Violette Thorngate Exquisite Dominance

Mar 6 2010 A One-Woman Girl GangCategory: General     11:28AM   0

Black cuban heel stockings; check.

Needle-thin, mile-high stilettos; check.
Opera length black satin gloves; check.

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor to reveal him standing in a warm coat, just in from the single-digit cold of a midwestern winter. I smile and offer a hand, swish past him to the hotel's restaurant. Together on the same side of the banquette, I crossed and uncrossed my legs, rubbed the stockings together audibly, dangled my shoe. We chatted happily about food and travel, and when the conversation turned to fitness, he made the mistake of chuckling at my strength.

"Put your hand on my thigh, feel the muscle." I instructed.

As he squeezed the thigh closest to him, I crossed my legs tightly over his hand, trapping him there. Suddenly nervous of the other diners and our overly-attentive server, his eyes darted all around. I held his wrist for further security and draped a napkin across my lap.

"Still doubt my strength, sweetie? You'll finish your meal one-handed."

Aroused and confused, he dropped his fork several times. I allowed him his hand back only after I had finished eating, and only then so we might retire to the room for a further test of my superiority.

After a nightcap on the sofa, he confessed that this blind date wasn't quite what he expected. His cousin had said I was tough, but he didn't think she meant it so literally. Most first dates do not include being bullied, pushed around, slapped, kicked. He tried to leave several times, only to be dragged back, tooth and nail, and forced into humiliating positions. At some point, his protests became ridiculous and I had to tie him up with nylons, sit astride him, and teach him what a strong, aggressive, dominating woman can do with her bare feet alone.

Now, fully conquered, he squirms under my stockinged feet, willing to do anything and everything I say.

"Apologize for your nasty, sexist mouth! Beg for my forgiveness for your underestimation of my power!"

I feel like Xena, like an Amazon, like an Eric Stanton drawing. I stand over him, one foot over his throat and the other crushing his balls. A one-woman girl gang. A force of divine womanly power.

"WHO is in control?"

"You are."

(It's hard to understand him; I'm rubbing my foot over his face, covering his mouth.)

"I said, WHO is the boss of you?"

"YOU are, Miss!"

"Say it again, worm!"

"You are the Superior Being, Miss!"

"Are you going to do anything I say, you little rat?"

"Yes, whatever you want, Miss!"

"Show me."

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