He kept his desires masked until he found Mikayla online in 2001. Because of her size, he believed she was the perfect mistress. "I thought I had died," he says. "You just don't see many women with her dimensions."
By the time he got a job as a business professor at a Las Vegas college, the fantasy had developed into a fixation. While teaching, he succumbed to the compulsion to give all the ladies in the class A's. And he had trouble saying no to female co-workers.
C. Stiles
C. Stiles
Amazon Mikayla Miles stands seven feet tall in heels.
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In March 2006, at a fetish conference in Vegas, he met Mikayla in person. Since then, he has seen her six times. His sessions usually begin with him giving her gifts — fine perfume, lotions, designer purses, dark chocolates. Then the energy shifts and she gets into character.
She stands on him, spits into his mouth, and makes him lick the bottom of her feet. He also likes her to treat him like a dog, leave welts on his back with a whip, and mark degrading things on him with pens.
Once, this past May, he flew to her home and paid her just so he could clean it and be ordered around. Aside from literally walking all over him, she demands he do positive things. They keep an e-mail correspondence, and she orders him to eat healthful food and quit gambling. Like a good slave, he obeys.
These days, Don still can't stand up to women — such as colleagues who dump workloads on him. Or ladies who cut in front of him in line at the grocery store. Or reporters who request an interview an hour before his plane takes off. "Every woman is better than me, even if she's in a trailer or a person I don't like," he says.
He swears sessions have been good for him. Indeed, since he met Mikayla, he has lost 50 pounds and is now at a healthy weight. He has also completely stopped gambling. It's liberating, he says, to let someone in on your obsession — even if it's just one person. Even if you are paying her. "She cares about me," he says. "There is certainly an emotional side."
Mikayla acknowledges that very few of her clients are in a healthy state of mind. Most of them have addictive personalities, and she's had to ask herself if she's harming more than helping.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm the drug dealer — that I'm feeding the addiction," she says.
Back at the Crowne Plaza Hotel, after their session, the role-playing has stopped. Mikayla, now out of her red corset, is no longer in character. She shouts lighthearted remarks from the bathroom as she slips out of her boots and back into sandals.
Don is still in his Fruit of the Looms. He runs his hands across the pink whip welts on his bare body. He's silent and seems to be having trouble turning from "slave" back into Don. He's stuck on the idea he's little. After some encouragement from Mikayla to snap out of it, he eventually gets up and heads for a glass of water on the dresser.
As he turns, a smudge of black letters, written across his back in magic marker, becomes visible. It reads, "Mikayla's bitch."
He takes a sip of water and looks out the window, toward the bright lights of the city. Then he gets back down on all fours, eyes fixed to the ground.
