Domme’s Game

When Dana told me she was a dominatrix, I almost spit out my rum and coke. We were on a first date at a classy French restaurant, both of us dressed in elegant outfits; she had on a sheer white blouse, black velvet pants and heels while I wore a low-cut white shirt, deep purple silk skirt, and killer heels. We’d been set up by my friend Eliza, who figured that femmes looking for other femmes were so rare, we’d surely hit it off, but Eliza had told me Dana was a trainer at a local high-end gym.

“Well, I am a trainer, in addition to being a domme, and the two jobs are kind of similar; I get to yell at people and watch them squirm. It’s a total power trip, and I get off on both of them. But my real passion is women; with the guys, it’s like a warmup,” she said, her almost-black eyes glinting. She was gorgeous but had a dangerous vibe, not like she might hurt me, but like she knew things about me and could see inside me in ways even my longtime friends couldn’t. It didn’t seem like an act, either, the way she shone her gaze on me so intently, like we were the only two people in the whole city, let alone the whole restaurant. I felt my face flush and my body twitch slightly as I waited for her to continue. Her hand reached for my knee under the...