Bondage & Discipline, Submission, S & M
Mistress Desi Trains a Novice
By Horacio Palermo
I was sitting at the bar. sipping a very dry martini (stirred, not shaken) when I first caught sight of her. I was breathless as I drank in her ravishing beauty. She was the most magnificent woman I had ever seen! A very classy, New York beauty with fabulous, green eyes, aquiline nose, high cheekbones, light-brown hair and lovely, perfectly proportioned legs!
"Who is that?" I asked the bartender.
"That’s Desi … Mistress Desi!" he exclaimed, proud to possess such privileged information.
She stood about five-foot-eight tall in black stilettos, and glided across the room in a sensuous and self-assured manner that escaped no one’s attention. The men in the room couldn’t tear their eyes away; their dates upbraided them for being so insensitive and smitten by a pretty stranger.
Mistress Desi sat in a sumptuous, white leather armchair that somehow accentuated her lithe, slender body and incredibly long legs. Two men and an attractive, but innocuous redhead – all of them strangers -- immediately knelt on the floor at her feet and engaged her in conversation, an apparent attempt to amuse the blonde beauty.
The dominant woman radiated such power, youth, health, energy and innate intellect that her diminutive slave girl and the two handsome male companions who joined her on their knees warranted virtually no undue attention, except from those who silently questioned the nature of this submissive trio’s relationship to the stunning, raven-haired beauty.
Obviously, all three adored the Mistress Desi and fawned and truckled in her presence. They competed for her attention, and seemed delighted when she rather reluctantly and haughtily returned it. It was as though she were a Living Goddess and they were mere slaves whose purpose was to worship and entertain her.
This beautiful young woman emitted a powerful aura of sex, sensuality, caprice and natural-born dominance. She had soft, radiant, black hair that and large, penetrating, green oval eyes. A simple gold necklace caressed her long, Swan-like neck, glimmering in the dim party lights. She wore a basic, "little black dress," cut low at the bodice to accentuate her cleavage. Her absolutely perfect, legs were sheathed in black, silk, seamed stockings. One perfect leg crossed the other at the knee.
On her feet, she wore classic, black, leather pumps with six-inch stiletto heels. Her shoes were cut low on the sides to display her high arches, and cut low in front to provide amazingly sexy toe cleavage!
I felt heat course through my youthful, 185-pound athlete’s body. The black-haired woman was turning me on and she wasn't even trying.
Somehow, she knew that I was admiring her because Dezi shot me a cruel, disapproving look from across the room. I lowered my head in shame. She had shamed me with a look! What a remarkable woman.
Every eye in the trendy Fort Lauderdale club was fixed upon her radiance, sucking up her uncommon beauty and energy.
She looked at me again, or should I say, she glowered at me with those outsized, blue eyes. Her penetrating, green-eyed glance bore into my very soul, which stunned me. It was as though she sensed some deep, dark secret that hitherto I had kept hidden from the world … from myself! Unnerved, I closed my eyes as though harshly chastened. She smiled and let out a haughty laugh.
Damn this woman! How had she divined my secret? Did she possess a sixth sense? Or did she have an experienced eye for discerning submissive men and women.
Bewildered, I simply couldn't keep my eyes off of her. I summoned the courage to look in her direction again. She glanced -- no, glared -- at me with a kind of a halfway grin, then she looked down at her feet. My eyes automatically followed. She flexed her toes inside of her shoe and suddenly, without warning, her black, high-heeled pump slid slowly from her heel and dangled from her long, straight toes. Her three kneeling toadies were transfixed, staring hungrily at her freshly exposed foot. I was absolutely enthralled. My heart skipped a beat.
She smiled broadly, as though she knew my special secret: my compulsive foot fetish, my love of the exquisite feet of beautiful, dominant women, my wanton desire to be beaten by a lifestyle dominatrix. I had to meet her! I was tentative and unsure. I didn't want to make a mistake. I sensed that, if this incredible woman approved of me, she would change my life in ways that I could never imagine!
I summoned all of the courage that I possessed and crossed the room, stood before her, bowed my head and said, "Hello, my name is Maxwell Stein."
Desi looked sternly at her three kneeling supplicants and haughtily commanded, "Make room for Mr. Stein. You may kneel, Max," she said with a sly grin, as though she were granting me a great honor.
Without hesitation, I knelt before her. It seemed like the proper thing to do. Besides, I couldn’t allow my pride to stop me now that I had gone this far. Everyone in the club was staring at me, watching and wondering. The place went absolutely silent as, obsequiously, I dropped to my knees in total submission.
"Oh, my," she said smiling as her dangling shoe suddenly (no doubt, purposely) slipped from her lovely toes and fell to floor.
