Mistress Dee is finally back in New York after three months of peeing on people around Europe. I missed her dearly, however her absence turned out to be good for me, as it pushed me to start doing Domme sessions by myself, and to get some of my own clients. I’m getting better at solo sessions, although there are definitely still moments–like when I’m strapping a ball gag onto an old man, or peeing into a water bottle and then putting it in my refrigerator for later use–where I suddenly think, Wait… how did I get here? Who am I? When did this become my life?
I arrive at Dee’s West Village apartment at 10:30 am. (Starting the sadism early today.) She’s mid session with a new client who’s in town from Atlanta. Dee is really into role play, so the majority of her sessions have pre-planned scenarios that she briefs me on beforehand. The email I received from her yesterday read as follows:
Come in office outfit. Skirt and heels if possible. I’m the big boss of marketing calling in this nitwit from Atlanta for a private meeting at my apt. You are another employee in the New York office who I like and get along with. I call you over mid meeting to join in on the fun. Think Mad Men, but with gender roles reversed and way more fucked up.
Dee’s wearing a tight white blouse and red pencil skirt, her black hair hanging over her shoulders is loose, ringlet curls. She seems impressed with the black, PVC high heels I have purchased in her absence. She calls me “the real deal,” and I blush cartoonishly. Dee then leads me into the living room where a man is squatting naked in the corner, wearing only a leather mask, which covers his entire face barring a small round hole for his mouth. A leather cuff is fastened around both of his wrists, which hang together in front of his body. Dee tells me to have a seat on the couch, then hands me a long, black cigarette. “Feel free to ash here,” she says with a smile, and dips her index finger into slave’s open mouth.
I sit and smoke as Dee makes slow circles around the room, repeatedly tapping the palm of her left hand with a ruler, like an actress in a TV show who’s pretending to think. “Tell Karley about the product,” Dee says to the slave after a long silence.
“Well, it’s a new energy drink we’re launching… uh…” he stutters, “rich in antioxidants, and, uh…”
“Oh shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes. She turns to me. “Numb-skull here has been fucking up royally with his work on our new product, Absolute Acai. He’s been spending more time ogling the girls in the office than he has doing any actual work, and has been caught masturbating under his desk twice now. You just can’t control yourself, can you?,” she asks him, pressing the toe of her red high heel into his penis, (which is erect). “You make me sick,” she say. “Doesn’t he make you sick, Karley?” I nod my head yes, then put my cigarette out on his tongue.
Dee takes off the slave’s mask. He’s handsome, which surprises me. His look is very old Hollywood: chiseled features, swept back dark hair, tan, super white teeth. I’ve yet to see a client this good looking. “The next task,” Dee says, holding up a chastity belt, “is to see if we can get that tiny tick of yours into this tiny cage.” She kneels down and begins trying to squeeze his penis into the plastic shaft, but it won’t fit because of his giant erection. She applies some lube but it still won’t budge. We then sit and stare at the slave’s penis while Dee repeatedly shouts “Think about your grandma, think about fucking your grandma!” into his face. His dick keeps growing. “Eww,” she winces, after her efforts have obviously failed. “You’re like, a perv.”
Moments later Dee is sitting on the windowsill chainsmoking. I sit and watch as she puts the slave through a series of tasks which include massaging our feet, singing us a variety of R&B hits from the past 10 years, pretending to be a dog, and giving us an overview of the PR strategies he plans to apply in order to to sell Absolute Acai (which he does so convincingly, I actually forget that we’re role playing for a sec). When he’s finished, Dee pulls her skirt up to reveal her red thong, then bends over and pushes her butt deep into his face and tells him to sniff. He takes a couple deep breaths, then makes a sharp choking sound and begins coughing heavily. “What, you’ve never breathed though an ass before?” she asks, coyly. “Look, if you can’t breathe through my ass then you just can’t work for us, end of story. Tell him Karley.”
“If you can’t breathe through her ass then you just can’t work for us.” I put my hands on my hips in an effort to look important. The slave continues to choke, stringy spit looping from his mouth.
For the final scene, Dee sets down the dog bowl she’s been ashing into on the ground between her feet, pulls her red thong over to the side and begins pissing into it in one slow, steady stream. When the bowl is full to the brim she stop, giggles and says “Go ahead, take a drink.” The slave crawls over and obediently beings lapping up the sooty liquid. I turn away and breathe through my mouth, trying to alleviate my gag reflex. Slowly but surely I am becoming desensitized to these sorts of situations, but sometimes the gross-out factor just becomes so overwhelming that the possibility of projectile vomiting suddenly becomes very imminent and real. I look over at Dee, who is picking at her nail polish, unfazed. One day, I think, I will be like you.