"I am a Dominatrix; lick my shoes!"
I hear that command often these days. It wasn't always that way.
When I first met my Mistress, I was a novice.
I must give the reader some background information. I am a professional, emergency-room physician in Manhattan. I have undergone a sincere metamorphosis from adoring submissive fetishist to hard-core masochist, a grateful, abject slave to a beautiful, dominant, young woman who works at Donatella Den's House of Domination.
For the past two months, I have routinely served at the feet of one of the finest sadistic, yet sensuous, Lifestyle Dominatrix at Donatella's fabulous House of Domination, located in the upscale fashion district. This
incredible pro-dominatrix instructed me to write this true story to be published in this publication.
"I demand that thousands of people all over the country read about how I have completely enslaved you," she commanded me.
Everything about this story is true, except for my name. Fortunately, my Mistress has allowed me to use a pseudonym so as not to blow my cover and possibly lose my job and my status within the medical profession. "You are not worthy of serving me under any circumstances," she stated matter-of-factly. However, without your successful profession, your status as my slave is even more questionable" she constantly reminds me, "and it's a good thing that you are a doctor because without your success, you probably will be banished from my presence."
But don't get me wrong. This magnificent, young Dominant Female is not wholly cruel and vicious. She does not want me to jeopardize my career. She knows full well that my work helps people.
At 32, I am a very successful health professional. I come from a good family and my degree is from Harvard. I decided early to work in a helping profession. In addition to my desire to alleviate the suffering of others, I also chose to be a doctor because that's where the money is, and I am determined to be independently wealthy.
And do you know why I was always so driven to be financially successful? The answer is simple: I adore beautiful, dominant women. I always have worshiped successful Pro-Dommes, and I always will. I figured out early in life that if a man is financially successful and has a lot to offer a woman, he has the best chance of finding a veritable Goddess to worship and adore. It's Social Darwinism in practice: Survival of the fittest. My primary purpose in life is to serve as personal slave to a great, world-class Dominatrix. Every other aspect of my life, including my work as an emergency-room physician, comes second to my major goal of serving a Lifestyle Dominatrix.
Forgive me if I come across as immodest, but I am an uncommonly attractive young man. I am tall, handsome and muscular. I run, play handball, work out daily at the gym and lift weights. I look a lot like the guy who played Superman on television, that tragic Reeves fellow who fell off a horse and broke his neck. It just goes to show you. Life is like riding a horse: You ride it, or it rides you. I am a risk-taker, and maybe someday I'll wind up paralyzed or something even worse, but in the meantime, I intend to live life to the fullest. Let's face it: life is an iffy proposition. There are no guarantees. I subscribe wholeheartedly to Tolstoy's maxim that "the meaning of life is the day-to-day living of it."
Ever since I was a teenager, I enjoyed dating and bedding beautiful, intelligent women. But, to be perfectly honest, as an adult, I soon discovered that beauty is not enough! Here I go again, sounding really arrogant, but listen, I'm a young, well-paid professional in a coveted field. I have offices on Park Avenue and I drive a classic Bentley. I live alone in a 2,000-foot loft on West Broadway near Broome, south of Houston in the trendy, Soho district of Manhattan. Tell me I don't deserve to be proud?
I met my Mistress on the upper East Side. Actually, I kind of forced her to meet me. Probably the first and last time I ever forced her to do anything. I saw her walking. She was remarkable. I literally gasped when I caught sight of her. She was that beautiful, and, dare I say, sexy. She wore a tight fitting, "little black dress," but it was made of thin, black leather. It fit her like a glove. The dress was cut low enough on top to show cleavage, short enough to advertise her perfectly sculpted, super-long legs. I always considered myself a "Leg Man," and she had the best legs I had ever seen. She wore sheer, black stockings and open-toed, stiletto slides. I was so impressed that, at once, I was determined to meet her.
I followed her into a restaurant and, when she finished ordering, I crossed the room, knelt before her, introduced myself as Doctor Schlessinger, and begged her to let me join her for lunch.
"Okay," she said, "even though it's quite obvious that, even though you are a doctor, you are definitely unworthy of having lunch with me. She glowered at me with large, penetrating eyes, shaming me with a look of distaste. "Before you sit down, you must rub me feet. My feet are tired from walking around all day shopping in high-heels. So rub my feet. I wish it."
