The Baroness and balloon bondage

Tonight I modeled a little pink latex outfit at a show for The Baroness. A party guest who spent most of his time on the ground -- and, in fact, carried with him a flyer advertising his services as a slave boy, including "crawling like a worm at ladies' feet" -- followed me around and stared at my shoes for the better part of the evening.

Another woman who was modeling was actually kicking people and pulling their hair and making them say humiliating things; while I can be imperious, I also, rather girlishly, feel compelled to be nice to people and to try to spare their feelings. On the other hand, other people got themselves tied up to each other and to various objects including enormous balloons, something I have too much gravitas to do on stage under any circumstances. I'm not a dominant or a submissive; I am an island.

After the Baroness warned worm-boy to call her "Baroness" and not "Mistress," I considered demanding that he call me "Fairy Princess," but then I forgot about it. Male submissives, for me, induce only apathy and ennui.

The outfit was nifty (here are some of the designs the models wore), and Jess, who persuaded me to do the show, was a delight. At one point she ended up with her hands though a donut-shaped balloon, which was then inflated around her wrists, creating "balloon bondage." This was novel, despite having virtually no application to actual sex.