Melia - A Feminist Learns
"I hate cops, but I just love those shiny black boots," Melia had said casually
to me, pointing to the policemen at the edge of the smallish rally decrying the
plight of the homeless. As a dominant male, I listen to women very carefully.
Comments like Melia's are sometimes just little flashes of interest that are
strongly overruled by other aspects of personality and viewpoint. But often,
they reveal a proclivity, either unconscious or conscious, that will indeed come
to passionate fruition under the right tutelage. I smiled, and made a mental
note, but said nothing. Shiny black boots, after all, are such a blatant sign
of male authority.
Some might think that leftist activism and the practice of male dominant
D/s and S/m are a total contradiction. I might believe that myself, if I hadn't
had my first such experience in college with a woman who was a deeply committed
feminist and socialist. People are complex and there are many facets to
anyone's personality and being.
I'd been holding organizing meetings regarding the homeless problem for
several months at my house. They had been attended by a somewhat typical group
of San Francisco leftists and liberals who wanted to see changes in public
policies toward the homeless. Melia was somewhat usual for the women in their
fifties who would attend. She had unruly, undyed grey hair, wore no make-up or
jewelry and preferred the most comfortable beat-up shoes, jeans and sweat
shirts. Among the left leaning, ex-hippie types of her generation, such attire
was typical, for almost every non-work related occasion. Verbally Melia was
rather sharp tongued and seemed prone to men-bashing. Her face was wrinkled, no
more nor less than women her age. Though she was not noticeably overweight,
Melia was not particularly attractive, her nose being somewhat large and perched
over tightly pursed, parsiminous lips. Her eyes were an unluminous grey. She
seemed to consciously avoid anything, either in garb or personality that would
be overtly feminine, as though she were truly concerted about avoiding the
opposite sex. At the same time, I knew from conversations with her that she was
heterosexual and not inclined toward women.
"... I just love those shiny black boots." That was the only hint I had.
Shiny black boots are associated with male authority in most people's minds,
here. Was the hint that Melia would bend, in the right circumstances to male
authority? With my first "feminist" girlfriend the words had been, "Why don't
you ever rape me?" Much more charged no doubt, but equally as incongruous.
I was about five years younger than Melia, who was 52, and a long term
relationship I had had with a "slave" 15 years my senior had broken up over a
year ago now. Perhaps it was my age, but I had not dated very much over the
previous year.
From my experience with Melia over a few months, I had seen that Melia
was a lonely woman, basically very sensitive and good hearted, whose political
activism, though very sincere, was, in part, a substitute for a partnership
relationship with someone. She had been divorced (with no children) for
fifteeen years. The way she stated it, the break-up of her marriage was due to
her husband's inability to tolerate her firey tongue and opininatedness. As a
Master, I had wondered, even when she had first told me this three months ago,
whether it really wasn't just a question of him being unable or unwilling to
control and contain her.
I was the leader of my small group and I had noticed that Melia had
gravitated to me. Many women do unconsciously gravitate toward the "alpha" male
in whatever group they are in. I would patiently listen as she talked
endlessly, without taking a breath, about her views, her daily life, incidents
of the week. Many men would have simply seen in Melia an unattractive, overly
talkative bitch, but I had heard her make that statement about the boots and I,
for a long time now a Master, saw, I thought, clearly a counter-current in her
heart, something in fact that her "forthrightness" struggled to hide. I am an
attractive man, but I have often had girlfriends who were quite a bit less
attractive. Particularly, in the D/s environment I have liked the edge that
being more attractive gives me.
After our culminating demonstration at the Board of Supervisor's, we
held a little party at one of the union halls for our group. There was a band
there, and I decided to ask Melia for a slow dance. I know she was surprised at
the attention. She had had a beer and, a little off her guard, she settled
against me almost naturally. I tested her resistance by pressing her against me
a bit more tightly than I knew she would feel comfortable. I felt her
instinctively try to push against my grip and then, to my pleasure, yield to it.
When the song ended I held her for a second and she looked up at me, her eyes
showing that she had gotten turned on. "Th--th--anks for the dance," she said
uncertainly. I put my hand on her back and guided her over to sit down.
I was going to become intimate with Melia. I knew that. And I was not
going to have an ordinary, vanilla relationship with her, if it was going to
last. I walked Melia home and we talked. I kept my hand at her waist, which
she did not try to avoid. I knew that she had no desires for marriage and,
further, that she didn't want to be "tied down" in a relationship. (So she
said.) She had let on that she wanted to be a "free person." I kissed her at the
doorway, a kiss which she responded to.
At the age of 47, I wasn't going to spend weeks and weeks finding out if
Melia would fit my needs. I said to her, then, "Melia, I really like you, and
I want this to go further, but there's something that you should know." She
surprised me by answering, "I know. You're kinky." I had kept my kinky life
very, very secret. My reputation was important to me and I thought no one
outside the women I had loved and dated knew about this. "How do you know?" "I
know Darla." Darla had been a slightly older African-American woman I had had a
one year relationship with. Darla was not an activist, so I was surprised that
Melia knew her. "I know Darla from a time when I was doing interviews with
African-American government employees. We've been good friends for 10 years. I
happened to mention that I was in an action group with you and Darla spilled the
beans. I was sworn to total secrecy about it. I knew you were a fucking sexist
pig, not long after we started our planning. But Darla explained a lot to me.
Maybe sometimes a woman needs a sexist pig around." Melia spit out the words,
"sexist pig," the way she always did, when talking about how bad men were. I
laughed.
"I had a feeling you were not so vanilla."
"Actually, I am. But sometimes you get sick of the usual boring
bullshit."
"I was going to give you the card for my website. I was going to have
you look at level one before we continued." (I had a website where I detailed my
male dominant views and fantasies.)
"Start me with baby steps, huh?"
"Yes."
"How many levels are there?"
"Three levels. The third could be rather shocking."
"Well, part of me wants to be scared off. And part of me is dying of
curiousity about level three. Give me level two."
"Here's the cards. Look at level one first and then level two."
When I gave Melia the two cards, she leaned up and kissed me.
"I haven't dated anyone for four years," she said, turning and giving me
a rare smile, "I thought I might be done with this stuff completely..." She
ascended the stairs and disappeared.
Level one of my website gave basic information about D/s and an
introduction to myself. I can and do show flexibility in the D/s relationship
and will adjust myself to the woman at hand. Level two shows my harsher
proclivities in a frank, forthright way. Always, I hold to consensuality. But
with level two a girl really sees what she's getting into, if she wants to meet
me at that level. At heart, I am a strict, no nonsense Master who will take no
bullshit from a "bitch." I like to graduate girls rather quickly from level one
and only occasionally sustain relationships at that level. Level two is where I
would ideally always start, looking toward level three.
I waited a week to call Melia. I had hoped that she would call me.
But, perhaps, she had gotten really turned off, or maybe she just wanted to be
pursued.
"Melia, everything OK?"
"Christ. I went to your website. You ought to be arrested."
"Well, it's not for the average shrinking violet."
"It's a bunch of sexist pig bullshit, like I thought it would be."
"With one caveat: it's all consensual."
"I never met a fucking man in my life who ever even thought of treating
me the way you describe."
"I don't just think about it, Melia. I do it."
"I creamed all over my computer chair. I had to masterbate."
"What does that mean, Melia?"
"I don't really know. I haven't listened to my cunt for a long time."
"The bigger question is whether you are ready to listen to me."
"You're a fucking asshole. You just use women."
"Yeah, but what if they happen to like it?"
"I've fought against the exploitation of women all my life, Victor.
This is really hard."
"So have I, Melia. But this is something different."
"I can't deny that. Everything is up front. A woman knows exactly what
she's getting into."
"Yes."
"You have the fucking gall to think a woman deserves to be your
servant?"
"In every way."
"I need to talk more, Victor. My head is spinning."
"You want to have a drink tonight and talk?"
"Yes."
"Let's meet at 9 o'clock at the Stud, the men's gay bar."
"I'll see you there. Thank you."
It was only after she hung up that I realized that she had thanked me.
Melia was not a polite woman.
I got to the bar early and took a place in the corner where we might
have privacy. Melia was precisely on time, consciously defying the idea that a
woman must be late. I saw no obvious concession to my dress preferences,
clearly posted on my website, as Melia walked in. Sandals and jeans. Cotton
and wool. No jewelry. I stood up and Melia came over and hugged me tightly. I
searched her eyes and saw more excitement there than confusion.
Melia sat down and said, "I want to get a little drunk."
"I think that might be a good idea," I said, letting her know that this
conversation was charged for me also.
Melia looked at me closely, "I'm not trying to beat around the fucking
bush, Victor. I'm not some little coquette. I need to talk to you about your
ideas. I didn't sleep last night."
Melia took her first drink, drank it down greedily and ordered another.
