I was just peeling off my latex thighs boots when the call came. Breathy and a bit desperate, like an asthmatic choirboy.
holding back the tears
“Is that you, O? Can you ring back tomorrow? I’m tired.”
“But I need attention!” I could hear the tears in his voice. Boring.
“Don’t we all, O? Don’t we all?”
“Pul–lease. I’ve been crying for hours. Weeks.”
“Yeah, I know. I read your 23 blog posts. and the thousand and three tweets. What is it this time?” I should have just put the phone down. I’m soft as shit, me.
“I just — you know — want –” he broke off, sobbing.
Contrary to popular belief, a dominatrix’s life is not an easy one. “What do you want, O?”
“Just — talk to me.”
“O, I’m really tired. I’ve just got off work. The Normal Experience. You know how that knackers me.”
“Please.”
“I don’t get what you get out of it, O.” I could feel my willpower waning. Ego depletion, they call it.
“I just want to feel — noticed.”
“Yeah yeah, O. I can spare you one phone call.”
“Thank you, thank you. I’m not worthy.”
I took a deep sighing breath, and began. “You’re not worthy, you little Blairite toe-rag. You worthless little turncoat. Spineless piece of shit…
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