During the day abovebinter the bar, at night in the torture cellar
How I kept my double life as a dominatrix secret for years
The erotic story to end the day
1998 – I had just turned 24 and my double life as a dominatrix was still far ahead of me. The wildest years I had behind me. Sadomaso parties, alcohol excesses, boys and yes, even a few drugs I had tried. Until my boyfriend at the time, Michael, died of a heroin overdose. He didn’t just die, Michael died miserably. I watched helplessly as the addiction ate him up, he was less and less himself.
On the day of Michael’s funeral, I renounced cigarettes, alcohol, drugs. I swore to myself that I would never want to have anything to do with these things again.
Eight years later I was married, had found an insanely attractive man in Martin, and had a four-year-old daughter whom I loved more than anything and who warmed my heart anew every day. She went to the children’s ballet every natntag and on weekends I sometimes took her swimming. She loved the water and frolicked in the cool waters of the baby pool while I did my laps. Since pregnancy I had put on a few pounds, but I had almost gotten rid of them. Nevertheless, I continued to go to the swimming pool every Saturday morning.
I worked at a health club behind the counter serving new members and serving drinks. The job was fun from time to time, but it wasn’t the big jackpot. Still, I was glad to have a job at all, because the unemployment rate in our neighborhood was higher than elsewhere in the city. The kindergarten was only a few minutes’ walk from the sports center, which was very convenient for me because my dear husband, a civil engineer, was often on the road and I sometimes didn’t get to see him for days at a time when he was once again in another city for a meeting.
Martin worked in a large company dealing in prefabricated houses and earned reasonably. Not much, but enough for us to live on. He had a small official apartment in Augsburg, sometimes staying there for two weeks at a time while I stayed home with our little one. We had good sex, only one passion Martin could not share with me: I was and am a follower of BDSM. Sadist, to be more precise. I like to hurt men during sex, set the tone in bed. However, all this was nothing for my husband, so I suppressed my inclinations and we made “stino-love” [“stino” = “stinking normal”; editor’s note]. Martin grew up in a very Catholic home. He strictly rejected such practices and once even called me, his own wife, sick and perverted. In an argument, he offered to drive me directly to the psychiatric ward.
The shocking confession of a young mother
My life actually took place in a regular way. Until I read an ad in the newspaper that new flight attendants were wanted in Frankfurt. This was my absolute dream job! I applied without further ado, sent my resume to the airline and was promptly invited for an interview. Martin was not very enthusiastic, but I wanted to finally live my dream of the big wide world and persuaded him to drive me to Frankfurt. With weak knees, I entered the large corporate headquarters and waited in the anteroom of the personnel manager for my chance. The interview went solidly and with a “we’ll be in touch” I was sent home afterwards. Martin said that they wouldn’t call me anyway after that line.
Nevertheless – three weeks later, I had long since dispelled the thought of the fancy uniform of the pretty stewardesses, I received an email asking me to report to the Frankfurt headquarters again. My heart leapt when I called to make an appointment for the following week. Martin was amazed, but somehow resigned himself to the idea of seeing even less of me in the near future. Our marriage was not going very well by now, so that was the least of my headaches.
We often quarreled over little things and sometimes even avoided each other more or less. I was more worried about our daughter, but the airport had a company kindergarten, as I could read on the airline’s homepage. So everything is not so bad, I thought to myself. In fact, I was offered an employment contract. The salary wasn’t exactly enticing, but I could live with that. More than in the fitness club it was all the time. And on top of that, my new working paper was surrounded by a touch of wanderlust.
Five months later, I had quit my old job on time and was sitting in the Main metropolis training flight attendants. I felt I was being trained well and was full of energy at my new employer. After another four months, I had completed the course as the best and the renewed flight and tropical fitness was still pending, which I also mastered with flying colors. I was now a stewardess and proud as Oscar! I subsequently got to know a wide variety of crews, first flying domestic short-haul routes to Munich and a year later medium-haul routes to Andalusia, Mallorca and the Canary Islands.
My marriage was on the rocks, but still I had taken the new job with the airline
The relationship with Martin flared up again in the meantime, but there was not much love left. The kindergarten for our little one had worked out wonderfully and while I was flying around the world, they were taking care of her touchingly and I had a good feeling about leaving her on the ground. Martin, as usual, worked often and a lot, was on the road most of the time, and now lived more than half of his time in the small Augsburg apartment.
