You read it right: Coworkers I’d Like to Fuck.

God I hope they never read this.

I have the best coworkers in the world. I appreciate them doubly because it’s so rare, in sex work, to have coworkers in an environment that encourages comraderie and not competition. It’s impossible not to enjoy them, these confident, intelligent, self-actualized women.

And they are sexy as hell, in and out of session.

That’s great and all, people ask, but what are they like? Let me try to explain.

I used to be intimidated by Mistress Alex, whose composure seemed not shy but standoffish. Also, have we mentioned blindingly hot? Now that my terror has faded somewhat, I can appreciate her moments of cool, wicked sarcasm.

Mistress Alex is the regal, haughty, ice-cold bitch domme of many a man’s fantasy. At 5′7″, topped off by a cascade of blonde curls, she has been described on the phone as “more woman than you can handle”. Not an ounce of the woman is something so banal as fat: she’s curves, she’s muscle. Alex could take you. Alex could rub your face in the rug like a puppy punished for messing, and never break a sweat.

Alex does not sweat in the summer heat. She glistens. Her already effulgent breasts become showstopping. Alex makes everyone around her sweat.

Some of the mistresses prefer negligees or fanciful constructions for their daily wear, feeling that “domme wear” wears them instead. I can’t picture Alex, the Mistress, without it. I’m sure I’ve seen her in white once — I seem to remember commenting on it — but for the most part, she is what Victoria’s Secret would be if it ate a decadent meal, went for a stroll down Fifth Avenue, and left an army of businessmen adjusting their trousers in its wake. Black stockings, black bra, sheer black lace girdle skirt, black robe: that’s Alex.

Alex makes groveling and stiletto-heel-licking sound good. ‘Nuff said.

Then there’s Mistress Bobbi, who I have had the pleasure of spanking once or twice.

Bobbi possesses a miraculous sort of figure both pert (above) and luscious (below). With her arched eyebrows, retro-inspired outfits, French twists and stockings, she exudes the easy glamour and sex appeal of a bygone time.

Many of us are chameleons, channeling a client’s desires (both spoken and not) and giving them voice. Bobbi is a consummate actress, and roleplay is her art. Whether as a vengeful wife punishing the doctor for his inaproppriate advances during her checkup, or a blushing intern being chastised for come-ons that could lose her the job, she is believable. Not only do you believe her, you forget yourself.

I find myself describing her in terms stolen from a Victorian spanking tale: a ripe bottom, a round bottom. (See how it all comes back to the spanking?) Peach-like in shape and complexion, it begs for a handprint — or a bite. And her legs! So many of us yearn for the space between our thighs; Bobbi has thighs, and must want for nothing. They are thighs so creamy, plump and fecund I cannot help but harbor thoughts of diving between them.

It does come back to me in the end. Well, me and the fucking.

Could you blame me?

Posted in pro domination, sex work, secrets, coworkers, spanking