Innocence Lost

A gap year following University saw her go to Spain to travel and look for work.  She found it as a barmaid in the millionaire’s playground of Marbella. An older British woman frequented the bar and had befriended her.  Wendy was from a small town in England but seemed ‘international’ in her personality, clothes, style and demeanour.  She’d obviously shed her inhibitions in a foreign place.  She confided in Christie her secret.  She worked as a dominatrix, servicing the rich playboys and successful businessmen that craved the type of total domination that she offered.

‘‘That’s my alter ego, darling.  Whiplash Wendy, that’s me.  It’s my vocation.’’ She would regale Christie of her exploits in a dramatic way, gesticulating with her hands to emphasize a point.  Those hands.  A gin and tonic in one and about thirty grand’s worth of jewellery on the other.

That’s where it all started. Christie was attracted to the lifestyle and the wealth.  And she loved the power that her role permitted.  It was intoxicating.  As were the drugs that helped her to relax; marijuana to start with, then she was introduced to cocaine.  That first snort of coke had elevated her to a level of hedonism that made her feel absolutely, utterly wonderful.   Fifteen years later she was still chasing that first hit.  That had been her downfall and the slippery slope had brought her to this place; ‘Joy’ in grubby Putney.

Matron stops at a door and pushes it open to reveal its interior.  Next to the king size bed is a table furnished with all the appropriate ornaments; belts, canes, whips and restraining equipment.  Then she sees the cage with its thick, black vertical bars housing a huge, wooden cross with a strap and buckle at each apex.  Not a crucifix type, more like the St. Andrew’s version with its diagonal angles. ‘‘I know Master has gone through the pay, terms and conditions with you already, darling, so you’re good to go!  To receive your first customer just ring the bell next to the bed which sounds in our waiting area.’’

As she leaves the room she turns and says, ‘‘Some of our customers are quite extreme so administer whatever they ask for, okay, darling?  Let them taste the whip.  Strike, dear mistress and cure their hearts.’’ All said with a bright, cheerful smile like it was Christie’s first day on a Tesco cash till!  She waits until Matron’s receding footsteps fade away down the corridor.

‘‘Okay then.  Let’s have you,’’ she whispers to herself before ringing the bell.  She removes her coat and is ready for business.  Years ago she enjoyed this part of the proceedings.  The anticipation of meeting and greeting her customer.  To engage in the most extreme activities with a complete stranger enthralled her. And the power she felt dominating a male was intoxicating.





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