Butt Butter and a Little Revenge

Butt Butter

Remember earlier when I told you to Google butt butter?

I’m not sure if you actually did.

But if you did…

Then you already know exactly the texture this story is about.

If you didn’t…

Well…

Picture Crisco.

Now imagine Crisco’s slightly kinkier cousin.

Congratulations.

You’ve just met butt butter.

Now, despite what people think, most of my days at the studio are pretty straightforward.

Your standard massage.

A happy ending.

The occasional extra.

You know…

The glory hole.

Nothing too out of the ordinary.

I also dabbled in Dom sessions from time to time.

Which, oddly enough, is exactly how my fifteen-year-old son found out what I actually did for a living.

That wasn’t exactly planned.

I had left one studio and needed to bring all of my… let’s call it work equipment… home.

One of those items happened to be a seven-foot-tall Saint Andrew’s Cross.

Go ahead.

Google that too.

I’ll wait.

Now…

A seven-foot wooden cross isn’t exactly something you casually tuck into the hall closet.

For a few days it was just… hanging out in my living room like an incredibly awkward piece of IKEA furniture.

Eventually my son asked about it.

Which led to a conversation I honestly wasn’t ready to have.

I finally looked at him and said,

“I’m a sex worker.”

Without missing a beat he looked relieved and said,

“Oh thank God.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“I thought you were selling drugs.”

Apparently bringing home large stacks of cash on a regular basis had him convinced his mother was Alberta’s least intimidating drug dealer.

Honestly…

I’ll take sex worker over cartel boss any day.

To his credit, he took it incredibly well.

He’s grown into one of the most accepting people I know, and that means more to me than he’ll probably ever realize.

But…

Back to the butt butter.

Like I mentioned, I occasionally did Dom sessions.

On this particular day I had one booked.

The owner of the studio handled a lot of the bookings back then, and if someone called asking for a specific type of session, she’d simply make it happen.

Normally that worked just fine.

This time…

Not so much.

The other girl working that day hadn’t had a single appointment.

Meanwhile I’d been busy all afternoon with my regulars.

It happens.

That’s the nature of the business.

Well…

In an effort to make things “fair,” the owner decided to book us together for a double Dom session.

Now normally that wouldn’t have bothered me.

Except…

This particular girl wasn’t really the Dom type.

More importantly…

We didn’t exactly work well together.

And by “didn’t work well together,” I mean she’d spent the better part of the afternoon making little comments about my weight, my outfit, and basically anything else she could find to criticize.

You know the type.

The person who tears someone else down because they’re having a bad day.

Normally I’d just ignore it.

But on this particular day…

I decided two could play that game.

I also decided this would be the first…

And very likely the last…

Double Dom session we’d ever do together.

Our client arrived.

He was into everything.

The cross.

The spanking saddle.

Rope.

Toys.

If it lived in Tasha’s Box of Random Fuckery…

It was coming out.

Honestly?

I love Dom sessions.

I’ve said it before.

I’m naturally the aggressor.

I enjoy taking charge.

And this gentleman had paid very good money for exactly that.

Since he’d also paid for her to participate…

Well…

She was going to participate.

Whether she liked it or not.

So we got him secured.

Toys came out.

Then…

I reached for the giant tub of butt butter.

Now…

This isn’t some tiny little squeeze bottle.

This thing is basically a Costco-sized tub of Crisco designed specifically for anal play.

The consistency?

Exactly what you’re imagining.

To use it, you don’t squeeze it.

You scoop it.

Hand right into the tub.

Like you’re making grandma’s potato salad.

I scooped out a generous handful and started applying it.

Our client, for the record, was thrilled.

This was exactly what he’d booked.

Then I looked over at my lovely assistant for the day and casually said,

“Use your toes.”

She looked at me like I’d just asked her to solve quantum physics.

“You want me to put my toe… where?”

I simply smiled.

“Yep.”

Now…

To her credit…

She didn’t back down.

Probably because she’d insisted on joining the session in the first place.

So…

She did exactly what I asked.

The expression on her face is one I’ll treasure forever.

If you’ve ever watched someone question every decision that led them to this exact moment…

That was it.

But we weren’t done yet.

Remember that spanking saddle I mentioned?

Picture a giant padded sawhorse.

Now imagine strapping someone over it.

Again…

Google is your friend.

So I got our very shiny client secured onto the saddle.

By this point I’d used so much butt butter the poor man reflected light.

Which was impressive because those rooms were usually dimly lit.

This man somehow sparkled.

I strapped on the strap-on.

Handed my coworker a dick on a stick.

And continued running the session.

Now…

I’m not saying I was making a point.

But…

I was absolutely making a point.

If you’re going to spend the afternoon taking shots at me…

Then insist on joining my appointment…

Congratulations.

You’re getting the full experience.

About five minutes into this beautifully awkward masterpiece, she suddenly froze.

Tilted her head.

And said,

“I think I hear my phone ringing.”

Sure you do.

She dropped the toy.

Walked out of the room.

And never came back.

I finished the session by myself.

Because…

Professional.

Afterwards I think I gave that man the longest shower and cleanup I’ve ever given another human being.

There was so much lubricant on him I’m fairly certain he could’ve slid home on a Slip ’N Slide without adding water.

The best part?

She never…

Not once…

Offered to join me for another double Dom session.

Lesson learned.

And yes…

I still have a subscription for butt butter on Amazon.

Some habits…

You just don’t break.