Dominatrix Next Door

As the camera rolled, she asked me what I had liked the most. I answered her with what the viewers wanted to hear. Those perfect painted lips of hers, I said, and my surprise when she put her tongue to my cunt. Not at all what I’d expected while tied up.

I regretted it as soon as I said it. Not that it wasn’t nice, but there was nicer. I thought about the clamps closing on the tips of my nipples for the third time, eliciting a wail. She called me proud (ha! more like distracted) and told me she would get her reaction. Despite the awkwardness of being strangers on a set (and there is always awkwardness, no matter how much you like someone, until you learn their body and their cadences of speech), I felt a glimmer of connection there, as if we were both trying for the same thing.

Or the odd dissociative feeling of disappearing under the veterinary wrap. Riding the vibrator while tied up against the post in a warm rush fed by the way my head was tied, half choking. When she struck me so hard I couldn’t give her my foot back without tears welling in my eyes, knowing I had to, but I couldn’t cry, not on camera; and the way she stroked my thigh with the tip of the crop and said, Good girl. Cane strokes until I shook and my jaw trembled and I could barely hold the chain of the nipple clamps between my chattering teeth.

But no, I had to say your face in my pussy. I hadn’t even been prompted, and I was still playing the dumb porn star. Am I that far gone? Act too smart and you’re a whore giving yourself airs; but be too stupid and you’ve only become what you hate.

If it needed to be said, I am crashing hard right now.

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