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- Herausgeber: tredition
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
The book " Breaking Taboos" takes the reader into the world of sadomasochism. Many people only know about this sexual variety with its many facets. Quite a few are fascinated by it, even if they only admit it unconsciously. As an experienced dominatrix, I can look back on many years of practice. The experiences I had in the process were often curious. I tell of strange types, of unusual passions and of outlandish obsessions. The stories my book collects are sometimes laugh-out-loud funny, sometimes full of bitter seriousness. I have not invented any of them. Everything happened as I report it. In addition, I write about my personal fate. My text is the story of a young woman who curiously enters unfamiliar territory, sees a dominatrix studio from the inside for the first time and encounters a reality that seems strange to her at first, but then captivates her more and more. Her path takes unexpected turns, is marked by almost unbelievable experiences, but also by strokes of fate. And she is always confronted with new erotic fantasies, so that she never forgets to be amazed. In the end, she owns her own studio, which is one of the most famous addresses in Germany. I tell about the people I met. Some have cheated me, others have taken advantage of me and even threatened me. But many of them fascinated me and some became good friends. Finally, I also tell about the psychological problems I sometimes encountered while doing my job and the very practical difficulties of a woman who wants to realise herself with an unusual business idea. Das Buch "Tabubruch" führt den Leser in die Welt des Sadomasochismus. Als erfahrene Domina kann ich auf eine langjährige Praxis zurückblicken. Die Erlebnisse, die ich dabei hatte, waren oft kurios. Ich erzähle von schrägen Typen, von ungewöhnlichen Leidenschaften und von ausgefallenen Obsessionen. Die Geschichten, die mein Buch versammelt, sind manchmal zum Lachen komisch, manchmal auch voll bitterem Ernst. Darüber hinaus schreibe ich von meinem persönlichen Schicksal. Mein Text ist die Geschichte einer jungen Frau, die sich neugierig auf fremdes Terrain begibt, zum ersten Mal ein Domina Studio von innen sieht und dort einer Wirklichkeit begegnet, die ihr anfangs fremd erscheint, sie dann aber immer mehr in den Bann zieht. Ihr Weg nimmt ungeahnte Wendungen, ist gezeichnet von fast unglaublichen Erfahrungen, aber auch von Schicksalsschlägen. Und stets wird sie mit neuen erotischen Phantasien konfrontiert, so dass sie das Staunen niemals verlernt. Am Ende besitzt sie ihr eigenes Studio, das zu den bekanntesten Adressen in Deutschland gehört. Ich erzähle von den Menschen, die mir begegneten. Manche haben mich betrogen, andere haben mich ausgenutzt und mich sogar bedroht. Aber viele von ihnen haben mich fasziniert und einige sind gute Freunde geworden. Ich erzähle schließlich auch von den psychischen Problemen, denen ich mitunter bei der Ausübung meines Berufes begegnete und den ganz praktischen Schwierigkeiten einer Frau, die sich mit einer ungewöhnlichen Geschäftsidee verwirklichen will.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 709
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Daemona de Lucca
Breaking taboos
Life roller coaster of a dominatrix
© 2023 Daemona de Lucca
Website: www.daemonadelucca.de
Verlagslabel: Daemona de Lucca, www.daemonadelucca.de
Druck und Distribution im Auftrag der Autorin:
tredition GmbH, Heinz-Beusen-Stieg 5, 22926 Ahrensburg, Deutschland
Das Werk, einschließlich seiner Teile, ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Für die Inhalte ist die Autorin verantwortlich. Jede Verwertung ist ohne ihre Zustimmung unzulässig. Die Publikation und Verbreitung erfolgen im Auftrag der Autorin, zu erreichen unter: Daemona de Lucca, Saarlandstr. 4, 76187 Karlsruhe, Germany.
Table of contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
Chapter 1 - A New World
Chapter 2 - Experiences
Chapter 3 - Farewell into the Unknown
Chapter 4 - The New Studio
Chapter 5 - Studio Off?
Chapter 6 - New Beginning
Chapter 7- Phantoms
Chapter 8 - Up and down - Back and Forth
Chapter 9 - Renters and Leasers
Chapter 10 – Moving
Chapter 11 - Robert
Chapter 12 - Burnout
Chapter 13 - A Chapter in Itself
Chapter 14 - Stories to Smile about
Chapter 15 - Future Prospects
Acknowledgement
Breaking taboos
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
Acknowledgement
Breaking taboos
Cover
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Foreword
The topic of professional SM, represented by the glittering image of the imperious dominatrix in high leather boots, with all men at her feet, is widely discussed in the media today. Part of society faces these scenarios with disgust and incomprehension, part is fascinated by the thought of how to make seemingly easy money with such poor creatures. Both views are banal. The fact that the profession of a dominatrix requires a lot of knowledge, hard work and considerable investment is often overlooked in the clichéd portrayals.
Also, the surrendering part is not an emotionally disturbed, poor creature, but a person who has the courage to face his fantasies and completely surrender to a person he trusts, not only physically, but also on the psychological level. Nobody considers that.
Where from? Only those who are intensively involved with SM and also want to experience it will find out. SM is, if all basic conditions are fulfilled, like a common flight of the soul, without sexual contacts being necessary. To be able to enjoy it, complete letting of time and space, a mutual unconditional trust is a basic requirement. Regardless of whether paid for or not.