"No problem," I said as I slipped her high-heeled shoe from her lovely, high-arched foot.
I gave her a marvelous foot rub, all the while dying to worship her stocking feet. Sure, I wanted to kiss her feet. What the hell do you expect?
"Lick my shoe, slave," she demanded cruelly as she pulled her foot away. "You have some nerve to even entertain the idea of worshiping my beautiful feet.
Forbidden to worship her foot, my eyes went to her shoes. Her shoes looked incredibly sexy. I wanted to smell them but I was too embarrassed to ask.
"Go ahead, you may smell the inside of my shoe," she said coolly.
This enigmatic, superior woman had read my thoughts!
"Now give it a lick. The inside, silly. Lick out the inside of my shoe and tell Mistress how it tastes."
I hastened to obey. I sniffed, kissed and licked out her shoe. "It tastes and smells incredible," adding, "Who are you?"
She ignored my question, and boldly hissed, "Shut up and do as you are told, boy. Lick it out. Lick out my shoe, slave!"
I could hardly believe that she had actually commanded me to lick out the inside of her sexy shoe. I hastened to my obscene task. My tongue snaked out of my mouth and, after breathing in the scent of her foot, commingled with leather, I commenced licking the sweat from the damp inside of her shoe. I was shocked to disbelief to discover that my cock grew enormously as I performed this worshipful service for my Mistress. In no time at all, I had a bonefied blue-veiner, going on a diamond-cutter.
"I was oblivious to the waiter's return until I heard her say, "My companion will have a salad, no dressing. And bring me an extra glass."
"Just a glass, with nothing in it?" the waiter queried.
"Are you hard of hearing?" she said nastily, adding, "Look at you. A common waiter, and you are dying to lick out my other shoe, aren't you? Don't deny your fantasy. It's written all over your face. You want to clean the
inside of my shoe with your tongue and mouth. Say it! Beg me!"
"Please, whoever you are," exclaimed the wide-eyed, red-faced and eager waiter, "you are the most magnificent woman I have ever met. Please, I beg of you, grant me the privilege of licking out your other shoe."
"It's a good thing you've caught me in a good mood, or I'd require that you take a few harsh kicks before allowing you to lick out my shoe. In fact, count on it," she said with finality.
I thought, Good God, but she's cruel! She's going to give that poor, young man a harsh kicking. And for what? He had done nothing wrong! Or had he? At that point, I realized that she was in total control of the situation.
This cruel Dominatrix was the sole arbiter of right and wrong. If she decided that a servile doctor or waiter had behaved inappropriately, there was no denying her, and what she said automatically became "fact."
At that very moment, I realized that this magnificent woman was a true sadist. It was obvious from the wicked smile on her face that this haughty beauty enjoyed hurting and humiliating her admirers.
After her shoes had properly licked clean inside and out, she demanded that I place black, knee-high, five-inch-tall stiletto boots on her perfect legs and feet. But first, she rubbed the damp bottoms of her stocking toes all over my upturned face. God! Her toes smelled fantastic. And her stocking feet felt good on my face. What's more, I got a close-up look at her lovely, long legs. Wow! I thought, Mistress is perfection.
The magnificent Dominatrix stood, picked up my empty glass, looked down mis chievously upon the waiter and me, spun on her boot heels and strode haughtily to the rest room. When she returned, she smiled broadly and carried the glass, which was now full of amber liquid. Her eyes were huge and full of excitement.
Quite obviously, the glass contained her precious, golden urine. Instinctively, I knew that I would soon be required to drink it, with unqualified approval, without question or complaint.
Indeed, I anxiously awaited her lewd command. "You may take a seat at my table now," she stated.
The young waiter returned with our salads. The lovely Dominatrix poured a healthy portion of her piss onto my salad."
"Try your salad," she said coolly. "I think you'll really enjoy the salad dressing.
"Thank you," I replied in disbelief. I ate my salad, complete with urine salad dressing.
"Well?" she queried arrogantly.
"It tastes fantastic, Mistress. It's the best salad dressing I have ever tasted."
"Of course it is, doc. Now you may finish your drink."
