Chapter 3

Nora’s State of Mind

People sometimes wonder if dominatrixes are sexually aroused by the work they do. I’m sure it varies among individuals, but I can discuss my own experiences with it in the 1970s. Both times I was trying to be a college student while also doing sex work. It was not the lark some may think it was.

The first time as an eighteen-year-old freshman, I mixed domination work with other kinds of sex (never vaginal penetration, however!). Domination was my favorite type of trick because it allowed me to play Miss Nora, a young avenging goddess getting naughty men into line. I admit that at the time, I had a grudge against all men and I felt joy in whacking them in any way they had specified.

Most of them had a pretext for punishment, and it was obvious that many were sexually aroused themselves. They could masturbate in front of me afterwards or I would blow them – for an extra charge of course.

I too was sometimes aroused and would masturbate by myself later. As the clients had reduced me to a collection of body parts, I did the same to them. I would imagine their disembodied penises thrusting into me, but the guys those were attached to meant absolutely nothing to me.

Then as a senior, I was recruited back into “the life” by Gilda, a student my age at New York University. That time I became a part-time, semi-professional dominatrix; that was all I had to do. It was September 1976 and I was twenty-one years old.

My workplace was a very nice BDSM club that I could use in off-hours. The clients were older and had more money than the raggedy college students I was used to. I dressed better too. I was paid well and could finally buy some decent outfits for myself.

But that time around, I didn’t adjust well to paid sex work. I didn’t have a boyfriend then, and I was lonely. The clients who came in seemed better “catches” than the students up at City College, but I wasn’t allowed to date any of them even if the idea often occurred to me. That’s not why they came to me in the first place.

Like many men, those guys were aroused by a hard spanking from a female. If they paid for it, they could masturbate afterwards as I watched. However, I didn’t have to handle their splooge in any way. No handjobs or blowjobs were available from me, although other professional ladies opted for the extra money offered.

Maybe I was reverse-projecting my shame onto myself by imagining myself being spanked, as I described in the previous two chapters. But I also imagined inflicting punishment onto people I knew, especially my old boyfriend Paul D’Amato from 1974.

I’m pretty kinky, and I enjoyed being a “switch” with him during our own private sex games.

He was still on a college newspaper with me, but I couldn’t date him again because he had a new girlfriend in 1976. Actually, I felt like I was done with him anyway and I would be sociable with him once in a while but no more than that.

Nora’s Domination Fantasy

For my punishment of Paul, I imagined myself in the incarnation as a professor, one of my favorite roles. I don’t know what university I taught at, but it was certainly not City College. Outside my office window, I could see a campus with plenty of green foliage. I must have been influenced by my visits to Princeton and the University of Pennsylvania among other places.

My outfit consisted of a tight, short gray skirt, a blue blazer, a white blouse, and nylons and heels. My stockings were held up with a black garter and straps, and my hemline was high enough that I could flash my underthings at whatever poor sap was my target for the day. As a dominatrix, I could be wrathful, sexy, and as obtainable or unobtainable as I pleased.

That was my set-up for the imaginary afternoon with Paul. Instead of sitting behind my desk, I was in a chair in front of it. My right foot was up on a little table, and a fine view was offered all the way up to my crotch. Said crotch was covered by a pair of ample but almost transparent blue panties.

If you’ve seen BDSM porn, the woman playing the professor or headmistress will usually be wearing the traditional academic gown and mortarboard hat. That was completely ridiculous for an ordinary day, however, and I didn’t bother with that get-up. My clothes were still better than the outfits some female professors wore, but they were appropriate for a professional woman to wear.

Overall, the professor-student role-playing was a favorite one often chosen by my clients. It offered the power dynamic that those guys craved. At a university, I would have status and control over the students. It was all bullshit, of course, because they were usually the ones to choose the scenario, not me.

There was a knocking on my office door, and I said, “It’s not locked. Just come in.”

Paul, a sophomore, entered the room, looking a bit nervous. I knew why; his final paper for the semester was already three days late. In my mind, it wasn’t just a game. Our student/teacher roles were very real.

I imagined him as he was at the age of nineteen. That was when he was my real-life lover for a few months in 1974. He was a slender guy, not that tall, but he had nice dark eyes and hair. During that summer he hadn’t yet grown the mustache that he sported starting in 1976. His hair was a bit bushy, but in my imagination, it was cut back from his most extreme appearance when he would have it sticking out in all directions.

It was quite uncommon for American university students, but he was wearing a tie and a blue sports coat. He also had gray trousers. Perhaps I had been influenced by images of English schools where the students had to dress like that for most occasions.

That brings up a question: as a professor, how old was I supposed to be in that scene? I never pinned my age exactly, but I must have been in my thirties. Yet I looked pretty much as I did at my real age of twenty-one. Like dreams, fantasies can have such incongruous elements in them.

The most significant difference was that I had dark-rimmed glasses, not the steel-rimmed ones I wore when younger.

