Trashed

I like wearing form-fitting clothing when I'm in my Back Bay condo. It makes me feel sexy and powerful and so after awakening I put on an opaque body suit from Wolford. It cradles each and every curve of my body. Some nameless jerkoff loser bought it for me last month.

I spend most of the morning reclining in bed, reading the new Jami Attenberg novel, whilst surfing The Madewell website, because even though they aren't very expensive I love their shit. I also purchase a new pair of Gucci pumps for an absurd price.

Just before it's time to get ready, I log onto my various pay sites and check on my revenue. I break into a victorious smile. I made over $1,400 yesterday. All but $500 of this was from on-line trolls who buy me stuff because I'm beautiful. I clear over $150k annually from this annuity type of business. It's like taking candy from a baby, but not as fun or satisfying as the living, breathing ATM that I have an appointment with today.

I linger over a hot shower, and then select a dark gray pinstriped suit from my walk-in closet, along with black pantyhose and matching gray Steve Madden heels. No way would I use my expensive heels when I'm busting junk.

The skirt is cut barely above my knees, and makes me look more like a businesswoman than what I actually am. My goal is to appear ladylike to the core, and to offer my client only a tiny hint of the beauty that he will never get to experience. I also take the time to put my hair back in a ponytail. It is in this way that I remain completely dignified, as is my birthright as a dominant Female.

I could take the highway to my appointment, but I'm enamored with my new Lexus and so I take a more leisurely jaunt down Storrow Drive. I'm listening to a new audio book --Naomi Wolff's Vagina: A New Biography. The book confirms what I have subconsciously felt about my own Vagina and my mind drifts, as it so often does, to the beautiful, incomparable space between my legs, which rests comfortably on soft leather, nestled in white satin. I swear it knows when it has a job to do and I can't help but glance down and smile in anticipation of what is to come. It is my co-conspirator in all this and I can feel it urging me to inflict maximum damage and to show no remorse.

My meditation is temporarily distracted by the jingle of my iPhone. It's my mom thanking her for the money I sent her. We have come a long way from the year Dad left and we nearly killed each other. I'll never forget how mad she was when I told her I wasn't going to college until I explained to her that I had no interest in learning useless bullshit for four years so I could work for some corporate stoolie who would pretend to be nice to me and stare at my ass when I'm not looking. And so, whilst other people wasted time and money for four years, I read two books a week. I'll gladly match intellects with any Ivy League chick. One of my closest girlfriends went to Harvard and she does the same thing I do only it cost me far less to achieve this same success. We're both happy, so it's all good.

By the time I arrive at my client's shitty condominium complex, I'm five minutes late. I sit in my car, keeping him waiting, whilst applying makeup (Diorshow mascara, Chanel everything else). I am always impeccably groomed for these sessions by design. It's essential to illustrate the contrast between genders. I study my face in the rearview mirror. You could never tell I was doing shots with the girls late last night at Storyville. LOL, that pop music they play is so shitty, but it is fun to dance to. I nod my head in self-approval. It's go-time.

Stu is a moderately successful (read: not that successful) 40-year-old banker who pays me to come to his mediocre condo and sexually abuse him. Each time I have visited him, I have added a few little innovations and also reduced the time I've had to spend putting him in his place. What once took an hour now only takes 35 minutes. But don't let the time confuse you. I'm very thorough.

Some may wonder how I can treat a human being (it's debatable) with such contempt. When I first began training Stu, he confessed to me that he and his loser friends love to talk trash about "pocket rocket blondes" like me, and that he felt ashamed about the things he said. I made him confess the details of his disrespect, which boiled down to him objectifying young women. "We all talk about your, uh, cunt, and what we would like to do with it," he stammered, as I resisted the impulse to laugh and kept a straight face.

"And what do you do when you think about my Cunt, Stuart?"

"I uh, masturbate."

"You masturbate."

"Yes, Ma'am."

