Chronic Ruination-Femdom Phone Sex and Distance Domination

It’s not a secret to most of you that have stumbled across Me that I don’t believe in the whole male Dom thing. I love guys..real men.  I don’t think most men, even real men,  can effectively have any sort of meaningful control or influence over any sane person with an IQ above, oh I don’t know, dog level.  I’d run out of space if I had to go into all the reasons why I feel this way.

With that said, I’m still not understanding why a guy that probably doesn’t even dabble in the whole D/s thing has so many underfoot and by the balls.  He could buy and sell your ass 100 times and still send you home with a few crisp $20 bills tucked in the same coat  pocket as your jizz covered manties.  So many of you reading this would probably gladly give him your wife or mother for the week(end) in exchange for just ten minutes of  his lips pressed to your ear, guiding your hand up and down…

YOUR INVESTMENT PORTFOLIO!!

Yep, I’m talking about Warren Buffet.  My senior year history teacher refused to acknowledge the fact that Bill Gates was the wealthiest man in the U.S., insisting that Warren Buffet was.  Even after someone wiki’d it and brought an article to class proving  that it wasn’t true,  he spent an ENTIRE class period basically worshiping the man’s O-ring from afar.  I could practically smell the precum dripping from this loser as he wasted the tuition dollars of our parents(legal guardian in my case).  Of all the people to have fag lust for…a 70-something who looks like a geriatric version of the Hamburglar ?!!  Well, I guess it wasn’t too hard to imagine considering the fact that…

The teacher was 28 with a voice that suggested puberty never found his name on the guest list.  He drove a Saturn with extremely misguided pride, and would try seem above it all by telling anyone who would listen that he was only teaching until he was accepted into the Law program at Harvard.  I guess Harvard needs to expedite their admissions process because, nearly three years later, you can still call and ask the secretary to leave a note in his mailbox!! Anyway, I’m getting off of the subject and abusing ellipses…

About 2 months ago, rosie sends me an email saying goodbye.  No surprise there!!  s-he must have a template of those goodbye emails or something because I’ve gotten at least 10 of them before. Chasing “normalcy” around the bedroom he and his wife share with a butterfly net while a plaster of paris mold of my foot is crammed up his ass..that’s the image I get whenever I read one of rosie’s goodbye emails.

I think it’s cute…that whole trying to balance the “he” s-he has to be with the SHE “he” NEEDS to be thing.  It’s always REALLY hard to take seriously ANYTHING said by someone who has a bio on their company’s website that screams how full of integrity and honor they are when you’ve seen them with a face/mouth/ass full of another guy’s load. His favorite thing is…well, I think I’m going to make that an assignment for some lucky sissy who’s up for more than just roleplay.   This is one piece of flesh that can’t  live without that weird feeling in his belly, the lump in his throat and the hint of one in his panties that only I can give.  So I’ve built his goodbyes into our play.  They usually come around the time estimated taxes are due, Christmas, and Easter(Grown men dressed up as bunnies, Cadbury cream eggs, and Jesus jumping out of that tomb seem to have a sobering effect on my fav cock snot wearing manwhore).  It lasts about a week and then we pretend to pretend that it never happened.  I know he’ll be back because I’ll still have total access to one of his bank accounts.

So I just added the email to a folder and printed off a hard copy. I like to read them all out loud one after another when he needs something really badly…just to remind him that his attempts at self-esteem really aren’t a good look for him.  The fun part starts  12-16 hours later with a text message.  asking if I’m busy and if it’s ok for him to call.  I’ll call him…congratulate him on the new man he’s becoming and then the conversation automatically turns into something that sounds like a conversation a battered woman may have with her guy that loves with his fists.  The one where she wants out because daytime tv says she should…but everything inside her is telling her it’s going to be all hearts, stars and four leaf clovers if she can just stop making the fucking pot roast so damn dry!

rosie did an excellent reprisal of the battered wife/martyr role s-he likes to play.  I’d been sitting in line at a gas station forever waiting on gas  when I got the text.  Atlanta was short on gas and I was short on patience when I got the text then called back.  The basics were that s/he couldn’t come out to play anymore, that the economy was looking rough, and s/he had a family to think about. Heard it all before!!  The next thing that came out of its mouth was that it had sent Me a cashier’s checks for $2000 and it would send Me $500 more if I would get rid of everything in its storage unit.  I may be a lot of things but I’m not anyone’s janitor..especially some loser born in the wrong body who thinks he has too much to lose.

