If you missed the last instalment of my diary, then you missed my introduction – I’m a 20-something woman from London, who smokes too much, drinks too much and occasionally suffers from the odd neurotic episode when the high-pressure job gets a bit much - but I’m afraid that’s where the similarities with a certain famous ‘other diary’ ends. You see, I’m a professional Dominatrix and lifestyle pervert. When I’m not in the dungeon administering vicious beatings, electro-shock therapy and cock-and-ball-torture, I can be found snuggling up with my similarly pervy tattooist boyfriend and our cat, Snark. (Not like that, I’m afraid I’m not into feline threesomes.)

Anyway, last time I was recounting my first face-to-face experience with real live submissives. We left off with me leaving the club with a couple; a dominant woman and her slave-boyfriend…

…Before I knew it we were in their gorgeous apartment in Angel, and the woman (we’ll call her Angela) had stripped her boyfriend naked, popped a ball-gag into his mouth and cuffed him to a heavy leather strap hanging from the ceiling, so he was on tiptoes and unable to turn. He watched as we cracked open a bottle of champagne and, laughing and fooling around, started to kiss and play with each other. We both kept glancing over at the chap (we’ll call him Justin), keenly aroused but with a look of tortured envy in his eyes. The more tortured he looked, the more it seemed to amuse Angela. Eventually she stood up and, taking me by the hand, walked over to where he balanced.

“Look at this beautiful young lady.” she said to him. “She’s much more attractive to me than you’ll ever be. Why, look at you, grovelling there, unable to disguise your pathetic hard-on even as I make love to somebody else right in front of you! You’re no man!”

I looked around the room nervously. Oops. What had I stumbled into? Were they having some kind of…I don’t know, fetish domestic? I thought this was all ok with him, but actually, and quite obviously, he didn’t have much say in the proceedings I suddenly felt rather justifiably uncomfortable.

Angela continued:

“To be honest with you, Justin, your male body is utterly unappealing to me. Why, that useless piece of flesh hanging between your legs make me want to shriek with laughter every time I see it! Why should I have to suffer your feeble attempts to fuck me when I could have a gorgeous young thing like this between my legs?”

I mumbled something about going to get a top-up, with the express intention of grabbing my coat and getting the hell away from this weirdness at the first opportunity, but Angela just turned and winked at me, a mischievous look in her eye. She cocked her head to Justin, who was now moaning in obvious pleasure. I frowned quizzically and she put her arm about me.

“Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she said to him in a contemptuous tone. “We’re neglecting our guest. I’ll make you pay for that later. For now, we’re off for some girlie fun. Don’t go anywhere!” With a nasty but musical laugh, she steered me into the bedroom.

We strolled nonchalantly into their beautifully appointed bedroom.

“Oops, sorry,” she said, and I noticed her voice was different, more casual, conspiratorial. “Sometime I get a bit carried away. Did I throw you in a bit at the deep end there?”

I ran through various different responses in my head (‘not at all! I hate men too’, ‘please call me a cab, strange lady who I’m suddenly a bit scared of’) and opted for honesty. I nodded dumbly.

“Justin’s into cuckoldry – he likes to be emasculated and humiliated, especially in from of hotties like yourself. He’s having a whale of a time out there, I can tell. Perhaps I should have warned you. You’re not shocked are you?”

I examined my own feelings and found that, no, I wasn’t. As soon as I realised it was consensual and she wasn’t using me as a pawn in some complicated relationship payback for a forgotten anniversary or missed dinner date, I relaxed right into it.

“Cool,’ I said. ‘Can I have a go?”

Half an hour later, Justin was writhing on the floor dressed all in women’s clothing as we taunted him for his failure to perform as a man, his inability to sexually please his Mistress and his ridiculous begging and pleas to be allowed to be one of our girlfriends. I tweaked his nipples, hard, and pulled him meanly across the floor to me.

“So that’s it, is it? You want to give up your manhood in order to become our little sissy bitch? But you’re already our bitch. Look at you, all dolled up in slut’s clothes. What a little whore!”

I giggled drunkenly. The champagne had gone to my head, and I wasn’t really used to drinking. My head was spinning but I was having enormous fun.

Angela stood and walked to a big black cabinet at the end of the room. She had that mischievous look again.

“And we all know what happens to whores, don’t we? They get…fucked.”

She turned back from the cabinet holding a large black dildo. Justin (or Justine, as he had been renamed by this point) whimpered softly, his eyes wide. The last thing I remember was his pleading unconvincingly for mercy as Angela lubed up this giant thing. ‘That’ll never fit up there’ I thought, before nodding off unceremoniously on the sofa.

Next thing I knew, the sunlight was filtering across the apartment and Justin and Angela were gently shaking me awake. There was a coffee, some strawberries and a pain au chocolate in front of me. They kept chuckling naughtily and asking me how I slept. Eventually I got out of them that they’d had to relocate to the bedroom, as my snoring kept making them laugh as Angela had fucked Justine in the ass.

Til next time - G LX