DomCon Los Angeles

May 17, 2014

So I bet you’re wondering what your mistress has been up to in the past few days in Los Angeles leading up to my appearance as a Guest of Honour at the Dom Con festival, aren’t you? Well the answer is that these have been exciting times. For starters I am pleased to announce the pressing of my very own first blue ray DVDs. Yes, these will be on sale to American fans at Dom Con, but I’m sure that if you ask me nicely enough I’ll have a couple for sale to my die-hard appreciative audiences back home.

I’ve located a local print company who have done an absolutely sterling job at producing huge advertising banners and retractable, life-size, standing cut-out pictures of ‘yours truly’ which will decorate my trade stand at the festival where I will be signing and selling copies of my autobiography, “50 shades of domination.” But all work and no play would make Mistress a dull girl, so I’ve been pampering myself with multiples visits to spas and beauty treatments along with a couple of visits to a nearby Thai Massage service where a succession of petite and beautiful girls have lined up to pummel and pamper my body. I like my massage just like I like my men: as hard as possible and available on a regular basis. I’ve also taken a couple of my owned slaves on shopping expeditions to the upmarket boutiques and shoe shops of Santa Monica. It’s been gratifying to see how these men who normally would run a mile at the thought of ‘going shopping’ have been willing to follow Mistress like loyal puppy dogs, always a few steps behind and eager to carry my ever-growing bags packed with fashion and footwear goodies.
Now, as many of you will know, I am very far from being a ‘shoe slut’ type of dominatrix. Naturally I have a vast collection of kinky boots of every type and description at my dungeon, but my own shoe collection is far from excessive. I was delighted, therefore, to let myself go a little in one of Santa Monica’s most exclusive footwear emporiums where I purchased pair after pair of exquisite, mostly Italian-made, shoes. I think the store staff were a little bemused at their new and much-valued customer who breezed in followed by her retinue of slave helpers, selected some of the pick of their stock and then swept out again leaving ‘my people’ to struggle along under the weight of my purchases.

It was a similar story in the Los Angeles Nike store where I noticed most of the customers stopped what they were doing to watch me in tight beach shorts and a running top as I pounded on the shop’s treadmill so that the expert staff could check my running action and suggest the ideal new sets of trainers. I must admit that, although I am, of course, a modest and retiring mistress, I do somehow contrive to be the centre of attention wherever I go in the world! Then it was back off to the hotel where I noticed plenty of men casting admiring glances in the direction of the brand new shoes I was wearing. When I remarked on this to one of my owned slaves he was silly enough to suggest that it might be my 32FF chest that was attracting their gaze rather than my beautiful new trainers: Needless to say I will be dealing with his stupidity most thoroughly in the very near future!

That particular owned and collared slave whom I have dragged across the Atlantic on this trip has already had a taste of the humiliations to which he is going to be subject over the next week or so. It wouldn’t hurt to let you in on a few of my evil plans for him, would it? The first came before he had even left the UK when I made him take a separate flight and told he had to carry a special present from me: one of the most intimate items that any woman could offer a man… the sort of gift I can only bestow every few weeks or so. He was duly embarrassed at the Gatwick security check when the small used package was discovered wrapped in tissue in his pocket. I’m still laughing at the fact that his only mumbled excuse to the security guard was to say: ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I had forgotten that was there!”

Whilst I went off to visit Gold’s Gym at Venice Beach I dispatched him with orders to buy a Tee-shirt or any other item of clothing that I could force him to wear for my amusement. He did, I have to confess, excel himself by purchasing a pair of bright pink, tight, beach shorts upon which he had asked the shop to screenprint the words ‘MIRANDA’S BITCH’ in sizeable jet black letters. It will be fun to see him wandering around the Dom Con site wearing his new bitch name on his arse. His final embarrassment so far came when I gave him the rare privilege of washing my worn and soiled clothes, including several bras and half-a-dozen pairs of my panties which I had not had the chance to send to the hotel laundry. Having forgotten to put the Do Not Distrub sign on his door he was mortified when the maid came in to find his bathroom resembled a Chinese laundry with intimate items of female clothing – some now washed and others still clearly worn – spread to dry on every available surface. And the event we are all here for had not even started yet!
 

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