What It's Really Like To Be A Plus-Size Dominatrix

BDSM isn't about pain; it's a form of sexual expression.

What It's Really Like To Be A Plus-Size Dominatrix goldeneden / Shutterstock
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I decided to become a plus-sized Dominatrix after being out of work for what seemed like forever and having run out of my usual job options. (There's not a lot that a degree in Theater Arts will prepare you for in the real world.) If worse came to worse, I figured I could pretend that I was only acting the part of a Dominatrix.

I had never embraced my own curves. My body and I were like roommates who only spoke when there was a problem — roommates who hated to spend time with each other. Could I do a job that revolved around body love and body strength — and most importantly, was I desperate enough to give it a try?

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The answer was yes. 

My first task was to find a client, so I put it out there that I was interested in becoming a Dominatrix. A friend of a friend (isn't it always about who you know?) put me in contact with Matt, aka Big Sub, a man who wanted a big woman to spank him. It wasn't a paying job yet but I could use it as a jumping-off point. It was my first step in what I hoped would be a lucrative career in domination.

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The more research I did, the more things I found that convinced me that being a Dominatrix was the job for me. 

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BDSM isn't about pain; it's a form of sexual expression and a set of erotic preferences. There are Dominatrixes of every kind; as an industry they're very accepting of any shape, size or nationality.

I also liked the fact that the hours were flexible, that I'd learn all kinds of new things, and that I'd be my own boss. Since I couldn’t just trail a working "domme" (short for dominatrix/dominant) as I would if I was learning how to be a waitress, I was unsure about how to train myself in this new world. The internet came to my rescue and I was able to watch some YouTube tutorials on the art of domination.

When I spoke to Big Sub on the phone to set up our first appointment, I made it clear to him that I was only interested in spanking for this first session and luckily, that's all he wanted.

But my head started to spin when I thought about what I should wear: leather or latex, hood or mask, or a combination of all four? Fetish wear is expensive and I didn't want to invest a lot of money on something that might not be a good fit career-wise.

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I decided to go with a faux leather Dominatrix costume from the Halloween store. If this dom stuff didn't work out, I'd really scare those trick-or-treaters when I opened the door holding a fake cat o' nine tails.

Squeezing myself into a pleather bustier was torture but I reminded myself that if I had gotten a job as a nurse or a fast food worker, I'd still have to wear a uniform. I looked in the mirror and tried to see my body as sexy.

I reminded myself that I was playing the role of Mistress Christine, a strong, dominant woman who was capable, self-reliant and beautiful. I sucked it in, laced it up, and went to my first session.

I left Big Sub's address with my roommate and emailed it to three other people, including the person who helped arrange the date. I didn't take the fact that I was going to a stranger's house lightly. If this did work out and I had more clients in the future, I'd come up with a system to vet them before agreeing to a session or encourage them to schedule something by Skype. Remote spanking sounded really appealing and like the easiest job ever.

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Big Sub lived in a moderate ranch-style house in the suburbs of Los Angeles. I had barely reached his front porch steps when he opened the door smiling and motioned for me to come inside. I got the feeling that he liked what he saw but he said very little.

As I followed him to the master bedroom, I had to snake my way between huge boxes of paper towels, cookies and toilet paper. The house appeared to be decorated in bulk grocery items.

I had always heard that the kind of person who used the services of a Dominatrix were usually powerful men like lawyers, doctors and politicians who needed to be dominated as a relief from their everyday stress. Big Sub didn't appear to be a powerful in any way except in size. I wondered if all the boxes made him feel safe and protected like my extra weight made me feel.

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His bedroom was very plain except for some novelty ceramic statues of a sad-looking guy playing various sports. But I started to relax; a man who had a figurine collection wasn't dangerous....right?

He undressed and lay down on the bed. Without saying anything, he pointed to the hairbrush on the table. I knew that was what he wanted me to spank him with. I was picking up on the subtle clues that my client was giving me. My years of doing improv were going to come in handy.

As I stood there next to the bed looking down on Big Sub, I didn't feel ridiculous dressed in my pleather bustier; I felt commanding and strong.

I was in charge of the session and whatever happened. He trusted me (even though he knew very little about me), which made me want to do a good job even more. I’ve always been a hard worker and was prepared to give this new profession my all.

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I started out slowly, spanking him equally on both sides of his butt. He stayed quiet and I couldn't tell if he was enjoying it or not. I spanked and spanked, stopping only to see if I was bringing any kind of color to his ass, as I'd learned that would be the only kind of performance appraisal I was likely to get.

But his cheeks stayed defiantly pale. Nobody told me that spanking could be more exhausting than rehearsing a fight scene. It wasn't too long before I felt like I needed a break but unlike an office job there's no mandatory 10-minute break in BDSM.

RELATED: 5 BDSM Myths Your Average Health Professional Actually BELIEVES

After about 15 minutes of solid spanking, he wasn't any closer to completion. I wondered how I would know when my shift was over. Would he climax or simply say he'd had enough? We hadn't come up with a safe word beforehand. I guess if he started saying something like banana or James Van Der Beek repeatedly, I'd know he was done.

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The spanking continued and my arm and hand were getting tired, but I pushed myself to keep going. I was taking this job seriously and wanted to make it work. I was getting exhausted and bored and started to daydream about going a tropical vacation. I wasn't paying attention when my hand let go of the hairbrush in mid-strike, and it went careening towards the ceramic sports guys, beheading the bowling one.

When Big Sub started screaming and not in a super-satisfied kind of way, I knew I wasn't going to get a positive performance appraisal. It was clear that the next time I would be wearing my Dominatrix get-up, I'd be giving Snickers away instead of spankings. I left as quickly as I could. 

As I drove home, I had to be honest with myself: I wasn't cut out to be a plus-sized Dominatrix. While I may have been physically suited for the job, it hadn't been a good fit. But I was glad I had done the session and had no regrets. 

I gained confidence and a sense of empowerment from being a plus-sized Dominatrix for a day. I felt as if there was a world of opportunities for me; all I had to do was to put myself out there and not shoot something down without considering it.

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I have all kinds of marketable skills — just turns out professional spanking isn't one of them.

Christine Schoenwald is a writer and performer. She's had articles in The Los Angeles Times, Salon, and Woman's Day. Visit her website or and her Instagram.

Editor's Note: This article was originally posted in January 2016 and was updated with the latest information.