My First Call - "Spank Me Please, Mistress!"

Perhaps as a precursor, the very first phone sex call I ever took was from a submissive man.

It was time for my big debut. I called her at the pre-arranged time, and told her I was available. We chatted for a bit, she attempted to calm me down as I was quite nervous (especially since she would be listening to my first few live calls), and we hung up to await my "cherry-popping".

I don't even remember what my name was for this call. I've had dozens of names over the years, and the name I used for this first call is lost among them...Amanda? Amy? Gretchen? Samantha? Bobbie?

Pick whichever you like.

About twenty minutes later the phone rang. My mouth went dry. My hand shook a little bit as I reached to answer the phone. "It's just a guy!" I thought to myself. "You've talked to plenty of guys before."

But not about spanking.

Not about sucking my toes.

Not about golden showers (and why the hell would any man want that! my innocent 21 year old mind would wonder..)

Not about any of the myriad strange things these men might want, but that didn't matter because I was determined to do this, determined to prove that in fact I could say the P word and many other much more vulgar and un-ladylike words, and I could say them without blushing and besides, I couldn't back out now because the phone was ringing and there was a man on the line waiting to talk to me about God-knows-what.

I picked up the phone.

"Hi, it's me," Susan said. "I have _______ on the phone waiting to talk to you. He's one of my regulars. He's into Domination. I'm going to stay on the phone and listen while you talk, okay?"

"You're the boss. Okay. I'm nervous," I said.

"Don't be, he's really nice," she said. "I'm going to click over to him now. It'll be fine."

I heard the click, and then Susan said "You there?"

"Yes, hi, " I said.

"Okay, _______ is on the phone. _________, say hello."

"Hello, Mistress," he said.

Oh no. He called me Mistress. This is scary.

"Hi there," I said. "Are you ready to play?"

"Yes, I am," he said.

"And what do you like to play?" I asked.

"Well, I have a cockring on, and I have some warming lube with me, and I have a shoelace..."

A shoelace?

"Uh huh," I said. "Go on..."

"And I have a paddle with me. And I have panties on."

"What do your panties look like?" I asked.

"Well, they are pink, and really silky and soft,"

"Mmmm sounds nice. What style are they?"

"Mistress, they are bikini cut and trimmed with lace," he said.

"And what do you like to do when you are wearing your panties?" I asked.

"I like to serve."

The above is one of those frustrating answers that I have heard hundreds of times over the past 12 years. It is frustrating because it is very broad. There are about as many ideas of the definition of "to serve" (in this context), as there are men who wish to serve. I couldn't rightly ask him "What does that mean," at this point, because I was supposed to be at the helm (although he was aware that this was my first-ever session and had apparently agreed to 'give me a try'). So I thought about what he had with him, and went from there.

"It would make me very happy if you took your paddle and spanked yourself on your pantied behind ten times. And count the spankings as you administer them."

I heard the *thwacks* begin, and heard the simultaneous counting. "One, two, OWW!, three, four..."

"Good, that's very good, you're making me happy."

"...five...AAAAAH!...six..."

"Keep going, you're doing well."

When in doubt, make them count. "Are you enjoying your spankings?"

"Yes Mistress! Thank you! Seven, eight..."

I had two more spankings to decide what I was going to do next. Hmmmm. Panties. Shoelace. Lube. Lube. Lube, I know what to do with.

"Nine...ten! Aaaaaah!" He finished his spankings, and said "Thank you, Mistress."

"You're welcome. Now get your lube."

"Yes, Mistress, I have it, thank you."

"Pull your panties down, and lube up your cock for me, " I instructed.

I would later come to find out that frequently, men in panties enjoy hearing their penises referred to as a "clitty", or a "sissy-clit", or some other female-suggestive term. But I did not know this then.

"Mmmmm that feels good," he said, as he followed my instructions.

I continued to guide him in his stroking. I had no idea what the shoelace was for, so I'm guessing it remained on the nightstand for future use with a more experienced Mistress. I switched between the paddle and the jacking-off for about 10 minutes, then he asked:

"Mistress, may I come?"

This was new. At that time, with my limited experience with young men my age, men never ASKED if they could climax. They just did it, and much of the time it seemed they did it by accident. But this man was waiting for permission, and I granted it.

Here was the first of thousands of male orgasms I would be auditorally privy to - I liked it.

"Thank you, Mistress! You did a good job."

"It was nice talking to you. We'll talk again soon."

"Good bye," he said. I was no longer 'Mistress' - the title is often expelled with the 'slave's' semen. That was cool with me. At that point I was at the very beginning stages of developing my own Dominant proclivities, not yet concerned with protocol. Besides, I'd been nervous as hell and I'd made it through my first call.

The phone clicked, and Susan said "Hello?"

"Hi!" I said. I was excited. I'd "done it," and I felt like I'd done it fairly well.

"That was good," she said. "I think you're going to do okay."

I think she was right.

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