Confessions of a Boob Fluffer

“I want you to be my dominatrix” breathed one of my customers to me.

I took a sip of my coffee and thought “Oh hell, what have I done now?” To her, it probably looked like I was considering her offer. I was speechless. This day was turning into one weird ass day.

Earlier that afternoon a package was delivered to my manager, Denise, that held a large and dangerous looking bullwhip. We took turns cracking it until she almost put out an eye. Those things are really not for amateurs.

Later that night at the bar, tray loads of free drinks were sent our way along with requests to be spanked, a few of whom preferred to be tied down first. Of course, we accepted the drinks but turned down all requests for administering corporeal punishment, restrained or otherwise.

All this because Denise and I had spent the previous evening dressed as dominatrix nuns, spanking people, in the name of charity. What had started out as good old fashioned philanthropic spanking had turned into dubious admittance into the BDSM scene. Our wildly popular spanking booth, a seemingly innocuous, though fun way to raise money for charity, had outted us as the poster children for a whole “lifestyle” group.

It had started innocently enough: our friend Stacy stopped by Scarlett’s to announce that our friend Jane was organizing an Aids fundraiser. Stacy thought we would want to participate. “I thought this sounded like something you would be interested in doing. Jane thinks so too!”. Jane wanted us to dress as nuns, presiding over a confessional, gamely slapping the wrists of the “sinners”. She also wanted us to find someone who could be a priest. “What is a confessional without a priest?” She gave us a few days to consider. It only took us a few minutes to agree.

“Stacy, tell Jane we are in!”

We spent the next few days discussing our costume options, none of which appeared festive enough to us. Then our friend Susie came by. Susie was a very talented seamstress who made costumes for feature dancers, or well known strippers. A tall limber gymnast, she was also a part time stripper on the side, something her husband seemed to enjoy even more than she did.

“Why don’t you just turn it into a spanking booth and forget the confessional?” she asked.

“Yeah, we could really wallop them and, you know, work out our frustrations” chimed in Denise.

“Well, that seems like a great idea but I know that Jane is really stuck on the idea of a confessional” I said.

“Why not keep the confessional and do the spanking booth separately?” Susie piped in. “You could do both!”

“We could” I said “but the nun costumes sound drab and boring. I just don’t see it.”

“I’ll design your costumes for you. Give me a couple days and I’ll see what I can come up with” Susie said.

A few days later Jane stopped by. We mentioned the idea of a separate spanking booth. She loved it likening it to a modern though kinkier version of a kissing booth. She left it to us to come up with costumes and a booth design.

Later that day, Susie stopped by the store with a few sketches of potential costumes.

“This first design is just a straight up version of a nuns habit. It has a long black skirt and a traditional wimple. You know what a wimple is, right?” She looked at our blank faces. “This, the veil” she said pointing to the nuns black and white veil in the sketch. “Maybe this is a little too Catholic school?” she ventured.

We nodded. Wearing that would have definitely given me Catholic school nightmares. And it wasn’t quite what we had in mind for the occasion, so we nixed it right away. The next was a little more what we were looking for.

“I took the first one and sexed it up a bit. It has a shorter skirt with a slit and a low cut top worn with the same wimple” Susie said.

“It’s nice” I said “but we really want something a little more risqué. Something more attention getting. There’s going to be a lot of booths there and we want to have the best one”. The next design did not disappoint.

“This next one” she said “is way more sexy and guaranteed to draw a lot of attention”.

She showed us a sketch of a nun’s costume that looked nothing like the nuns from my former grade school. This habit had a long black skirt with two crotch high slits with black fishnets peeking through the slits. It was topped with a shiny black patent bustier paired with the traditional wimple, something she was very adamant about us wearing. We were shocked and thrilled! This was it! Susie was even more excited than us. “I really didn’t think you would pick this version. I was afraid I’d gone too far!”

A few weeks passed and Susie came by for the initial fittings of our spanking nun costumes. In a word: fabulous! The skirts were formfitting forties style pencil skirts with slits up to *there* on each side. She had taken bustiers from the store and covered them in shiny black vinyl with slightly cone shaped breasts that showed maximum cleavage (something my friends didn’t even know I had…). The wimples were exact replicas in black and white with veils that ended slightly below our shoulders. Susie measured and pinned and promised to have the alterations finished in a few days.

