Published:
December 17, 2024
Journalistin auf Abwegen
The idea for this book originated from the unusual first name of an acquaintance. Her first name appeared in a book, and after discussing with her, I decided to use this very name in one of my works. I also used her as a model for the protagonist and only subtracted a few years from her age.
Sie hat zwar weder etwas mit einer Journalistin noch mit einer Domina zu tun, aber in ihrem Beruf quält sie ab und an auch jemanden. Natürlich bekommt sie eine eigens für sie erstellte Ausgabe des Buches geschenkt. Die Idee mit dem Studio kam mir nach einem Artikel in einer Zeitschrift, der sich mit einem ähnlichen Thema beschäftigte. Da ich bisher noch nichts mit diesem Etablissements in meinem Portfolio hatte, habe ich die Geschichte dorthin verlegt.
Chapter 1
The first editorial meeting had already been passing me by for more than half an hour. After my studies, I had managed to get my first job at this small magazine, which came out monthly. I was supposed to start slowly and was given a half year to write my first article. The topic I was to write about would be revealed during this meeting. Somewhere, I hoped for something simple—for example, a report on the deaf breeding association Bad Salzungen or the flower breeder club in southern Bielefeld.
Unfortunately, these topics had already been assigned to my colleagues from the feuilleton section and there weren’t many subjects left on the table. That was the entertainment department of the paper I had started working for. Exactly two topics absolutely no one wanted to take on. One was an article about the city's waste disposal and a report on the BDSM scene in our town, which local politicians frequented. There had been a big scandal about it last year, and my chief editor had decided to check again if the politicians there had moved on.
Both were absolutely not in line with my preferences. The waste disposal was an especially dirty and smelly topic, and my research into this area would literally stink at me extremely. The other topic wasn't really to my taste either. Naturally, I was open-minded and found nothing wrong with sex or prostitution, but did it have to be a scene where men willingly got beaten up? A report from the street corner would have been sufficient. But there you wouldn’t find the politicians. They would instead go for expensive call girls from the high-class price category.
Considering my nose, I eventually decided on the report from the BDSM scene. There was not only more cleanliness and a much better smell, but it was also easier to find something appropriate. First of all, I had to find a place where I could make my observations. The women in the scene were careful about discretion, and I certainly couldn’t just watch them “treat” their customers. Maybe I could try to pass myself off as one of them and take some tutoring lessons from an experienced Domina. That probably wouldn’t go too badly.
My young age could help a bit here. At my age of 26, I might be able to make a little foothold in the scene. First, though, I needed another social media profile. Under my name, within minutes, I found all of my entire career path. So I sat down at my desk in the editorial office, opened up all my profiles on my computer, and spruced them up a bit. All pictures from my private life that didn’t show me as dominant were set to private, some entries that didn’t portray me in a good light were deleted, and I changed my professional background.
From the journalism student Ayra Winterfeldt, I became an art student who had just finished her studies and was looking for a position as a Domina instead of making a name for herself in the art world. As a reason, I simply took the better earning chances in this profession. Of course, I couldn’t show any experience, but dominance was in my blood, and I wanted to take my first steps in a successful studio. At least that’s what I wrote in my profiles. The truth was a bit different, but for my first report and the story behind it, that would have to do.
After that, I set about contacting one of the studios where all the local politicians had given their keys a year ago. I copied the finished letter into an empty file, changed only the studio names each time, and sent it to all the prominent studios in the vicinity of Bielefeld. After that, there was unfortunately nothing more for me to do and I could just wait for a response. Meanwhile, I wanted to simply get familiar with the techniques of the women. The internet was simply a goldmine when it came to finding out new things.
A simple search delivered thousands of results in milliseconds. Partially also video tutorials along with them. Behind my desk stood a colleague who simply shook her head. The men didn’t even watch it. There wasn’t any naked female skin to be seen anyway. All the women were dressed in tight leather and latex, their hair combed back severely. They all looked somehow alike. Bright red makeup and mostly black clothing. When I studied all the reports, I realized that I would also need such clothing.
I certainly couldn’t show up there in a sweater and slim jeans. The internet was also a real goldmine for buying these items. However, the disgusting high prices scared me off. It was actually almost impossible to explain with normal sense why a leather body suit that looked like a simple shiny black sack cost nearly ten thousand. I couldn’t afford it with my small starting salary as a journalist. That went way beyond my budget and was simply not feasible. For that, I needed some more money somewhere.
