It all had begun several months before I texted him that message.

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A man I knew told me about an online forum in which submissive men would come to fantasise, read posts, or share experiences. He told me about that “weird” place because he was there, and he wanted to share, enthusiastically, some of his stories…. with me.

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I didn’t expect such a confession from him. I never imagined that he could speak openly to people about his kink, much less to strangers online, and yet he was doing just that. He dared to share my existence with others, and I knew by his guilty attitude that he felt proud when his “co-perverts” on the forum commented favourably on his posts.

Of course, he confessed his misbehaviour to me because of his weakness. Most men tend to think with their genitals instead of their brains most of the time, and they end speaking too much and trapping themselves, like the idiots they are.

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Staring at a man seriously, listening attentively, and talking just a bit is sometimes enough to make him become like crystal water when he is under your power. Just a few more words are sufficient to push them yet further, and a kinky little smile or a suggestive comment leads them into ‘the trap’; and once more, it worked perfectly well with my tall “little thing”, a banker working for a hedge fund in the city unable to resist me since the moment he saw me in a fancy bar waiting for a friend from my childhood.

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That evening I learned about the “cyber fantasies room” where he had been posting for several months, long before meeting me.

 

His profile had won a lot of success among his “co-perverts,” and I insisted that he show me on his smartphone what he had been writing and on whose posts he was commenting. What I read was a surprise indeed. Reading about his happiness when I made him miserable or when I humiliated him was like being Alice in the Wonderland, opening a magical door leading to the unknown.

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Merely knowing something, knowing how much he liked to be humiliated and drained, was not the same as reading his own words, and then penetrating into his feelings and impressions. Reading the arousal that his words provoked among those people commenting upon his paragraphs came to me as a shock. These men don’t know me, they’ve never seen anything from me, and yet they are all dreaming about me, fantasising about me, and dying to worship me.

After I read that I made him write a new post; “I’m with her now, obeying her” was the title. What I commanded was pretty simple: “Write and describe what’s happening now” - and that’s what he did in his blunt style. After not even five minutes later, just in the time, it took for him to stand up from the floor, go to the bar, and order me a new cocktail while facing the bartender, a first comment was added behind his post.

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He came back to sit on the floor next to me, like a little pet, and he showed me the post before he even read it.

Taking his phone I read the comment, and the style quite blunt. A man with a stupid nickname, feeling very horny wrote that was “just so hot,” that he couldn’t resist stroking his cock, that he was jealous of my toy-banker, and that he too wished that he also could be at my feet.

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My eyes opened wide as I read that shocking and yet amusing comment. I was sure he was stroking, and so I made my pet add another comment: “She is reading everything – all of this.”

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I guess that was the green light the lurkers all needed. During the next hour, several new comments arrived. Some disgusting ones made me laugh; some others were cute; but most of them just said they were dying to serve me, like a bunch of pilgrims in the middle age after the Virgin Mary suddenly appeared in front of them. Instantly, virtually, they were all at my feet, ready to do anything for me, offering me everything, and pledging absolute devotion to me as their supreme Goddess.

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Yes, there can be absolute power for women in this world. A woman can have it all with just a raised finger; they all come, like poor little puppies seeking for their mistress. All of those people, it was evident to me, were now aroused simply from being told that I was there reading, and, no matter whether that was true or false, my short sentence was a kind of electroshock for them, whipping up their fantasies and making me the object of their adoration.

Of course, I had to punish my ‘little thing’s misbehaviour. Daring to share something about me, even if most of his comments reflected his personal feelings, was entirely unacceptable, and no matter how much I enjoyed the back-and-forth and no matter how much I loved the intoxicating sense of absolute power over those unknown strangers (typing and stroking behind their computer screens), I couldn’t let his audacity go unpenalized. How could my pet allow himself to slip into such misbehaviour?

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Half past six is always when London’s bars start getting busy, even at fancy places like the Berkeley Hotel where we were. It’s the perfect time for a pet to be sitting on the floor beside his mistress’s feet so visible that people coming in can’t avoid noticing the scene and starting to make comments which the pet can feel deeply, piercing his ego. It was the perfect time for me to gently put my foot on his cock, already half hard, and by pressing with my heel, hurting both his flesh and his vanity in front of those people seated not so far away in the main room of the bar, most of whom who were watching and whispering.

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“Write it, you slut. Write to your friends and describe how miserable you are now feeling because of your misbehaviour”

Meekly he nodded his head, accepted my command, and switched on his phone, ready to write a post describing what was happening to him right there in the Berkeley Hotel.

While he was writing his post, I was pressing my heel into his cock, and I then gave him an order to hurry, informing him that I was planning to keep pushing harder with my heel until he had first finished writing and then emptied his wallet, putting all his cash on the table for me.

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The poor little thing was really in pain with my high heel hurting his penis, now fully hard. Once he had finished and had posted his comment on the forum, he had to cross the large room to order a new cocktail for me and to pay our bill in full.

He did that, obediently, feeling ashamed and humiliated, having to have to walk holding his credit card in front of him with just two fingers, being watched (and mocked) by all the people around us.

Of course, I had no intention of drinking another cocktail. I just wanted to further humiliate him, exposing him in front of everyone since it was easy to notice his erection under the fabric of his trousers. I just took a sip of the tasty margarita that he’d brought me, stood up, said we are leaving and told him that he had better order a cab for me.

He was already out of my mind by then. Since I was only thinking about that forum -- like a spoiled girl who wanted to open right away all the presents under a Christmas tree, no matter whether or not they were not meant to be hers. I wanted them all; I wanted to own them all.

