Bringing you to the edge, standing with you at the abyss
The request came on a beautiful sunny day in Los Angeles. This was someone I’ve known since the very beginning of my career as a Dominatrix, back when I went as Mistress Niko and worked for a dungeon in Downtown Manhattan. We had an electric connection from the very first time we met. He was visiting LA, staying at the Chateau Marmont. Might I be available?
He was a man of intense and intensely abject perversions. I’ve always had an appreciation for this particular kind of submissive; one who comes to me with a clarity of purpose, knowing just what they want and allowing me full creative control to take them there.
We’d had many sessions of increasing intensity, playing with his particular fetish. But this time, I had an inkling I could take him even further. I knew he had expressed an interest in playing with Miss Mae Ling, also an LA-based Dominatrix. I plotted to bring her into the session halfway through.
We began. I had him kneel before me. This small act of devotion, I always relish. I look him over, attuning myself to his breathing. With deliberate slowness, I begin locking him down, blindfolding him, and securing him to the heavy wooden dining room table of that lovely little hotel suite. Ankles chained together, wrists linked to ankles, collar looped through the chains.
I toy with his senses. I could feel his apprehension mixed with anticipation, unsure of whether I’d deliver another stroke of my whip, or run my nails over the tender, blushing skin of his back. I kept him in this state, eager and disoriented, for a while. Langurously, I remove a boot and extend my foot to his face. His desperate tongue worked around each toe.
Then, a soft knock at the door. Mistress Mae was here. I had never met her before and here she was, dressed in a slinky black mesh number, carrying a portable toilet seat.
The rest of the session I only remember in flashes. The sweet release and gush of piss in an endless stream all over his eager, willing body. Mae and I moving together with a roll of plastic wrap to encase him, until I look down and he is mummified inside a heady layer of filth. I feel an undeniable surge of awe, almost divine, well up inside me. The world had narrowed to one point. There was nothing else.
I found myself speaking. “Do you know that some people lose control of their bowels as they give birth?” Ever so gently, from his cocoon, he indicated that he did.
“And some do as they die. This is how you came into this world, and this is how you’ll go out. Covered in your filth.”
Weeks later, he writes me that this may be the closest he’ll ever come to experiencing heaven in this lifetime. True, glorious, violent rapture.