My response to this pathetic disclosure was to stare him down whilst he blushed and avoided eye contact until I ordered him to look at me and listen "very fucking carefully." Then, I informed him that he was no longer permitted to use the word, "Cunt," or any synonym of that word in my presence, I told him that he deserved to feel ashamed and I promised him that I'd make quite sure he paid for his transgressions. To help him understand the reality of his situation I pinched his ear and got up in his face so he could smell my perfume. In my sweetest voice, I laid it all out for him: "Let me be as clear as possible. I can be very, very vindictive. You know this from having viewed my website and so it seems pretty clear you need a young Woman like me to take control of your finances and your life. Am I right?" When he meekly agreed, I laughed and added, "You're going to regret ever having met me, you fucking jerkoff loser."

Reprogramming Stu was easy after that. I have met with him several times now and he has paid me thousands of dollars. In return, I have taught him some extremely harsh and memorable lessons. Like so many males, he was raised under the false premise that he belongs to the superior gender. He makes these groans of incredulity when I sexually abuse him. His eyes adopt this far-off look of sheer disbelief that he has been so violated by a Female. I always make sure to take a photograph when I'm finished with him. These pictures never fail to generate a good laugh between me and my gal pals.

Today, when I enter his unlocked condo, Stu is lying buck naked on his back in his living room. Per my instructions, he is wiggling his hips and grunting like a pig. With one hand he finger-fucks his ass and I'm sure you can guess what he's doing with the other hand.

I have trained him to be prepared to ejaculate as soon as I walk in. I've explained to him that I don't like standing around watching his compulsive wank routine when my time could be better spent kicking the shit out of him, so after expressing my disgust I remove a travel-pack of Kleenex from my purse and drop it on his stomach. "Get it over with, you hand-humping jerk zombie!"

To make sure he understands the time constraints I'm imposing, I take a seat on his couch and thumb open up the timer app on my iPhone. "You have two minutes. Don't keep me waiting."

This is more than enough time for Stu. Within 30-seconds, he is making those disgusting froglike grunts that these all losers like to make and he's squirting into the tissue that I provided for his convenience. I'm always amazed at how much spunk these perverts can produce and I find it enjoyable to watch him lose control. His body goes rigid and his eyes bulge out of his head. On cue, thick jets of spunk squirt out of his errant little penis.

I lean out over him to get the best possible view of the spectacle, making sure to keep my hips tucked back so I don't get any of his gunk sprayed on me. "Get it all in the tissue, you perverted fucking pig. Good. Now I want you to look me in the eyes and guzzle that shit up just like the obedient little cum slurping retard that you are!"

After ejaculating, males tend to temporarily lose interest in their own perverted fantasies and so it does give me some feeling of accomplishment to force them to do something they'd rather not do. My authority over him is further cemented during moments like this and I make sure that the experience is as unappetizing as possible for him with my highly detailed set of eating instructions, which include making him chew on his goo whilst smacking his lips. Stu is no longer having fun, which enhances my own enjoyment. Bits have tissue have intermingled with his load and he's beginning to gag. "Don't you dare stop! Gobble down every chunk." I can't help but laugh he wordlessly obeys me. This is all too easy and fun. And it's about to get even better.

I smooth over my skirt and clear my throat. "Stand up and spread your legs."

Stu is much bigger than me and I'm sure he is stronger, but he's so dazzled by me that ultimately I do own him through and through. What takes place is quite natural for the situation. My supremacy over Stu goes beyond the threshold of role play into something more real.

I think more girls would do this if only they knew what great sport it is aiming ones foot like a heat-seeking missile at such a wonderful target. The entertainment value cannot be understated. The feeling of my foot making perfect contact with the scrotum, combined with the deep baritone noise at impact and the visual of the tethered nut sack yielding like silly putty to applied blunt force – it makes my nipples tingle.

From the first kick, I have him sprawling and reaching for his bag. It amuses me how these douches always reach for their bags after they get kicked. It's this weird self-consolation ritual. Think of how stupid and how owned these losers are to endure this kind of treatment.

"Holding them won't make them feel better, you stupid fucking loser. Get up. You should know better than to keep me waiting."

