Why I Femdom Blog – A 10 Year Retrospective

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celebrate 10 years of femdom blogging

Ten years ago, today, I registered a domain name and created a space to host my erotica. It wasn’t my first time blogging, but a femdom blog, itself, was a new focus for me. I had started on Fetlife, but I preferred more control, and in hindsight self hosting was the right call. Other sex blogs have come and gone, to permanent hiatus and censorship as their hosts, wordpress.com, tumblr, and blogger, slashed their archives from the web. This place has endured, quietly, not the best or most popular, but constant.

I became a creator because there was a lack of other spaces for me, and most pressingly, no porn for me. It’s always been in my makeup to write, my best skill. If I were a better visual artist I would do that instead. But, instead, it’s a million upon a million words to make myself a place where I and what I love might be found.

For me, this was a journey that started with someone’s metafilter question asking for porn for femdoms, https://ask.metafilter.com/96448/Porno-for-Femme-Domme, and bounced to a now long hiatus’d blog, https://bitchyjones.wordpress.com/. Until that point I knew I was kinky, but imagined my masochism and the point of least resistance of my gender presentation was the best way to seek what I needed. Most commercial femdom porn doesn’t do it for me, so until I found there were others like myself I was unaware I was dominant. This caused a sort of gradual realization that whatever was going on, my prior conclusion I wasn’t a dominant was an issue of lack of things that might appeal to me.

As well as Fetlife, and then, looking for an audience, tried Literotica, only to be rebuffed by the strong non-con lean in my work, and a significant dose of sexism. I may have mentioned it before, but the M/f bias in how we depict heterosexuality, and our tendency to rate acts of leadership and assertiveness by women as more violent, cruel and selfish mean that when you are already fetishizing these aspects you can find a medical modification scene labled “snuff” and a mixed bag of feedback that emphasizes the evil of your character far more than if the dynamic were flipped.

This, plus a post college job doing general online marketing, gave me the encouragement to try setting up a blog and practicing what I learned regarding SEO and other promotions. If I was going to do it for my employer’s clients, I reasoned, I might as well work on making myself be good at getting really heard too.

(My domain name was a compromise, when the handle I use was taken by a still running site someone made dedicated to their Pekinese. Oh well!)

In some ways I predicted this was going to be a long haul, in other ways, not so much. And I do not think if you asked me to map out where this went, I would predict it, even I think pay

This is going to get long, so settle in for a deep read and before you hop the “more” tag, here’s a heads up that I am going to talk about sexual assault, abuse, missing stairs and super personal stuff.

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A Latex Moment with Silver

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latex moment

You know, when you write a blog post and then the chaos of life hits? This is actually from last year, a latex moment nestled in the unpublished archives, written in a bit of summer, while we made the best of the distance.

4:00 pm after my carefully spaced burlesque class, I have haul my body home, cloth mask stuck on the sweat of my exertion and the humidity spiking my maybe Covid survivor caused, maybe pre-existing asthma. I think about the completely unhelpful “if you don’t feel well stay home” posters on everything.

Have any of us truly felt well, since March?

I text him my updates of where I am. When I hit the train station near where I live he already had the first plug in his ass. He’s not particularly loose by default, and I intend to fill him up, so warm up is important.

He is so tight. His ass is muscular, and looks like it has the grip it does.. Around two fingers he can clench hard enough to be a little uncomfortable. Silver knows the end goal for today is an egg shaped, ribbed number that inflates and vibrates. With its many settings and remote control, it’s ridiculous, decadent  and very human. Our commitment to our pleasure extends to hundreds of dollars spent on very carefully engineered tools to make him feel full and helpless. 

Fucking is already a bio hack, pleasure and a sense of mutual merging substituted over top of reproduction.  Kinky sex has a reputation for being a symptom of the extremes of “civilisation”, and today, preparing for a webcam worship session I am reminded that I live like royalty.

The rubber, in a sense, is dressing like it, too.

This fragile material was cut and hand glued, imported from Europe. It’s more expensive than anything else I own. Stored in layers of rustling white tissue paper, it is hand wash only, decadent and wildly impractical.

I shower before I slither into the costume I’ve chosen for tonight, a one piece latex catsuit and a hood. The process of dressing is particular. This catsuit has feet, and I begin by gathering each leg like stockings. Then I gently coat my foot and ankle in silicone lube. There is popping, snapping noises like elastic bands as I maneuver the limb into place. The rubber makes a satisfying noise and feels right when the divot of the heel wraps around mine.

