Friday, September 22, 2017

Freshman Humiliatrix

I don't usually bring politics into my blog but with Betsy DeVos making moves to protect college campus rapists, I feel like I can bring in politics while remaining on topic.

To begin with, it is no secret that college campuses are hot beds of sexual activity, consensual and nonconsensual. I attended state university in the heartland of America surrounded by rolling hills and fields of grain.  One of the roughest moments of time there was when me and some friends sat down and confessed to each other the various accounts of sexual assault and harassment we had all experienced. That is something no one should have to experience, let alone so many should experience.

Having to face a rapist or attacker over and over again on campus is a disruption to education. During the Obama administration, there were guidelines released for how universities were to deal with these allegations. While they were not perfect, they were a much needed step in the right direction. But now Devos has rolled these back, saying they were too harsh on the rapists. TOO HARSH ON RAPISTS. ha.

It was my first weekend of University that I had my first encounter with the type of predator I would soon grow familiar with. I was at a fraternity party with some girls from my dorm and some people I had met at freshman orientation over the summer. I was drinking, of course, and dressed to the nines but in no way asking for anything. By the end of the night I was disoriented and intoxicated, unsure of which way was home. A blond All-American looking boy who lived in my dorm offered to walk home with me.

"Great!" I thought out loud. "Now I won't be walking home alone!!"

Ha. How cute.

This "nice" guy did walk me home, but instead of dropping me at the second floor where my room was, he took me to the 7th floor. In front of his dorm door, he tried to kiss me and I did a quick spin to get out of the way. He then took me to the floor common room where I collapsed onto the couch drowsy from alcohol and trying to reorient myself.

"This is not my floor," I slurred and closed my eyes trying to figure out how why he had brought me here. But then the reason became clear when I opened my eyes and I was in an unwilling staring contest with his one-eyed pocket snake that he was attempting to put on my face or in my hand, it was very unclear.

I swatted it away, giggling "haha is that it?" hinting not so subtly that I found his cock to be disappointing in size. He was visibly thrown off by such a comment and I had pulled myself together to get up and make a dash for the stair well.

I made it away safely, stumbling down the 5 flights of stairs to my own floor and room.

What a welcome to college life.

Since we lived in the same dorm which also housed the closest dining hall, I saw him over and over again. He got my number from someone in our building and added me on Facebook. He must have mistaken my drunkenness for actual interest and persistently messaged me. He actually thought I was interested.

But I've always been a bit twisted. Eventually, I grew annoyed and bored with simply rejecting him with false plans and assignments. A month or so later, he messaged me again. His roommate was out. I didn't have any pressing homework or plans, so I agreed to go up to the 7th floor. I met him in his room, and began my game.

He expressed how hurt he was at my little commentary that first weekend of classes. I played along and subtly patronized him. I let him kiss me, I enjoy a good kiss every now and then. His kissing was subpar, and I told him.

Again he pulled out his unimpressive member. I was bored of him and knew his sexual skill would provide me no pleasure. He sat on the bottom bunk of the beds typical of college dorms and I sat across from him in one of those round chairs also typical of college dorms.

He was toying with his tiny dick and I was toying with him. He was right were I wanted him.

I sat back in my chair.
"It's still unimpressive. Show me how you do it by yourself. I want to watch," I said with feigned interest.

He began to furiously masturbate in front of me, in a pathetic 2 finger grasp, that was all he needed.

I continued to harass him and he continued to masturbate. I was growing bored but he was getting into it. He was actually enjoying it. I didn't intend for him to enjoy this. I was humiliating him, I was making him feel small. He was in no way ever going to be able to please me. As his interest grew, my interest faded.

But in one last stroke of brilliance, I faked a phone call as he was about to cum.

"I need to take this," I told him, knowing full well he was about to reach his sweet release. But his orgasm was none of my concern and as the door clicked behind me I heard that last grunt of his.

