Monday, September 24, 2007


The Modern Touch


It was a surreal moment, what with my looming over Chuck, needle in hand. He nodded encouragingly, even sympathetically, like a Rabbi.I felt like a fledgling bird of prey and Chuck was my tender white rabbit. I circled his nipples with the long and silver needle, seeking out just the right angle to plunge it into his flesh.

I'll begrudgingly admit, at first it seemed impossible. As soon as I tried to shove the tip of the needle into Chuck, my fingers literally lost their strength. The needle would slip from my fingers and I would grope for it, trying to mask my escalating frustration. Chuck remained poised, still, like a marble sarcophagus. His lips were slightly pursed, as though waiting for a kiss. I averted my eyes and determinedly focused on the target in front of me. The whole world had narrowed down to this little pink bulls eye.

I tightened my grip and my forearm, took a deep breath and leaned forward with almost all my might. There was some initial resistance,then his skin sort of...snapped as I pushed the needle through. The image of bubble wrap, came into my head. I had the memory of myself as a child, pressing my thumbs deep into the bubble of air and feeling the satisfying yielding pop as I crushed it. It was in. Deeply. I had begun to perspire and a bead of sweat hit Chuck on his neck. His eyes fluttered open briefly and he smiled up at me as trusting as The Fool painted on the back of a Tarot card.

Like with all things, it got easier with repetition. I went into a zen like, contemplative state as I drove each needle into what was becoming the crowded real estate of his nipple area. By the time I moved to his second nipple, I had stumbled onto the most effective technique. I would pull the skin tautly before I zeroed in. I was still sweating, but my heart had regained it's normal rhythm. Chuck was lying perfectly still, almost rigid. The clock on the digital alarm read 10:00 pm. Almost 45 minutes had passed by unaccounted for. What seemed like minutes had
almost been an hour.

I sat back on my heels and admired my handiwork. His chest was a quiver with about forty shiny pins. I had discreetly taken note that he did not have an erection. I sensed this had less to do about sex than it had to do about some internal conflict. Later, over a second beer, my suspicions were confirmed.

Chuck was not divorced, but was separated. He was a chronic cheater who was a lapsed Catholic ( not a Rabbi)and still desperately in love with his wife. The needles had less to do with a fetish than it did with repentance. I stayed for about two hours, absolutely fascinated by his psychology. I had to remind myself that I was there as a vehicle of punishment and as a witness. I was not there to "cure" him or to talk him out of his need. I was learning to suspend judgment as well as my empathy. It was liberating.

By the time I reached home I was exhausted. For the first time in a session, I felt as though I had really connected with a client in a very authentic way. I had given a piece of myself to him in some way that I had not yet fully analyzed.

I also felt that I had deserved every red cent. There was nothing easy about being a Dominatrix and it was more complex than I had realized.

This insight was solidified after I met my first UBER rich,cross dressing client.

Introducing...Little Mary.