Sex Work Diaries

Sex Work Diaries: A Dominatrix’s Threesome Gone Awry

January 27, 2019
Mistress Eva in red latex

In this edition of our Sex Work Diaries, Mistress Eva recounts an evening early in her Dominatrix career involving a client, his wife, and a big house in the countryside.

I’d been seeing Bob for a while. He was the first one at the dungeon door on Mondays, had a load of construction cash to blow, and filled out a PVC ball gown with his 200+ pounds very well.

Bob was a dedicated slut. He had seen all the other Dominatrixes. But once he met me he seemed to take a definite liking, and from that moment each Monday morning became Mistress Eva and Bob time. Fisting, nipple torture and PVC ball gowns for all.

This continued over the course of a year, at which point my dungeon sold their building and Bob and I moved our Monday mornings to weekend evenings in hotels across town. Our dynamic shifted when Bob started increasingly hinting that his wife had been sending him on his outings with me, and that she felt it could be time for the three of us to play — together. This was early in my pro-Domme career and I was far more malleable (or naive) than I am now; I agreed to the playdate immediately with no screening.

I got the call on a Thursday afternoon and by Thursday evening I was in a carshare winding myself into the countryside. I didn’t know it was going to be outside the city; and so my first faux pas of the night was my choice of a cute two door hatchback in electric blue.

The journey started a delightful bright orange in my rearview mirror, but as the phone reception dwindled the blackness of the countryside told me that I’d underestimated this. Around two hours later I come to a large metal slab of gate with the moonlight (the only light) shining gently off of it. There is no reception and so I arouse my survival skills and look around. There is a tiny intercom on the top of a pole. I open the door of my dwarfed hatchback, reach up and press its button. A woman’s voice answers, “Mistress Eva?”. The gate opens.

A buxom woman in a PVC ball gown—one I was sure I’d seen Bob wear last week— welcomes me at the end of the very long but (finally) lit driveway. Her hair is pulled right back and she is wearing glasses. The house is large, brick, and somehow not where I pictured Bob living. She introduces herself as Julie, and I think she even gives me a hug. I smile, still naive.

We walked through the double doors and toward the light. The only light on in the house — a bedroom. Bob is already splayed out on the bed. His PVC ball gown is also splayed. He is definitely high on poppers.

Julie says many things that I can’t quite remember, something about how we are finally together, that she would like to play just the two of us first, and then watch me toy with good old Bob after that. I took instructions those days. I proceeded to let her kiss me as I felt up her PVC. It was simultaneously cool and warm against her. I think Bob had his hands cuffed and so he groaned in desire and approval rather than directing those feelings towards his crotch. So far so good.

But then the time comes for Julie to watch and Bob to be toyed with. Julie takes a seat in the armchair in the corner of the room and verbally ushers us into this next chapter. My mind shifts and then sharpens on sweet, cuffed Bob. I neaten his PVC, ease open his legs, step between them and clamp my teeth down hard on his ball gown-covered nipples. His groans heighten impressively. Julie’s posture tightens. I stupidly continue, setting aside Julie’s widening eyes to push Bob’s face into the pillows as I spank his right man-boob. I trail my hands down his PVC and that’s it, I’m lost. It’s just Bob and me now. My hands reach down to push back his legs, my harness whips out to keep them up, and my surgical gloves appear as I inch first my fist and then my foot into his very talented ass.

As my foot disappears toward the heel my adrenaline starts to dip, and so I extract myself slowly to bring Bob and I back down. A gentle petting on the head, and a stroking of his PVC helps both him and I ground ourselves. But as I bring us back I finally see that Julie has sunken deep into the armchair. She mumbles that she’s going for a smoke.

I take a moment to process my terrible oversight and Bob now clocks the situation as well. We look at each other knowingly and he excuses himself. I sit alone with the can of Crisco on the bed as I hear a hushed argument ensue.

Bob returns and also says things that I don’t quite remember. But they inspire me to offer something reassuring, to kiss him on the head, and then to exit outside to a smoking Julie. I try my best to gently listen and close the experience for us, but the scene swirls hard in her mind — and she seems to only be able to hear the voice in her head and not mine.

So I bid a farewell, get into my electric blue hatchback and as Julie continues smoking I drive myself home.

The next day I get a message from Bob. It is a thanks, an apology and a note that meetings may need to be clandestine for a while. We meet a week later. We meet two weeks later. Then in the third week I hear from Julie in seven text messages — on my burner phone with it’s woefully restricted message length. The messages end with “I’m over it, you can have him”. I excuse myself from their situation and I have never seen Bob again.

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