He never called me again after that.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Kicking the habit just didn't work

So when I first got to Europe, I did a quick summer stint as a Pub Crawl guide. It was a crazy hectic party girl time, but way different than the partying I loved in NYC. I traded my leather and latex for denim and party shirts and my heels for trainers. I was so entirely certain I could kick my kink habit if I just destracted and immersed myself into something totally different. Here I was in this beautiful city surrounded by a killer team and working a full time day job for the first time ever.

It was an amazing experience. I loved being a pub crawl guide, but in the beginning after a few drinks I would immediately start missing my life as a Domme. Every so often I'd find someone who sparked some sort of sadism in me and I couldn't help myself. Sometimes it was whispering sweet nothings into the ear of a girl I just met till she was over my knee. Other times, it was quiet coercion to get a kiss on my boot.

Other times, I just couldn't help myself and it was full on humiliation. One day, we had some guests at our flat, friends of someone. One in particular caught my eye, S. S had a few years on me and towered above me. He had a boyish simile that hinted at trouble and let me know I could convince him to play.

After a few rounds of two for one margaritas, as alway happened without fail, someone shouted DID YOU KNOW MARIE USED TO BE A PROFESSIONAL DOMINATRIX. S didn't shy away. S asked questions. Everyone asked questions. That day, I felt sassy enough for a show and once we got back to the flat I started my game.

I started talking about how much fun it can be to give up control, how there are so many options once you have someone tied up. How imagination is your only limit.

In a playful way, I helped him out of his shirt to behold the body of a greek statue. I tried not to get distracted by his body as I looped the rope around his wrists.
"See! Rope bondage can be super easy!" I said and I quickly flipped his arms over his head, securing the rope around his muscular torso. I let my fingers linger on his skin, feeling his muscles move as he tested his new bindings.

We had a nice laugh and I paraded my work into the living room.

"And the best part, is now that he is mine, I can do what I please"

I slowly found my way to his zipper and got my on knees, being the full on tease that I am. With big puppy dog eyes, I looked up and asked "May I?"

He was so worked up he forgot there was a room of people watching and uttered a breathless yes.

Monday, July 24, 2017

I'm Back... and I'm into it.

After a year of being completely vanilla, my kinky lizard brain has started waking up again. I think it happened when I put on some latex gloves to clean the bathroom and I remembered how great rubber feels. Sure I was putting on the gloves to clean a toilet, not glamorous as all. But ooooooo my. Latex, even in its less sexy house cleaning cousin, is divine. Or maybe it was the day I accidentally walked into the clothes line neck first, slighting restricting my breath, reminding me how intricate and meaningful breath play can be.... Honestly, it might have been the day I was in the middle of a yoga nidra class and drifted off to the place of self suspension.  Actually, I think it was the day I flipped over the handle bar of a bike, got a killer colorful bruise, its amazing the art we can make on skin. Wait. No. It must have been when some pig hit on me as the bar and I wanted nothing more than to pour my drink on his head, grab his ear and force him to lick the bottom of my boot......

Thats the thing about kink, it isn't a phase, its an entire thought processes. It is engrained in us. It is part of our beings and essential to our character. Sure we can go days and months and years without thinking of it, but it doesn't take much to turn that lizard brain back on. Just one simple every day moment can bring it all back. Something like the snap of a latex cleaning glove, the crack of a towel, the moment when you really give up control to something greater than your self.

There are many outlets for this kinky energy. Personally, I found rock climbing to give a similar thrill. And travel surely can distract from a severe case of kink overload. But eventually, even the most beautiful churches can't distract you and you start getting all sentimental, missing kink looking at broken and tortured Jesus. (Side note: WHERE on earth do these churches get those ridiculous statues???? Like is there a catalog full of tortured Jesuses, or is it Jesusi?)

For me, these moments have been happening a bit too frequently and I am itching to have someone tied up on all fours in front of me. I am itching and wishing and waiting for that moment when I can use one boot to guide a face toward my other boot....  I want freshly kissed boots and worshiped feet. I want boys in rope and girls bent over. I. Want. It. All.

Backpacking and hoboing around Europe has been fun, but I'm ready to trade pub crawls and walking tours for ropes and canes again... Ready to swap my hiking boots for some delicious knee highs.

Basically, I'm back bitches, now get in line and get ready to serve.