Looking into her face, it was the first time that I'd ever seen anything but
cynicism.
"Melia. I need you to explicitly cross over and join me. As you know
from my website, I am a Master and I am interested in your 'rights' only insofar
as I can progressively deny them. I want, eventually, complete control of a
woman. If you don't want to beat around the bush, then tell me what you're
thinking yourself."
"Oh shit! You're a total fucking son of bitch! You're such an asshole!
I need you in my fucking life, Victor. I need to feel what's it like. I'm not
going to pretend. Your website hit me right in the cunt. But I'm scared, too."
I saw the fire and passion in Melia's eyes. I saw the flush at her
cheeks. She nervously shifted in her chair.
I ordered her her third drink.
"Talk to me about what a woman is, Melia. Honestly. You've sold men a
line of bullshit all your life, yourself. So puke it up. Tell me the truth."
Melia looked at me frightened. "Couldn't you just TELL me?"
"No. Melia. It's not so easy. I need to hear it from you."
"It's all such sexist, disgusting crap!"
"So then why was your cunt so wet?"
"You're going to make me say some of these things out loud?"
"That's my method, Melia. I work with what you bring me."
Melia took her third drink and drained it. She looked at me defiantly.
"A woman is nothing but a sex object. A sex object for a man!" Melia's face now
was deeply flushed, partially from the alchohol and clearly, also, from her
excitement. She looked at me with a look of pure hatred, with her lip curled in
anger. I looked back at her calmly, not affected at all by the intense negative
emotion she thrust at me. Seeing this reaction, I saw her quickly shift her
sentiments, becoming calm herself, and-- pliant. "She's just a fucking cunt
for a man to use! She's only a real woman when she is totally subservient to
him." These last words, which were more gently uttered, were followed by an
outbreak of tears. This was not easy for Melia.
"Am I betraying myself, Victor?" Melia said to me, weakly, sobbing
softly.
"No, Melia. For the first time in your life you're being true to
yourself."
I had Melia slide her chair over by mine and I hugged her tightly for a
long time.
Melia looked up at me, "This would never happen if I didn't respect you
so much. You are a fighter for what is right. You're not a woman hater!"
I kissed Melia and when she wanted to raise her hand to touch my chest I
gently pushed it back down. "Hands at your side, Melia, when I kiss you." Melia
said nothing and kept her hand down. I kept kissing Melia and her breath
quickened. She was incredibly turned on by what was happening, though still in
confusion. This was a gay bar where all sorts of outrageous overt sex was
common, so it was not something that would catch a lot of attention for me to
reach down and begin to fondle Melia's breasts. As I seized one of her tits in
my hand, I broke off my kiss and said, "This is my pleasure. Keep your hands
down." Melia kept her hands down as I roughly caressed her tits and I kissed her
more. Kissing her passionately, I took each nipple between the thumb and
forefinger of a hand and began to squeeze it. I had intended to tell Melia that
I was going to hurt her and get her buy-in. But Melia's level of surrender was
so great, I knew that I could pinch her nipples very hard and she would want it.
I gradually, slowly, but firmly pinched her tit nipples, until I was pinching as
hard as I could. She sucked my tongue into her mouth in explosive passion and
came there, with a shudder, in my cruel grip.
"Fuck me tonight, Victor! I want you to really fuck me tonight!" Melia
whispered in her usual blunt fashion.
"Melia. You have crossed over, now. You can always go back if you
want to. You know that I am a Master. You will be fucked, when I feel the time
is right."
I saw in Melia's dazed look a half-understanding acknowledgement of my
authority. I shoved my hand into her crotch over her jeans, pushing the back
of my hand against her cunt and felt her almost frantically squeeze it, as it
hurt her pubis. I heard the gasps of her second orgasm in my ear.
As Melia's excitement subsided, we sat together quietly. This was the
first time that I had ever seen Melia sit calmly quiet, without having to talk a
mile a minute. It was a good sign. There was a lot for us to talk about. A
lot for me to explain to her. And a lot for her, still, to tell me. But we let
it go for now, listening to the band.
----
Melia was smart and articulate. She was over-educated, but
underemployed because she was so idealistic. Melia, seemed, in fact,
hypersensitive to "authority" and was very reactive whenever any of her bosses
began to, as she termed it, "power trip." Melia had been deeply influenced by
the feminism of her time that divided the world between "us" and "them." She
had carried her politics into her personal relationships with men, consistently,
and, therefore, had had, it seemed, unsatisfactory relationships with men, all
her life. She had, remarkably, been married for 5 years, but they had really
only co-habited for two.
All this given, Melia had begun to see, at some point, that her "in your
face" attitude for men, besides not working in relationships, had been
semi-conscious disguise for very deep rooted feelings about her sexuality.
Particularly as she reached her late forties, she had begun to have the fantasy
that she would meet the man who, rather than quail at or be offended by her
rudeness, would have the personal strength to ignore her defenses and, for lack
of a better word, "take control." Of course, she had very conflicted feelings
about all of this. In many ways what she was looking for was a "sexist pig,"
but one who could have her respect in other ways. Melia was a long ways from
the first woman I knew to have deeply feminist convictions politically, who had
fantasies and real needs that were very "incorrect." My former slave, Willa,
was, herself, a hard driving executive.
Some women are "natural" submissives and will fall into an almost
unconscious pattern of trying to please, as soon as a man is bold enough to
become demanding. Melia was not of this sort. Melia needed to feel the
strength of a man's will in order for her to be comfortable with submission.
Where a natural submissive would often, on her own, do various things to show
her submissiveness, Melia was of the sort who needed to be guided or even
commanded to do them.
Over the next week I had Melia go to pornographic websites that I
selected for her. Mostly they were sites of couples who were in male dominant
relationships. I also had her read a novel I had written, "The Planet Pryx,"
which outlined in detail some of my core desires and needs as a dominant man.
I called Melia in mid-week.
"Jesus, Victor. There's a whole world out there I didn't know about!"
"Yes, Melia. There's a whole subculture in American and Europe, anyway,
devoted to Dominance and submission. And, as you can see, it isn't just little,
passive, shrinking violets who become submissives."
"I saw that. Many of the 'slaves' are confident, highly educated,
professional women. By the way., I really liked your novel. I read the whole
thing."
I wasn't surprised that Melia liked my novel, though every external
aspect of her life would seem to contradict its philosophy. My novel of the
planet Pryx told of a future in a galaxy with many quite different planets. One
of these planets was the planet Pryx, the first "created" patriarchal planet,
where males ruled totally. In contrast to some planets which were simply
backward, the planet Pryx was created by the petition of women to the Galactic
legislature for a planet where male dominant/female submissive sexuality would
be the norm. It had rigorous guidelines for the dominants and submissive who
would be allowed to live there, including "empathy testing" for the males, so
that limits would always be respected.
"Well, it is a fantasy. But it does express my basic philosophy very
clearly."
I thought that Melia would begin to express her reservations, again,
about the stark, male-dominant, vision I had laid out in the novel. But instead
she asked me a question, "Do you want to make me into a 'Pryx girl'?"
A "Pryx girl" was an ultra-feminine, ultra-submissive inhabitant of the
planet, who had, in fact, been screened, interviewed, and very carefully
selected for the planet.
"That would take quite a bit of work, Melia!" I joked.
"I know. I'm a piece of work. But I'm not going to lie to you. You've
gotten into my head. I knew it would have to be a real sexist pig bastard to
break through my shell. It's really been frustrating. I'm so tough on the
outside men just run away. You're the first man who's ever had the guts to get
to the point with me. But I'll tell you, too, that it means a lot to me that
you're not anti-women politically."
"You know I'm not anti-women. I believe completely in women's rights,
but those include the right of a woman to be a slave to a man, if she choses
to."
"That's what I like, that it is my choice."
"Well, I do want to train you, Melia. And, as you can see from my
website, I'm a very strict Master."
"You hurt my tits, Victor. And didn't ask permission."
"That I did, Melia."
"I never got so turned on in my life!"
Melia fell silent for a moment and then spoke:
"This is all very crazy. I don't know how you knew. But I've been
waiting for someone to change things for me for a long time. I need to go
pretty slow, Victor. It's all scary and I have to feel my way to it. But most
of your ideas just completely nailed me. Just the notion of completely giving
up power is such a turn-on. My girlfriends will really freak about this, but I I
don't give a shit. This is something I have to do for myself. In my fantasies
a guy would just slap me across the face and take control. But, if it would
happen like that in reality, I would just call the cops, even though it might
turn me on. I need to explore this and, most importantly, I really trust you.
Darla told me that there are bullshit Masters out there who can be dangerous,
but that you are very special. So tell me what to do next, Victor."
"I've been a Master for a long time, and I've learn to read women. I
had a very strong feeling you were ready. Are you free tomorrow night?"
"Yes."