Since it was the task of my chief editor to assign me this story, he naturally also had to cover the costs. With a small printout of all the prices, I made my way to his office. I placed the list in front of him and asked, "Who is going to reimburse me for all my expenses for the report?"
My chief editor beamed at me and said, "A budget of 50,000 euros was set aside for the report. Just write down the editorial number on the invoices and forward them to the cash register. That will cover everything."
Great, that such important details are only mentioned upon request. You could have told me that earlier. However, the 50,000 should be enough for half a year. At least I now had the money for a basic setup for my research in my hands and could really start from scratch. When I returned to my desk, an incoming email was already blinking on my screen. Was this a response from one of the studios to my inquiry? That was possible. Most studios were well-visited during the day, and someone from the women was surely always sitting at the reception.
I opened the email with sweaty fingers and the first sentence began like any rejection for a job application. They simply informed me that all positions were already filled and they weren’t taking in any more women at the moment, especially not ones without experience like me. Well, rejections were obviously unavoidable, and I had already expected it wouldn’t be easy to find a place in an established studio. The women kept their establishments in order, and an untrained Domina would certainly have a hard time fitting in. Maybe I should present myself a bit better than I was.
However, there were still a few applications open before I had to resort to tricks. Instead, I focused on the first outfits I wanted to wear. I browsed through the offers and actually wanted to order a few of them right away. Unfortunately, I couldn’t just place an order like that. These were only samples for custom orders. That’s why the price was so outrageous. But extra-ordered costumes were obviously expensive. The store was in the middle of town, and a short visit wouldn’t hurt. I had already found my selection on the homepage.
Since I had nothing else to do anyway, I took my computer from the editorial office and put my bag over my shoulder. Full of anticipation for a nice shopping trip, I headed towards my car. It was only a small car, but I couldn't afford anything else. With my tiny salary, there wasn’t much money left besides work. Also, my apartment after my studies was only about 50 square meters, for which I had to pay an entire room's rent. But life after my studies wasn't exactly easy.
Everyone started small and had to earn a certain standard of living first. At least I could fully use the resources for my first serious article without paying anything. I hadn’t been able to go shopping without money worries for a long time. With a quite exact idea of my clothes, I set off into town. The store with the advertisement on the internet was somewhat hidden in the middle of the city. Although I had memorized the exact address in my head, I had to search for a while. In an alleyway, I finally found it.
The shop was hidden behind a rather unremarkable entrance door. The only indication of its existence was almost invisible sign with an arrow pointing into a bush. I entered the shop with some respect and saw behind a half-high counter a woman in her early forties with green hair. She looked at me briefly with her cat-like eyes and asked, "Can I help you, girl?"
"I hope so," I answered somewhat intimidated. "I found some clothes for Dominas on the internet and wanted to order a few of them."
Her face lit up slightly. "Then come closer. We need to take your exact measurements, otherwise they won’t fit later."
I took a few steps towards the counter and stood right in front of it. The green-haired woman looked at me expectantly but said nothing to me. After an eerie silence, she said, "Let me guess, these are going to be your first clothes!"
"Can you really tell that after just a few seconds?" I asked somewhat disappointed. At least I thought I could show off my dominance for a bit longer to the saleswoman.
She started laughing and explained, "I said I need your exact measurements! That means taking off the clothes and standing up. It's even mentioned on the homepage with it."
This hint had probably escaped me and I hadn’t paid attention to it. Slightly irritated, I asked, "Everything?"
"You're funny! The clothes are so tight that you can't wear anything underneath. First of all, you have to put them on and secondly, they interfere with work because you can hardly breathe."
She had to know. I hadn’t even entered a studio yet and had already betrayed myself within seconds. I just wasn’t as dominant as I had imagined. The women were certainly practiced in it. This eccentric saleswoman also seemed to have gone through much more than she appeared. Before I presented myself at a studio, I should at least appear a bit more composed and not immediately change my complexion at the first signs. To be taken seriously as a Domina, I couldn’t just be easily intimidated. But could I successfully acquire these skills in a few days?
