I found out that I was a born Domina when I was laced tightly into my first corset and saw the way men stared at me . . .

I leaned against the wall with my hands outspread, bracing myself, as my beautiful roommate pulled the black laces tighter and tighter. I kept losing my balance as she tugged back against my rib cage. I had never worn a corset before and trembled with anticipation as my breathing became more and more restricted. We were going to The Chamber, a popular fetish club in Los Angeles, and I had nothing of my own to wear. I had just moved to L.A. a few months before, to start college, and desperately wanted to sin in the City of Angels; all I needed was the right look. My breasts heaved and spilled enticingly over the top of the red satin corset, which was embellished with black lotus flowers, and a rosy flush began to paint my skin.

She finally spun me around and asked me what I thought. My skin began to tingle as I slowly inspected my curvaceous hips and small, cinched waist. My eyes wandered appreciatively over my body, from my subtly sculpted shoulders and arms, to my large, full breasts, to the perfectly trimmed triangle of hair between my thighs, to my small bare feet. My chest rose with every shortened breath. I looked seductive and soft, yet still beautifully tough and incredibly sexy.

"Do you have anything else I could, um, try on?" I asked, raising a mischievous eyebrow as I flashed my brilliant smile. I was soon pulling her best delicate nude-hued silk thigh-high stockings over my long legs and clipping them to a black lace garter belt that sat low around my hips. After making sure my seams were straight, I slipped into a cool and commanding pair of size 7.5 black stiletto heels, pivoted to the mirror—and nearly came from the jolt of power I experienced upon seeing myself standing there looking so strict and dominant. I wiggled into a tight knee-length leather skirt and began to fantasize as I zipped up the back and felt the leather hug my round ass.

I slowly pulled a pair of handcrafted black leather gloves up my tan arms to my soft elbows, enjoying every second as the leather sucked my fingers like a warm mouth. My long dark brown hair was parted on the right, and my side-swept bangs hung slightly over my left eye, allowing glints of green to shine through seductively whenever I laughed. The rest of my shiny mane was gathered back into a tight ponytail that lay between my bare shoulder blades, falling softly to the small of my back. Smoky eyes and red lips completed the look . . . almost.

I stood back to examine this wild and enslaving goddess that I had become. I was strong and confident and far sexier than any of those silly girls one might see in a lingerie catalogue or fashion magazine. My roommate went into the other room and returned with a beautiful medium-sized riding crop. "Every femme fatale should have one!" she joked as she handed it to me. I admired the delicate craftsmanship of the handle and slowly traced the small wedge of leather up my leg, over my hip, and along the shiny silver clips that led straight up my torso to my firm breasts. I ran it slowly across my delicate collarbones, up the side of my neck, across my hot cheek, and to my full lips. Seductively, I kissed the cool leather and licked my lips as I cracked the crop down on my palm, making a loud smacking noise.

It was then that I knew I was a Mistress, and I couldn't wait to wrap a man around my dominant little finger.

The minute I strode into The Chamber, every man in the room seemed to stop what he was doing to look at me. Their eyes told of a longing for me so desperate that they would face any and all forms of pain and humiliation to be in my good graces. Desire seemed to come at me in waves from all directions. It was utterly arousing and completely empowering.

Three men approached me, each still smelling like the office or law firm he had worked in earlier that day. They had left their ordinary lives and traded in their ties for black collars with large silver rings, their suits for different assortments of leather gear, from pants to harnesses. I was the Mistress of their wildest fantasies, and I soon had one slave worshiping my feet, another slave lighting my roommate's cigarette, and one especially hardheaded slave enjoying the sting of my crop across his backside.

I left the club with a newfound love for the art of female domination, glowing with the satisfaction that comes from hearing a man obediently say "Yes, Mistress."