Not All Femdoms Are Sex Workers

Once again, an innocent question from a redditor reminds me of one of the problems that comes with being a non-professional dominant. Or really any conversation about femdom. I get messages from people in my inbox (I guess I seem authoritative) of various sites and this is not an unusual occurrence. Sometimes it’s a guy trying to book a session. In this case, he was neither impolite nor unpleasant, but it’s my daily reminder that the thing that I do is not perceived as functioning the way I do it – to the larger world, femdoms are sex workers by default.

Random Reddit Dude:

Hi, I stumbled upon your reddit domme post and Im abt to go to my first domme in a few weeks and am really excited I have a couple questions on how to tell if its a legitimate dome or not. [ad from back pages] This is the domme im going to and so far so good been emailing her a couple days she requires a screening process in which i have to refer to two dommes before but since this is my first time I couldn’t do that so instead her other request for new subs is for 100$ gift card (which is the cost for half the session) be sent in advance and I give her the other 100$ in cash. We talked a few days and I think she is legit but what are your opinions?



You know not all female doms are sex workers? I couldn’t possibly tell you about this because I don’t sell sexual services. Sorry, I could no more advise on this than a vanilla woman knows how to choose escorts.

Random Reddit Dude:

its not a sex worker, shes a domme though? Its not an escort I was just asking since you are a domme.


If you are paying her, she is a “sex worker”. Although the laws of your region may vary about what is and isn’t considered prostitution, and she may only sell beatings, lifestyle dominants do not charge any money, not gift cards, not Paypal, not cash in hand.

And thus went the conversation, with me patiently explaining that indeed *anyone* you found out of the “backpages” was going to be selling a service, and that sex work includes a broader range of activities than explicitly getting to come. I’m very pro-sex worker’s rights. I want complete legalization, and training for law enforcement to protect them, and supportive social programs that affirm their choices while keeping them safe, as they are a commonly exploited and endangered population. But I can only be an ally- shilling erotica, while next door to sex work, carries none of the stigmas and risk so I’m not going to define myself as a spokes person for people who take on this challenging profession.

But as a female dominant I am SO FUCKING FRUSTRATED. Both at the assumption that I don’t really exist and that professionals are the norm, and that my relationship with my partners, even as a non-pro, follows the guidelines of a professional- a session in which a male partner provides some sort of compensation in exchange for the parts of my dominance he actually wants. If it’s not cash, he’s cleaning my floor. Never mind that dominance experienced is a reward in and of itself.

I admit when I first started writing and thinking about this, I suffered from a bit of whore-phobia, not at sex workers, but to their clients. I guess I was frightened that guys who availed themselves of the services of sex workers would see every interaction as transactional. In practice, not so much, in one’s personal life the distinction tends to play out more the way a massage at home VS a massage from a therapist do. But in the global picture, non-professional (and I still chafe at calling myself ‘lifestyle’) dominants are eclipsed by the attention paid to professionals to the point that femdoms are sex workers in the default of popular imagination. You also tend to get this weird idea that selling dominance gives you different independence- the professional dominant, rather than being a person playing a character, shows up in popular media like that’s the entirety of her personality and she has figured out the secret of getting paid to do what she loves because she is just so amazing. Sherlock’s Irene Adler was a typical bad cliché of this theme, a stomping one dimensional psychopath who used people, who couldn’t actually just have real power but needed to be a professional to give her sexuality legitimacy. Other than that, female dominants who aren’t doing the thing as some sort of job (you might also get wicked lady police or bad guy characters in leather) are invisible, or it’s a punch line, or at best doesn’t extend as far as her sexuality. Unsurprising in a world where female orgasms are censored as more dirty by film boards, and one major romance publishing house historically refused to publish anything that didn’t have M/f overtones, but still a very annoying thing to experience.

It’s gotten a bit better- media is a lot more open about pandering to a broader range of female interests, but nonetheless, here we are, female dominants who have no interest in treating their partners like clients scraping around the edges of our own kink. “Just asking, since you are a domme!”

