coquetterie

This post is inspired by the Pearl Restraints found at Kiki de Montparnasse.

Another hot summer evening in the city finds me meeting my lover for dinner at a chic, yet out-of-the way restaurant. Entering the cool and dark building, my chocolate eyes adjust to the dimness and I search him out. My lips curve up into a small smile and dimples punctuate my cheeks like apostrophes.

Spying me, he stands as I cross the short distance between us. A soft kiss, warm-glossy-lips pressed to his, follows an embracing hug. I slide into the booth across from him, the thick curtain of pearls encircling my neck rustling and rubbing against each other. Their warm luminescence serves, almost, as a collar for my deep-decolletage sundress in crimson.

We laugh. We flirt. We enjoy dinner. To anyone viewing us, our body language is open and comfortable. We clearly enjoy each other’s company. Our hands brush, we offer the other nibbles from our plates. Sexual tension punctuates the air and grows between us as the minutes tick away.

Making my way to the entrance as he settles the bill, I slip into the twilight just beyond the doors. His arms encircle me as we wait for a taxi. He lips move against the line of my neck, nibbling and teasing. Of it’s own volition my body moves against his, sharing my arousal with him. As he growls, “I want you now!” into my ear, a cab pulls to a stop before us.

The commute to his place is slow. Traffic is against us, or so he believes. I reach up and begin to unfurl the long strand of pearls from around my neck. He watches, interested, as the chain grows longer and longer. Carefully, I thread one part of the strand through a gold loop adorning the length. I slip it over one of his wrists and then repeat the action on the other.

“You’re mind now.” I tell him. “I expect you do to everything I ask of you. I know you agree when I say that sexual tension, desire, lust, want only adds to pleasure. So, you are not to speak unless I ask you a direct question and you are to behave.”

In response, he nods.

“Good. Now, be careful. I don’t know the tensile strength of this long strand and I don’t want my new acquisition to be damaged. Remember to control yourself. This is an exercise in your self control and ability to submit.”

Tearing my gaze from his, I look forward at the cabby. I catch his leering gaze in the rearview mirror and shake my head. Whilst stopped in this blessed gridlock of Friday evening rush hour, I slide myself into my lover’s lap. My arms curl around his neck and my mouth slides over his cheek to begin his pleasurable torment.

Moments later, I am rewarded with a soft groan of pleasure as my mouth finds his ear. As I look into his eyes before they flutter closed with pleasure, I see he laments rush hour as I savor my opportunity to tease him.

Full disclosure: I am partnering with Outblush, a fashion and lifestyle site, to leverage my experience and expertise in order to meld the worlds of fashion and sexuality. I will recommend products for their readers and will post about them here as well. There is no re-use of content; it is all original.

I adorn myself with the jewel of queens: pearls. More often than not, I wear pearl studs in my ears and a strand of pearls around my neck. They are, I find, the perfect fashion accessory. Dress them up. Dress them down. They work during the day at the office or for an evening on the town.

It is no surprise, I imagine, when I tell you that I have four strands of varying colors. What I do not have, though, is a long strand. That will change. I found the perfect long strand of pearls. Why are they perfect? Because they do double duty as bondage restraints. Perfectly named, Pearl Restraints, you can purchase them from Kiki de Montparnasse.

Now, I haven’t fully tested their tensile strength. I do not imagine they will support extreme bondage or survive a very wriggly submissive. What they do is enhance an already erotic experience by adding more layers of sensation and pleasure.

I know, I’m late posting today I worked on other projects. Did a few things, including a load of laundry Yes, I know my life is intoxicating; you cannot get enough. Rambling on, I’m not certain of what to speak. At times, even work concerns seem too intense, too close, too personal. Is that a warning? Is that bad? I don’t know.

A friend told me that I delve too deeply into my client’s lives and troubles. She said, when we spoke of it, that I ought to remain emotionally aloof and detached. When I think of clients, in her opinion, I must hear the ringing of cash registers. They represent income only. They are not lovers; they are not friends. Do not delude yourself into believing otherwise, no matter what they tell you – her words, not mine.

When you speak to a client for multiple sessions, three to four times a week, that wall, that detachment crumbles. You each share intimate details of your lives. He knows, for examle, that I follow football religiously. Go Ravens! I wax poetic on philology as well as the Autumn shoe collections. He listened to me rail about the popularity of gladiator sandals. He worries that I don’t date enough and I worry that he dates all the wrong women. I know [some of] his deepest secrets and his great worries.

Several months ago, I quizzed my boss. I didn’t understand why I had my success. She told me, “Darling, it all comes down to personality. You are open; you listen. You don’t offer advice and stray from controversy. You are empathetic and you care. That comes through. Further, darling, you are incredibly sexy, your clients just adore you and your personality which shines through.”

For me, unlike other Phone Mistresses, it’s all about the relationship. I might treat my clients meanly as they desire; I can still let my personality shine through. I am not the sort to appear to be the tough as nails Ice Queen. In fact, I found that when I attempted that, it cost me clients. They want to see a well choreographed slip in the armor. They realize, whether they acknowledge it or not, that it’s designed to draw them in and part them of their lucre.

My coping mechanism for all of this, learning to distance myself. I share only vague notions of what occurs during sessions. I restrain myself from asking about known family or friend issues. They can volunteer it and I listen, only. It has remarkably reduced my stress. Will I still be too cozy, too involved? Undoubtedly. Now, I have the ability to cope. I believe it will only serve me well.

Clients remind me of a mixed bag of candies. They appear similar until the shiny wrappings are removed. Appearances deceive: Well-dressed, upwardly-mobile or just wealthy, generally older. Beneath the designer labels rest the beating hearts of submissives. Their fetishes cut a wide swath through the list of the acceptible and no-so-acceptible fantasies*. Removing the wrappings reveals the truth underneath the subterfudge. A variety bag of sweets. My favorite.

