It was my first visit to the world-famous, New York Donatella Den. Due to the establishment's great reputation, I flew all the way there from California. I had booked a long session and was informed that I would be handled by no less than three Lifestyle Dominatrixes during my visit.
On the five-hour flight I was a nervous wreck. I had a few beers to calm down, but I had been strictly warned that I would not be admitted to the Dungeon unless I was freshly shaved, showered and sober. So I made sure not to drink too much.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a novice. Far from it. But I've only had a few sessions with real Dommes, and, although I enjoyed the experiences, they never met my high expectations.
I was beginning to wonder if I was being too picky. Perhaps the dominant beauty of my dreams didn’t really exist. I was dying to serve a demanding, self-indulgent, cruel woman of unsurpassable beauty, a femme fatale with a sadistic streak who truly enjoyed abusing and degrading a submissive male like me.
Dressed in a new blue suit, I took a cab from my hotel, the Pierre. As I paid the driver, he smiled and said, "Good luck." I figured he knew something I didn't, but I was in no mood to question him. I wanted to goinside.
I was greeted by a lovely young redhead, who wore a black and white, skin-tight, rubber French maid's costume. "Follow me," she said softly and walked in tiny steps. One glance at her feet and I saw the reason why she could not take a full stride. She wore tall black, patent-leather high heels, but the heels didn't cause her any trouble. It was the two-foot long chain that was attached to her slender ankles that caused her short and unsteady gait.
I was duly impressed. I felt sorry for the young maid, but she said not a word of complaint.
I followed the maid into a large walk-in closet, where I was told to get completely undressed. "Get down on your hands and knees and crawl behind me. You are about to meet Mistress Cricket." I was beside myself with joy.
I had seen photographs of Mistress Cricket and she was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.
Her curly blond hair; full-lips; large, penetrating eyes, long neck, perfect skin and curvaceous figure was enough to make any man drool with desire.
On my knees, I crawled into a comfortable, well-lit setting. I was in a spacious, well-furnished living room. The maid turned on her heels and shuffled away. I looked up and across the room, I caught my first in-person glimpse of the great Goddess, Mistress Cricket.
She sat in a comfortable, white, suede armchair. She smoked a cigarette.
She leaned to her left, where a pathetic, naked slave, knelt with his head head awkwardly back, so that he stared at the ceiling.
"Open that mouth!" Mistress Cricket hissed cruelly.
"Yes, Mistress," said the slave and immediately obeyed, opening his mouth wide.
"It's always nice to have a human ashtray," she said as she tipped her hot ashes into his mouth, burning his tongue.
He winced, but did not complain.
Non content with the level of his discomfort, Mistress Cricket thrust the lit tip of her cigarette inside of his mouth and stubbed out the flaming ash.
"Aaagghhh!" he gasped in pain.
"How dare you make a sound without permission!" the magnificent blond Domina said angrily and slapped his face again and again. Ten times in a row, she slapped his cheeks, which suddenly swelled and turned bright crimson.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" She laughed heartily, taking great pleasure in hurting her slave. "Get out of my sight before I give you a beating that you won't soon forget, slave," she said.
He began to get up.
"Crawl!" she commanded. "On your belly like the snake that you are. Go back to the tiger cage that where I keep you."
"Yes, Goddess Cricket," the slave said.
I was transfixed as I watched her abuse her "Human Ashtray." Mistress Cricket was the cruelest Dominatrix I had ever witnessed. I was terribly afraid of her, but I couldn't wait to worship her and suffer for her amusement. My dark side held sway and suddenly, it didn't bother me to be butt-naked on the floor of this bizarre room in the Dungeon of Donatella Den, anxiously awaiting my turn to get the attention of one of the world's greatest Dominatrixes of all time -- the beautiful, magnificent Mistress Cricket.
Suddenly, Mistress Cricket turned her large, oval eyes on my naked figure. She glowered at me from across the room.
