Chapter 1: The First Fantasy – Fast Food Worker

My first few weeks as a dominatrix in 1976 had some weird effects on my mind. When I was an amateur two years earlier, I had maybe two domination sessions per month, and those were mixed in with other kinds of tricks. Now that I was a semi-professional I was pulling at least three such sessions per week, with no other kinds of sexual activities for variety. I was also trying to study during my senior term, and I wasn’t concentrating on that too closely.

After ten months in my first rotation as a hooker, I was getting profoundly tired of the whole scene. Sexual variety usually didn’t make a difference. As somebody once joked, if you’ve seen – or done – one blowjob, you’ve seen them all.

But continual domination work wasn’t good for my mental state either. I began to have fantasies about it, scenes in which I was the victim or scenes in which somebody I knew was being punished by me. I would think about these activities while masturbating, that being an activity that I was truly quite fond of.

I had no boyfriend during that time in mid-1976, so I was even more eager to find release with my own hands or with one of the several dildos I owned. None of those handy devices were electric, by the way. I was quite adept at moving them around inside my pussy to satisfy myself, so I had no need of a mechanical assist.

When I got my own apartment, I would pleasure myself in different places inside that place besides the bed. The living room floor, the couch, or even the kitchen counter were all suitable locations for banging myself. After two or three orgasms, I would relax and then a sense of loneliness often overcame me.

I had never developed close friendships with the other women on my college newspaper, The Salient, one of five publications then operating at City College. There were only about a half-dozen female staffers at any one time. I used to think I was a bold chick, but as I grew older I found that my attitude was just a cover for my craving for privacy.

It was difficult for me to imagine discussing sexual matters one-on-one with another woman. Even less appealing was a hen party in which a group of females would chatter about their boyfriends, their cunts, and what said boyfriends would do to their precious genitals.

I had never lived alone before. I even missed my “roomie,” my uncle, who owned my old house in Maspeth, Queens. The quiet in my first apartment would unnerve me in the evening, and I would have to go out and simply wander the streets of the Upper West Side.

Anyway, I’ll describe a few of the fantasies that preoccupied me during that period in 1976.

My Fantasy No. 1

That first one was quite straightforward. It was based on my stint at a Burger King in the summer of 1974, my first legitimate job after I quit hooking. The location of the store was a few blocks from my house in Maspeth.

The plot involved the manager of the place, Mister McGregor, a guy of about forty-five. Back then superiors above a direct supervisor were usually addressed by their last names.

Mister McGregor thought I was an arrogant twat, which was accurate for the persona I cultivated at the time. Within the first three weeks, he was already complaining about my tardiness and absenteeism. I just wasn’t that eager about getting the stink of Whopper on my hands.

I was at my peak of being a smartass at that point. I had just survived ten months as an amateur campus hooker, and now that I was out, I was feeling more than a bit arrogant about the whole experience. I had grown tired of it, but that didn’t matter. In my mind, I was a bad-ass, streetwise girl who had handled a whole lot of horny johns, and I claimed not to be afraid of any of them. They had to follow my directions, not the other way around. It was all bullshit, of course, but I liked playing that role.

Also, I had landed my first real boyfriend, another freshman going on being a sophomore like I was. He was pretty laid-back, and he let me get away with a lot of bad behavior.

At the restaurant, I worked the way I wanted. I was sloppy with fulfilling the correct orders, and I gave lip to any customers who complained about the poor service. My attitude when they came up to the counter was, you had better not fuck with me.

If any young guys came in and caught my attention, I would flirt with them shamelessly, and I would shake my ass at them when I went to the back counter.

Of course, I was a pure cocktease and I never accepted any offers for dates, although I got plenty of those. I even considered getting back to a little hooking and getting some cash from these dudes in return for a handjob or blowjob in their cars in the parking lot. It was all just a sham because I never did any actual sex work while I was at that branch.

One day, after one of my shifts had ended, McGregor called me into his office and asked me to close the door behind me. I sat down, crossed my legs, and chewed some gum. I even pouted at him when I was in there.

One of the first things he said was, “Nora, I hope you don’t chew gum while working here.”

I shrugged, “So what difference does that make?”

Then he got into a list of extensive grievances he had with me. For a minute I thought he was going to fire me on the spot. That wouldn’t be good because my uncle had given me an extensive, painful belting on my bare behind when telling me to get a legit job. He made it clear that he would do it again if I screwed up and didn’t follow through on that fast food gig.

However, McGregor offered me an option. If I wanted to keep the job, I would have to accept a punishment from him, right on the spot. I said, “Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

He answered, “Nora, you are a very haughty young lady. You need to be taken down a few pegs” Then he smiled at me, which gave me a chill. “It’s quite simple actually. I’m going to take down your trousers, put you over my knees, and give you a sound spanking on your bare rear-end.”

I immediately protested, “You can’t do that. I’ll protest to corporate about your lewd proposal.”

He wasn’t fazed. “I’ve spanked some bad girls here before, and one naughty guy too. Corporate has always backed me up. You’re a minimum-wage employee. Who do you think they’re going to believe, you or me?”

I let him know my true feelings. “You’re a perverse little motherfucker, that’s what I think. You don’t have the right to do that to me.”

He shrugged. “Refuse my discipline, and you’re out of here now. Just bring your uniform back tomorrow.”

I pondered his proposal. I had been hand-spanked before, and I thought I was tough enough to take whatever McGregor could dish out on my ass. It will be over fast, and then I probably can slip by until I can get a position somewhere else.

The Burger King uniforms back then were awful; brown and yellow made for a hideous combination. My hat was a shapeless brown blob, and I hated to wear it. I would try to work without it, but McGregor or somebody else would catch me and make me put it back on.

About the only worthwhile aspect of those uniforms was that the girls’ trousers were always tight around one’s hips. I believed the company deliberately required smaller-size pants as a way to please the male customers, but of course, no one ever would admit to that. It was probably mentioned somewhere in the operating manual that all the managers had to possess.

My ass was not that big, but I enjoyed flinging my brown-covered butt around and seeing the reaction I was getting from lustful customers as I served Whoppers and Whalers. It was especially fun when I knew a guy was a virgin – somehow they always gave themselves away with their lack of confidence – and watching him virtually drool as I shook my slim booty all around the cooking area of the restaurant. It was especially effective when I had to bend down to get something out of a fridge or otherwise perform some activity at the back counter.

But on that day, I had to decide on whether I was going to accept a spanking on said ass or loss my job immediately.