Staring into the dark abyss of my reflection, with my soul staring back at me, I had a difficult decision to make. It was the summer of Malice. The summer I set foot in a dungeon, shed my old skin and became someone else.
I was 19 years old – fresh out of an all girls private school, sophomore in college and on my second boyfriend and second boy that I had slept with. I was suddenly faced with a tough decision. My very strict, very old school, old world, Eastern European father decided to disown me, banish me from the house and cut off my school tuition, leaving the burden of paying for school on me.
At 19, I was faced with a difficult decision- abandon the prospects of school and work full time to support myself or work my ass off during summer break and save enough money to pay for the year. Communicating this to my then boyfriend George, I chose the latter.
George was 19 as well. Attending a SUNY for pre-med, also Eastern European, 5”11 and a bit of a narcissist. I remember his exact words – “I’m not dating a loser and a college dropout. Do what you have to do to pay for school or otherwise you’re on your own.”
His sharp words attacked my existence, they pierced my heart, and shattered my soul. I had a choice to make, drop out and lose my family and Greg or work as much as I could and continue going to school and keep George.
I chose the latter. That was the summer I became Malice.
In my attempt to find a job that would make me enough money to pay for school and afford me enough flexibility to have a second part time job, I entertained ideas as stripper or prostitute. I knew I couldn’t be a prostitute. I was too attached to my faith and my ideals and morals. And I knew I couldn’t be a stripper Because I had stage fright, I was shy and introverted and unabashedly didn’t know how to flirt. Then I saw a post on Craigslist that read:
“Midtown dungeon looking for dominatrixes. Will train the right candidates, no experience necessary. Must have a look. No soliciting. No prostitution.”
This was perfect, I thought. Having shown this post to George and expecting him to reprimand me, he surprisingly agreed. He had me reply to the post and almost immediately I was scheduled to meet with this clandestine dungeon located in midtown west. They offered me no real address and advised to call them when arriving at the coordinates and intersection provided.
Making it to the exact location, George and I were greeted outside by A short middle age woman. She had thick curly hair, she was about 5”2, very plump and not what I’d consider attractive or having “a look.” She escorted us up a flight of stairs and opened a secret door that led directly into her office. She introduced herself to us as Carol, the dungeons office manager, house mom, and second in command to the owner and silent partner. She requested George wait for me outside as this was going to be a private and somewhat personal interview of sorts.
She asked my age, my intentions for becoming a dominatrix, if I had any experience, and if this was something I could see myself doing. Who the fuck knew if at 19 I could see myself as a dominatrix, if I had any sexual appeal, or what the fuck I was doing with my life, but I lied through my teeth that day. I needed this job and what it had to offer. Carol explained to me the alternating shifts, mistresses were paid on a weekly basis in cash. Each client was either 250$/ hr 80$ for the mistress and 170 for the house and 150$ for half hour and 50$ for the mistress and 100$ for the house.
She explained that there was absolutely no sex, they were a legal operating dungeon, they did not solicit sexual activity and once in session, I lead the session and determine what I’m comfortable with doing or not doing. She explained that most of the mistresses were very dominant, humiliating their clients and never engaged in any illicit activity or promoted sex. I found comfort in hearing that and was determined that I could be successful there.
My first day was on a hot summer Wednesday,. I had agreed to take on the morning and afternoon shift from 10 am to 6Pm. My first day was spent shadowing different mistresses to get a feel of what transpires in each session. My educating mistress was mistress Desi. She was small, petite, Irish, natural red head, big tits and nice ass. And although petite had all the right curves in all the right places. She groomed my look – told me to wear a red bra, black corset, red lace panties, fishnet stockings and a garter. That was going to be my look and ensemble for the time being. I was beyond uncomfortable wearing that, I didn’t quite feel like myself. But I knew I had an image to sell, a fantasy, and so I accepted.
My first session in training, I was forced in with four other mistresses dressed as sexy nurses into a simulated medical room. First client of the day was Video Vinny.
Video Vinny was your typical Staten Island Italian asshole. Dark blonde hair, blue eyes, beer belly, and here was this 200 pound man sitting on a stirrup chair, legs spread apart, playing with his dick while the “nurses” serviced him. In the background 70s porn was playing – the kind of porn where women still rocked the bush. Standing in the background, video Vinny zeroed in on me saying, “you new girl come here.”
I came closer. I was just in training so I didn’t think I was expected to perform. But he immediately said, “get naked.”
I looked around at the other mistress, they all nodded in agreement – one even whispered to not break character or we’d lose the session. I reluctantly took off my clothes. He beckoned me to come closer and started to squeeze my nipples, asking “does that hurt.”
I didn’t react. I was use to having my dad beat me with a belt and beat me harder when I wouldn’t cry. I decided to assert control and not react.
He twisted harder and said “how about now” menacingly searching for pain in my face. Again I held my composure and did not react. I understood his game and i wouldn’t give in. He may have controlled the session, he may have stripped me of my clothing; robbed me of my dignity, but i refused to let him have control over my body. So he squeezed harder and harder and harder, becoming red in the face and breaking sweat – until finally he let go. He angrily exasperated, “I don’t like this one she is making me uncomfortable ask her to leave.”
I left knowing that In some diabolical twisted game for control i defeated video Vinny.
My first session set the precedent for all other sessions to follow. I went home with George, Locked myself in his parents bathroom and stared deeply at my reflection in the mirror.
The reflection staring back was that of a very good girl. She was very shy. She was very introverted, She never spoke up. Never defended herself, never talked back, etc. the reflection staring back was good girl “Alice” – who had recently lost her virginity, was dating her second boyfriend, never partied, went out, did drugs, or slept around. Yet I couldn’t be her and simultaneously work in a dungeon, selling a fantasy and become all the things I wasn’t. I had a fantasy to sell. I had to survive.
So I became Malice and I sold her well. She was damaged mentally and emotionally, contriving, and manipulative.
Looking into the mirror again, I saw my old self looking back and watching my new persona consume me. I saw her trapped inside a house of broken mirrors, falling down the rabbit hole and into my own wonderland of malice, debauchery, and hate.