And because female dominance is laced with this stereotype, women who would otherwise be into BDSM style activities are turned off- not only do the majority of the guys who identify as submissive (or as a switch) getting their information from a world that thinks F/m is #givemoneytowomen writ large, but even among those who don’t want to pay, the attitude is that they’re still booking a session. I don’t want to follow the script of an 19th century gentleman hiring a “governess” to pretend for a couple of hours that she is his superior, I want sexuality that takes more than my need to feed myself into account. Instead I get guys who think I exist on the same continuum as people who are incredibly skilled at getting him off as a vocation.

Fuck that noise, we desperately need our own space that is not about appreciating porn stars and professionals. We need room to develop our own tropes and expectations outside of someone who charges by the hour to act disgruntled in highly specific lingerie. Yes, among our tiny minority of F/m women, some of you genuinely like acting like Mistress Whiplash as your power fantasy, but until this is more about us and less about the exchange of good, cash and serves for services, we will remain invisible and hide in the #whump communities on tumblr and other little pockets that pander to us.


Elust #76 – Article Share!

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Photo courtesy of Charlie in the Pool

Welcome to Elust #76

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing,

relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #75? Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Sex and the post-birth vagina

Lonely Things

Just the two of us


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Tiny, shiny, bity snaps of steel…

I have fallen in and out of love with myself


~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

I had An Abortion

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and

the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


Erotic Fiction

The End of the Run
Ladies Who Lunch
kink of the week: dirty panties
Brutal Nights
Because I Knew I Shouldn’t
Erotic Fiction: “Everything”
Look, Don’t Touch
As one night ends…
String Quartet
Unmasked: Part 1: The Gift
The Secret Rolls

Erotic Non-Fiction

The lick of love.
Tickle & Tease
Oral Sex, Don’t Forget Oral Hygiene – Whoops!
Feed my senses
Camming With A Foot Lover
Finding the Edges
Word power
The Mail Room
Doing It Herself

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

I Had An Abortion
The 7 Dimensions of Cock

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

When I Thought the Scene Was Done
Introducing the Abject Kitten, Part 2
The Joy of Fear
Talking About BDSM With Your Therapist
On Denial (and topping from the bottom)

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

I Did It My Way
Fuckin With Fuck Boys Part II
You don’t need my permission to fuck my lover

Writing About Writing

The Hunt for Adult/Sex Friendly Businesses


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Spank, Ruin His Orgasm, Make Him Scream

The hickey made a trail up my neck, a line of purple-red dots showing where an evening of pure pleasure for my body had left a very obvious and unprofessional mark on his Miss. Wildcard was in trouble. Big trouble.

We’d had a lazy, sexy Sunday evening, and I only discovered the result the next day in the office bathroom. At the time I warned him to be careful, so spotting the marks, my urge was to take down his pants and paddle him pink as soon as I got home. Nonetheless, I decided to save it up for his official punishment day, to give him a chance to anticipate. And of course, give Wildcard time to contemplate his own fate and you can cue the smart mouth. I think it’s instinctual, since this is the guy who can end up in the hospital with internal bleeding and crack jokes with the nurses. Nevermind, more things to ‘punish’ him over! >:)

He likes it best when it feels like he deserves the spanking. I’d never actually hit him if I was genuinely upset, but we play with funishment, mock scoldings and unavoidable consequences. “It can’t be helped, rules are rules!” is his kind of dirty talk.

But when Tuesday happened, despite an ever increasing aroused warmth in my genitalia, his backtalk was gone and he was a little small feeling asking for pettings first, that’s not a bad light ramp into a nice dominant buzz. I’m opportunistic- I don’t need to beat the crap out of someone to feel in charge. A little snuggling and some positive affirmations and the sass was back. He actually swatted my butt! That was the last straw. I shoved him face down on the bed and began to wallop him, pulling down his black boxer briefs.

