Gretchen was another 6’ Valkyrie type, around 25 years old with very big red hair almost reaching her hips, but as this was the early 90s the volume might have been due to the perms all the fashionable girls affected in those days. Though not a hulk, at that point I was getting by as a fetish club doorman, yet again out of work and ‘having a look at a few scripts while having a little bit of a rest, luvvy, dearest, dahling’. The job entailed checking ID and making sure the dress code was being obeyed. We’d get a lot of frat boys in leather jackets hoping that would be enough- it wasn’t.
Apart from denying admission to engineering students hoping to ogle girls wearing the usual club gear of corsets accessorized with stockings, garter belts and skyscraping heels I also, with my cohorts had to patrol the interior of the club, and that’s where I met Gretchen. She was caning her sub, pretty well in fact, and using some pretty good invective to insult him. I love language, so chatted to her when Subbyboy had crawled off for a pee.
She had an MA in English literature and no job, so was filling in doing something considerably more lucrative than waitressing. She said ‘Gregor’ had not paid enough to get anything afterwards, and she liked motorcycles, so rode home with me on mine when my shift finished. Sometimes you just get lucky.
Except apparently the thought of being cuckolded was very exciting for Gretchen’s client, so in a way I had been chosen to extend his session in abstentia.
But things were progressing nicely because ‘home’ for the time being was a very nice penthouse apartment I was minding for a wealthy couple I knew who were away touring Africa. Actually I was minding their very obese cat, whom they considered far too posh to be boarded at a mere kennel. Fortunately Gretchen wasn’t allergic.
I hung up her things, got her a drink and we sat down. She slipped off her red patent leather high heels, and dug her toes into the thick carpet with a faint cracking of their 'knuckles' and breathed a blissful sigh of relief. She wore tan retro stockings with reinforced toes, heels and soles, and told me that type was called ‘fully fashioned’. Taking a long swallow of her Gordon’s gin and grapefruit juice (my hosts had a wonderful liquor cabinet) we chatted for a bit, and then she shyly apologized for her chipped nail polish.
‘I’m still in very early days with him, and he doesn’t get to suck my toes yet’, she giggled. ‘But I did let him get down on his hands and knees while I stood there and let him have a good sniff of the outsides of my shoes while telling him I was going off with you to get fucked all night because ANYONE’S cock HAS to be bigger than his pathetic little wormlike offering’.
She took another sip and said, ‘When the time comes for him to get at my bare feet he’ll pay for the pedicure and a lot more for the privilege. In this game I’ve learned you have to dole it out slowly and expensively. But at least it’s really helping with my student loans.’
‘Is that how you can afford to dress the way you do?’ I asked.
‘Partially’, Gretchen said. ‘Clients also buy me stuff I want. Hey, want to see what’s in my toybag?’
And there was a pass if I’ve ever heard one. I’d met quite a complement of prodommes through my job and social life, but apart from a few who were genuine ballbusters, most were ordinarily-minded girls playing a role and making a living. And most fetish club girls were submissive or at least there to explore the possibility with the right person. Needless to say that wasn’t always me, but again, ‘sometime you get lucky’.
The toybag’s contents of ropes, cuffs, floggers, clamps, gags and everything the young perve about town could possibly desire spread on the thick carpet, I selected a leather and foam rubber ‘Mindfold’ style mask and slipped it over Gretchen’s eyes, https://mindfold.com/history/ then began kissing her neck while gently unlacing her corset. She was a big girl, and her skin was somewhat ‘dewy’ as the constraining garment was removed. But her body, while ‘enthusiastically proportioned’, was a good hourglass shape, and her skin pale with a light tracery of blue veins showing through the tops of her pink-nippled and very large breasts. The tawny hair in her unshaven armpits matched that of her head. ‘Fuck it’, I thought- just go for it, without sneaking around for a change, and said, ‘I’m not into inflicting pain, but if you want to get tied to the bed and tickled half to death, let’s.’
And she slipped off the Mindfold, regarded me for a silent moment or so, and said, ‘How about nine tenths to death?’ then walked her toes up my leg, smiled, and said. ‘A gentleman ALWAYS helps a lady take off her stockings’.
Wow.
Soft leather cuffs held her secure to the bedframe, and she didn’t bother holding back her laughter. Tickling, she fully admitted, was one of her kinks. It was a wonderfully long night, and God, could she laugh. Neck, waist, ribs, inner thighs knees, soles, arches and toes all produced their own notes, and hairy armpits are very sensitive if the hair itself is gently caressed and flicked. Of course we'd arranged a safeword, but though she begged and pleaded most prettily, she never used it.
She was pink and slick with sweat by the time I released her and we started fucking, and that encounter is still a joy to recall. I won’t mention how many times because I can barely believe it myself, but her skills in raising the dead qualify her as a necromancer.
We hung out for a year or so after that, and the fucking and the tickling was equally frenetic.
Then one day she sat me down and told me one of her clients wanted to pay to fuck her along with his being dommed, wanted exclusive access to her, and was willing to set her up in her own apartment in a very nice area of the city. In other words she was going to be a mistress twice over.
