He Was the Perfect Seduction...And Now the Last Good-bye

A little video audio for the way I feel right now;

http://vimeo.com/49881094

He was the perfect Seduction.

And now we have said our last good-bye’s .

My heart still doesn’t understand why. In my heart we were the perfect match, perfect lovers; he was the perfect amount of crazy to my fairy wonderland fantasy life. He understood where I dwelled and annunciated My intellect.

He always dressed in black, but not in a gothic way, always in the perfect European stylish way. Occasionally he would throw in a light grey t-shirt. He always had his jewelry; a few wrist pieces, rings, a few necklaces. This always pleased my inner aestheticism. And his smell….FUCK HIS SMELL. I could just smell that smell and fall back in love with him. His stance, always confident and cocky, his words elevated and silly, expressing creative concepts beyond normal reality. We liked the same music, played on the same edges of reality. Fuck we could even hang at burningman together. But he didn’t want me. Not in the way that I wanted him. My heart-break just continued on with each communication that he couldn’t live out. His integrity is shit. He could make solid plans with everyone except me…I was always the maybe mark on his calendar.

So we said our last good-bye. It’s really over this time. I know it’s for the best, but my heart doesn’t understand why he can’t just pick me up in his black range rover, we can blast some beats and we can just ride into the sunset laughing our asses off together. I feel like he threw away love. I feel like he didn’t honor, value or cherish it. I feel like this beautiful and rare opportunity to be in this loving joy was just flushed down the toilet. And for a lover (beyond everything that’s what I am) I still don’t understand. 

“Are You All Mine?” The Tactics of a Professional Seductress

Sitting on my Virgin America airplane ride on my third work trip to New York. I always enjoy it when people ask me why I’m going to New York. I always reply with the simple words,

“To work.”

And then they ask “What do you do?

“I’m a dominatrix.” I’ve started to embrace this term more and more.

Yes I am going to New York to get paid; to get paid for my powers to deeply seduce men into submission. I have never had so much fun in my life as I’ve had in this work.

I wasn’t sure that I could do this, welcome strangers into my tiny rented studios, and be the glamorous girl in my ad; to live up to the expectation to put them under my spell where they completely release into euphoria. To make men behave and do as they’re told. But two weeks and many clients later, I think I’ve succeeded.

The Empire State Building was lit up in the colors of the Lust Angel; Lauviah’s favorite color; a luminous fuscia pink, that made the tip of the building look like a glowing neon tit. It turned the entire city into a Freudian euphemism of desire; we all yearned to suck on our mother’s tit. We all yearned for romance; that special someone to wine and dine. I, on the other hand wasn’t looking for that someone to fulfill that need; I am just more in the spirit of love, of being the Romancer. I, in the demeanor of the Angel of Lust herself, acted to be the object of desire for all those unfulfilled and hungry sexual desires which are attached to men’s groins. Yes I could just say cock…but anyone can please a cock. I aim to romance a man, seduce him completely, to have him quivering in my presence.

My second client in NY was George, a traveling businessman from Illinois. He seemed normal on the phone, and thought he was just coming in for a 90 minute massage. If only he knew when he called me he would be helpless in my presence. He was the perfect subject for all of my weapons of seduction.

George arrived on time, in a tan jacket, business suit and suitcase. After walking in my door and meeting eyes, he was under the enchanting powers of his mistress. With knees buckling beneath him, I embraced his 5 foot 9 inch and built frame. George was in great shape; every inch of him was muscle. Yet he was completely helpless against me. A sensual sadist, I greatly enjoy this sexual power exchange.

We moved to the bedroom, and now he was just down to his business shirt and pants, his shoes removed. My hands instinctively reached for the back of his neck, and I felt like how a cat grabs a cub; once he was in my grip, he might as well have been a 2 pound kitten; every single muscle in his body loosened up, and he collapsed onto the bed.

This was going to be fun. Rarely do I find someone who is in complete submission so immediately, who is utterly and completely mine, and now all I have to do is play him like Bach or Beethoven plays the piano; depending on my mood in the moment. George received my complete artistry, and wasn’t playing a role; the best seductions are authentic; we aren’t acting, and he couldn’t reverse his emotions if he tried.

The rest of the scene involved slowly unbuttoning his business shirt, one button at a time. After removing the shirt, I enjoy testing the nipples to see how sensitive they are; biting, sucking, slapping. I command my submissive into complete stillness, creating an energetic bondage, imaginary ropes, and if my subject moves their hands or touches their cock without permission they are punished; usually with a little strap of leather called the “slut slapper” a surprisingly simple yet effective tool which doesn’t require much skill and removes any room for error in the aim of the blow.

Another tactic of this love Mistress (I enjoy more contact than most Dommes) is to pin my subject down with my body. So with my knees pressing into his shoulders, pussy hovering above his mouth, teasing his face, spitting in his mouth, then reaching around and tapping his cock. Asking questions like

“Are you all mine, George?”

“Yes Mistress”

“Is your body mine?”

“Yes Mistress”

“Is your heart mine?”

