Dominatrix On Trial

Dominatrix On Trial

by Terri-Jean Bedford

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781462026760
Publisher: iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date: 06/20/2011
Pages: 261
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.70(d)

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DOMINATRIX ON TRIAL

Bedford vs. Canada
By Terri-Jean Bedford

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Terri-Jean Bedford
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4620-2676-0


Chapter One

The Raid

Thursday, September 15, 1994, was sunny, warm, and dry, so I had my morning coffee on the back patio. A couple of the staff sat with me for a few minutes. I tossed some crumbs to the squirrels and looked out over the huge yard. The garden I had planted was colorful in its late summer bloom. Life was good. I was a successful dominatrix (and you'll hear plenty about that later, and about all the eight rooms of the house outfitted for role-playing and dungeon play). I had a loyal staff: Judy, my receptionist, and Princess and Mistress Morgan, the two full-time dominatrices besides me. Edward was my hired security guard.

That era was one of the few times that my life was not a living hell. I was able to send money back home to my daughter and her guardians. I had a roof over my head, and I felt safe.

After coffee, Morgan, Edward, and I began cleaning the house, a task usually performed by our slave clients, if any were available on the given day. Princess arrived at eleven thirty and joined us for lunch. Judy was off that day. Three appointments had been scheduled: The first, a cross-dresser Princess was to supervise, was due to arrive at noon. The second was to be a show with me and Princess at one. The third was a tour of the house scheduled for two thirty.

The show was a scenario in which one woman dominated another while the client watched. I would put Princess in bondage and discipline her in a teacher-student scenario. The client, Tim, had seen Morgan and Princess act out this scenario once before. This time, he had requested me to be dominant with Princess. This did not strike us as odd, since some clients liked to watch such shows again and again with different women acting the roles.

Princess was on her monthly cycle and unable to concentrate on her role as a submissive, so I apologized and told Tim that the show was canceled. Tim said that he wanted a consultation with me instead of the show, even though he'd had three previous consultations. I didn't think this was odd, because many clients asked for such sessions to discuss their needs and wants in detail even after visiting many times. He mentioned a number of other scenarios and asked about hygiene and safety, which I took to mean that he was considering not just watching anymore, but being dominated himself. I told him to fill out a questionnaire or write out his fantasies, but he declined. He thanked me and left.

Of course, we found out later that day that Tim was an undercover police officer and that he had apparently made these requests so that we would be in full costume and Princess in bondage when they raided us and took their pictures.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang, and I answered it, thinking that it was the two-thirty tour appointment arriving early. The cross-dresser was downstairs, having a shower before getting dressed to leave. I opened the door to a young man dressed casually and holding a piece of paper. He handed me the paper and said he was told to write some things down before he came back.

He reached into his back pocket and showed me his police badge, saying, "I'm with the York Regional Police. You are being served with a search warrant and are being charged with keeping a common bawdy house."

I was amazed. "You're out of your mind," I replied. "I don't offer sex here—it's strictly domination and cross-dressing, and that's legal."

He said, "No, you're charging money for it, and you can't do that."

As we spoke, about fifteen men lined up behind him at the door. The officer with the badge pushed me aside, and the men rushed into the house. These plainclothes detectives, uniformed constables, and emergency task-force team all acted as if they believed they were capturing terrorists or hijackers.

The bungalow consisted of one ground floor and a basement, where the dungeon, examination room, throne room, and shower were. The parlor, the classroom, the living room, office, bedroom, washroom, and the kitchen were upstairs. I ran to the foot of the stairs to yell downstairs to Edward that the police were here, and it was not a break-in. A massive officer grabbed me and told me to sit on one of the couches in the living room. I hesitated a second, and he grabbed me around my chest and punched me several times on the side of the head. I fought back, but he was huge. The blows were full punches and made me see stars, but I did not bleed. There was some bruising days later, but I did not think to report it. Then he held me down on a couch. I started to cry. He eventually let me go and went to look around the house.

