Whipping His Balls

Whipping His Balls

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Valerie Baber shares a typical day in the life of a dominatrix.
James Creighton

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dominatrixes

Jobs

sex and relationships

valerie baber

12/6/14

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Valerie Baber has been a Playboy model, a call girl and a sex therapist . But there’s one popular career the “sexpert” has never tried — dominatrix. Here, the author of “Notorious VIP: Confessions of An Emperor’s Club Companion” and a forthcoming collection of essays, describes her trip to a Midtown dungeon — discovering that it’s a far cry from the “Fifty Shades of Grey” fantasy.
What exactly does one wear to an office interview to inquire about the position of a vinyl-clad, corporal-punishment officer? Even if I did have a full-body PVC suit, how well would that have gone over on the subway?
I opted for a black pencil skirt and a dark, V-neck burgundy top, vamped up my eye makeup, put on some patent leather high heels and hoped that I wouldn’t look too corporate.
After exiting the subway at Bryant Park, I walked a few blocks and called from my phone when standing at the corner the dungeon had specified in a Craigslist ad. Only then would I be given the exact address of their location.
Though legal, as long as they didn’t offer sex for money, dominatrix clubs like to remain inconspicuous — shielded from prying eyes and wives.
The dungeon was located inside a nondescript office building. After being buzzed into the entrance, I walked up to the second floor. Then, I buzzed again and waited behind another locked door.
A black-haired, dark-eyed woman came to greet me, although it was less of a greeting than a simple permission to enter. Leading me down scarcely decorated hallways painted in a shade of merlot, she finally brought me to an office where I waited in a black leather chair.
The monitor hanging from the wall in front of her had glimpses of rooms, hallways and the street outside on what appeared to be about 15 different split screens. Something was always happening. A girl in a plastic nurse uniform or in leopard-print leggings would take a moment in the hallway before returning to a session. Girls entered the office to vent about their clients.
“. . . They don’t usually ask for the straddle bar that soon.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant or if I wanted to know.
The Asian girl who said it came in with tattoos and a no-nonsense attitude. She explained to the man inside a walk-in closet off the lobby that she needed something serious.
The mysterious closet man looked through the assortment of whips and devices hung on the wall and offered one to her. She declined. It needed to hurt more than that. She agreed on another large, black whipping device, took
what appeared to be a can of beer from a mini-fridge in the closet because her client was “going to need this,” and walked back out.
Finally, some basic questions were asked. What would my mistress name be? Did I have any experience? Could I begin immediately?
I picked “Vivienne” as my nom de guerre and answered honestly about my age, 34. The blonde turned around to look at me with wide eyes. I was probably 10 years older than the average mistress.
I was told that part-time work meant spending three days a week in the studio. There were two shifts available, 10 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. or 6:30 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. The mistresses would earn $80 for each hour they worked and could earn tips, sometimes at 100 percent or more for the session. The house paid their girls every two weeks in cash.
Their list of services was long: puppy training, cross-dressing, feminization, verbal humiliation, human ashtray, corporal punishment and medical play, among others.
My interviewer reminded me that, of course, there would be no prostitution, but it was also alluded to that it would be unwise to say no to a man’s role-play fantasy if you were his chosen one.
Some men actually like novices best, she said. So it could help you make money if you’re not sure what to do. Actually, she said, “We have a regular here right now. He loves new girls.”
Steve would come in for 10 hours at a time and rent a playroom to live out his perversions and fantasies with a number of mistresses simultaneously. He tipped very, very well and he would love me. I was just his type, according to the woman.
She insisted that I meet him just to test the chemistry, so I was taken back to a dimly lit playroom filled in old Victorian décor, dark wood and an embroidered carpet that needed cleaning. Classic piano music played from a small stereo on a side table.
Their list of services was long: puppy training, cross-dressing, feminization, verbal humiliation, human ashtray, corporal punishment and medical play, among others.
Steve stood up to reveal the full glory of his Desert Storm uniform, looked at me through his slightly tinted sunglasses and smiled a hello.
There were four women in the room including me, and Soldier Steve attempted to make us feel comfortable by offering us plastic cups of sugary champagne that he topped with small strawberries.
Several boxed champagne bottles sat atop tall dressers. He took six and put then in a burlap sack with a hook at the end. We could see from the shape of his tighty-whities that he was enjoying our company. Attaching the filled sack to his (still covered) erection, he took away his hands while managing to keep the weight from touching the ground.
In an emotion between discomfort and delight, we exchanged laughs and words of encouragement over his curious display. That would have been somewhere around 20 pounds lifted by one average penis. Impressive.
