Am I Evil?


I never even entertained the thought until Sebastian posed the question. I have been accused of being amoral but never immoral or evil. Maybe willful, self centered... but who is not unless you have no ego? Blessed is the annihilation of the self. For some anyway. They want to rid themselves of the numbing fetters of every day life. If I can do that for them-TO them, does it make me evil? I thought of myself as a liberator of repression.

"Do you feel as though you may be taking advantage of a type of mental illness?" asked Sebastian. We were sitting around my kitchen table, sipping coffee in our pajamas. Sebastian was impeccable in a pair of pale blue Brooks Brothers PJ's, his lank blond hair hanging foppishly over one instigative eye. I was wearing a white wife beater t-shirt and a pair of Sebastian's boxers as I had delayed in doing laundry. At this point in my story, I had not yet acquired a house slave. Something I would highly recommend. Believe me, they are out there. These people have a calling and they need the world to recognize their gifts.

"No." I answered shortly, not being a morning person. Sebastian was and so he pressed on.

"It's just the pin session...it sounded so extreme." His voice trailed off as he looked at me slyly.

"Are you bored"? I asked idly as I turned the pages of "BUST" magazine. The kitchen was filled with the buttery smell of breakfast and sunlight. It was dreadful. We both had hangovers. So much for the myth that expensive champagne does not cause headaches. A gift from Boris.

"Not at all. The day has just started. Really, I want to know, do you feel as though this job has changed you"?

"To soon for that. I haven't immersed myself completely yet. I am a work in progress. It hasn't changed me, but it is beginning to change my perception of things." I sipped my black coffee and leaned back in the chair.

"Such as"? Sebastian asked politely.

"It has made me very aware of the duplicity of men. And I mean that as a particular discredit toward your sex. They have a completely different side to them, that their families know nothing about. A whole construct is dedicated around what ever their particular scene is. It is one of the things that I find so fascinating about this job".

"Yeah, yeah, men are pigs, but how did you FEEL when you drove the needles into that guy's nipples?" He had the watchful greediness of the Paparazzi. His unwholesome curiosity was making me uncomfortable.

"It was hard to do. At first." I answered finally. "I was freaked out and I had a difficult time holding the needle. But then I got the hang of it and let my mind go blank. A part of me felt very detached but I was observing everything closely. Then I never thought of it again. Until now." I shrugged. I knew what he wanted to ask me. Was I turned on sexually. So I made it easy for him.

"No it does not turn me on sexually. I am very caught up with my effect on them and their reactions. I seem to be limited only by my own imagination when it comes to fucking with the submissives. The things they allow...Maybe I just have not met the right one." I looked up at him and grinned. "I am not evil. I am a catalyst for change, like a deviant life coach".

Sebastian laughed and glanced at the kitchen clock.

"Say, isn't Sissy coming soon? What time are the pedicures"?

"He should be here in about an hour and a half. I'm going to shower and get ready. Now remember, he likes to be verbally taunted. His fantasy is extremely detailed and scripted. I printed out a copy of his notes so you can review them."

"I'm reviewing a copy of Sissy Maid's jerk off script?" Sebastian scoffed and tossed his head, his hair slipping around expensively.

"Don't scoff. Sissy is dead serious. He has an extensive domestic wardrobe with at least ten change of outfits. He is expert in giving manicures and pedicures. He is going to start us off by placing our feet in tubs of warm wax. Then we get a pedicure, in between him cleaning the bathroom and kitchen. He is even going to wash the floor and vacuum."

"My god. Where can I get one"? Sebastien was suitably awed.

"If things work out, I'll loan him to you. Now remember,when you get out of the shower, leave your towels on the floor. I bet he will love that"

See? I do care.

An Excellent View

I went back to observing Mr.HaHa thru the peep hole. He was hunched into a ball, his arms clasped around his knees, like a modest Victorian maiden. He kept looking over his shoulder while he knocked rapidly at the door. The novelty had worn off already and so I let him in. I unlocked the door and he looked up, his face awash with relief and chocolate. I laughed out loud and told him to come in and clean up, but to leave the bouquet intact.

Once he was done, I guided him over to the windowsill and had him climb up onto it, still naked. He fidgeted nervously, his eyes rolling in his head like an unbroken horse. To calm him, like a horse, I put a pillow case over his head and told him to turn and face the city skyline. I secured his hands behind his back with his own belt. Just then room service arrived with a sharp rap at the door. Mr .HaHa flinched and crouched half way down in the fetus like fashion he seemed to favor, as I went and answered the door. I behaved nonchalantly and the waiter, being a consummate pro like myself, took my lead. He did not even take a second look at Mr. Ha Ha who was cringing with a pillow case over his head, hands tied behind his and the flowers still gamely in place. The waiter set up my table and with a flourish, removed the silver dome cover and revealed the cake that I had such a craving for. I gave him a handsome tip and bid him adieu.

As I ate my cake and sipped at my glass of frothy, cold milk, I had Mr. Ha Ha stand up and face the city. I undid his hands and told him to begin stroking himself in plain view of anyone who happened to glance up at the hotel. And there were quite a few who did a double take. One Asian couple ( Tourist, I assumed) paused and laughingly and took a photo. I narrated the pedestrian's reactions to Mr.Ha Ha who was at this point, breathing heavily and visibly excited. Before I got him in any real trouble, I told him to finish himself off as I finished my snack-I wanted to time it just so. He exploded all over the pristine window as I swallowed my last drop of milk. I daintily wiped my lips and helped him down from the sill. I told him to keep the pillow case on until I let myself out of the room. I collected my tribute, kissed him on the top of his covered head and made my exit.

In the cab, on the way home, I dialed McFee-or Fee as her friend's called her. Although she didn't have friends, as much as she had clients, associates and admirers. Let me tell you a little about Fee.

