'I was a dominatrix for six-and-a-half minutes.'

Warning: explicit content and language.

There I was, standing at my front door dressed in a classic office outfit — white button up shirt, tailored skirt, heels, a slicked-back bun and glasses.

It was a little cliché, but it needed to be.

He messages me: I’m in my car outside.

I message back: When you arrive, knock on my door and tell me that you are here to inspect my fire alarms.

The doorbell rings, and I rearrange my face to look like a boss. A schoolmarm who rules with an iron fist. A ruthless business woman. Someone who ain’t gonna take no shit from some uppity young punk.

“Hello, I’m here to inspect your fire alarms,” he says, in a meek voice.

“Get upstairs,” I growl, closing the door and pointing upwards. “Go and wait in the bedroom, back against the wall.”

He does as he is told, not looking back.

I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle and watch him walk up the stairs. It’s showtime.

Let me take you back a bit. When I was on the apps I met a guy who made out as though he was a dominant type, which I enjoy. He also sent me some peen pics which turned out to be rather misleading (it’s all in the angle taken, I’ve discovered).

When we eventually hooked up, he was a small, sweet tech nerd who was trying out something new. His spanking was unconvincing, and the night fizzed into nothingness. But he continued to contact me and ended up asking me to ‘Domme’ (dominate) him. He wanted to be spanked, choked and degraded. He even offered to cum in a shot glass and then drink it, which I thought was quite specific (and a little icky).

But being a Dominant wasn’t my jam.

He persisted and begged and whined. I said no. This seemed to turn him on. Then he offered me money. I said no again.

The demands eventually petered out and I forgot about it. Months went by and I found myself out of work for the week, at a loose end, with some rather large bills. He popped up out of the blue as those app boys often do, and he asked me again. He said all he wanted was ten minutes and he would give me $100.

I thought about it.

I had never Dommed anyone, and maybe it was time to tick that off the sex bucket list. And, what harm could it do?

I messaged him: I’m not going to fuck you.

Ok.

You are not to touch me.

Ok.

You are to do whatever I tell you to do.

Ok.

This went on for a while, anyway, spoiler alert, he agreed to everything I said.

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So here we are, in the bright light of 1pm on a random Wednesday, me dressed for an office I was not attending. Him with his back against the wall with his pants down and a hard-on. The $100 note was on the bed.

The deal was he would masturbate in front of me, cum, and leave. Easy.

I like to think I’m quite the actress and I enjoyed my new power role. I paced back and forth yelling out instructions and he obeyed with gusto. I choked him a bit, slapped his bum and sat in a chair across from him, legs open, watching. I thought the more into it I was, the quicker he would be, and then I could get on with my day, which involved mowing the lawn, doing some washing and hammering a few hooks into the wall.

He was wanking furiously and in about six-and-a-half minutes, he came in his hand.

I said he was a good boy and told him to go clean up and leave. I stayed upstairs and pointed him towards to the front door. He said, ‘thank you’ and left.

And that was it.

I put my activewear back on and got to work with my domestics, a grubby hungey in my back pocket.

Would I do it again? Probably not.

But my inner schoolmarm really did enjoy it.

It’s fun to be the boss.