Occupation: I’m not even going to justify this question with an answer.

So...let me tell you a little about him. No, not yet. I can’t start with him yet. Let me tell you about me.

As a Dominatrix, you never know whose ass you’re going to kick today. It might be an eighty-year-old foot fetishist who wants to get in one last good rub before kicking off to that big shoe rack in the sky. It might be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company who needs to be punished for all the naughty things he did to his employee’s pension fund that week. It might be some sweet kid, barely eighteen years old, who pretends to be all nice and normal and vanilla with his friends when they ogle the girls at strip clubs, but at night boots up the fetish porn and jerks off to pictures of women in eight-inch stilettos walking on the backs of bound and gagged men with leashes around their scrotums. He doesn’t know what he is, but he knows I can show him.

The fetishist, the freak, the fearful...I love them all. I’m one of them so I know how they feel, I know what they need and I want nothing more than to give it to them. For a price, of course. In this world, money imparts value. The only way to cheapen the sacred acts I perform would be to give them away for free. I see all kinds and I do all things and I get paid well for it. Yet even with this endless revolving door of precious perverts, I get a surprise every now and then.

Because sometimes, when I least expect it, he walks in. He is special, this client. With all my other clients, it’s work, it’s a job. Sometimes a fun job. Sometimes I think I’d rather be sitting in a cubicle with office drones than doing what I’m doing. But with him, it’s not a job. It’s not professional. With him, it’s personal. And because it’s personal, it’s draining, exhausting...it uses me up so I have nothing left to give for a day or two. I charge him more because of that, and he pays willingly. But for this special client, I make sure he gets his money’s worth. Why? Because we’re the same, me and him, not that either of us would ever admit that to anyone else. We’re both Switches. If you don’t know what a Switch is, allow me to enlighten you. Switches are submissives. We’re also Dominants. Often we’re also both sadists and masochists, Masters and slaves. We’re distrusted in the kink community. No Dominant wants a Switch for a submissive. After all, she might decide halfway through a scene it’s her turn to start doing the flogging. Think about bisexuals. If you were a straight woman, would you want to date a bisexual man? If you did, wouldn’t you have a nagging, gnawing question in the back of your mind—is he really gay and just hiding behind me? Switches get shit from both sides. The Doms think we’re weak. The subs think we’re indecisive sluts who want to get it from everybody—they’re only half right.