Sure enough, my sweet little voice settles inside his warped brain and he has no choice but to present his increasingly bruised junk for punishment again and again. I put my hips and ass into each kick and concentrate to the point of meditation as I focus on generating that deep splatting sound I'm looking for.

Now it's taking him forever to recover. I just stand there, tapping my high heel on his hardwood floor. "I don't have all day," I say as he struggles with the pain. "Ass up!"

But he's not listening anymore. My last two kicks were particularly brutal and I think it's time to wrap things up. I kneel beside him and take his chin in my hand and slap him in the cheek, hard enough make him flinch. "I'm not finished yet. We still have the grand finale."

He stands, wincing all the time and still bent over at an inverted angle. I pinch and twist one of his nipples and order him to stand straighter, so I can inspect his bag. Despite his obvious pain, he complies immediately.

"Hold still." I lean down to inspect his junk. His scrotum is a mixture of deep red with some purple mixed in, almost like a summer tomato if not for all the disgusting little hairs. One of his balls is bigger than the other. I resist the strong urge to finish him off right then and there. "We have reached the grand finale," I say. "I assume you followed my instructions?"

"Yes, Miss Nicola."

I release his nipple. "Well show me then, dipshit."

He stumbles across the room to a small open closet. I follow and I smile when I see the step stool and the inside of the closet. This is my greatest humiliation invention and I can't help but feel a stirring between my thighs as I anticipate these next few minutes. "I see you followed my instructions perfectly."

Stu still can't stand up straight. He is still wincing and reaching for his groin. The pained expression on his face only strengthens my resolve.

"Are you expecting sympathy from me? I told you the first time you were stupid enough to contact me that I could be extremely vindictive. Now assume the position, you stupid fucking loser."

I know he'll obey me so I don't bother watching him take his prescribed position. Instead, I walk over to the table next to the front door where Stu has left me an envelope with $500 in it and a McDonald's Supersize Coke.

After placing the envelope in my bag (cha-ching!), I permit myself a small sip of a Coke. It disgusts me that people drink this garbage. It's 42 fucking ounces! They have since discontinued it, but Stu has a souvenir cup. I found it during a prior session and ridiculed Stu for having it. Then I came up with an idea of how I could add to his humiliation and make his defeat even more comprehensive and epic.

Per my prearranged instructions (I call it "homework"), Stu has positioned himself on a step stool on the edge of his closet. Inside his closet is a rectangular cardboard trash bin with a big plastic liner. When I came up with this idea I instructed Stu to make sure it was suitably filled with leftovers and throwaways from all the shitty fast food he eats. Sure enough the idiot spent all this money filling the bin with fast food, along with what looks to be macaroni and cheese, along with mashed squash and god knows what else. It smells foul too. As instructed, my lackey stands spread-legged on his tip toes on the step stool. His legs are beautifully spread and his hands are holding the end of the step stool so that his spread ass cheeks face me and what's left of his scrotum dangles like a piece of over ripe fruit. He leans forward facing the trash, which he will soon be the biggest part of. His swollen scrotum makes the most tantalizing target. Don't get me wrong, I'm disgusted by it, which is precisely why I like to wreck it. Stu's ass is quivering in anticipation of what is to come.

"Please trash me, Miss Nicola," he says, his voice quivering.

"Oh I'm going to. I want you to smile though. C'mon let me see a big smile on your face because after all, this is what you wanted!"

Stu's head is upside down and it's turning increasingly red, as he issues me a terrified smile. I wonder what kind of thoughts are going through his head, and then I decide that I don't care.

I give myself several paces and lick my lips. I plant my foot and put my hips and ass into this kick. No mercy.

The sound of my foot slamming into its intended target is symphonic, but it is quickly replaced by the grotesque sound of Stu screaming like he just got shot in the knee cap. I do thrill at the feel of a properly-delivered destruction, and the way his scrotum feels as it splatters between my shoe and his pelvis. This one is especially punishing, as I keep my body well balanced and the bridge of my foot make perfect contact. WHOMP! Stu is launched ass over teakettle into the garbage. I knew all those ballet lessons my father forced me to take when I was a girl would pay off some day. What a lovely and appropriate send off!

