Yes, Mistress

I had just been back in Germany for a few days and was already in trouble. The kind of trouble a starving submissive like myself had been longing for. Sara had known me for years. She knew of my secret life as an escort. And I knew of her not-so-secret life as a professional dominatrix.

[What I’m describing in this post happened in mid-September in Berlin. At the time, the Coronavirus was well controlled, although initial infection numbers from travelers returning from vacation showed a mild uptick. Still, going out was considered safe — this has unfortunately changed in the past three months.]

“Say it, I can’t hear you.” Shit, we are still in the bar with other people around us, she can’t be serious. Just looking at her was intimidating. And now she gives me a stern look that leaves no doubt about her intentions.

I hesitate. Calling her ‘my mistress’ in public was not in my plan. Apparently, though, it is very much part of her plan. The words are hanging on my lips and blood is rushing to my head. I’m not used to being submissive in public anymore. It had been a while. And I’ve missed it.

“But, S…” She cuts me off before I can even finish her name. Her way of telling me that my status has changed from being a friend and lover to being her slave. She doesn’t use words, worse, she uses silence to show her dominant status. The power that radiates from her is amazing. She can switch from chatty to dominate in a flash. Her look changes, her demeanor, her gestures, and worst, of all, her unrelenting determination to impose her will on me.

“Yes, Mistress.” It is the second time I say these words, just this time loud enough for others to hear me. Just the way she likes it. “Good, now go ahead, get ready, and wait for me.” It’s hard to describe how terrifying this sounds when it comes from Sara. There was not going to be any ‘but’, or ‘please’. Just obedience.

I’m getting up, my head lowered. I know what comes next. She set out the rules and I wouldn’t dare let her down. Fear, combined with an eagerness to please, focus my mind like nothing else. I am her slave. She is my Mistress. I will do as she says.

I have only a few minutes before she comes up to my room. She is expecting me to present myself as the slave that I am. Ready to be humiliated, trained, and punished. As a Dominatrix, Sara does not get cuddly, she does not allow anyone to touch her. The only contact comes at the expense of painful floggings, caning, or other forms of erotic torture.

Up in my room, I get out of my clothes, throw them back in the suitcase, and check that all my toys are carefully displayed for her use. Now it’s time to take my position.

My Mistress knows how much I love public humiliation. As a good slave, I am waiting for her on my knees in an obedient slave position. My back to the hallway, as she had instructed. The door open, held by me until she arrives.

The phycological terror of the situation is unbearable. I’m in a public hotel, granted, with relatively few guests. Still, the slightest noise freezes my blood. I can hear the elevator going up and down. With every sound, I could find myself in the humiliating situation of encountering a staff member, or worse, a hotel guest.

This would go against every rule I have, but those rules don’t exist in Sara’s world. Once I accept her as my Mistress, and she says ‘Good’, we have an unbreakable contract. Her rules apply, and her rules only. If I were a better slave, I would trust her. Accept that she has taken over responsibility for my actions. There was a time when I could just let go, give myself completely. Now I can’t. I have to learn, again, what it feels like to fully submit.

Forcing myself to stay in position no matter what sounds I hear is the worst. I hear the elevator door open. Please let it be Sara! It closes again. There are steps, they are coming closer. Then some chatter. Shit, this is not Sara! I’m so fucked. If I moved from my position, I’ll never forgive myself. I need to learn to trust her, to accept my position beneath her. Paralyzed with fear, resignation turns to acceptance. It feels good to accept whatever may happen next.

I can’t move, I can’t turn around. Not until my Mistress says so. I’m thinking ‘Yes, Mistress. Yes, Mistress’. All I have to hold onto is my acceptance to be her slave. I have to trust her.

The chatter is inaudible, some giggling interrupted by the sound of the elevator door opening again. Please let this be Sara! I have no idea who is in the hallway, but there is no doubt they are looking at me. Fuck, they may even be taking pictures!

“She’s mine.” I was never so relieved to hear Sara’s voice. Yes, I was displaying myself of my own free will, exposing myself to others. But my Mistress asked that I do and that made it her decision, not mine. I had given her the power to do so; to keep me frozen in place, no matter the consequences.

“Yes, she is my slave and, no, you may not take any pictures of her. If you did, you will delete them. Have I made myself clear?” There is no more chatter, no giggling, just the sound of a guest room door closing and being locked from the inside.

Steps are coming close. My eyes are wide open and yet I’m blind to what is going on behind me. There is just the silence of an empty hotel corridor. The elevator still hums as it goes up and down. Sara, no, my Mistress is quiet. Her silence scares me.

“Good slave.” My eyes close with relief; I passed her first test. She is proud of me. I can tell by the softness in her voice. She doesn’t have to show her dominance any longer. She can tell how much I missed just being her slave.