I drove 20 min out of My way that day to deliver the storage keys not so personally to the receptionist at his office.  Essentially harmless enough, but I knew he’d wake up in a cold sweat the next couple of nights wondering if I’d said anything to anyone while I was there.

I decided to extend those sleepless nights a little by mailing the cashier’s checks to his workplace…knowing that the administrative assistant opens the mail before delivering it to him.   I got a 3am text 2 days after I’d made my trip to the post office that said

Why are you doing this to me?  Please let me know what I can do to make You stop!!

I text’d back

Nothing

After I woke up at 9 the next morning…I decided to finish my text because I was too  sleepy to do it  the night before

Sorry, that should have said ‘ Nothing bad is happening to you..it’s all in your head…just like it always has been.  Go ahead and change your online banking info, please…for your own peace of mind…take care babes..MUAH!’

That was it…  I was actually a little sad.  Kind of like when u have a fish die…that kind of sad.  I’d decided to take a break from school this semester and the next to focus on some other things I want to do anyway, so that pretty much gave Me the push to get out of Atlanta.

I found someone to sublet and went to New Orleans to work on some projects and just have fun.  The plan was/is to move to L.A. by February…I though it wasn’t going to happen for a while until…

Starting about 3 weeks ago, I got several calls from a number I didnt know in the middle of the day.  I didnt pick up and they didn’t leave a voicemail or anything.  I thought maybe it was some recording telling Me that my car warranty was about to expire or  something until I called it back and heard a very familiar hollow sounding guy on the other end with a horrible southern drawl answer.

First thought:  WTF?  Second thought:  end button!!  It called right back.  Long story short…it was sorry.  It was having a lot of rough times.  It just wanted to talk.  It had apparently been washing it’s klonopin with that bottle that says ‘birthday bourbon’ and calling that its lunch.  I’m no shrink…but I know u dont hang up on “people” like that.  So I just let it run then speed walk through something like a conversation.  I kept calling it by it’s birth certificate name.  It didn’t like that. I didn’t know what else to call it because I really didnt need a rosie anymore and it started crying when I said that.

You don’t hang up on “people” when they’re like that.

So to keep the conversation going, I asked why it had called Me.  Dead silence…

Then it started rambling something about how it had been following Warren Buffet in the news, that things were bad for a lot of people but probably wouldn’t affect things on its end.  I pretty much stopped listening to the babbling just as I had almost 3 years ago in history class.  I can turn a guy who was too scared to do anything but suck dildos dildos in front of prostitutes into a cum-guzzling part-time transvestite that menstruates for Me through its wallet…but Warren really has all the control…and that’s just sad on my part!!

Good news!  Spring semester 2008 is officially two weeks behind me!!!  As most of my little domination phone sex bitches know, that means I’m available without having to necessarily arrange a call.   Check out the about me section of my page to see the days and times I’m around  each week.

Bad news…

My best friend with benefits/sometimes roommate left this morning to go back home for the summer.  I love my “Lex”; she such a hot little bitch.  Seriously,  it’s like fucking the 5′8″,  blonde,green-eyed version of myself. I’m not above admiting that I  like certain people and want them around me simply because they serve  as a reference point for some of the things I love about myself.

Yes, I’m a girl-prick for saying something like that.  No, I sleep at night just fine and somehow manage to drop a dollar or two in the Salvation Army kettles around the holidays too. She’s the best friend I’ve probably ever had but I do have a few issues with her.

She swears we’re the same size, when she’s really about a Banana Republic size 4.  Vanity sizing victimization is so real and so sad! She’s stretched so many of my things beyond recoginition. She, her dad, or the main guy she usually hooks up with always pay for what she ruins so it’s not entirely a huge deal.  I don’t know what she gets out of having a closet full of my pre-worn size 0 and 2’s that’s she’s mangled and stretched to fit her. Oh well, it’s not for me to understand I guess. I just hope she doesn’t eventually turn into this. Sometimes all you can do is hope…

She’s also HUGE on proximity play and is such an attention whore. If we’re out shopping, eating, clubbing, whatever and she sees a guy or group of guys…she’s ALL over me.  It doesn’t matter if the guys is actually fuckable or fugly, she’s a little too happy to display her girl on girl-friendliness!