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How much fun could my pathetic banker bring to me when there was, right there, a sea full of fun fishes all craving to be mine, to worship me, and to give me anything and everything?

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Just before getting into the cab I gave him a task: to buy that very same day a chastity cage. Further, I forbade him either stroking or touching himself in any way before his cock was properly locked. I jumped into the car, closed the door, and left him there, not knowing what to do and feeling stupid. My only goal was to join that playground I had just discovered. The kinky Internet… what a beautiful invention!

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From the moment he showed me that online forum my banker vanished from my mind. I have no idea if he noticed that or if he felt even more insignificant, but I was quite happy with my discovery and forgot to pay attention to him. All that power was there, with a flock of little pets dying and begging to be mine; that was just insane and beautiful. How could I resist? I had to be there among them, and I was impatient to get home so that I could create a profile and start digging into the vast internet ocean of kinky sexuality.

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But what could I write? Should I just create a mistress profile for myself and comment on my banker’s post saying “Hi there, I’m here now, come, come” like some Pied Piper of Hamelin, or should I just watch at first? I felt lost, riding in that cab that was bringing me home, and I knew I might not have time enough to meet my two friends for a girls’ night out as planned. And of course, London’s traffic was not helping me. After we had passed The Mall and Trafalgar Square nearing Victoria Embankment, we got stuck at the Somerset House.

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Despite the gray weather of those days of autumn, London traffic was boiling as usual at this time of day, but I was in my own little bubble, away from anything and not even caring about the traffic I hated. Taking my phone from my purse, I unlocked it and launched the browser. Why wait, especially knowing that I could be stuck here for hours?

I had, of course, already received some messages from my pet as well as one from my current lover, and I just ignored all of them for now.

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Was the driver looking at me when my phone showed me the webpage that I was looking for? Did he see my bright smile or sense the excitement I was anticipating from my games to come? I was certainly too absorbed by my phone’s screen to notice. I was there, online, registering.

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A nickname? Mistress … of course was already taken… Mmmm I couldn’t put my name of course, so I had to find something new. I had never actually thought about a new name for myself. But what if I was not a mistress but a princess instead? It sounded better. Royalty: poetic and lovely. Yes, that was much better, but just “princess” was also already taken. Perhaps “Divine Princess” to make it easier in just one word… Would it work? It did!

I was in, finally! Ready to start fishing, I first needed to check and see if there were any new comments below my banker’s post.

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As my cab passed Monument, it slowed down again a bit, though we were still moving. The driver was indeed looking at me. He saw my disappointment due to the traffic and, wanting to be kind, he reassured me, saying that once we were in Tower Hill, the traffic should be more fluid from there to my destination. Absorbed in reading the new comments, I just thanked him, told him I was hoping not to be late, and kept reading.

He had posted. “She left me at the entrance of the hotel asking me to immediately buy myself a chastity cage and then to lock myself in.” ‘Holy S***.’ I thought to myself, “He is still writing all that’s happening even since I left him standing there. That’s sweet!”

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And again I faced the same dilemma: Should I comment on his post saying who I really am, or should I be discreet?

I thought, “After all, I do like to be spoiled, and he is such a good pay-pig, trying to please me all the time and happily giving me the money I need, or that I just want.” Usually he just humbly asked to be allowed to give me his money, and when I refused, he started to seem anxious and even scared. “Perhaps I should be soft for now, and see first how it all works, keeping a low profile. Then I could even trap him, pretending to be someone else and then I could make him cheat on me with a virtual me so that then I could then punish him -- or even better drag him into a wild blackmail adventure, using his guilt as leverage.”

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I knew I’d enjoy doing what I was thinking! I posted. “I like your Mistress. I should probably meet her so that together we might whip you.” I sent that message just as the cab passed the King Edward VII, Memorial Park. And now what? Would I have to wait long? I didn’t dare guess.

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My ‘little boy’ texted me a minute later asking me if I had a preference. Huh? Preference for what? I had totally forgotten him. Peering into my phone, I then saw that he had sent me pictures of three different cages, apparently in that sex shop where he had gone after I left the hotel. I had been ignoring him. I asked him to purchase the metal cage, hoping all the metal detectors would humiliate him for me each time that he went into a shop, and told him to put the device on immediately after he arrived back home.

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Switching then to my web browser, I updated the forum (using my new identity), noticing that someone already had replied to my comment. “So hot!!!!” Shakespeare could not have put it any better! Since the idea of two dominant women whipping my loser-worm seemed ‘so hot’ I decided to find out what ‘two mistresses’ could get a weak man to do. I wrote under my new persona: “I dare you to put on your new cage in the shop.” Now I watched to see which command he would obey... Mine, commanding to wear his cage once he got home, or the order of a ‘wild unknown new Mistress’ daring him to wear it now, immediately, right there in the shop?

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Men are weak and often erratic. They walk down the street holding their wife’s (or girlfriend’s) and can’t seem to resist every floating skirt that passes by; they just have to look and then to desire the owner of that skirt. Some males are very discreet and want other women without showing any sign, and others, classic jerks we could say, turn and follow the girl walking by, drooling and staring at her legs. It’s their nature, I guess; God used men as His prototype of the human race and put their brains between their legs: two little eggs inside of a sack of skin. No doubt my ‘little thing’ would be tempted by the “new skirt” that I had created. I thought, ” I really hope he will be weak enough to fall into my trap.”