Tales of Erotic Humiliation

I’ve always had a unique power over men. I understand that I don’t need them, nor do I need their attention. Some seem to find that unnerving. Others, well… others are drawn to my dominance.

It began when I was a little girl. Big green eyes, golden curls. I had all the adults in my family wrapped around my finger. As I got into highscool and college, I attracted a gaggle of boys my own age who were attracted to my self-confidence as much as they were to my figure. Let’s just say I had no trouble getting a date for prom.

I started sexwork at 19 as an exotic dancer. I was in college at the time, and, freed from my religious upbringing, immediately tried out at a strip club. I’d always been fascinated by the sex industry, and knew it paid infinitely more than any other job I’d be willing to take. I quickly learned how to use my sexuality even more to my advantage. It’s so easy to get in a man’s head when all he’s thinking about is how badly he wants you. Men turn into obedient little boys. Submissives turn into syncophants. You can lead them around by their cock.

After a while, I realized just how much of a knack I had for bending the Weaker Sex over a barrel. I began honing my skills as a professional dominatrix and realized just how much of a rush I got from humiliating my clients.

This entry has a few of my favorite stories from past encounters. I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I enjoy recalling them. All names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.


Tom  was in his late thirties. Not unnattractive, slightly balding, wedding ring on his finger. Tom started out as a phone sex client and over a period of months, his obsession with me had grown to be all-consuming. Our conversations mostly revolved around his humiliation fantasies, though to my knowledge he hadn’t followed through with anything I had assigned him during our calls. To be honest, I found Tom annoying – no one likes a submissive who doesn’t follow through – but I *also* love taking men’s money. I agreed to see him on one condition: if we sessioned, we were going to bring all of his humiliating fantasies to life.

That’s how Tom found himself face to face with me in a coffee shop. I was sipping pinot, and he was wriggling around in his seat like a schoolboy as I explained to him exactly what I had in store for him. He showed me his ID. I snapped a picture and slid it back across the table. He’d already passed screening. The photo was for collateral. We chatted a few minutes longer, he slid me an envelope full of cash, and parted ways. The fun would begin the next evening.

I met Tom at his upscale resort room downtown, greeting him in my favorite “look:” pencil skirt, button down, Louboutin stilettos, blazer. I can’t remember whether his eyes bulged more at my 32G breasts barely contained by blouse, or the suitcase I rolled behind me full of God only knew what.

I sat down in an armchair and directed him to strip. He was visibly nervous as he fumbled with his buttons, his face burning red. His hands hesitated at his pants.

“What are you waiting for? We don’t have all night,” I snapped at him.

I’ve seen thousands of penises at this point in my career… I consider myself pretty inured to a range of shapes, sizes, and deformities. But Tom’s cock? It was something else. As soon as he slid his pants down I burst out laughing.

Picture a shriveled baby carrot, one you might find rolling around the floor of some harried soccer mom’s minivan. I was simultaneously repulsed and empathetic. Poor guy, no wonder he was so fucked up. He didn’t have a dick! I made no attempts at hiding my reaction. Tom wanted to be humiliated. This was all part of the fun.

Things didn’t get much better for poor Carrotcock as the night went on. Tom was a major germaphobe and I made his life delightfully miserable. I’d packed bologna in a lunch box from home. You can imagine his horror when I made him eat it off the toilet seat, before pushing his face in the water and giving him a swirly. It’s alright though, he got his in the end when I allowed him to cum. On his toothbrush.

My job is so much fun.


Ben was a young guy, almost certainly a first-timer. Ben had a fetish for “forced bi.” In plain language, Ben had some bisexual tendencies and he wanted me to make him explore them.

Ben was lots of fun.

I made him take pictures in panties and wrote him some copy for his area’s Craigslist “Casual Encounters” section. I sat on the phone with him as I made him answer filthy email after filthy email, calling him some truly vile names while he stroked his cock. (I only use slurs if requested by the client.) You’d be amazed just how many beta males lust after dick. Maybe they wouldn’t be so pathetic if they just owned up to their tendencies?

Either way, this game of chicken continued for several weeks until eventually I nailed him down into going to a gay bar with me when he was in town on business. His mission? To suck a cock in the bathroom and walk across the club with jizz on his face.


Oh Ricky, where can I start. This guy has been a client of mine for several years now and he’s one of my favorites. I’ve even let him take me out for drinks a few times at fetish conventions. That does NOT mean I haven’t put the poor soul through some truly excruciating situations.  Oh no, he earned that familiarity with sweat, tears, and other bodily fluids.

See, Ricky has been in chastity for about two years. I introduced it during one of our play dates and he quickly got hooked. Nothing enforces submissive behavior like having your penis taken away. Every once in a while I’ll let him have a session where he can edge right up to the point of orgasm before I lock him back up again. Under my watch, he’s had three orgasms in two years.

Ricky enjoys being objectified. Have you ever seen a tubby middle aged man crawl around on all fours in a pig mask? You truly haven’t lived until you have. When I have dinner parties, he’s a crowd favorite. All of my other industry fans get a real kick out of having a piggy footstool.

Ricky and I have an ongoing mindfuck where he knows I have his address. He also knows I have friends who are male escorts. He ALSO knows I have an envelope of his cash in my file cabinet specifically for sending one of said escorts over to make Ricky suck him off. Ricky’s petrified of the day I finally pull the trigger and make him do it. It makes me giggle just thinking about it.

I have so many stories from so many other clients. Life as a humiliatrix is never dull and I love every moment of it. If you’re reading this, you probably have an interest in erotic humiliation as well.