Fifty Shades of Domination - My True Story by Mistress Miranda Page B

was tall, dark-haired, handsome and well-dressed. As I later learned, he had a ‘thing’ for designer label clothes, although, then and now, that is the last thing in the world likely to impress me. Having little money myself for most of my childhood, I couldn’t understand the appeal of wasting £50 and upwards on a T-shirt. He was about my own age, a little older than my neglectful boyfriend, and things soon got a little out of hand as we danced. After a few more drinks I ended up doing something I’d never done before or since: I had drunken sex with him in a toilet cubicle. It was not the most memorable sex of my life and all I can really remember is people laughing, whooping and hollering encouragement outside the door. It made quite a commotion until suddenly the bouncers cottoned on that something untoward was underway and duly kicked us out of the club. It was not quite a one-night stand; I did see him a few more times but the affair came to a crashing halt one evening when, out of the blue, he decided to bite my bum in bed. It was not a gentle love-bite; this was a full-blown bite on my arse-cheeks that had me yelling in pain. It was the end of a not-so-beautiful friendship.
In the meantime, Tom and I had endured a painful true-confessions evening when he admitted various lies to me and I came clean about my nightclub fling. I hadn’t intended to hurt him so much but I am both a terrible liar and terrible atkeeping secrets from anyone. It was a little selfish, I know, but if I have a guilty conscience then I always have to ease it by telling the truth. I felt so hard done by because of the way he had refused to take me out but I felt bad because he just looked destroyed from the moment the words left my mouth. Understandably, he said he couldn’t be with me anymore and although we tried to struggle on together for a while, it was clearly the end of our relationship. I was sorry to lose him but such childhood romances do have their natural time span and this one’s time had come.
There was a bittersweet postscript to my long friendship with Tom. Despite our later problems he had been my first love and the first man to awaken my sexual desires. He had helped shape the fetish and domination interests which have lasted throughout my life. I’d had boyfriends after him, but nobody special and then, more than three years later, I heard he had asked a friend how I was. I couldn’t resist giving him a call. The result was a second, six-week-long, fling of ‘sex-with-your-ex’ which was exciting and fun. With new experiences under my belt I also realised that he was not the best-endowed man in the world and that his cock, which once had been the centre of my world, was distinctly smaller than others I had known. Of course, being the kind lady that I am, I kept that opinion very much to myself and, to be fair to him, the size of his penis didn’t stop me wanting to jump all over him again. We had a lot of conversation to catch up on and I felt our renewed friendship was worthwhile and strong. It was not, however to last.
Our second-time around relationship came to an unhappy halt on a Valentine’s Day when Tom turned up at my doorarmed with the requisite chocolates and flowers. As the evening wore on a minor disagreement suddenly turned into a serious row and he announced that he no longer wanted to see me. The shock and my anger made me lose my normal ladylike demeanour: ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I demanded. ‘You’ve brought me Valentine flowers, manufactured a row from a tiny problem and then you tell me you don’t want to be with me any longer. What the fuck is this about?’
A sudden explanation entered my mind: ‘Is this just getting back at me for what fucking happened three years ago? Did I really hurt you that much? Is that what this is?’ Despite Tom’s persistent denials, I still found it hard to believe that a man could arrive at my door with chocolates and flowers and split up with me