So you want to be a Dominatrix? Join the queue... #NewYorkFuckingCity Part 1

I checked into the notorious Chelsea Hotel, where Sid Vicious killed Nancy Spungen and where many of the scenes for Madonnas sex book were shot. It was divine, occupied mainly by musicians, artists, sex workers, drug dealers and other dodgy characters. It was a perfect base for me on my quest for underground kink, filth and perversion. NYC then was the “Old New York” the one everyone reminisces about these days. Before that twat Rudy Giuliani cleaned it all up. I was invited to a bar called Hoggs & Heffers in the meat packing district. Back then, the area was raw transsexual streetwalker turf but the bar was nothing special, full of drunken meatheads cheering wasted girls dancing on the bar tops. I wandered outside and saw a seedy looking joint which seemed a lot more intriguing, I went down the stairs and knew this was more like it.  I had stumbled on the the infamous Hellfire club, it was a sordid place with all sorts of debauched fuckery going on. A decent girl would have walked straight out but I wanted to immerse myself in the gritty underbelly of the city, the more sordid the better. I looked about, it certainly wasn't like the upmarket fetish parties i had been to in London. The slaves were different to the stereotypical subs I had met in Hong kong. Privileged white males, my usual clients were bankers or pilots. Here there were all types of nationalities and they were from all walks of life. It's a myth that only powerful guys like to be dominated, maybe they are just the ones who can afford to session more often. The presence of a young British Domme in the house was certainly appreciated. My feet were in great demand, subs were jostling each other to be the next one to worship them. The last masseur was a gorgeous 22 year old Hispanic kid. He took my hand and led me to a chair he had placed in the middle of the room. He had an amazing technique. The foot worshiping became more and more erotic, he was using more than his hands to massage my feet. Other men gathered round us in a circle watching the show whilst stroking themselves. Gulp! what had i got myself into?  It was like something out of a film. I stayed cool, pulling nonchalantly on a cigarette.  Straight after I decided to leave on a high and go get breakfast with a young gay guy I'd been chatting with. We took a yellow cab to a 1950s diner in Chelsea. As we sat there giggling about our escapades, stretch limousines started to pull up and guys in tuxedos and girls in ball gowns walked in. It was prom night... the youth and innocence of these students contrasted with the depraved deviance I had just witnessed and been a part of. God Bless America. A perfect end to a crazy sick night.

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