Unlike most people, who I can figure out in about ten minutes, she remains inscrutable. She is perhaps, one of the most effortlessly beautiful woman I have ever seen. Picture a tiny, darker version of Angelina Jolie with a scowl. Fee is also one of the most disagreeable people I have ever met,virtually silent and devoid of any charm what so ever. She speaks mostly in monosyllables, like an mafioso bookie, has no original observations, has no humor, no pets, no family and visibly loathes children. She seldom wears make up, jewelry (although she only owns the good stuff which she hoards-I just know it) or perfume. I have never seen her eat or drink. I have known her for six years. She is one of the few people that I tell all to, because she never gossips as she seldom speaks. It is like confessing to an animal. I was in her apartment once and the only thing she had in it was a bed on the floor. She did have a closet full of outrageously expensive clothing that I have never seen her wear. Knowing her as well as anyone did, I surmised that they were all gifts. She is the cheapest person I have ever met. I worked with her back in the day, when we were both bartending. She is an excellent bartender, never missed a beat and had an unbelievable memory. In fact, when she was not working the cups or blandly breaking hearts, dating famous athletes and Captains Of Industry, she was a semi professional card player. Talk about a poker face...she seemed to need nothing and no one. I envied her complete self possession. She seemed inhuman. I suspected she was a secret millionaire.

As usual, Fee picked up the phone without saying anything.

"Hello? Fee? It's me, Ava" I said tentatively

"Yeah. I know."

"How's life"?

"What do you want?" OK...so much for small talk.

"I just wanted to thank you for introducing me to Mr.HaHa. I had a great session. He was lots of fun and very generous."

More silence.

"Hello? Fee?"

"Yeah"? She said impatiently.

"Um..that's it. I was just calling to thank you. Are you busy?"

"No. I've gotta go." And then she hung up abruptly.

I snapped my phone shut and shrugged. So much for social niceties. Beauty has it's own laws I suppose. Maybe McFee didn't give me the warm and fuzzies, but the thick envelope that I received as payment sure did the trick.

Once I returned home and shed my finery, I checked my e-mail. My in box contained a referral from Little Mary. I was surprised, as I thought we had disliked one another in equal measure. Fetish makes for strange bed fellows. His e-mail read as follows:

Dear Mistress,

I have a close friend who shares my interest. He enjoys nothing more than being a sissy maid to a beautiful Domina, such as yourself. However, his fetish involves serving you at your HOME. He far surpasses me in this area. He is most discreet and I can vouch for his sincerity as well as his domestic skills. He eagerly awaits hearing from you.

The thought of having someone come in to clean my apartment from top to bottom, was most tempting. I hesitated for only a moment, then dashed off a quick note, urging Little Mary to pass on my contact information to "Sissy". I do my best to avoid all physical labor and so I embraced this opportunity fully.

I shut off the light and curled up in my bed. In a moment I was joined by Monti, his purring close to my ear. We slept.

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too.


I met Mr.Ha Ha at The Copley, in The Oak Room. Best raw bar in town. He was already waiting for me, along with the raw sampler I had requested and a Grey Goose on ice with freshly ground pepper and lemon. I was wearing my smartest early 1980's black Norma Kamali two piece suit-very fitted and 40's girl detective. Shiny, licorice black peek a boo pumps, black stockings with a seam up the back and a long strand of black pearls. Damn I looked good. I floated in on my customary cloud of Joy and quickly adjusted the yellow daffodil that I had pinned to my hair, as I paused in the doorway. I saw a man rise from a table at the back. I was to vain to wear my glasses and too careless for contacts so I had no idea what he looked like until I was almost on top of him. Not that I wouldn't have minded. Once I had him in focus I could see he was uncommonly attractive in a dapper, calculated fashion. We were a matched set! He smiled in a wry kind of way and drew out my chair.

Mr. HaHa was a comedy writer for a very well known, almost cult like show. He was a private referral and had been passed onto to me by a super high end "Professional Girlfriend" named Fee. Mr. HaHa was one of her steadies but she flipped him over to me because he liked to mix it up on occasion. He spread his fingers and made an expansive gesture with his hands toward the sumptuous spread. I took to him immediately. I knew I was being charmed and I liked it very much. I dug in with relish and he watched me with obvious enjoyment as I tongued the oysters out of their salty beds.

The first half of the evening went by quickly, in the way that it does when you are having an uncommonly good time. Mr. Ha Ha told wonderful stories of Hollywood insider observations, snide and hilarious tales of egos and vicious grudges. It seemed the Kings and Queens of comedy were not so funny when they were off camera. He made them out to be a competitive lot, with a no rest for the weary, dreary Yankee work ethic.

I found myself flirting with Mr. HaHa when I should have been slowly turning up the Dominant Power. I sensed he knew this,as he was a little to playful. Bordering on disrespectful. As our waiter walked by, I abruptly waved him down. He sidled up to the table, hunched shouldered and timid. Christ, I thought, another submissive. I asked for the check, glanced at it and slid it toward Mr. HaHa without looking at him. He paid while I took the elevator up alone, so I could be in the room ahead of him.

My challenge was to create a scene only with what was on hand at the Copley. I arrived with no props and I was to remain fully dressed. As I walked down the elegant hallway to his room, I noticed a tray that had been left outside a door for room service. On it was a huge slice of beautiful chocolate cake, hardly touched. There was also a small white vase filled with a handful of daisy's. I bent down and took it. As soon as Mr.Ha Ha entered the room, I dimmed the lights and ordered him to strip and to bend over the arm of the big over stuffed chair.

He seemed a bit taken aback and his easy smile faltered for a moment but he did as I asked. I took a towel and held it under the bath tub spigot until it was almost sopping-then I twisted it semi dry. I wound it up tightly as any sexually repressed homosexual athlete in the locker room could do, and bought it down with a resounding crack across his ass. I did it again and again, until red welts were rising up on his buttocks like a tequila sun rise. He stalwartly withstood it all, legs braced and his head hanging. Finally, I could lift my arm no more.

Instead, I turned my attention to the vase of mixed daisies and chuckled to myself. I told him to hold his cheeks open. He did so while glancing over his shoulder at me and biting his lower lip. I took one daisy and probed until it slid into his ass. I did it with a second, then a third. I did not stop until he had a blooming bouquet of flowers, in a festive burst, clenched between his cheeks. I was delighted and I told him so. I walked over to the door and held it wide open after I made a great show of checking the area to make sure it was empty. I told him to crawl out into the hotel hallway. He scrambled eagerly toward his own self destructive tendencies as I pointed him toward the slab on chocolate cake, still on the floor on a tray. I strode behind him and used my new trick of shoving a head into food. I had taken Mr.Ha Ha's devastatingly appealing face and ground it deep into the desert until his nostrils must have been filled.

