I'm an enema fetishist. I give myself an enema two to three times a day, whether I am with someone or not. It started becoming sexual when I equated feeling revitalized with having anal sex. I don’t do drugs and I don’t drink heavily, so this is my release. There’s a real sense of depravity in giving and receiving enemas, which are often associated with illness or embarrassment. It’s exciting when my partner’s rectum is filled with more liquid than she thinks she can possibly hold. She’s forced to take however much I decide to give her, enduring all the exquisite torment. When coffee is used in an enema, it allows high concentrations of caffeine to be absorbed into the body. When I am with a partner, we take a long break, enjoying the euphoria of feeling revitalized before we switch roles. Maybe I’ll administer the enema first, we’ll relax together, then she’ll give me one. Sometimes my lady friends like to be dominated, so I’ll give them a big enema and I won’t allow them to excuse themselves to go to the bathroom.I’m a foot model. I started working private events that were hosted in people’s apartments—usually expensive penthouses owned by a person with a fetish. A usual session involves conversation. There’s no sex or nudity. A man then gets on his knees to rub, kiss and suck on my feet. Some people have more specific requests like sweaty feet (I’ll put on a pair of damp gym socks) or dirty feet (I’ll walk on pavement before going to see them). Sometimes people want to abuse the foot, tie it up and cut it or bruise it. They almost always ask me to apply red or shiny black nail polish. I have had clients ask to cum on my feet, but most foot fetishists would rather put chocolate sauce on your feet and lick it off than cum on them. At first, it was unnerving and, after a while, empowering. I’ve always had a mature body and men stare more at my breasts than my face. So, when I had this man caressing my feet without any interest in traditional sex, it rocked my world.
I’m a trader. Everything on Wall Street is a big game: the bigger the trade, the bigger your dick. How you are on the floor is how you are in life. I hate when magazines angle for some enlightening story about sexuality in my industry—there’s no Pulitzer there. It’s exactly how you might envision a place where straightforward men don’t have the time to be anything but blunt: you fucked up, you’re fucking hot, let’s fuck. A woman cannot thrive on Wall Street unless she’s a guy’s girl or she’s fucking insane. If she’s doing well, she’s most certainly using her sexuality to get ahead. Women get into this field because they want attention. They’re thinking they can break the glass ceiling and they’re getting off on the fact that they’re playing with the big boys. They like the dirty talk and they like getting hit on. There was this junior girl who was all wide-eyed and innocent, but when we’d break her balls about this or that, tell her we’d fuck her good if she made a trade, she took us up on it. I ended up fucking her a few times in the bathroom. Another guy fucked her in the bathroom of a bar at happy hour. My boss has been fucking two girls on other floors. I wish I were gay so I could fuck my boss for more money come
bonus season.
I’m a club waitress. I’m pissed that my industry is now associated with Tiger Woods. It’s making the wives and girlfriends of our prime bottle buyers nervous, which makes it harder to talk them into coming to my club three nights a week. Before Rachel Uchitel, bottle-service chicks were thought of as scantily clad girls who took beverage orders. I’m surprised that people are just now realizing that my position goes a lot deeper than dropping off bottles of Veuve to high-rollers for tens— sometimes hundreds—of thousands of dollars a night. You think my smile gets them to pay that kind of money? Why hasn’t anyone wondered about us—women who make a living from men we hate? We let them touch us, kiss us, degrade us. Money is powerful, but so are cocaine and sex—especially when you’re addicted to them. Most of these girls aren’t ruthless or smart, they’re addicts. They get fucked up, release their daddy issues and fuck their bottle buyer in the bathroom—because they want to, because they’re high enough to do it, because they want him to come back next week. A lot of times we’re told not to get involved with celebrities, but we make sure there are ladies close by who are willing to screw them, whether or not they know it yet. We’re all hardwired to spot a desperate star-fucker. I’m not one for starfucking. I’m not one for fucking in general. I’m in it for the party.
I’m a dominatrix. But I’m not like the others. I am a theater student. The whole thing is actually kind of gross, but, like most acting parts I get, it’s just another way to make money while honing my craft. I answered an ad and found myself in this amazing office building, decorated to appeal to all types of fetishes. There were medieval rooms and hospital sets. I became someone else. I was stepping on the heads of powerful men instead of lying in bed while a clumsy college boy went to town. To say that I didn’t like doing it initially would be a lie. My clients come to me to relinquish power for punishment, but the pain is something I still don’t understand. I recently saw a regular in the supermarket with his wife and son. He asks me to paddle him instead of using a whip—the whip would leave marks. A lot of the time, a guy just wants me to scold or embarrass him by commenting on the size of his muscles or penis. I have a lot of clients who need me to be their mother while they take on the role of thumb-sucking baby. My favorite is when men have a boot-worship fetish and I can use my Alexander Wang or Dior boot to bring pain to their balls.
I’m a Craigslist regular. I hook up with two or three different women each week through the “Casual Encounters” section. Sometimes I’ll post a personal, hoping to find a woman who I can chat with for a few days before meeting up. A lot of times, though, it’s spur of the moment: I’m coming home from work or a bar, feeling lonely or adventurous, and I’d like to have a girl waiting at my doorstep. Surprisingly, the women I meet are pretty hot—usually a 6 or a 7—but every now and then I’ll find some 20-year-old girl with perfect tits. Most of the women I meet are having revenge sex. They’re mad at their husbands or boyfriends and they take it out on me. I once met this girl who was just a few weeks away from getting married. She was angry at her fiancé for going to the Hamptons while she had to stay home and study for a final exam. We went to a sex club in Manhattan. She ended up fucking three other men that night. I would much rather be in a committed relationship.
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