“Yes Mistress it’s all yours.”

“Is your cock mine?”

“Yes you can do anything you want with me, use me any way you please.”

Most men want to be used as my pleasure toy. Rarely do I take full advantage of the situation because just the temptation of fucking me alone often holds much more power than satisfying their every desire; I always want to leave them wanting more.

After digging my hands into George, slapping him thoroughly and testing his pain threshold, I stood him up, business pants at his ankles, and pulled down his boxer shorts. I love the slight humiliation of pulling down their underpants and not completely undressing them all the way; the awkwardness makes them feel insecure and helpless.

His firm and round ass facing me, his hands are on the massage table, his body once again an offering to my pleasure tactics. The palms of my hands swing to make contact with his firm buttocks. I slap him until he’s red, his body shaking, his psyche reduced. Yes part of BDSM is a power exchange; he agrees to give me the seat of control, and through this increased weakness, this helpless state of service to my pleasure, a good submissive will fall into a state of surrender, similar to a feeling of lightly falling, which becomes deeply Euphoric; there are no thoughts, only sensation, mostly the sensation of pleasure and a heightened state of awareness.

After giving him a good slap around, I tell George that I must feel what it’s like to be inside him. I don’t believe that he’s been penetrated in the ass before, but I wanted him to KNOW viscerally that when my finger is deep inside me, how completely mine he was.

Gloves on, lubed up, I tease and titillate the outside of his anus to warm up to the ever so slow and slightest pressure inside his anus. He quivers and shakes, squirms. I go in deeper, exploring more of this unexposed part of him. Nothing is more satisfying as a Domme than to have a man in this way; if I had a cock, it would be fucking him in the ass, but since my finger is the closet penetrative object with nerve endings , it is the next best thing. I feel his warm, orgasmic pulsating insides. The experience isn’t completely pleasurable to him; it’s slightly awkward and painful. I coax my finger slowly in and out with a “come hither” motion, similar to how a man would coax a woman’s G-spot.  With his ass facing me, I have to turn my finger downward facing to make adequate contact with his Prostate. I don’t have a prostate, but according to Yogic anatomy of the body, this point is the “X marks the spot” of the pleasure response super energetic highway. There are 72,000 Nadis or energetic pathways in the body, your Central Channel in the spinal column being the major one. When stimulated properly, the Prostate has the potential to open up all of these channels. I coax him into his sweet spot, he’s writhing in orgasmic pleasure, while my other hands reach around and pulls at his cock. Slap, pull, push, penetrate. He’s blissfully helpless against me.

I can’t exactly recall how I finished him off, how long the teasing went on, nor how long I prolonged his experience. But one thing is for sure, that when he did finally come, I told him to give it to me. That I wanted it, that his cum juice was mine. All mine. Give it to me. That it was a sign of his devotion to his Mistress, a signal of how much he desires me and wants to please me.

This wasn’t quite enough for him. George needed and wanted more. I took him to the shower, still not allowing him to touch me. Bowing down before me in the water, the drops running down my naked frame, his mouth at a perfect height to lick my perfect flower.  

I still don’t let him have it. He must jerk off bowing down before me staring at my pussy lips. So close, dangling the crown jewel before him in the shower while he agonizingly strokes himself off again.

George is in love with me. The spell was never broken since he walked in the door. He doesn’t want to leave, but I can’t hang out with him all day.

He dries himself off, reluctantly gets dressed and asks me,

“When am I going to see you again?”

The honest answer to this question is probably never. He lives in Illinois, I live in California and his work only takes him to the East Coast. I suppose peak experiences can’t happen every day. I give George a heartfelt hug good-bye and this businessman is sent back out into the world.

Hurt, Rage and Processing Through Sadistic Desires

And of course it’s over but I have to continuously remind myself WHY the fuck he’s an insanely insensitive egotistical self involved asshole.

Bunny invites me to a couple things over the last few weeks. We have repeatedly said to each other “stop contacting me.” And somehow we keep talking. It never ends well.

He called to invite me to the Edwardian ball. I declined, I was going to SF for a different party. I could feel myself falling back in love with the sweetness of his voice. My cells are trying to let this go. I cannot allow myself another heroin fix. No. Just so he can break my heart again. No.

Then he texts the next day and invites me over to his Malibu hang out with his two Domme’s to come and fuck them with a strap on and come sit on his cock. No. Once again the answer is a fuck no. I respond with a much more violent proposition that I cut his dick off and make him suck it. That would please my evil sadistic side. I tell him that I can’t believe that he even has a cock still, that his ex should have cut it off and taken it with her to Italy. He doesn’t even deserve to have one.

I go to SF, I party, I dance, I shop, I fuck. All in the day’s life of a seductress…

Bunny hates denial. He starts texting me again with these stupid bullshit words like

“I gave you my soul!”

Ha. He gave me his soul yet he can’t give me the time of day. Well take your soul back bunny. I don’t want it anymore.

After all this soul talk, and talk that “we are going to see each other” which actually means I’m going to make fake plans with you and then disappear and not answer your phone calls or texts. I know this game all too well.

