Fantasies of a Young Dominatrix - Sex Stories

Fantasies of a Young Dominatrix

... wood. The number of strokes could vary, but it was usually six on the buttocks over the clothing, and ten more on her bare backside. Then she'd be set free to limp home as best she could.

By June of 1974, I had been hooking for nearly ten months and I had never been arrested. The private security firm hired by the city university had a low-paid, inept staff. The regular police only came on campus if called for something. I often worked via telephone calls and had clients come out to my house in Queens when my uncle was at work.

Thus I felt quite immune to law enforcement, or so I thought. In early June, my luck ran out.

It was a warm day, and I was wearing my faded old blue jeans, plus a cute little sleeveless top and sandals. (Believe me, jeans offer no protection against a hard paddling. One's behind will be seriously bruised right through the cloth.)

I was standing in front of Wagner Hall minding my own business when a Latino guy came up to me. He asked about my services, and I gave him prices for a handjob or blowjob, my bread-and-butter offerings. He chose the latter, and I decided to accept the job. It was easy money for thirty minutes or so of work

He didn't seem like a cop to me because, well, he wasn't one. He was actually one of those Wackenhut Guards (that was really the company name!) hired to patrol the campus. We had just started to walk to that little restroom at the back of Stieglitz Hall when he made some kind of hand signal. Within seconds ...

... two real plainclothes cops came up to us. It was a sting operation, and I was busted.

I knew I'd be released within a couple of days. I also feared the punishment I'd have to endure before that happened.

*****

The system went through the motions as it always does. First, I was taken in a squad car to the 26th Precinct on 126th Street near Amsterdam Avenue. Late in the afternoon, I was put in a Corrections Department van with a number of other luckless ladies and driven downtown to Central Booking on Centre Street. My fellow van riders had probably been picked up for various offenses, including drug charges.

Centre Street has been a hub for courts, jails, and other such activities since the 19th Century. Central Booking is where people were held until they could get upstairs to be arraigned before a judge. It is certainly a horrible place to be in.

I was in a holding cell with about twenty other women. There was no place to lie down except the floor, and I did not get any sleep that night. My two meals consisted of baloney sandwiches. The single toilet -- well, never mind!

By mid-morning six of us females were in a courtroom upstairs. We had all been charged with a first offense of soliciting for prostitution. I was the only white girl in that group.

I'm not sure I would call what happened there a "trial." Within thirty minutes all six of us were processed, convicted, and taken away for our punishments. That would be done in a room downstairs on the other ...