Ballet Humiliation

I am not usually a huge fan of humiliation. I find it hard to dish out at times and nearly impossible with new clients I barely know. Humiliation only appeals to me if there is a strong mental aspect to it. I want to know I am in your head picking at scabs you didn't know were there. I want set off things you haven't thought of since childhood. I want to hint at insecurities you never thought to share, but somehow I just knew all the right (or wrong) buttons to push and things to say. I am an emotional sadist as well as a physical one.

Because of this, I tend to save humiliation for my personal life. I save it for my close friend, my loving baby, my dirty plastic, my grandma puppy: Melissa Majoria. In recent weeks, we have realized I am Mel's Domme. It is thrilling to have such an eager thing under my dirty wing and twisted control. I recently told her I run her vagina and she agreed.

My dear girl hates physical affection and my caring gestures often make her feel uncomfortable, thus humiliation and pain are how I show her love. A few slaps to the face while I scream "BBAAAAAABBBYYY" lets her know I really care for her. Yelling "KISS ME ON THE MOUTH" at her on a street corner as she turns bright red lets her know that she is my best friend. Whatever.

The best thing I have come up with as a torture device, however, is Ballet Humiliation.

Ballet is inherently sexy. The idea of the ballet instructor getting inappropriate with a young student has inspired me a few times. But this isn't a sexy ballet fantasy, this is ballet humiliation. It is simple enough, the idea of graceful movement makes her nervous. I love her but the grace required for ballet is just not in her skill set. She has never liked ballet and I know she hates it when I drag her to class every week.

When we arrive at the studio, I am all smiles and she is all glares. She hates it but she does it for me, like a good girl. As we warm up on the barre, her frustration mounts. As we go through the positions, I can feel her getting flustered.

With each plié, I watch her mind begin to break. With each tondu, her vexation grows. When our instructor approaches with kind intentions and a helpful mission, she begins to break. She doesn't understand the movements, she doesn't feel her body adapting, she just feels... well humiliated. This makes ballet so much more interesting.

By the time we get to floor work, she is on edge. Each combination across the floor chips away at her composure. Each move that she cannot wrap her cute little head around wears her down. She tries and fails with each pass till its too much and she breaks and cries and has to leave the room.

Ballet gets emotional. Luckily, our studio is close to our favorite dumpling shop. While physical comfort might not be her thing, she gladly accepts my dumpling aftercare.