Man can buy time and technology, but not this high-end feeling that SM is actually about. If you can't release your spirit, you won't learn to fly. This is what the active part experiences when it does not get emotionally involved with its counterpart. The same goes for the passive part, who only plays the role of the "passive", but secretly doesn't like to let someone else take the lead. Reasons for this are mostly the fear of oneself or also the fear of being hurt, which can happen not only physically.
Psychological crashes in sadomasochism are bad and dangerous. If such crashes happen to the passive part, it takes psychological tact on the part of the active counterpart to rebuild him emotionally. There is no difference between the private game and the paid SM-service.
When I started my first tender attempts into the professional world in September 2003, I saw actions that others did merely for financial reasons. Emotionally, something like that was hard for me to deal with personally. What initially bothered me had nothing to do with humiliating and beating people. Even though some nightmares haunted me, they were experiences that were definitely valuable for me and my further career.
In my book I would like to tell in detail the story that I experienced on the way to professional SM. From the beginning, I want to accompany you into a world of which most report only in broad strokes. In meticulous detail, I tried to reproduce my memories as chronologically and honestly as possible.
By researching old photos, old SM-guides, and memories of some of the people involved who occasionally appear in the story, I think I've managed to do that quite well. To preserve discretion, of course, all names are alienated.
I would like to tell you about the fact that not everything was sunshine and that I made many mistakes, as well as about my successes. I want to tell everything as unembellished and taboo-free as it happened and as I felt and experienced it.
I picked out from all the many SM experiences, sessions and people those that have not only remained in my memory for a long time, but also those in which you can also well represent the wide range of sadomasochism. There are some extraordinary fantasies in it, which probably not everyone can understand or even reject from the ground up. But every spectrum of fantasy has its justification, deserves tolerance and is part of being human. Just like the different ways of dealing with his inclination. Some enjoy it, others have great problems with their predisposition. Some feel gratitude after their sessions, others consume sessions, add up and try to get the best financially for themselves. Others live out their fantasies only on the phone or make a joke of it - for whatever reason, making fake appointments.
I tell of people who were close to my heart, of those who lied to me and cheated on me, of encounters that turned into friendships and that still exist, of sessions that went absolutely in the pants and of SM experiences that were unique. I tell of the myth of fast money and how it really looks in reality, of contacts with the authorities that almost brought me to despair.
I would also like to report on private experiences and challenges that not only cost a lot of energy, but were also very formative.
Let me tell you about the roller coaster of emotions that life awakens.
Everything you will read happened exactly the same way. Take time to peek behind the curtain and witness the most diverse inclinations, intrigues and the most curious situations.
Chapter 1 - A new world
In May 2003 I opened a small lingerie store. I had just turned 26 years old. Before that I had completed an apprenticeship as an office clerk. This training was organized by the association of a teachers' association, which was looking for companies for hard-to-place young people, where they could complete an apprenticeship. Due to my funky appearance in a gloomy gothic look and my somewhat wild curriculum vitae, which was characterized by various temporary jobs, I was considered difficult to place. At that time, there was an extreme shortage of apprenticeship positions on the job market and the number of applicants for vacancies was correspondingly high.
The association gave me the chance to learn this profession. The training happened in several different companies, each of which I visited for a year. The first company sold slot machines to pubs, amusement arcades and vending machine operators. The second company manufactured high-quality cables. The third and last station of the training was to take place in an architect's office.
In the first year, I took care of the company's old, piled-up filing system and completed the normal vocational school in parallel. In the second year, I worked in the various areas of the cable company, from the warehouse to accounting, just like in a normal apprenticeship.
Thanks to my good performance at school, I was able to shorten the training period by one year and saved myself the last station in the architecture office.
In the cable company, human conditions were like in the Middle Ages. The employees were treated by the boss couple like their property. The bosses regularly pulled the employees out of their lunch break with "urgent matters". An employee from the accounting department suffered a heart attack and was sent her notice of termination directly to the hospital. The company had a high turnover of employees, who after a short time applied elsewhere, if their qualifications allowed it. Preference had been given to people who were in a certain relationship of dependency, so that they put up with a lot. Single mothers and people with poor qualifications were the first choice. The representatives left the company faster than they were hired.
With the Chinese production partners, I was gladly integrated as an interesting exotic at company meetings. The Asian business partners were completely fascinated by my makeup and piercings. This went well until I became a thorn in the side of the boss couple. I regularly took my colleagues from the accounting department to a nearby café for lunch. Outside the office, the colleagues were no longer as easy for the bosses to pick up as they were in the break room.
To make their displeasure clear, I was put on forced leave three weeks before the final exam. The reason given was "private surfing on the Internet".
I finished vocational school with "good" in most subjects. I only had some discrepancies with the religion teacher. She was of the opinion that the film Matrix should be understood from a religious point of view. The Trinity of God would be characterized by the characters Morpheus, Trinity and Neo.
Perhaps one could still put up with this interpretation. But when, in one of her lessons, she pressed small dolls into the hands of the students and demanded that they imitate religious representations, it was too much for me at the age of 24. The revolting spirit boiled up in me. By some blasphemous representations, which occurred to me spontaneously, their instruction tipped completely into the ridiculous.
From then on, she no longer liked me. At my story of Lucifer, who was banished from the heavenly kingdom as a fallen angel of God and actually meant no harm, all her hair stood on end in horror. The much younger students hung on my lips to hear the story further. The religion teacher, however, did not like my narration and forbade me to speak.