Reluctantly, I began to slowly take off my office clothes. The green-haired woman didn’t care about it. I stood before the sales counter and had to completely undress. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee that I wouldn't be seen by other customers during the entire time. At any moment, another customer could walk in. Somehow, it was already embarrassing for me to undress completely in front of a complete stranger. She, however, seemed to have experienced this many times before. Instead of watching me, she rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a measuring tape and a large sheet of paper with hundreds of boxes to fill out.
When I was only left in my underwear, she looked up and took a quick estimate of me. That didn’t suit me. Physically, I had nothing special to offer that made me into a woman. My breasts were way too small from my point of view. More than an A-cup, nature hadn't given me at all. Especially for the men who liked to play with big balls, I wasn't attractive at all. Also, the small glasses I needed for my eyes scared off most men. I usually covered these flaws with contact lenses and further clothing. Up to now, I had not used any additional aids.
The saleswoman took a pen in hand and asked, "Can you do it today, girl?"
Extremely shyly, I took off my small bra and the tiny panties. I held my hands in front of my body’s center so that she didn’t get an immediate glimpse of my shaved slit. She didn’t have to see everything immediately. That disturbed her very little. She took the measuring tape and looked once more at her list before taking the first measurements of my body. Each individual number she noted carefully on her list. It took quite a long time, and she didn't spend much time asking me how I should stand. I was simply directed by her hands and adjusted as needed.
After an eternity, my hands finally disappeared from my most sacred place. They disturbed her during the measuring process. Worse yet, when she actually went to her knees and also measured the distance of my thighs. Absolutely nothing remained hidden from her. That suited me at all. Worse was only the fact that I began to get aroused. This couldn’t be true! When she finally had noted all the measurements, I could once again dress myself up in embarrassment. She, on the other hand, laid an updated catalog under my nose and asked which models I had selected.
Just like in the editorial office in front of the screen, I tapped with my finger on the individual pictures. She also noted down my selection on my measurement list and asked if that was all. I agreed and asked her to send the bill to the address of my editorial office. Additionally, I gave her the editorial number so that I could assign it. Of course, this was a lie, but since she knew the scene well, she shouldn't know that I was a reporter. I couldn’t betray myself before starting my research. She would certainly find out about my assignment in the whole city.
Of course, this would also reveal my planned report, so she mustn’t find out about it either. The saleswoman didn’t care about the address anyway. She simply took the order and had my desired clothing made exactly to my measurements. I then received the bill by post and after payment, I was allowed to pick up my goods. Happily with this development, I set off back to the editorial office. A confirmation of the order even awaited me under my private email address. Next to it, I also had to accept two more rejections. Both with approximately the same reason. So it wouldn’t be easy at all to find a place somewhere.
Chapter 2
Just before the editorial deadline, I actually received another email from a studio, which I had requested. There, Mistress Venom invited me to an interview. The first obstacle was thus overcome. I only needed to prove myself in a personal conversation. However, I was surprised by the name 'Venom.' Which mistress of a studio would voluntarily call herself 'Misses Poison'?
Unfortunately, my search on the internet for this name also yielded no face. All I found was a brief self-description without an image. Contrary to my expectations, it did not contain the mistress's age or other data. It simply described how long she had been earning money in this way and what services she offered 'customers.'
Partially, I had to have these terms from the scene translated again by the internet. That would then become my reading for the evening. I needed to be able to imagine something from all the abbreviations. All I knew about the scene was that mistresses never had contact with their customers. They were essentially prostitutes without the slightest sexual body contact with their clients.
However, there were things like clinic games. When I read about it on the internet, I felt quite uneasy. The domina also offered a special service. She filled the 'customer' with certain body areas using a syringe and sodium chloride. So to speak, they then received artificial 'swollen testicles' via an injection.
She therefore also had to demonstrate medical knowledge. You don't learn such techniques even over the weekend. For such methods, you need considerable experience in the medical field. Unfortunately, there was also no clear name mentioned here. Naturally, she wanted to remain as anonymous as possible.
Discretion was obviously part of this job. But it applied not only to her but especially to me. After all, I was a reporter and would violate this supreme rule of this area the moment I published my article at my employer. Of course, the ladies would remain unrecognizable, but the customers I targeted would no longer be.
After all, it was about local politicians who made a wonderful life on the taxpayers' money. In addition, they also cheated their wives with visits to these dubious establishments. It wasn't up to me to let these betrayed women simply accept the humiliations of their husbands. The wives had to decide themselves, but at least they should know once.
