Dandyland Diaries (6 page)

Then we started tal
king about pictures of each other. He said he had hoped to see sexy pictures of me but didn’t know how to ask.

I said something to the effect of, “Why do you need a picture when I’m sitting right here?” I
smiled. He stood up and walked over to me. I stood up and walked away from him. He followed me over to my bed. We sat down together. It was awkward. He said he still wanted to see a sexy picture of me. So I reached for my phone. Luckily, I had such a picture ready for situations such as this!

I showed it
to him. It was of my ass. Now, to a woman, I had an ass that was remarkable only because it's big and round and most women are glad they don’t have it. Now, to a man, my ass was Utopia. Women tend to forget that men want soft feminine bodies to touch. They may want aerobicized asses to whack-off to or to be seen with, but in bed, when push comes to shove… they want ass and lots of it.

It was on like Donkey Kong. He ripped off my pants and rolled me over onto my stomach. He pushed into me very abruptly after rolling on a condom. I managed to wiggle around so I could pull off his shirt (after all, that was what I wanted to see… his body).
His body was rather spectacular, but after a few jabs, he was done.
Wah wahhhh
, it was such a bummer. It felt more like a car collision than a good sex romp. He looked equally surprised.

“That was weird,” he said.

“What was?” I didn’t know what he was referring to—the fact that he was a two-pump chump, or that I allowed him to take me so fast. He never really answered the question. He just said, “You were here and then we were there.” I guess it was weird that the sex happened so quickly, not that the sex ended so quickly.

Now I felt ripped off and I couldn’t even get mad because I hadn’t paid for anything. Now what would I do with him? I slid back into my pants that were just undone and under my butt… I hadn’t even gotten naked. We went outside so he coul
d smoke another cigarette and we talked some more about his girlfriend or some other horseshit.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was in fact a matter of minutes, he looked at his watch and said, “Wow, look at the time. It is late. I must go.” Phew!

“Oh, okay, well, it was nice meeting you,” I said as we hugged awkwardly.

“Yes, it was nice meeting you, too.” And he was gone.

I took a shower immediately. What a letdown. I didn’t even have that warm freshly fucked feeling. I just felt stunned. I went
to bed. At least it would make for a good story at coffee tomorrow and I didn’t feel like I had cobwebs in my cooter anymore. Janet would have lots to say.

Chapter 8

So I bet you’re wondering how this all led me down the path to Female Domination. As a matter of fact, so am I, to be honest. How does this all add up to wanting to put some guys nuts in a vise? I had no bitterness toward men. I loved their bodies and their strength, so maybe I had to just blame it on my pervy nature.

I had always b
een exceedingly sexual, even as a child. I would sneak into my dad’s hidden treasure box of hard-core erotic novels and get wild ideas of what kind of adventures I would have when I grew up. I would read in explicit detail about women being abducted into gangs and made to travel across country all the while being used as a sexual slave. Come to think of it, when I was very young and still playing with Barbies, I would have my dolls go camping and Ken would kidnap them one by one and take them away to a cave where he would have his way with them. My mother would find the dolls strung up and naked and worry that I was watching too much Star Trek.

Maybe it had just always been
there… lurking in the background, a need to do bad things to good people. I feel like I am “good people” too, don’t get me wrong. I am a good friend, a good mother, a hard worker, and pretty darn reliable if I do say so myself. Did it ultimately make me a bad person because I liked to paddle a sub's behind? I didn’t think it did, if that was what we both wanted to happen. After all, we were both consenting adults.

As time passed in my new apartment in my new city, I was having a hard time getting any employment. So like they say, idle hands do the devil’s work. I had much too much time on
my hands between jobs. So many new faces in various states of nakedness came and went. I met most of them online. Online was a little more anonymous than a bar to me for some reason. I would have a guy over fully intending it to be just a simple “movie on the couch” date, but the next day I would call my Janet and say, “Whoops, my vagina accidently fell on his penis last night.”