I reached out to retrieve her shoe, but one of her kneeling admirers beat me to it. He lifted Mistress Desi's pump to his nostrils and breathed deeply of the inside of her shoe.
Good God! I thought.
I had never seen such a servile display of adoration. He looked up at her imploringly with a silent, grateful, impish gesture that only the two of them seemed to fully comprehend.
I was green with envy. I watched, dumbfounded as she said matter-of-factly,
"You may lick the inside of my shoe, slave."
He thrust his tongue deep into the toe of her shoe.
"That's right. Lick it out. Lick out my shoe," she said cruelly. "There’s a lot of nice foot-sweat in there. I’m sure it tastes great … lucky slave."
Never in my life had I witnessed such a lowly act of servility ... and in public nonetheless. Every man in the room -- and most of the women as well -- were riveted to the bizarre scene.
"What's the problem, Max? Haven't you ever seen a dominatrix being worshipped by her slave?"
I was speechless.
"You'd love to take his place, wouldn't you, Max?" she teased.
How did she know? "Yes, I blurted."
She gave me a stern look, reached into her purse, removed a lovely pair of tight-fitting, wrist-high, black, leather gloves and, slowly, meticulously, sexily pulled them over her slender, manicured fingers. Pulled them up to just past her wrists. She gripped my chin between her thumb and index finger, then, without warning, she slapped my face very hard.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
My cheek burned and ached from the initial flat-palmed blows. In wondered, How could it hurt so much?
"I am a Lifestyle Dominatrix, Max!" she hissed. "You will address me at all times as 'Mistress' or ‘Goddess.’ Do I make myself perfectly clear?
"Yes, Mistress Desk."
"Remove my other shoe. Gently, Slave Max." She parted her full, red-lipsticked lips in a taunting gesture and her tongue wet her lips again, making them shine crimson red. I had to conjure up images of Yogi Berra to keep from disgracing myself.
She had addressed me as "Slave Max." It was humiliating ... insulting, and for an instant I considered getting up off my knees, brushing of my trousers and striding angrily away, but instinctively I knew that to disobey her would be to commit a dreadful, irredeemable error. Mistress Desi moved me in a way that I had never imagined possible. I was absolutely intrigued by this magnificent dominatrix. I would be a fool to walk away now. It was essential that I obey her humiliating command. Slowly I removed her sexy, shiny, black, stiletto-heeled pump.
"Hand me my shoe," the raven-haired domme said coolly. She grasped her shoe by its heel and demanded, "Face up, slave! Look straight into my eyes."
Transfixed, I looked into her mesmerizing, green, oval eyes. Her pupils flashed like black diamonds. The glamorous, young, Lifestyle Dominatrix was in her glory!
"Oh," she said with false surprise and in a condescending tone, "I think the sole of my shoe would make a nice paddle, don't you?"
"I--I d-don't know, Mistress," I stammered.
She commenced beating my face with the hard, leather sole of her shoe, using it as though it were a small, but cruel paddle.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
"Ohh, my God! Ow!" I cried as my eyes began to water. Without thinking, I turned my cheek to the side to escape the pain. She seethed with anger. "
How dare you flinch and turn away while I'm paddling your face. Don't you know that flinching is not allowed?"
I shook my head. I didn’t know the rules. This was all new to me. She was systematically, publicly degrading me. And in a full nightclub no less!
"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?" Mistress Desi asked rhetorically.
"The question took me by surprise. What had I done to incur her wrath? What trouble could I possibly have brought on myself.
"I'm not sure, Mistress Desi," I replied confusedly.
Your entire purpose is to worship me and to suffer for my pleasure and amusement. When you displease me, you will be punished. In fact, I’ll give you a beating anytime I feel like it. I don’t need a reason to hurt you or any of my legion of devoted submissives."
She paddled both sides of my face with the sole of her shoe.
"Ohh! Unngghh! Mmmm, Mistress! Ohh, please!"
My face burned and stung from the harsh blows, but I obeyed her cruel command and did not flinch.
"You suffer well, slave," she said with a wicked smile. The raven-haired domina turned her high-heeled shoe around thrust her pump over my nose.
"Smell it! Sniff the inside of my shoe. Breathe deeply, slave."
I took a deep breath.
"That's right! Smell the fragrance of my foot."
"Yes, Mistress Desi."
"Well?" she uttered inquisitively.
"The inside of your shoe smells fantastic!" I replied enthusiastically.
"Of course it does. You may lick the sweat from the inside of my shoe ... as a reward, slave."
Without hesitation, I obeyed. In retrospect, I believe that the moment my tongue dipped into the toe of her black pump, I became her abject slave … forever.
