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  • Writer's pictureicenimistress

Confessions of a gas engineer, plumber, electrician, carpet fitter and lodger.



It’s not every day that you find yourself juggling the delayed visit of the gas meter fitter at the same time as you are supposed to be answering the door dressed as an angry nun- a furious Mother Superior, to be more precise.

‘I’ll have to turn the electricity off for around half an hour, ok?’ the gas meter engineer informed me, and I nodded vaguely, but my mind was elsewhere, anxiously calculating how am I going to work this? My client is arriving in 10 mins, and now I can’t meet him at the door in my full habit, in role, ready to haul him into the study and thrash the sin out of him. And I must keep the study door closed so the meter man doesn’t see the canes, or the frilly knickers Mother Superior is going to force this peeping Tom to wear while she smacks his bottom. Usually I answer the door prepared, in full make up, lights on, study ready with implements or props laid out, and in the right headspace. This was not how I like to start my sessions, in this state of stress. In the end my client, with endless patience, walked round the neighbourhood waiting for my summons as soon as the meter had been fitted and the engineer had left. He walked round in circles for an hour while I fretted and willed the engineer to hurry up. And he ended up having a fantastic session. To be fair this type of scheduling mess is extremely rare. But it made me think about all the times I have nearly been busted for being kinky, and there are many near-misses, some closer than others.


There was the time a new client texted me to let me know he was half an hour early and almost at my door, instead of texting to ask if I was ready, resulting in a frantic dash around the house wriggling into my matron’s outfit and closing doors, switching lights on etc. I was halfway through putting my lipstick on when there was a knock at the door - not even a buzz from the bell at the gate to let him into the courtyard. Perhaps one of the neighbours had left it open, along with the main front door, I assumed (odd, that) and answered the door to the plumber, who was here to investigate a leak. And who had let himself into the courtyard and the building and was outside my front door with no advance warning or appointment, which I’d asked him for. Three days ago. Ah well, I remember thinking, it is an authentic nurse’s dress from a uniform outfitter with ‘Matron’ embroidered on the pocket, maybe I could pass as a ward sister actually getting ready to go to work.

‘Oh… can I have a look at the leak?’

‘Er, yes, go on then, but quickly please, I’m on my way to work. This is not really a convenient time.’ I replied impatiently, now stressing about the client almost at my door, and the plumber looked me up and down, I saw his eyes read ‘M-a-t-r-o-n’ on my breast pocket, and he stepped gingerly into the hallway, took the briefest of glimpses at the leak and hot-footed it out of there, almost stumbling on the stairs. Well, that’s what you get for turning up unannounced. Certainly at my house.


In case you think I am concocting a bad seventies porn scenario here, I can in fact make it a full house with the electrician as well. I was filming with Anty one day, and we had arranged to start at mid-day. Before her arrival, at ten a.m the electrician was supposed to call round briefly. At 10.30 he had texted he’d be there in twenty minutes, and now, at almost 12.30, he was still not here. We couldn’t drink any more coffee or chitchat any longer.

I suggested,

‘I tell you what, why don’t we film the first bit now, it’s only a short hand-spanking. He won’t arrive in the next 5 minutes, surely. Let’s just get started shall we?’ and Anty agreed.

Approximately 10 mins later, after a vigorous and loud spanking with her making all the right ‘ouchie’ noises and me scolding her sternly, we switched off the camera. I clearly heard a very awkward whistling (the sort of ‘nonchalant’ whistling you’d do if you were just strolling somewhere, minding your own business) on the hallway stairs. I also heard footfall on the stairs outside the front door. With a sinking feeling I checked my mobile, which had been on silent, and found 3 missed calls from the electrician. I rang him back but it seemed he’d left the building (and possibly the neighbourhood) already. I apologised for missing his calls and In a very strained voice he replied ‘Yes, I know, I came round and you were, um, busy.’ He sounded extremely uncomfortable and didn’t come back to make that quote for me. I never saw him again! Never did get that ceiling light fitted.