Before a flight to Tenerife, I joined the rest of the cabin crew, the pilot and the first officer for a briefing in the lounge – and this is where the blow almost hit me. The flight captain was Thomas, an old acquaintance of my late ex-boyfriend Michael. He had a submissive streak and in the past we were often together at some fetish parties. With him I had the best sex of my life, we had an intimate relationship at a young age, which was characterized by S&M games. I didn’t lead a double life as a dominatrix, but I liked to torture him and Thomas loved to be humiliated. He had gotten older, but still looked dazzling. I did not know that he had become a pilot. The uniform looked really good on him and when I saw him like that, my knees went weak. When he recognized me, he smiled at me, took a few steps towards me and gave me a quick hug. He went through the briefing quickly and professionally, there was rather no time to chat, in 40 minutes our plane took off towards Spain.
We lost sight of each other at TFS [the code for Tenerife Airport; editor’s note] and on the return flight there was a different captain in the cockpit. I had to think about this encounter for a long time, it was so unexpected and sudden after all these years. My thoughts kept wandering, and I couldn’t get Thomas out of my head. His smile, the sex from before, our shared experiences. Things that I could never have shared with my husband Martin. I kept getting sick to my stomach thinking about Thomas. I would have liked to see him again, but he was only working on a temporary basis on the medium-haul route, as I was able to find out at the airline’s planning center. And since I didn’t fly long haul, I didn’t have a chance to fly in the same plane with him again.
Two years went by. I still had to think about Thomas from time to time, even when I was having sex with Martin. Then a hard blow of fate hit me, abruptly ending my dream. The airline needed to cut costs, and since I hadn’t been working there that long, I was one of the first to be terminated for operational reasons. At that time, of course, I had no idea that this would become my greatest happiness. With a heavy heart, I turned in my uniform on my last day of work and sat in the car, crying. I howled bitterly. It was not until an hour later that I was able to drive home. Martin was no consolation to me, secretly he was probably pleased that my dream had burst like a soap bubble. We hardly slept together in the coming months, we had somehow grown apart. In the meantime, our little girl went to school and did not notice anything about our crisis.
As I sat at the employment office waiting for my counselor, Mr. Hoffmann, I couldn’t believe it when the door opened and a man said goodbye to Mr. Hoffmann. It was Thomas! Laughing, we fell into each other’s arms. He waited until I had handed in my documents and then invited me to have a coffee in the canteen. As it turned out, he too was no longer working as a pilot for the airline and had fallen victim to the red pen there just as I had, just a few months later.
Now he didn’t really know what to do with his life and told me about his plan to open a dominatrix studio in a stately villa. When he asked me if I would like to work there, my coffee cup almost fell out of my hand in shock. I snorted loudly and asked him if he was still in his right mind. A double life as a dominatrix was not for me, I somehow still loved my Martin a little bit despite all our quarrels and differences and could not do that to him. Thomas, however, remained adamant and let me into his secrets about how the studio should look and what service he wanted to offer the guests. Now all he needed was the grant from the employment agency and he could get started.
Thomas’ offer did not leave my mind anymore
Of course, I declined his offer. Never could I have accepted it. Me as a full-time dominatrix? Never! A little later I found a decent job in a small café in our town. In the meantime I got along better with Martin and he slept more often at home again. Today I think we were just going through a bad phase, as I guess happens in every marriage at some point. But running straight to the divorce lawyer was out of the question for us at any point. Since I only worked part-time because our daughter came home from school in the early afternoon and we couldn’t get a place in daycare, however, money became tight at some point. From Martin’s salary we had to pay off the installments for our house, the real estate financing was still running for a long time and somehow we had to get through it now.
When our car gave up the ghost and we had to take out a loan for it, we were financially reeling. My parents were able to help us out with 10,000 euros, but we still lacked the same amount to buy a new car. The monthly installments and high interest rates on the loan were getting to us. It was at this time that I first thought back to Thomas’ offer, which stuck with me. A double life as a dominatrix? Men beat for money? I couldn’t really make friends with it. Although I had done this in my spare time and out of my own desire 15 years ago, but not professionally and certainly not as a dominatrix in a studio.
During this time, Martin received a notice of termination and was faced with the decision to accept another position for which he was completely overqualified and which paid really badly, or to lose his job and risk our house. Since our home was out of the question – if only because of our daughter – he grudgingly accepted the transfer. Now we were in an absolute mess, the money was not enough at the back and front. Again my thoughts circled around Thomas. I called him and we arranged to meet. We met in a restaurant. I would have preferred a café, but when he suggested inviting me, I finally agreed.
We talked about God and the world, the old job at the airline and about times long gone. Embarrassed, I asked him at some point if the offer with the studio still stood. He answered in the affirmative and told me that his three ladies, who were working for him in the meantime, were earning good money, but that he had room for four ladies. I became curious and had details told to me. Everything I wanted to know. So I also learned that each lady was given a maid who was loyal to her and performed sexual acts on the guest on command, since the ladies usually refused any sexual contact. He offered me the opportunity to take a look at the studio. It was somewhat hidden at the end of a park. A splendid villa with a very welcoming driveway and a stately portal. That women here led a double life as dominatrixes could not be seen from the outside. The men who were guests here had to have money. This was certainly not cheap. Now I knew why Thomas could afford the expensive Jaguar.