I intended to make this a long session, so I started light, escalating until even my palm was starting to burn, switching off hands for maximum coverage. You can go two ways with a spanking, vicious and hard for something quick, or a gradually building heat. I wanted to really get his attention and leave a lasting impression, so I aimed for the latter.

With a good warm up, his bottom needs a little extra encouragement. After he’d got a rosy glow going, I switched to the concentrated snap of a crop. That pink in his cheeks became a decided red, and his customary insolence was, for once, silenced.

After the wicked punishment on his ass was done, I made him stand in the corner with his underpants around his ankles while I snapped pictures of him on my cell for some extra humiliation and some later nostaligic enjoyment. While catching some close ups, I noticed he seemed a little inflamed, and because I’m a nice femdom it was time to do a little care and restoration.

I made him get on all fours and put his pert ass in the air on display, to rub a palmful of cool baby oil oil onto his griddle hot, reddened ass. Of course his dangling cock and balls became too difficult to resist and very quickly I had him spread legged and milked erect until he was moaning. Every time I noticed his breathing getting heavier I taunted him that he could lose control, but I would only ruin his orgasm for him.

What’s a ruined orgasm, femdom fans? That’s when the cum spurts but the stimulation is cut off, leaving the victim still horny, often with a long wait until they are desensitized enough to come again (or at all). I made Wildcard lie on his back with his legs hanging off the bed, to give me better access to his vulnerable body. I have a technique I developed: just as he tenses up, I take my hand away and then spider them up his stomach and ribs.

Alternating tickling fingers and brisk but slippery stroking I managed to not only get him so rampantly erect he’d put a porn star to shame, but milk his thick (sorry guys, no sph here!) cock into spurts of cum all over his belly- ruined orgasms without the wait between. By the time I finally gave him his release he was screaming, drenched in his own semen and completely and utterly drained dry.

And that was a perfect #PunishTuesday. Yum.


Friday Femdom Fiction: A Bitch at the Beach

Burned. She made an uncomfortable mewling noise, looking at her body in the large hotel bathroom mirror. Everywhere was covered in sore streaky red. Her breasts were still their proper alabaster and rose color, as was her buttocks, but her shoulders were sun seared, ugly pink, as were patches on her torso and legs. She looked, in her judgement, like she was having some sort of allergic reaction. And she knew what would come next, peeling, then tan marks, light brown on milk white.

The door rattled and swung open, and she poked her head out, still patting her singed flesh with a cool, damp wash cloth.

“Okay baby, the concierge found a pharmacy that’s open at this hour…” He clutched a plastic sack, crinkled up in his hand. He, of course was perfectly unblemished. She’d taken extra special scare to slather him with sun screen, after all. “I’m really, really sorry. I got aloe and…”

“Kneel down, right now.”

“…Mistress?” He said from somewhere on the floor. His voice was tiny. He hadn’t stopped looking penitent, since they first discovered the start of her burn and she identified the culprit.

“I’m too angry to punish you right now. Not only is this really sore, how is it going to look at the party this weekend?”

“I don’t know, Mistress…”

“Of all the lazy, inconsiderate things. You had the privilege of touching me and rubbing my skin and…” She took a deep breath. “Nope, too pissed and stingy to talk about this still. No Mistress for you tonight, just hurt-y fiancee. Get the aloe and more ice from the hall, and tomorrow I’ll decide what I’m going to do.”

He made a little whimper. He always liked it better when she punished him than when she was actually upset.

The next morning, as soon as store opened, he was back at the pharmacy. His collar was around his neck, both reassuring that Mistress was okay, but that punishment was now imminent. He scampered first to the seasonal section and picked up a few things: a floppy cheap wide brimmed hat, a can of sunscreen with a high SPF sunscreen, then to the stationary aisle. Scissors, glue, tape, then rushed back to the hotel.

