mark was a nice, funny, intelligent, articulate guy. Far more so than some of the so-called normal creeps. I guess I forgot that some people find the entire BDSM realm weird.
“Oh no,” I assured her. “Call me anytime.”
•
A few days later Mark approached me online.
“Kristi, this is Mark, from the call with Marni. Do you remember me?”
Of course I did, and we chatted a bit. He looked at my website for the first time, and was practically drooling through the phone lines. He was tempted to call me, he said, but he was worried about how Marni would react.
“Oh, she won’t mind if you call me,” I assured him confidently.
It was true, actually. I knew she wouldn’t mind. None of the girls in the company is competitive with the others, and we all recommend each other to the callers.
So he called and told me all about himself. His kink is a little like Dave’s but not precisely. His biggest turn-on is something similar to blackmail. He loves the helplessness of feeling trapped. He’s not necessarily submissive, but he likes to be forced to obey, particularly with threats to embarrass him.
I could certainly empathize, because I like threats too. And right then, I had one of my best phone sex inspirations ever.
“Hot fantasy,” I said. “Isn’t it interesting how easily it’s become real?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m definitely going to enjoy this call, because you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to.”
“Oh?” he asked smugly, “Why would I do that?”
“Because after I hang up with you, I’m going to write to Marni all about the call. And I can tell her anything I want, can’t I?”
“What? Hey!” he objected.
I laughed, a nasty laugh.
“That’s right,” I teased him. “And just who do you think she’s going to believe – you or me?”
He made a strangled sound. A strangled helpless hot sound. It was perfect. Fantasy became reality right there, especially because he had no real idea if I’d actually do it.
Later that evening I dropped a note to Marni to let her know I’d spoken to him, in case she wanted to use that information as ammunition. She answered the next day.
“Thanks for the note,” she wrote. “I wrote to Mark and told him that I heard all about his outrageous behavior. I informed him that I already spanked Kristi soundly and that his punishment was going to be much worse.” And she grinned.
I saw him online later that evening.
“Are you in trouble?” I sent.
“Begging right now,” he sent back. “I’ll explain later.”
But he was having fun, I could tell.
•
Soon after that, I realized that Kristi needed an alter ego. The process of learning about Dave’s and Mark’s femme fatale fantasies had introduced me to the world of sensuous dominance, and I know there’s a large market for female tops, so I ordered a bunch of books and haunted female domination websites for a bit. Research, you know.
I was beginning to feel more confident. I had done well with Dave a few times and I’d even successfully managed a strap-on scene with a first-time caller. I was as ready as I’d ever be. It was time to advertise.
I created an auxiliary AOL screen name, in which I called myself Kristina, with a profile that offered, “sweet but demanding sensuous domination.” I wanted to use the word “sweet” to distinguish myself from the bitchy “lick my feet” types. And so the dominatrix was born.
Of course the alter ego needed a website, and my first attempt was pretty weak. When I tried to write the description, I immediately hit a bizarre dilemma. How can you solicit customers and be dominant at the same time? I wanted to be warm, inviting, and helpful to customers who might be hesitant to call, because I was looking for new or shy submissive men (I didn’t feel qualified to top very experienced people). On the other hand,“warm and helpful” isn’t what they’re looking for in a domme.
I solicited advice about my new site from some of my regular boys, including Officer Dave. All of them said the same thing – the pictures are great, but the copy is too wishy-washy. Be mean! Be strict! Put ‘em on their knees!
Three pep talks later I had a new, more authoritative version. “Better,” they said. “But you’re still too nice! Don’t be friendly and caring! Be a bitch!”
I whined at Dave. “But I’m not a bitch. I’m nice!”
He laughed at me. “You are nice. Your alter ego is a cool, calm, dominant bitch. Trust me, I know.”
I grinned. Well, if anyone did….
“Take out the part about having a modest bustline,” he instructed. “Take out all the parts that sound hesitant. You have the perfect ass. Stick it out and command them to kiss it. You don’t have to cater to their fantasies. You are the fantasy. Just let them worship you.”
Oh my.
But that, too, helped. Don’t cater to their fantasy, because I am their fantasy already. It’s not a concept that integrates easily with my self-image, but I could see his point.
Kristina started posting ads with subject lines like “Remove My Panties with Your Teeth.” Business was definitely picking up. In fact, one of my first calls from the new ads was from a guy who was intrigued by the idea of spanking a dominant woman. He wanted nothing more than to take the strict bitch over his knee and turn her into whimpering slut. I certainly didn’t complain.
•
My first real domme call happened only a day or two later, and luckily it was a guy who wanted to be spanked.
“Hi Kristina, this is Jim. I saw your ad on the Internet.”
“Hey, Jim, nice to meet you. I didn’t know if anyone actually read those ads.”
“Oh sure, lots of people do, I think.”
We chatted for a minute or two. He’s about 50, just going through a divorce. He likes to fantasize about being spanked, but he’s never done it. He was already breathing hard just talking to me about it.
“So do you like erotic spanking, or, like, for discipline?” I asked.
“Erotic,” he answered. “Definitely.”
“Cool,” I said. “So as foreplay or…?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like if I didn’t do the dishes.”
Ah. So our definitions of erotic differed slightly.
“Can you do that?” he asked. “Pretend I forgot to do the dishes and spank me?”
“Sure,” I enthused falsely. Domestic discipline. Not my thing at all.
“James!” I said sharply. “James, come into the kitchen right now!”
“Okay,” he answered.
I have to describe this “Okay.” It was bland. Uninterested. A little shruggish. Picture a teenager when you ask what he did in school today and he answers, “Nothing.” That kind of “Okay.”
“Why are the dishes still in the sink?”
“I didn’t do ’em.”
“I see that, James.”
Silence.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I dunno.”
“What did I say I’d do if that happened again??”
“You said you’d make me get the chair and put it in the middle of the kitchen.”
Oh my. Four one-syllable responses and then he gets demanding.
“Well, do it then!” I snapped.
“Okay.” Bored teenager.
“Wait a minute. First take your pants down around your ankles.”
“Okay.”
“And get the wooden spoon out of the drawer.”
“Okay.”
Geez, tough room.
I described sitting down in the chair and patting my thigh.I beckoned him to come closer.
“Okay.”
I ordered him over my lap.
“Kristina, sweetheart, I’m done and I really have to go.”
“What?” It took me a minute to realize that he wasn’t in the role-play.
“I’m done. And I’d love to talk more but I really have to go.”
“Oh, uh, okay well…”
“This was fun, honey. I’ll call you again.”
And he was gone. I looked at the stopwatch. Five minutes and 13 seconds. Including the small talk. I suspected he started before he even called.
Not an auspicious beginning to my career as a dominatrix.