Utterly abased, thoroughly dominated by a magnificent Dominatrix whom I had only met 20 minutes ago, I drank down the glass of her salty, yellow urine. I was shocked to discover that I was actually proud and grateful for the honor of swallow her piss.
"Drink it all, Slave Doc. Drink it straight down and swallow every drop."
I instantly obeyed and humbly swallowed her hot, salty piss.
"It tastes fantastic, Mistress!" I enthused.
"I suspected that you'd make a good toilet slave," she said coolly as she sipped her Champagne. You aren't bad, Doc … for a lowly novice. But you have so much to learn, and I'm not sure that I can spare the time to train you."
I felt completely degraded, and what did she mean, she couldn't spare the time to train me? I was taken aback. She couldn't simply drop me after this evening, could she? It seemed so unfair! Suddenly, I came to the rude awakening that she could do whatever she wanted with me, at any time, for any reason whatsoever. She was completely in charge. In a matter of minutes, she had thoroughly enslaved me. I couldn't deny it. I was in utter shock. She was my dream Goddess. I ached to serve her. Surely, she would grant me the opportunity to prove myself as a devoted submissive, a dedicated slave, prepared to obey her lewd and obscene commands.
"I could use a new Party Toilet at the Dungeon for our Friday night get-together with Dommes and submissives. None of my Dominatrix associates piss in a toilet. You'd get to wear a sign on your back and everything."
"What would the sign say?"
"Why, the sign would read, 'Party Toilet,' what else?"
I couldn't believe my ears. This great, dominant beauty was planning to use me as a Party Toilet! This woman was incredible. What arrogance! And what a gross and obscene title: Party Toilet! What was I going to do? She had gone too far. I concluded that I simply could not go through with it. The best thing that I could do at this turning point was to bid her adieu and take my leave. But then I would doubtless never see her again. My God! The very thought of losing the opportunity to serve this magnificent Lifestyle Dominatrix was simply out of the question.
"Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in, Doc?"
"You just don't get it, do you, slave?"
"I want to get it, Mistress," I said in complete candor. "I wish to understand you. I'm totally prepared to serve you."
"Serving me is not enough. You must suffer for me as well."
"I'll do it. I'll suffer for you."
"You're damned right you will. You will suffer increasing amounts of pain and grinding degradation for my pleasure amusement. You will be the fearful recipient of my sadistic nature. Do I make myself clear?"
"I'm finished with my meal. Pay the bill and meet me outside. It's time you received a kicking … with boots.
I couldn't believe it? What had I done to deserve a kicking?
Outside in the parking lot, she strode to her brand-new, white, 2001 Corvette.
"Strip to the waist and get down on your elbows and knees for a serious kicking," she commanded.
Thud! Her heavy boot slammed hard into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs, causing me to gasp in agony as I tried desperately to suck in much-needed oxygen.
"Oh, my God!"
She kicked me three times in quick succession. The pointed tips of her sexy high-heeled boots kicked me hard and fast.
Three angry, red welts immediately began to form.
"Goodness gracious!" I exclaimed. I was taking a terrible kicking. Mistress appeared to take great pleasure in kicking me. She laughed loudly.
Spread that muscular body out real far for your Mistress so that I have a nice large target for my kicks."
The imperious Goddess meted out three additional harsh kicks.
I absorbed the blows as best I could, but on the final kick, her boot-tip sunk deep into my solar plexus and knocked all of the air out of me. I gasped grotesquely and puddled to the floor.
"Well," Mistress said with a sigh, "all I can say is that it's a good thing you are already prepared to serve as my Party Toilet at the Dungeon of Donatella Den on Friday. Perhaps you'll be able to redeem yourself, because right now I am very disappointed in your behavior. You simply don't take a very a very good kicking ."
She sounded disappointed in me, as though I had flunked a very important test.
"I-I'm w-willing to learn," I stammered breathlessly.
"You're no pain-slut, are you, Doc?" she hissed disapprovingly.
"I guess not, Mistress … but I promise to do my very best to please you."
Suddenly, she brightened. "That's the spirit, Doc. That's what I like to hear. I appreciate a confident and optimistic attitude. Perhaps you'll surprise your imperious Mistress. Perhaps you actually have it within you to please your Mistress by suffering increasing amounts of pain and humiliation on my whim."
