Mistress Pamela's Memoirs
How I Found My Métier
When I was in college, my mother wanted me to focus on my studies, so I wasn't allowed to work during the school year. Unfortunately, a 19-year-old girl interested in making sure she looked like she walked out of a magazine, and in being seen in the wrong places, and in taking weekend trips to Manhattan or the shore, and in partying couldn't live on a meager allowance her mother assigned her. A secret job was what this girl needed. Nothing that would take too many hours, and something that would net her maximum dollars, preferably cash, in a short period of time.
If you haven't already surmised, that girl was me, and I shall tell you about my secret job when I was a student, as a Mistress-in-training.
Dancing immediately came to mind. But, you see, dancing wasn't anonymous enough, because I was attending Princeton and my parents lived in the Princeton area. My girlfriend Sandra, who was going to school in Philly and working at a dungeon, suggested that I get into domination. Easy cash, she claimed. So I drove down to Philly and checked out the dungeon where Sandra worked, but I didn't want to sit around in a cheesy lounge waiting for guys to walk in and decide which girl they wanted to have dominate them.
When I mentioned this to Sandra, she laughed and admitted it's a lot of waiting around—but you can study, she said, while you're waiting! I knew she was trying to sell me on joining the dungeon; she even confessed to a $100 bonus if she recruited me. But I told her it just wasn't going to work for me.
About a week later, she called to tell me about another opportunity she thought I might want to check out. A Mistress Eve had stopped by the dungeon. She was friends with the Mistresses who owned the house of domination and said she was seeking a Mistress-in-training to work at her private dungeon in her home. Her practice was growing, and she definitely needed an assistant to take on some of her subbies. She lived in New Jersey and was looking for a beautiful, dominant girl to train under her. She spoke with some of the girls who happened to be there, but no one intrigued her per se. Sandra collected her business card with the thought of referring me.
After deciding to end my poverty once and for all, I called Mistress Eve to introduce myself. I left a message on her answering machine. How regal she sounded! She didn't call me back right away, so I thought perhaps she had already found someone or wasn't interested in me. About a week later, she called my dorm room. My roommate answered. She passed me the phone and said, It's Mistress Eve??? giving me a quizzical look. I was invited to her home to discuss her apprentice position over coffee.
I wondered what I should wear to such a meeting and consulted with Sandra. Black, wear black, definitely, she advised. So I wore a black turtleneck sweater, black suede skirt, black stockings, and black leather boots. I arrived at Mistress Eve's house a few minutes early, not daring to be a minute late. Darling, she said as she opened the door, do come in. You must be the lovely Pamela. . . . Mistress Eve I judged to be in her late 40s, but exquisitely kept, and perhaps surgically enhanced. She had long auburn hair and wore a charcoal-gray pencil skirt and a plunging burgundy sweater that displayed ample cleavage.
What do you think domination is? she asked. And don't suppose I'm not aware that your friend probably prepped you for this interview. —I laughed. I confessed that I really didn't know much about domination in the classic BDSM sense, but that I had grown up in a household where my mother had always been superior and that my mother's mother had also so ruled over her household. —Female supremacy? she inquired. Oh yes, I said. My mother never cooked or cleaned; either we had household help, or my father had to take care of such menial things. My mother was free to pursue her career, and my father bowed to her every whim.
Do you believe that is the way the world should be? she asked. Absolutely, I replied, which earned an approving nod. I think I've actually had slaves, I added. Well, if you're not sure, you probably haven't, Mistress Eve admonished.
I continued: I mean, I had boyfriends when I was in high school, and have one now, but on top of that, there were also these other boys who were constantly hovering around. These boys would just want to do things for me, to be around me, and I just got annoyed with them mostly, but then I decided to give them things to do for me.
