Signs of progress, or, my bitchy domme grows up
I didn’t start out good at phone sex, you know. I started out with a mild case of the shakes after every call, and there was at least one hang-up there in the first month, and I’m pretty sure that if you talked with my friends from that time, they would tell you that at least once a week I would pop up in a chat box going I DON’T UNDERSTAND THESE FUCKING WANKERS.
I still get a little nervous before each new caller, but I have gotten better, which is never more obvious than when I do a caller from a long time ago, like I did today. He didn’t remember me, but I remembered him. I have notes on the card, see, and they told me all the things that went wrong the first time around.
BITCHY DOMME, it says on the top. That’s what he wanted me to be, or what the dispatcher interpreted from him and passed along to me. Then in the space for notes about him, it reads, BRATTY BOTTOM, WATCH TIME, SPIT/SPANK, NO ANAL. That last one is underlined. Oh, dear. I flip the card over. Yep. The last call was in January 2011; that’s over two and a half years ago. Clearly our last conversations didn’t go well enough for him to call back and request me, and that is backed up by the notes. “Bratty bottom”, when used in a pay-for-sex environment, means that he asked for a bitch, but isn’t putting up with any of it. “Watch time”, well, look at those numbers: 12 minutes on a 10, 8.5 or 8 on all the 7s. Yeah, he likes to push the clock. And “no anal”, that’s pretty clear, especially when it’s underlined like that: spank his ass as much as I can, but under no circumstances should I let those fingers slip through the crack.
I caught up with all of this in maybe five seconds of silence, but that was still long enough for the dispatcher to wonder what the fuck was going on: “Are you there?” Yep, yep, I said. I just haven’t talked with him for a while. And then I waited for the call to go through, my mind spinning overtime, what to do, what to do. Now, I could have sat back and been more passive this time around. But I thought, no. We’ll give this one more shot. If he wants a mean domme, I’m going to give it to him. Two and a half years … that’s a long time ago. I don’t think I had mastered my meanness yet, and he probably picked up on that.
And the call … it went well, actually! I described myself, and let him tell me what he’s done that he needs to be punished for. Jacking off in the neighbor’s hot tub, huh? When I talked to him, I could hear right away what I meant by “bratty”: he interrupted constantly, barely letting me finish a sentence. Hah. I’m the one who gets to cut you off, buddy!
So I did, and I let my impatience and disdain show through more than a bit, and gradually I could feel the call narrative settling firmly back into my grasp. By the end I had him bent over the patio table, one hand holding him down by his neck, and the other giving his ass cheeks a right going-over. I interrupted the spanking to say firmly, we have two minutes left, I need to let you know, and then I yanked him upright and marched him to the edge of the patio. You want to show off for the neighbors that bad? Well, show them. Jerk off right here. I don’t care who is watching over the back fence. Do it, you dirty fucking perv, come for me. And he did, 20 seconds under time.
Afterward, I laughed and said, well, that is a good way to start the week! He laughed a little too and agreed, and then said, “What was your name again?” I told him, and he said, “Great, thank you. I’ll talk to you again soon.”
I don’t believe him. But I’m still pleased. Look how far I’ve come in making strange men cum!