Whipping My Men Into Submission: The Birth of a Mistress

By Jenny Ainslie-Turner

Jenny Ainslie-Turner is Britain's most famous chat girl, with documentaries and TV shows having been made about her ability to fulfil every man's fantasy over the telephone. Now in her sixties, she never thought her more mature years would see her sex life take a whole new direction, but nonetheless she became the ultimate dominatrix. This is the full, unadulterated and shocking story of how one woman continued to cater for the often-unusual desires of her clients… this time not just over the phone but also in person.
WARNING: this book contains extremely graphic descriptions of sexual activities, including consensual bondage and role-play.

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Erotica
• Release date: May 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781789829815

Book preview

1: In the Beginning

I was born on August the 20th 1955, not knowing that exactly sixty years later to the day, I would be reborn as something way beyond my wildest imagination. Having said that, I never thought I’d be a phone sex operator, but I was – and have been – for the last twenty years. Even so, my transition into becoming an escort then later a dominatrix was not what I had planned for my sixties.

Now, six years later and aged sixty-six, I am a pensioner and senior citizen (cue me pissing myself laughing at the description), and I am still going strong. Not bad considering I’m a dress size twenty-two and don’t shave – never have, never will. I used to trim my pubic hair in my younger days, but didn’t see the point when I reached my forties. Why is this relevant? All will be revealed.

I am your typical pear-shaped woman, all arse with not too much in the tit department. I was known as a ‘fat-ass bitch’, a name of my own choosing, I might add. I was unaware back in my younger days that my rear end would one day be worth its weight in gold!

For most of my working life on Army camps and RAF bases, I have always had to endure – sorry, enjoy – my voluptuous backside being slapped, squeezed, or pinched (if you read my first book you’d soon know why). All that attention laid firmly on my ‘childbearing hips’ earned me the nick name, WH Smith – Wicked Hips! Now, guys are paying to worship my big fat arse, hips, and thighs! What a pity none of my three husbands appreciated it – their loss.

I think back to my time as a chat girl (long before I ventured into the real world of sexual depravity) and some of the ‘chat’ I had shared with my callers. One particular caller that often came to mind (and about whom I recounted quite often to others) was interested in the fat ass department. This caller was obsessed with my humongous backside, and he always wanted to know how many men I’d killed with it. Yes, this was something he relished discovering.

My sick and twisted mind would go into overdrive. I told him during one such call that I had sat down so hard on this one old bloke’s head, that his false teeth shot up my arse, and it took me two hours to pick the fuckers out. I found this tale highly hilarious, but soon discovered that my regular caller took my retorts quite seriously. After this, I took it as a challenge to break him and hear him chuckle in return. Of course, he was convinced I had a blood-splattered arsehole from all the men I had killed.

He came through this one time wanting to know how young I was when I killed my first man. Now, I pride myself on giving a convincing tale, so I informed him that I was just nineteen. He sounded pleased with that, and he continued with: ‘And how old was your oldest victim at that age?’

Being too clever for my own good, I gave him an unlikely age. I said quite proudly, ‘Well, he was a week away from his 103rd birthday.’

Not knowing what to expect, my caller suddenly gasped as he announced, ‘Ee, the poor bugger!’

Bemused, I asked, ‘What?’

‘Ee… he survived two world wars, but he couldn’t survive your backside!’

I had to choke back my laughter after muting the phone. I quite literally pissed myself laughing on my sofa, especially when the phone died. It was like it was too much for him to handle. Little did I know that a few years later, I’d be doing just that – smothering men with my humongous backside. To be fair, I didn’t kill them – not completely, but very nearly in a few cases!

I have written a book on my life and times as a chat girl – ‘How to Talk Dirty – A Hands on Guide to Phone Sex’ – which did very well thanks to Channel 4, who featured my book in my documentary, ‘My Phone Sex Secrets’. Lo and behold, the day after it had been aired, I was invited to appear on This Morning with Eamonn Holmes and his lovely wife Ruth. It turned out that I was being interviewed with Billy Connally’s wife, Pamela Stevenson – a sex therapist. They were all very lovely people. I certainly enjoyed talking about sex with Eamonn Holmes, funny fucker (hahaha).