After the fitting of our “habits”, we moved on to the weapons of mass public humiliation. We raided the store stock first carefully chose a small leather riding crop with fringe on the end. In a drawer at the checkout counter we found a ruler (just like the nuns at Catholic school used). We borrowed a thick leather belt from a friend and a ping pong paddle (just like Mom used) from another friend who had a table. As a joke we included the bull whip that Denise almost lost an eye to.

With the help of some friends who were much more artistic than us, we built a confessional. We even talked one of them into dressing as a priest. Our ruse was almost complete.

The evening of the fundraiser, Denise and I dressed in our “habits”. We accessorized the outfits with old rosaries, fishnet stockings, short red dominatrix style wigs from the store and fuck-me pumps. We toted our arsenal of weapons to the club and set up shop. On a table we spread out the riding crop, wooden ruler, ping pong paddle, leather belt and bull whip. The confessional we delivered earlier was already set up so we snagged some cocktails for a little liquid courage. We anxiously awaited our prey nervous that we had crossed too far over the line of propriety.

For the fundraiser the club had several booths set up to entertain the costumed guests. From our booth we could see a kissing booth filled with gorgeous gay men, a raffle booth that was selling tickets to win who knows what and a makeup booth where for a small fee, those dressed in drag could have a touch up. We were quickly dubbed as the “alternative” booth. (alternative to what we weren’t sure). Our friends were the first to approach as they had an inkling of what we were up to and were curious to see the end result. When they saw us dressed in our dominatrix nun costumes they laughed so had that a few had tears running down their faces. “I damn near peed my panties!” said Stacy. Of course, none of them were brave enough to take us up on our offer for a free spanking even when we begged them. “We need a few warm up spankings under our belt before the paying customers” said Denise. “Literally under our belt”. Still they declined. Some friends!

Shortly after our friends left us, Jane, the fundraising organizer skated up to us in her cigarette girl costume complete with vintage brown suede skates with red wheels, a sassy short skirt and a tray loaded with cigarettes, gum and condoms. She loved our “habits”, spanking implements and confessional. She expertly skated off promising to send us some naughty customers.

Initially, our novel booth was too scary and intimidating for the sober crowd. We attracted attention (well, who wouldn’t in those costumes?) but our potential customers just passed by giggling at our taunts of guaranteed pain free beatings. Maybe it was the pain free part that turned then off? Our first enlightened customers were some of the drag queens who were part of the floor show. A few of them visited the confessional professing to be bad girls in need of divine intervention. I think they really just had a crush on our priest. We dutifully slapped their wrists with a ruler but they were laughing as hard as we were which made it difficult to met out their punishments. They were most appreciative of our efforts but were more interested in flirty with our priest friend. We offered them a complementary spanking but they said they weren’t drunk enough yet. They promised they would send their friends over later, winked at the priest and left.

As the liquor started to take it’s effects on the crowd our business began to pick up. Soon Denise and I were both too busy spanking our costumed customers to attend to the confessional crowd. We abandoned the confessional to our priest friend. While he smacked wrists with the ruler we were busy spanking bottoms with the riding crop and ping pong paddle. No takers on the bull whip, the wimps! After about an hour of spanking bottoms, a couple dressed as a sexy French maid and chauffeur approached us.

“Hey” he asked “do you spank bare butts?” He bent the sexy maid over, lifted her skirt, exposing her bare bottom.

Denise looked at me, I looked at her and said “I think we’re going to need more liquor for that”. Denise looked at the chauffeur and said “Go get us some shots of tequila and we’ll do it!”

I think Denise thought she had scared them off with her demand of tequila shots but about twenty minutes later the chauffeur and maid returned with four tequila shots. I guess Denise and I weren’t the only ones who needed fortification to do the deed. After clinking glasses, we downed the shots and I said “so what is your weapon of choice?”.

The chauffeur looking at Denise replied “could you do it with your bare hand?”

Denise stared at me shaking her head ever so slightly no.

I shrugged and said “well it is for charity, so yeah, Denise could do that”. Denise shot me a dirty look.

The saucy French maid bent over while the chauffeur flipped up her short black skirt. While about a dozen voyeurs looked on, Denise spanked her on her bare ass. The chauffeur was thrilled, er, maybe excited was a better word. Then the maid paid to have him whipped with the riding crop. The two of them were attracting a lot of attention. Soon we were barraged with requests for spankings, bare assed and clothed, all of which we obliged for charity. We spanked an array of drunk costumed revelers using everything but the dangerous, potentially eye eradicating bull whip. No one, no matter how drunk they were was prepared to face the bull whip.