While he was collecting himself and wiping cake from his eyes, I almost skipped back to the room. I turned and saw Mr. Ha Ha' stricken expression so before I closed the door on the poor bastard and locked him out, I blew him a kiss.

"Good night"!

I shut the door and pressed my back against it and cackled wildly. Seldom have I seen anything so ridiculous-his image was stenciled into my mind. A fit naked man,his face a mask of cake,contorted with horror,his back a testimony to kink and his ass stuffed with wild flowers.

In a New York minute, he was scratching at the door and whispering frantically. At this point Mr.Ha Ha was trying to rein in his rising hysteria. I watched him silently through the peep hole and I was elated because I knew I was making him feel something-an extreme of emotion.

"Mistress, Mistress please let me in! Mistress please!" he kept hissing over and over. Instead of answering him, I dialed room service and loudly placed an order for a piece of that excellent chocolate cake and a glass of cold milk. Mr. Ha Ha began slapping the door with the flat of his hand in earnest and his begging escalated.

It was just a fear of discovery and public humiliation. He would get over it.

Call Me Mistress Do Little

I delight in wreaking havoc. I always have. This new career gave me the perfect opportunity for this natural bent of mine. This business suits me-where else can you force "The Man" who is paying you, to his knees? Of course I've had bosses where, metaphorically speaking, I lead around on a leash ( I count a earnest bull dyke among them)but not literally as I was doing now.

I noticed that the cats by silent agreement had made a mass exodus from the room, so I half led, half tugged Little Mary along toward the doorway where they had gone. He mulishly pulled at his leash, but I was steadfast in my resolve to both annoy him and to explore this mausoleum as well as his masochism. I cuffed his hands behind him and created an impromptu slip knot to a ball gag that I had inserted in his mouth, making a sort of pulley. He could not move his arms without further embedding the rubber ball into his mouth. I never liked a whiner. Sink or swim. In my family we spoke of Darwinism as though it were a religion. Except I came from a family of atheist. The only way to rebel was to say you believed in God. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

I entered a large and brightly lit kitchen. It was immaculate, yet dingy. Seldom used, organized and absolutely frigid. It made me long for The Big Room which seemed like an Indian sweat lodge by comparison. The forty or so Russian Blues were crouched over a customized cat trough and daintily and furiously eating their stinking heaps of animal product. I crinkled my nose at the smell and then had a brilliant idea.

"Come along! I bet you must be hungry. I know these rich bastards are notoriously tight fisted with the help." I looked back at him sympathetically as I dragged him to his knees and then removed the ball gag. He looked at me in disbelief. "Are you balking'? I demanded. "You told me you would do anything for me! This is NOTHING"! I shrieked the last word as I pushed his face into the plate. The cats momentarily scattered, but quickly regained their aplomb and returned to the feast. I straddled his back and I urged him to eat faster as I laughed aloud. I then led him to another trough filled with clear, fresh water and had him drink. He did so gratefully, in great gulps and kept his eyes to himself like I had instructed. I had chosen to ignore his reproachful looks. I thought I saw tears in his eyes. Little Mary wanted extreme verbal and psychological humiliation, was paying me well to do this and by God I would do it! I wasn't sure if I should feel a level of professional pride or profound guilt.

After taking a meandering stroll through mostly empty and uninspiring rooms (except for the architecture-another aristocrat down on their luck?)we ended back at the fire place with the oppressive portrait of Mama De Winter and the cast off, nearly doomed kitten in the box.

"Bring me my cigarettes and a light." He left the room at a trot and returned with the items. I took it from him and placed a ciggy to my lips and leaned slightly forward. He lit the end deferentially, eyes still on the flag stone floor. "You forgot the ashtray. So incompetent. I don't know why this family keeps you on. Mrs De Winter must be a saint". I told him to get on his hands and knees and to open his mouth and extend his tongue. I then flicked the excess ashes onto it and he blissfully consumed them. I repeated this action many times until I had smoked about a half pack and I was light headed and nauseous. I checked the time on my cell phone and glanced at my open purse, where my envelope was half sticking out. My work was done here. I told Little Mary to stay as he was until I was gone. By prearrangement a car was outside waiting for me, black and discreet. I collected my new pet and left without a word.

I had the driver drop me at a different apartment building and waved him off until he drove away. Once I was assured that he was gone, I doubled back and walked home, cooing at the kitten. I was unable to determine it's sex ( much like it's previous owner)so I decided to call it Monti because it sounded androgynous and hip. And also after my favorite card game, three card monte. Some call the game Follow The Lady or Find the Lady.

It just seemed like kismet.

It All Begins With Mommy.

Little Mary hastily complied and straightened his laughable wig. Except I wasn't laughing. Underneath his put on servile manner I sensed a current of contempt.

He was a condescending elitist, a smug WASP and social vampire that fed off of a bottomless trust fund and somehow thought he was deserving of it. Chip on my shoulder? Perhaps. But I knew his type and the only thing they respect is either a fortune bigger than their own or someone who could not be swayed by it. I would take his fat stack of money and I would count it aloud while he was under the heel of my boot. But before I did, I would toy mercilessly with him and for my own silent amusement. Fuck the script that he wanted me to adhere to. I was going to get inside his head and crawl around. What can I say? This is my idea of a good time.

I pointed one well manicured finger toward the old family china and he passed me a brimming cup of tea and a cookie. It was stale. I gestured toward the portrait of the oil painting above the fire place.

"Your Mother?" I asked casually.

Little Mary started as though I had slapped him. Good. I was on the right tack then.

"No. I told you-that is the painting of the beloved lady of the house. Mrs. De Winter".

"Really'? I asked with feigned interest "She so strongly resembles you. Same fine features, pinched nostrils and disapproving lips. Uncanny."

"I am honored that you would think that I could possibly be related to such a splendid woman. Alas, I had only the privilege of serving her." He ducked modestly at the waist, like a long necked crane.

"As you are serving me now. So...do you have a theory as to what happened to her"? I took a sip of the tea. It was cold. I sighed and put the cup down.

"Oh I have theories." He said darkly.