My journey to the studio turned out to be a bit of a revelation. When I arrived at Kings Cross station, it was its typically busy self.

Then from out of nowhere, I heard, ‘Jenny? Jenny off the TV?

What the fuck? Could he shout any louder? People were starting to stop and stare.

‘Hey, Jenny off the TV, I saw your show. You still with that guy?’ I finally spied the guy who was shouting. It was some train station guard, for me a fucking gorgeous black guy. I smiled and shook my head. He was referring to me meeting with one of my clients on the documentary.

Did it end there? Nope. I was attempting to descend down escalator to take me to the Euston line, when I heard a group of lads behind me. I moved to let them pass since I was still hunting for my tickets.

By the time I stepped onto the escalator, the four lads were about halfway down when they all turned to look at me, before calling out, ‘Celebrity! We loved your show, we thought you were the best.’

Another voice, close to my head asked, ‘Oh, what’s that all about?’ I replied, ‘I was in a Channel 4 documentary about my phone sex secrets.’

‘Ah, that’s why the boys like you.’

All in all, it was an amazing trip out. Everyone was really lovely, the producer, the hosts, and especially the invited guest – Pamela Stephenson – who went out of her way to thank me as she was leaving. When she said, ‘It was really lovely to meet you,’ it just blew me away.

Of course, the documentary was filmed in Haltwhistle, Cumbria – a small market town where the whole place knew me. Well, the documentary was bloody repeated just about every three months on all of the Channel 4s, E4, All4, More4 for over three years, and even did a few stints on Really TV.

However, it can still be enjoyed on YouTube. And then there’s the second documentary, which I guest starred in, but more about that later. One thing I was surprised about was that there was no negative feedback from the documentary – everyone in Haltwhistle only had positive things to say. I must confess though, there were lots of whispers and giggles wherever I went – things like ‘Oooh, that’s her off the TV.’ I had a lot more interest from the boys as well – I even had drive-by shouts of ‘Hey, phone sex lady!’ To which I would invariably reply, ‘Fuck off, you can’t afford me!’ I loved it.

After the documentary was aired, I received a lot of interest as well as book sales. As I was filmed in the documentary training a young and upcoming chat girl, I was flooded with emails from ladies of all ages wanting to be trained in the art of talking dirty. A few wanted to know how they could set themselves up with their own private chat line.

I did that myself at one point – set up my own private chat line – but of course, you have to advertise. However, what a lot of people didn’t take into consideration is that if you are the only one taking the calls, you had to be available every day, and be prepared to work long hours. I did 12pm–2am, and while the calls were not constant, once the caller became a regular you were expected to be available at those times.

Regular callers is where you make the money, and I earned between five thousand and seven thousand a month. A fantastic income, but it cost two thousand a month to advertise. Of course, it is also a seven day a week job with hardly any time off. After three years I decided it was enough.

Thanks to Rachel, the girl I trained in the documentary, my newfound talent was in demand. I trained some ladies over the phone, and quite a few came to my home to be trained.

One of the first ladies who called me to be trained took me by surprise. Yes, I did train her in the art of talking dirty, but what I didn’t expect was to teach her how to masturbate. That’s right, masturbate. I was telling her things that guys like to hear about, such as playing with her pussy and saying to the caller she was rubbing her clitoris.

To my complete surprise, she informed she didn’t have one. Puzzled by this statement I asked her how she masturbated.

‘I place my pillow between my legs and ride it.’

I ventured to ask her if she ever used her fingers? ‘No,’ was her reply.

‘Place your hand in your knickers,’ I told her.

‘Now, put your middle finger in your hole and then slide it up in between your lips.’ I heard a little gasp and said, ‘That little fleshy lump is your clit. Now try rubbing it.’ We both chuckled quite naughtily.

I get a lot of callers come through for wanking instructions on my chat line, but I never thought I would be teaching a thirty-four-year-old woman how to wank herself. It never occurred to me to ask if any of her many boyfriends had found it, though. Poor deprived bitch. I just hope she hasn’t worn it out.