It was like I was addicted to dick. I could seriously have been, but I’m thinking I wasn’t literally forming a sex addiction; I wa
s just making up for lost time. I was having so much fun, but then one day Janet said, “You’ve had your fun. I think it’s time for you to calm down now.”

Boo! I suppose she was right. So I did. I disabled my dating account and twiddled my thumbs. I would g
o back on for a day or two just to check in and see if there was anything worth meeting. And no, I didn’t mistype that…

Sometimes I would get an interesting message. One came from a guy claiming to be a Dominant male. His name was Paul. He wrote
how he liked my pictures and thought it would be nice to chat a bit. His torso picture was pretty nice, so I accepted. Little did I know that Paul would be the person to put me in touch with my inner Goddess.

We chatted online at great length, sometimes by chat and
sometimes via video. He always wanted me to watch him on camera whacking off and he was always careful never to include his face while he did so. I would watch patiently because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It was just part of our dynamic. He would order me to say things to him and I would shrug and say them. Sometimes he would order me to do things to myself, and I would. I wanted to be able to let someone take control that way, but it felt really wrong.

Paul would confess all sorts
of sordid stories to me, all of which were probably lies, but they were fascinating nevertheless. One day he would claim to be in L.A. and a few days later he would say he was in Hong Kong. I would ask why his furniture was the same at both places. He would say something like, “I have the same furniture in all of my offices.” I always replied that he was full of shit and that it was okay to just be a lonely loser in one place.

He liked that I always called him out. He thought it was funny that I didn’t show any true signs of interest in him. Paul’s dick wasn’t even that great, so that wasn’t even a draw. He was right, I really didn’t have any interest in him other than for perso
nal entertainment. It made him feel unsettled and it caused him to work harder for my attention. I would yawn and tell him I had some TV to watch. That would really get him going.

“I’ll let you tell me what to do to myself,” he would eagerly suggest.

“But I thought you were a big ol' Dom. Why would you want me to do that?” I asked, curious why he wanted to change this game we’d been playing for a couple of weeks now.

“I’m feeling submissive today,” he replied. “I want you to take control over me.” I sudde
nly felt very self-conscious. There are so many things that I could tell him to do. Where did I begin? How far could I take it? What if he got bored? What if I didn’t do it right?

“Get on your back, bitch!” A voice I had never heard come out of me was now
ready to play. “Move it!”

He slowly lowered himself onto his back and a wave of good vibrations washed over me. I was about to have a lot of fun.

After I worked him over with my voice for a while, he finally got himself off, and as soon as he did, I clicked the video off. I was done for the day and I didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t exactly sure what had come over me, but one thing was for certain: my panties were soaked.

For a few days, I was pretty turned on at all times just thinking about that vi
deo chat. The only problem was I was broke as a joke and desperately needed money. I had been determined to never work an office job again after I left the Midwest, so I needed to get creative, and like so many other Los Angeles newbies, I turned to webcam modeling. Now this was just bizarre, but I was so glad that I did it because it was hilarious.

I would sit in a nighty in front of my webcam for hours and random guys would peek in at me. Some of them would never speak; others would just jump up and down
dying for me to acknowledge them. “Please, miss, say hello to me!” They could hear and see me, but I could only see what they wrote. The only way you got money was if they tipped you or took you into a private chat. If they did that, it would cost them about five bucks a minute to be alone with you, and you would get about two dollars out of it. My neck would get all sore from trying to find my “good light” so I didn’t look like a raging hag on camera.

Turns out I was a terrible salesman and had no skill
luring men into a private chat, so after about twenty-five hours of doing this and $2.32 earned, I decided webcam modeling wasn’t my calling. I quite possibly could be the absolute worst webcam model on the planet. Who knew? I give credit to those women who can market themselves and have the patience to sit there and pose for hours, looking all gorgeous and perfect. It ain’t easy.

