Using and abusing a submissive woman isn’t about hating women, but, as Marc says, sometimes it helps. That’s a joke, people.
Well, not entirely.
Sometimes a person can be so rude, that fantasies are born. I’m not condoning anger as a motivation for actual abuse or rape, but fantasies are what they are.
In my business — the real stuff with my company, not the blog confessions and whoring on the phone I’m required to do to please my Masters — there are some uptight, stuck-up bitchy women who motivate men to fantasies of fucking the shit of them to put the women in their place.
Of course, if you add in the perceptions that many men have about women there are lots more men who feel this way.
There is a certain misogyny involved in men who just can’t (or won’t) tolerate a female boss, women with more money, females who wield more power in the spheres individual men would like to control; but there are also honest to goodness real bitches who, monied or not themselves, act like gold diggers and reject men for not being well-endowed enough in terms of wealth — men’s wallets must be this thick/high to get on this ride.
In my work, I run into so many of these women — especially at events. It’s amazing the number of women who are mindful of their manners at their day jobs realizing that anyone could be a client or customer — or refer one — but the minute these women attend a golf outing, a cocktail party after convention hours, a fund raising event, etc., they become the personification of snobby bitch.
I don’t think human decency should take any time off — and I’m not just saying that as a submissive, either. But some of these women are just plain bitches and their fit-to-be-tied tirades inspire the Dom in any man.
To illustrate such an example, I’m confessing events which occurred at an event just last fall.
A typical blond bitch at our table was making horrible denigrating comments about the service staff at the hotel. The waiter who had the misfortune of serving our table was doing his best to bite his tongue and keep a professional attitude during all of this, despite her eyeball rolls and nasty attitude. At one point, though, he was, in the blonde’s opinion, very slow in retrieving her requested drink — and of bringing the wrong drink. She had indeed ordered the white wine spritzer he had brought, but she insisted she’d ordered a carafe of white wine. And boy did she have a bitch fit.
She shoved her chair back and said way-too loudly how stupid and slow the staff was, that they must all be tired from swimming to this country. Then she turned to the waiter, arched her eyebrows, and — honest to god — she threatened him with being fired and deportation if he didn’t bring her the carafe of whine within two minutes. And she raised her watch to let him know she was timing him.
He obviously had to be struggling to remain professional, but he smiled and turned on his heel to go to the bar. Everyone at the table was stunned — except for the blonde who babbled on and on about how he’d better fetch quickly. For professional reasons, I wasn’t able to do anything more than give the blonde more than a disapproving glance and avoid conversation with her by speaking to others at hour table.
When the waiter returned (in the required time), she accepted the carafe and then waved him away like an annoying fly. Amazingly the waiter kept his composure and asked the table if anyone needed anything else.
I gave what I’d hoped was a sympathetic and apologetic smile to the mistreated waiter and said, “No, thank you.” No one else made any other requests, and the waiter left.
Blackie felt so horrible, that he left the table and went to talk to the waiter. I assumed he’d give him a big tip too. But what I didn’t know was that Blackie’s tip included more than some cash.
Later on, back in our hotel room, Blackie and I talked about the bitchy blonde. I asked him how it went when he went to tip the waiter.
It seems the waiter, full of righteous anger and pride over his shabby treatment, had not taken my smile as I had intended; he read it full of condescension. As soon as Blackie discovered this, he made no attempts to correct it but instead egged the man on.
“Why would you do that?!” I asked, horrified.
“Because if he thinks you’re a bitch too, we can help make it up to him.”
The sinking sensation in my gut held me silent while I waited for Blackie to explain.
“What better way to get back at a stuck-up bitch than to fuck the shit out of her.” He said it as a statement, not a question, and as he walked towards me the sinking sensation in my stomach grew.
Blackie stood before me and reached out to tenderly tuck a stray strand of my hair behind my ear before making announcement. “So, what we’re going to do, my love, is let he and his friends have their way with you.”
My eyes and mouth rounded in surprise. Friends? Plural? Strangers? Use me? But I was too shocked to actually form any words.
“In a few minutes, my dear, I’ll be escorting you to the favorite watering hole of our poor beleaguered waiter, where you will serve him and a few of his friends who have suffered similarly. A public service to help men get back at all those bitches. And, yes, before you ask, you will be serving more than beers to assuage their mocked manhood. If I were you, I’d expect a general invasion of your privacy.”
And that’s how I found myself serving seven members of the hotel staff later that night. The full details of this are for Member Masters only.