"Well what then"? I asked irritably.

"Her husband." Little Mary paused dramatically "He was insanely jealous of her. Possessive of her charm and beauty. No one could possess her!" He declared passionately. He began to pace, agitated, back and forth in front on the fire place.

Suddenly it all fell into place. I knew now why this all seemed so familiar. He was more or less playing out the plot line of the classic novel Rebbecca. I had read it of course, but he assumed that I had not. Bad move on his part. I straightened up in my uncomfortable chair with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. As I studied him, the words of Sun Tzu from "The Art Of War" returned to me. "When opponents present openings, you should penetrate them immediately. Get to what they want first,subtly anticipate them. Maintain discipline and adapt to the enemy in order to determine the outcome of the war. Thus, at first you are like a maiden, so the enemy opens his door;then you are like a rabbit on the loose, so the enemy cannot keep you out."

"Have you read The Art Of War?" I asked idly as I stretched my long legs toward the fire.

"No Mistress, I have not. Why do you ask"? He paused and stared at me, puzzled. Of course he hadn't. He only read what was expected of him.

"Shut your pie hole" I snapped. I had to bite back a wolfish grin as he winced at my crassness. Like I gave a fiddler's fuck about offending his tender sensibilities. He was a ripping snob, his cookies were stale and his tea was cold. He was going to coldly dispose of a beautiful animal because it did not meet his standards. If it was not perfect and he could not profit from it, it had no value.

This was going to be fun.

All Cats Are Gray In The Dark.


Little Mary did not spare a glance toward me, nor made a welcoming gesture, until after he waved me into a cavernous room. He shut the door behind me and gave a deep curtsy. He took my coat and click clacked across the floor in a pair of old, fashioned ankle high black boots. They were meant to be utilitarian, not stylish.

I took advantage of his absence and took stock of my surroundings. Yup-thread bare carpets and dark ancient furniture loomed over me like a nightmare forest of sinister trees. There was a fire blazing in a huge fire place and the opening looked a gaping maw into hell. Cold AND creepy. I thought I saw something dark from the corner of my eye, darting by. I spun quickly but saw nothing. There! I saw it again! What the hell was it...rats? I shifted uneasily from one high heeled boot to the other and clasped my elbows. I looked up and studied a life sized oil portrait of a severe, humorless and whippet thin woman. I knew immediately this was Little Mary's mother.

In the distance, I heard the strains of what sounded like a warbling opera. Over that, I could discern the tapping of Little Mary's black boots, signaling his return. I straighted my shoulders and turned to meet him. He was walking toward me in mincing steps, carrying a very old, heavy looking silver serving tray loaded with pastries, delicate sandwiches,china and a coffee urn. He was ushered in and surrounded by what appeared to be a seething gray sea of rats. I took a step back before I recognized the frantic mewings were those of cats. There had to be forty of them, some small kittens and some were full grown. I relaxed. I like cats.

I seated myself in a high back chair, with a tattered leather seat. Little Mary bent on one knee in front of me, placing the tray on a long slab of a coffee table. It looked like something a gathering of knights should have been seated around. He stood in front of me, wig askew and said

"Madame do you need anything else? May I pour your coffee and serve you some biscuits"? I nodded, slightly imperious and bent down to stroke the beautiful cats that were winding themselves around my ankles.

"Madame I could not help but notice how you were studying the portrait of our former Mistress. She was very lovely, was she not"? Not, I thought. I nodded and made a non committal noise. I noticed the past tense. I was meant to.

"Yes...everyone loved her. This house used to be ablaze with parties and the finest people of quality spent many nights of gaiety under this roof.' He sighed wistfully and stared at the painting of the very constipated looking woman.

"What happened to her"? I asked as I shook off one of the tiny kittens which was attempting to clamor up my very expensive stockings.

"No one knows...one night after a party she simply disappeared. They searched the grounds and of course the authorities were called in, but it has remained a mystery to this day. Mrs.De Winter, or Rebbecca as she allowed me to call her (at this, he looked down bashfully) was never found." I looked at him sharply.
This story sounded hauntingly familiar. I glanced over at the corner, momentarily distracted by more movement from the corner of the room. I got up and walked over to a low, small box. Inside, a lone gray kitten was scratching madly at the sides. I scooped it up and stared straight into its wide set, innocent green eyes.

"Why is this one all alone?" I held it to my chest where it relaxed instantly and began to purr.

He looked at it distastefully and answered shortly.

'It is inferior. It will never show. It was born with a protruding rib an it will ruin the lines".

"Show'? I echoed

"Yes. They are Russian Blues and are bred to show in cat shows. Not that one, it's useless. You couldn't give it away. They can go up to a thousand dollars." He actually sniffed.

"I'll take it." I held it a little tighter to my breast and kissed the top of it's tiny head.It stared up at me as though I were it's entire world.

"Madame'? He actually arched a nearly invisible brow in polite and disdainful inquiry.

"I said, I want it". I handed him the squirming kitten and pointed at the box. He took it hesitantly from me and did as I commanded.

"Now pour and tell me more about the late Mrs. De Winter. And fix your wig. It's crooked."

Technorati Profile

Little Mary Was A Giant


And like a giant, he lived on a palatial estate, buttressed behind black, wrought iron gates and surrounded by a foreboding wall of some native stone, no doubt.

He had the unaccented accent of the very privileged. The sort that took pride in anonymous charitable donations. The wives wore diamond studs as understated as trust funds and in every room of their under heated "family homes" were fashionably shabby and ancient oriental rugs.

They were of a certain type. They were over bred,deliberately underfed (even the males had eating disorders) and were restlessly and relentlessly discontented. Boring people really. I never understood our society's fascination with this languid, dissolute and useless class. I knew them well, due to a cruel trick of fate. I had been forced to rub elbows with them all my life, in a peripheral sort of way.

Little Mary being a punctilious man, presented me with my first confidentiality agreement. Personally, I thought it was over kill, but with the typical arrogance of his enclave, he assumed he had more to lose than I did. I signed it, he signed it. His people talked to my people and so on until the evening was arranged and I was deposited by cab, outside his home.