Good God! I thought. She had shamed me with a look! Her presence was that powerful. Her curly blond hair hung in her face. She looked haughty, arrogant. She was in complete control. I felt like a fool. What in the world made me think for even a moment that I was worthy of meeting this incredible Lifestyle Dominatrix? I must have been out of my mind. I seriously considered excusing myself, getting up and going back to the room where my new suit was hanging. If I had any brains at all, I would get the hell out of there Before she started in on me because I knew that I was already in very big trouble.
"You know, don’t you?" she said matter-of-factly. "You know that you aren’t worthy of serving me."
She had read my mind! I was utterly astounded.
"Crawl to me. It’s your lucky day, slave, because I’m going to let you lick my shoes."
I hastened to obey. She wore a tight, black leather mini-dress that showed her magnificent, long legs which were sheathed in black stockings with seams running up the backs of her legs. She thrust her leg forward so that her foot was directly beneath my nostrils. I could smell the heady aroma leather and sweat emanating from beneath her black, leather pump with tapered six-inch heels. Swiftly, she lifted her heel out of her shoe and snapped it back into place. It only took a moment but long enough for me to see her sexy high arch. I was enthralled.
"What are you waiting for? Lick it, slave." she demanded.
"Yes, Mistress," I gasped as my tongue snaked out of my mouth and lapped at her shoe top. I swabbed the dust from her shoe, and felt tremendous relief and gratitude for the great honor of serving such a beautiful Domme.
"Off with my shoe!" she hissed wickedly.
Gently, I removed her pump. Suddenly, I smelled the inside of her shoe. I couldn’t help myself! I had to sniff the fresh fragrance of her foot sweat.
"Foolish slave. I didn’t give you permission to smell my shoe. You’ll have to be punished for that."
"Sorry, Mistress, I just –"
"You just couldn’t help yourself," she said with a smile. "Why does that not surprise me? Go ahead, smell the inside of my shoe."
"May I, please, Mistress."
"Yes, put your nose deep into my shoe and smell it. You’ll love it."
"Thank you, Goddess."
"Breathe deeply, slave."
"Yes, Mistress Cricket."
"Well?" she queried expectantly.
"The inside of your high-heeled pump smells fantastic, Goddess."
"Of course it does, slave. Now take your nasty nose out of my shoe and put your face up for a great surprise."
As soon as I looked up at her, she placed her black-stockinged foot on my face and rubbed her damp toes into my eyes.
"Keep those eyes open, slave. Don’t you dare try to escape my toes.
"Besides," she said coquettishly, "you know that you love the attention. You will learn to live to worship my beautiful feet."
Suddenly, she thrust all five of her toes deep into my mouth. She was choking me, but I didn’t dare resist. I was totally enslaved, and felt completely degraded as she thrust her foot in and out of my mouth. She was face-fucking me with her sweaty, stockinged feet.
I was totally undone.
From behind me, I heard footsteps. High heeled boots click-clacking on the wooden floor.
"Well, how nice of you to join us, Gi Gi," Mistress Cricket cooed. As you can see," she added, "I am training this foolish slave to worship my beautiful feet."
"It looks like fun," came a sensuous, but intimidating female voice behind me. A moment later, I felt the unseen woman’s booted foot press hard on my neck and shoulder. She was pushing me to the floor with the weight of her boot, while totally abashed, I attempted to keep my mouth full of Mistress Cricket’s tasty, salty damp toes.
"That’s enough, slave!" Cricket exclaimed. "Turn around and meet Mistress GiGi!"
As I turned, Gi Gi pressed her boot into my chest and pushed me to the floor, where I lay, flat on my back. I stared up at her is disbelief.
She was a veritable Amazon. She stood well over six-feet tall in her high-heeled, platform, thigh-high boots. She had deep, brown eyes, medium-length, straight black hair. She looked like a Tibetan Goddess.
"Well, what kind of slave do we have under my boot, Cricket?" she asked.
"I suspect that he’d make a proper foot-slave with plenty of training. Would you care to join me?"
"Absolutely!" exclaimed Gi Gi. "A proper foot-slave must learn to take a serious trampling beneath the boots of his Mistress."
With that, the black Amazon stepped onto my chest and stomach with both booted feet. I felt the full weight of her luscious body crushing me. In a truly wicked, but obviously well-practiced gesture, she jabbed the toe of her boot into my solar plexus,knocking the wind out of me.