Arts and crafts followed, her carefully trimming, snipping, sticking and then spraying, before the pair took breakfast smoothies at the hotel pool. Other holiday makers noticed, on the little strip of luxurious beach, a couple, laid out with a deck chair and umbrella. The woman wore a loose caftan and stayed mainly in the shade, her eyes masked by dark glasses, but her mouth in a small but content smile, while the man rushed about, doting, rubbing her feet, bringing her drinks and sometimes just kneeling nearby her legs, looking up at her adoringly. From time to time she would beckon him over and whisper something into his ear, then he would lay out in the sunniest part of the beach, tanning.

That night, the hotel noted they used a lot of ice, but if the other guests heard muffled whimpers, grown ups having romantic fun was a matter of normal. It wasn’t until the small, private party that weekend, at their friend’s ocean side condo, that the other guests saw the full effect of her punishment.

WORTHLESS SLUT, emblazoned in white on his back, standing against in stark relief against a caramel tan. On his front, FUCK BITCH 4 MISS.

If the Mistress didn’t pick her usual revealing party attire, no comment was made by the other guests, but her naked fiance was used well, and photographed at every angle. Quite a few people went home with happy vacation souvenirs.


Talking About BDSM With Your Therapist

Talking about BDSM with your therapist --- Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis

— Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis

This is not an advice post, it’s a sharing post, partially just to make sense of my recent experiences. I’m dealing with a generalized anxiety disorder, and have been for a long time. Some of this is hereditary, some of this is situational damage from some less than idyllic life experiences. As a result of this, I actively pursue things that help make me mentally healthy and one of them is therapy.

Being kinky while getting help from medical professionals, particularly mental health professionals, is an experience that can go many ways- some are well educated on the subject, some open minded but clueless, some have trouble not seeing it as a pathological hangup or a part of your overarching health issue. One of the biggest problems with coming out to your therapist is that you often have to engage in BDSM 101, walking your professional through what your kink is, and how that fits into your life choices. Human sexuality is a poorly understood field of psychology, one where we only discovered the internal structure of the female clitoris in this century (wtf guys), and pop psych writers leap on and working hypothesis and try to cram it as hard as possible through the filter of cultural bias. Thus, even at the best of times, your therapist may have picked up some odd ideas. Sometimes I feel like we’re way overdue for some sort of established manual of care for the kinky to distribute or something.

In theory you could dance around the subject matter and not disclose, but when you are for example, discussing healthy relationships, keeping it in the abstract and carefully curating your description of your life is a challenge, if you want to make meaningful progress. You don’t get a vacation from your problem in the kinky parts of your life, and as they are often some of the most precious and special things to you, it’s likely that you will have to say “Oh, btw- I’m kinky!” at some point.

In my situation, I also really hate that, as a person who has dealt with abuse, it’s an all to often automatic assumption that your kinks are related in some way. All to often abuse survivors into BDSM have people attribute that kink is the filter by which you are experiencing what would otherwise be “normal” (vanilla) sexuality. For me, my kinks pre-date my experiences with abuse, and on the contrariwise to the idea of association and imprinting, there’s a whole cluster of things like incest/age play that are personally NONONONO hard limits precisely because they are too close to bad memories, but at the same time I perform plenty of ostensibly vanilla (I’d like to think of them as ‘kink neutral’) things within the spectrum of my sexual behaviour. To be clear about what I’m into: I want to be a dread empress and play no-pants cops and robbers, not do some sort of catharsis in the bedroom. Hell, my abusive ex had loads of submissive fantasies- wanting to be tied up and fisted by ‘force’ does not preclude you being a belittling rage machine. Dealing with the aftermath child abuse does not mean you use BDSM to relive it or protect yourself from reminders of it by being weird, like the god awful sister myth that rape turns a woman into a lesbian.