I rang the intercom as instructed and waited patiently. I knew I was being observed as an outside camera had been tracking my arrival and every move since, with a dispassionate, insectile scrutiny. I ignored it and stared straight ahead. No words had been exchanged, but the gates slowly swung inward,with silent consent. I stepped through and began walking down a long, tree lined path. It was lit dimly by the moonlight. I saw what appeared to be a bobbing lantern, coming down the path toward me.

It was held aloft by one of the tallest humans I have ever seen. This figure was dressed from head to toe, in what appeared to be a historically accurate Victorian maid outfit. I realized that I was looking at a painfully gaunt man, in a dishwater grey haired wig, with a lace square pinned to the crown of it. His cheeks were hectically rouged. He smiled distantly at me and signaled that I was to follow. I was instantly drawn in by the over the top theatrics of it all. I just had to know what was next.

So I followed.

The Modern Touch


It was a surreal moment, what with my looming over Chuck, needle in hand. He nodded encouragingly, even sympathetically, like a Rabbi.I felt like a fledgling bird of prey and Chuck was my tender white rabbit. I circled his nipples with the long and silver needle, seeking out just the right angle to plunge it into his flesh.

I'll begrudgingly admit, at first it seemed impossible. As soon as I tried to shove the tip of the needle into Chuck, my fingers literally lost their strength. The needle would slip from my fingers and I would grope for it, trying to mask my escalating frustration. Chuck remained poised, still, like a marble sarcophagus. His lips were slightly pursed, as though waiting for a kiss. I averted my eyes and determinedly focused on the target in front of me. The whole world had narrowed down to this little pink bulls eye.

I tightened my grip and my forearm, took a deep breath and leaned forward with almost all my might. There was some initial resistance,then his skin sort of...snapped as I pushed the needle through. The image of bubble wrap, came into my head. I had the memory of myself as a child, pressing my thumbs deep into the bubble of air and feeling the satisfying yielding pop as I crushed it. It was in. Deeply. I had begun to perspire and a bead of sweat hit Chuck on his neck. His eyes fluttered open briefly and he smiled up at me as trusting as The Fool painted on the back of a Tarot card.

Like with all things, it got easier with repetition. I went into a zen like, contemplative state as I drove each needle into what was becoming the crowded real estate of his nipple area. By the time I moved to his second nipple, I had stumbled onto the most effective technique. I would pull the skin tautly before I zeroed in. I was still sweating, but my heart had regained it's normal rhythm. Chuck was lying perfectly still, almost rigid. The clock on the digital alarm read 10:00 pm. Almost 45 minutes had passed by unaccounted for. What seemed like minutes had
almost been an hour.

I sat back on my heels and admired my handiwork. His chest was a quiver with about forty shiny pins. I had discreetly taken note that he did not have an erection. I sensed this had less to do about sex than it had to do about some internal conflict. Later, over a second beer, my suspicions were confirmed.

Chuck was not divorced, but was separated. He was a chronic cheater who was a lapsed Catholic ( not a Rabbi)and still desperately in love with his wife. The needles had less to do with a fetish than it did with repentance. I stayed for about two hours, absolutely fascinated by his psychology. I had to remind myself that I was there as a vehicle of punishment and as a witness. I was not there to "cure" him or to talk him out of his need. I was learning to suspend judgment as well as my empathy. It was liberating.

By the time I reached home I was exhausted. For the first time in a session, I felt as though I had really connected with a client in a very authentic way. I had given a piece of myself to him in some way that I had not yet fully analyzed.

I also felt that I had deserved every red cent. There was nothing easy about being a Dominatrix and it was more complex than I had realized.

This insight was solidified after I met my first UBER rich,cross dressing client.

Introducing...Little Mary.

That 70's Day

I suppose it isn't such an original observation anymore, when noting the hypocrisy and just plain weirdness that lurks behind America's white picket fence. Soccer moms who run chic escort agencies on the side, white collar dads who stop off for a quickie at the truck stop with a trucker and of course the Valium stealing teenagers that lead double lives almost as complicated as those of their parents.

On my fourth session, I found myself traveling up the lit walk way of a lovingly tended lawn, complete with a Volvo station wagon in the driveway. The lay out had the flatness of a Monopoly game and the house looked like a game piece. The bark brown sprawling ranch home reminded me of a 70's middle school. Before school shootings took root in our popular culture. You know. During a more innocent time of key swapping, swinger parties.

The man that answered the door ( the chimes rang to the obligatory and dreary tune of Big Ben)blended seamlessly into the avocado green & harvest gold tones of his plaid home. He had a beard & it wasn't one of those little, frenchified, self conscious chin patches. This was an honest to god, tied dyed & color me blue sort of beard. The kind that food gets caught in and the possessor never seems to notice. Well...it wasn't like I was going to kiss him. He was a divorced and week end dad. I could tell he was lonely.

His name was Chuck and his little peccadillo was to have needles, push pins to be exact, driven right through his man nipples. The long ones. He supplied our session with his own (Later, he gave me a plump, red pin cushion as a memento. I still use it to this day.)preferred brand.

He had e-mailed me a rather scripted request. I was to wear a nurses outfit with white platform shoes. Now if you recall, I was just starting out and there was no way that I was going to drop about three hundred dollars on an outfit for a POTENTIAL client. So instead, I put together an ensemble that I thought had a certain elan of its own. I wore white cotton boy shorts and a matching sheer & severe bra. Luckily due to Boris's earlier generosity, I was also sporting a gleaming pair of white, opaque stockings. I borrowed a pair of white go-go boots from my manic, club kid neighbor down the hall. Off the net, I bought blue hospital scrubs, a jaunty paper nurses hat & long see through plastic gloves. It came to a whopping investment of $14.99. Over it all, I had worn my trusty trench coat. I pulled my hair in a high, harem girl pony tail and put on a dash of shiny, space age pink lipstick. Bye, Bye Miss American Pie.

Chuck had thoughtfully laid a clean sheet on the floor of his living room and piled the plaid sofa cushions in careless heaps. It looked like a child's sleep over and he had put out a bowl of noxious, orange cheese puffs. Which I adore above all things. He had me at the Cheetos. As I came to know Chuck, I found that he was a great aficionado of jazz. He helped flesh out my collection with obscure performers like Georgie Fame, Kimiko Kasai and Bud Shank. He played a vinyl record of a performer called Professor Soul. We cracked open a Heineken and got down to business.