What happens next causes me to burst out laughing. Stu flops in his vile trash creation and makes intimate contact with old, spoiling food. The best part is that he seemingly couldn't care less, so focused is he on the pain I've delivered. He's trying to get into a fetal position but he can't because of all the trash and because he's an uncoordinated dipshit who fails at everything. His smile is gone and he's groaning and predictably holding on to what's left of his maleness. For now, I allow him to self-grope. I want him to understand just how badly he's been violated, so I leave him to his own devices, such as they are, whilst I make use of a nearby mirror to pretty myself up.

I take several minutes to do my make-up. Meanwhile, Stu is making the most agonized groaning noises. He sounds like my kitty when I drive her to the vet. In this case, the sounds are music to my ears, but I feel like exerting my authority over him: "Shut up. Save it for when I'm not here."

Sure enough, he clams right up. I smile with pride at my ability to control his world in his own apartment. I linger over my eyelashes, smiling at how beautiful I am.

Once I'm done applying lipstick, I gather my purse from the couch. "I believe my work is just about done. There's just one more thing." I take the huge cup of carbonated high fructose corn syrup and walk back to Stu. The loser's eyes have that far-off look that conveys a sense of resigned defeat coupled with disbelief at how much pain he is in. He writhes back and forth in his new environment, providing an involuntary exhibition of my ubiquitous Feminine power.

I have been in this position before at the end of a highly successful session and I never feel even the tiniest hint of remorse. Why would I? I have given this loser what he wants and needs. The fact that he is now realizing what a bitch reality is, pun intended, is of no consequence to me, other than the intense gratification it provides me. This is about my satisfaction, period, and delivering this sort of comeuppance makes me very satisfied.

I'm a perfectionist and so my only focus is on making sure I leave him in a state of maximum degradation. There's one thing about his position that I don't like, so I put the edge of authority back in my voice: "Take your hands off your damaged junk, so I can see what I've done to you."

When I study the spectacle that Stu's genitals have become, I can't help but issue another smile. His scrotum is more swollen than I have ever seen it. His penis, red from collateral damage, looks especially tiny juxtaposed with his fucked up ball bag. These thoughts I keep to myself. But I do put down the Coke and take out my iPhone so I can take a photograph of this and show my girlfriends. I suppose I could interrogate him, but it's a waste of time and I don't feel like hearing his boring responses. I snap a shot of the entire spectacle and also lean over him and take a close up shot of his vandalized junk. I turn the iPhone around so he can see what he has become.

"Take a good close look at what I did to you. I can't wait to show this to the Girls! I think I'll feature you on my website too."

Time for the coup de gras. I pick up the Coke and proceed to pour about half of it on his ruined junk and the other half on his face. I make sure to pour slowly and deliberately, dragging out his humiliation. When I'm finished glazing him I l look directly down upon him. His face is still contorted in pain and his jaw is clamped shut. He is gritting his teeth in this perpetual wince. I search out his eyes until he has no choice but to stare up at his vanquisher. "That's it. Let it all sink in. I want you to spend a good long time there thinking about what a pocket rocket blonde did to you. Okay then, I think I'll be leaving now." I patted my pocketbook. "I'll be taking your money with me. See ya!"

I walk to my car with extra pep in my step. Already Stu is but a pleasant afterthought. As I take my seat behind the wheel, my mind drifts, as it so often does, to my Vagina. It sits, snugly and proudly between my thighs, private and dignified. What a contrast to the genitals of the loser I just polished off. For a moment, I try to think of what it must be like to be Stu, wallowing in defeat, unable to understand how he allowed himself to get so worked over by me. The thought makes me glance down and smile. I can't help but smooth my skirt with my fingers and adjust my butt. I need to see Natasha as soon as possible so that she can take care of my itch and I can take care of hers.

Just before I pull into traffic, I glance at my face in the rearview mirror. I can't stop smiling. Yet despite that, I make it a point to act calm, cool and collected. I am a modern feminine warrior who has vanquished her prey. You want women's lib? I am Women's fucking lib personified.

THE END