Secret Life of a Devout Christian Dominatrix

On Saturday night I don latex and beat men with paddles. On Sunday morning I go to church. Are these two forms of devotion really so different?

Illustrations by Kenny Wroten | Story edited by Lilly Dancyger

When the worship music faded, I found myself in tears. I was certain that I didn’t belong in church. I sat in the balcony because I didn’t want to interact too much with other church members, lest they sense something was amiss. I wondered if anyone could tell from the hastiness of my dress that I’d spent the night before tying up dicks and caning men. I’d taken extra effort in changing. I so desperately wanted to avoid mixing my dominatrix clothes with my church clothes that I kept them in separate drawers. But they always seemed to tangle up. I was always at one place thinking about the other. My identity as a dominatrix was in conflict with my presence at a Sunday service. These things couldn’t stay separate in my mind.

A month before that Sunday, I had come across a matter-of-fact Craigslist ad that read “Koreatown Dungeon seeking dominatrix.” I was restless and uncomfortable in my skin, looking for something outside of myself, so I answered it. I was already a well-known submissive in BDSM circles from New York City to Colorado. I had spent nine months as a twenty-four-seven sex slave in Colorado, submitting to a dominant married man, who doted on me. My submission was a gift to both of us and it was almost a spiritual experience for me. I loved to give up control to my former master. I was proud to wear his collar – an actual jewelry-style chain that symbolized my devotion to him – and to be owned by him. He took good care of me. I needed to be taken care of at that time in my life and he was happy to take on the role.

I’d recently flipped roles and started dabbling as a dominatrix as well, with a submissive of my own, and this experience gave me the confidence to respond to the ad. I’d even listed myself on Fetlife, the BDSM social network, as a switch (someone who could play both dominant and submissive roles).

When I arrived at the dungeon for my interview dressed from head-to-toe in faux leather, I was greeted by Amy, the office manager. She was wearing a t-shirt and dress pants, which surprised me – I’d expected a corset and heels, or something salacious. Instead, she looked plain, with shoulder length brown hair and an accent I couldn’t identify, maybe Russian. The place was listed in the building as a studio, but when I got to the floor there were two heavy wooden doors. When Amy gave me a tour, I saw that there were themed rooms. I really liked the room that was designed to look like a doctor’s workspace.

“What kind of things do you do with your submissive?” she asked.

“Impact play, sensual play,” I answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Spanking, nipple play.”

“Do you know how to do CBT?”

“No, I’m not really sure how to do cock and ball torture.”

“I guess we will show you. It’s fairly easy. We mostly use rope to tie the balls.”

The whole interview lasted no more than five questions. I was hired on the spot. Amy offered to introduce me to the other women, and the first thing I saw when I walked into the “Girls Lounging Room” was titties. One woman walked by me with her perky breasts out, in stockings and heels. She was headed to the full-length mirror that took up an entire wall of the room to apply makeup. When I recovered from the initial shock of the various states of undress around the room, I felt like I was home. My former master in Colorado was a nudist, and I’d spent most of my time at his home in the nude. When I saw the laid-back approach to nudity in the lounge, I knew I would like it there. Everyone was comfortable with their body. I struggled with my own body and it was a relief to see others so confident and uninhibited. If a woman with b-cups could walk around strutting her stuff, surely my triple-d’s could find some confidence. I had walked into a subculture I could call my own.