Congratulations Bad Dominatrix!

"Could you go a little harder?" he'll ask.

You'll frown at him.

"I guess I could.  You're sure?" you'll respond, flexing the bullwhip in your hand.

"Please," he'll say, shaking his rump at you delightfully.

You'll acquiesce by landing a quick tap, this time using a little bit of your wrist in it.  You, from experience, will know that it hurts slightly more than being pinched by a child.

"Hm," your client will sound as if he's trying out this new mild discomfort, seeing if it's any good.  "Little more?"

You'll throw your whip down in front of him and give your client the finger.

"Fuck it.  Whip yourself," you'll tell him, taking care to sashay your ass as you leave the room.

"Huh?" he'll murmur.

After ten, fifteen minutes of him sitting there, he'll begin to shout.  You'll hear him through the concrete walls and the steel door.  The words bullshit, money, back, whore, all will come through.  You'll sit and wait another fifteen minutes until his shouts fade.  Another thirty minutes will go by with you sitting there, reading a book, taking in some culture.  He'll have been alone in that room for nearly two hours before you return to find him, still bound, will a puddle underneath him.

You'll jerk him off with a latex glove while he cries and you make soothing sounds.  When the debrief comes up, he'll be frank, telling you that while he did feel humiliated, the experience wasn't what he'd wanted.

"I came here because I wanted physical abuse.  Not soul crushing emotional abuse."

You'll shrug.

"I'd prefer to be matched with a dominatrix that gives a shit about her clients needs," he'll tell you and the madame that runs your dungeon.

"Well I'd prefer to have clients who aren't a bunch of god damn pussies," you'll bite back.

Later, when you're asking why you were fired within a week of starting at this dungeon, this will be an example of what your madame meant when she told you that you had poor customer service skills.

Congratulations Bad Dominatrix!