It's all in the wrist

As I type this I can hear his pathetic whimpers from inside the closet.

"Mistresssss.....Miss..." he trails off breathlessly.

I refuse to answer. Especially after I've specifically told him today not to call me 'Mistress' that I wasn't in fact his 'Mistress'.

"All of this is a fucking game, I've never wanted to be a Mistress, I've just wanted to use pathetic, losers with low self esteem like you," I whispered maniacally in his ears just an hour ago.

That was when he was naked and tied on the floor, fetal position, rolling around hooded in his own tears. His small body was covered with welts the size the belt and cane I had been beating him with and foot prints in his torso from where I had kicked and stood recklessly.

Of course I didn't mean any of those things but he didn't know that. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't this week...after all it was the second half of the training program. This half would be done all in person and I decided to start it off with something I liked to call "Reprogramming Week".

It was simple yet effective tactic of breaking him down and slowly rebuilding him to what I wanted. Honestly, it was just one long mind fuck and I am not sure how it will turn out. It could be fantastic or it could be disastrous. One thing I know for certain is it will have some effect.

He's going to be verbally humiliated, spat on, choked, undergo extended and repeated hypnosis, gaslit, isolated, blindfolded, beaten, shocked and more. For all intents purpose it'll be 120 hours of mental, emotional and physical torture. And if that's not what consent is for then I don't know what is...

Put your best foot forward

He closed his eyes and smiled, his face pressing between my toes like Play-Doh, oozing around the painted pretties.

I half halfheartedly returned a smile but continued to read my book nearly unfazed by him. A grown man on his knees, dressed in a decent suit covering his face with my feet, kissing my soles, and sniffing my shoes. "Tony" seemed like a nice guy with a relatively normal life except he had a HUGE foot fetish and I was allowing him to feed his need by glorifying mine.

My aloofness wasn't part of some Mistress L act, oh no, I was just generally not really fazed by having my feet pampered in such a way. He alternated between kissing and licking them to massaging them with his homemade oils, which he wasn't half bad at. This briefly caused me to close my eyes and enjoy the relaxing sensation but not too long. I was after all in New York City and in a strange place I had never been before. It was public but I like to be cautious. This was my pre-New Years treat to myself...meet strange men from online for BDSM activities. I figured there were worse things.

Our 45 minutes were nearly up when yet again the gentleman in the corner looked over his tablet at our interaction. I couldn't tell if he was generally intrigued or freaked out but either way he couldn't take his eyes away from us for more than a few minutes at a time. I had done a good job ignoring him, just as I was Tony, when I was about to beckon him over to share a snide remark but he was already getting up to leave.

'Finally' I thought as I closed my eyes again. Tony was working his thumbs up the middle of my recently high heel clad feet.

"Excuse me, I hate to be rude and interrupt---"

"But you're going to anyway," I said first opening my eyes in one motion.

Before me  stood the man from the corner, his tablet tucked away in his briefcase, and he was bundled up in hat and scarf for the cold.

He blushed a little.

"Umm, again I'm sorry, I was just wondering what you're doing?" He asked looking down at Tony who was now laying under my feet as I applied pressure to his face.

"This is a 'lounge' right? We're lounging," I said with a chuckle.

He laughed a little with me. "Yes, okay, but what is he doing?"

"He's worshiping my feet," I replied without hesitation.

"Is this like a BDSM thing?" The briefcase man asked.

Most vanilla folks don't jump right to that assumption, perhaps he wasn't as innocent as he looked.

"Yes, it is. He's paid me for a foot session," I said closing my eyes once again.

"So you're a professional domin---"

I cut him off again, "I'm a professional Mistress, yes".

"That's really weird because I'm actually a producer, I'm working a movie about the lifestyle. Would you be interested in talking to me about it some or even taking part in it?" He asked.

I opened my eyes slowly to find him holding out his card in my direction.

I took it between my fingers and read it.

"Perhaps..." I said closing my eyes again and dismissing him with a wave of my hand.