Some officers brought Morgan into the room, and she sat across from me on another couch. We could hear people going through the house. Downstairs, the raid team was greeted by Edward, who had not heard my warning and thought they were intruders. He threw two officers down the stairs, but when they shouted, "Police! Lie down on the floor!" he became peaceful. Princess opened the door of the shower-room area and threw up her hands. The police pushed her down onto the floor beside Edward. They also pulled our client out of the shower and handed him a towel. The client, an elderly man, was shaking in terror.

Upstairs, Morgan and I sat on the couch, upset and yelling to the officers that they had no right or reason to be there.

I said to the officer who hit me, "I want your badge number. I'm charging you with assault."

He laughed and said, "Call me master."

Edward was brought into the living room and sat down beside me. Some of the officers searched Morgan's purse, and they asked her questions about her identity.

In the days and weeks ahead, Edward, Morgan, and Princess told me much of what I am now to tell you.

Princess was taken upstairs into my office and questioned by two officers. The police took $50 from our money box and handed it to her when she told them she had not been paid that day. They told her that she would have nothing to worry about, and they would not tell her family, provided she didn't call a lawyer and did what they said. They said a lawyer could not help her.

The cross-dresser client was ticketed as a "found-in" and told he would have to appear in court. He was allowed to leave a few minutes later.

The raid had now been under way for about thirty minutes. A plainclothes officer walked up to me with a female and told his colleague, "Search her in the bathroom." She led me to the bathroom and closed the door on us, out of the view of any other officer. I was wearing a simple, casual and somewhat skimpy outfit, which she told me to remove and drop to my ankles. She then ordered me to lower my panties. I was completely naked. She looked me over carefully for a few seconds and then told me to turn around. She told me to bend over. I heard her giggle, but when I turned around, she was not smiling, although she did have a very pleased look on her face. She told me to get dressed and patted the pockets of my clothes before taking me back to the couch. She told Morgan to stand up and took her to the bathroom, where the strip-search procedure was repeated.

Sitting on the couch, we could hear furniture being moved downstairs. We heard laughing and shouting. Princess saw the officers playing with my equipment and jokingly threatening each other with whips. The police wandered around the house and the grounds, talking to one another and taking pictures. I heard one of them say to another officer, "But there isn't anything illegal."

Morgan and I were told we would be taken to the police station and held overnight for bail. We asked if we could call our lawyer and were told we could call from the police station. We also asked if we could change our clothes before we left. Remember, I was wearing that skimpy outfit, and Morgan just had a turtleneck and jeans on, and we were going to appear in court. They refused to let us change. I started to beg.

They seemed to enjoy my begging, especially one female officer, but they stopped laughing when I said I would not go if I were not allowed to change. This started another of their numerous whispering conferences. But finally the woman officer, accompanied by one of the male officers, told me to get up and go get the clothes I needed. I went with them into a couple of rooms and got things suitable for court. I had to change in front of them, male officer included. They returned me to the couch and took Morgan to her clothes, which were downstairs, where the dungeon was.

Morgan was appalled when she saw what was going on downstairs. She saw officers playing with the whips while wearing the wigs. The raid had become a party for them. She went into the burlesque parlor, which was in a closed-off room on the opposite side of the basement from the dungeon and other rooms. This was where most of her clothes were stored and where she slept on a foldout couch. When she came out to go upstairs after she had changed clothes, she got angry with the officers playing with the whips and wigs.

She said, "Do you want to see what we do here?"

They said they did, so Morgan sat on the throne and told one of the officers to kiss her foot. He went down on all fours and kissed it. The other officers whooped with laughter, the female officer included. I could hear the laughing upstairs but did not know what was so funny.

Morgan said, "Kiss it again—this time with feeling," and the scene repeated itself.

Later, Morgan would tell me that what most struck her during this time was the look on the faces of the officers. The laughs coming from a few of them seemed forced to her, and she thought they were amazed by my establishment. "You could tell by the way they looked at me that they wanted to be spanked, and that they were turned on by the restraints and equipment."