And, when you establish that BDSM is not a coping mechanism you need to be rescued from, then there’s the fun of sorting out sexual orientation VS crazy. I’m a dominant, which means I get emotional warm and fuzzies from control. I’m also anxious, which means that my personal brand of cray-cray likes things in control, clearly explained, etc… Oops. You can see the possibility of hard to express boundaries. Now, try talking about your feelings with someone that you had to explain kink to in the first place, who is specifically applying a professional outsider perspective for the purpose of recovery. Having to spend time arguing “no, that particular thing is healthy, it’s this particular thing that causes me distress” is a waste of time you could spent in recovery.

Extending that point, and the problem of people treating it like a comping mechanism, being kinky with an emotional issue that influences how you interact with the environment also means it’s very easy for therapists to conflate the two. I don’t doubt this is not helped by the cliches of “blah, blah, Alpha in real life but I like to give up control sometimes”.  Being dominant and discussing being a control freak is hard, and it can be very identity traumatic to have to wrangle the assumption that you are just bent this way because of your unhealthy mind patterns. Of course I could choose to simply disregard any kink related advice or iput.

But the reality is that my GAD gets in the way. It makes me less brave about new experiences, less able to enjoy D/s and to be honest, unhealthily closed off from trusting partners. Being a dominant, while relatively physically safe, is emotionally vulnerable because you are counting on a person to be extremely responsive to your needs. It’s actually really hard to relax and enjoy the service when there’s a little voice yammering away about how you need to be prepared for a crisis. It also certainly kills my artistic career, as my confidence erodes, projects go unfinished, emails unsent, and so on. Oh, the things I could accomplish if I wasn’t wasting mental energy on splah! Proper care means getting care for everything.

Letting go and being better means trusting subs to be able to make me feel dominant. It means opening myself up to my kinks instead of assuming people just can’t handle it. It also means anxiety around my public image because there’s a third myth that dominants need to wrestle with, the Teflon True Dom. That’s the one where you are immune to bad shit because you are dominant, like some sort of sexual Calvinism where the universe shows its love for you by making people in a non-kink context stand out of your path and for you to be completely emotionally self sufficient.

But I’m not, and no dom ever is. Outside the most self deluded inbox spammer or dominatrix marketing copy, we’re made of the same stuff that subs, switches and vanillas are build from, fallible meat. and although it sucks to be vulnerable, if you’re dealing with some sort of health problem, you need to look after yourself. And care for yourself takes to courage to open up.

And, In the end though, horror stories or not, kink is so common that you shouldn’t be too terrified of talking about BDSM with your therapist. It’s statistically probable your therapist is kinky in their personal life too, after all.


A Little Bit of Simple, Easy Femdom Sex

Our houseguest, my brother, was away for a date netflix and chill hanging out as friends, I had some time to spend with Wildcard without fear of noise or naughty revelations. It’s not to say we aren’t aware that we don’t mutually have sexuality but ew,ew, ew, ew…

Because of this limitation, the last time Wildcard and I snuck in some fun was the previous Tuesday, when I gagged him with black bondage tape and cruelly teased him until he was screaming, silently, into his gag, his whole body thrashing under me.

This time, he began to masturbate, next to me in the bed, watching bootlegged videos of squeaky voiced, creamy-pale redheads put through their paces in rope and under various impact toys. He almost always watches M/f or F/f, though he’ll read any sort of hetero or lesbian story set. It’s not even a switch thing, I know many male subs who are happily cis identified, but avoid F/m videos like the plague.

It’s not an un-regular occurrence- I don’t feel that it competes with me to watch porn, or disrespects me to take his cock out and play with it, even without explicitly involving me. If I were a stereotypical femdom, and this were one of the stories he’s been reading lately, he’d be locked tight in steel or plastic and only look at its poor, pinched and squished body sadly, while it strained to break out of the cage. Instead, this is real life, so there he was: cheeky, bold and rampant.

