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Thursday, Nov 26, 2009
Mistress Victoria will slap you, whip you and intimidate you into shape -- or you'll have to lay a wet kiss on her derrière.
Oct 25, 2002 | It's no secret that men and women sign up for gym memberships to get laid. But are people ready to head to the gym to be physically and verbally humiliated, beaten with a riding crop, and literally forced to kiss their fitness instructor's ass?
A New York dominatrix going by the name of Mistress Victoria is counting on it. A professional adult-fantasy role player for the past eight years, Victoria recently combined her on-the-job experience with a passion for physical fitness to create an S/M-themed exercise class and video called Slavercise.
"A lot of people coming in to see me as a dominatrix were morbidly obese and apologizing for the way they looked," Victoria explains. "I figured it was time to do something about it."
Plus-size men in leather panties aside, a sagging economy has also been a factor in the creation of this unique fitness regimen. "Slavercise lets me reach people for a lower fee," Victoria says. At just $20 for the hour-long group class, Slavercise allows its participants to take their lumps at a fraction of what it would cost to get slapped around by Victoria in her private dungeon.
Desperately out of shape and not entirely opposed to the idea of a sexy beating, I decided to swing by Slavercise's weekly session at Manhattan's Musical Theatre Works for a bit of the rough stuff.
As I waited in the hallway with my fellow Slavercisers for a martial arts class to empty out, it wasn't hard to guess who showed up to exercise and who showed up to do whatever a beautiful and petite blonde in a leather miniskirt, fishnet stockings and stiletto heels told them to.
Nick, a young copywriter from Manhattan wearing athletic shorts and a tank top, for example, could have easily passed for one of the guys I saw pounding the treadmills at Crunch down the block. Ed, a chunky lawyer from Queens wearing gray sweat pants and black leather work shoes, on the other hand, probably had a bit more than burning calories on his mind. In the brand-new running shoes and nylon pants I had recently bought while suffering from the delusion that I was going to take up jogging, I suppose I had a bit in common with both of them.
Mistress Victoria arrived at the class in pulled-back hair, a light blue jacket, black slacks and sporty slip-on sneakers. She could have easily passed for an off-duty Gap employee. That impression quickly faded when she stripped down to her skimpy black leather ensemble and began calling me a "pussy" a whole lot more than most retail salespeople I've encountered.
"You all look so pathetic," Victoria announced, signaling it was time for the fun to begin.