I couldn’t get out of my amazement when we entered the premises. Everything was of the finest, the walls were covered with dark red velvet, the doors and window frames flashed and shimmered gilded in the light of the glass-beaded chandeliers. Thomas was visibly proud of what he had achieved and introduced me to Madame d’Avignon, a French dominatrix whose accent did not sound sweet at all like our neighbors, but rather stern. She was very nice, though, and when Thomas asked her to guide me through the various themed rooms, she did so willingly and literally took me by the hand. Each room was a work of art in itself, every imaginable adult toy was here. I liked the medieval dungeon with the rack and the dark cells best. A torture cellar par excellence. In the light of the many candles I could guess what pleasure pain here the solvent men had to “suffer”. Or were allowed to – depending on your point of view.
I enjoyed my new life and financial freedom
When I was back home, the plan matured in me to accept Thomas’ offer and work as a professional dominatrix. Martin was not allowed to find out about it under any circumstances, and our friends were also far too prudish to have put up with it. Besides, I didn’t want our daughter to experience any disadvantages because of my new job. I decided to keep my little secret. Madame d’Avignon, who led a double life as a dominatrix herself, became a good friend to me and trained me to be a full-blooded dominatrix. She taught me all the important techniques, showed me the proper use of whips and crops, and taught me how to place catheters and dilators [urethral spreaders; editor’s note]. When my apprenticeship with her was finished, I was assigned a young, pretty maid. Together with her, I received our guests. Discretion was paramount, many of the submissive men were politicians from our town or executives of the insurance company based here. Once I even had a well-known member of the Hessian parliament as a guest. I didn’t recognize him, but the other girls told me later who had been there with me.
I had told Martin that I was put in charge at the café, so I got more money. To this day, I don’t know if he believed that at the time, because I brought home a whole chunk of money more. In the studio I earned really well, the job in the café I had of course long ago only for the purpose of camouflage. It was not much fun, nor did I enjoy the pittance my boss paid me. During the day I stood behind the bar, at night I chastised wealthy men in the torture cellar. I arranged it so that a babysitter stayed with my daughter, Martin mostly slept out anyway. Nobody noticed anything. I enjoyed my new life to the fullest.
After a few months I bought my own car. I had made Martin believe that I had won it in a lottery. A beautiful 6 series BMW convertible in white. A dream. Our financial worries were a thing of the past, I had a lot of fun in the studio and was able to fully enjoy my double life as a dominatrix just like my actual inclinations. For several years I worked as Lady Angelique at the Villa, met many different people, and Thomas became one of my best friends along with Madame d’Avignon. I didn’t know how long I would work here, but didn’t worry about it and lived in the moment.
Our friends, our family. Everyone was in the dark. Even Martin. Our neighbors, with whom we were good friends, rejoiced with us that we had survived both our marital and financial crises; our daughter was at the top of her class in school, had many hobbies, and helped serve meals at a nursing home on the side. I was able to organize my free time freely, even started a correspondence course in psychology in private lessons on the side, since this had already been of burning interest to me for a long time, but I had neither the time nor the money for such an expensive affair. I had hired a personal trainer for my fitness. I had enough time during the day. My husband thought I was in the café, but I preferred to sit in the beauty salon and have my skin cared for. He had no clue about my double life as a dominatrix. Every time I wanted to take him a little harder during sex, he resisted, saying that all this was not for him.
On a cold winter Thursday I drove my BMW to the studio, took off my everyday clothes and slipped into my frivolous dominatrix outfit, put on the high black boots and let my maid lace me the corset. I put on some perfume, touched up my lips and checked the fit of my hair. Madame d’Avignon had traveled to France on a family matter and so I took on one of her clients today.
She had committed me and told me about his fantasies. So he was particularly turned on by hard trampling: stomping around with high heels or boots on his naked body. He wanted to be kicked until he whimpered in pain like a maltreated dog. Tortured and humiliated. I was to urinate in his face and use a scalpel to scratch his skin, stretch his urethra while hitting his penis hard with a wooden board. If my faithful husband Martin had known what I do for a living, that I lead a double life as a dominatrix, he would have left me on the spot.
In the meantime, my maid prepared the guest, forged him with chains on the rack and began to put clamps on his nipples. He was writhing in pain and horniness, his hard and powerful erection indicating that he was definitely looking forward to the new lady and the treatment by her. So far, he has been a guest exclusively at Madame d’Avignon. He wanted to be tortured, had booked the dark cage overnight and couldn’t wait to meet his mistress for tonight. When I entered the dungeon and he saw my face, the blood froze in his veins, the color drained from his face and he looked at me sallowly. It was Martin.
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