By the end of the night we had raised more money than any other booth at the fund raiser. We were exhausted! Who knew how hard it was to be a dominatrix spanking nun?

The next morning at Scarlett’s, my new submissive ‘friend’ walked through the door asking me to be her dominatrix.

Teena was impishly petite with long dark hair and a giggly smile. She worked in the vintage shop next door. She stopped by most days on her way to work just to chat. Occasionally she would buy lingerie or a toy to share with her boyfriend. We were not close friends, more like acquaintances so it came as a surprise when she showed up that morning quietly stating the words “I want you to be my dominatrix”. I thought she was kidding around but her utterance was accompanied by a master/slave contract that she held out to me.

I was so dumbfounded that I automatically held out my hand to accept the contract. She took this as a good sign and smiled shyly. I was clueless. What made her think I wanted to own a slave?

She stood there, coyly staring up at me through her dark lashes with way more awe than I deserved, waiting for an answer. When I demurred (hell, I was caught off guard) she made her case “I could clean your house, walk your dogs or run your errands if you’ll be my dominatrix”.

I was still speechless with no immediate answer. This had to be a first, I’m never speechless.

“I have to get to work, so just look over the contract and we can negotiate the terms later” she murmured as she hurried out the door.

I glanced down at the slave contract and noticed that it spelled dominant and submissive in an acronym that detailed the terms of the contract. Not really considering myself either a dominatrix nor a submissive, actually not really considering considering it, I was a bit thrown by her naked confession to be dominated by me. Still, I was curious as I glanced down at the contract. It looked like this:

SLAVE CONTRACT

Slave will obey the Mistress at all times and will wholeheartedly seek the Mistress’s well-being above all other considerations the slave may have.

Understands and agrees that any failure by the slave to comply fully with the Mistress shall be regarded as sufficient cause for any punishment the Mistress deems appropriate.

Be attentive to my Mistress’s needs and anticipate her demands so I might fulfill them to the best of my ability.

Maintain my Mistress’s home by thoroughly cleaning my Mistress’s house in the manor that she desires.

Is only allowed to address my Mistress as Madam or Mistress at all times.

Strive to overcome all feelings of guilt, shame and inhibitions that interfere with my capability to serve her and limit my growth as her submissive.

Surrender as a submissive is done with the knowledge that nothing asked of me will demean me as a person and will in no way diminish my own responsibilities toward making utmost use of my potential.

Inform my Mistress of wants and perceived needs recognizing that she is the sole judge of how these shall be satisfied.

Validate my Mistress’s wisdom in choosing me by never questioning an order, suggestion or desire of my Mistress

Expected to wear symbolic token of my Mistress’s ownership of me as her slave.

~~

Dominate and control My slave’s life for her well-being, My pleasure and to prepare her for her service to me.

Openly and freely treat My slave with love, affection and respect reserved for a loyal and true slave.

Maintain open and honest communication between Myself and My slave.

I will provide direction, emotional support and enrich My slave’s life through my expertise.

Necessary and swift punishment will be administered lovingly by Me when deemed appropriate.

Accept full responsibility for My slave including My slave’s survival, health, physical and mental well-being.

Train my slave and guide her toward a state of loving submission, compliance, obedience and true slavery to Me.

Establish a clear set of rules for My slave and enforce them in a firm but responsible manner.

~~~

Confused, amused and a bit titillated, I read it out loud to Denise and Stacy who just happened to have the fortuitous timing to be in the store. They had a great laugh at my expense imagining me enforcing the contract. I was momentarily tempted to sign it when I read the part about ‘cleaning my house’. Not being much of a domestic goddess, I was tempted to take Teena up on the dominatrix gig just to get my house cleaned.

Later that afternoon the bullwhip was delivered to Denise with a note from her ‘secret crush’. It contained a proposition requesting her to use the whip on him. I had a good laugh at her expense figuring we were even. At the bar that night we were besieged by drinks accompanied by spanking solicitations.

The next day, after much consideration, I politely declined Teena’s invite to be her dominatrix. My house mate was deeply disappointed that someone would not be cleaning our house.