So yet again ‘twas time to leave; I bowed politely while doffing my feathered hat, swirled my cloak and vanished into the afternoon.
Apart from denying admission to engineering students hoping to ogle girls wearing the usual club gear of corsets accessorized with stockings, garter belts and skyscraping heels I also, with my cohorts had to patrol the interior of the club, and that’s where I met Gretchen. She was caning her sub, pretty well in fact, and using some pretty good invective to insult him. I love language, so chatted to her when Subbyboy had crawled off for a pee.
She had an MA in English literature and no job, so was filling in doing something considerably more lucrative than waitressing. She said ‘Gregor’ had not paid enough to get anything afterwards, and she liked motorcycles, so rode home with me on mine when my shift finished. Sometimes you just get lucky.
Except apparently the thought of being cuckolded was very exciting for Gretchen’s client, so in a way I had been chosen to extend his session in abstentia.
But things were progressing nicely because ‘home’ for the time being was a very nice penthouse apartment I was minding for a wealthy couple I knew who were away touring Africa. Actually I was minding their very obese cat, whom they considered far too posh to be boarded at a mere kennel. Fortunately Gretchen wasn’t allergic.
I hung up her things, got her a drink and we sat down. She slipped off her red patent leather high heels, and dug her toes into the thick carpet with a faint cracking of their 'knuckles' and breathed a blissful sigh of relief. She wore tan retro stockings with reinforced toes, heels and soles, and told me that type was called ‘fully fashioned’. Taking a long swallow of her Gordon’s gin and grapefruit juice (my hosts had a wonderful liquor cabinet) we chatted for a bit, and then she shyly apologized for her chipped nail polish.
‘I’m still in very early days with him, and he doesn’t get to suck my toes yet’, she giggled. ‘But I did let him get down on his hands and knees while I stood there and let him have a good sniff of the outsides of my shoes while telling him I was going off with you to get fucked all night because ANYONE’S cock HAS to be bigger than his pathetic little wormlike offering’.
She took another sip and said, ‘When the time comes for him to get at my bare feet he’ll pay for the pedicure and a lot more for the privilege. In this game I’ve learned you have to dole it out slowly and expensively. But at least it’s really helping with my student loans.’
‘Is that how you can afford to dress the way you do?’ I asked.
‘Partially’, Gretchen said. ‘Clients also buy me stuff I want. Hey, want to see what’s in my toybag?’
And there was a pass if I’ve ever heard one. I’d met quite a complement of prodommes through my job and social life, but apart from a few who were genuine ballbusters, most were ordinarily-minded girls playing a role and making a living. And most fetish club girls were submissive or at least there to explore the possibility with the right person. Needless to say that wasn’t always me, but again, ‘sometime you get lucky’.
The toybag’s contents of ropes, cuffs, floggers, clamps, gags and everything the young perve about town could possibly desire spread on the thick carpet, I selected a leather and foam rubber ‘Mindfold’ style mask and slipped it over Gretchen’s eyes, https://mindfold.com/history/ then began kissing her neck while gently unlacing her corset. She was a big girl, and her skin was somewhat ‘dewy’ as the constraining garment was removed. But her body, while ‘enthusiastically proportioned’, was a good hourglass shape, and her skin pale with a light tracery of blue veins showing through the tops of her pink-nippled and very large breasts. The tawny hair in her unshaven armpits matched that of her head. ‘Fuck it’, I thought- just go for it, without sneaking around for a change, and said, ‘I’m not into inflicting pain, but if you want to get tied to the bed and tickled half to death, let’s.’
And she slipped off the Mindfold, regarded me for a silent moment or so, and said, ‘How about nine tenths to death?’ then walked her toes up my leg, smiled, and said. ‘A gentleman ALWAYS helps a lady take off her stockings’.
Wow.
Soft leather cuffs held her secure to the bedframe, and she didn’t bother holding back her laughter. Tickling, she fully admitted, was one of her kinks. It was a wonderfully long night, and God, could she laugh. Neck, waist, ribs, inner thighs knees, soles, arches and toes all produced their own notes, and hairy armpits are very sensitive if the hair itself is gently caressed and flicked. Of course we'd arranged a safeword, but though she begged and pleaded most prettily, she never used it.
She was pink and slick with sweat by the time I released her and we started fucking, and that encounter is still a joy to recall. I won’t mention how many times because I can barely believe it myself, but her skills in raising the dead qualify her as a necromancer.
We hung out for a year or so after that, and the fucking and the tickling was equally frenetic.
Then one day she sat me down and told me one of her clients wanted to pay to fuck her along with his being dommed, wanted exclusive access to her, and was willing to set her up in her own apartment in a very nice area of the city. In other words she was going to be a mistress twice over.
So yet again ‘twas time to leave; I bowed politely while doffing my feathered hat, swirled my cloak and vanished into the afternoon.
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Thanks for sharing all three of your experiences here. 