"I'm coming over at 9:30. You need do nothing special in preparation.
But you can expect that I shall begin to assume my rights as a Master. And you
are going to start acting like a woman for a fucking change."
"Thank you, Victor," was all that Melia said, as I hung up the phone.
I wore my best Armani suit to visit Melia. I had had it freshly
cleaned, expecting this. I put on the crisp white shirt and put on my tie.
Though I was bald above my brown fringes of hair, my facial features are quite
attractive. My grey eyes are piercing, particularly when I am feeling turned
on. I have a strong chin for someone nearly 50 years old, and my lips are
sensuous and not too thin. I had shined my new black shoes perfectly. I tend
to dress impeccably. Of course, some gay men do too. But I think many women
can sense, when they get closer, that the obsessive perfection in regard to my
personal appearance is a sign of the pleasure I take in control.
I knew that Melia would be her usual too casual self. She was not the
sort to begin to make adjustments without direct instruction. She opened the
door and looked at me uncertainly. She was wearing her usual loose sweat shirt,
old blue jeans and beat up shoes. The only thing I noticed was the faint whiff
of wine on her breath. She had had to bolster herself.
"Get me a drink," I said to her summarily, not even really looking at
her. I was glad that she didn't venture to ask what I wanted to drink, but
simply brought me a glass of the wine she had been drinking. Just the fact that
she kept her mouth shut and did what she was told was a good sign to me.
I sat myself on the couch and Melia returned with my drink. I could see
that she hadn't even bothered to brush her hair before I came. Her grey hair
was tousled like she had been lying down.
Melia handed me the drink and stood for a moment before me. I was glad
that she wasn't trying to be easy with me, which was her habit. Otherwise, she
would have sat herself down or started jabbering by now. "Take your fucking
clothes off, bitch, and place them on the chair. NEATLY," I said the last word
with emphasis. Melia quietly began to comply, starting with her sweater.
I lit a cigar and took a few long puffs. I knew that Melia was anti
smoke, and always whined about people smoking. But I also knew that she had no
allergies, nor had I ever seen her cough in smoky places. She had once declared
proudly to me that her apartment was, "A strict no-smoking zone." When she had
said this, I had considered it and felt that she was just having fun being
difficult, that she wanted to show people how much in control she was by being a
bitch. Melia knew from my website that her self-centered games were going to be
over with me. I heard no complaint from her, now, as she slowly removed her
clothing.
I saw the signs of excitement in Melia's eyes as she removed her sweater
and then took off her bra. It pleased me that that dull grey, bitchy look of
hers had lightened up into one of expectant passion. Melia's smallish tits had
stood up well under age, and sagged only slightly. (Big tits will sag quite a
bit as a woman turns 50.) Melia had a somewhat small aureola, but nice
nipples that had become quite stiff. She took off her pants and revealed her
shabby cotton underpants. I continued puffing on my cigar, sipping my wine and
looking at Melia quite closely. Melia exposed her full bush and stood before
me. Consciously or not she did not challenge me with her gaze, but stood
quietly, eyes averted. It was nice to see Melia's womanly curves. She had a
surprisingly good figure. I had never seen Melia wearing clothes that would
reveal them.
I put my cigar and drink down and approached Melia. "Now, keep your
cunt mouth shut," I said, "While I do my inspection."
It was a small thrill for me to hear Melia reply softly, "Yes. Sir."
I felt Melia's coarse, messy, grey hair, beginning at the scalp and
feeling the strands out to their ends. Throughout centuries Masters have
inspected their prospective slaves closely. Though I found such historical
slavery repugnant, it was a full pleasure for me to inspect a new, consensual,
cuntslave.
"Melia, your hair will be brushed well once every two hours throughout
the day. You will also dye it to its natural color. You may do this in stages,
if you wish, but I will not contenance this gray hair the way it is."
I was close enough for Melia to smell my aftershave lotion and to feel
my lust. I was prepared for her to forget herself and to get smart mouthed, but
she remained quiet, merely nodding her head slightly in assent.
I reached back to caress the nape of Melia's neck and then felt lightly
at the back of her ears. I traced the outline of her ears with my fingers and
let my thumb and forefingers settle on her lobes.
"Your ears have never been pierced?" I said.
"No, Sir," Melia said. The pleasure of hearing that polite, submissive
word, "Sir," I could literally feel in my already erect prick.
"These ears will be pierced so that you can wear earrings that please
me. I take it you never wear earrings."
"No, Sir, not since I was young."
As I had traced the structure of her head when I had run my fingers
through her hair, I felt the structure of her forehead and felt her eyebrows
lightly with my thumbs. On occasion I prefer a woman to radically pluck her
eyebrows or even shave them off completely, but I was not going to confront
Melia with this notion now. We had plenty of time.
I felt the flesh on Melia's cheeks. She had enough wrinkles, but her
skin was in good condition. A good face-lift, I thought would do wonders for
her, but, again, I wanted to push her gently.
I traced her large nose and traced her somewhat bony chin and then
traced her lips gently with my fingers.
"I've never seen you wearing lipstick."
"I don't own any," Melia said. I knew I was confronting something basic
in Melia. She had been so pronouncedly unfeminine for so long. Everyone knew
she was an anti-lipstick, anti-make-up feminist. But I knew too that Melia
needed this confrontation. She needed a man's strength to take her past her
bullshit.
"My girlfriends wear lipstick," I said matter-of-factly.
I saw Melia struggle a bit to formulate a response. After a moment, she
simply nodded her acknowledgement. That is, she knew that this was one of the
requirements of this relationship. I know that had I not been a Master, she
would have fought me here.
I felt Melia's neck in front with the back of my hand and put my hands
on her shoulders. I ran my hands in turn down the backs of each of her arms and
then on the top side of them. When I take charge of a woman, I am taking charge
of every inch of her. So I like to inspect her very closely and not leave a
hair on her untouched. Melia's fingernails were a disgusting bitch-bitten
mess. And the fact that she wore no jewelry on her arms or hands offended me.
Of course, Melia was aware of all this from my website, but I chose not to
overload her with comments here.
I felt her unshaved armpits. Melia knew that these would have to be
shaved regularly for me.
Then I let my hands settle down on her tits to feel them closely. I had
already hurt them to make a point, but now I wanted to savor the feel of them.
I sometimes say that a woman is just three holes (mouth, cunt and ass) to fuck
and a pair of tits to feel. Melia had seen this digusting ultra-sexist
statement on my website. Most men and even most Masters are afraid to let their
prick do the talking. But I am not. I felt Melia's excitement heighten as I
caressed her tits and I could not resist kissing her. I teased her nipples and
listened to the moans in her throat as she kissed me. Nobody, nobody would ever
have guessed that Melia would respond to Man control. It took a Master to sniff
it out. But Melia was in heaven now with her arms submissively down at her
sides and myself taking CONTROL of her tits. I chose not to hurt them now.
Kissing Melia a few more times and savoring the pure submissiveness of
her response, I let my hands drift down to Melia's somewhat flabby belly. It
did not protrude overmuch, but it was clear that she would benefit greatly from
a corset or a girdle.
I felt the fronts of Melia's thighs and let my hands drift to her well
formed ass to feel its smooth contours. I returned to the front of her and
brushed her bush with the back of my hand and then felt the coarse hairs with my
fingers. Melia knew, too, that these disgusting hairs were going to be shaved
clean, but I did not bother verbally reasserting this fact.
I grasped her cunt from the bottom with my right hand. There was
substantial wetness there and her cunt lips had begun to swell quite a bit. I
ran my finger from back to front to part her squishy pussy lips. "I'm going to
rule this cunt," I said matter-of-factly. I knew I was pushing a bit hard here,
but Melia did not flinch with my comment and remained impassive, as instructed.
When one gets some object that is very rigid to bend in the middle, often it
totally collapses and loses all its resistance. It was a bit like this with
Melia as I kissed her, her hands respectfully held tightly down at her sides,
and her legs pressed very hard now on my hand to push it tightly into her
dripping cunt. I had only begun to skillfully manipulate her clitoris when I
felt her stiffen and heard the exhale of her full orgasm in my ear. "You
fucking bastard!" Melia said. I was not offended by this ejaculation. It was
the truth.
With my fingers messy with cunt juice I went around to Melia's back and
probed her asshole. Most men would probably lie about it, but I take more
pleasure in fucking a woman in the ass than in her cunt. Perhaps because women
so often use their cunts to manipulate, I have found too, that they have almost
a natural respect for a man who has the boldness to fuck them in this harsher
place. It was clear that Melia had scrubbed herself very clean everywhere
before I had come.
Next I felt down Melia's disgusting hairy legs. Melia had told me that
she had not shaved them since her second year of college. Of course, since she
wore dresses so extremely infrequently not many would see them. Melia was going
to start shaving her legs. And I was not going to countenance her for long in
anything but a skirt or dress.