They both laughed loudly as I gasped for air. But it was impossible to breathe with her heavy boots pressing down on my belly. I thought I was going to die. Would this be the end of me? I wondered. Was I destined to die beneath the feet of a Tibetan Goddess? I guess this is the end, I thought as the world went suddenly dark.
The next thing I knew, it seemed as though several minutes had passed and Gi Gi and Cricket were both kicking me in the side. Cricket moved to my head and sat right on top of my face. Again I was starved for air while Gi Gi stood on my biceps, making it impossible for me to free myself and gasp for air. Cricked rubbed her ass back and forth on my face, chafing my flesh until it was very sore. The pain was intense.
I was about to pass out again when Mistress Cricket finally lifted her delectable ass from my raw face.
"Very good, slave," Cricket said.
Gi Gi took a seat and crossed her long legs. "You may take off my thigh-high boots now, slave," she commanded. "I’ve been wearing these boots all afternoon without stockings and my feet are really hot and damp with perspiration. Take them off now."
I hastened to obey.
"What do you want to do now, slave? Tell me?"
"May I kiss your feet, Mistress Gi Gi?"
"No, you’re definitely not worthy, but you can lick the sweat from my feet. Go ahead. Get on with it, foot-slave."
"Yes, Goddess Gi Gi," I said, and commenced licking the salty perspiration from her lovely, high-arched feet. It occurred to me that no doubt all of the Lifestyle Dominatrixes at the infamous, internationally renowned Dungeon of Donatella Den must have beautiful, high-arched, perfectly pedicured feet. These two women were veritable Foot Goddesses. With great pleasure, I lapped at Gi Gi’s toes.
"Lick the spaces between my toes, slave," she demanded.
"And tell me how good they taste."
"They taste wonderful, Mistress Gi Gi."
"You dog!" shouted Mistress Cricket. "That’s the same thing you told me. You’ll be disciplined for being unoriginal, foolish toady."
I was in big trouble, but I couldn’t imagine how they could abuse me any worse than they already had. Gi Gi had trampled me, for God’s sakes and Cricket and suffocated me with her luscious ass cheeks. I felt like I almost died. Indeed, I had passed out for I don’t know how long.
"I think I hear Helga coming," Cricket said.
I pricked up my ears and, sure enough, I heard the familiar click-clacking sound of stilettos on the hardwood floor.
Helga entered the room with a burst of energy. She was a sight to behold.
Helga was tall, long-waisted with magnificent long legs, long, dark hair and lovely eyes. She wore a black corset that drew her waist in to about 20 inches. A black G-string barely hid her delicious pussy, her Cavern of Venus. On her feet she wore black, suede, open-toed platforms. Her lovely, red-painted toes peeked out seductively from her upper straps. Dainty ankle straps added allure to her beautiful feet.
"Well, what do we have here?" Mistress Helga queried in a haughty tone of fake disbelief.
"A foot-slave, Helga," Gi Gi, replied as she pulled her luscious feet away from my mouth, depriving me on purpose.
"Yes, Helga," Cricket chimed in. "A true foot-slave … in training."
"Hmm. Sounds like he’s right up my depraved little alley. You know how I enjoy working with foot-slaves. Is he a novice?"
"No," she girls said in unison.
"But he might a well be a novice. I don’t think he knew much of anything before he came to the Dungeon of Donatella Den and met us. He came all the way from Los Angeles for his training."
"Well, at least he had the presence of mind to come to the right place," said Helga. "Get you little ass over her and worship my feet, slave. And don’t you dare touch your nasty tongue to my perfect toes unless I grant you permission. I want my platforms licked clean. They’re full of dust from walking around the fashion district this afternoon. Lick my shoes clean."
"Yes, Goddess Helga," I responded and immediately thrust my tongue out and went to work cleaning her open-toed shoes, being especially carefully not to press my lips or tongue to her beautiful, seductive, perfectly straight, bare toes. It was all I could do to refrain from licking the spaces between those delicious toes. And they looked marvelous, framed as they were by the platform soles and black leather uppers of her shoes. Her feet looked incredibly provocative and I almost lost control.
