I work in holistic health and skin care.....and really do prefer to work exclusively from my office, as it is not only a beautiful setting, but its almost essential to perform most services from a stationary place. There is no way that I can bring everything that I feel is important to a separate location, to really make it the same experience as it is, if you come to me.
I got a phone call one day, and the request was for me to come to the home of some very casual acquaintances of my boyfriend, at the time. I 99.9% of the time, dont go to peoples houses, but since my boyfriend sort of knew them, and business at the time was anything but stellar, I agreed to go. I didnt know these two guys at all, but I had heard their names through out the course of my relationship, here and there. I knew that the older of the two, was a very respected mental health professional, and the Grand Poobah of the leather scene, in the city that I lived in. I was very green back then, and didnt really know all that much about leather, S&M, or fetish. The most hardcore I got, was getting my feet rubbed, and....oooooohhh!!!!!......did you say you did the dishes, too? FUCK YA, DADDY! Thats about how intense I got.
They booked me for 90 minute massage therapy sessions, back to back. I packed up my table, linens, & oils, and headed out. I drove through a very beautiful, exclusive neighborhood, found the address, and parked. I unloaded all of my belongs, and made the trek down the long, dark driveway that lead to a large, 2 million dollar home. It was Christmas time, and as I got closer to the front door...I noticed a life sized stuffed Santa Claus, just to the left of the doorbell. Santa was about 6ft, and was shackled with his hands behind his back. His feet were bound, and .....Santa had been a misbehaved little bitch, because...um...he was also gagged.
What? Whats wrong with that?
Ill tell you whats wrong with that.
EVERYONE and their aunt Colleen, knows that Santa is a sadistic, cigar smoking top daddy, NOT a sniveling subservient.
Jesus......way to ruin Christmas, Mr psychologist!
My alarm only increased, as I looked around to see that all the potted plants that lined the outdoors deck, were all in pig themed planters. There was a pig welcome mat, a pig shaped doorbell, and pig figurines all over the place.
Clearly this night was going to end with me, replacing the stuffed Santa. I want you to know that I rang the doorbell, ONLY because my partner sort of knew these guys. If that weren't the case, I would've high tailed it to the nearest church so I could beg Jesus to release Santa from his Saw part IV, prison.
I mean...bitch has a job to do, and I was expecting to receive a new pair of Puma sneakers that year. That aint happening if he's getting his bondage sex on, with two yahoos in a million dollar house.
When the door opened, I saw a guy in his mid 50's, staring at me. He was waaaay too intense the second he started talking. Every sentence was perfectly measured, and his tone was so sedate and calm...I immediately knew that he was trying to decide what size catheter he would be placing in me. John Travolta hit the nail on the god damned head when he sang about having the chills, and feeling them multiply...because I was a nervous wreck. I was also grossed out, and really feeling like...."oh for Christ's sake, nigga. Take it down a peg"
He gave me a small tour of the living room, dining-room, and kitchen. It TRULY was a beautiful home. Well, it WOULD BE beautiful... if normal people lived there. In the living room, over the $10,000 sofa, hung a massive oil painting of one guy, ramming his fist into another guy's ass.
I dont know about you, but nothing says " Christmas" to me, like a fisty salute, done in oil paint. A similar painting of said fist....but pulling out a dollar bill, says " Hanukkah"....
We sat down in the kitchen, and Papa mental patient let me know that his partner was in the shower, and would be out in just a minute. He was full on looming over, and his gaze was so set into mine, that I found it difficult to keep looking him in the eye. So I focused on a sculpture of a massive blue cock that was on the kitchen table. You're not a hearding dog, and Im not a sheep, so bring that intense glare, down to a holler. ( although I have been mistaken for a little baby lamb, Im so god damned adorable.