I use white cotton gloves to protect the rubber, as I continue, lubing my legs, sliding and tugging it up over my hips. As I thread my arms into the sleeves the zipper at the back of the catsuit gapes, a little askew until I work out enough wrinkles for the next part.

I grasp the halves together with my right hand and pull firmly. My ass might be the widest part of my body, but I have the strength and leverage to get it up past that. It’s when it reaches the small of my back I need trickery.

I previously threaded a boot lace through the eye of the zipper, one end’s aglet snipped off. Now I use the lace to slowly draw it closed, pinching the zipper together as I go. Once I hit the small of my back, the trick makes dressing easy. In short order I am sealed from toe to the top of my neck. 

Now, more.

I pause and throw on a bit of eyeliner, and gather my still damp hair into bunches. The mask gets a little lube on the inside and I struggle to pull it on, chin first. Then, face roughly wedged so my features match it’s openings, I pull half my hair through each port at the top and zip it closed at the back.

A little fiddling takes me from pinched looking, to the still fashionable lip injection pout of the rubber compressing my face a little. Ringed by black, it makes my eyes pop, with only a little more mascara to look finished. My gathered hair becomes two buns on the top of my head, which while not so sophisticated, resemble nothing so much as a pair of ears.

The whole suit is hugging me in a way that I find very arousing. I could take or leave the slightly alien superhero look, as it will never really feel like anything but fragile lingerie, but oh how it hugs my thighs, my breasts, my waist and my ribs. Even the pressure about my head feels good, at least after a bit.

I add a little more lube to the inside of the cat suit, just to deal with where my new sweat will make me stick and call him over the chat client. Our faces both stare at me from my phone screen, as if I were having a threesome with a twin.

Both of us are completely dressed in black rubber.

He has a suit and hood, similar to mine but different in key ways. If my hood gives me a reverse panda look, his is, to me, much more erotic. Silver’s features are hidden under a sleek mask that uses laser cut pin holes to seem like the face is eyeless, the mouth erased. 

He is primed with flirtatious sexts and more casual play that week about “drones”, one of those mind control fetish concepts that seems to overlap rubber fet and hypno. He hasn’t been allowed to come for some time. We are leaning heavily into his core fetish cluster.

Drone space is about obedience without deviation. It’s not actually as easy as it looks outside of the arousal capacity of the fantasy itself. It’s getting someone to basically do a guided meditation, only the focus is a memorized pattern.

There’s lots of set dressing, calling your partner an “it” and roleplaying. We joke about getting an Alexa and renaming it with some cyberpunk hive queen name, so it can announce it does things to him on behalf of Domina Prime. Porn scenarios, of imaginary hives and factories, have numbered hierarchies. I think about the way that the name of every roman girl was her father’s and a delineation of her birth order. Prima. Secunda. Straight to Octavia and beyond, if her father was fertile enough.

Fantasy is a space to explore darker concepts, of permanence and loss of autonomy. We both get off on that happening to him. In our worship, these Sundays, I often spin out a game of sorts that realizes the terrible in vivid narrative. In practice I remain amused at the duality that you the reader enjoying this will find. If you are a fellow domme and I talk about my awkwardness, the hard work and my careful planning you will see yourself reflected. If I talk about my indomitable strength in my will over his and you are a sub, you will be charmed.

It’s both. 

I take a few minutes to find my feet, but I’ve mastered snapping together his fetishes and building this up on a foundation of my own desire. If I want to, I can turn him into a whimpering mess in about five minutes.

The latex on my body is stimulating me. I first thought the pooling wetness was sweat and lube obeying gravity, but pulling the zipper at the bottom finds a viscosity in the swollen lips of my cunt that can only be my own body.

After a preliminary lead in, I put him through his paces, practicing the most mindless and repetitive edging and hypnosis. 8 strokes slow, 4 strokes fast. I picked the numbers at random, using their memorable nature to make it easy for him to focus on only the count.

He reveals one of his surprises, a latex sheath for his cock and balls to make the whole thing even more decadent. I appreciate his commitment to the aesthetic even if I make him focus on being an “it”.

I like that he’s used two rubber cockrings to keep it in place. The cruelty, the extra swell of his cock trapped and his balls neatly packaged, asking me to see how sensitive they are. Once I am sure that cock cannot possibly get any harder, I move to what I have been planning all week.

Plugged, Swollen.

