Working as a Dominatrix, over time one becomes–how should I put it?–desensitized to one’s surroundings. This is nothing out of the ordinary. It’s easy to imagine that a neuroscientist, at the beginnings of his career, might find it difficult to scissor the head off of an innocent little mouse, but that eventually this would become second nature. Basically, what was once thought to be horrific, even evil, can in time become totally NBD—the sort of thing one does while simultaneously re-Tumbling photos of cupcakes.
When I started working as a Domme, everything was overwhelming. For example, golden showers: the idea that men were willing to pay me to piss into their mouths completely floored me (and left me with the sinking feeling that I’d spent my life flushing millions down the toilet, literally). And then there was the stress of the execution. “Will I be able to go when it’s time to go?” “Will drinking too much coffee make my pee taste bitter, i.e. less expensive?” “How many hours before go-time should I start drinking water in order to facilitate maximum bladder-fillage?” Etc. However, two years down the line, I’m now able to casually shoot a tropical storm out of my vaj straight into the back of someone’s throat, on cue, without batting an eyelid.
And then there’s the issue of fucking guys in the ass. The first few times I did this, I found it disgusting (especially since most straight guys aren’t schooled in receiving anal, and thus are not good at “cleaning out”–barf.) Yet over time I’ve learned to deal with all the weird gunk that comes out of a person’s body in a very pragmatic, professional way. Kind of like a doctor, only not at all.
However, in a world of familiar extremes (as BDSM tends to be), often it’s the people and situations that you least expect that end up leaving you shell-shocked. For instance, a slave asking to be whipped and locked in a cage may seem extreme on a superficial level, but really this is just the BDSM equivalent of telling someone you’re “into music.” (Like, spare me, please.) Ultimately, it’s the more obscure, refined fetishes that prove most intriguing. An example:
Recently, a Dominatrix friend of mine put me in touch with a client of hers who is “into sweating.” Sure, I thought, Nothing strange there. “Sweat porn is so hard to come by,” the client wrote to me in an email. “I’ve found a few videos where the actors get a bit moist from exertion, but usually it’s clear that they’re being oiled up or sprayed between takes, and 99% of sauna porn is just sex in a switched off sauna. What gives?!” My immediate assumption was that he’d want to lick sweat from my feet, or to do a sweaty role-play wrestling session or something. As it turns out, the session involved me drinking lemonade on the couch of his apartment while he put on layer after layer of flannel shirts, socks and sweatpants, and then processed to run (at a compromised speed, obviously) on the treadmill. Sometimes, when he’d slow down, I’d yell at him to run faster. About twenty minutes later, when he looked like he was about to die, he stopped and undressed. He then took his sweatiest layers of clothing, wrung them out into saucepan, and drank the excess. I sat across from him, sipping my lemonade, giggling, and telling him he was gross. Gross, but not boring, which is ultimately (and obviously) worse.