I find myself at the Chateau Marmot Monday night with some clients, just days after this soul talk. So I’m thinking he wants to see me. I smell him, faintly the entire time I’m there. I know I’m going to see him. My intuition is always much stronger than his….

And for some fucked up reason I need to hurt myself again. I text him.

“I’m at the Chateau Marmont, you?”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Oh so he doesn’t respond to me in days but he’s meeting someone else at the Chateau and apparently forgot that he told me he would meet up with me at some point.

“Are you meeting someone else?”

“yes.”

“Ok well I guess that means we aren’t seeing each other then.”

“No problem.”

“Actually it is a problem. You give me your soul but you can’t have a conversation?!”

No response. That’s it . I don’t see him walk in, like all too many times he tells me he’s coming somewhere and never does.

I text him “It’s done. It’s over. For good. I’m blocking your number.”

No response. From a human who doesn’t feel things, who can so easily cut people he cares about out of his life. Just as good. I’m over it.

I never get around to calling at and t to block his number.

A week goes by.

I do a kinky photo shoot on Saturday with a friend of mine, and take very naughty nude fetish photos. I know the way to get attention from bunny is through kinky shit.

I send him a photo at three in the morning. He calls me, pretending it’s all good between us.

“so why are you sending me this picture? What do you want me to do with this picture of your pussy?”

“It’s just art.”

He thought it was a booty call proposition. He really is just in response to his bodily desires. Drugs and pussy.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in venice with a friend of mine.”

“do you have mdma?”

“yes.”

“ok well let’s meet up and party.”

“I can’t do that right now.”

I hang up the phone slightly thereafter. He calls back twice. I don’t answer because I’m hanging with my photographer friend who I owe my undivided presence to since he just shot these brilliant and kinky photos of me for free.

Bunny texts a few more times and says

“you win. Bravo!”

and then a few moments later decides that I don’t win. That I am shit. That because I didn’t give him what he wanted in that moment, that he has the right to diss me, my art, that my photos are shit and that I am somehow beneath him.

“Why don’t you tie yourself to a piano and take a picture of that. Let me see that!”

One final call on Sunday. We begin the conversation civilly, like what am I doing, do I want to meet up on Melrose or something like that. I tell him I can’t meet up right now (wow that’s like 5 or 6 No’s in a row!) and he’s pissed. He’s yelling and screaming into the phone that he’s totally sick of this. Well I am too. Sick of someone saying sweet things to me and having absolutely no follow through with any of it. No intention of actually loving me. He can’t offer me anything. Just twisted fucked up heart games and he doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s a player.

“no more roses, no more ‘I love you’s’ nothing. Don’t sweet talk me anymore, understand?!”

He’s not used to a strong woman telling him to fuck off.

We both commence that It’s over.

I tell him I want nothing from him. He wants nothing from me.

Done deal. Finally over.

I take out the pain on my submissive.

I meet with him last night (a story that will be posted soon.)

We smoke pot and I am lying in his bed, and all of my feelings finally come to the surface. I’m kind of just over men. I’m over men wanting women for their sexuality. Even though my Wolfie says that he loves me, that he cares for me, and does, he still wants inside my pussy.

Why can’t men get their dicks under control??

I’m just over it. I burst into tears. I’m convulsing in pain. I feel like my insides are being ripped apart, ripped open, that I have an open wound that is being stretched and contorted out of my chest. That tears and pain are shredding me. Even though I want sex, pleasure and love, I’m just fucking over it.

Wolfie, the man next to me who is supposed to be there for me, for my every desire still wants me to please his is trying to comfort me, trying to justify things. Every word drives my pain deeper. I don’t want an explanation or justification for anything. I just want to be able to feel this pain to the end. Sometimes a man just needs to shut up and hold a woman.  It’s just not the way it fucking works.

Once I am done crying I want to scream. I want to yell and punch something.

My submissive says that I can take it out on his balls.

Ok.

I twist them, contort them, slap his ass and some kind of erotic cathartic release starts to happen. I get turned on in my rage. I writhe all over him.

I’ve had him in cock control for over a month now. He hasn’t come in two weeks. I don’t really care. He’s going to wait longer. I don’t feel like helping him out in that department. I tell him he can pick one of his slaves (he’s used to being in charge) can suck him off.

“but my Queen, I haven’t come in two weeks.”

I raise my voice. “have you slave suck you off on Friday. It’s an order.”

“Ok that was pretty clear.”

We go to sleep, hand in hand. I feel Wolfie’s love for me. I feel the support. I just can’t be everything to everybody all the time. Sometimes I have to be the little girl with all the loose strings and have someone else hold it all together for me.

I’m moving slowly today. Taking care of the bare minimum. I feel like I should yell and scream and shout, that I have this huge gaping pain in my chest. Like I could burst into tears and rage at any moment. And I still feel like If I could see him that somehow we would lock eyes and fall in love and laugh at ourselves. But that can’t happen. Maybe I would just kick him in the balls and spit on his face. But he might like that too much.