I tell him to take the next step and he gets the toy I asked him to ready, out of its tidy box and lubed up. Then the inflatable plug goes in and I thrill at the mechanical noise of its activation, and his shiver as it stretches him. I like that he is tight. I also like to push that tightness to its limits. He’s very careful about that, although later I will get him to find a set of graduated plugs, purely to assert my control that I know he is capable of more.

All men are different in how they lay down their plumbing. Silver’s system is close to the surface, easy to tease his ass just by pressing or vibing just behind his balls. I know the women he served before me initiated him that way. They did a good job, anal sex takes both a certain fastitiousness to make it inviting, but also a degree of self forgiveness if the biological inevitably is as eventual as I promise it will be. You can enema all you want, but someday you will find a mess.

I know that the body adapts and rebounds. I will use him as I like, and he will both suffer and enjoy it by turns. It’s a factor of trust, him that I won’t actually ask the impossible and me that I will ask him to do something for my sake and not his pleasure and see obedience without reservation.

Still, I have space to train him, or rather I make him train to allow me to occupy space inside him.

I stretch his ability to focus too, making him count the pulses in his ass and the pumps of his cock. In the hood, it’s harder to read how blanked out I make him, but it’s enough for me.

I was about to reward him by taking the hood he is wearing off, so he can see me without the blurring over his eyes, when he disobeys. He realizes that for about half his performance he accidentally set the bottle of KY just so, such that the white shape masks the bottom half of his body.

I had noticed it, but I didn’t care. He does, and breaks mood, to move it, a tendril of flustered creeping in even if I can’t see his face.

I will not have that. Probably the biggest “training” thing I work on with Silver is that he has a hard time putting obedience before perfection. Let a setting on a toy be fiddly, or me take a few moments to hunt for an errant object and his brain will focus on immediately fixing it. 

I force him otherwise, slowly, against his nature. This time when he tries to fix the camera view I issue a rare punishment, more edging. This will never come easily to him, becoming mindlessly obedient in the face of his own perfectionist desire to please thoughtfully.

But hey, no matter which outcome, we both win.

More On Lifestyle Only Femdom Invisibility

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the invisible lifestyle only femdom

You have definitely heard me talk about this before (CN: whorearchy talk), but one of the biggest issues with the contrasting experience and norms of professional femdom VS lifestyle only femdom is our invisibility. I add “only” deliberately, as it’s rare to find a professional who will cop to it being just a job.

And I don’t think they are lying. Honestly, any immersion into the larger femdom community will show more similarities than points of difference. But, be that as it may, the perception of the non-existence of people like me is so strong that while nobody assumes a male dominant is say, a pro rigger, I am presumed to do this as at least a part time career.

The norm is to assume that lifestyle only femdom isn’t a thing, or if does exist, it’s the amateur or mirror version of a professional experience.

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The 5,525 Mile Club

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Conjugal Tents was not a phrase I expected to learn, much less use. The border remains sensibly sealed to the majority of traffic, though Silver is twice vaccinated, and I the Canadian once. At current suspicion that might be done at the end of the summer, with the start of the tentative discovery of metrics that will make it possible to lever our two countries open to each other.

I am late, this time, to the park. Usually I beat him by ten to thirty minutes and take up a book on a picnic bench in front of the US parking area. They do not want me there or inside the cars, though they tolerate me assisting carrying things about. But the park rangers have created a merciful compromise. No tents in the broad lawns or where the weddings happen at a steady clip as soon as the weather warms. But, in the more wooded far edge overlooking the road that splits the park from Canada proper, nylon mushrooms of various sizes sprout up.

It’s a proper field of desires.

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Femdom Life Updates May 2021: Birthday, Book Launch & Femdom Month!

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Happy Birthday to me, 35 as of this month, and sitting in an interesting place. In a few days Silver intends to serve me up another Peace Arch picnic, while I get my first vaccine next week. It’s also the anniversary of when I asked Silver if he wanted to be a “boyfriend” in addition to Property, formally marking the point in which I recognized our relationship had wandered into Very Serious To The Point He Might Tell His Family.

Next year he’s going to brave the border for a semi-permanent stay, perfectly legal with a little extra paperwork, and hopefully by then, no extensive quarantine. For the time being, he’s had all his shots, but as a Canadian it will be the start of October before I am likely to have had mine finished. I can’t say what point we will see a border opening properly, although infection rates are slowly grinding back down again. Summer vacation will help.