As I mentioned, I had my legs spread out and one foot up the coffee table. That position offered Paul a good view right under my skirt, past the straps and garter, to the crotch of my panties. That garment had gossamer-thin blue cloth and my pubic hair was visible through it.

When Paul walked into the room, I could tell he was trying to avoid looking at those delectable feminine undergarments. Yet I saw his eyes briefly flick down to notice what was under my skirt. Any man would have done the same thing, but I rebuked him for it.

“Young man, kindly keep your eyes to yourself. Do not try to peer up under my skirt.”

In the real world, he would have been justified in saying, If you don’t want me to look, then don’t display yourself like that. In that scenario, however, I had full authority over him and I could do and say whatever I wanted.

Thus he replied, “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry about that.” I hadn’t invited him to sit down, so he remained standing there with his hands folded in front of himself.

I sighed heavily and put my right foot down on the floor. There was no point in inflaming his lust any further just to humiliate him. He’d be getting plenty of humiliation from me shortly. I leaned forward a bit and said, “So, D’Amato, I think I know exactly why you are bothering me here today.” I must have been influenced again by the English school practice of calling students by their last names.

He responded, “You do, ma’am?”

“Of course, we both know that your final paper is overdue. You don’t have it with you, so I assume you are still working on it.”

He launched into an explanation, “You see, professor, I have been having trouble with...”

I raised my hand and cut him off. “Do not give me any of your lame excuses.” I couldn’t leave it at that. “Being three days late with your paper is completely inexcusable.” At that point, I crossed my legs, and my hem rode up enough to give a peek at one of my black stocking straps. As I said, the skirt was quite short.

Paul was discombobulated by not being allowed to finish his explanation. All he said was, “Yes, professor, I know.”

“Well, since you made an appointment to see me today, what is it that you expect me to do for you?”

That time I let him say his piece. “Professor Meara, I would be most grateful if you could give me an extension of the deadline or if necessary, mark my grade as incomplete until I can finish it.”

“You really are a cheeky little brat, aren’t you? You have some fucking nerve coming in here and requesting an incomplete. I’d be well within my rights to just fail you right now, on the spot.” I was mostly faking my anger, but I had learned how to do that well.

“Professor, give me a chance, I’m sure I can finish it in...” I could see that he was trying to calculate how much more time he was going to ask from me. He decided. “Two more days, I promise, and I can have it done.”

I shook my head and made a clucking sound, “D’Amato, I am a professor here, and yet you have the gall to try to negotiate with me?”

He was very worried now. “Please don’t fail me, I’ve never failed a course here before.”

“There’s always a first time for everything.” I looked away from him and put on an expression as if I was considering the issue. In fact, of course, I had already decided on what the outcome would be.

Finally, I said, “I will consider an extension for you – two days, only – but first, you must accept a punishment from me.” That was a line I often used on clients pretending to be wayward students.

“Thank you, ma’am, I am so grateful that you gave me this opportunity.”

I simply said, “You haven’t heard what the punishment is yet.”

He fumbled around for a response. “Well, no, I don’t know yet.”

I got up and stood behind my desk. “It’s going to be a corporal punishment. I assume you know what that is?”

“I think so. Why don’t you explain it to me, professor?”

I laughed. “Oh, I will explain it to you all right.” I opened a desk drawer and took out a long, thick leather belt. The business end of it was split into two forks.

“This, Mr. D’Amato, is a tawse. It was invented in Scotland to punish naughty boys such as yourself. It’s also called a ‘school belt.’ The teacher would inflict pain and humiliation on the miscreant by whipping him across his buttocks – his bare buttocks in particular.”

I stepped out from behind my desk, testing the belt against my left hand. “I have a particular method I’m going to use on you today.”

I tapped the back of my chair in front, which was armless. “You will place yourself facedown over my knees and then get about six whacks on the seat of your trousers. Believe me, those pants won’t give you much protection. Then you will get back over my lap with your trousers and drawers lowered so your behind is exposed.”

Somehow I enjoyed those silly but explicit little speeches. “And then, I will give you a real spanking that you won’t forget.”

He had the presence of mind to ask me, “How many swats am I going to get?”

“Well, my young scholar, I’m not sure. In Scotland, the full set was thirty-six on the offender’s backside. We’ll have to see if you can endure that many. Certainly, that would be a proper discipline for a lazy student such as you.”

I was wondering if his fear and his probable desire were causing a twitch in his behind. Some people, both males and females, reported that happened to them as they considered the beating to come. In fact, it had happened to me too at times when I played sex games.

Yet some of them also mentioned that they would feel a perverse anticipation about what was going to happen to them. Men might get an erection during the proceedings, while women would get damp in their pussies. Both sexes might then have had an urgent need to masturbate as soon as possible afterwards.

Thus, I would be able to tell from the state of Paul’s cock if he was that kind of kinky person. That’s why I wanted him in a spanking position with his crotch pressed down against my lap. I could have had him simply bend over while standing, but that lacked the kind of bodily intimacy I desired for the session. As for myself, I admit that I often felt tingles in my own crotch when dominating a man.

