You're sitting at your desk now. The office coffee is slowly eroding your stomach lining, you've got absolutely nothing important to do ever, and you're so bored you've actually nicknamed the 347 ceiling tiles above your desk. Wouldn't your job would be a billion times better if someone paid you to sit at home all day, smoking a bowl in your pajamas, playing with your dog, as strangers humiliate themselves and do your every bidding?

Welcome to Mistress Melissa's world. She started working as a phone psychic for Miss Cleo in high school, then turned to phone sex when she realized it paid more. Before long, Melissa turned to the magical world of domination as a leather-clad, whip-wielding, one woman

punishment machine. Not only did it pay even better than the heavy breathing, she developed a loyal group of slaves willing to write school papers for her, clean her house, and subject themselves to excruciating pain for her amusement.

Although, she admits, it's sometimes too gruesome for even her to handle. "When I first started, I was losing a lot of slaves and they told me I wasn't

mean enough," Melissa says. "I kept wondering how much farther I could go."

Five years later, Melissa has come a long way. From the comfort of her Atlanta home, she doles out vicious punishments and manages more than 5,000 slaves on her Yahoo! group. Weep as you discover that her job is easier and much more fun than yours. Let's take a trip through Melissa's day.

8:30 a.m.
I wake up when my boyfriend, Will, is getting ready for work. My phone sex line is through a Web site called Keen and it lets you to make a schedule. Some people punch in. I don't have to -- the site automatically calls me each morning at 8:30, and then calls back if I don't answer. I press 1 to log in, then I'm set to take calls from my over eager fleet of slaves until I'm automatically logged out at 5 p.m.

9:12 a.m.
Robert calls. He's a regular caller. These guys tend to be pretty vanilla when it comes to kink because they all want to be my fucking friend or something. As I consider what I want for breakfast, I absentmindedly chat on Instant Messenger until he hears the keyboard and asks if I'm typing. Go to hell, Robert.

10:15 a.m.
Oh good. I look out of my window and see one of my slaves mowing my lawn, which he is required to do every two weeks. Lawn Mowing Slave rings the bell when he's done and tells me to have a good day, then gets down on one knee and stays there until I slam the door in his face. Here's another reason why my boyfriend doesn't mind that I'm a dominatrix -- he doesn't have to mow the lawn anymore.

11:00 a.m.
I love The View. I know it's so gay, but that's OK because gay is the new cool.

11:32 a.m.
Sigh. Another call. Uh, oh. Five minutes in, his wife picks up the phone and snaps, "What are you doing?" He tells her I'm a customer service representative for a credit card company. It's crazy. Guys get busted by their wives and mothers all the time. Sometimes I play along when they pretend I'm someone else. Not today -- The View is still on. "Actually," I say, "I'm a phone whore and your husband was just getting his jollies off with me." I hang up the phone as she goes ballistic.

12:02 p.m.
My friend Suzanne comes over so we smoke some pot and play with Sativa, my puppy, and then take a few calls for kicks. One guy

named Steve wants me to watch him be a sissy, so I link to his web cam and tell him to put on something sexy. He prances out in a muumuu and I punish him by making him put Ben Gay in his pee hole and paint his toenails pink. I then send him to Victoria's Secret to buy some matching lingerie.

12:47 p.m.
Yay, the Fed-Ex man is here! It looks like some slaves have sent me three items from my Amazon wish list. They usually send nice lingerie, but occasionally I get something good. Today is not one of those days -- a crappy corset and some cheap panties.

1:00 p.m.
Sissy Steve calls back. He's at Victoria's Secret. I make him put me on the phone with the salesgirl. She describes the lingerie he's buying and tells me it matches his pretty pink toes. I can hear the humiliation in his voice and I know he's never been happier.

2:16 p.m.
I turn on my web cam and spin records for a few hours. Slaves pay $20 per month to subscribe to my web cam and watch me do

mundane activities, like watch TV or play with Sativa or play hours and hours of extremely loud European dance music. They don't call me Goddess for nothing.

4:35 p.m.
One of my local slaves comes over to do chores. Outside of Lawn Mowing Slave, I don't have slaves over that much, but I have a small crew that I make do all the shit I simply cannot stand doing, like clean my room. It's always a complete disaster area because I don't sleep in there. It's just a way station for all of my crap. My slave is meticulous. First, he takes every article of clothing out of my closet or picks it up off the floor. Then, he folds it neatly making sure that everything looks like it came out of The Gap. Finally, he arranges it by color, size and clothing type on the sheets that he just washed. Once he's mopped my floor, I kick him out and pick out the clothes I don't wear and give those to Goodwill. I'm going to heaven now.

4:50 p.m.
Slave Tim emails and begs me for a writing assignment. Time to employ the Fond of Writing computer program on my Website. What is this incredible writing system? Slaves have to type eloquent phrases such as "Mistress Melissa is God. I am shit, worse than the bacteria on the piece of corn contained within my shit," and other such indisputable truths. They have to type this 100 times without stopping and get an additional 10 repetitions for every typo. I get a report on how they did. Sometimes, I'll send all these pop-up messages just to fuck with them, such as "Loser!" or "Fag!" My personal favorite is, "For $100, you can skip this assignment!" Few (except those who have a fetish for giving me money) decide to pay. Slaves actually beg me to make them do these writing assignments.

5:00 p.m.
It's quitting time already? I'm automatically logged out of my phone sex line as my boyfriend Will walks across the fresh-cut grass, past the boxes of crappy undergarments, and into the now-spotless house. Tomorrow is another day.

Fellas, don't get all hot and bothereed. Jane Dryer is *not* Mistress Melissa, so you'll have to go someplace else for your domination needs.