Ok,  it’s fun…sometimes…most of the time.  We were in Phipps a few months ago waiting in line at the sushi place.  We were giggling at this old couple in front  of us: 40-ish,  your classic example of a marriage with strong stockholm syndrome overtones.

The wife was loudly going on and on about stuff that wouldn’t matter to anyone not named Jesus.  I still think that the Word made Flesh and any of his hispanic namesakes might have a hard time being around this woman for longer than 5 minutes.  The second the hostage would try to add something to the conversation, the wife would pretty much ignore him and keep her little monologue going.  It was pretty annoying.  Eventually, she told him to wait there while she found a restroom, and told him to hold her bag. I could see the sides of his face crinkle into  up into a pretty decent grin.  I’m not sure why he started smiling after being forced to hold something that couldn’t even pass for one of those gay little manbags.  Maybe he was glad for just a few moments of peace or he may have been genuinely happy to hold his warden’s bag.  I only had one thought on my mind, “why would anyone go to a restroom and not take her bag with her?!!!” Especially since it was one of these !!

Lex and I were talking about how amazing it was, when the hostage turned around told us that it was the ugliest thing he’d ever spent half a mortgage payment on. My first thought was, “Oh wow, it speaks?!!!”  Then I started thinking about how sad it is to see a man whose life is half over with, still trying to impress two girls he’d never met with something that belonged to his wife!!  To get all poetic, it’s like he had fallen on both sides of the front of the obvious civil war going on within himself.  He tried to sound so smug as he casually tried to, no in any way at all subtle, let us know just how much financial girth he was working with. On the other hand, the poor guy obviously had fallen into a foxhole he probably never imagined himself in twenty or thirty years ago.  Middle-Aged and trying to act like the guy with it all, while holding the most feminine(it’s got fairies on it!!) of fetish objects.

We talked to him for a little bit more, just slightly less inane stuff than his wife was spewing. He asked us if we’d like to go ahead of him since there were only a  few people left before it was his turn to order and he wanted to wait until his wife came back.  Guess he knew better than to order for her .

As soon as we stepped in front of him, Lex reached around my waist and rested her hand on my hip.  She looked back in his direction and told him she hoped his wife wasn’t going to keep him waiting too much longer.  At the same time, she snaked her finger along the waistband of my skirt.  She  took her time finding my g-string and tugged gently at it until part of the thin, silk material was more than clearly visible over the top of the waistband. I let a few of her eager fingers dip as far down the front as possible.  See?!! Such an attention whore!! When I felt her fingers start to appreciate the awesome job the esthetician did on my wax, I was inspired by  the same sort of charitable spirit, as when I toss a few dollars into the previously mentioned Salvation Army kettle. I turned to the side to give our new, middle-aged friend a little peek.

I enjoyed  the tease and denial game Lex started and I’m guessing the hostage did too because he held his wife’s bag right in front of the hint of a bulge that he didn’t cover up quickly enough before we both saw.  I asked him which color he likes better, magenta or fuchsia. Of course he didn’t know the difference.   I explained to him that my panties were magenta. Then I cupped Lex’s ass with my hand, and slowly mimicked the same method she used to show him mine.  I didn’t get the chance to give him a peek at what fuchsia looks like, because the warden came back!!  The look on his face when I told him that maybe he’d like to have his place in line back because his wife/warden had come back?  Well let’s just say that it was worth a million Prada fairy bags!!  Oh well, guess he’ll have to learn his colors some other time.  I’m sure he became pretty familiar with one in particular that day…

Speaking of…

Here’s a bit philosophy for the chronically aroused and unrelieved dick stroking sluts. If your balls go unreleased, does your sexual frustration ever make a “sound”?   I’m sure our plaything at Phipps that day will forever equate the sound of his wife’s heels  with the ruin of what would have probably been the most interesting day he’d ever had in his life.  Another few minutes and  he probably thought we would have exchanged numbers and had lots of interesting days.  Not even close, but I like to give guys like that hope.  Sometimes, a little charity and hope is all any of us has to hold onto.

Be the best or sit down, shut up and beg to watch someone who is….

Mfs.(Princess) Kara