Perhaps the funniest example of being busted being kinky was during a visit from my Mum, who was helping me move all my possessions around the house while the carpet fitters came in and fitted new carpets room by room. We spent most of the morning disguising bundles of canes, covering questionable furniture like the Eton Flogging Block, hiding dildos in my knicker drawers and stuffing implements into bin bags before they arrived and cheerfully got to work. And boy they were fast- these lads were very efficient. The day before, I’d taken a slightly unusual session which had involved someone being forced into rubber pants, something I don’t do regularly, but it was his kink, and it fitted the spanking scene and age play elements of the scenario. Mum being Mum, she had carefully hand-washed the pants after the session, and, without me being aware of it, had placed them on the dresser in the bedroom, waistband-down, inflated and standing proudly so they could dry properly. We’d been so busy moving furniture and packing things that it was one of those things that did not register on the eye even though it was right in front of me. But it seems the carpet-fitters had found the rubber pants, given their sudden burst of giggles while they were working on the bedroom. I decided to blame this on my Mum, who, at that moment needed the loo after our endless cups of tea. ‘You know what you’re like’, I called after her, 'always needing a wee these days! Don’t want to get caught short!’


I’m going to finish with the most cringe-worthy incident. Recently I was on a weekend away with Matilda, where we were staying at a glorious Hall, with remote check-in, so no staff on site. An elegant, faded, tastefully decorated mansion, which appeared deserted. We bumped into another resident as we checked in with a code at the door, and he told us he rented a room upstairs. But for the whole weekend he was the only soul we saw there. Our room was up several flights of stairs, via the grand entrance-way, then through a doorway where there was a kitchenette and a room off either side. It seemed discreet enough to film a spanking film in the room. So we came up with a great story-line: a wealthy widow looking for a paid companion, who has unconventional ways of training her staff. Matilda was the poor, naive girl who had applied for the job hoping to accompany her Mistress on her grand tour of Europe. But she had lied on her application, was too young, and clueless. And the widow was mean and cruel, and spanked her for every mis-step. We filmed a series of four clips (The Paid Companion, coming to my clips stores soon) and in the third film in the series, a fantastic prolonged slipper-spanking, I decided to take her and bend her over a cushioned stool at the end of the bed, with her bottom in the air, and film a few minutes of hard, relentless spanking to edit into the scene. Poor Matilda sobbed and pleaded, ‘but you’ve never spanked me this hard before, Miss, I’m sorry-‘ and I continued with the hard thrashing, the slipper ringing out like gunshot on her tender bottom.

“Well, you’d better get used to it my girl, if you want to keep this job,’ I replied coldly, or words to that effect, ‘because this is going to be your life from now on, it’s part of your training.’

Wallop, wallop, wallop, I continued, as Matilda gasped and pleaded,

“Please, please…’

until we both suddenly froze as we both heard - very distinctly - the click and slow roar of a kettle being turned on in the kitchenette next door. Which meant if we could hear that so clearly, they could hear us…

Mortified, we decided quickly to giggle loudly and we didn’t stop giggling until the kitchen door had creaked and closed. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

Enough, it turns out. More than enough. We bumped into him, coincidentally on the grand staircase the following morning, on the way out.

‘Morning!’ I greeted him breezily and he mumbled something strangled, and hurried away, eyes averted, with a face the colour of beetroot.


You may think I can shrug these incidents off, and that, given my job, I am immune to shame or embarrassment, but in fact the opposite is true. They are my bread and butter. I understand them and experience them intensely sometimes, which is why I know how to press peoples’ buttons. I am achingly middle class, (not my fault!) and was no stranger to control and shaming in my childhood (certainly not from my Mum). So I still feel burning embarrassment and a sense of great shame when busted for these things. The only difference is I am now older and wiser, and can let it go, then shrug it off and laugh at it all. At how easy it is to make us feel guilty. I visited my old, all-girls’ private school recently for a tour, and I still felt a shudder of dread as I turned the corner into the lobby and found myself outside the headmistress’ door- I think there was even the same bench in the hall where I used to sit, all those years ago, scuffing my patent shoes together, waiting to be called in for my dressing down and possible detention. During the tour the lady guiding us round pointed out an officious-looking woman who passed us in the hallway and identified her as the Deputy Head, and I automatically felt myself returning to my 13-year old self, instantly guilty. Giggling in assembly, running in the hallway, whispering at the back of the class. Guilty of something - anything. I love how younger generations feel so much less shame than we do, are so much more open about most things. But my generation- caught with a comedy dildo? Plastic pants on the dresser? Overheard in mid-role play thrashing a young girl silly? Answering the door dressed as Matron? Its enough to make you blush. Then have a good laugh about it and let it go.


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