The officers escorted Morgan back upstairs, and she sat down across from me. There was little more to say. Four of us were sitting there: Edward, the client, Morgan, and me. I could hear Princess talking with a couple of officers in my study. Finally one of the female officers, accompanied by two male officers in plain clothes and one uniformed male officer, came up to us and told us we were under arrest for running a bawdy house, or words to that effect. She told Morgan and me to stand up, which we did, at which point she quickly handcuffed us together with one pair of handcuffs. We were marched out of the house and into a police car. Many police cars lined the street, as well as forensic vans and moving vans. A crowd of people stood around, watching. The police took pictures of us leaving the house. We were driven to the police station in Richmond Hill, a small town north of Toronto, and placed in adjoining holding cells.

Edward was told to leave and come back in two hours. He walked to a nearby friend's house, where he called my lawyer's office, who said a lawyer would be at the bail hearing in the morning. Edward then phoned the landlord and said he should come to the bungalow in the evening, as there had been a problem at the house.

The client went home. Princess was also allowed to go home, after promising she would cooperate. She did, as it turned out, cooperate fully: she told the police everything right then and there, and it was always the truth. They were infuriated, because she told them no sex or indecent acts had occurred. She answered their subsequent lengthy interrogations in such detail and with such consistency that she said the officers questioning her (without a lawyer present) could not hide their frustration and anger. In fact, when the details of her interviews were disclosed prior to the trial, I could not find anything of significance that I disagreed with or that I wouldn't have said myself.

When the police looked into the backgrounds of Princess, Morgan, and Judy (my receptionist and assistant, who was off that day), they surely realized that these were just about the last women in the world who would be prostitutes. None of them were criminals, substance abusers, or even the type of women who would be "easy scores" in normal relationships. They all came from reputable families. One of them had a university degree; another was studying toward a college degree. And one of them was Edward's sister, and I can assure you that Edward would have had a fit if his sister were committing acts of prostitution and he had found out about it. All the women who worked for me had been hired as interactive actresses or administrative employees.

Early in the evening, Edward returned to the house, and shortly thereafter, the landlord arrived. The cars and people had left, and from the outside, the house looked no different than it had the day before. When the landlord came in, he asked why it looked so empty. The police had taken not only my bondage equipment and fixtures, but also everyday clothing and furniture. That included my television set, my bed, and many items so commonplace that it was inconceivable that these things could be evidence of any sort. I still can't believe the things they seized. They seized ladies' hats. They seized things from the schoolroom, like a blackboard and a small school desk. They also took large items, such as the living-room set, lounge chairs, and numerous other personal items that had no bearing on the business. They even seized Edward's tools and renovation supplies.

The police told the media in the days after the raid, that no further charges would be laid. However, a week later, they tracked down Judy and served her with a summons like the ones they had given Morgan and Princess. Judy remembered one of the officers as a client. She recalled that he had repeatedly asked for sex and wanted to watch lesbian shows; she had refused all of these requests. All staff were instructed to tell everyone on the phone and in person that we did not offer sex acts in our business. The police investigation verified this, but conveniently it failed to mention to the media that one of their officers had asked for a wide range of sex acts but had been consistently refused.

I'm glad that Judy was spared the trauma of the raid itself, and I'm glad that the police did not raid us when we were in session—one of the many ways they miscalculated. Looking back on the raid, it is clear that the police used excessive force, but why? What was the crime? Why my facility and not the others? And above all, what was I going to do about it?

Chapter Two

Bad Little Girl

Beginnings

The place and the life I came from were about as far you can imagine from my later life as a dominatrix in a big city. I was born in 1959 in Collingwood, a small town about a hundred miles north of Toronto. My parents were poor, and there were four of us children: my older sister, me, and my younger twin sisters. We lived on a farm just outside town. My father, Morley Miller, was black, of Kenyan ancestry; my mother, Marjorie Johnson, was white, with a French, Dutch, and English background. As a mixed couple, they were social outcasts, and life was difficult for children of a mixed marriage in a small Ontario town.