These men enjoy being bested by a young woman. They adore being put in their place and told what to do no matter what (as long as it is within the parameters of their fantasy. Control-freaks and type-As have limits, too.) I am adept at weaving fantasies featuring fantastic, mythological beasts even as I contemplate a more historically accurate fantasy involving the Inquisition, slavery or Nazi Germany. Pleasure, pain, humiliation and objectification rank among of few of my talents. Hypnosis, cuckolding, key-holding, along with tease-and-denial often shock clients, especially when they realize how greatly I enjoy them. I climb inside their minds, decipher their desires, separate needs from wants and then give them the best session possible within the contraints I have: time and limits.

From my words, you see that I develop a rapport with clients. Good rapport drives repeat business. And, if you hadn’t guessed, my remuneration depends on clients calling back, repeatedly. Unlike many women and men, I work for a small, privately-owned phonesex company. It’s not a phonesex mill. Calls do not arrive back-to-back, one after the other. Many shifts consist of me waiting for the phone to ring with varied levels of success. Extrapolated, no rapport equals no calls equals miserable pay packet.

For this reason, even if I do not like a client, I develop a rapport with them. And that rapport manifests itself in a variety of ways. My coterie latches onto the strangest of things. Many like my turn of phrase. Others prefer the air of sophistication I exude for one so young (only because of the youth in my voice). A handful enjoy my the sound of my voice. (They say it’s incredibly sexy…I think I sound like a teenager. P’rhaps that is the appeal, no?)

I pepper conversation with details of shopping sprees conducted online or mad-dashes through Manhattan. I bemoan living in Orlando for it’s lack sophisticated boutiques for those that want to be owned by a demanding, Blair Waldorf-type. I taunt foot-fetishists with tales of peep-toed Louboutins, pedicures with male aethesticians, over-pampered tootsies and strappy sandals. I turn grown men, who ache to have me and know they never will, into whimpering, sobbing fools by mentioning how wonderful my lover is to me, how well he fucks me.

The aforementioned scenarios remain amongst the less shocking ones. It just highlights the mixed bag of knowledge I must maintain. If clients interests revolve in a sphere that I do not follow, I research it. I learn all that I can about a client’s favorites. Conversely, I edit my speech, removing items they dislike. I provide them with the experience they seek. M pairs us because my style and interests match theirs. As with any match, it’s not always 100%. It’s my job to take that variety bag of candy and arrange a tasting allowing the flavors flow together into a wonderful gourmet experience.

* By not-so-acceptible fantasties, I refer to items deemed taboo by maistream phonesex companies. Perhaps I will talk more on the subject later, perhaps not.

I posed the question on my Twitter* account earlier, “Has twitter killed the ability of blog readers to leave comments? Or, is mine just that uninteresting now that it lacks sex and discusses work?” I know that many bloggers, with oodles of followers, garner much more attention than I. That’s super, actually. Probably the way it ought to be, even. More on that for another day.

What worries me, I suppose, is the lack of attention this indicates. Actually, perhaps it’s not lack of attention so much as lack of attention span. Are we being so indoctrinated to live life in 140 (or 160 sms) characters so that we can no longer string a coherent thought together? We cannot take time to comment on blog that is updated less frequently? Are we turning to this new media because the turn-around for response is faster?

Here and now, I admit I am not immune. I nolonger comment on blogs as I once did. I take to twitter if I have a comment. I do admit to obsessively checking for blog updates and reading them voraciously as soon as I see one. Yes, I am that woman. And, likely, I shall never change. I admit to missing the infrequent comments on my writing, and seeing that I struck a chord with someone, somehwere. It makes me feel good to know that I am not alone in this struggle called life.

* Subscribe to my twitter tweets/feed/account here. I know, shameless plugging when I really want people to read the blog. Yes, I know, this always makes me an attention whore. I own it and wear it well. What do y’all think?

**Grammar nazis unite! This ** doesn’t reference anything in the post. I know that will raise your hackles. I realize it makes me hypocritical. (The idea that I want blog comments whilst I twitter about things instead of commenting on others I read.) Also, I want my cake and to eat it, too. Choose the verbiage of your choice.

When I work, I always answer the phone the same way, “Hallo, this is la coquette.” * Spoken in an alluring, upbeat tone, this serves as the client’s introduction to me for the evening. Ritualizing the greeting calms me and provides the mental preparation that I need. Succinctly, it puts me in the zone.

In the 18-months of this career, no one has ever said anything about the greeting. Until the other evening, that is. N1**, clearly protecting his identity, boomed from the earpiece, “Do they not realize they are calling to speak with la coquette?” I laughed, replying, “Hallo, N1. How are you doing? And, there can be technical difficulties, hence always the same annoucement.” Mollified with that reply, he let the subject drop.

Indulge me a moment. I always answer the same way because if I do not, the same question always arises, “Is this la coquette?” Honestly, I ache to reply, “Darling, you’ve spoken with me for an hour per week for 18 months. Do you really not recognize me?”

Men, as has been noted, are creatures of habit. Some of my clients do not like change and would not appreciate speaking with another consultant. Besides, it’s one of M’s, short for the Managatrix, rules. That trumps any reason I give. Although, we polish the client’s reply to provide the requisite warm and fuzzies.

* Clearly not my working name nor my given name. Seriously, who doesn’t like using the word nor?

** Not the client’s name. An abbreviation for the cardinal indicator of North; meaning, the client lives in the North, somewhere. The number one after the N is randomly assigned, so I can differentiate between Northern clients.