And all the voters had a right to learn where certain representatives spent their money again. Interesting about the old article were the men caught in the act. All of them belonged to a single party that submitted to some bizarre views on sexuality and even publicly lived them out in the city.
For this goal, they now instrumentalized more and more children, disturbing their development. Personally, I didn't care whether these local politicians spent their money with the special ladies to endure suffering. What I couldn't tolerate were the goals they pursued.
These weird figures belonged in society as pedocriminals, instead of in prison and under the supervision of competent psychologists. Often, party members of this party had already been punished for such offenses. Unfortunately, they always managed to escape the sifted air in the prisons. Actually, the entire party should have been banned, but no one dared approach this so-called eco-party.
The invitation on my computer I printed out before leaving the editorial office with a good feeling and made my way home. The next day afternoon, I had to present myself at the domina. The problem with the matter was simply that my work clothes would still need some time before I could pick them up. They would never be ready by the time of my conversation. So I had to survive my job interview in normal clothes. That evening, I took position in front of my closet and did a fashion show for myself in front of my tall mirror.
At the end, I decided on a stuffed bra to at least demonstrate a bit more bust and a high-closed blouse without allowing any glimpse. Below, an elastic black legging would do. With this, I wanted to highlight my assets a little. It couldn't hurt if I showed off my physical advantages a bit in this area during the job interview. After all, the mistresses paid attention to such small details. I had already noticed this with the clothes. They were precisely tailored to my body. Even though I wished for a bit more bust myself.
But where there was nothing, you couldn't do anything about it. Nature wasn't exactly kind to my breasts. I could only accept that. A bit more would have been nice, but there was no negotiation about it. Fortunately, there were also men for whom the bust of a partner wasn't really important. However, this was different in the sex business. Not only the actresses in the relevant films had their breasts artificially inflated. But I lacked both the courage and the necessary money after my studies to do so. It had to go with what was available.
Relatively calmed down, I went to bed after a small meal and made up my mind to just drop by the editorial office in the morning. For the afternoon, I first wanted to change, to impress the domina a bit more, and also to store a few technical terms from her trade in my head. A quiet night was not granted to me. The impressions of the order and the meeting with the domina were still swirling around in my head. Both robbed me of the urgently needed sleep. How exhausted I stood in my bathroom early in the morning, and the hot shower couldn't reliably wake up my life forces.
Also, the extra strong coffee didn't really help. I would have preferred to cancel the day and crawl back into my warm bed. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford that on this day. Depressed, I set off for the editorial office and turned on my computer. In the night, three more emails had arrived, which surprised me a bit. The first was another confirmation from a studio that was actually looking for an apprentice, because one of their mistresses had hung up her boots a few weeks ago. They wanted to rejuvenate their staff, and I with my mid-twenties could better adjust the age average.
The second was, as I had expected, a clear rejection, which wasn't particularly friendly formulated. The third email was from my clothing store where I had ordered clothes the day before. I should come by at some point. In their warehouse, there was an already pre-made pair of pants that could fit based on the measurements I took. This would mean a price reduction for me, which I needed due to the rather high prices. I answered the confirmation first, with a request for an interview within the next few days, before I planned to visit my clothing store again.
An email was written very quickly and before I visited the clothing store, I decided to get a fresh coffee at a bakery on the way. With the additional caffeine, I hoped to compensate somewhat for my lack of motivation. Moreover, I could use the time to memorize the individual abbreviations used in the BDSM area more carefully. It couldn't hurt if I didn't constantly had to ask during my job interviews and already knew what each abbreviation meant. At that moment, I saw this as my most important task.
Also for my article, it wouldn't hurt if I could bring a bit more background knowledge. After all, the readers couldn't really imagine much from it. So I had to learn quite a lot to not just throw technical terms at the readers but to explain exactly what the politicians did when they frequented the establishments. To my regret, the coffee didn't really help much. The contained caffeine didn't make the bad night forgotten and couldn't wake up my senses from deep sleep.
More exhausted than refreshed, I set off for the clothing store and met the woman with green hair again. She had already been waiting for me and made a happy face when she saw me at the door. As I approached the counter, she disappeared briefly into the warehouse and returned with a pair of deep black pants on a hanger. The soft material gleamed slightly in the light of the ceiling lights. I was about to reach for it when she pulled the pants back and asked: 'Did you forget something else?'
