I’ve opened every Tits and Sass article I’ve written by talking about how disgruntled I am. Let’s not stop now. To reiterate, I got into this industry largely out of desperation, found the niche I hate the least (pro-switching) and currently spend half my time building my business and the other half trying not to tear it down. Needless to say, I was pretty sure that I didn’t have any goals to accomplish before retiring. Then I saw Johanna’s plan to get a pug, and it hit me hard, in the face, like a flogger thrown by a jackass client: I must go out on an epic troll spree. Here’s my equivalent of scamming a dog out of a rich dude and running:
1. Change my working name to Mistress Meghan Julie Rhoda Murphy Bindel Grant
…Esquire. If a client fails to address me by my full name, I will revoke all of his human rights. You know, for his own good.
2. Figure out a way to sell just about anything as a fetish item.
Should I throw this old sweatshirt in the Goodwill pile? No, I’ll just rub it with onions and period panties and sell it as Mistress’s hot, smelly workout clothes. (LOL. Me. Work out.) Is it time to toss this old toothbrush? No, it’s time to go on Ebanned, and post about Madame’s filthy little butt tickler. Should I take out the cat litter? Don’t be silly; that poop is for the pathetic slaves who aren’t good enough for the Queen’s own chocolate. Put it in some Tupperware and ship it!
I’m a gorgeous, talented young Domme with legs for days and fists like little empanadas. Experience and learning of hundreds of people and their dogs. My facilities are state-of-the-art. I rent from Scampi, New York’s hottest dungeon. And the hospital. Opened in 1997 by missing Florida woman Lisa Martinez, it’s conveniently located in the middle of the East River, and it has everything: glass, steam, bear traps, hopscotch, double dutch, mesh bladder implants, and the table from Charlie Rose. Keep keep keep keep keep keep keep keep keep.
- into your cereal boxes and eat your cereal.
- introduce balloon
- that thing of when someone calls Miss Piggy ‘fat,’ and she goes, “Hiiii-ya!”
- draw the details of the mouth
- MOVE THINGS
- that thing of when you’re on the train and you sit between two guys in FUBU jackets
And if you’re thinking of building a tiny house, I can. Doubles are available with some of the city’s most talented Dommes: frat boy guru D-bag Chopra, narcoleptic drag queen Snoozin’ Lucci, and a lady who works at CVS, but do not bother her because she is on break.
We speak and breathe everything.
4. When a client says, “Do whatever you want, Mistress,” I actually do it.
Every sex worker knows that “Let’s do whatever you want” is passive-aggressive man-boy code for, “I want you to want the same things as I do, but I won’t tell you what they are.” Normally, I pretend not to even hear those requests, but my last session will be an exception.
“Whatever I want?” I’ll coo.
“Yes, Miss,” he’ll reply.
“All right then.” Before he can blink, he’ll be gagged and tied to the bed with my sturdiest rope. The anticipation will be killing him; he’ll be loving every second of it. “I’m going to get changed into something a bit more comfortable”
“Nhhmmhmmm,” he’ll say.
I’ll grab my civilian clothes and head into the bathroom. “What I really want, John,” I’ll exclaim, “is to not have to convince you that I’m turned on by the same specific fetishes that you like so much, to not have to pretend that I enjoy looking at your saggy old naked self, to no longer have to put up with your emotionally needy, self-indulgent whining and your smelly breath.”
“WHAGUMPHUHPPPPHH???,” I’ll hear him protest.
“You’re right, that’s more what I don’t want to do than what I do want.” I’ll allow him to struggle in silence for a long, awkward minute before emerging fully clothed. “So what do I want? Well, I want this new job I have now that I really like.” I’ll pause again, packing my bag and fixing my hair. “And I want you to understand how frustrating and ridiculous it is for me to pretend I’m ‘dominating’ you, when I have to put up with your rude, obnoxious self just to pay my rent.”
He’ll be trying mightily to get out of his bondage at this point, but I’ll just laugh. A really mean, crazy laugh. Then I’ll sigh. “I also want to go home now and eat this pint of Ben & Jerry’s I’ve had for a hot minute and probably watch some old episodes of The Simpsons, so I’m just gonna head out now. Make sure to tip the maid A LOT for having to find you like this tomorrow morning, because God knows she doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this either.”
And then I’ll make my grand exit.