He let me know that he would just write me a check right then, to make sure that all the finances were taken care, and out of the way. I said that was no problem at all. He wrote me a check and I looked at it. It was for $20.00 less than the amount that I had quoted him. I pointed that out, and his barrel chest puffed out. " Uh, you quoted me a completely different price on the phone, and NOW YOURE TELLING ME SOMETHING DIFFERENT!?!?!?!?"
First off, I never quoted you a different price. My rates had been the same forever. Second....I get this whole, " intimidation", thing you have going on right now.....but Im not bound and gagged Santa, youre NOT my leather daddy, and Im staring at a cock sculpture that costs hundreds of dollars. Just hand over the god damned $20.00, and shove a ball gag in your mouth.
RIDICULOUS!
The boyfriend appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed in a bathrobe. He was diminutive in stature and size, maybe in his mid 30's. He was actually very sweet.
"Sir, Im all done with my shower."
" Okay, slave. Head downstairs, and we'll be right there."
Um. Hang on, one second. Youre fucking kidding, right? Did you guys just call each other "Sir", and ' slave"? I think that the look on my face said it all, because he looked at me as Slave went downstairs, and explained that this was all a part of their lifestyle. Sir tells slave when he can piss, eat, and sleep. Slave doesnt work, and either stays in a large cage, or locked up in a room until Sir gets home. He speaks when spoken to, and basically is.....a .....slave.
Get it?
Again. I just want to say here, that all I want is for someone to rub my feet. And Ill go piss when I feel like it, thank you..... or if a hot blond surfer just got stung by a jellyfish. The fact that Im aiming for his face, and not the sting....doesnt concern you...NOSEY!
We walked downstairs, and we passed their Christmas tree. The tree was hung upside down by a huge chain, so the pointy part was going towards the floor. At the point of the tree, was a Satan mask. I dont believe in Jesus Christ one little bit, but then and there....I was just waiting for Linda Blair to jump out of the tree and ram a crucifix in her tuna sanctuary, right before my very eyes. Every second that went by got more and more insane, and as I descended the staircase to the lower levels of the house, I seriously contemplated if id ever see the light of day, again.
They led me to a room that was covered in black tarp, floor to ceiling, had a leather sling, a huge dildo collection, and the largest can of Crisco Id ever seen. There was a large sign on the wall that said...' What daddy wants, daddy gets." Im just stabbing in the dark here, but is there any chance daddy wants some Xanax, to CHILL THE FUCK OUT WITH ALL THIS BULLSHIT?!?!?? Fucking seriously? EVERY room? Every room has to have some sadistic shit? I love Swedish fish candies like a bitch.....but Im not decorating my entire bedroom in them.
Daddy left the room, and it was time to work on slave. I set up the sheets, went to the bathroom, and came back. He was laying face down, but with a thick silver dog collar still around his neck. I asked him if he could remove it, so I could start, but he informed that he....in fact could NOT, as it was a symbol of Sir's ownership, over him.
Mmmhhhmm.
Listen, I just play up my to boyfriend's insecurities every chance I get. Its like an invisible collar, and it allows him to get a massage with no hassle. I said Id work around it, but then noticed dozens of purple welts, criss crossing his back. " Are you okay?", I asked, as I placed my hand on his back. " Oh yes," said slave. Im proud of those."
You know what Im proud of? I still know all the words to the rap section in "Cold Hearted Snake", by Paula Abdul.
I noticed that he had on his underwear as I adjusted the sheet. This struck me as odd, because they didnt strike me as the shy, type. I told him that its easier for him to be nude under the sheet, so I could work on the hips and the glutes. His response?
" I cant, because Im fighting an infection on my asshole, right now".
That was it. I took the check, handed it to him, packed up my stuff ,and walked out. I got home and told my boyfriend about everything that happened. To his defense, he really DID feel terrible about letting me go, and saying that he knew them, and that it would be okay. I just latched the cage door, and told him no more talking.
And if he thought he was going to be able to go pee before bedtime, he had another thing coming.
They're called, " Rules". Santa will tell you about them.
butt hole infection. poor slave. lol
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