What It's REALLY Like To Be A Plus-Size Dominatrix

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Being A Plus-Size Dominatrix For A Day
Sex

BDSM isn't about pain; it's a form of sexual expression.

I decided to become a plus-sized Dominatrix after being out of work for what seemed like forever and having run out of my usual job options. (There's not a lot that a degree in Theater Arts will prepare you for in the real world.) If worse came to worse, I figured I could pretend that I was only acting the part of a Dominatrix.

I had never embraced my own curves. My body and I were like roommates who only spoke when there was a problem — roommates who hated to spend time with each other. Could I do a job that revolved around body love and body strength — and most importantly, was I desperate enough to give it a try?

The answer was yes. 

My first task was to find a client, so I put it out there that I was interested in becoming a Dominatrix. A friend of a friend (isn't it always about who you know?) put me in contact with Matt, aka Big Sub, a man who wanted a big woman to spank him. It wasn't a paying job yet but I could use it as a jumping-off point. It was my first step in what I hoped would be a lucrative career in domination.

The more research I did, the more things I found that convinced me that being a Dominatrix was the job for me. 

BDSM isn't about pain; it's a form of sexual expression and a set of erotic preferences. There are Dominatrixes of every kind; as an industry they're very accepting of any shape, size or nationality.

I also liked the fact that the hours were flexible, that I'd learn all kinds of new things, and that I'd be my own boss. Since I couldn’t just trail a working "domme" (short for dominatrix/dominant) as I would if I was learning how to be a waitress, I was unsure about how to train myself in this new world. The internet came to my rescue and I was able to watch some YouTube tutorials on the art of domination.

When I spoke to Big Sub on the phone to set up our first appointment, I made it clear to him that I was only interested in spanking for this first session and luckily, that's all he wanted.

But my head started to spin when I thought about what I should wear: leather or latex, hood or mask, or a combination of all four? Fetish wear is expensive and I didn't want to invest a lot of money on something that might not be a good fit career-wise.

I decided to go with a faux leather Dominatrix costume from the Halloween store. If this dom stuff didn't work out, I'd really scare those trick-or-treaters when I opened the door holding a fake cat o' nine tails.

Squeezing myself into a pleather bustier was torture but I reminded myself that if I had gotten a job as a nurse or a fast food worker, I'd still have to wear a uniform. I looked in the mirror and tried to see my body as sexy.

I reminded myself that I was playing the role of Mistress Christine, a strong, dominant woman who was capable, self-reliant and beautiful. I sucked it in, laced it up, and went to my first session.

I left Big Sub's address with my roommate and emailed it to three other people, including the person who helped arrange the date. I didn't take the fact that I was going to a stranger's house lightly. If this did work out and I had more clients in the future, I'd come up with a system to vet them before agreeing to a session or encourage them to schedule something by Skype. Remote spanking sounded really appealing and like the easiest job ever.

Big Sub lived in a moderate ranch-style house in the suburbs of Los Angeles. I had barely reached his front porch steps when he opened the door smiling and motioned for me to come inside. I got the feeling that he liked what he saw but he said very little.

As I followed him to the master bedroom, I had to snake my way between huge boxes of paper towels, cookies and toilet paper. The house appeared to be decorated in bulk grocery items.

I had always heard that the kind of person who used the services of a Dominatrix were usually powerful men like lawyers, doctors and politicians who needed to be dominated as a relief from their everyday stress. Big Sub didn't appear to be a powerful in any way except in size. I wondered if all the boxes made him feel safe and protected like my extra weight made me feel.

His bedroom was very plain except for some novelty ceramic statues of a sad-looking guy playing various sports. But I started to relax; a man who had a figurine collection wasn't dangerous....right?

He undressed and lay down on the bed. Without saying anything, he pointed to the hairbrush on the table. I knew that was what he wanted me to spank him with. I was picking up on the subtle clues that my client was giving me. My years of doing improv were going to come in handy.

As I stood there next to the bed looking down on Big Sub, I didn't feel ridiculous dressed in my pleather bustier; I felt commanding and strong.

I was in charge of the session and whatever happened. He trusted me (even though he knew very little about me), which made me want to do a good job even more. I’ve always been a hard worker and was prepared to give this new profession my all.

I started out slowly, spanking him equally on both sides of his butt. He stayed quiet and I couldn't tell if he was enjoying it or not. I spanked and spanked, stopping only to see if I was bringing any kind of color to his ass, as I'd learned that would be the only kind of performance appraisal I was likely to get.

But his cheeks stayed defiantly pale. Nobody told me that spanking could be more exhausting than rehearsing a fight scene. It wasn't too long before I felt like I needed a break but unlike an office job there's no mandatory 10-minute break in BDSM.

After about 15 minutes of solid spanking, he wasn't any closer to completion. I wondered how I would know when my shift was over. Would he climax or simply say he'd had enough? We hadn't come up with a safe word beforehand. I guess if he started saying something like banana or James Van Der Beek repeatedly, I'd know he was done.

The spanking continued and my arm and hand were getting tired, but I pushed myself to keep going. I was taking this job seriously and wanted to make it work. I was getting exhausted and bored and started to daydream about going a tropical vacation. I wasn't paying attention when my hand let go of the hairbrush in mid-strike, and it went careening towards the ceramic sports guys, beheading the bowling one.

When Big Sub started screaming and not in a super-satisfied kind of way, I knew I wasn't going to get a positive performance appraisal. It was clear that the next time I would be wearing my Dominatrix get-up, I'd be giving Snickers away instead of spankings. I left as quickly as I could. 

As I drove home, I had to be honest with myself: I wasn't cut out to be a plus-sized Dominatrix. While I may have been physically suited for the job, it hadn't been a good fit. But I was glad I had done the session and had no regrets. 

I gained confidence and a sense of empowerment from being a plus-sized Dominatrix for a day. I felt as if there was a world of opportunities for me; all I had to do was to put myself out there and not shoot something down without considering it.

I have all kinds of marketable skills — just turns out professional spanking isn't one of them.