Exactly at that time a Satanist murder stirred up the press. The couple who committed a ritual murder also came from the Gothic scene. Our constant discrepancies led to her asking me with a worried look in front of all the other students during our last lesson together: "What are you going to do when you're done? What's going to happen to you for once?"
I was not really at a loss for words and was royally amused by her clichéd pigeonholing: "I would like to become a dominatrix. But unfortunately, that won't happen. You have to work your way up as a slave. That's where it will probably fail."
SM was not a foreign word for me, even if I personally had nothing to do with this sexual game. I had my first contact with SM at the age of 18 at SM parties that were held regularly in a gothic club. I was mainly interested in the music that was played there. The activities of the other participants were not really noticed by me. For me it was a normal event except for the difference that the entrance fee was always 15 instead of 5 marks. Gothic and SM somehow belonged together and they didn't make a big fuss about it. It was just normal.
When I completed my training, the question of whether or not I could stay at the cable company naturally became superfluous. I passed the exam as an office clerk. And after that I had to register as unemployed.
I tried to keep my head above water with the usual student jobs that I always got before the training. But now I was considered overqualified and I was underqualified for the profession I had learnt. I lacked the three years of professional experience.
Before the training, I had worked in an erotic store and had myself transferred from there to Cologne. The area manager in charge liked me and appreciated the work I had done. He fulfilled my wish to work in the new Cologne branch.
However, the working atmosphere in the Cologne store was different from what I was used to. The store manager had problems with the fact that the area manager had simply put someone in his store without consulting him. His female co-worker also agreed with this. Both mobbed me and schemed against me. In the end, I was only allowed to watch the lower sales floor to make sure nothing was stolen. After three months, I decided to return home. The one-room apartment was taken over for me by a female friend who really wanted to move to Cologne.
My experiences in Cologne inspired me to set up my own lingerie and erotic store. However, I wanted to do without pornographic media such as magazines and DVD movies.
After I had attended a few start-up seminars in preparation for self-employment, my father guaranteed a loan. As fate would have it, I also found the ideal store location.
My partner at the time, Christian, who at the time was slipping into unemployment, helped me renovate and set up the business.
Just in time for the desired opening date, the store shone freshly renovated and was stocked with goods. The first sales rang in the cash register and we looked confidently into the future. Unfortunately, this year also turned out to be the summer of the century. With over 40 degrees of accumulated continuous heat, business in the summer months did not go well at all.
The fact that the clientele also always asked for special orders did the rest to make my retail business not easy. The ordered goods were, despite deposit, mostly not picked up. The most reliable customers came from the erotic industry.
The women from this industry entered the store, tried on and bought. Completely uncomplicated. That's how I got to know a young prostitute better, who visited my store accompanied by a brothel owner.
The woman asked me if I could deliver clothing for her and her colleagues to her workplace. Without thinking twice, I accepted her offer. I armed myself with all the catalogs I had in stock and set off for the local brothel street.
Rumor had it that strange female beings were regarded as competitors there and were hostile as soon as they entered the infamous street. With this dark legend in mind, I first had to overcome myself to cross the barrier into the disreputable zone.
The brothel street was not quite as busy despite the onset of darkness. Occasionally, some men, either in groups or isolated, roamed the alley. The shop windows of the ladies offering themselves were illuminated. The women stood in line and as soon as a man walked by, they started to move with provocative poses to encourage their potential customers to come closer. They ignored me. I scurried past them as quickly as possible.
When I reached the right brothel house number - it was in the middle of the street - I hesitated for a moment to step inside. For a brief moment, my courage deserted me. After a deep breath, I gathered all my courage and entered. The smell that first struck me was indefinable. The familiar fug of a stairwell mingled with the scents of a wide variety of perfumes. On each floor there were several rooms, some of which were locked and some of which were open. The ladies working there sat on a stool in front of their room, smoked and waited for customers.
Based on the room number and the exact description of where I could locate the young customer in the huge complex, I went up to the third floor. Occasionally, passing men crossed my path, who took a look or two at the rooms or at the ladies and left without having achieved anything.
At some point I found the young customer sitting on a stool outside her room.
Pleased, she greeted me and asked me to enter. She left the door open in case a prospective buyer would appear for her.
The room contained a large bed, a small table and chair, and washing facilities. She had decorated the room to her liking, giving it a personal touch. She probably lived there, too. Most ladies also used their rooms for lodging. As far as I remember, the daily rent cost between 120 and 150 euros. The use of the common room with a large kitchen, security and janitorial service were included in the price. There was an emergency system in each room that alerted security if there was a problem with one of the clients.
The young woman ordered some items like lingerie, stockings and shoes. After we finished that, she sent me up the aisle to a colleague who also wanted to order. She was already waiting for me in a circle of other ladies who had taken a seat on her bed. I was able to place a large order. I was to drop off the items as soon as they were delivered. Apparently, it was more convenient for the ladies to get the necessary clothing this way than to go to town themselves and sacrifice their working hours.
The ladies of the brothel, who earn their living here, represented different nationalities. My young customer came from Germany. She had recently celebrated her 18th birthday. She presented her youthful appearance in schoolgirl clothes with matching side braids. As a reason why it had taken her to a brothel at such a young age, she told me the earning potential. Here she could earn enough money without needing an education. She assured me that she would get along well with her customers.
