You may call me MistressM. Simply Mistress or Ma'am will do as well. At least you may call me that when I ask you to speak, which won't be often, unless I want to hear you beg. Let me explain so your small one-track man-brain can understand. I have a hobby that I very much enjoy -- it's dominating men like you.
I've long known, as most attractive women do, that it's not too difficult to wrap a man around my little finger. Even a strong confident man is open to a little flirtation and will gladly do my bidding for a smile, a thank you and maybe a little flash of leg or cleavage. For most men, this is all there is and they know it. They know the game. I get a man to do something for me and they get a small flicker in the loins and maybe a fantasy for later for helping me out.
For submissive men, however, a game of flirt and tease is the first step to an obsession. I can spot them in a matter of minutes, there are dozens of clues. Maybe they can't make eye contact. Maybe they blush or stutter when they speak to me. Maybe they are a little too quick to help me do something menial. It's not just what they do, but how they do it. They are happy to submit and don't realize that I know it.
The best ones of all are the submissives with a fetish. It's only a matter of time before they give themselves away. It might be too much attention to my legs or my shoes. Maybe they are staring at my hair or my breasts. I can almost see them imagining whether I'm wearing stockings or what kind of panties I have on. These are the guys I particularly love to tease and torment.
Since men are so visual, let me describe myself. I'm mid-30s, 5' 6" and slender. My breasts aren't that large, 34B, but I like to show them off and I haven't had many complaints.
I usually wear a size 8 if that means anything to you. I have natural sandy blonde hair, cut in a business professional style, usually around shoulder length. I have brown eyes. Some people tell me I look like the actress Ali Larter although I tend to wear my hair a little shorter than hers and I'm a little taller.
I'm a senior executive for a major corporation. This means I work a lot, travel a lot and am well paid. As a result, I can afford to dress fashionably and enjoy doing so. For work I always wear dresses and skirts - usually just above knee length. Most of my outfits come from the popular high end mall based women's stores. I like to dress flirty but classy, low cuts or an extra button undone. I want a second look, not drool.
I love shoes of all colors and styles and have a couple hundred pairs. I have a giant walk-in closet with nothing but shoes in it. A co-worker (no doubt a closet foot-boy) once told me he's not sure he's ever seen me in the same shoes twice. That's not quite true, but I definitely enjoy variety. I prefer heels of around 3 or 4 inches, but would go a little lower or higher if I liked the color or style. The same with boots, I have dozens in a variety of colors, heights and heels.
If you are a guy that is heavy into the dominant boss fantasy or maybe the sexy secretary fantasy, I would probably fit perfectly into your wet dreams. I can tell from the looks I get that several of my co-workers have fantasized about being my submissive slut.
As I said, I've known for a long time that I could get men to do things for me. Somewhere along the way however, I began to derive sexual pleasure from seeing how far I can push a guy. At first I didn't think much of it, but I came to learn that some men are not only happy to serve my wishes, but they secretly get off on being ordered around.
I likewise came to realize that there was a little bit of the dominant female in me that just enjoyed watching a guy squirm and pressing his buttons. It felt good to be in charge and I loved watching a guy crumble. Don't get me wrong, I love a good fuck as much as the next woman, but I've learned that dominating a guy makes my slot moisten and clit buzz like nothing else.
The first time I observed this was somewhat innocent. I had walked into the copy room and accidently dropped a page from a stack of papers. It fluttered down about equidistant between me and some guy that was already using the machine. I made a move to grab it and at the same time he said, "I'll get that for you."
Somehow his movement or maybe the copier fan caused the paper to flutter towards me. Just as he reached for it, the paper became pinned under the pointy toe of my grey high-heeled pump. He was already on his knees before me and said, "I guess you'll need to lift your foot."
I teasingly replied, "Only if you say please."
His face reddened and he said it, "Please?"
I slid my foot and he handed me my paper without a word and didn't even make eye contact to my "Thank you." As he stood and hastily removed his document from the copier, I could see the clear outline of him hardening in his pants. To my surprise, I felt vaguely aroused by the encounter as well.
The first time I acted on the impulse was shortly thereafter following an interview I did. An MBA grad was interviewing for a position. He was a little younger than me, upper twenties, very smart, good looking and generally well polished in his fitted interview suit.
Part of my office was arranged with a conversation settee consisting of a small sofa, a coffee table and two wing chairs. I directed my guest to the sofa and without any particular thought seated myself across from him in one of the chairs, my right leg crossed over the left with his resume and paperwork on my lap.
That day I wore a sheer white silk blouse, which was ruffled down the front and offered the voyeur just the faintest hint of the lacy cami and bra underneath. I also wore a knee length navy blue pencil skirt that rode up my thigh a little as I sat down. It was a bit revealing, but on the whole a conservative outfit.
What really attracted the attention of my interviewee was my very sheer nude stockings and my teal blue 4 inch platform pumps. I'd ask him a question and he'd start off meeting my eyes but soon his gaze would drift down my crossed leg to my shoe. A couple of times he tried to fight the urge, but before too long he'd drift again.
About fifteen minutes in I knew he had blown the interview, so I began to toy with him a bit. I flexed my ankle, re-crossed my legs the other direction, even bobbed my foot a bit and his eyes kept finding their target. When it was time to leave, I noticed that he strategically held his resume portfolio across his groin, presumably to hide his arousal.
I'm pretty sure he suspected I was on to his problem and his embarrassment was sweet. I conducted him to the lobby and made a point of holding his hand just a fraction of a second too long when we shook hands and I gave him a big smile as we parted. I held him in my gaze until he disappeared into the elevator and was surprised to notice that I had gotten a little soupy as I headed back to my office.
I had an idea about what caused my arousal, but this time I decided to do something about it. A few weeks later, after he had been dinged for the position, I took a chance and called him and offered to meet him at an upscale bar near my office.
The premise was to offer him some pointers on his resume and to provide him a couple of industry contacts to network. The real reason was to try teasing him again to see what sort of reaction I got from him and what that did to me.
I purposely arrived about fifteen minutes late and knew things were going to head in the right direction when he deflected my lame apology by profusely thanking me for even taking the time to meet him and then him offering to buy my drink (which I declined).
He had dressed again in suit and tie and promptly obeyed my request to take off his tie and relax. I had dressed in a black sleeveless A-line dress over which I had worn a short tailored red jacket. My stockings were a sheer and smoky black and I purposely wore 4" black-patent Christain Louboutin pumps knowing that the red instep would draw his gaze.
We spoke casually at the fairly full bar and I did in fact give him a couple of contacts to help with his job search. He did a little better with the eye contact while we were standing; but once a bar stool opened up and I slid myself onto it (he remained standing), his attention was again drawn to my nylon covered legs and my sexy shoes.
Once he started looking, I started to flirt a bit -- touching his arm as I spoke, dangling my shoe, even suggestively removing my jacket and flashing him a little look down my dress as I positioned the jacket over the chair back. He was smitten and I soon had him eating out of my hand, agreeing to anything I said.
After a few minutes of soft flirting, I speared him with a direct question. "Do you like my shoes?"
His blush and stammering were the initial response so I closed in, "You have a thing for heels and stockings don't you? A foot fetish maybe?"
He started to apologize and I assured him it was ok. I told him, "If you think a woman has attractive shoes, you should compliment them rather than stare at them. Go ahead, try it. Pay me a compliment."
