The Lonely Domme Syndrome 003 - The Hunt for Piggy

 When I first began hunting for submissives on Craigslist and other sites, I vetted my “postulants” with a screening process that included a long questionnaire, scanned photocopy of their driver’s license, photos, etc.  My files were meticulously kept, both in hardcopy and digitally.  At the time I was working in the recruitment business, and adapted many of the processes in Applicant Tracking softwares to my own recruitment. A tabbed Excel spreadsheet served as my primitive database - one tab for each postulant, recording their personal information, notes, assignments, meetings and evaluations.  I dreamt of finding a perfect programmer slave to code me my perfect software - database, scheduling, rating … . but for my slaves.   

Piggy was one from the first Hunt. I allowed him to choose his sub name. 

His choices were: 

George ( from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf ) or Piggy ( from Lord of the Flies ). 

An experienced submissive and long time player, Piggy was well trained by previous owners, who included some of the foremost Mistresses of the Bay Area - namely, Kira Veritas, Josephine and Morgana. I was worried about my beginner’s status with Piggy, because he’d played with those scene heavyweights above pretty intensely. 

But I think he enjoyed breaking in a virgin domme, high on her newfound power. He brought many tributes in lieu of service. We’d go for manicures and pedicures together. I fettered him with his own shackles. 

He liked homework so I had him wear little rubber bands on his wrists. And for 3 days I told him, he was to wear lingerie beneath his clothes, and whenever he got too excited from the feeling of the fabric on his skin, or whenever he thought of me, he was to snap the rubber bands on his wrists. Both wrists. 

When I saw him 3 days later, I asked to see his wrists. My poor Piggy, so obedient - his wrists were welted and bruised. 

He smiled shyly at me, I smiled back at him, pleased. Piggy was always very sincere. 

He was an actor amongst other things, and when we began seeing each other, I would write scenes for him to enact for my amusement. He would arrive at my doorstep, my dry cleaning or gifts in hand, and I would simply hand him an index card without a word, and the game would be ON.

For example, one index card read: 

”@ the salon today, whenever I tug on my ear, I want you to oink. You may attempt to disguise the oink if you wish as a sneeze or cough. But I must hear the oink of it.” 

And the Asian ladies at the nail salon would be startled by his oinks. He turns very red, Piggy. 

Another index card: 

“We are going into a shop which carries dildoes. I wish for you to go directly to the dildo wall/counter and peruse them. Then I wish for you to select the largest one and ask the clerk if that is the biggest one that they carry. If it isn’t, ask to see the biggest. If it is, or when they give you the biggest one, I want you to: 

a) hold it in your hands reverently, cupping the balls and caressing the head, noting the shape of the tip. 

b) I want you to smell it. Sniff the tip, the length and the balls. 

c) when you are finished sniffing the balls, I would like you to teabag yourself with it, then slap it against your face a few times.

When done, look vaguely dissatisfied and then put it down. Then ask the clerk if it comes in black. If it does, repeat the inspection procedure, and then shake your head and say thank you, it’s not what you’re looking for. If it doesn’t come in black, simply sigh deeply and say “Oh well. The search continues.” 

He’d experienced 2 deaths among family and friends while we were involved. For awhile I felt like our play was therapeutic, an escape from his grief.  When it seemed his attention wasn’t fully on our games, I told Piggy, I don’t think I have a place in your life right now - your grieving period is more important than what we do. So Piggy was put on pause, a brief hiatus. He promised to return, but I didn’t think he would.

He did attempt a brief return which resulted in an internal injury, due to his own carelessness. We were scheduled to meet at Ozumo for happy hour and dinner.  We both worked in downtown San Francisco, so we were to meet there after work.  

My instructions to Piggy:  1) Wear stockings, garters, bra and panties underneath your suit today and 2) Insert the Severin (a type of butt plug).

Piggy was late to Ozumo, a Japanese restaurant and sake bar in downtown San Francisco.  He arrived breathless and flushed, which looked a bit awful on his already naturally mottled ginger coloring.  He smiled shyly, his wide mouth stretching to reveal what always looked like far too many teeth. His bug eyes raked over me greedily, his welted wrists covered in rubber bands peeking out from underneath the cufflinks of his expensive shirtsleeves.  

I contemplated his punishment with a small smile as we ordered drinks. I had to hold back a smile, trying to hold on to the feeling of annoyance to help fuel the scene.  With my eyes narrowed at him I pinned his pupils with my own, waiting for the flush to redden him as usual. But Piggy wasn’t squirming in delight, like he normally did under my scrutiny.  Instead he looked pained and sweating, and not at all focused on our usual “fun.”  I decided to move things along.