When the orders arrived, I again made my way to brothel street. In the meantime, this became a routine. I also got to know the owner of the brothel better now and found him quite likeable. He often sat in the brothel's lounge and paused with the ladies who had rented rooms from him. He offered me a guided tour through the whole house. We also came to the basement, where the SM room was located. I also sold some SM items like whips, cuffs and other bondage equipment in the store and therefore found the room most interesting.
The brothel owner offered me to rent the SM room, if I should be interested in deepening the topic. I declined the offer with thanks. I had no idea of the matter at that time and certainly no interest in working in a brothel. That was a bit too far for me.
However, I was interested to know if a dominatrix really did not practice intimate contacts with her customers. The Brothel owner waved me off. He explained to me that nothing works without intimate contacts.
Then he charged the general residential prostitution. The term is used to describe prostitution in private apartments. His rentals suffered greatly from this and more and more women offered themselves there without taboos.
Taboo less service was not tolerated in his house. In his opinion, no self-respecting prostitute would think of letting herself be kissed or even offer sexual intercourse and oral sex without any protection. He explained to me that there were protective films for the woman's genitals for oral sex. Even the absence of protective films was considered taboo.
After his tour of this hidden world, I took the ordered goods, which I had placed in the lounge, and brought them to the woman one by one. Last but not least, it was the turn of my young customer, who also presented herself that evening as a schoolgirl with pigtails and plaid skirt on her stool. In her room, I placed the orders and more catalogs on the bed. She sat down with me and began to browse through the new offers.
This time, too, she had not closed the door and occasionally a gentleman's head looked in curiously. Then she always tried to motivate the gentlemen to stay a little longer. I didn't even notice it after the third man. When a conversation became a little more intense, I had to look up. The voice sounded so familiar. And who was standing at the door trying to do business with the young girl? One of my former teachers from vocational school. Oh my! Our eyes met for two seconds. His eyes widened and after a blink he disappeared most embarrassed. Now that was an act. He is a teacher and goes to a young prostitute who dresses like a schoolgirl.
I was not surprised now that he preferred the young girls in the class. I myself got along well with him, even as the oldest, who had no attitudes of helplessness and defenselessness.
I still kept in touch with the female friend who had taken over my Cologne apartment. We spoke on the phone occasionally. In one of our conversations, she told me about the idea of applying to a baroness in a dominatrix studio.
I thought this idea was one of the worst she had ever come up with. The idea that you have to work your way up in the BDSM field as a slave in order to better understand the passive side was still present with me. The tales of the brothel owner that dominatrix also offered intimate contacts did the rest to make me worry. In my mind's eye I already saw the girlfriend sinking in the Cologne swamp.
Whether my concerns and arguments had ultimately persuaded her to drop her idea remained her secret. She herself was quite erratic with her plans for the future.
The topic of SM never left me.
Contact with the young prostitute broke off just as quickly as it had come. There was no longer any reason to go to the brothel street. I didn't know the other ladies any better. They also changed their places of work quite quickly. High fluctuation seems to be commonplace in this industry. The clientele operates according to the hunter-gatherer principle and is always on the lookout for new acquisitions.
For this reason, the young prostitute showed up in my store again one day. Her turnover in the brothel was dropping and she was looking for another place to work. She asked me if I could drive her to a noble establishment in another city. She hoped that a change of location would bring her more customers. She did not have a driver's license herself. The way with public means of transportation seemed too inconvenient to her. So, I drove her there.
The place of her wishes was an impressive villa. The rooms were furnished in the noblest way and the reception room was worthy of a queen. Completely blown away by the nobility of this establishment, I drove her back to the store. Whether she ever started there remained unclear to me.
I soon couldn't stand the customers in the store anymore. The constant "one centimeter more or less, then it would be perfect and I would buy it" or "Please put that back, I'll think about it again" drove me crazy. Retail is a thankless business, moreover, I had to pay for the goods in advance and bore the sole risk of whether I got the goods sold or not. Especially the manufacturer for lingerie from Italy mostly did not meet the clothing sizes of the German figures. The lingerie, which had a very nice design, turned out rather too graceful. Or to put it a bit more directly: the majority of the customers were too shapeless for Italian lingerie.
Professional boredom set in and so did the thought of new challenges. In the past weeks, I had gathered many impressions in the so-called red-light milieu and learned that the milieu was not quite as bad as the cliché conveyed in the media. The closer one became familiar with the scene and got to know the people and their stories, the more understanding one felt for the industry. Most of the women performed this activity to earn money, to feed their families, and there were also some who simply enjoyed it.
However, one should be aware that there is also coercion and dark stories. Of such dark machinations showed me not a single example. Neither in the stories of the women in the brothel nor through experiences in my store, where the milieu liked to store.
The whips, ropes and bondage paraphernalia hanging in the store inspired me to take a closer look at SM. After browsing some websites, I got more and more the taste to try out what I had read myself. I didn't have to convince Christian that only the active practice was possible for me. I did not like to be humiliated and sexually coerced. Not even for so-called "training purposes", which should serve as an experience to better understand the passive side. I had never dealt with the private scene.
Now I wanted to make once experience in a professional SM studio.
One quiet afternoon, I scoured the Internet for such establishments. I found three sites right away. On the first, I looked at the listing of the team. I immediately noticed a name that I had once heard in conversation.
"Mistress Nadja - strict dominatrix."