He stretched himself out on the sheet, wearing only his
tidy whiteys. When I had removed my trench coat, I saw a flicker of disappointment in his kind, baggy brown eyes. I knew he was expecting a nurses outfit. I slowly untied my scrubs and let it drop to the floor. My little sail boat of a nurses hat, was pinned at a coquettish angle. I pulled on the elbow length, plastic gloves with my teeth as I smiled at him side ways. His face suddenly flared with enthusiasm and he laid himself out on the sheet. He crossed his arms gently across his stomach and waited patiently. He knew I was a virgin to this.

I pinched one of the long pins between my suddenly nerveless fingers and knelt before him like a sadistic Geisha.

The Lure Of Easy Money...


In the cab, on the way home, I thoughtfully thumbed my green. Until recent events, although I had done well enough in my vanilla career, I had never known the illicit rush of clutching a fist full of Benjamin's. And it was a thrill. I felt if I were part of a lush and devious guild of insouciance scoundrels, seducers and miscreants. Typically, I was never a joiner. Inwardly I shrugged. I was all right with it.

I happened to glance up and caught the cabbie watching me in his mirror. He gave me a knowing little smirk under his bushy, barber shop quartet mustache. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. I narrowed my eyes and stared right back at him, till he flicked his gaze away uneasily. I won. Then I looked out the window at the Boston sky line. My beautiful, expensive city. She was like a tasteful whore. Which was, of course, what the cabbie thought I was.

I wondered why. I knew he hadn't seen the money as I had carefully checked it behind the raised flap of my purse. The hour was late, but it was hardly unusual to see a woman out at night. I was wearing my London Fog trench coat, cinched at the waist. Even so, what was underneath it was sexy and not scandalous. My nails were on the short side and painted a sheer beigey-pink. My make up was at a minimum although I was wearing a single sweep of black eye liner on my upper lid. I had smoothed my dark red hair before I stepped outside and reapplied my scent. Maybe spraying perfume late at night was the universal badge of naughty girls every where.

It wasn't the outfit. Boris had seen me out, but for all the cabbie knew, I was his girl friend. I realized that I didn't care what the driver's pedestrian thoughts were. The exceptional should always be above censor.

I reflected upon what had just occurred. What I had done wasn't sex, but I could not deny it was sexual in nature. The scene had resided in the twilight zone of tame and permissible acts, but it had been highly charged for Boris. I had watched him with a sort of detached empathy.

It was the ultimate tease as I was sitting fully dressed in front of him, and he was on his back. I allowed him the occasional glance up my long skirt as he held my feet and tenderly licked them. I had giggled and squirmed and he had moaned and ejaculated. As we finished the wine, Boris spoke of the essential humanity of Albert Einstein, loaned me a book and called a cab. It wasn't sex but it wasn't being a Dominatrix either. Although the foot stuff was lovely, I realized I wanted to experience something a little more...hard core.

I discovered what I was looking for through session number three with Chuck.

The human pin cushion.

Ask & You Shall Receive


Sometimes, although rarely, I feel like the open eye of God is upon me. Which is curious because I have been called an atheist many times. If I were more energetic, I would refute this vehemently. I am a deeply, deeply spiritual person.

Just because I like to spend my money ( or other people's money) on ephemeral pleasures like a fine meal, fresh flowers & perfume does not make me shallow. Maybe just the opposite. I am all too aware of the transitory nature of life.

Through the course of my third session, I came to meet & befriend Boris, a Russian physicist who lived in Cambridge. By his own admission, he was a bit of an elitist regarding his own self indulgences. He was an erotic aesthetic & civilized atheist. As so many of them are. Soft spoken and a connoisseur of fine furniture,food and art, Boris taught me many things. He was the one who stressed the importance between real silk stockings & mere nylons. Because of him I own a modest but careful array of rare silk hosiery & vintage fripperies. He was a godsend. You can't imagine how costly these things can be.

He also had a passionate desire for a woman's foot. What can I say? It's a niche. He had stressed to me however, that he was NOT a submissive but simply a man with a sexual focus on the foot. This would call for a different energy altogether. This particular scene seemed more sexual to me, than the others had and I wasn't sure why yet. I figured that I would just play it by ear.

I met him at his ivy covered brownstone. There were slabs of stone steps leading up to a glass & wood vestibule. His apartment contained very little but what he had was superb. There was a very large, 200 year old Italian desk that he worked off of & well worn Persian rugs. His coffee table was an ancient marble door laid across the top of an old trunk. On it he had laid out with great precision a bottle of Taylor's 30 year old tawny Port, room temperature Stilton cheese & pepper crackers. The glasses were squat & gleamed dully in the low over head lights. He even had some & sexy house music playing in the background.

He nodded toward the sofa. I took a seat carefully as I was wearing one of the most elegant, erotic, unusual & uncomfortable things that I owned. While I was at the fair I had selected a hand made corset. It had been created out of old textile fabric & the print was of geisha's bathing. Under it I had on a sheer black long sleeved jersey. The corset cupped my breast from underneath. I wore a black wrap skirt(bare legged upon request)& sexy suede boots. On our first meeting, he knew that I was wearing the scent Joy. After speaking with him on the phone several times, it was evident he was a man who would appreciate such things. No point casting pearls before swine.

Boris handed me a cracker slathered with cheese & a tumbler full of port. He told me it would taste of butterscotch & it did. He had a gift for me. They were a pair of Falke thigh highs of the twenties series. Boris told me this breathlessly as he leaned forward. He was intently watching as I unwrapped the stockings. They were really fine fishnets. They were filmy as spider webs & sooty black. Beautiful. Boris asked if he could unzip my boots. I nodded silently as I sipped my port. He did so reverently & kissed the inside of my ankles. He then with great skill & delicacy pulled the stockings up & over my leg. They went as high as my thigh, where he lingered as he fastidiously straightened them.

We both stared admiringly at my leg. It was encased in the finest of silk & it just looked so....right. Boris sighed in pleasure, lost in some private & sensual reverie of his own. My own heart quickened when I glanced over at the side table. On it were three more luxurious packages. I could tell they were also Falke stockings. I had quickly acquired a taste for both the silk pretties & the port.

