Femal domination fiction

Meet Clarissa Clifton – a Story of Cruelty, Spite & Malice

I love writing about Financial Domination, it is one of my very favourite things – both in my writing and in my life. I found writing about it in this story absolutely irresistible. Clarissa herself was very much a creation after my own heart. While my own career didn’t start until after university, she was me in the making. For fans of ‘ultimate’ FinDom, this one is for you.

Amazon Description:

Meet Clarissa Clifton’.
That’s her over there, the long-wavy-haired brunette with the very short, tight white skirt, the sleeveless red top and the four-inch heels.
She stands out from the other students, doesn’t she? It is not just that she is a little older, 25, against the usual 18-21 bunch, it’s the walk. The walk that says stroppy is a virtue; compromise not considered.
She is a predator; a predator as cold, as dispassionate, and as efficient as nature’s finest
.’

And what does a predator seek?
Prey.

Professor Michael Morris. Is a respected academic; esteemed in his local community; married with two grown daughters. He is a man untroubled by want, his is a very settled life.
But life is about to get darker. A lot darker.
Like a field mouse suddenly encompassed by the shadow of a hawk.

Extract:

Meet Clarissa Clifton, 

That’s her over there, the long-wavy-haired brunette with the very short, tight white skirt, the sleeveless red top and the four-inch heels.

She stands out from the other students, doesn’t she? It is not just that she is a little older, 25, against the usual 18-21 bunch, it’s the walk. The walk that says stroppy is a virtue; compromise not considered.

You like her already don’t you? You want to know her better.

This is her second day at university. She is on her way to the departmental reception to which all new students have been invited to meet the staff. ‘Mingle’ was the word used in the letter, so informal this Department of History!

She spent yesterday arriving, moving into her room on campus, unpacking and filling in lots of forms at university central and the departmental office. A day of necessary evils. Clarissa hasn’t come here to spend time on such trifles. They are for the humdrum, the grunts.

Today is her real beginning. Clarissa Clifton has a plan. She is on a mission.

She has spent a lot of time to researching this department. She knows the staff list by heart, their names, specialisms, their main publications. What she needs to research today is disposition. Her experience tells her that in a department where 13 of the 19 staff members are male, there will be at least one with the very nature she is seeking.

Finding this temperament is a necessary element of her plan, without it she is back to the drawing board. But is she worried? No, she is a specialist; she is clinical; she not only knows where and how to look for it; she also knows how to see. 

She is a predator; a predator as cold, as dispassionate, and as efficient as nature’s finest.

It is at this reception she is supposed to find and introduce herself to her ‘supervisor’ – the person who will apparently be her ‘link to the department’ and provide supportive counselling and advice as required. A crucial contact then; one not to be taken lightly.

The reception is already in full swing when she arrives alone. Students seemingly floating around the room in pairs, looking at the name tags on the staff and saying hi. Leggy, toothy girls all eager to impress, pimply boys keen to register a presence.

Clarissa doesn’t need to be in a tag team, she has her mission for company. And the start of that mission is the location of a Dr Robert Coker, lecturer and supervisor-elect. ‘Red or white?’ a woman in pale green asks, she is young and pretty, smiling, and showing even, white teeth. Her name tag reads Dr Suzanna Briggs. ‘Call me Zanna.’

‘Oh, red please.’ Says Clarissa mildly surprised. ‘Which one is Robert Coker?’ The no-use of his title is, of course, deliberate. Why waste time being what one is not? 

The blonde doctor lofts herself theatrically onto tiptoe and surveys the room, before pointing over to a middle-aged, tubby man in the corner. He is chatting to a group of keen looking students, and there is something about him that tells her that he is not The One. Perhaps it is the loose T-shirt with the old school tie printed onto it. Postmodern irony. Mentally he is dismissed from her concerns.

Call it instinct if you will but Clarissa knows that when The One appears in front of her, she will know him. It is an instinct finely honed and it has never failed her. Now she stands on the edge of the mingle, holding her red wine and her eyes move from staff member to staff member. Surveying, evaluating. Judging.

Two seem to stand out, a very tall, slightly-stooped, white-haired upper-middle-aged man with glasses, and a younger man, perhaps late twenties with the hint of a pot belly and a luminous blue jumper just like grandma used to knit.

‘Refill?’ the blonde again offering more wine. Clarissa nods, she is closer now to what she came here for. ‘If you want’, she says thrusting another, larger glass of red into her hand. ‘I’ll take you over and introduce you to Robert, he really is very nice.’ 

‘Oh no, no, it’s okay’, Clarissa replies. ‘I’ll just get on with the mixing and find him a little later.’ And there she stands for a few more minutes looking at her two candidates. She watches them chatting, tracks their eyes movement, laugh-patterns, body language. Like a hunter she soaks up all she sees before her, and soon it becomes clear that while both have potential, it is the man with grey hair that is The One. Pot Belly will just have to be The Other. First reserve.

And so, her mingling begins. It will be short and sharp. She has, after all, formal business in the departmental office to attend to.

She negotiates her way, hi-ing and bye-ing, through the various students she met at last night’s fannyache of a  Fresher’s Reception. They are nothing more than stepping stones. Until she arrives before the elevated person of Professor Michael Morris. 

This is the encounter she has long planned. She has dressed for it, and now leans forward and ostentatiously reads his name tag. ‘Hello’ he says. It is an affable, cheery voice. On the plummy side, but that’s not unusual in his type. ‘And what’s your name? Are you one of mine?’ He fumbles with a crumpled list.

‘No, my name is Clarissa Clifton.’ She gives him her cool stare; she knows to perfection the effect of her pale green eyes. ‘I am not one of yours.’ And then she counts to herself, one, two, three…’Not yet anyway.’ And then the slow blink.

She can see he looks puzzled, slightly unsure how to proceed. He is off-balance. Unsettled. Expecting deference but getting nothing remotely close. She smiles and nods to herself, and then departs without another word or glance.

Mission accomplished. Just the formalities now. She is confident that she will stay in his memory.

She is aware of what she has just left behind. And, if he really is The One, he will be dimly aware of what is to come. Like a field mouse suddenly encompassed by the shadow of a hawk.

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2 thoughts on “Meet Clarissa Clifton FinDom Fiction”

  1. Clarissa introduces herself to her future slave. “But your sort, Worm. Your sort calls me Mistress.”

    This is an intense findom, entrapment, home invasion story, where the Mistress selects her target and enslaves him.

    Reply

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