Tracy Quan - Diary of a Married Call Girl

Slinking off to the bathroom, he looked both dejected and turned on.

Trisha was apologetic and panicky. “I told him to wait in the bathroom. My daughter’s playdate was canceled! At the very last minute! Do you have a ball gag?”

“Um, No.”

“You’ll have to improvise. Put some of your underwear in his mouth. Okay? Later on. Don’t do it right away.”

“What time can you get here? He’s in the bathroom.”

“I CAN’T. I have simply got to stay and deal. I told him this was my secret plan to test his loyalty. He doesn’t come out until you tell him.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Trisha was recovering some of her composure. “If he can please you, he’s allowed to see us together next time. But he has to follow all my instructions—and yours—in my absence. You report back to me and give him, like, a grade. Then I decide if he deserves—”

“I get the idea.” But I was also getting irritated. I’ve never been good at domination—and what about the ball gag? Colin’s used to all this fancy equipment, and I brought only a few props to supplement Trisha’s arsenal. “Do you think it’s safe to stuff my underpants in his mouth?”

“Oh, please. It’s fine. Just use your common sense. If he starts choking, you pull them out. But he won’t.”

“Are you sure you can’t just come later? Take over when I leave?”

“No! You don’t understand! I can’t find a babysitter.”

“But I can’t do it all myself! You promised. ”

“What do you mean?” She paused. “Oh. Just drink a lot of water! What’s the big deal?”

This was hardly the moment to be discussing why a golden shower’s a big deal to me and not to her. How do you explain your spic-and-span prohibitions without making it sound like you’re judging the other girl as unsavory? It’s a conversation no sensible hooker gets into. I took a deep breath and gazed at the bottled water on the dresser. People with kids seem to be a lot less squeamish about some things.

“Look, I told you upfront!” I said, moving toward the window.

I didn’t want Colin to overhear. Our lack of cohesion must be finessed. Like two parents dealing with a wayward child, Mistresses Thalia and Sabrina must present a united front.

“I’m sorry! My day’s been a disaster! I’ll work something out on the cut if you want. I have to go but—call if you have to. I’m alone this weekend.”

How can the mother of a five-year-old sans babysitter say she’s “alone”? I guess she means her husband’s out of town so the coast is clear for phone calls. I’ve never asked Trisha what he does but he travels a lot more than Matt—and she, in turn, is never inquisitive about my husband.

Standing in front of the bathroom door, I wondered if my normal instinct—a quiet knock—would be too submissive a gesture. What should I say? I had really been expecting to play second fiddle to Mistress Thalia. You can come out now sounds kind of lame! More like a sidekick than a sole proprietress.

In a cold dignified voice, I advised Colin to stay on his hands and knees.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Is the door unlocked?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Do they say this just to get on your nerves?

“Reach up and open it with your right hand. I will be waiting in the bedroom.”

Colin crept out of the bathroom hardly daring to look up. His eyes were trained on the carpet as he crawled toward my feet. Suddenly, I had a brainstorm.

“You will adjust my garters.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he paused, “…Sabrina. You have beautiful legs,” he added shyly.

“I know. Come here. Start with my back garter.” I turned around slightly so he could reach it. I couldn’t let on how good it felt to hear about my legs when I’m starting to angst about my weight. “Slowly. Not like that. You have to loosen it first, then pull—very softly.” I turned again. “Now the front.” I could see a bulge in Colin’s shorts. “Good. Now the right garter. Carefully.” I leapt back. “You clumsy idiot! You ripped my stocking!”

“I’m sorry, Mistress! I didn’t meant to!”

“This will be taken into account,” I told him. “Mistress Thalia will not be pleased.”

“Yes, Mistress. Will you allow me to make it up to you?”

“We’ll see.”

Stumped for a response, I decided to go the implacable route.

“Go to my bag and unzip it. Slowly.”

I ordered him to remove a few instruments. Unfortunately, Mistress Thalia wasn’t here to wield her whip, but I did have a small black leather paddle.

“Come here,” I told him. “Not like that. Stay on your knees. Put the paddle between your teeth. Hold it between your teeth and don’t drop it. Do you understand?”

He nodded, and I ordered him to crawl slowly toward the bed. Removing the paddle from his clenched teeth, I told him to rest his head against the bedspread and pull down his silk shorts.

“Slowly!”

I needed to prolong our session because, after all, I was trying to make up for Trisha’s absence. Snapping the leather cuffs around his wrists, I peeked at his erection, then walked over to the clock radio while he enjoyed a moment of suspense. I hunted

around for WQXR.

“Thank you,” he said.

We both know that a genteel-sounding concerto can muffle a telltale spanking. He stays here often and needs to be careful. Was Colin’s “thank you” acknowledging my thoughtful discretion? Or was he just praying for a nice loud whack?

I was so nervous and irate—about Charmaine hijacking my apartment, about the lobby bathroom and my ripped stocking, Trisha standing me up—that I obliged him with a very harsh smack. So harsh that my wrist felt it. I had to sit down for a moment and order him to worship my feet with his mouth. After a few minutes, I rose, giving him a gentle kick.

“If you’re very good for the rest of the afternoon, I’ll recommend a golden shower as your reward,” I told him.

The toe of my shoe caressed his groin.

“I was hoping…”

I leaned over and silenced him by inserting my crumpled thong panties in his mouth.

“Mistress Thalia and I will discuss it. After I leave. And you will be punished or rewarded on our next visit. It all depends on Thalia’s verdict.”

The skin on his cock was firm and very pink. When I brushed the toe of my shoe against his erection, he flinched. Colin was closer to coming than I had realized. I withdrew my toe by tracing a line down his thigh, carefully eyeing the clock to make sure he wasn’t being rushed. Trisha, the absentee dominatrix, was very specific about his time allotment. I walked over to the chair and picked up the paddle.

His wrists were still bound together behind his back, encased in the fuzz-lined leather. I was tempted to reach down and finish him with my hand. But no, that would knock me right off the bitch-goddess pedestal. Instead, I removed the manacles.

“You may place your hands in front.” It was a routine he’d been through before. “Two inches apart, no more and no less.”

I refastened the manacles, then picked up the paddle and used it to caress the back of each thigh. Remembering the impact to my wrist, I tapped his skin lightly. His hands were playing near his erection, getting closer. When I began to smack his buttocks, the panties fell out of his mouth. He grabbed his cock as best he could and came on the carpet.

“I’ll clean that up,” he said meekly. “If you take these off.”

I brought my phone into the bathroom. Charmaine wasn’t answering the landline or cell. But the deal we struck at noon was very clear: at five pm, I return to the apartment, stash my work toys and clothes, change back into what I was wearing when I last saw my husband, and fly so she can prepare for her sixthirty. We’ve had a few close shaves, but Charmaine has always been prompt about answering the phone.