This went straight to my Top 5 most memorable icebreaker moments.
Steve then described the fantasy that he would have us act out — all of us. It was an elaborate one.
His main mistress for the day, a demure one in the cocktail dress, would pretend to be a well-to-do fashion model with a swanky Manhattan apartment. Her apartment would house her, her three female sex slaves and her one male slave (him). She would have to run out for a moment to do some glamorous errands or to have drinks with her beautiful friends — whatever it is wealthy supermodels do.
However, upon returning, she would catch us in the act of forced coitus.
She would go into a fury and, despite our protests, decide that the best thing to do would be to punish all the women.
Once our cheeks were nice and red, it would occur to her that she actually had cameras in all her rooms. Much to Steve’s dismay, her findings would have her return in another fury. The female slaves would be proven innocent, and it would be everyone’s turn to seek revenge for this horrible wrongdoing by punishing Steve.
Three white camisoles hung from knobs on a wooden dresser. They were there for us to wear, Steve explained. Manhattan sex slaves wear white tops in his fantasy. He reached out to me with a chemise in his hand. I paused, then took it.
He gave his permission to skip the rape part. We all agreed that would be too complex to act out and were happy to go straight to the part of the argument about who did what. On that decision, the scene began.
“You’ve defiled my slave,” Head Mistress said while trying not to laugh.
I had thought that in a “role play” studio, these girls might actually be aspiring screen and stage starlets, but if anyone had any acting chops, they were spared.
Even Steve didn’t bother making his part too realistic. He grinned the entire way through. I attempted to understand what it was about this that was so appealing to him.
I also questioned myself. If I weren’t in a dungeon, and a man told me he had a group rape fantasy, would I remain so willing to stay in an enclosed room with him? What exactly was he getting out of being dressed like a Gulf War soldier in a room adorned in faux antiques?
My time was limited, but the rest of the girls had all day, so I was the one to be punished first. The Head Mistress, dressed now only in an intricate lingerie set, sat on a bench and instructed me to bend over her knees.
I had dropped my black business skirt by this time; the mistress spanked me and told me that I must thank her for my punishment.
She accused me of being defiant. Another spank.
“Oww.” It only stung mildly, and more pleasantly than painfully, but I had to say something.
“OK. I’m sorry. I might have done it.”
When she decided my half-confession was good enough, she released me. I pulled up my bottoms, bent over in the floor-length mirror to glance at the pink spot that appeared on my left cheek.
All the female slaves had been properly spanked when the Head Mistress suddenly remembered, as instructed, that she had video that she could refer to in order to verify our deceit.
As I had limited playtime, and since Steve would want to see what sort of prowess the new girl brought to the table, I went first, again.
I opted for a golf glove. Steve, half grinning the entire time, bent over my closed lap.
I began with swats more delicate than not, first on one cheek, then on the other, taking care to put some pressure on each cheek after the hit. I thought I was doing a good job, but Steve was a cheeky soldier and pretended to fall asleep and snore during his discipline session. We were clearly going to have to take a different tactic.
Head Mistress selected a lightweight, felt paddle from the hooks on the door and handed it to me in exchange for my glove. I took a few attempted strikes and decided I disliked it. It lacked direction and impact. It had no “oomph.” I gave it back.
“Give her the paddle brush,” our wanting solider suggested.
Paddle brushes look innocent, but a lot of things that are dangerous appear to be innocent. I learned this quickly. I wasn’t going to let Steve fall asleep on me. I’d be dammed if I walked out of that room with three women and one man pitying my weakness and inferiority as a mistress.
It’s surprising how much of a splitting crack can come from a hairbrush when applied to one’s posterior with the right amount of determination. The expression on Soldier Steve changed. He was awake. THWACK! The girls readjusted, Steve grimaced. I smoothed his cheek and checked in with the Head Mistress. She didn’t tell me to stop, so I did it again. A succession of sharp-sounding swats came at Steve, whose distress was increasingly difficult to keep hidden under his forced smile. He had to endure this from three more women. I gave up my seat.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I had reached the end of my hour. Steve suggested it was too bad that I couldn’t stay.
I told Steve he deserved everything he had coming to him and took a crispy $100 bill he offered as appreciation for something I still can’t quite explain.
I thought about whether I could actually handle 24 hours a week locked in this unwelcoming dungeon of dark, sexual unconventionality. I have never exactly considered myself conventional, but there was something to this specific situation that was particularly disconcerting.
It might seem like being a dominatrix is easier than being a call girl, or a stripper. After all, you don’t have to dance or have sex. You get to beat up men all day — and get paid for it.
But after spanking a guy who enjoys hanging champagne from his manhood, I learned that this isn’t an easy job.
There are some deep and potentially dangerous triggers here — and New York men are just a little too weird for me.

