I know plenty of girls who are right now stressing over what they are planning on wearing next month for Halloween. They want to be sexy and fun but not over the top; a delicate line to walk. So, they scour the internet, they drive great distances to shops, they try to be creative… but at the end of the day it’s a push-up bra and a plunging neckline with some angelwing’s, cat ears, or a nurse’s uniform. Now, this is a problem that I, my little pretties, do not have.
If you were to sneak into my bedroom and open my closet, in addition to my cherished fashionable gear, you would see an entire section devoted to my passion for squeezing the delicate little testicles of snivelling men. My Dominatrix attire, suspended in the air on hooks, just like my wiggling men, have a prominent place in my closet and heart. I have collected these transformative outfits with the passion of Indiana Jones, bravely fighting snakes and war criminals, to secure his artifacts. I have my leather, vinyl, linked chain, and studded regalia and if you are so lucky to see me wearing my thigh-high leather boots, micro-thong, and corset, you’ve probably also ejaculated with my strap-on inside of you while blindfolded and screaming into a ball-gag.
I have enough high-quality ensembles to outfit an army of 23-year-old girls, provided they’re also a size 2 and can walk in 6-inch heels… And my closest girlfriends have begged me every year to outfit them for Halloween, but that simply would not do. I cannot wear these clothes out to a party because, for me, and for the pathetic men under my heel, this isn’t dress-up. It’s not a game. And to treat it as such would be a travesty. On the other hand, I refuse to put on a pair of angel wings and call that a costume.
A staple of growing up is watching classic cinema and, over the last century, countless children’s eyes have sparkled at the majesty and awe that is The Wizard of Oz. Most little girls look at Dorothy and her ruby slippers and envision themselves clicking their way down their own yellow brick road on a marvellous adventure accompanied by fun, magical characters who pause to sing mellifluously. Other girls wanted to be Glinda, the Good Witch, floating in a bubble, and dressed in a pink gown. Well… not me. I was never Dorothy or Glinda. When I watched, I was the Wicked Witch of the West. She was a woman of consequence who made men shake in their boots who was no tetherball to be batted, back and forth, by forces beyond her control. Now, I’m not going to smear green paint all over my body, but a Wicked Witch I will be, nonetheless.
So… if you’re lucky enough to see me this Halloween, I won’t be in my leather buckle bustier, but, rest assured, it’s hanging on a hook and ready to be used, just like my favorite little grovelling sub.
Alice
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/pskdf0/picking_up_my_hot_halloween_costume_23f