I had heard about her that she dragged her whole court behind her while shopping and made everything fuzzy. She was described as arrogant and stuck-up. She treated everyone from above. The studio thus fell outside the grid I was looking for.
The second studio was very classy and appealing from the first impression. I skimmed the first few pages and could do absolutely nothing with all the terms that were listed here. When I came across the "Job offers", there were the following categories:
Dominatrix - only with several years of experience
Bizarre ladies: young, slim for active/ passive sessions with intimate contacts wanted
Slave girls: good resilient wanted
This confirmed my assumption that beginners had to work their way up at least as a so-called "bizarre lady" until they had gained enough experience to be "promoted". The studio was therefore also out of the question.
That left option three. This site was very different from the others. It made a colorful and wild impression. The information and pictures were so confusing that one almost needed a guide to not lose the overview. The texts exuded a companionable and friendly spirit. There was also the job offers section. It said, "Call, stop by, and you'll be trained to your specifications."
That was more interesting. It didn't read so condescendingly, didn't come across as arrogant, and sounded open, honest and at eye level. I immediately had the good feeling that I had landed at the right address. The choice was made.
The mobile number of the lady was quickly written into the mobile. There it remained unused for a while. To call the guts, I found now but not as easy as I had imagined.
The call was postponed from day to day and manifested itself in the background of my thoughts. One day I had gathered all my courage and called with the number suppressed. A dial tone came. When a woman's voice answered, I hung up.
Courage had left me as quickly as it had come. I was annoyed with myself that I did not dare to say anything, but took refuge in cowardice.
I can understand what goes on in every guest's mind when they call a studio for the first time or show up in person. You're just scared shitless, mostly of yourself and your own courage. You don't necessarily have to do it. It is voluntary. But if you don't do it, then what happened haunts your mind like an evil spirit. And the thought is always present. At least that's how it was for me, and it will be the same for many others in similar situations.
On the third try, I firmly resolved to finally take the plunge. After the third dial tone, a voice answered: "Hello.”
The inner motivational mantra still in my hearing, I felt ready for anything. After a deep breath, I told the strange woman my request. The conversation was kept quite brief, which was quite convenient for me. For closer questions on the phone I would have had no head at all. I was so nervous that I just managed to remember the address, the time and the date that I had arranged with the woman on the phone for a personal meeting.
The excitement of the upcoming appointment grew. On Sunday evenings, I almost couldn't fall asleep. The appointment was Monday at 11 am in Madame's studio.
Quite composed, I drove to the named address and parked in the backyard. Under tension and with palpitations I rang the bell at the sign with the inscription "Studio".
After a short wait, which seemed like an eternity, a loud buzzing sound made itself felt. I pushed against the door. The first thing I saw upon entering was a cage located across from the front door. Inside the cage was a mannequin decorated with cuffs, foreshadowing what visitors entering might expect. Steps pointed the way up.
The stairs led to a second door. This opened as I stood before the last steps. A slim, tanned woman with distinctive glasses, about 45 years old, stood in front of the open door and waved me in. She introduced herself with her work name, "Madame Calypso." The first impression I perceived upon entering the spacious reception room was a peculiar odor resembling that of a solvent. In her usual routine, Madame Calypso showed me her premises. I had never seen anything like it and was very impressed.
She first showed me a spacious studio, all in red. The walls were covered with aluminum foil and partially provided with luminous hoses. Countless whips and bondage instruments hung from the hooks that were attached there, the exact meaning of which I could not assign. A black, leather-covered couch with a mirror above it took up most of the space in the room. Nearby, between the wall and ceiling, was a beam rack with an electric pulley. A large closet, whose function I could not guess, and an Andrew's cross completed the atmosphere of the studio. Colorful towels were stacked on the shelves in each of the rooms.
The second room was also decorated in red. Here, too, there was aluminum foil and light tubes on the walls and ceiling. There were also mirrors. The center of this arrangement was a gynecological chair near the mirror.
Directly next door followed two black and white tiled clinic rooms, which were connected to each other in a winding way. Various cabinets on the wall and floor gave the impression of a medical business. The cabinets and display cases were filled with various toys such as dildos in different sizes from small to impossibly large. A hospital bed and another large gynecological chair were available for the patient's treatment.
Next to the clinic was the bathroom. From the bathroom it went directly to the so-called "love cave", a room that served the "normal" act of love. The arrangement of this facility I had already seen enough in the brothel. A large bed was the center.
After the tour, we had a detailed conversation in the kitchen, which also functioned as a lounge. There was an old couch and a living room table from the seventies. On the couch we took a seat and Madame offered me a glass of water.
Madame Calypso first explained the accounting system. Half of the income made was my earnings. Quite clueless and very impressed, I had to confess to her that I had no experience with all this, but was willing to acquire the necessary knowledge.
Madame Calypso wiped away my concerns with a wave of her hand, "Oh, you'll learn quickly!"
These first impressions overwhelmed and fascinated in equal measure. The longer I stayed there, the more captivating this foreign world became for me. My thirst for knowledge was also awakened. I felt unspeakably motivated to put my energy there and do the best I could to learn everything I could. We agreed that I would start the very next day.
The next morning, I found myself in the studio. I had found a fetish-outfit in my closet and put it on right away.
Madame Calypso was not yet there. It opened me a strange woman. I explained to her upon entering the rooms that I wanted to train as a dominatrix in the studio.
The woman was about in her early thirties, had medium-length brown hair, a prominent face and spoke a slightly Eastern European dialect.