She stepped right on my face and ground the sole of her shoe into my nose and mouth. She stuck her six-inch heel into my mouth and commanded, "Suck the heel, slave."
I instantly obeyed her cruel, peculiar command, and sucked the grime and dust from her high heeled shoe as she thrust it in and out of my mouth.
"Milk it, slave! Milk my high heel!"
I felt like a complete idiot as I sucked and milked her shoe heel. If I had had my wits about me, I would have refused to obey such an obscene command.
I would have stood up and stalked right out of Donatella Den’s Dungeon, leaving the three beautiful Dominas – Cricket, Gi Gi and Helga behind. That fleeting thought crossed my mind, but only for a moment. I was hooked big time. When I entered the New York Dungeon I was only planning to experiment, but now I was a full-fledged lowly Foot-slave. These women owned me, body and soul. I was at their mercy, and they were a trio of merciless Dominatrixes. I was enthralled, imprisoned by perverse lust.
Now lick my other platform shoe, slave!"
I obeyed her lewd command. I didn’t seem to have a choice. In fact, I was dying for the chance to cleanse her shoes with my mouth. At this point, I had learned to consider cleaning a Mistress’ shoes as a rare honor, reserved for only the most deviant, yet most dedicated of adoring supplicants.
As I bent to lick the dust from her shoe, my lips mistakenly brushed across her perfect, red toenails.
"Shame on you!" Mistress Helga rasped with genuine anger. "I distinctly told you not to kiss or lick my bare toes. Tell them why, girls."
"Because you’re unworthy, slave," said Gi Gi.
"Because, you are a lowlife, nearly novice foot-slave who doesn’t deserve the privilege of licking Mistress Helga’s lovely toes," added Cricket.
"There’s only one way to properly discipline this damned sorry excuse for a foot-slave," said Mistress Helga with finality.
"We totally agree," said Gi Gi.
"Over to the couch, on your knees, slave!"
"Yes, Goddess Helga."
Helga sat in the middle, with Gi Gi on one side and Cricket on the other. I knelt in the middle at their feet.
"It’s time for some mouth-stretching exercises, don’t you agree, gals."
"We most certainly do," said Gi Gi.
"Look up at me and open that mouth, wide slave. Wider!" Helga hissed cruelly.
She bent her knees toward her waist and carefully guided her six-inch heels into the corners of my mouth. I was dumbfounded. I almost spoke out in protest, but I could not utter a word with her heels in my mouth. Without warning, her heels began to pull at the corners of my mouth.
"Mouth-stretching exercises," she had called it.
Sure, I guess you could call it that because my mouth was definitely being stretched way out of proportion. But it was torture, pure and simple. I was being tortured by her high heels, which pulled my mouth apart. I felt as though her heels would tear my lips apart at the corners of my mouth and realized that she had obviously done this to a great number of pathetic slaves over whom she held overwhelming power.
"Mmmm, I think our little slave is holding up quite well under his mouth-stretching exercises," Helga said with a kind of a halfway grin.
"I can’t wait until it’s my turn," said the wicked sepia-toned Goddess Gi Gi. I’ll use my big toes on his mouth."
"Wait’ll he gets a load of me in my pumps with six-inch heels. I intend to wield them in my hands like scalpels to open that nasty slave mouth even further,"
I felt as though my mouth were already being wrenched apart. The pain was indescribable. But I was in no position to fight back. Even though my hands were free, I was forced to hold them pressed firmly at my sides. I was at their mercy. I had become a bone fide foot-slave … and, I hated like hell to admit it, but I was loving it. As they took turns orking me over, I already looked forward to my next visit to the famous Dungeon of Donatella Den in New York City.
We are located in Midtown Manhattan and easily accessed by several subway lines. There are three secure parking garages within a few blocks of our dungeon and parking is available on the street after 7 p.m.
From Monday through Friday 10:00 a.m. to 1:30 a.m.
From Saturday to Sunday 10:00 a.m to 11:00 p.m.