Learning To Love The Blogosphere Through Hardcore BDSM

“Mistress Lindy, are you there?”

Naked, hog-tied, and blindfolded—I’d been lying in complete darkness for what seemed like forever.

“Mistress Lindy?” I cried out again. The ropes were really starting to chafe my wrists and I was getting desperate. Getting charged by the hour to lie tied up and naked in the dark will do that to you.

“Where are you, you fa—”

“SILENCE!”

A shrill voice cut through the darkness. I was suddenly blinded by the brightness of the room as my blindfold was pulled off. A dominatrix pretending to be blogger Lindy West stood before me in white patent-leather gear. Black fishnet stockings, white leather boots, white cat-eye glasses—she looked magnificent. On a bed, on my knees with my face on a pillow, I craned my neck to get a better look at her. She was holding a white riding crop in one hand and a half-eaten cronut in the other.

“Slave, you are not to talk unless you are asked a question. Unless I open up a dialogue, you just listen and agree. Is that clear?” Lindy said, gesturing at me menacingly with the cronut.

I nodded frantically, scared to say a word.

“I just asked you a question, stupid, you can respond. Whatever. You’re here in Mistress Lindy’s den because you’ve been a very, very bad hipster racist.”

“I am. I’ve been very—”

Lindy smooshed the cronut into my face. There was grease all over my nose and cream in my eyes.

“As I was saying before the slave interrupted me. You’ve been a very, very bad hipster racist. You and your little girlfriend…”

“Fiancée—we got engaged,” I interrupted.

Lindy’s face blazed with anger for a second before her expression changed into a smile.

“Oh my god. You like, got engaged? That’s so sweet. Congratulations,” Lindy said.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to shake a cronut crumb from my right eye.

“Anywhos, you and your fiancée think you can make jokes about racism and play-act saying racist things to each other and you think it’s funny,” said Lindy as she got on the bed behind me.

“The two of you. You said awful things about me on the Internet,” said Lindy. I could hear her fiddling with some sort of belt as something long and weighty slapped against my calves.

“You think it’s OK to make fun of racism by pretending to be racists. You think racist jokes are OK for comedy’s sake. Well, I’ve got news for you…”

That’s when the 11-inch dildo slammed up my ass. Lindy said, “Well you can’t, ya racist. Period. End of discussion.” My screams reverberated through the dungeon.

I was crying face-down in a puddle of my own drool and snot. Tears were sliding down my cheeks. Every thrust pushed my face back into the puddle, obscuring my vision.

“Repeat after me, you little bigot. I’m a misogynist pig,” said Lindy, huffing and puffing as she fucked me with the strap-on.

“I’m…I’m a mis…Oh god, oh fucking god…I’m a misogynist pig. Hnnnn,” I said, barely getting the words out. The pain was overwhelming. She was pulling my guts inside out.

“I benefit from the patriarchy every day, and I refuse to acknowledge its existence! SAY it!” Lindy ordered, her sweat and spittle flying all over my back.

“I benefit frugh patriarchy…refuse,” I started for a moment and trailed off. The pain was unbearable. I was starting to black out.

“Did I say you could take a nap, you oppressor? Wake up,” said Lindy, grabbing my hair and pulling my head off the pillow.

“Your gender is responsible for rape culture. You’re no better than the misogynists who threaten to rape me every day through my email inbox. You’re more than just a part of the problem. You ARE the problem,” Lindy screamed at me, pegging me faster and faster.

Somewhere in Pakistan, a young girl screamed as acid was thrown in her face.

Lindy was giving me the entire strap-on. The silicone balls were slamming against my own, another source of pain in a situation that didn’t really need any more. She suddenly slid the dildo all the way out. Grunting, my bowels released themselves, covering my legs and feet with my own shit.

I slumped over on my side. As my vision dimmed, I got one last view of Lindy. She looked stunning in her dominatrix outfit. Every part of it was white except for Lindy herself. “Lindy West” was black.

I passed out.

I woke up on a massage table. I was still naked, but thankfully I’d been cleaned up. A woman in a geisha outfit was standing over me.

“Oh, missa, you wake up finaree. I wait for you rong time,” said the geisha, her giant fake teeth dancing around in her mouth.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said, struggling to get off the massage table. I was strapped down, unable to get up.

“Oh, I no kid you missa. You say very racist things about Chinese people,” said the woman. Now that she was standing next to the massage table, I could see that she wasn’t Asian at all. She was a white girl with a yellow spray tan. Her eyes were pulled back with Scotch Tape.

“For fuck’s sake, are you supposed to be Suey Park? Christ almighty.”

“Yes, missa. Suey give you good massage while you take a nap. You want anything else?” she asked.

“No, god no please,” I pleaded as “Suey” gripped my flaccid penis and yanked it as hard as she could.

My screams echoed through the massage parlor as Suey gave me the world’s most unhappy ending. For several minutes I experienced the worst cock and ball torture possible. I couldn’t take any more. I started screaming the safe word.

“JEZEBEL! JEZEBEL! JEZEBEL! Oh go stop already. I can’t. Please! JEZEBEL!”

A few minutes later I was in a small office, sitting across from Tamara, this week’s “Lindy,” who sat at a desk behind an iMac.

“So next week, same time is good for you?” asked Tamara, pulling the iMac’s screen closer to her.

“Yeah, that should work,” I replied, shifting my weight to take the pressure off of my destroyed ass.

“So another ‘Lindy’ next week? You said you needed at least another three weeks of her, right? Who’s next in the rotation for your second? I have Janet Mock—is that OK for your next session?” asked Tamara, pecking away at her keyboard.

“Yeah, I guess so, Tamara. I wanted to ask you, and I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but are any of the other girls available to be Lindy next week?”

Tamara glared at me from behind her cat-eye glasses.

“It’s just that, don’t get me wrong, you were fantastic. But I think it would work better if the dom was, well, you know, a white girl,” I said, holding the back of my head nervously.

“We’ll see what we can do,” said Tamara, getting up and extending her hand.

“Thank you,” I said, giving her hand a firm shake.

“Fucking racist,” Tamara said under her breath as I stumbled out the door.

My ass was demolished. My penis would never be the same. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. I had won the victory over myself. I loved the blogosphere.