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The Steel-Toed Bitch and other delicious dommes

There was a time—five months ago, to be precise—when I scorned the seven-minute sub call. Meaningless as far as submissive experiences go, I said. Ridiculously narcissistic micro-binges of faux fear, I said. With my own lifestyle experiences under my belt (hell, with a bunch of good beltings under my belt), I felt fitly girded to look at that shit and laugh. What the hell can you do in seven minutes?

I’m still in that camp, to some degree. In real life, seven minutes is hardly enough time to tongue-polish the toe of one boot. But with a little more experience racked up, I’m starting to find and enjoy the subtle differences in phone domme-ness that I can play with, even in seven….

There’s the Intelligent Tease. The sex may be vanilla or kinky, doesn’t matter, because how I talk is the point, drawing them out and mocking them with every lightly barbed sentence. This is one of my favorites, because I can really let loose with my vocabulary and jokes. I throw enough at them so they’re kinda dazed and laughing and intrigued, and then I tell them exactly what’s going to come next.

Ooh, how about the Woman of Mystery? She rivals my shemales for lowest-pitched voice, I’m talking serious Kathleen Turner territory. And she’s kinda freaky, as in, uncanny. As a WoM, I know everything. I speak with enough authority, telling them what they like about my body and how their body is reacting to that stimuli, that inevitably, inexorably, it happens. Just as I knew it would. It’s like Obi-wan in Star Wars, but, you know, sexy. “These are the tits you’re looking for…” “These are the tits I’m looking for…”

The Steel-toed Bitch is another favorite of mine, because I never get to be her in real life. I don’t have her shoes or her leather wardrobe. Or the cock, for that matter; usually I’m a shemale for this, unless I’ve got the 8-inch strap-on in place. I’m always doing the fucking, but I don’t give them anything until I’ve wedged the toe of my boot in their ass. Or something like that. I’m just warming them up, see?

And then of course there’s the Hot Sex-Ed Teacher, always ready to step in when the caller is enthusiastic but ignorant. Like a 15-year-old, you know? Shy but eager, and desperately in need of some gentle, clear yet sensual instructions about how exactly to lick my pussy, and why it’s a good idea to use a finger or two on the ass before ramming one’s Woodrow Wilson in. (All you man-fuckers of the world, you can thank me later.)

In my original seven-minute sub article, I used the sandwich metaphor to put down the shorty-short domme call: It’s the one ingredient the caller wants, delivered on the audio equivalent of pasty white sandwich bread and consumed quickly. But I think I may have sold myself short, because in actual fact, I’ve got a whole countertop full of sauce bottles, ready to slather on and perk that sub up at a moment’s notice. It’s still fast food, but it’s gonna be good stuff.

“These are the tits you’re looking for…”