Lastly I knelt down fully and inspected her feet. I noticed her
toenails were in very bad condition. She clearly never cut her nails with a
scissors, but tore off excess nail or let nature take its course. That would
change. But I noticed that, because she had had the habit of wearing very
comfortable shoes all her life, she had no corns or bunions on her feet. They
were in very good shape. She must have been a size 6, her feet being somewhat
petite. She would soon be wearing very feminine shoes, for the first time in
a very long time.
Lastly, I had Melia lift her feet and I felt her foot bottoms.
"All right, bitch. Serve me another drink," I said abruptly as I rose
to relight my cigar. I sat back down and Melia served me, remarkably
submissively. She stood, also, for a moment before me, awaiting my
instructions.
"Sit down by me," I said to her and she complied.
When I train women, I often like to have them naked when I am fully
dressed. This gives a proper emphasis, it seems to me, to their status.
"You have permission to speak now Melia. Speak freely. This is all
new, I know."
"Sir," Melia said carefully. "It might surprise you, but I'm sick of
asking every question. I feel very comfortable so far. I trust you to adjust
limits as needed. I know you know how to guide a woman. I just came on your
hand, just like that, a few minutes ago. I had about three orgasms with my
husband in three years! I know I'm a hard-edged bitch to almost everyone. But
you've been man enough to deal with it, without apology. I just want you to
TELL me. There's no need to ask."
At these words I kissed Melia gently on the lips and looked her in the
eyes. "You're going to be taught well, cunt," I said, not yielding to the
temptation to be soft. I loved the look she gave me, then, which was a perfect
combination of defiant and compliant. Her defiance was toward those who wanted
to define her by philosophies that were no longer relevant to her and her
compliance was toward me.
I took up my briefcase and opened it. Inside were pornographic pictures
of submissive women and dominant men. They showed women gagged and bound. They
showed submissive housewives cleaning carpets with vacuum cleaners, chained,
gagged, and naked except for high heels. They showed women being whipped.
There were a few that showed bound women being "raped." They showed bound women
sucking cock. I showed each picture to her and asked her to look at it
carefully. I told her to visualize herself in the position of these women.
When she had studied them all carefully, I said, "Now I want you to put these
pictures up in your bedroom. I want some posted on your mirror and others on
your bedroom walls and door. I want you to be clear about your place. On
Saturday, we're going shopping, bitch. Get ready. For this, you'll have your
armpits and your legs shaved and you'll be wearing lipstick."
Melia gave me that determined look again, "I understand, Sir." With this
I got up and left the apartment
----
I have always felt that it was good for a woman to look at male dominant
pornography. Though it is true that women do not respond to images in the same
way as men do, it is good for a woman to be able to see clearly her proper place
and position before a Man. In Melia's case I really wanted to rip away the veil
of her trenchant "feminism" and have her see the truth. Melia had been in the
generation that condemned even Playboy magazine as being oppressive to women.
It gave me great pleasure to know that my digusting, ultra-sexist pictures were
now there in Melia's bedroom to be looked upon at every turn. I knew that Melia
too would not try to avoid looking at them. She knew clearly that there were
lessons for her to learn and, if anything, Melia was a sincere student.
I came over late on Saturday morning to take Melia out shopping. She
greeted me at the door wearing dark red lipstick. Her hair was very nicely
brushed. There were some new streaks of brown in it. I was pleased by these
things. However she had persisted in wearing her usual mannish shirt, jeans and
shoes. Some Masters would have become severe at this point, and made a scene.
She knew that she was expected to wear a dress or skirt in my presence. But
Melia had said that she needed to go slow. Also, I knew from the beginning that
often Melia would need a direct command to ensure compliance. She had, in fact,
not disobeyed any direct command, so I decided to see the improvements in her
appearance for me as the signs of faithful sincerity which they were. I would
deal with the other issue in course of time.
I myself was wearing my suit and tie. Melia wore no jewelry or
ornament, but I knew without having to ask that her armpits and legs had been
carefully shaved. I walked across the livingroom into her bedroom. Melia
quietly followed me. The pornographic pictures were put up all around the room,
including on her mirror. I knew that Melia very rarely had people over to her
apartment. She was very much a loner. There was never any danger that someone
would come over and accidently see these very kinky photos.
"I had to masterbate the last two nights because of these pictures,"
Melia confessed.
"So they mean something to you," I said.
"Very much so, Sir," Melia said.
I put Melia in my car and drove across town to a store, where I had
taken several girlfriends before. I drove silently, puffing on my cigar, and it
was a pleasure for me to hear nothing but silence from Melia. Called,
"Daljeet's", the store sold lingerie, leather clothing, shoes and fetish items,
while keeping enough generic "punk" style stuff to not be classified as a pure
fetish store.
I had already picked out the previous day, the items that Melia would
get. I took a pretty pair of high heels off of the rack, 4" high heels to be
exact. They were beautiful, burnished black leather pumps with high arches,
pointed toes, and long, thin heels. Melia's eyes widened just a bit, looking at
them. Melia had just never worn high heels. I took Melia over to the counter
and I said, "She takes a size 6." I knew already that they had her size. I took
the shoes, gestured to the bench and said, "Try them on." Melia took off her
loafers and white socks and slipped her feet into the shoes. "Now stand up
carefully," I said to her, holding her arm. Very high heels can be a real shock
to the uninitiate's feet and ankles and I helped Melia steady herself. "Walk to
the door and back. I want to see you walking," I said. Melia slowly walked to
the door and back. Her ankles were stronger than I thought. I walked her to
the counter and I paid for the shoes. "She'll keep them on," I said, to Melia's
chagrin. I bought for her also a very frilly black lace bra, several pairs of
black seamed stockings, a pair of frilly, crotchless black panties, and a black
lace garterbelt.
I walked Melia slowly back to the car with my hand at her waist. I had
her redo her lipstick before we went outside. I had been somewhat bold in
insisting that Melia wear these shoes outside right away. It was a black
neighborhood, so it was unlikely that we would accidentally encounter any of
Melia's politically correct, mostly upper class, white friends. They, in their
feminism, would be shocked and dismayed to see Melia wearing high heels like a
whore. But this was all very new to her and she could easily have had the
feeling that I was being to callous in forcing her to do this.
As we walked I could feel Melia adjusting herself to the rhythm
forced by the radical shape of her shoes. I have very sensitive antennae, as a
Master, and I really felt I could feel a softening of something in Melia, as we
walked now, as a couple. When we got to the car, Melia turned to me with the
softest look in her eyes I'd ever seen. It was the first time that I really
glimpsed the depths of her submissiveness. As she gave me her upturned gaze, it
was clear that she needed the reassurance of a firm kiss. She kept her bitch
hands down at her side as I savored her nicely painted mouth and slid my hands
down inside her jeans to feel her ass. I opened the door for her to sit down
and went around to the driver's side. When I sat down, she said quietly and
unpresumptively, "I'm waiting for you to fuck me Victor." It pleased me, too,
that she remembered to redo her lipstick on her own.
I smoked my cigar, silently, as I drove Melia to a local restaurant for
lunch. She held her tongue also. In the restaurant I ordered for her, as was
my wont, and ordered for myself. We sat in a quiet corner with our thighs
touching. "Tell me honestly, Melia, what are high heels about?" For the most
part, Melia, as a hard-core feminist did not have to be prompted in her answer:
"High heels are the symbol of male rule over women. They are designed for men
by men. They hobble a woman in a crippling walk. If they happen to be pretty,
it is just to please the eye of men."
"And, Melia, if you can, tell my why you are wearing high heels now."
She had already gulped her cocktail and was feeling loose, "Because
you're a sexist pig bastard and you want to see me humiliated."
"But, as you know, you can always get up and walk away."
"Do you always have to force me to talk like this? Couldn't you just
give me orders and leave it like that?"
"All in good time Melia, but these are things that you have to hear
yourself say."
"I've had my own way for the last 15 years and where has it got me? I'm
wearing heels now because you're man enough to know what you really want."
I was satisfied with her answer.
-------
After a long lunch, where I had Melia tell me more about her upbringing
and her life, I took her home. I was very pleased that throughout our time
together she made a real effort to keep her lipstick fresh and kept a very
feminine and compliant demeanor in my presence. I knew that this not at all
easy for her and my first thought was to fuck her when we got home to reward her
for her good behaviour. However, it niggled in the back of my mind that the
bitch wouldn't even put on a dress or skirt to go out with me, so I decided that
more intimate sex would wait.
When we got back to the apartment, I sat down on the couch, had Melia
serve me some wine and then had her stand submissively at attention before me.