We lived in abject poverty. Many times, Mother couldn't even afford to buy milk and bread. Twice I was hospitalized for malnutrition. We suffered constantly from the cold, since the house was poorly insulated and we only had a small woodstove. We drew water from a well that would often freeze in the winter, so we had to melt snow for drinking water. We had an outhouse in the back, and the children were bathed in the kitchen sink. Our little farmhouse had only two rooms, so everyone had to cram into one bedroom. The twins slept in a crib; my older sister and I shared a bunk bed; and my parents shared a small bed in the corner of the room.

But in other ways, it was a wonderful place for a child to grow up. We had the advantages of a rural setting. A horse and buggy would deliver milk when we could afford it. Church bells could be heard in the distance on Sunday mornings. Big, sweeping willows in the yard offered shade from the summer sun. We had a large barn, and I would often spend hours jumping from the rafters into bales of hay below. I fondly remember the sun coming through the cracks in the roof of the barn while I lay in the hay, listening to the birds busy in their nests in the rafters.

When I was six, the authorities took me away. I was too young to remember how this happened, but I know that before they took me, I was always hungry and was not going to school. I will never forget waving good-bye to my parents from the social worker's car as it drove away. I was crying because I was scared and angry. I couldn't understand why they were letting this strange woman take me away, or why they were not coming along. Nobody had ever taken me away like this before. I only understood why many years later. I pieced together the story when I met my relatives many years later.

Today I remember my natural parents as kindly and loving, but very poor, and as outcasts from society. I never saw or heard from them after that day. When I became famous in the 1990s, my siblings and I were reunited, and it was only then that I found out that my mother had died in 1966 in a car accident, and my father had died about ten years later of natural causes.

My adoptive parents were the Bedfords. My new father, James, had seen a picture of me in the local paper's "Today's Child," a section devoted to children available for adoption. He was a big man, with one of the kindest faces I have ever seen. We became the best of friends right away. He was a World War II veteran and a devout Baptist; he saw to it that I received a full religious education in addition to my regular schooling. At eight I was baptized, and by the time I was nine, I was singing solos in the local Baptist church on Sunday mornings. I could sing hymns so movingly that the old ladies would cry. I even became the first child to sing in the church's adult choir.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from DOMINATRIX ON TRIAL by Terri-Jean Bedford Copyright © 2011 by Terri-Jean Bedford. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Chapter 1. The Raid....................1
Chapter 2. Bad Little Girl....................8
Chapter 3. Jail and Bail....................21
Chapter 4. Bad Big Girl....................33
Chapter 5. My Trials Begin....................44
Chapter 6. The Bondage Bungalow....................58
Chapter 7. My Trials Continue....................74
Chapter 8. Running the Bondage Bungalow....................85
Chapter 9. The Big Trial: Getting Ready....................96
Chapter 10. Sessions in the Bondage Bungalow....................109
Chapter 11. The Big Trial: What a Spectacle!....................150
Chapter 12. Clients of the Dominatrix....................161
Chapter 13. The Big Trial: What a Result!....................170
Chapter 14. Back in Business....................183
Chapter 15. Higher Courts....................193
Chapter 16. Dominatrix Lineup....................208
Chapter 17. Staying Alive....................220
Chapter 18. Constitutional Challenge....................237
Chapter 19. Constitutional Decision....................249
Chapter 20. Final Words....................260

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Dominatrix on Trial 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
aCDNReader More than 1 year ago
I want to recommend Dominatrix on Trial, by Terri-Jean Bedford. Her story is moving and maddening by turns. She takes us through her heartbreaking childhood and young years of prostitution and drugs, and having a child amidst all this. She tells us about jail. She tells us about a trip through the justice systems that is scarcely believable, were it not for my visit to the Internet to verify who she was and what she said happened. She tells us about her trials in the court system over a 15 year period and the extraordinary collection of people who rallied to her. The book reads very well despite its exhaustive detail. I can believe her when she says she wrote it at various periods since 1994. There were times when I could not put it down.