I don't much believe in makeup. It's fine if other women want to wear it, but I generally do not. I don't feel compelled to alter my appearance in order to appeal to romantic interests or make myself "presentable." I want a woman or a man to be drawn to me for who I am. At least, that is, if I want a relationship. Sometimes, though, that's not what I want.
Right now is one of those times. Standing here, in this noisy club, across one of those stupid, tiny, standing tables from a boring young man in his mid-20's, I can't help but think how much I don't want a relationship with him, how dull he is, and how much more interesting he could be . . . if I made him so. You see, I do use makeup. But I don't use it to alter myself in order to please others. I use it to alter others so they will please me. So, while he babbles on about whatever silly video game he thinks is so important and tries to impress me with his stats, I pull out my compact.
He doesn't notice. Doesn't think twice. He hasn't paid enough attention to realize I'm not wearing makeup. I'll admit, my outfit is rather . . . distracting. The high necked, skin-tight, black leather bodysuit does draw some attention, even in a fairly kinky place like this one. My hair is slicked back and in a high ponytail. There's a collar and chain leash dangling off my shiny, black belt. My beautiful bare feet are set off by my sparkly silver anklets, resting comfortably on each ankle, and the delicate silver toe ring on the second toe of my right foot. Yes, I suppose I can't blame him for not realizing that slipping my hand into my small, black clutch and extracting a compact does not comport with my skin's raw, unadorned beauty. But now comes the fun part.
I open the compact, then lean in like I'm very interested in what he's saying. Delicately, I lift the compact to my lips and blow. Right into his face.
Poor boy. He's so startled by the dust. He blinks rapidly, instantly dazed. I love this part.
"Are you feeling better now?" I ask him, gently. It takes him a second to reply, but he is clearly giving in, allowing the empty, vacant feeling to take over.
". . . yes . . ."
"More relaxed?" He has slipped well into trance now.
". . . yes . . ."
"Good. And you're feeling much more cooperative now. Aren't you?" His eyes stare, empty, into the middle distance.
". . . yes, i am . . ."
"That's a good boy. You can call me Mistress now."
"Excellent. Come to my side of the table and kneel at my feet."
"Yes, Mistress." Expressionless, staring blankly ahead, my latest subject rounds the table and kneels obediently before me. I always enjoy the first time they kneel. So mindless, so submissive, so completely under my control. It's lovely. I unfasten the hook on the collar and leash, placing the collar around his neck. He seems to have no idea what is happening. That's good.
"Bow down and kiss my feet, slave."
"Yes, Mistress." He bows immediately and begins kissing my bare feet. Thankfully, this is that sort of club. I cross my left leg over my right at the shins, placing the toes of my left foot on the floor and exposing my left sole. I've been here for an hour or so and I know the floor is not especially clean, but I doubt this part will kill him. I point to my sole and command, "Lick."
His obedience to my command is so quick and mindless, I know for sure I have him completely. Almost before the words "Yes, Mistress," have finished exiting his lips, I feel his tongue on the sole of my left foot, starting at the ball and licking hungrily, all the way to the heel. I slip my compact into my clutch, zip it, and pick up the purse in my left hand, his leash in my right. "Good boy. You will remain crawling on all fours until you are commanded otherwise." He drones, "Yes, Mistress," and I tug at the leash as I begin to walk. My new slave follows obediently, like my little trance puppy.
Women love dogs. You always stand a better chance hitting on a lady if you have an adorable puppy for her to pet. I lock my eyes on the lovely ginger in heels, short red dress, and black choker. I've been watching her at the bar, slipping her feet out of her heels and back in, dangling the shoes when she sits cross-legged, and clearly flirting with a girl or two. I can't wait to show her my new hypno puppy. I hope I won't have to hypnotize her to get those heels off her for the rest of the night. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Walking toward her, I gently squeeze my purse, feeling my compact inside, and make eye contact.