Mistress Mistress: Part 1

Mimi ON Jan 22, 2009 AT 3:22 pm

The Diva Disease
By our resident dominatrix

The menu clearly stated no substitutions. But I really wanted to try the butternut squash polenta instead of the pinenut sage green beans. I despised green beans, no matter how fancy they sounded. The waiter had finished going over the daily specials, which I didn’t bother to listen to, as I knew just what I wanted.

There is an art to learning how to get what you want in life. Many women, from my experience, think the Veruca Salt approach is golden. Demanding and screaming your way through this precious existence is not only exhausting for all parties involved, but exceedingly irritating. It does work in the sense that the demanding demon is usually accommodated but with the sole intention to shut her up. That’s hardly a glamorous way to exist.

One of my better clients and I were dining outdoors today at one of those trendy sidewalk cafes where there are Europeans aplenty and the women’s sunglasses are as large as the dogs in their Fendi bags. A thin blonde woman in a white dress at a nearby table was pitching an A+ fit at a waiter. Our waiter looked over and shuddered. The victim was doing his best to be gracious, but the look on his face told me that this kind of behavior happened multiple times a day. My client (aka Slave Cliff) was watching this spectacle and smirked as he said to me almost in a whisper.

Mistress, you never have to raise your voice to get what you want.”

Of course I didn’t have to raise my voice. Raising one’s voice is not necessary when you have control of a situation. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself as I remembered how shy I was in high school and how out -of- control I usually felt. I was the exact opposite of this screeching chicken, this “Diva”.  Working fifteen years as a professional dominatrix is an unusual but highly effective path to self – discovery and psychological mastery over others. I’ve seen the most powerful men in the world at their most fragile and vulnerable, shaking under my gaze. It’s a skill set worth learning.

I gently but firmly grabbed my waiter’s arm to focus his attention back to our table. A warm smile followed, accompanied by direct eye contact.

“Don’t worry, you’d have to pay me a lot of money for me to yell at you like that.” I said it with a sly grin but of course I was dead serious.

Slave Cliff let out a snort. The waiter laughed too but didn’t entirely get the joke.

“The specials you just told me about all sound wonderful, I’m impressed you remember every little detail for such a long list.”

I pointed to the menu item I wanted to order.

“But I am going to have the chicken entree. The green beans won’t work for me at all though. I have every confidence in you (quick pause to read his name tag) Jesse, that you can get me the squash polenta instead.”

I closed the menu, smiled and handed it to him.  Jesse started to explain how substitutes aren’t allowed but then stopped mid-sentence.

“I can get you the squash, but don’t tell anyone.” He put his index finger to his lip, laughed and scurried back to the kitchen.

Click here to read part 2

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