Once again, her wicked words shook me to the very core of my being. Now she required that I endure "increasing amounts of pain." I finally realized what should have been obvious from the start: she insisted upon upping the ante, demanding more and more submission.
If I didn't put a stop to it right now, at this very moment, I was destined to become her dehumanized Party Toilet and Pain Slut. All I had to do was get up, brush myself off and clearly and irrevocably state that I was sorry, but that I was simply unprepared to suffer agonizing pain for her pleasure. Nor would I serve as her lowly toilet slave. Hell, I didn't have to explain anything! My dignity and self-esteem were at stake. The intelligent thing to do would be to simply get up off my elbows and knees, make like a hockey player and get the puck out of there.
But I didn't move. Not an inch. Some incomprehensible power kept me riveted to my spot. Then, I came to the sudden undeniable realization that she already owned me -- body and soul. Mentally, physically, even spiritually.
Again, as though she could read my thoughts, this magnificent Dominatrix proceeded to validate my feelings: "Now you listen up, Doc. I own you and you know it. During the last half-hour, I have thoroughly enslaved you and I wasn't even trying. Think about it. What's happened in the last 30 minutes, Slave Doc? You've sniffed and licked the foot-sweat from the insides of my shoes … and loved it! You ate a salad with my piss as your salad dressing … and loved it! You've swallowed a glass full of my fresh urine … and loved it! You have gone down on your elbows and knees so that I could give you a severe boot kicking. Quite obviously, you are my total slave, and I can use and abuse you whenever and wherever I like, even out in public.
"I'm going to allow you to maintain your anonymity so that your life in the outside world is not adversely affected. After all, even though you are far from being worthy of serving me, you shall continue your career as a physician so that you can help others. I may be cruel and sadistic, but I have great empathy for those who suffer and need to be treated. I am a born-sadist, but I have empathy for others.
"My submissives tend to be successful men and women in the real world. But in my fantasy world, in their fantasy world, and in your fantasy world, in the S&M/Fetish Scene, my slaves belong exclusively to me. Face facts, submissive readers -- both novices, newcomers and old-timers, the Scene is where it's happening! Don't think for a second that, because you are financially and professionally successful, I will deem you worthy of serving me, because you're not. If the truth be told, no one could possibly deem himself or herself worthy of serving a beautiful, Lifestyle Dominatrix like me. I was born to dominate submissives. It's my birthright.
"Face up, slave. Turn that face up and look directly into my deep, penetrating eyes."
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack.
Five times she slapped me hard. Forehand, backhand, forehand, backhand, forehand. She slapped my cheeks hard and with lightning speed. She slapped me silly and senseless. She was way into it. Quite obviously, this magnificent Dominatrix spoke the truth. She was a born sadist. She laughed out loud.
"You are an utter fool!" she hissed. "Now open that mouth!" She spat a thick loogie directly into my wide-open mouth. "Again!" she hissed, and spat a second thick loogie deep into my mouth. She chuckled arrogantly and said, "Go ahead. Swallow it. Swallow the precious spit of your Mistress, Slave Doc!"
Obediently, I gulped down her thick wads of spit.
"Very good, Doc. You are a natural-born lickspittle," she said in a kind of a lewd, backhanded compliment. I puffed out my chest, proud to receive her obscene and decadent approval.
"Now we're going to the Dungeon of Donatella Den, where you will experience your very first, unforgettable night of torture and degradation in a real-life Dungeon. You shall spend some time on the St. Catharine's Cross, and then some time in the crossdressing room, where I shall apply slutty makeup to your handsome face, and perhaps I'll strap on a thick dildo and use you as my sissy-slut-slave, after which you will be subjected to a thoroughly decadent physical examination in the nurse's hospital room. As a physician, you will no doubt find it very interesting to experience an intense medical examination at the deft fingers of your beautiful Mistress Nurse.
"This will be a long night for you, Doc, but a night to remember," she said coolly, adding, "lucky slave."
Trembling in anxious anticipation, I thought that this was already an unforgettable night. With great trepidation, I was ready to submit completely to her wicked ways. I was enthralled!
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.