Still, I was nothing if not a quick study. I arched my foot in sheer delight & ran my toes softly across his lips.

He looked up & smiled.

"I'm going to burn you now".



I announced this smoothly as I lit a cigarette. I inhaled & sauntered loose hipped toward Nazz, who was still bound & laced liberally with white wax. I blew a Bettie Davis stream of smoke upwards. God, I thought, this really tastes like shit. Why do people do this?

"Are you ready"? He mumbled something incoherent & edged in fear. I grabbed his chin & jerked it up so he was looking into my eyes. Wow, he really looked scared.

"What did you say you sniveling hall monitor?" He shook his head & loudly said no.

I was nonplussed. Was he testing me? Should I go ahead with our original plan? My gut was telling me Nazz was not ready for this level of pain. Or maybe I wasn't. That decided me.

"I'm sorry pet but you said you wanted this. I'm going to do it. you might even thank me later. No use invoking the safe word ( I went with the traditional RED as the word) it has no power here". I noticed when I was "Ava" I slipped into a formal, almost prophetic tone of voice. Like a I was a cast member from Lord Of The Rings. This was never planned on my part, it just naturally happened.

He began silently thrashing about in his seat, his biceps tight & veined. I watched him thoughtfully for a moment & then made a sudden darting movement toward his face with the glowing end of the nasty cancer stick. He literally started yelling or praying in another language. He was not making this easy for me.

"Please Mistress, no I'm begging you! Red! Red! Red!" he howled. In answer, I reached down between his thighs where despite all the ruckus, he was still admirably aloft, & crushed the cigarette on the metal seat. He yelled in a strange bird like shriek until I slapped him on the side of the head.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I didn't even burn you! Shut up before I shove my boot in your mouth." I demanded. I was disgusted by this absurd display of theatrics. I started undoing his hands & feet as he fell silent. He kept his head hung down so I clenched him by the back of his neck like a kitten. I hissed in his ear to get down on all fours & keep his eyes on the floor. He complied, but to slowly for my taste so I nudged him encouragingly in his ass. I sat on the sleek & modern couch & spread my arms along the back of it.

"Take off my shoes. Do it with respect & admiration." Nazz nodded enthusiastically & did as I asked. This was more his speed & what he really wanted all along. I told him to get me some oil & a clean towel. I wanted a foot massage. I commanded that he crawl & was no longer amazed when he did so. Already I was becoming jaded.

"If you do a good job, I'll let you touch yourself as you rub my feet."

I sighed in pleasure as he began expertly kneading & rubbing my feet. With the view & the brown boy kneeling in front of me, I felt like I was in some decadent third world salon.

A girl could get used to this.

He was hung like a merry pony.

He was so enormous, I thought at first he was wearing some sort of prosthesis. Not unlike one of the scary toys that I now owned. Initially, I was speechless. He was wearing white silk boxers, but nothing could disguise the fact that he was a freak of nature. I approached him with a mixture of fascination, detached excitement & curiosity. I felt like a scientist who had stumbled across a new species of man.

"Is it real?" I whispered almost inaudibly. Nazz nodded shyly, glancing at me quickly & then away.

"Take off your shorts. I want to inspect this a little more closely." He hesitated then slowly pulled down his underwear until they were puddled around his feet. I crooked my finger at him & he shuffled toward me. His penis seemed as long as the arm of some pagan god. He had to be at least thirteen inches. I tore my eyes away & gave him an order. When in doubt, play the bitch.

"Where is my tribute? I want it." He turned & went to a glass coffee table where my envelope was waiting.

"Put it between your teeth & crawl back to me." Nazz kept his eyes down & did as I commanded. I was displeased with his awkward scrambling so I gave him more direction. He had the ass of a prince.

"No. Start over. I want you to move with more grace than that. Think of yourself as a magnificent jungle beast. Keep your eyes on my feet & follow them. Right now, my feet should be your whole world. Just think about finally getting them between your lips & fingers."

I began casually strolling around his apartment, not sparing a glance behind me. I was confident he was crawling after me because I could see our images reflected in the glass walls. He was gamely stretching & prowling, the envelope still between his teeth. I smirked & turned around, taking the envelope out of his mouth. I checked & the money was all there. I put it in my bag & withdrew a package of cigarettes, a lighter, a set of hand cuffs & a length of black silk rope. Hey. It was his fantasy.

"Sit". I pointed at a metal chair that was perfect for what I had in mind. Nazz had told me during our phone conversation that he wanted to play with my feet, but he also wanted to see how it would feel to be burned with a cigarette. I suspected I already knew the answer, but some people just have to find out the hard way.

I cuffed his hands behind the back of the chair & bound his feet to the legs of the chair. He was trembling & I felt a pang of empathy which I quickly squelched. I was trembling as well, which I also ignored. However, I was intrigued with my own reaction. How would I overcome my own natural inclination regarding not inflicting pain on my fellow man? I reached for the lighter & heard his quick intake of breath.

I decided to take it slowly & raise the stakes as the session progressed. More for my benefit, than for his. Instead of lighting a cigarette, I lit a candle & stood over him holding it aloft. We both watched silently as the wax gathered at the lip of the candle. We both watched silently as it spilled over the edge, onto Nazz's smooth, brown chest & hard flat belly.

He threw back his head & screamed like a bitch. I noticed however, his freak flag was still flying at full mast. Whimsically, I decided to see if I could press the advantage. What would AVA do? I asked myself. Ava would throw herself fully into the spirit of things.

He was whimpering & begging me to stop. Instead, I straddled his legs & raised the candle much higher & shushed him. I bent forward & lightly licked his tears & whispered " We are going to do this together Nazz. You are to weak for me to really burn. Look how you are crying now. I am making you stronger. You may cry, but you cannot whimper. It disgusts me." He nodded, his chin dropped to his chest. He looked like a man who had been interrogated for hours. Really, I thought, he is being a bit dramatic.

I tilted the candle & once again the wax spilled against his taunt skin. It looked like vanilla icing on a rich slab of caramel cake. This time he flinched only a little.

"Shall we continue"? I asked with a raised brow. Although it was raised theoretically. It was a facial gesture I wished I was capable of, but had never mastered. He nodded again.