'Forgotten?' I asked.
Smiling, she said, 'Take off your pants! How do you want to get this tight piece over your thighs?'
Again, I had to step out of my pants in the middle of the store and let her observe me. However, she only watched me as I opened the button on my jeans. While I was peeling off my pants, she sprinkled some powder into the pant legs. Why she did that, I didn't understand. Anyway, she didn't pay any attention to me at this moment and I not only got rid of my jeans but also my underwear. At least, she had already explained to me the day before that the pants were so tight that I couldn't wear them with underpants. When I stood in the middle of the store without anything on, the green-haired woman came out from behind her counter and handed me the pants.
The inside of the pants was almost completely covered with white powder. I hesitated for a moment, which she used as an explanation, 'The powder absorbs the moisture on your skin. The material doesn't slide particularly well and would rather tear your skin off your legs if you try to put them on like this. So first, powder well before putting them on.'
I felt somewhat ridiculed and laughed, 'My skin is dry. It was only moist after my shower this morning.'
'Mid-20s and still as stupid as bread,' she scolded. 'Even if you don't notice it, your skin is always slightly moist. That's due to the sebum and sweat that your body excretes through your skin. Without this moisture, you wouldn't even leave fingerprints. The police use black powder that sticks to the sebum and thus makes your fingerprints visible. The powder we use for these clothes is similar.'
That made sense, and she must know it. After all, that was her job. Carefully, I pushed my right leg into the opening of the pants. The first few centimeters weren't even a problem. Only the more my leg went into the pants, the greater the resistance became. Despite the powder in the pant legs, I had to exert quite some strength to get into the pants. With the left leg, it was exactly the same and it took a while before I could pull the barely noticeable waistband over my hips. If this was how putting them on would always take so long, I could look forward to getting up very early for half a year.
At least the pants didn't feel particularly uncomfortable on my skin. They also fit as if made for me. The green-haired saleswoman pulled me in front of a wall-high mirror so I could look at myself in it. As I stared at my reflection, she moved around me and her lips kept rising more and more. She smoothed out just a small wrinkle on my hip and smiled at me.
'There you go, it fits like ass on a bucket,' she laughed with her dazzling white carnivore teeth. 'Do you want to take the pants with you?'
That wasn't even a question. Of course, I wanted to take the pants with me immediately. If my interview in the afternoon was successful, I could already rely on a suitable pair of pants for the first day. All I needed was the powder to put them on. To avoid having to stand naked in front of the saleswoman again, I kept them on and stuffed my jeans and underwear into a bag from the store. The saleswoman even threw a small bottle of the powder into the shopping bag and explained, 'If you run out of the powder, you can buy it here or replace it with regular baby powder.'
I would take off the rubber pants again only at home in my apartment. There I was at least alone and not observed. Moreover, I wanted to go to the job interview with my leggings and a pair of underwear underneath. I didn't want to stand out immediately on the first meeting. In addition, I still lacked a suitable top for the pants. I also got the hanger in the bag so I could hang up the pants in my closet. Happily, I said goodbye to the green-haired woman and set off for my car.
On the way home, however, I quickly noticed the disadvantage of the rubber pants. On the one hand, I slid around on the fabric seat of my car because it didn't hold properly, and on the other hand, I noticed a clear increase in moisture under the dense garment. Soon, my legs felt as if they had been in a disposable glove all day like my hands. Despite the powder, it was really wet. This affected my comfort. The thought of having to spend the entire day in such an outfit for the next time didn't exactly inspire enthusiasm.
Once at home, I immediately went to my bedroom and freed myself from the pants. It was incredible how this rubber clung to my skin. The powder had almost completely dissolved, and the resulting moisture kept the pants exactly in place. It took me a while before I finally got rid of them and stepped into a pair of underwear. At least the leggings remained dry and provided me with a better feeling again. I made myself a small lunch and prepared for my meeting in the afternoon during that time.
After eating, I changed again, adjusted my makeup, and left my apartment. On the way to the meeting place, my nervousness increased quite sharply. I tried to imagine Mistress Venom. Of course, she looked to me like the common stereotype. Everyone had a pretty accurate idea of what a domina actually looked like. Naturally, various myths revolve around these service providers, which were occasionally confirmed by pictures or reports in the tabloid press.