It works for us because he’s not a person who usually gets persistent arousal- without constant stimulus of some kind, denial turns into “okay, naps now!” So instead my rule is whenever the passing fancy to play shows up, to enjoy it. I like him erect, this way I always get what I want, and it makes me purringly happy to watch him get hard. His penis is definitely a grower not a shower, going from neat and balanced, to a swollen thick cylinder with a wide head, long without looking like a grotesque projection, just the right kind of filling.

This time one can’t blame him for his urges. I started it, coming only minutes before with my hand down the white cotton of my panties. I’d been cruising for filthy stories on my phone- the edge pushing, violent, rough, degrading kind. A bit before, after all, I’d been getting all flushed and bothered at a movie scene where someone was icing their knuckles after laying down a beating because I am a truly twisted lady when it comes to my sexuality. So his little display had been a natural progression: me coming, him watching, and now him working himself into a massive erection with his weekend shorts tugged down his thighs and his tshirt riding up to his chest

I let him think I wasn’t interested- I never like being taken for granted. Can’t have beloved thinking that magnificent cock of his is as magnetic as it really is- he might get a swelled ego to go with his erection, and besides, dominance  for your own sake is in the little bits of power grabbed in harmless places, feeling puffed with the ability to take things entirely on my own terms.

And take him I did. After a quick tour of the kitchen- washing myself from my hands before packing up the diner leftovers – I was back, taking away his laptop and the view of the cute little wriggling sub actress and trapping his hands over his head. I straddled him, crotch pinning his cock between his belly and the warm, soft cotton gusset of my panties.

Today it was a tiny, bikini cut pair with little black bows just under my hips bones, cute, no less perfect for pressing and grinding, while making smug eye contact. I was still feeling the lingering warmth of my orgasm, but the aggressive urge was still there, holding him down and controlling him utterly. If he wanted to come he needed to submit to me. That’s easy femdom, no need to lace up into thigh high boots or break out the ropes, D/s without props.

I could feel the fabric of his shorts and the comfortable slimness of his hips, the push back of my hands on his that made a tension between us, resistance that only further acknowledged who was on top.

I liked how forceful it made me feel, and the way he made little moans at every push until his white cum spurted between us on the flat surface of his belly, and into the softness of the hair there. I love how feminine yet strong it made me feel, sexy and enjoying his eagerness to have control wrenched from him. I didn’t have to ask, I just took the laptop away and replaced it with my straddling body.

I’m still a little turned on from the experience and looking forward to round 2.


#FemdomLife Update: My Friend Got Married, Male Burlesque, Attack of the Vanilla

Updates are more than a little slow lately, blame a friend getting married, a massive head cold and then a family visit.

I will share that we had the most gorgeous male burlesque dancer at the bachelorette. Miss Castle, on her way to becoming Mrs. Wolf-Castle,  is did all the traditions on her way to the altar, and we had a room full of women in good spirits, a belly dancing instructor and a double dose of burlesque, with Honeysuckle Pussywillow and Tristan Ginger. Miss Pussywillow was purringly perfect with her drunken disrobing act, all curves and carnival costume, but I mention Tristan because the male as sex object is an undeserved thing.

It was nice to be among that much raw female libido as Tristan stripped for us, not once, but twice. Although gender bending men is not my kink and his costume mixed masculine and feminine elements (corsets, leather jackets), he had a glorious body, which was oggled and approved of at full volume. Sub men take note, before you send me a “train me to serve dom women plz” message, start by maximizing your appearance. It simply can’t hurt.

Anyway when I wasn’t admiring the lovely dick cleavage above his c-string, marked by glorius red curls and a perfect V shape (I need to get laaaaaaid, guys), I was busy with slightly silly party games about the bride to be. It was a pretty awesome event all around, and even if it wasn’t explicitly kinky, it was a celebration of female sexuality.

