NATALIE IS OUT ON THE TOWN, NEW YORK TO BE SPECIFIC. SHE STRIDES DOWN THE SIDEWALK, A SHOCK OF PINK HAIR FALLING ACROSS HER ALABASTER FOREHEAD. SHE IS DEVASTATINGLY BEAUTIFUL, INKED AND PIERCED, BUT NO ONE IS LOOKING AT HER. EVERYONE IS STARING AT WHAT’S IN FRONT OF HER: A MAN IN A WHEELCHAIR. ON HIS FEET ARE BLACK LEATHER PUMPS, FETISH HEELS. HE’S WEARING A LOOSE HOSPITAL GOWN AND LIPSTICK. IN HIS EYES A SPECIAL KIND OF CONTACT LENS RENDERS HIM COMPLETELY BLIND. AND FOR 20 CITY BLOCKS HE’S IN HEAVEN. NOT YOUR TYPICAL FRIDAY NIGHT, EVEN BY BIG APPLE STANDARDS, BUT THEN AGAIN THERE’S NOTHING TYPICAL ABOUT THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN A DOMINATRIX AND HER SUBMISSIVE. OFT MISUNDERSTOOD, INFINITELY NUANCED, THEIRS IS A BOND THAT PUTS MOST MARRIAGES TO SHAME—TRUST, RESPECT AND COMMUNICATION ARE PARAMOUNT, WHILE PAIN AND HUMILIATION ARE A WELLSPRING OF ECSTASY. STRAP IN FOR SOME TOUGH LOVE.
NATALIE
DOMME, NEW YORK
