Carrella walked in a slow circle around the bound-and-blindfolded man. He was stripped naked, and sat with his legs together on his own heels. His penis splayed limply on his lap.
Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of Carrella’s heels pierced the heavy silence. She prepared herself.
Whack! She drew back the riding crop she was holding to reveal a red mark across the man’s back.
“Take that, you lowly little sub,” she sneered into his ear. She adjusted the sleeve of her suit jacket.
“Yes, my queen,” he whispered back breathlessly.
“What did you say? Say it LOUDER!” she screamed.
“I will take that and more, my queen!” he exclaimed.
The interaction ended with the man giving Carrella hundreds of dollars while in tears and kissing her hand before he left.
Carrella didn’t think there was anything bizarre about anything she did. She made a business out of weird, lonely creeps who are willing to pay for her to act like an abusive mommy or daddy. They’re usually so ashamed for asking that they’ll agree to any price.
She wondered if any of her clients had to face financial trouble because of her. Oh well. Not her problem. As long as they’re the one opening their own wallet, it doesn’t matter what she had to say or threaten to get them to do it. It was their choice.
She loved what she did. She felt powerful. She felt in control. She got to be who she wanted to be, and everyone was rewarding her for it. Praise, wealth, superiority— she had it all as a dominatrix. It was better than drugs. It was better than having sex; although sometimes she did that with her better-looking or well-endowed clients. The high she got from it became her primary pleasure and drive in life. She brought this dominating energy to other areas of her life.
“I expect my clothes to be properly clean in a timely fashion, by noon precisely,” she told the immigrant woman at the laundromat. Carrella made it a point to speak loudly and quickly, as she felt it made her seem smart— and here was the perfect opportunity to flex her superior intellect over another woman’s inferior language skills. The woman scowled and said nothing as she took the bag from Carrella.
This woman would be punished if she were her sub, Carrella thought to herself. How insubordinate! Carrella decided to say nothing as well, smirking sardonically in response as she sipped her cappuccino latte au lait.
But the woman had put Carrella in a bad mood. She decided to give herself a little treat and lift her spirits. She veered off her usual path to an adjacent neighborhood. Even if she hated that she couldn’t afford to live there, she still enjoyed walking through to look at the facades of the homes she envied.
Their dog park was more spacious too, which is why people tend not to notice if you slip in without a dog. Comfortable communities are easier to target because they’re trusting and unsuspecting. All you have to do is smile and wave, and when they’re not looking, kick a pup or step on their little paw and distract them with a toy or treat if they yelp.
But someone did notice. And Carrella never knew they knew. She couldn’t even feel that she was being hunted. She could never conceive of ever really being the prey herself. Sure, she would pretend to be the victim every so often to keep herself out of trouble. But real victims were weak, and she felt strong. She was invulnerable, she felt. It couldn’t happen, she thought.
So when it happened, she was completely unprepared. It was too late. She wouldn’t get any more chances.
Chiu on This 