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xmag.com : March 2002: Muscular Ass

My dungeon is better-equipped than most dungeons out there. It's a high-tech, state-of-the-art, classy dungeon with a beautiful doggy cage and a wonderful set of vintage stirrups. A lot of care and thought went into my dungeon. And although I might charge more for sessions in my dungeon than other doms in other dungeons do, no one else delivers more bang for your buck in terms of torture, pain, and ritual humiliation. You want a shoddy dungeon, go ahead and pay shoddy dungeon prices and get a half-assed domination session which doesn't even come close to destroying your self-esteem--just go ahead and see if I care.
I'm a Pro Domme Top Double-Down Contortionist Butch Femme, and I have been so for over fourteen years now. In my platform stiletto heels, I'm nearly eight feet tall and don't look nearly as chubby. I am bold, sexy, and, um, intellectual. The painful fact is that I'm superior, and I'll keep telling you that until we both believe it.
My most recent client was a Gothic bottom-feeding femboy with a shaved chest and a scrotum wonderfully patterned with steel rivets. A disgusting, dirty little boy. A bad little piggly-wiggly. He had seen my website and knew about my extensive background in Asian spanking techniques. He kept up to date on my weblog with its frequent reports about my latest dental work.
It was our first meeting. He was a bit disappointed to see me in the flesh, not knowing that I photograph really well.
I was dressed as a Greek Orthodox bishop. He was clad in a diaper and was hovering motionless in my elaborate Suspension Device™.
I had read his application form where he listed his kinks, which mainly involved fresh produce and former Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir. We agreed on a safety word, which was "nougat."
I removed the acupuncture needles from my autoclaving device and jammed them into his armpits while forcing him to recite Mother Goose rhymes.
He shrieked loudly as I proceeded to clip the battery cables onto his weak little rosebud nips. His screams only drove me toward loftier sadistic delights. His face was red with shame as I applied the cock ring and butt plug, tightening them to maximum tension. The butt plug was in his ass so deep, I was certain its shit-encrusted tip would pop out of his mouth.

I fetched him a bowl of fresh water and a can of Alpo. He barked appreciatively and lapped it up. I then spanked him, called him a bad pony, and refused to give him his candy cane.

"'Would you eat my farts?'" I asked him.
'Oh, yes, I'd gobble 'em up, Goddess,' he slobbered."

I had severely bruised his body with a plethora of pretty little lumps, bruises, and scratch marks. I felt pleased and oh-so-full-of-myself.
Werner Klemperer-style, I took a long tug from my cigarette holder and proceeded to interrogate him.
"Would you eat my farts?" I asked him.
"Oh, yes, I'd gobble 'em up, Goddess," he slobbered.
"Would you eat my fragrant farts right as they billow from my muscular ass?"
"Yes, I would, Goddess--you already asked me that."
"Don't get snippy with ME!" I yelled at him. "Get me a sandwich," I commanded.
"What kind of sandwich, Goddess?" came his meek inquiry.
"Turkey on rye," I snapped.
The pathetic slug, that groveling human worm-boy, fetched me a surprisingly tasty turkey-on-rye sandwich with a frosty beverage on the side.
I grinned. He cowered. My grin grew wider.
"I will sever your wiener," I told him sternly.
"Oh, do it, Goddess! Sever my wiener!"
"Call me Goddess Sever Your Wiener."
"You are in command, oh lovely Goddess Sever Your Wiener."
When he had reached his credit-card limit, I informed him that our session was over, and my lovely Slavic boyfriend escorted him out.
I went upstairs, popped some food in the microwave, checked my e-mail, and prepared myself a warm bath.
I am so glad to have this sort of danger in my life.





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