As I performed this cruel, wicked, subservient task, she lectured me. "If I permit you to serve as my slave, you must know that I subscribe the following rules: any sadomasochistic or fetish scenes which I require must be safe, sane and consensual. I will abuse you constantly, but whenever you reach your limit and you can withstand no more pain or degradation, you need only cry out, "Mercy, Mistress," and it will cease. Do you understand?
"Yes, Mistress," I replied swiftly while keeping my tongue buried in the toe of her shoe.
"That's enough, Max. Don't be greedy or I'll punish you with a severe beating … the worst beating you may ever experience," she added with a devilish sneer.
"Let’s move our little party to my dungeon," Mistress Desi said as though upon a whim. She turned to the pretty, buxom, young blonde. "Put my shoes on, Ellen."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the blonde Switch Maid said as she lovingly kissed each of her Mistress's stockinged toes and gently placed her stilettos on her high-arched feet.
"May I come with you?" I implored with Basset Hound eyes.
"Are you prepared to suffer for me?
"Y--Yes," I stuttered.
"Very well, then. Follow me." She turned abruptly to the two male slaves and sneered. "I won't require your services this evening.
I suspect that Ella and my new slave Max will provide plenty of entertainment." She strode haughtily out the front door while everyone at the party looked aghast. Nearly a dozen fascinated, but closeted and weak-willed submissives raced to the windows to watch the brunette Goddess and her newly-acquired entourage depart.
Although the green-eyed Goddess had publicly humiliated me in front of a room full of friends and associates, I nevertheless felt an enormous sense of pride because I was leaving with her, and the rest of them were not. I just knew that at least a half-dozen or more party-goers -- both male and female-- envied me. I almost felt sorry for them, for they lacked the courage tofollow their true emotions and desires: to beg to serve as slaves to the
A black, stretch limousine was waiting outside. When the chauffeur saw Mistress Desi approach, he stretched out on his back directly in front of the door. Nonchalantly, the sadistic brunette stepped on his stomach, chest and face. She stepped off of his aching body and proceeded to systematically grind her sharp high heels into his chest and stomach causing him to grunt in pain. She actually walked all over his body, front and back. She trampled the poor man! Obviously, the limousine driver was a devoted slave to the beautiful Goddess.
Mistress sat alone in the middle of the back seat. Ellen and I were required to kneel and kiss her feet.
"Put your face where it belongs, Ellen!" Mistress snapped. The Switch maid obediently stretched out on the floor and placed her face directly beneath the high-heeled foot of her Mistress so that she effectively served as a human, facial foot-rest. The cruel Goddess dug her sharp, stiletto heel into her maid's cheek. The poor girl wept with pain, but said not a word. Then Mistress Desi said, "Don’t worry. When we get home, you’re going to assist me in meting out some serious pain and degradation."
"Sounds like a plan," Ellen replied with a smile.
Mistress’ well-appointed home contained a dark dungeon, to which I was immediately led by the lovely Switch Ellen on orders from Mistress Desi.
"Mistress wants you to be stretched out across the pummel horse," Ellen said flatly. I could tell that she was really getting into the idea of torturing a man.
"Whatever Mistress says," I replied.
"She wants you naked, of course."
"Is that really necessary?"
I stripped naked. I felt terribly vulnerable. The pummel horse was located in the far corner of the large, dark dungeon. As I looked about me, I saw several wicked instruments (some of which were Medieval). There was an X-cross and the kind of blocks that Puritan adulterers were placed in in the town square. In the corner stood a dentist chair and next to that was a hospital gurney. There was a wooden table where a slave could be bound on his back or stomach by his wrists and ankles. There was a whipping post. From the walls of the dungeon hung a variety of torture implements: buggy whips, floggers, cats of nine tails, riding crops, canes, and an impressive collection of angry looking paddles.
Quite obviously, I was in very big trouble. I still had time to call it all off, and for a few anxious moments, I considered doing so. What I was planning to do was totally insane. Only a man – an obsessed man -- who was -- not only willing, but eager to undergo the experience of being abused by a stunning, world-renowned Lifestyle Dominatrix – would go through with the real-life, real-time enactment of his a wild fantasy that surfaced at puberty.
If I had had my wits about me, I could have simply turned around, put my clothes on and walk right out of there.
Blonde Switch Ellen seemed to anticipate my thoughts. "Don't be a fool, Max,"
she advised. If you leave now, Mistress Desi will banish you forever. Do you have any idea how fortunate you are to be granted the privilege of serving the Goddess? Even if only for a brief session. She is one of the greatest dominatrixes of all time!"