“Go to the ladies restroom and lock yourself in the handicapped stall.  Strip down to your lingerie and hold on to the bar, bent over, until I come in to check on how well you followed my instructions.”

Piggy nodded, smiled wanly, and obediently wandered off to the bathrooms.  I wait. 3 minutes, I finish my drink, 5 mins later, finish his.  Finally, leaving him almost 10 minutes in the bathroom stall to sweat it out, I get up and stride in.  I knock on the handicapped door, and Piggy opens it.

He holds on to the rail, standing in full stockings, garters, panty and bra. his clothes neatly folded and hooked on the rail.  His lingerie was more expensive than my own (something we rectified later) - and against his pasty, hairless white skin, the sheer nylon of his stockings and the lace-trimmed silk of his girly underthings didn’t seem so weird or obscene.  He was sweating profusely, and from the looks of his panties, not as excited as he normally was under these humiliating circumstances.

I let the tension build, raking my fingernails along his exposed midriff, skimming my fingertips over the backs of his thighs, the backs of his knees.  Breathing softly against the back of his shoulder, watching his knuckles whiten as he grasped the rail.  We were both silent, listening to the other women come in and out of the bathroom, peeing, washing their hands, chatting, their heels clicking on the tiled bathroom floor.

“Pull down your panties and show me.”

Piggy presses his forehead against the wall of the stall, and hooks the fingers of both hands into the waistband of his panties, and slowly, slowly starts to bring them down.

In an homage to my favorite film, Tokyo Decadence, I stop him.

“You’re going too fast.  Sway your hips while you do it.  Go slow.  And tell me you’re a horny businesswoman.”

Piggy pulls up his panties again, and swallows.  He starts to sway his hips slowly from side to side, slowly easing down the silk fabric to reveal his lily-white rump meat.

In a thin, barely audible girlish voice he whispers “I .. I am a horny businesswoman.”

“Again!”  ”I . . am a horny businesswoman… I am … a horny businesswoman.”

Satisfied, I continue.  ”Show me.”

When he has pulled his panties all the way down, he grasps the handrail of the stall with both hands to present me with his ass, in the center of which a round red circle, which is the base of his buttplug. I tap it with my fingers.  Piggy gasps and whimpers in pain, but it doesn’t sound right.

“Piggy,” I say, breaking the scene, “Piggy, what’s wrong?”

He tries to shake his head, but I grasp him by the chin and make him turn his face to mine.  He won’t meet my eyes.

“Speak!” I hiss at him, with more force, my gloved hand holding the back of his neck.

“Mistress, I’m sorry. . “

“For what?  What did you do?”

“I was in a rush …after work … I didn’t want to be late . .  I know how you hate tardiness . . I left as soon as I could, we had a meeting that ran long . . “

“Piggy! WHAT IS WRONG?”

“I forgot the lube, Mistress.”

“The what? What do you mean?”

“The lube.  I forgot it. . and in my rush, I just ran to the bathroom at the office before I left and … just … jammed it in.”

“What? Oh my god, Piggy, are you okay?”

“I think … I might have torn . . something … “

“Jesus, Piggy, why didn’t you tell me?  Stand up . . do you want me to help you pull it out?”

“No, Mistress… I didn’t want you to be angry with me … I don’t want to pull it out . . not here.”

“Okay - I want you to grab a cab and go directly home.  Be very careful as you take it out, lube yourself before you do, okay?  Then let me know … the extent of the damage, alright?”

“Yes, Mistress, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… “

“Enough. Get dressed.  Meet me outside.  We’ll finish up and get you a cab.”

I walked out, tossed back both our drinks.  He came out 5 minutes later, fully dressed, face washed and looking slightly more relaxed.  He takes out a few twenties and tosses them on the table for the bill.  We go outside and hail him a cab.  He turns to me, his face contrite.

“I’m so sorry… Mistress… I was careless.  Thank You for your understanding.”  He smiled and I stepped forward to cup his face in my hand.  We smile at each other.

I never saw Piggy in the flesh again.

Piggy fully depilated for me, and I think he enjoyed it. Silk stockings feel better on hairless skin. And when he was on all fours, shackled with feet wiggling to absorb the pain of my cane on his feet, thighs and ass, I observed the smooth paleness of his thighs exposed between the top of his stocking, his garter and his panties. 

Everyone has sensuality in them, but not everyone can express it fully, made up in makeup purchased from Sephora, transformed by my animus, we commingled in the projection of his anima upon me. I learned a lot from Piggy, and am forever grateful for the power he gave me.