This was real service, not a session.

I had the very good fortune of scheduling a session with Mistress Darcy on a recent trip to New York City. Before the evening ended, I had the surprise pleasure of serving not only Mistress Darcy, but also Mistress Carly, both of whom deserve a place amongst the most beautiful and talented professionals working today.

After a series of email exchanges and a brief telephone call, I arranged to meet Darcy at an Italian restaurant near my hotel. I arrived before she did, and I was seated at a table in the back. I was stunned when she arrived ten minutes later. She has a personal presence that extends beyond her overwhelming physical beauty. It stems from her confidence, the way in which she carries herself and the collective energy she draws from a room that cannot help but notice her. This presence was likely incubated in the laid-back culture of her west coast childhood, refined during her extensive travels in London and Paris, and hardened in her now New York home. Her IQ is obvious, but her emotional intelligence is staggering. She seemed to me to be all things to all men and what every woman hopes to be. She turned more heads than mine as she strolled into the restaurant and back to my table.

I knew immediately that she owned me. I stood to greet her, kissing the leather glove on her hand as she presented it to me. She sat down and her eyes consumed me. They were unwavering, staring me down. I’m certain she saw through the charade of my professional exterior in my dark suit and tie. I felt as if she saw me as I felt inside my own mind… naked and exposed. Her dark hair fell against her cashmere sweater… there was an ironic softness in everything about her.

She improved me instantly my hands were to remain on my lap, I was to speak only when permission was granted, and I would eat and drink only what pleased her. The waiter stepped back in amazement when, after she ordered for me, I asked her for permission to order a second glass of wine. The waiter clearly thought we were kidding, but her response subjugated him as much as it hypnotized me. She spoke curtly to him on my behalf. I belonged to her. My cock strained inside the confines of the CB3000 I had worn for days leading up to this dinner.

We had pre-arranged to leave the restaurant and complete the session in my nearby hotel. To my surprise and without explanation, Darcy had me hand her not one, but both of the hotel keys that I had brought with me. I obeyed without question, and while this escalated my sense of personal vulnerability, we went on to finish a wonderful dinner together. There was a real risk of awkwardness in this setting, but there was none to be found. My continued obedience and very conscious reverence was rewarded with a magnificent dinner conversation, which had me opening up as if I had known her my entire life. Mostly, however, I listened. She sensed my servants’ heart, and while she always spoke down to me, I was grateful to be spoken to at all. I smiled, I blushed, and I believe that I could not have been happier than I was at that very moment. I glowed in the spotlight of her incredible, benevolent authority.

I was asked to carry her purse as we left the restaurant. She pulled me by my pocket through the still crowded street and right up until we reached the elevator of my hotel. At this point she handed me back one of her room keys, and she asked me to go ahead to the room and wait for her to come up.

I confess that this act on her part created a real sense of anxiety for me. I felt certain that she was going to meet someone else, perhaps already waiting in the hotel lobby, that she would bring them back to the room with her. I am well aware that the boundaries of her imagination extend beyond the limits of anything that I have experienced in the past. Would she return to my room with a muscular young lover? Would I be humiliated in her presence and introduced to cuckolding? Would I be made to serve another man for her amusement? She knew that my own fantasies were built of emotionally and psychologically complex elements. I am always seeking ritual reinforcement of my place in the pecking order. What sort of intense metaphors for my place in her world might she have in mind for me? What sort of tests of my obedience could she pose?

These were the thoughts clouding my mind as I stepped off the elevator and opened the door to my room. You could not imagine my incredible surprise when I saw, sitting casually on the room’s couch, a strikingly beautiful blonde woman. She quickly introduced herself as Darcy’s friend Mistress Carly. Darcy had given Carly one of my room keys when she had excused herself to use the restroom at the restaurant. It turns out I would be serving both women this evening.

Carly is a perfect counterpoint to Darcy. Carly is statuesque while Darcy is petite. Darcy’s hair is dark while Carly’s is blonde. Both women, however, command respect. Both women are beautiful and deserve any submissive’s eager surrender.

I was told to strip, and to begin my service to these women. Without a doubt, the most wonderful thing about the time spent with them was that I was very genuinely existing to please them. There were no contrived acts on their part that were intended to meet my expectations for a session. If they wanted their feet rubbed, I rubbed them. If they wanted a body massage, I responded in kind. I ordered them room service; I crawled into a ball and served as their footstool while they chatted. This was REAL service, not a session. What a refreshing and remarkable difference this was from most of the “checklist” professional sessions that I have had in the past.

Case in point was the three golden showers I had the privilege of experiencing with these women. I had not discussed my interest in this activity with Darcy. However, when Darcy had to pee, it amused her to have me crawl into the bathtub and sing while she urinated on me. I cupped my hands and drew her warm nectar to my lips. This pleasure was matched when Carly did the same later in the evening, and then again when Darcy repeated the ritual.

I already ache to serve these women again. Little comments that they dropped, secret fetishes that they shared still haunt my dreams. I have committed to both of them that the next time that we meet I will trust them completely, allowing my limits to be bound only by their impulses. If they take me somewhere dark and forbidden, if they change me forever to amuse themselves for just a moment, then so be it. If I suffer for them it will not be because I expect anything in return. I will suffer for them because I know it is what I am meant to do. That is the beauty and the truth of submission.

(Posted by yournich on March 14, 2011)