I gave her my assessment: "Well maintained lipstick is the sign that a woman is
always ready to suck prick. You have pleased me greatly by keeping your
lipstick perfect in my presence. You have shaved your armpits and legs to
please my hand and eye. You understand the meaning of very high heels and you
wear them in acknowledgement of my authority. For the first time, too, today, I
have seen you act properly feminine, in gaze, gait and demeanor. I can see that
behind that bitch facade of yours is a true submissive cunt who can learn how to
respect a man. However, I am very displeased that you did not wear a skirt or
dress to greet me today. A skirt or dress is designed to give a man easy access
to a woman's cunt. I see these garments as signs that a woman understands that
she is there to serve cock. Do you intend to be my prick servant, or do you want
play games with me?"
Melia was standing nicely in front of me. Her eyes were averted and it
was clear that she had become comfortable in her submissive role. Her heels
forced her tits to push out against her shirt and protrude a bit. Her lips were
painted prettily and I saw an incredible softness in her demeanor now, a
softness that I knew she too was savoring. Melia answered very quietly, "I'm
not playing games, Sir. I will do everything to obey your commands to me. As
long as... I know that you will not rush me too fast."
"So I won't be seeing you before me in men's garments, henceforth?"
"No, Sir. I'll always wear a dress or skirt."
"Well just so you don't start thinking you're a fucking man again, for
the next two nights when you go to bed I want you to wear the bra, crotchless
panties, garterbelt and hose to bed. You'll also sleep with your high heels on
the full night. In addition, you'll go to bed with your lipstick nicely done
and should you wake up during the night you'll get up, like a woman, and do it
nicely again before you go back to sleep."
"Yes, Sir," Melia said.
Perhaps she thought she would get more attention from me that day, but I
wasn't about to stick my prick in a bitch who wanted to wear the pants. I left
abruptly and she knew damn well why.
------
Melia was between jobs and so had some time on her hands. Under my
guidance she was using this time to good effect. She was visiting the right
websites and receiving from me the training that she deeply wanted in the secret
part of herself no other person had ever plumbed. I knew that the sexual
tension was beginning to become incredible for her. We talked each bedtime
over the next two nights and I began to obscenely relate my plans for her. I
put no restriction on her masterbation over those two days and I know that Melia
had worked herself into an incredible heat. She begged me to come and see her
on Monday, and I relented, though I had planned to wait a full week to see her.
But these were the stipulations: her cunt would be cleanly shaved when I saw her
next, and she would be kneeling, dressed in her lingerie and heels in front of
the door when I came in.
I wore a new suit and tie to come and see Melia. I had a couple
cocktails too, before I visited. As I expected, when I arrived on time at 9:00
the door to Melia's apartment was not locked and, as instructed, Melia was
kneeling before the door to greet me. I had her bow to kiss my shoes in
obeisance and then I had her open my zipper. I took my stiffening prick out and
shoved into into Melia's submissive mouth. Melia made her mouth a soft cunt
for my hard poking and I managed to smear her lipstick around her face pretty
good. This time Melia was not allowed to touch my prick with her hands and her
hands remained down at her sides where they belonged.
I really had decided to fuck Melia that night, so I held myself back
from spilling into her mouth. I had her rise and cinched her hands in back of
her with a short, satin rope. I sat her on the couch and, before anything, took
her lipstick and redid her lips the way I like. I poured a glass of wine, sat
down next to her and lit my cigar.
"A woman is nothing but a sex object. A sex object for a man. She's
just a fucking cunt for a man to use. She's only a real woman when she is
totally subservient to him. You said it yourself," I said, letting Melia sip
from my wine glass. I saw a flash of anger in Melia's eyes, as I spoke. She
didn't like being humiliated with her own words. More deeply, her look seemed
to challenge me to make the words true.
After I had had Melia drink nearly my full glass of wine, I reached into
my pocket and took out a small roll of wide electrical tape. I tore off a piece
and unceremoniously placed it over Melia's mouth.
"I don't really expect you to start talking like a bitch again," I said.
"But you are not well trained. I like a woman to keep her cunt mouth shut
unless spoken to."
Melia had already seen my obscene, pornographic pictures of women with
mouths taped shut or gagged for the pleasure of men and knew that it might
please me to replicate them in person.
I went over to the CD player and put on a CD that was one of my
favorites, "Music for Mastery," an underground record for the D/s community. It
began with several songs from the Rolling Stones, "Black and Blue" album of the
1970's (which had caused tremendous outrage at the time for its over sexism).
The first song was a slow, jazzy version of, "Under My Thumb."
I stood Melia up and held her in my arms, her own arms still cinched
behind her back. She looked very sexy in her black, frilly bra, black lace
crotchless panties, black garter belt, black seamed hose and high heels and she
could feel my hard prick against her belly as we danced. I spoke to her softly,
but very presumptously and obscenely as we danced. I called her my cunt, my
whore and my bitch among other things. She felt so soft and pliable--- my
little bitch doll. I knew that Melia was ready for this and that her sexual
excitement level with my aggressiveness was very high. After a few minutes, I
stepped back a bit and took, through her bra, each nipple in thumb and
forefinger lightly and danced Melia slowly further, as though it were perfectly
normal for a man to take such control of a woman. I did not press on her
nipples overly hard, but simply used them to control her body as we danced.
After a bit of this, I let one hand slide into the crotchless area of Melia's
crotchless panties to feel the smooth, nicely shaved cunt there. Melia moaned
into the tape, as I probed with my fingers there to find her cunt absolutely
dripping with excitement.
Melia had been waiting her whole life just be treated like a woman. And
she had stated to me very clearly what she thought a woman was. She had spent
her life secretly distaining men who did not have the balls to presume her. And
part of her payback for it, was that she would not come to orgasm for them. She
was, in fact, a withholding bitch, sexually, but she was not going to withhold
from me and she knew it.
I felt Melia bend her knees and lightly grind her cunt against my
probing fingers. She rocked back on her difficult heels and threw her head
back, as I felt a flood of coming. I worked Melia's cunt and clit skillfully
and felt her surrender herself to a series of shattering orgasms. I enjoyed her
muffled groaning tremendously (because of the tape over her mouth) and took full
pleasure in having total control of her. She was still in the throes of deep
passion when I bent her forwards over the couch arm and stuck my prick into her
cunt for the first time, from the rear. She was very wet, very open and very
ready and I worked my prick in her for the good part of an hour before I spilled
my myself into her. Her hands had remained nicely tied behind her and her face
had been shoved into the soft cushion of the couch in a rhythm dictated by the
whim of my stiff cock.
When I was finished, I sat Melia down on the couch again, neither
removing the tape from her mouth, nor uncinching her hands. I smoked a cigar
and sat letting my left arm reach around to lightly caress her left tit and
nipple, occasionally coming around front with it to play in the wetness of her
sperm-filled cunt.
"I'm going to keep you in your fucking place, bitch," I said matter
of-factly.
My tone and demeanor with different women will be different, though I
will always be Master. Each submissive woman has her own contours and needs for
Mastery. Melia, in her fantasies, had been waiting for a confident, harsh,
ultra-sexist bastard to bring her to her place of surrender and pleasure. One
of the first things I had done to her was to twist her tender tit nipples until
they hurt. And I did not ask her overt permission for it, but just did it.
Whatever she might have wanted to say with her smart mouth on that occasion was
washed away by the flood of coming that had wet her panties that night in the
bar. I knew that if I was going to get what I wanted from Melia, I was not
going to get it by being polite.
Rebellion simmered under the surface in Melia as I uttered my harsh
words, "I'm going to keep you in your fucking place, bitch." But the tape on her
mouth and the cinch on her hands made clear that this relationship was not on
her terms, and she was able to let her first intincts dissolve into the relaxed
receptiveness that a submissive woman finds pleasure in. The stronger would have
been her first reaction to my rude language, the more she now could feel pride
in accepting gracefully the harsh terms I used for her. Melia had stated that
she had gotten sick of the "bullshit" with men. There would be no bullshit with
me.
I removed the tape from Melia's mouth and she looked up at me silently.
She had had the most profound sexual experience, I know, that she had ever had
in her life. Right now, she was totally open to me and to my guidance. On her
face was the most beautiful, relaxed look, as though a heavy burden had been
lifted from her. I had never seen Melia look so genuinely feminine. I was
compelled to kiss Melia gently. She yielded her lips to me with no hesitation.
I could feel the warmth and openness and respect she wanted me to feel now.
Staying silent, I uncinched Melia's hands and had her brush her hair,
straighten the seams on her stockings and put on her lipstick. I had her sit
again, with her feet on a small stool in front of her, adjusting her legs so
that she sat with her legs uncrossed and obscenely opened. I could see that
Melia had gone into her submissive "space" and was letting herself gently flow,
in the most feminine way, with me.
I got up and moved her television set from her bedroom along with her
VCR. I had brought along a video for us to watch entitled, "The Bitch Gets
What's Coming to Her," a skillful D/s story about a smart-talking lawyer who
gets involved with a kinky guy. Gradually, he seduces her into a D/s
relationship. Finally, she becomes his submissive slave for life and, in the
finale, writes an obscene short story describing her feelings entitled, "The
Bitch Gets What's Coming to Her."