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13 YEAR-OLD BOY GETS SPANKED ON GENITALS

Posted by
Smoothluver69

on 2015-07-27 06:40:37
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laura987

on 2016-01-01 07:14:40
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dirtgirl

on 2016-01-20 15:23:59
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sken15539

on 2017-05-29 14:34:50
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I am a 13 year-old boy with a single mom and a 12 year-old sister. We live in a small apartment in a low-income housing project. I have been in trouble several times since we moved into this project and once with the police. My mom has tried everything to make me stay out of trouble but I hang around with boys my age and they seem to lead me into it. My mom went to counseling on how to handle young boys who get into trouble and one of the moms there told her that she punished her son by making him go naked at home all the time in front of neighbors, his sister and her lady friends. She also punishes him by controlling and disciplining his genitals and toilet needs. Some of my friends and I got into some trouble the other day and when my mom found out about it she called me into the kitchen in front of two of her lady friends who were visiting. One of their daughters was here also, Kim, and she is 12. I walked into the kitchen, naked as usual, and my mom told me that I was going to get punished. First she made me pee into a jar with everyone watching, which was embarrassing. Then she made me lay on the kitchen table on my back and made me spread my legs wide open with my feet up on the table. Since my feet were up on the table and my knees up, my $%!@ and balls were on display and everyone could look into my hole, which was embarrassing. Mom told Kim to start slapping my $%!@ and testicles and my bare $%!@. Kim seemed to enjoy punishing me and having her do it was very humiliating since I see her every day in school and she is younger than me. After Kim slapped my $%!@ awhile it got hard and was sticking straight up. Mom told Kim to $%!@e me and make me $%!@. Kim kept stroking my $%!@ up and down with her hand until I finally ejaculated onto my stomach and everyone saw my white cream squirting out. If that wasn't bad enough, mom told Kim to give me an enema. I pleaded, "no, mom, I'll be good - I don't want an enema!" Mom told me to be quiet and that I was being punished and to do as she says. Mom got the enema bottle and tube and filled it with warm water and then she told Kim to put the tube up my hole and hold the bottle up in the air until all the liquid went inside me. Mom told me to hold it in as long as I could, which I did, and then I told mom that I was ready to let it out. Mom had Kim put a plastic basin under my $%!@ and then everyone watched while the water and a couple of brown turds came out of my hole into the basin. When it was all out mom told Kim to wipe my $%!@ with toilet tissue, which Kim did. When that was done mom had me get up onto the baby changing table which we keep in the kitchen because mom babysits children. I got up on the table and mom gave Kim a baby bottle with warm milk in it and Kim fed me the bottle. I was lying naked on the changing table on my back with my feet up on the table and my knees in the air. Mom got her cell-phone camera and started taking pictures of me lying there naked with Kim feeding me the bottle. I asked mom who was going to see the pictures and she said "everyone!" I said, "mom, I don't want people to see me naked! They will see my $%!@ and balls and my bare $%!@!" I pleaded with mom but she wouldn't listen. Mom had Kim put a diaper on me and a pacifier in my mouth. Then she made Kim put me in a baby crib that was in the kitchen. It was small so I had to pull my legs up to fit in. Mom made me stay in the crib for an hour or so and then I had to take a $%!@. Mom told me to do it in the diaper, which I did. Mom's female friends and Kim were talking in the kitchen and watching TV for another hour. Then Kim told mom that she wanted to change my diaper. Kim is only 12 and she got turned on seeing me naked and now she wanted to control me. Mom told Kim that from now on she was in complete charge of my toilet needs and sexual urges. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Kim got me out of the crib and up onto the changing table and told me to "be a good little boy." I was embarrassed and humiliated. I laid on my back on the changing table and Kim unfastened my diaper. Mom took a picture of my diaper with my turds and pee in it. Kim wiped my crotch and my $%!@ with baby wipes. She was really enjoying having control over me. Kim asked my mom how many times a day did I $%!@e and mom told her three or four times a day. Mom told her that a boy my age needs to have a "release" several times a day because sperm builds up inside his testicles. Kim decided that I needed another release so as I laid there naked on the changing table she fondled my balls and my $%!@ and made my $%!@ hard. She had fun playing with my $%!@ and feeling it with her hands. It felt good and I just laid back and relaxed and let her have her fun. My $%!@ was red and sticking straight up in the air. My $%!@ head was red and my uretha was wide open at the tip. Kim kept rubbing her finger around in the tip of my $%!@ and she asked me how it felt and I said, "nice!" Mom said that I was supposed to be punished, then she added that I deserved some "special attention" from Kim, and we all laughed. Kim asked me if I was ready to squirt and I said, "almost- just keep on doing it", and she did. Finally my $%!@ started throbbing and I ejaculated a huge load of white cream. Mom took a picture of my $%!@ squirting out onto my tummy and on Kim's hand. I just laid back breathing heavy and feeling light-headed. After that mom made Kim give me a bath on the changing table and she washed me all over. It was nice punishment and I can't wait to get into trouble again and have Kim "punish" me. She can't wait, either. Mom told Kim that she can stay with us for awhile and her mom said okay. Kim has complete control over me when I have to pee, take a $%!@, or $%!@e. She hold my $%!@ when I pee into the toilet and wipes my $%!@ after I take a $%!@. She $%!@es me several times a day and I love it!
Yeah.....uh huh......except you forgot about the two headed dwarf who sucked your $%!@ and tongued your $%!@ at the same time.
I have to say, that first story is so ridiculously fake that I don't understand why someone would waste time writing it (or posting it).
That said, this definitely does occur - with boys at least. I would be opposed to hitting a girl on her genitals. Boys, however, are often
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