I got up and added one more statement, “Now, D’Amato, if you don’t relish the idea of being spanked by me, you can simply fail the course – right now. Don’t take too much time deciding.”

I swished my belt through the air. “You should be a man about it and not wimp out. A real man accepts punishment from a woman with the authority to correct his misdeeds. And I will then give you those two days to complete your paper.”

My appeal to his manhood must have gotten through to him. “Yes, professor, I will take the belting as you recommended. Once it’s over, I won’t have to worry about falling the course.”

“A wise choice, assuming you truly finish the paper. All right, then let’s get to it.”

I sat down on the chair and patted my lap. “Get over my lap and put your hands on the floor. Your feet can touch it too, but the main thing I want is that your behind is up nice and high for a good target.”

“Are you serious, professor?” I detected a note of anticipation in his voice. He had obviously not expected when he came in to be placed over my knees.

“Absolutely, I mean it. I’ve done this with other badly-behaved students before. Mostly, they were males but there was one young lady too. All of them got it on their bare behinds.”

Somehow I had gotten away with that for quite a while. None of them had dared report me to the deans. Maybe they thought that my word would be taken seriously while theirs would not.

I said to Paul, “Come over here and I’ll help guide you.” He was very tentative as he tried to get down, so I grabbed him and pulled him into place. Once there, I could feel the warmth and weight of his body against my clothes.

I pulled his jacket out of the way and gazed at him. His slim buttocks pushed tightly against the gray cloth of his trousers. He refused to look back at me.

Since I had the authority, I believed that I could do whatever I wished with him. My first act was to use my right hand to squeeze each of his butt cheeks in turn and then rub my hand down the backs of his thighs.

He moaned something like, “oh” when I did that. “So you like that, do you? Young men have such taut, fine rear ends. It’s a pity I have to beat yours so severely, but you’ve definitely earned a firm punishment.”

I picked up my tawse and tapped his rear with it. “Are you ready to receive your discipline now?”

“I suppose so.”

“You suppose so? Well, you’re getting it now and it’s going to be really vigorous as I said.” Sometimes I wondered how I came up with ridiculous dialogue like that.

I raised my implement up high and brought it down on the back of his pants. For a moment, I saw the leather put a dent in the cloth, and immediately he yelled, “O-o-w.” He wriggled somewhat on my lap. Then the second stroke came down on his butt, and I think he tried to get up.

“Now stay in position, please. You may cry out as long as it isn’t excessive, but please don’t try to get up.” I had been using my left hand to hold him around his waist. At that point, I moved it under his jacket to press down on the small of his back.

He groaned and swiveled his hips for the next four smacks, but he obeyed me and stayed where he belonged. At the end of that, he was breathing heavily. I also could feel his erection through the front of his pants. So this guy really is rather kinky after all.

Again, I fondled his hindquarters, but I could feel the heat radiating from his thwacked ass. All of that was part of the reason I enjoyed dominating men who were over my lap. I found the combination of overt discipline with covert sexuality to be quite appealing indeed.

“So, D’Amato, have you ever been spanked before, by anybody?”

“No ma’am, never.”

“It’s an interesting experience, is it not? I think you’re beginning to enjoy it.”

“Why do you believe that?”

“What a silly boy. Of course, I can feel your boner, that’s for sure. Don’t worry, many people feel pain in their rears when being spanked but also pleasure in the front.” I was one of them, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “Now, get up and lower your trousers to your knees. Then get back on my lap and I’ll take your drawers down myself.”

Paul seemed puzzled by my request, but he did it anyway. He was obviously embarrassed, and there was a good reason for that. His big erection pushed the front of his undergarment forward. Wow, he likes this quite a bit.

When I pulled his underpants down, his pale ass had red marks where I had swiped him with my tawse. I poked one particularly sore area, and he complained. “Sheesh, professor, it’s tender back there.”

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss.” I gave him a playful but solid hand smack on his behind, and he said, “Ouch!” again.

That inspired me to do something else. “You know, D’Amato, I should give you some spanks with my hand before moving on to the main event with the tawse.” He looked back at me but didn’t say anything.

I don’t have big hands but I know how to deliver a sound hand spanking. There was a definite pleasure in having my hand coming into direct contact with a male’s rear end. Thus I slowly but steadily slapped his already sore behind.

He groaned with each swat on his body. My own right hand became hot too. He complained again, “Professor, how long is this going to go on?”

“Until my hand gets worn out, maybe. What, are you getting eager to feel the leather on you instead of my hand? It must be so because I can feel how big your erection is.” It was poking down between my thighs. I was also becoming quite aroused as my pussy dampened and the moisture started to get into my panties.

In a moment I explained, “The reason for arousal during a spanking is that blood is flowing to your backside but also to your genitals. Now, you don’t seem to have a lot of meat back there, but I think you can take whatever I dish out on you.”