She leaned forward and seemed intensely interested in what I was saying. What things did you have them do? Oh, buy me things that I wanted, take me shopping. And then there was Mr. B. —Mr. B.? Well, I used to baby-sit for Mr. and Mrs. B., and Mr. B. would always overpay me. Although I informed him of this, he said that it didn't matter, that I was a Goddess. Then he asked if he could pay me for my used panties. And he did for a while, $40 per pair. Then I upped it to $50 and kept increasing it by $10 every pair, until he was paying $200 per pair. He still buys a pair a month and will give me another $100 if he can kiss and lick my feet.
That rate is way too low for foot worship, Mistress Eve stated. Hmm? I queried. Pamela, let me clarify: you have had slaves, and you probably have slaves right now; you simply need direction as to taking complete control of them. Would you like to join me as a Mistress-in-training? You are one of the most naturally dominant girls I've ever encountered—and you don't even know it! A diamond in the rough! I would be very excited to be able to take you under my wing.
And so my journey into becoming a Mistress began at 19. Even before then, actually, but as you can tell, I was hardly focusing my dominant nature fully on those I could have enslaved at 16. If you'd like to learn more about me, perhaps you can join me in a consultation. I also conduct e-mail training sessions for pets too busy or without the privacy to call.
La Maîtresse Lointaine
Nota bene: This e-mail training regime was developed for one of our European pussy boys.
First, you must commit yourself to resuming your training as a $im (sexually inadequate male who must offer $$$ tribute to a beautiful, controlling bitch Goddess). This includes desensitization to the beauty and sexuality of women.
My preference would be to have you wear the CB-6000S so that your little peepee cannot get fully erect. But short of that (every pun intended), you should wear panties every day to remind yourself that you are not a real man. You should sit down when you pee. You should wear hair scrunchies around your balls (comme les filles portent dans leur cheveux) so that your balls will always feel compressed and uncomfortable, as if it would be better that you didn't have them at all.
If you see a beautiful girl, you should remind yourself that you are a lesbienne, and that your peepee clit cannot get excited, as it is no longer a sexual organ. It has been reduced to a nuisance bump, like a pimple. However, your mouth may water as you imagine licking women in a worshipful state.
You must take the vows of chastity like a nun, or rather, a NONE. Your peepee is not allowed pleasure any longer. You will exist only to serve your Maîtresse(s). You can no longer play with your peepee like a cock. When RARELY permitted, you will be able to play with it like a clit. But only in the presence of your Maîtresse or her surrogate (an escort).
Remember to perform your $im yoga exercise, wherein you assume yoga postures in succession in the shapes of the letters S, then I, then M, while repeating: "Je suis un $im. Je suis un $im." This is to be done for an hour every morning and every night.
If you find while watching TV or a movie in which there are beautiful models or actresses, e.g., Estella Warren or Angelina Jolie, that your peepee clit is becoming dangerously erect, you must immediately sink it into a bowl of ice to shrink it back to a little bump. You must spank it with a large wooden cooking spoon to remind it that it is never to grow again.
For a half hour every day, you must hold a freshly peeled orange and lick the nubbin that looks like a clit as if it were your Maîtresse's sweet love pearl.
For another half hour every day, you must lick that same orange at the dimple that looks like a pussy hole, and you must swirl your tongue into your Maîtresse's sweet pussy and give her great pleasure.
You must set up a shrine to your Maîtresse in your flat or hotel room. You will need candles and a pair of your Maîtresse's panties, which you will have to sniff, inhaling her scent while saying your $im prayer every night before you go to bed: "I am a worthless $im, and I cannot please a woman, except with my tongue. I exist only to be under the control of a beautiful, powerful woman, et ça c'est ma raison d'être."
If you wake up in the morning with an erect peepee, you must repeat the ice-and-wooden-spoon punishment until the erect peepee has retracted into a harmless clittie.
If you find that you are absolutely failing, then you must seek out a tattoo parlor and have your clittie tattooed with:
PROPERTY OF MAÎTRESSE PAMELA OR HER DESIGNEES
so that if you even tried to have peepee sex with a girl, she would laugh when she saw that you were really a sissy boy under the control of a Padrona.