She introduced herself as Emma and asked me to take a seat on the sofa in the kitchen. It took a while until the other colleagues gradually arrived. The most striking was a completely overexcited woman in her mid-thirties, who took a sip "Good morning Jack Daniels coke" from the can.
Every now and then the phone rang and alternately one of the women mumbled something into the phone, which I almost didn't understand over the loud chattering of the women.
Around 1 p.m., Madame Calypso also arrived. She spread a great bustle. She was expecting a guest. Within a very short time, the whole bunch dispersed and calm returned, in a few moments. Madame appeared in a short patent dress with leopard print.
"You can watch," she threw at me curtly.
My first session! How exciting! The doorbell rang and Madame Calypso welcomed the guest with a friendly and confidence-inspiring voice. You could hear other doors slamming, then there was silence. For what felt like an eternity, I sat on the sofa as if on hot coals. Finally, I was called into the clinic room. By hand signal I was told to keep quiet. The guest lay tightly tied and blindfolded on the gynecological chair. Madame took a catheter and inserted it into the urethra. She then peed into a cup. Using a syringe, she drew up her urine and filled the contents into the valve of the catheter.
"There, you horny piece, now you have a part of me in your body," she shouted to her delinquent. Then she took a huge glove and tampered with the patient's rectum until her hand disappeared completely. The man squirmed with pleasure and moaned with complete abandon.
After the session, I had to ask her if it wasn't harmful to her health to fill urine into a body. She waved it off. "Nothing can happen there and it is incredibly exciting for his head cinema when a part of me is in him."
Equally amazing for me was the fact that an entire hand could disappear into an anus like that. I had never seen that before.
Returning to the kitchen, I felt completely slain and was back and away by what I had seen.
I was now regularly present in the studio on weekdays from 11am until early evening. Emma also took me into one of her sessions. As my first independent act, I urinated on a strange man who was lying spread out on a sheet on the floor.
At first, I thought I could never get it right on the first try. But suddenly it ran as if by itself and the guest rubbed the juice with joy on his body. After that, Emma pissed on him until he poured out joyfully in a large pool of urine. The initial shyness of peeing on was quickly overcome and it was also no problem at all for me.
My first independent session was about anal eroticism. These acts were most often practiced there. The guest preferred just women who were inexperienced to introduce them to the matter. For the first time I pushed, at first very gently, finger after finger into the anus. The guest explained to me that with him you could take the full fist right away. And indeed, the fist slipped in just like that. He was quite proud to be the teacher of fisting. He still showed me this and that finger and hand movement, which produced a special pleasure. After the session I was told that at the guest had already learned each the "fisting".
The next guest I had alone was a regular at the studio. He always drove his SUV into the courtyard at top speed, as if there were no walls there. But he always braked his vehicle just in time. A man in a hurry! He came almost every day, sometimes several times a day. The guest was a jockey by profession.
The session was about playing with his nipples. In addition, I should "watching horny". A typical broad Palatinate dialect resounded towards me. In the small studio I stood behind him and put him in front of the mirror. I seized his nipples with my fingernails and twirled them alternately hard and soft. All of a sudden, I heard a sound I couldn't explain. It was like a rapid wagging, similar to the rubbing of woodwork against a flint. To try to figure out the origin of the mysterious sound, I stood on my tiptoes and looked sideways over the shoulder of the short man. The play with the fingernails excited him in such a way that he rubbed his genital, whose modest size corresponded to his body dimensions, back and forth between the two palms to relieve himself. From then on, he was known to me only as the "fire maker".
Most mornings, he sought out the studio quite drunk. The alcohol level also explained his driving style. When he was in a bad way, he would come back to the same session after a few drinks in the pub. The more often he visited the studio during the day, the drunker he arrived. He didn't care who did the session. The main thing for him was always "Watching horny!".
These were the main attractions during this period. Most guests who frequented the studio were more interested in the more bizarre area. This was understood to mean that the ladies, usually quite lightly dressed in underwear, fulfilled the erotic and sexual desires of the guests, whether in the love cave or in a more bizarre setting.
The women fulfilled all roles and switched from the active to the passive side. Most of the guests couldn't do anything with me. So, I almost always stayed in the lounge and waited until one of the ladies came out of the rooms again.
I didn't mind at all. I passed the time with horror movies that I had brought from home. By now I was also good friends with everyone and simply enjoyed the tingling atmosphere of the studio. For my colleagues, it was completely incomprehensible how you could sit there every day for two weeks without earning the slightest thing. They wouldn't put up with that for three days. But it wasn't about money for me. I wanted to gain experience. I was content to be there and assist when help was needed. I felt completely comfortable in the team at Madame Calypso, tough I saw things that hunted nightmares.
It was the games with feces that got to me. I never saw it myself, but the smell that permeated the rooms was hard to get out of my nose.
Equally strange for me was a self-confessed lover of brown delights: "Feces-Eric". He loved it when he got the excrement of the ladies filled into his own brought plastic box and warmed up the portion again at home in the microwave. "Feces-Eric" I had only seen once in my life when he rang the bell. He lived up to his name. He seemed quite peasant and already had quite a special smell of his own. I could vividly imagine how he made himself comfortable on his living room sofa and enjoyed his brown meal to the crime scene.
Everyone who worked there had a natural relationship with their bodily excretions and dealt with them quite naturally. Madame Calypso would often call out through the establishment, "Can someone take a shit right now? I need some!"