One of the couples who came to me to start their own chat line was Martha (64) and her husband Gerald (72). He wanted to wander around Haltwhistle while I shared my talent and knowledge with is lovely wife. As he was leaving, his wife suggested he return with fish and chips for our lunch.

After going into details with Martha on setting up her own private chat line, along with how and where to advertise herself, I gave her tips on the type of calls she was to expect and the relevant way she should deal with them. Martha and I started chatting about her life and experiences. Then she started telling me about her and her husband’s sex life, which of course was not expected. Martha confided in me about the lack of her sex life on her husband’s part.

Apparently, he was happy to pleasure her whenever she wanted sex, but he didn’t always want anything for himself. Martha said it was something she couldn’t understand because she wanted to give him pleasure in return. I suggested it could be his age, and that maybe he wasn’t always aroused enough to be pleasured by her. He was content enough just to satisfy his wife.

Not long after our intimate discussions, good old Gerald returned with our lunch. We chatted further about what she had learned, and she told Gerald she was eager to get started. Seemingly, they had discussed it all at great length, and Gerald was very happy to support her.

Anyway, when lunch was over, we all sat chatting over a nice cup of tea about what they were to expect. Poor Gerald sat quietly looking out the window while Martha went over the notes she took down, when all of a sudden the conversation changed, and Martha told Gerald what we had been discussing in his absence. She then asked me to tell him what I had said.

However, what I did not expect was to give the two them advice about their sex life.

‘Your wife tells me you are not wanting it when she is, but you are happy to satisfy her in other ways?’

A grunt was his embarrassed reply.

‘I told her you don’t always feel the way she does because you are lacking in the desire.’

‘Yes,’ Gerald stammered.

‘I told her the reason you are happy to just satisfy her is because you love her, and you don’t want her to feel you are neglecting her or that you are rejecting her.’

Bless the old lad, he looked over at his beloved Martha and before he could answer…

‘Is that right, Gerald?’ He looked over at her and nodded head.

Sex therapist can now be add to my CV, and for all intents and purposes, that is just what we are.

The next lady to contact me was more special to me than I could ever have realised. She is very well-known these days, and while it is largely down to her being guided by me, she has surpassed anything I ever taught her. She took me at my word and ran with it. Her name is Sherry Lever aka Mistress Sofia.

Our friendship started out when she wanted to know how to improve her hold time on the chat lines. She listened well and took in everything I told her. Oddly enough, she was not overly keen on the domination calls at all. I soon got her over her difficulty with this side of the chat. In fact, she became that good at all types of calls. I even had her take calls for me when I set my own chat line up. For that, I owe her in more ways than one – and Sherry knows what I mean.

We are still good friends to this day, so much so that when she wrote her first book, I featured greatly in it. And yes, in a way you could say I am returning the favour – but as far as the sex industry goes, we have always been connected. I will tell you how we first met face-to-face further in.

I answered my phone this one day, and the sweetest little Irish accent came dripping into my ear. She had such a naughty giggle on her that straight away, I knew she would be popular on the phone.

The name Rosaleen means little rose, and has been used in Ireland since the sixteenth century, in the words of Rosaleen herself. I called her Lena after we met, due to the fact she was leaning towards becoming a chat girl, and even though she never did venture into the world of talking dirty, we became very good friends. The lovely Lena – my name for her – came to visit me several times from Co Derry, staying sometimes for a week at a time.

I personally think she enjoyed hearing me abusing callers over the phone. She found it incredible the way I spoke to my callers, and how they just kept coming back for more. Now, she just visits as my good friend. I did have to make her sit with a cushion pressed to her face to stifle the giggles though. Naughty Rosaleen, Ireland’s sweetest little Coleen.

In fact, working on the chat lines is how I met my third husband, common-law as we didn’t actually marry – I just took his name, however, by the end of the relationship I tried to take his life. That’s when I had my first taste of beating men up for a living.

So, I had only been working for Datapro – that was the name of the company – for a few months, when he came through this night. We started off by discussing my description, particularly my red hair (Jolene, a fiery redhead who loves talking dirty – this was my then-used description.) So, we chatted further, he told me he preferred blondes, and that he was attracted to my voice. I then ventured to tell him my true description, but he did