You don't know Jack!

It's getting to be that time of the year again. It's warm, there's more activities to do outside, people are having a bit more free time, etc. So it's only natural that my inbox start to have an influx of "Pick me please pick me Mistress" messages.

These are always fun to go thru but I have been getting some messages that I've actually responded to. One in particular caught my eye because it was well written and it was actually from a reader of the blog. One thing lead to another and we started exchanging good messages back and forth. We've exchanged pictures and phone numbers, shared some info, tried to see if we're going to mesh well in the kink department. It looks promising.

He (let's call him "Jack") sounds as if he might be a good fit. A perfect fit---which is rare, if at all possible. I've been looking at his pictures on and off since we exchanged them because he is good looking and looks oddly familiar in that general way. Me being a photographer and I...well I enjoy beauty.

Isn't he handsome? (This is the picture he sent me today)

What's that? You say you've seen him before? Well that's impossible! This is my "Jack". Where have you seen him???

Oh you mean the same place I saw him? Online or on television. 

Jack? Cesc? Whatever I'll take you!

Well in that regards you'd be right. You see, this isn't Jack. This is actually a Spanish footballer who plays for FC Barcelona named Cesc Fabregas.

What?! I was talking to someone famous?! *fans self*

It turns out Jack doesn't realize that I'm a smart bitch. I don't just take ANYONE'S words at face value. Especially online. I don't trust these dozens of "men" who want to be perfect for me, who want so badly to be under my heel that they must lie about their very identity. Over the years I've gotten good at spotting the fakes and I almost let this one slip by but too much wasn't adding up. Namely how the hell he was talking to me online in Washington, DC when he was just playing a game back in Barcelona. Oh yeah, I forgot, he must have a teleportation device. I told you Jack was perfect!

If any of you 10,000 readers I get per month want to tell Jack how perfect he is, or just want a chance with him, here's his email (I'm willing to share him): jack.candiotti@yahoo.com

The sad thing is Jack did have a good personality and I probably would've met him and given him a chance---you know aside from his whole "dishonesty is the best policy" policy.

Say hello to my little friend

His name is Mr. Dickless and I'm making him my bitch.

It started out like most Craigslist ads---I was searching for something generally specific but it was that which I knew I would never really find.

Slews of replies came in before the ad was flagged for removal but his was the one that caught my kinkster attention.

Within his reply he asked very plainly, "Would cuckolding be something you would be interested in?" As if he were asking "Red or white?"

And with that our conversations began to take on a life of their own.

I wasn't looking for a cuckolding partner but I'm always on about experiencing new things and thought 'What the hell'  and decided to give it a go.

We started out a few weeks ago simple enough just explaining what cuckolding meant to each of us, our experiences with it, and how we wanted to proceed. We've currently flipped between us being a kinky couple and me being his cuckoldress. While we're at the moment dabbling in both worlds it is no doubt in my mind where this is leading...

He will be my bitch.

I've implemented what I believe is an amazing mix of Mistress to our adventures.

He cannot have sexual release without my permission or must pay monetarily to do so.

He cannot stroke the pathetic cock that no longer belongs to him.

He waits with bated breath to hear about my sex with the bf, all the while I tease him telling him he will never "measure" up.

He masturbates on command until I am thoroughly aroused and then I leave him alone, horny and unable to touch himself while I am taken care of elsewhere.

He is not to fuck anyone without my permission---but I know he's already too much of a pussy to even try.

He will assist in any way needed in finding me a "bull" to play with.

He is in the midst of choosing between a great pair of cocks for me to have. Both significantly larger than himself.
 
He has promised when I decide on said cock, he will gladly stroke it to attention and give it a nice cleaning when I am through---all for my viewing pleasure.

He begs to dry hump objects in his home to fulfill his pathetic need to touch himself.

He tells me just how badly he wants me only to have me laugh in his face and tell him simply, "No."

He will be my bitch...and I don't think there's a thing he can do about it.