The Maid of Honour, Lady Cobra, had her charming Scottish Mail Order Husband there, and somehow her ended up sans shirt in a tuxudo apron. The enthusiasm was very vocal as we threatened to strip him of more. Because nothing is more aggressive than a room full of tipsy women there to be naughty.  Hmmmmmm, who says women don’t love being domly? 😉

Meanwhile the wedding itself went off with more or less no hitches, and I’m extremely happy for the couple.  The bride, for my role in her wedding (I was official wedding bitch), gave me a scent charm necklace so beautiful I got teary eyed and smooched her. Eeeeeeee!

Of course I spent the whole thing sick with the mother of all head colds, and Wildcard and I seem to have decided the middle of wedding planning for other people was time to Unpack All The Difficult Conversations. Waaaaugh. After surviving this, I had about a week to recover before my brother hit Montreal.

Love that kid to death, but obviously the sexy updates are going to squeeze to a crawl while he’s here for two weeks. Our apartment is a bit less sound proofed than I’d like, and although a bondage tape gag has made our regular #punishTuesday possible, getting the sex in takes overcoming some challenges, much less sharing it.


Oh by the way, it’s blogging list season, so here’s a polite reminder to give me a vote. Just click the big “vote” button on my directory page!



Interviewed by Dr. Sue Storm – #FemdomPodcast

So right now my social media is beeping every half hour with promotional tweets about an awesome interview I did with Dr. Sue Storm, femdom, blogger and podcaster extraordinaire.She a very visible voice in the online kink community, so getting a chance to be in her show was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. And that is how I ended up on “In Bed With Dr. Sue” Click the link, hear me talk! 

One of the (many) things I like about Dr. Sue Storm is that she is pretty tireless in her desire to talk about femdom, not just as a thing that gets men off but that women want for its own sake. She reached out to me because she’s doing an author interview series to help get indie erotica get noticed and she remembered me from that time I was a snarky grump in the comment section of her blog. That’s the *other* thing I like about her, she takes different opinions under consideration and you know she’s smart enough if you can get her to agree with you, it’s really flattering.

She wanted me to talk about my book, “The Pet Gentleman” and spill my naughty secrets of whether this author lives the kinky dream. Well, you readers know I like nothing more than to torment a pretty man unspeakably (and I so owe you guys an update on how that facet of my life is going!), but I also talked a little bit about what I was doing at the same time I wrote my first sexy, sometimes shocking novel. That puts my in the company of some other great authors who’ve been featured on her show, including Laura Antoniou. eeeee

The interview was a great chance to toot my own horn, and she’s an absolute joy to work with. Please do go have a listen, and check out some of her other episodes of her show.



#Service4Pearl: Candidates And Tea Interviews

Outside of a few “oh dear god!” offers, and a few people who were on slightly the wrong page (looking for naked service more so than obedient service) but were not bad for wanting something different, three people who responded to my ad have stuck around enough to consider them as possibles.

I’ll be explicit about my expectations, I am looking for a unicorn scenario- a man or woman I can be friends with who wants as close as exactly what I want without requiring much in the way of compromise, but is also not looking for an intimate relationship. Needless to say there wasn’t much in the way of female identified interest to my ad, but that’s okay. I am happy to look within my social group for a lady who thinks wearing a frilly maid costume is her idea of a good time.

Qualifications That Matter Include:

  • Playful and imaginative
  • Does not sincerely believe in FemSup or “Always On” BDSM, where the Dom really is better the sub.
  • Actually into what I want and not putting up with this to get a dom, any dom
  • Will get along with everyone else (Wildcard, friends)
  • Fits into my surprisingly busy life

I screened people by asking them about their expectations- people who were strongly fixated on the obviously sexual aspects of service were gently dissuaded/politely rejected, while I talked back and forth with people who seemed more on the same page. I was also careful of people who redirected “What do you want?” back to “Whatever Miss wants!”, because contrary to it making them seem extra submissive, it hints that the person isn’t really sure about their needs.

That left me with three guys, listed in no particular order.