From my briefcase I took a large dildo and pushed it up into Melia's
squishy, sperm-filled cunt. Melia was bidden to sit and watch the film with me,
as I played with her tits and her clit, cunt, and, of course, the dildo, at
will. As the film began to reach it's climax, showing scenes of the "Bitch"
getting gang-banged by several dominant friends of her Master, I started working
the dildo in and out of Melia in an increasingly firm fucking motion. Melia kept
her hands at her sides like a woman and kept her lips nicely pursed, as she let
the feelings of being "raped" wash over her. I leaned over to kiss her
controllingly. My full tongue went stiffly into her mouth as I felt her squeeze
her legs tightly on the dildo and grind her clit on it. Melia with each of her
orgasms had seemed to yield some of herself to me and now she let her mouth be a
soft working place for the stiff fucking of my aggressive tongue. She groaned
and moaned, almost in agony as the orgasm which I had forced from her overtook
her sense of propriety. As I took my lips from her mouth and tightly embraced
her Melia said with a deep groan, "I don't want any fucking rights, Victor. I'm
sick of fucking rights! Just Master me!"
I held Melia for quite a while after her coming, just letting our bodies
get to know each other. From time to time I would just look into her eyes to
see where she was and I could see the deepest submissive softness in them.
Melia had waited all of her life to be honest with a part of herself that she
had kept deeply locked away. Now, it seemed that she was not going to second
guess herself. Some women I have dated, would have an experience such as Melia
had had and I would never hear from them again. They would become frightened by
the intensity and would need to retreat into the safety of their repression.
Melia, I knew was not this sort. Now that she had the bit in her teeth, so to
speak, Melia, I could see, was going to ride as fast and far as she could go.
No doubt, some guilt had come forward, initially. But now that she had had her
first sexual experience of complete submission, I knew that there would be no
turning back. I bid Melia keep her hands at her sides, as she sat quietly
there, submissively accepting my kisses, which showed my true emotions at
knowing a woman who knew her cunt place.
-----
"Oh, Victor, please stay the night! I want you to teach me what it's
like to be this way all night and day," Melia said, when I indicated to her that
I would be on the way home.
"Your sentiment pleases me greatly," I said, "But you'll need a few more
lessons before I do that. I haven't really got your 'bitch teeth' filed down
enough yet."
"You took my cunt pretty hard," she said, bringing, with not so much
effort, a very sweet girlish voice forward, "I don't think there are any teeth
left in it."
"You're a good piece of ass, I'll give you that," I said. "But this
discussion is over. I have some instructions for you."
"OK, Sir," Melia said almost immediately in a remarkably compliant
voice. I could see that she really wanted to show me that she could be
obedient.
"I want you to start a journal about your training. In it I want you to
write about your experiences with me and honestly reflect upon your feelings and
emotions, each day. You'll e-mail me every night at 10 o'clock, giving me your
entries. I know that you will always use a tone that pleases me, but this is
the place for you to bring up any difficulties or problems that you may be
having adjusting to me."
"You won't get any complaining or whining from me," Melia said
defiantly. "I just want to please you, MMM..." She started to say, "Master,"
but looked to me for permission.
"You may call me Master."
"...Master," she said in a clear, again, rather girlish voice.
"Day after tomorrow you'll go to this beauty parlor, " I said, giving
her a card from my wallet. "I have an account there which you will charge to.
Your hair is going to be dyed and redone. I will give the hairdresser the
instructions. Your face will also be done to my specifications. You will
receive from the hairdresser the exact make-up and such that he will be using
and you will purchase these things and apply them when you greet me next,
precisely as he does. Ask him specifically for make-up tips to do exactly as he
has done. He also will be doing your eyebrows, eyes, fingernails and toenails,
as pleases me. Take care to learn exactly how he has done them so that you will
replicate them whenever you make yourself up for me. When you go to the beauty
shop you will wear a simple black cocktail dress and your heels, and appropriate
lingerie without the stockings."
"Yes, Master," Melia said with a look in her eyes that told me that she
would follow my instructions to the letter.
----
At ten o'clock the next night I received Melia's first journal entry.
The lengthy entry itself ran to eight pages. These are some exerpts.
"Master (the word I want to use, and need to use, while still feeling I
don't know completely enough what it means) said that sometimes, when a rigid
object is made to bend, it is unalterably changed and can't be put back into the
position it once was in. This is the way I feel. Master raped me yesterday,
taping my mouth and tying my hands behind me. I should have wanted to scream
for my freedom and swear deadly revenge, but instead I yielded my body, my cunt
and my womb to him, as Master. As a series of the most total orgasms racked my
used body, I swore an oath of respect to him for teaching me the truth. I know
that this is the beginning of my real submission and I shall await each day
expectantly. I have spoken of men for these last years with bitter spite.
Master was the only one who had the strength to see beyond my talk. He danced
with me and called me 'vile' names. He called me his cunt, his bitch and his
whore. The power of these 'insults' made my knees weak and made my cunt swell
and open and drip with want for him. He says bluntly that a real woman serves
and obeys and I know that I need to learn the truth of this."
---
I called Melia after receiving her e-mail.
"Melia, I am very pleased by your progress."
"Thank you, Sir," she said in the remarkably pleasing tone she had
somehow come forth with in these last days.
"You have been such an ardent feminist. I've had women feel real
conflict when beginning to experience their submissive side. Are you sure you
aren't trying to push yourself too quickly?"
"No, Sir. I'm not. But it really makes me feel good that you are
asking me this. You are a Master that a woman can trust. I am still a feminist
and believe in women's rights totally. But, as you have said, I also believe
that a woman must have the right to surrender her rights, if it is a consensual
matter. I've fantasized for a long time now about doing just that. I really
don't know why, all I know is that I feel freer now than I've ever felt in my
life. I don't feel a conflict. Politically, I still have the same beliefs.
Sexually, I want to serve you and have you continue to command me."
---
On Thursday, Melia went to the beauty shop for the first time, since her
wedding. Her, now, well-groomed grey hair was cut shorter, dyed brunette and
done in very feminine curls. Her unruly eyebrows were plucked down into
well-defined arches and made up. For the first time in her life Melia would
wear long, false fingernails painted bright red. Her toenails were manicured
and painted a matching color. Lastly, her face was made-up with good
foundation, powder and rich lipslicker that matched her nails.
Here are some excerpts from Melia's e-mail that night:
"'Beauty shops are just places for women to enslave themselves to male
notions of attractiveness. Make-up is just a way for a woman to be deprived of
her real face in favor of a face that pleases a man. The idea of "beauty" for
women in this culture is just a patriarchal construct to make sure that women
will spend all their time posing and looking in mirrors, rather than seeking
their true liberation. Beauty shops are 'slave pens' for women.' These are
words I wrote for a radical feminist journal in San Francisco 20 years ago. In
my typical judgemental way I went on to said that beauty shops were just places
for women to be made into painted whores for men. It took a real man to rub my
face in my bullshit feminist philosophy. I know that Victor had read that old
article of mine. My new look marks me, most certainly, as my Master's slave and
whore. And I respect him totally for being the man he is. I have my lips
painted right now like a slut and I have my nails long and useless like a woman
who fucks for a living. I have cutsy bitch hair for him, too, and my cunt is
dripping with want and need as I feel myself to the core as a sex object and
nothing more for my Master's pleasure."
I had a date with Melia on Friday noon. I had good news to bring her.
I had just found out that I was going to receive a substantial legacy from my
uncle. If Melia chose, she would not have to go back to her shitty job. I
could take care of her.
Melia had lived in the past for the last 15 years. For 10 years at
least she had spouted rhetoric that she herself knew was false to her heart.
For ten years the louder she talked about "sexist bastards" the more it meant
that she needed one in her life. She had acknowledged the same to me. We were
going to take an innocent lunch-time trip that would help Melia confront
herself. It would not be easy.
I picked up Melia up outside her apartment. No one who had known Melia
for any length of time would have recognized her at first glance on that busy
street. She wore her black cocktail dress, her heels and hose, as I required.
Her make-up was well done, and her fingernails freshly painted.
"We're going to have lunch at the Brick Hut," I said to Melia, taking a
long puff on my cigar. The Brick Hut was a restaurant in Berkeley owned by
lesbians and frequented by the hard-core feminist crowd there. Melia went there
only occasionally, but several of her old movement friends worked there.
"You fucking asshole! Do you want to humiliate me in front of my
friends? With me dressed like a goddamn whore?"
"I will teach you eventually to control that cunt mouth of yours," I
said with some anger in my voice. "But more importantly I am your Master. We
go where it pleases ME."