Suddenly I was really feeling it & not pretending at all. What was it? What was I feeling?

It was power.

Silk And Plether


I made a decision to give myself seven sessions. The number seven tilts the balance & I just like it. I would know by then, if I was indeed " a natural" or a smirking poseur.

I sifted through the seemingly endless, out pouring of need, the pleading & groveling requests sent to me via e-mail. It was their slavering greediness, their insular self indulgent fingering of their private & morbid obsessions that I found off putting. Oddly, the nude photos so many of them insisted on sending left me unfazed. Their optimistic, bashful faces & shyly displayed bodies moved me more than the fervid, over heated words.

I chose to meet with a young Muslim named Nazz. He was a wealthy, international student & was living with his brother in a expensive high rise apartment. He sent his photo ( He was simply beautiful. Dark skin, smooth, with long lidded Egyptian eyes. Just a baby really)& we also spoke on the phone. He sounded charming & refreshingly naive. He was a good person to experiment with since he knew even less than I did. He said he was a virgin who was trying to save himself for marriage. How...quaint! I thought. He also had a fierce foot fetish. My feet are exceptional. I really should have them insured.

I called a cab & I arrived a little early so I could get acquainted with the lay out. I then gave Nazz a ring to let him know I had arrived. He had the concierge send me up.

"Very good Mistress. I eagerly await having your beautiful feet beneath my teeth." He enthused.

"Beneath my teeth?" I puzzled in the elevator as I fussed with my outfit. Nazz wanted the whole enchilada, so I looked like I had just stepped out of The Matrix. Except I could not afford the leather stuff. I was in the patent leather stage of my career. I wore a long over coat that cloaked me, at a glance,in respectability.

Nazz answered the door in a white silk robe. Yes, a white silk robe. He looked like a Calvin Klein model. We smiled. I think I even gasped. He stepped backwards while gesturing into the candle lit apartment. I stepped inside, shrugging off my coat. I silently held it out & Nazz stepped up smartly to retrieve it.

I looked out the wall of windows that overlooked the city. I could not believe my good fortune.

I turned toward the glowing Nazz. He actually seemed to shimmer. His robe had "slipped" open. I could not help but look down.

"Oh." I said aloud.

Risk V.S Reward

I was still on the couch, when Sebastian came rolling in, rosy & redolent with some fresh encounter no doubt. I love him like a brother, so the mind rebels. We usually skim over such adventures.

"Why so sad, fag hag?" He asked dropping onto the leather couch.

"Why so glum chum? What's the plan Stan..."

"All right, all right". I interrupted him irritably.

"Tell me me all your troubles. I'll tell you mine." Said Sebastian, mock earnestly.

"I don't think I'm very good at this Domme thing." I blurted.

"Did Gordon tell you that, or a client? By the way, what happened? That's right! How did the appointment go? Not so good?"

I shook my head miserably.

"Not so good. " I started at the beginning. By the end, I was warming to my story, playing off of Sebastan's reaction which was one of unrestrained hilarity.

"Beware of any endeavor that involves new clothes, or something like that." Answered Seb sagely.

"So, thats it? That is the feedback that you are offering me? I didn't pay for any of my outfits. Gordon set me up in that regard. Anyway that is not the point."

"What is? That you are afraid you are getting older? You are. Embrace it because unless you can afford cosmetic surgery you better make the acquaintance of your inner crone. But you look great!" He finished brightly.

"Actually that was NOT my point you flaming asshole. My point is can I really do this & make money. Do I have it in me to do this? It's just so weird..yet potentially lucrative." I shrugged, grimacing, feeling my mud mask cracking as I did so.

"Do I really look great?" I asked meekly.

"Oh yes. Absolutely. Ava, you are only 36 & you are sexy as hell. Even I know that. You make 36 work for you as you will every age. We were both blessed with good genetics."

"Yeah. Thanks. I noticed you managed to slip yourself into that sentence. But the fact is Seb, if that appointment had gone as planned, I would have had half my rent paid. For an hours worth of play acting in a luxury hotel suite, frolicking around in lace panties & throwing out idle threats & no sex? I mean what's the down side?"

"Beats me. Hey, get it? Beats me!" Seb chuckled wildly as he bent down to slip off his boots. He sat back up, thoughtfully palming an old & shriveled grape that had rolled under the couch. I waited for a remark of disdain, but instead he said "Ava I think you should do it. Balls to the wall. You have a strong corporate & entrepreneurial back ground to bring to this. Study the psychology, the lingo & the process. Approach it as you would any other venture capital opportunity. Market yourself right & with Gordon's help & connections...well oddly enough I see a future here. Make a business plan with goals, get a great web page & build a clientele. Build a dungeon & they will come crawling." I laughed & felt a chunk of clay dislodge itself from my face. It fell onto Seb's lap where he flicked it off absently & continued talking.

"There would be no overhead & you are not even paying for the cell phone. Even if it does not end up being a career, it will certainly see you thru until you land a more conventional job. With benefits." He was rolling the grape gently between his fingers as he spoke. "You have the confidence & if these guys want the psychological engagement & stimulation, you can provide that. AND you are easy on the eyes. Fuck it. I say go for it."

"Really? You think so? You do have some good points. None of which I haven't already considered... Since I can't find a roommate, maybe I can make that back room into a cell."

"Ah yes. Just what every Domme needs. A cell of her own."

"Or a hell of my own making. This could be dangerous. But I have to admit it's all very intriguing. I'll never make any real money working for someone else. I think you might be right. But what about what happened tonight? That was just awful."

"That was a fluke. That will never happen again. Disasters always happen when a person tries something new. That is why people are so afraid of change, right? They don't want an audience to witness their failure. I think you did the right thing by the way, regarding not taking that money. I bet he thought so to. Keep applying common sense & honorable business practices like you have always done & make it happen. Create the myth."

I nodded.

"Create the myth." I repeated

"I'm going to take a shower. I really need one" Seb leered as he unfolded his patrician self from my couch.

"Please." I held up my hand & turned my head away.

"Oh please. Like you are so particular. This grape is so old, we could make wine from it. Disgusting." He flung it at my head as he moved toward the bathroom, where it splattered against the wall. I left it there.

I was thinking.