You must file periodic progress (or lack thereof) reports with your Maîtresse so that she can adjust the intensity of your programme.
The ultimate test will be when you serve an escort, who stands in as the surrogate for the Maîtresse, while the Maîtresse supervises via telephone.
Devotions to the Goddess (written by Pamela's sissy)
Kid-leather gloves, I adore;
Empress Pamela I love forevermore.
Empress Pamela with Her riding crop,
Slave Caroline begging Her never to stop.
Mary Jane shoes slave Caroline must wear,
Mistress Pamela laughing at Her sissy
Without a care.
Silk, satin, lace,
Empress Pamela slaps Caroline's face.
Caroline forced to wear plaid skirts,
Empress Pamela is all powerful,
Empress Pamela adorned in black wishbone belt,
Empress Pamela is so svelte.
Empress Pamela strides
In Her dominant boots and heels with ease,
Slave Caroline at Her feet,
Groveling to please . . .
Mistress PAMELA had a Russian-sable coat
And hat as white as snow,
And everywhere that Mistress went
Her sissy was in tow.
One, two: I belong to You;
Three, four: I beg for more;
Five, six: I kiss Your whips;
Seven, eight: I lie prostrate;
Nine, ten: Mistress Pamela wins again.
Sissy Caroline sat on a wall,
Sissy Caroline had a great fall;
Empress PAMELA didn't care at all: then
She had scrambled eggs for breakfast again.
HEY, DIDDLE, DIDDLE,
Sissy Kelly drinks piddle
From Empress Pamela's champagne glass;
Her girlfriends laughed to see such fun,
Especially when sissy licked the Empress's ass.
Drum Majorette Kelly went kissy-kissy
To the girls and made them cry;
When all the leather & muscle boys came out to play,
Empress Pamela had Kelly kiss 'em too, 'cause she made him turn gay.
There was a beautiful girl,
Who had a little blond curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead . . .
And when Empress PAMELA was good, she was very, very good,
But when she was bad, she got the sable coat, an NYC pied-à-terre, and a Jaguar from her sissy slave . . .
Slave be servile,
Slave be meek,
Empress makes sissy feel so weak.
All around the mulberry bush,
The Empress chased the sissy;
The sissy fell down on his tush,
POP goes the sissy!
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The sissy ran up the clock;
As the clock struck twelve,
Empress whipped the sissy's dickory
With the riding crop,
Hickory, dickory, dock.
Sissy be docile,
Sissy be sweet,
Sissy spends her life at Empress's feet.
The Twelve Days of Christmas: The Sissy Remix
On the first day of Christmas, I sent to my Mistress Jennifer true
Satin heels, sapphire blue.
On the second day of Christmas, I sent my Mistress Pamela
Dominant in taste
A pretty black wishbone belt for Her petite waist.
On the third day of Christmas, I sent to Mistress Jennifer
So incredibly fair
A diamond tiara for Her gorgeous hair.
On the fourth day of Christmas, I sent Mistress Pamela
Whom I love
A year's supply of kid-leather gloves.
On the fifth day of Christmas, to Goddess Mistress Jennifer I sent
A coat of luxurious sable fur—
Whatever Her wishes, I will never demur.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my Mistress Pamela received from me
Her adoring sissy
As an ottoman on hands and knees.
On the seventh day of Christmas, I sent Mistress Jennifer
A lovely leather crop for Caroline's derrière.
On the eighth day of Christmas, I sent Mistress Pamela
The very best
Dominant black leather dress.
On the ninth day of Christmas, I sent to Mistress Jennifer
Whom I adore
A whip so pliable Her slave can't stop begging for more.
On the tenth day of Christmas, I sent to Mistress Pamela
My sissy stick, worthless and of no use anymore
So that Mistress Pamela would laugh forevermore.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, I sent Mistress Jennifer
A throne so that I, Her slave
Could grovel away my life as Her drone.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, I sent Mistress Pamela
A pillory of gold, in which Her slave would never forget
Mistress Pamela owns sissy's mind, body, and soul.