Melia looked at me with an almost frantic look on her face. I took a
side street and pulled over where we could have some privacy.
"I'm sorry, Sir. My-- my bitch mouth," Melia said, trying to find her
way back to where we both knew she wanted to be. "It was so surprising. And--
it is all coming so fast. I do want to learn, Victor...." she looked at me
apprehensively realizing that, for now, I was to be addressed only as, "Sir,"
or, "Master."
"You may call me, 'Victor,' on occasion, if you do not abuse the
privilege."
"Sir, I feel so hot. I mean I'm so turned on. Before you came over, I
masterbated to orgasm sitting in these whory crotchless panties and fucking
black seamed hose. You know you've totally got me. But I didn't expect that
we'd go out where my friends could see me for a while. I just feel I need time
to get used to all this."
"Did I ever tell you that it would be easy to serve me?" I said, not at
all convinced that my plans for the day should change.
"No, Victor, you've been honest with me. I know you're a fucking
controlling asshole. You just want what you want."
"So what exactly do I want, here. Tell me."
"You want to take me to see my feminist friends dressed in exactly the
way I've condemned for over twenty years. And they know it too!"
"So you expect them to point this out to you?"
"No. Not with you around. They'll be so shocked they won't know what
to say."
A smile began to form on Melia's prettily painted lips. "Sir," she
looked at me as the thought dawned on her, "they won't say a word about it to my
face. It'll all come out in their backroom conversation."
"Do you really care what these cunts gossip about in their wasted time?"
"No. I'm sick and tired of all their bullshit rhetoric. Do you know
one of my dyke friends plays complete 'femme' to a dominant butch? She..." Melia
looked at me as though another light had just come one, "plays a cutesy 'girl'
and they do bondage!"
"Not really much different that what we do, is it?"
"No, Sir, it's not."
"The question is, do you really think that these fucking feminists have
the right to judge what pleasures you should dole out to yourself?"
I noticed that Melia was not reacting anymore to my "sexist" language.
I had made it clear to her from the beginning that I would not use it, if it
didn't work for her. She had passed up her chance to have me stop it. It was
working for her too.
"You're making me into a fucking pervert, Victor. You know damn well
how I like to rise to challenge. I need to stop somewhere and have a drink or
two. I want to do this for you. But, you're right, as usual. I can get off on
sticking it in their faces."
I took Melia in my arms and kissed her. She was responsive. Very
responsive.
We went to His Lordship's in Berkeley to have a drink. I always liked
the name of this establishment and often went there with a "slave." The notion
of showing up "in drag" for her hardnosed friends had begun to percolate into
Melia's consciousness. Deep down Melia was very rebellious. While all the
world had gotten into money and glitter, during the 1980's, she had revelled in
slumming it and keeping her "hippy" values. It had struck her, now, as we
talked, that running completely counter to type with her old political friends
was not so far from her center. Melia was not an alchoholic but she did like to
drink, when the spirit moved her. She indulged herself.
Melia had her second martini and started talking, "So you have enough
money to support me?"
"Yes. I'm willing to take care of all of your expenses to see this
relationship develop. And, I'll commit to six months of support, should it
emerge that it won't work out."
Melia ordered a third drink. She was already a bit tipsy and feeling
quite loose, "So basically you want to pay me to be your fuckin' whore."
I loved the fire in Melia. I had learned that strong, firey women often
can go the deepest in submission. It's as if, with a certain assertion of male
strength, that fireyness can be turned back into them to melt their resistance
and stoke their passion. "Melia," I said calmly, "I can buy a whore much more
cheaply anywhere. I want you to be who you are and nothing else. your
yearnings are very deep, Melia. I don't want to buy you, I want to Master you.
I know you're ready."
The alchohol had acted a bit like a truth serum with Melia. What she
said was not a surprise. It seemed, in fact, quite natural to me: "Sir, I'm
going to fall in love with you. Have you made allowances for that?"
"Women like yourself feel love when they are freed to serve. Their
service and their pain they know as pure love. A Man Master is different.
He loves what a woman does for Him. When He sees clearly that the bullshit is
over and she is truly under His fucking thumb, then he loves. I will love you,
if you have the strength to earn My love. I feel real affection for you Melia
and that affection I know will grow."
Melia's eyes misted and she looked at me with an incredibly open,
vulnerable look. She spoke very sincerely, "This is all totally new, but I'm
not conflicted about it at all. Maybe I've always wanted this level of honesty.
I do need to know about your affection, though, that's very important to me.
And I know I can be woman enough to earn your love. I respect the fact that you
are man enough to make me earn it. You're definitely the first man who ever
wanted all of it. I'm ready to be your bitch, however you wish to make me. I
don't think the word, "slave," works for me right now, but I suspect that will
change.
I suppose I should say that I'd like a 'trial period' or something like
that, but I don't really think I'm turning back. Like I said, I'm not sure I
understand how it all came about but you've totally got me. I'll probably need
to exercise my smart mouth and rebelliousness for a while. Part of it is
probably old pride at not wanting to seem too easy and part of it, too, is
definitely that I need to really feel you change me. I'm really not a big
pleaser naturally."
I took Melia's hand and looked her in the eyes, "I'm a very strict
Master, but I am not by nature cold-hearted. Those types usually just get
married and make a woman's life a living hell."
Melia smiled, "Believe me, I really need the strictness, but it only
works for me because you know exactly how to play a woman."
Our serious conversation over I looked at my watch, "It's about an hour
till we're supposed to be at the Brick Hut. Right now we're going over to the
Bay Hotel and check in. I want your cunt dripping with my come when you talk to
those dyke friends of yours."
Melia nodded and gave me her cynical look, "I suppose you want my face
flushed with that, 'just fucked look.'
I took Melia's hand and we got in the car. The motel was only four
blocks away. I had rented a room in advance. I opened the door for Melia and
lead her in. It was a mid-level motel, clean and neat with nice carpeting and a
large bed. "Take your fucking dress off," I said, knowing that sharp
directiveness would check Melia's reflexive rebelliousness. Melia took her
dress off and I had her stand before me.
Melia, today, was a far cry from the dress down bitch whom I had done
political work with. Her hair was nicely colored, curly, feminine and
well-groomed. She wore well done make-up. She had nicely painted decorative
nails. Her armpits, legs and cunt were very cleanly shaved. I removed her
pretty black slip and looked at her. For a bitch feminist Melia had adjusted
well to difficult high heels and stood steadily on them. The black lingerie
made a good outfit for her. Certainly a paid whore would be proud to wear such
obscene crotchless panties.
"Lay back on the bed and slide back," I said. She knew not to kick off
her shoes.
Melia quietly complied. I unzipped my pants and slid up on the bed,
parting Melia's legs for entry. "Now I want your arms down at your sides. I
don't want any movement from you. I want you to learn how to take the fuck like
a woman. You'll keep your cunt mouth shut and you'll keep your eyes closed. I
don't want to hear any grunting from you bitch. This is MY fucking pleasure."
I stuck my cock into her sharply. Her cunt was dripping already with
her readiness. I slid in easily. I laid on top of her, then, without bracing
myself and laid my full weight on her. I rammed my prick into her hard, making
it clear to her who was taking and who was giving. As I fucked her with very
deep, hard jabs, I took hold of her tit nipples first just to show my control,
but then I started to pinch and twist them. I wanted Melia to KNOW what she
was. I felt Melia's cunt spasm sharply as the full charge of the pain hit her
and I felt the gush of her come around my thick prick. Despite her incredible
excitement and the deep orgasm that I knew was taking her, Melia kept her lips
pursed stoically and her eyes tightly shut, as instructed. I could feel her
strugge with her breath, as she sought to minimize the sound of her coming so as
not to grunt noticeably. "That's it bitch, " I said twisting her nipples very
harshly now as I reached my point of no return. I let myself go into her and
lay on top of her for a moment or two to catch my breath.
I got up and took a look at Melia. She was a used, high-heeled splay
legged whore. But she was my whore. I felt a real sense of pride and affection
for her as I had her get up, comb her hair and get herself ready. I could see an
unsteadiness in her and sense of unease.
"You were truthful with me on that bed. You told me you were willing to
be a real woman. I need that and I respond to that."
"Sir," Melia said in a very small, very feminine, but slightly manic
voice. "That big prick of yours really gets to me and when you hurt me, I felt
love coming up inside me for you. I really need your harshness. I respond to
it incredibly. I totally respect how you understand that. But would you hug me
for just a while? I mean, not as an equal, or a 'boyfriend,' but as my Master?"
"Yes, bitch," I said and took Melia in my arms to comfort her. Melia
grasped me tightly with her head on my chest, like a little girl. I could see
that her willfulness was nearly gone. Without it as a crutch she would need me
to keep her steady.
After a long time Melia looked up at me. "Thank you Master," she said
uttering the word, "Master," in a tone that betrayed some emotion. I looked into
Melia's eyes.