One image I will never forget was a man lying naked in the middle of the linoleum floor in the hallway. Madame Calypso came over and stood over him. She just peed on him and ran into her next session. The guest remained lying there completely wet and no one cared. The urine sloshed over him and the floor.
A funny fetish had a man I only knew from stories. He was called "the cucumber-shooter". He took great pleasure in inserting cucumbers rectally and shooting them out with sudden pressure. The farther the cucumbers flew, the more joyful he became. He was the star of the parties that regularly took place in the studio.
I was never present at the party events. I was also never asked to join in there. I remember that shortly before my closing time, Madame Calypso became quite hectic. She urged the women in a jostling tone to finally get changed, it was about to start.
The homepage and some print media that were on display in the studio gave me a rough idea of what it was like. One saw there mostly naked to half-naked women, who were made unrecognizable. The ladies put both fists in the butts of various gentlemen.
Every time has its end. After three weeks, Madame Calypso called me into her office. In a calm and firm tone, she explained to me that working in her studio made no sense for me. I would be better off elsewhere. She also knew of a studio that she could recommend to me. The work there would be more classical.
The announcement that I would no longer be allowed to come hit me like a gush of cold water over the head. I assured her that I didn't mind the low earnings. I would like to stay. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had felt so comfortable in the studio. That was all going to be over now?
Madame Calypso recommended to me exactly the studio where Mistress Nadja also worked. Despite all my misgivings about Mistress Nadja, of whom I had heard nothing good, Madame stuck to her opinion. She assured me that should any problems arise, she would stand by me. To alleviate my reservations about the studio, she told me that it had not belonged to Nadja for a long time and that I probably had almost nothing to do with her. She immediately called there and recommended me as an interested beginner.
The last word was spoken. Now it was time to pack up the video films and say goodbye to the women who were sitting in the lounge as they do every morning. I was to go straight to the boss of the new studio. Madame Calypso gave me the address and sent me on my way.
Chapter 2 - Experiences
So, I made my way to the unknown establishment. What else could I do? I resigned myself to my fate and tried to appear as impartial as possible.
Punctually at the agreed time, I rang the bell at the house in question. Visually, it looked a lot better than the 70s building in which Madame Calypso's studio was located. The house was built at the beginning of the 20th century in the typical mansion style. I rang the bell and was let in.
A spacious staircase welcomed me. Even the old steps and banisters betrayed the aesthetics of the turn of the century. The studio was on the second floor. Once there, I stood in front of an old, white double door. The inscription "Practice" was emblazoned on a golden sign.
The first impression revealed a rather stately residence for dominant ladies who ran their regiment here.
One wing of the door opened and a red heavy curtain, similar to the one in a theater, was pushed forward. A tall, slender, brunette lady in her mid-forties, dressed in discreet black clothing, appeared behind the doorman and kindly extended her hand in greeting.
She led me into the reception room. The parquet flooring reflected the ceiling lighting. The eye-catcher of the room was a stylish récamiere behind a glass table. On the table were specialized magazines and books. Here one could wait and browse.
Several large, white doors in the style of the founder´s area hid the adjacent rooms. Everything looked perfect and sublime. It was easy to imagine that the gentlemen knelt down here more than in the other studio. The upscale ambience alone was awe-inspiring, in contrast to the dark and wildly mixed furnishings at my previous place of work.
The woman introduced herself as the studio owner Lady Magdalena. She asked me to take a seat in her office. To get there, we had to pass through the clinic, where I already got a first impression.
In the office sat a woman who was completely engrossed in the screen of her computer. There was a couch and a large living room table. The huge row of cabinets against the wall was overloaded with books and magazines.
When prompted, I took a seat on the sofa. Magdalena began the conversation with a little small talk. She wanted to know everything that had happened in the studio of Madame Calypso. I could not report much. Except that I had felt very comfortable there, but Madame Calypso was of the opinion that I would be better off in a classic SM studio. Magdalena reacted with a laugh. She guessed where the wind was blowing and pulled my tooth right away.
She immediately clarified that room guests were rare in her house, but that no one in the team felt too fine to also serve this type of clientele. So, there it was again, the inevitable topic! Only with the difference that here there seemed to be no way around the vexed issue.
After her execution, the woman at the PC turned around and nodded supportively to Magdalena. While I was first digesting these customs of the house, another lady entered and greeted the two women present with a kiss on the cheek. I still remembered her from the photos on the website: that was Mistress Nadja. Tall, roundly in stature, she was certainly approaching sixty. But she had a charisma that could be compared to that of Liz Taylor. Sublime and distant, she looked at the foreign face after her greeting ritual.
The ladies chatted a bit and then came back to the topic that was so unpleasant for me.
Nadja wiped away my concerns and the practices involved with a wave of her hand, glamorously lighting a cigarette. "It's not so bad and so rare that any discussion is moot."
That was the end of the matter. Magdalena showed me the studio rooms. The distinguished strip parquet gleamed on all the floors. The light, understated gray of the walls, especially the tall, white doors, gave the establishment an incredible flair. The clinic was located just outside the office and looked like an older doctor's office. It was furnished with a hospital bed, a conference table, and a gynecological chair that seemed to be nowhere to be missed. Sliding doors led from here into other studio rooms.