Catbus is so named because of a typo, cat for car, giving us a running joke about his favourite means of transportation. He’s the only one I met in person, but he’s very shy. I feel like he’s cool, but anything is going to take him getting a chance to warm up. However he’s a creative type and I bet he’d integrate well into our larger social circle. He is mostly hampered from his BDSM explorations by an evening job that inverts his social life into being a lost morning person.

We met up on a little tea place near McGill, which had the advantage of being open at all hours, tasty and away from either of our residences or work places while easy to find. I had a salted caramel cupcake and a vanilla bourbon rooibos. Numbers were exchanged, though he’s very hard to read because of the aforementioned shyness.

Classic is significantly older, and does not live in Montreal proper. He seems perfectly balanced about it, but is only in town to care for his elderly parents. We may have an issue purely based on scheduling, even before discovering if we have any degree of play compatibility. I’m also not 100% sure he is not in fact married and leaving that detail off the table, a fact that is a problem only in the sense that I don’t want to be up in someone else’s unhealthy dynamic.

Excellent potential to be my own personal Carson, one supposes.

Shoez is a foot fetishist sub, which is not uncommon. He does seem okay with the idea of not putting his mouth on my feet, and might be workable as a boot black boy, sock darner and underfootman (heh) based on how he expresses himself. However he’s very into superfluous capitalizations, so we’ll see if he can stop referring to me as “You”, which doesn’t doesn’t sound respectful to me but like someone’s all “Oh. It’s YOU.” with that sort of careful enunciation that ends with “I said GOOD DAY!”.

We’ll see if he can drop the superfluous fet speak or if it is too engrained in his desires to be purged, and whether this will end with drooly pumps.

Meanwhile of course Gentleman is contemplating setting up some sort of duplex for an upstairs/downstairs kitty maids residence scenario. Would that be living in a cat house or a cat shelter?



First Orgasm

Let me tell you about coming for the first time. Not for the first, first way back when I was twelve and my sexuality meant breaking the law, sneaking online BDSM comics I wasn’t allowed to have, and discovering my precocious side with the same hopefulness I stuffed my training bra with. I mean coming for the first time with him, with another person bringing my body there.

It was new, and beautiful and vulnerable, over in an instant as I rock on the hard muscle of his thigh and my clit brushes the buzzing hitachi. The whole thing was unexpected- he decided to make me happy and I’d done this before, humping his leg with me on top, ever the aggressor in our relationship, and he had put your hand on the small of my back and took over the motion so the whole of his leg became my sex toy, adding the convenience of a vibrator at the bottom of the slope I was sliding up and down. And the feeling kept building and building and I thought that it would be like usual and I’d get too sensitive or roll off and frig myself into a quick orgasm. But I didn’t.

This time I just let it go back and forth, being in the moment and the feeling the push on all the sensitive spots on my body until I was making incoherent noises and I’d passed the point of no return, and there it was, one perfect moment.

He thought I was offended after, by my reaction, but I was shocked. When you are resigned, your whole long life to not care one bit that nobody can get you off, your sexuality becomes an intensely personal thing and the whole of what you can do with other people is in the same sort of category of reading a porn story you’re touching yourself to.

Suddenly I had to reassess all my carefully constructed patience, and stop pretending I wasn’t deeply disappointed nobody could get me off. Let that me a lesson to you, dear reader, that even the sort of person everyone treats like some sort of sex guru can cling to her illusions. No more being cool and modern and free, suddenly if I’m not getting off it’s not my fault anymore. Because there’s a someone else who can.

When you learn about sex, they teach you about the concept of virginity. I was as precocious about that formal threshold as I was about my own orgasms, landing on the first boy I could get to hold still for long enough. And I was deeply disappointed, not with the loss of something precious but that all I felt was slightly poked on the inside of my vagina. I feel like a person who loses their virginity was supposed to feel.

This feels like something lost and something gained, something learned and something very different than coming all by myself. It wasn’t even the most intense and spectacular orgasm that I’ve ever had, but it was shared.

I left a wet circle of myself on his pants.

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