"You please me by calling me Master so femininely," I said.
I saw a small, wry smile form on Melia's face. She had caught herself
feeling pride at my comment and noticed the contradiction from her previous
image.
"I know this is difficult for you, Melia. These bitch feminist friends
of yours have been a part of your life for a long time. But as Master I am here
to command you, and I want the break from this old bullshit of yours very
fucking clear."
Once again, I was ready, particuarly after her emotions had come forward
the way they did, for Melia to challenge or try to delay.
"Master, you know who I really am. I get emotional because I know I'm
going to really love you. You've just dirtied me like a man. I can feel the
slop dripping down my leg. I'm so fucking hot I could scream. I know as we go
you're just going to tell me what I want and I'm going to learn to want it. I
think you said once, 'Sometimes all a cunt needs is a good fuck to keep her in
line.' These fucking high heels are just going to blow their minds! I used to
laugh at women in the street and call high heels a form of bondage! Master,
you'll have to guide me through this. How should I act?
I reached back to straighten the seam on one of Melia's stockings.
"Firstly, you will be feminine in demeanor, but need for you to exaggerate. Your
attire in itself tells a tale for these women. And it's OK if you lie a little
bit. I won't be offended. But I want you do drop at least one good hint that
our relationship is more than just vanilla."
"Don't you think my looking like a freshly fucked whore says enough?"
Melia was smiling to herself.
"Think of some hint. Also, you'll go to the bathroom one time to redo
your make-up. Make sure that your high heels click nicely when you go."
"You're fucking diabolical!"
"Yes," I said with a smile. "And, of course, I will direct you in other
subtle ways that probably go undetected."
"They'll be so fucking shocked."
"Oh. I almost forgot. Here's the perfume you'll be wearing."
"Fucking perfume. I hate...." Melia took the bottle of 'Opium' in her
hand and nodded. She'd lied about her allergy to it for years. But she wasn't
allergic in the physical sense.
"I want it fairly strong."
A perfumed whore.
We were both overdressed for the cheap lunch place. I wore an Armani
suit. Melia was in very sexy evening wear.
We took a seat and the waitress looked over at us hard. She was a
chunky woman about 45 with a very masculine look. She walked over to the table
tentatively, making sure she was seeing what she was seeing.
"Melia! Is that you?"
Melia knew she was not allowed embarassment.
"Meet Victor," Melia said, ignoring her shock.
"Hello Victor," she said giving me a glance of surprise that
involuntarily seemed to convey a hidden respect.
"What have YOU been up to," Johnnie said trying to subtlely find out
what was going on.
Melia didn't make up any lies about having to be dressed up for a job
interview or any such. She let the impression stand that she was with me and we
were a couple.
"I've been doing an incredible amount of reading," Melia said.
"You've always been such an intellectual," Johnnie said beginning to get
over the shock of the way Melia looked. I began to see that Johnnie was
actually attracted to Melia this way.
"But, wow, Melia I've never seen you dressed up before."
I could see Johnnie wanted to say, "Dressed so hot." The hypocrisy of
certain feminist types was very deep, it seemed to me. Johnnie was not
atypical.
Melia was casual, "Maybe I've decided to surprise people from time to
time in my old age."
"Surprise! More like shock!"
Melia was strong. She didn't allow the ghosts of her past to loom to
large. I could see she was sure of her place.
"What and you don't like a lipstick lez?" Melia decided to take aim.
Johnnie blushed. This was the dyke who liked cutsey, femmy types,
though out front she loved the men-bashing rhetoric of "old feminism."
"Touche. What'll you have."
I ordered for both of us unceremoniously.
When Johnnie went back to the kitchen, Melia shot me a conspiratorial
glance and mouthed the words, "Touche!"
We heard a bit of talking in the back room and after Johnnie had quietly
delivered our glasses of wine, the proprietor came out to say hello to Melia.
She was an pinch-faced gray haired woman of about 55. Toni. She had the
reputation of being a feminist with an edge. She was single, heterosexual and
Melia had told me she actually had a fondness for men in their 20s. I wondered
about her secrets.
"Melia!" Toni said, trying hard to ignore me. (I wasn't her type!)
"Christ, girl. What's with the gettup?" Toni said, getting to the
point.
"Meet Victor," Melia said in a very sly manoevre. The blame for her
whory dress would now fall on me, though Melia let it be a nonresponse and was
not overt.
"Hi, Victor. Oh, I know you! You've done a lot of good work for the
homeless."
"Yes. The old lefty still lives." I wasn't trying to ingratiate myself,
Facts were facts.
I could see the conflict flash in Toni's face. She respected me, but
she was disgusted by Melia's "gettup" and by the notion that I might be somehow
responsible.
Toni turned to Melia again.
"Johnnie tells me you're into reading, now that you're unemployed. What
have you been reading?"
"Oh, I've been reading a lot about Simone de Beauvoir."
"God. She is the greatest isn't she? She's the beginning of it all.
The theorist of modern feminism."
"Yeh. Well I've been reading how Jean Paul Sartre used to fuck around
all the time. Supposedly they had an 'open' relationship, but she was totally
at his beck and call. She was more like his servant than his lover."
Melia really surprised me with this comment.
"Oh Christ. I've heard of that. It's hard to stomach isn't it?"
It was at this point that Melia just got up slowly, not really being
non-responsive, and not being overt, moving so brilliantly and subtly and
ambiguously. She walked to the bathroom to redo her make-up her high heels
clicking loudly, with Toni left behind to observe Melia in her seamed stockings
and heels wiggling just enough, as she crossed the beat-up linoleum floor.
Toni turned to me. I could see the wheels in her head turning. Could
it really be that Melia had turned her back on...
She started conversation to fill the silence, "I went to your house a
couple times. You really work hard for the poor."
"Well thanks. I do what I can."
Toni looked at my Armani suit with what distain she could muster. She
wore jeans almost all the time, but I had seen her dressed rather well on a
couple of occasions for fundraisers for the non-profit she was involved with.
Some people find hyprocrisy easier than others.
Not having anything more to say, Toni retreated to her office. No doubt
the bitchy comment and speculation had only just begun. But this was all that
was to it right here.
Melia returned to the table and winked at me. We ate quietly and
undisturbed
When we left the restaurant, Melia was ebullient.
"Oh, thank you Master!" she said, embraced me and kissed me. When we
got back to the car I reached up Melia's dress and finger fucked her rudely
until she came.
-----
Here are excerpts from Melia's journal after this experience:
"I just took a long shower and then shaved my cunt, my legs and armpits
for him. I painted my nails and my toenails. My comfortable cotton gown is in
the closet, now. I put my lingerie, pretty dress and high heels back on and did
my make-up carefully. It is ten o-clock at night. I am alone, but I know that
I am his whore. To please my Master, I have taken the four 'feminist' books
that I been intellectually most influenced by and I have taken pictures of women
in bondage or in submissive sexual poses and cut them out to tape over their
covers. I have placed them on the livingroom table for my Master to see. This
display is not for any other woman to see and be dismayed. This is not intended
to denigrate feminism, really. I will always be a feminist. But these are
offerings to my Master, who was man enough to see to the core of me, and will be
pleased, I know, by the message of transformation that these obscene covers
communicate.
Master does not allow me to read anything but pornography with a male
dominant S/m and B and D slant, now. Also, if I wish to watch TV, I will watch
videos he has chosen for me. I am constant, high pitched sexual arousal. I
masturbate four or five times a day. I hope that my Master will not be
offended at my impatience to move in with him and serve him totally every day.
He has told me clearly that if I am a good and obedient cunt in the next days,
he will grant me this on a trial basis.
I have thought a lot about pain this last day. I never understood what
a mashochist I am until Master hurt me for his pleasure. I don't know how much
pain I really could take, but I do know that when Master pinched my tit nipples
as hard as he could, I didn't feel it as pain in the usual way. I felt a warmth
grow in my womb which translated into incredible sexual arousal. It was as
though he had broken a barrier between the two of us and I was able to merge
with him in a way I have never experienced. Master has talked to me a bit about
his "dungeon" and about his pleasure in causing his slaves pain. I feel
instinctively that pain at his hand will only bring me closer to him and that
the pain I give him will become deep love for me. I am falling in love with
him. I am not ashamed of it."
I read Melia's letter to me with pleasure. I am a sadist and I like to
challenge a woman with pain. I feel that most cunts in the West do not know how
to be women. I suppose I have a little bit of the esoteric "Gorean" in me.
Because this is so, I feel that giving a woman a lesson in pain, carefully
arranged and controlled, allows her to get past the lies about herself and frees
her to be more womanly. As Master, I am very focused on feminine essence. I
feel that a woman is most feminine when she has given up her body and its
sensations completely into my hands and has embraced the pain I give her as a
gift.