Magdalena strode through the clinic into the so-called "big studio". I saw a wide variety of SM furniture there: a slave chair, a bondage bench with a pulley above it on the beam frame, and a special gynecological chair, but it didn't look particularly clinical. Everything looked very neat and emphasized the noble atmosphere. The utensils hung in an orderly fashion and lined up on wall hooks or were stowed away in display cases in a clearly visible manner. A lounge with a small side table invited to linger.
The adjoining room was called "the little studio". Here was a tethered couch, a freestanding Andrew's cross and a large cage. A récamiere with a side table and a candlestick decoratively filled the corner. Here, too, a wide variety of percussion instruments hung lined up on hooks. Pictures of the ladies working there, photographed in tasteful fetish gear, lined a small part of the wall.
At the end of the tour we came to the so-called "cuddle room", which was also the passage to the only bathroom of the studio. The ambience is always similar: a large bed, a massage bench and a huge closet made the room not particularly beautiful, but purposeful. In contrast to the other rooms, however, the furnishings seemed a bit stepmotherly to me. It probably served more for the ladies to change than for amorous adventures.
Next door was the kitchen, which was spartan but practically equipped. There was a small old sofa, its good times long behind it, and a kitchen table with four wooden chairs. The built-in kitchen looked worn, even some cabinet doors were missing. A small toilet was adjacent.
In the worst-case scenario, if I was coerced into "room activity," I could always pack my bag and leave the studio. I wanted to try it here.
I was very taken with the ambience and confident that I could learn something here. The many official awards that were proudly hung on the walls also confirmed my opinion. In addition, my earlier reservations about the strict mistress Nadja disappeared. She left me with almost a motherly impression.
I looked forward to the new challenges with great enthusiasm.
I could also afford this in terms of time. Christian took over the store during my studio stays and kept my back free.
On the first day of work, which followed immediately after getting to know each other, the woman who had sat at the computer during the interview opened the door for me. Friendly, she greeted me and showed me my place in the kitchen. She introduced herself as Amelie and was apparently Magdalena's right-hand woman.
I took a seat on one of the old wooden chairs. Amelie made herself a coffee and disappeared into the office. Two hours later, Lady Magdalena also arrived.
She greeted me in the kitchen, also took something to drink. Then she too went into her office. Through the closed door I occasionally heard the telephone ringing and distant voices answering. Towards afternoon, the doorbell rang for the first time. I heard heels on the parquet floor. Amelie received the visitor with exuberant joy. Doors slammed and Amelie appeared in the kitchen to get her guest a drink. Thereupon one heard small womanly scream and a steady clapping. Apparently, she was also working passively. After a good hour, she entered the kitchen with a red head and shining eyes. She appeared visibly relaxed and in a good mood. Amelie put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and disappeared again.
Around 6 p.m., I packed up my things and headed home. To say goodbye, I went back to the office. Amelie sat at the computer and Magdalena knitted on the couch.
The following day was similar. I sat alone in my seat in the kitchen. Apart from the interruptions of the two ladies in the office who were making coffee, nothing else happened. The telephone also seemed to remain quiet, as far as one could tell from the kitchen. At least no one rang the doorbell either. To pass the time, I got myself some special SM reading.
The next day it remained also quiet. Only this time, I noticed the sounds of the constantly running washing machine and the ticking of the wall clock. Occasionally, the monotonous sounds were interrupted when one of the two ladies once again went to get something to drink.
To pass the time, I talked on the phone with Emma, with whom I was still in contact. The silence and the constant ticking of the clock put me into a deep doze. This was apparently one of those days when the phone rang only occasionally and nothing else stirred. Now and then I heard Mistress Nadja laughing from the office. The sounds from over there were the only contact I had with my colleagues.
Of the other ladies listed on the website, no one showed up for duty. Maybe they were on vacation. Only Mistress Nadja came in around afternoon with her little dog and disappeared again without much fuss. Amelie was always there in the morning. Magdalena's time began around one o'clock. Occasionally the doorbell would ring. Either Amelie or Mistress Nadja herself received the guest. One was not allowed to watch. I waited in vain for a corresponding offer.
Around 6pm, I packed my things and said goodbye. In this monotonous rhythm I spent the whole week in the kitchen. All alone with the rotation of the washing machine and the ticking of the clock. Once a day, the already familiar soundscape was supplemented by the running of the dishwasher.
Meanwhile, Amelie crouched over there in front of the computer, Magdalena knitted, and Nadja dozed on the couch. Only occasionally was this silence interrupted by conversations, phone calls and the ringing of the doorbell. Every day the same routine! What a difference from the other lively studio! I felt so alone in my kitchen and forgotten by everyone. In between, I asked myself what I was supposed to be doing here.
The next week began just as the last one had ended. The washing machine and the ticking of the clock almost drove me crazy.
Mostly active guests rang for Amelie. I was never allowed to watch these sessions.
Thus, left to myself, I occupied myself with the SM manuals I had brought with me. The first two days passed again in the same soporific rhythm of the kitchen appliances. Quite frustrated and totally exhausted from the fatigue of doing nothing and sitting, I made my way home as I did every day. My back ached from the hard-wooden chairs. I was already having nightmares about the kitchen and the same noises around me all the time.
The following Wednesday, that changed. A young student returned from her vacation and kept me company in the kitchen. Now I could talk a little and the time was no longer quite so dull.
The student used the time of "squatting", as she called the waiting, to prepare for her studies. She also enlightened me about the social customs in this studio.