I told my webcam buddy, Paul, about how I was failing miserably as a sex model, and he laughed. He told me to try another websi
te and suggested one. I told him I was done with that. He then said, “Did you know there is a fetish that is all about women taking money from men? It's called Financial Domination. You should totally check it out. There is even a website just for it.”

WHA
T? What is up?! “No way! Men get off on that?” I said in disbelief.

“Some do!” he replied. “It's crazy; you should totally do that if you’re hard up for cash. You’d be great at it. I have faith in you, and you will pay me ten percent.”

Could I do that? Use men for money? I have never been dependent on a man for money and I am not a “user” so it goes against my nature. But I was really broke, so I thought I would at least look and see what I would find.

What I found was a whole new world. A world where wome
n demanded to be spoiled and men begged to be used. Men were known as pay-piggies, cash cows, or ATMs. Women were known as Goddess, Mistress, or Ma’am. These women were righteous and powerful. Posting pictures of themselves with fists full of cash and wearing expensive gifts they had just received in the mail from their money slave. The tones of the women on the site were very harsh and demanding. Posts said things like, “I feel like raping your wallet, bitch!” or “All of you pathetic losers can wipe my ass with a hundred-dollar bill. Now give me your fucking money, slut!”

I signed up for the site and became a member of their community. I chatted with the other Dommes and quickly learned the language of the fetish. The same Dommes were usually online and cha
tting about this or that, while a sub or two would try to eek out a word in edgewise. One of the Ladies would snap at them, “Mind your place, loser!” and get back to the conversation at hand. These were smart, funny successful women. Not con artists or users like I had originally thought. They truly got off being treated to things and being showered with gifts and cash. Okay, most of the women were not into conning the men. The owner of the site was quick to identify someone who was there for the wrong reason and would throw them out of the community fast.

I felt like most of the men on there were more likely to con the women. “Flash me your tits and I’ll send you an Amazon gift card.” Me being the naive one fell for that a couple of times. Yes… I said a co
uple of times. What was I thinking? This wasn’t me at all. I wasn’t a money-loving whore who wanted to flash her tits for gift cards! I could tell after a week or so that I was teetering on some trouble if I didn’t bail out now. My self-respect had already been undergoing some permanent reconstruction; I didn’t need to add “whore” to my growing list of professions. To be clear, I don’t think these women who are into Fin Domming are whores, but in the world of BDSM, the Fin Dom is considered the lowest form of existence, the absolute worst. People don’t believe that it is an actual fetish. So again, I am not saying they are whores; I am just saying that because it was not a fetish of mine and I was desperate for cash, it represented a slippery slope for me. I did really enjoy my conversations with these women and felt a loving connection to some of them, and also felt they deserved not to be exploited by the likes of me. So I slithered away and crawled over to another popular site for fellow BDMS’ers. Finally, I was home.

Okay, I confess… I did try to squeeze a couple bucks out of a guy who liked to be blackmailed, but I had no idea how one goes about blackmailing someone so it was just sort of embarrassing and not very sexy at all. Epic fail.

“Serving my Goddess, being used and abused by Her, it is both liberating and stifling. No words can describe the control, the addictive energy that She exudes. The suffering is rarely pleasant, yet still so satisfyingly tormentful. Her gaze, a raised eyebrow, Her commanding voice—all designed to make my heart pump stronger and my knees grow weaker. She is soothing and intoxicating. Scolding and humiliating. Carefully nurturing my place below Her, at Her heels. Knowing She is pleased soothes every ache and pain in the world.

While in Her presence, Her power burns through my skin like a hot iron on flesh. It is a necessary burn. Nothing can ever go wrong while under Her mesmerizing spell. Her natural dominance is a guiding light of pure supremacy that only reminds me of where I belong. She never lets me forget where I belong. I belong at Her heels because no other place is more suitable. I am Her bitch.”

                                                                                    —slave