The pandemic means it was quiet, without getting too carried away with any celebrations. My vanilla friend bubble bought my ice cream. Readers sent me well wishes and two send recognition via Patreon. Silver has giften me a very fancy microphone, a book of erotic art by Eric Stanton, and something “small” he intends to give me at the picnic. Perhaps it is socks!

I also added the heading you might see, as I am slowly getting better at bashing my template into what I want. Progress!

I launched a book, Corporate Conditioning

Corporate conditioning femdom cyberpunk story

I released a Cyberpunk Femdom Novella on Amazon, both digital and death tree format. It didn’t sell quite as well as “The Pet Gentleman”, but I’m ok with that. 😀

In hindsight I didn’t need to list it in erotica precisely as this one is a fairly personal tour of my fetishes. And as such there’s very little a person who isn’t as perverted as me would call explicit sex.

Nonetheless, I also know there really aren’t a lot of other books like it out there. Femdom mind control office romances, that escape into non con fantasy (aka “dark romance” under the coded language of Amazon writers), but also stick with what you would expect in a story about falling in love, are thin on the ground. And the reviews have been extremely positive, so that’s nice!

I did a whole #FemdomMonth thing on twitter

I don’t pretend to be the ultimate authority in all things Femdom, but I freely admit the #FemdomMonth project has been an opportunity to practice both consistency (something I struggle with) and add some positivity to a doom scrolling world. Also I have been focusing a lot lately on the needs of submissive men, who are definitely important, but also, by paradox, tend to get the lion’s share of everyone’s content. Never fear, there’s serious talk of a #Subtember.

I also enjoy it as an excuse to do my awkward hyperbolic joy at people. I am one of those femmes, who gushes with hearts and sincere but clumsy compliments. Also check out r/femdomcommunity that did a Femdom Month of their own!

Femdom Sonnet: Claiming Tam Lin

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Tam Lin peeking while he is peeked at, Victorian era illustration
Down off your white horse, before your queen
Silver bells fall silent at the road edge
The fairest one watches, in her gown of green
Paused procession at the gate in the hedge

You're plucked as boldly as I took that rose
From summer branches in my Carterhall
June then, you challenged that I took what grows
And as Mistress there, I made you my thrall

Your tribute grew all the hot months inside 
But your oaths made a stronger chain to her
Unless I bore you down at Samhain's ride
And pin you fast through change of flame and fur

Wild one, Tam Lin I tame you to my own
Now freed from her,  you'll  kneel  to me alone

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Long Distance Fleshlight Fuck

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I’ve done a bunch of housekeeping and found some writing that never got shared. Technically this is like, September 2020, but it’s no less raw and sexy. As per the title: a long distance fleshlight fuck, caught on webcam. Also Silver has been even more away for 4 days and I am already climbing the walls. I have a problem. 😛

His face, oh, his beautiful face.

Desire/Restraint Desperate, wrapped & milked. Fearing Release as much as her craves to have it. Long distance fleshlight fuck

I am watching him, pixelated a bit (although apparently my video is just fine), and a tiny rectangle of myself, a video call reflection. I am perched on my bed in a pair of emerald green panties, with my hair in a pretty dark braid down my side. 

We are both ghost pale, shared gifts of ancestors who hung out in the arctic circle. I think we are good looking, and nobody has disputed that fact with me recently. Myself with the faint traces of worn out makeup around my eyes, and a nose that turns pink any time the temperature dips below 15 C. 

I have strong, dark brows and eyes to match. He, blond, has that golden sand colour with the warmth of a sugar cookie just starting to brown on the bottom in his hair, or the warm way a cream lampshade looks when the light’s on. His eyes are very blue, but a deeper riff on the colour, no water or sky comparisons, more Persian, Azure or Sapphire. The only pink is his lips, small thumb print nipples and the ruddy swollen gloss of his cock.

He’s so beautiful to me. 

Lean angular lines, slender limbs, so fragile and delicate looking, at once with the placement of deliberately sculpted, built muscle.

The fleshlight he bought was chosen to please a voyeur, in clear. While he fuck it, it’s hidden from the screen. But I saw it earlier in photos, close ups of his cock penetrating, careful to showcase what he is proud of, but more importantly, proud to give to me. Now he has the camera set so I have, quite without him thinking about it, almost the angle I would have if we were fucking, and his cock was engulfed inside me.

The trigger for this particular escapade was me filming myself slithering out of stretchy black jeans. Somehow this tongue in cheek little end of day inclusion of the mundane was the encouragement to make himself ready to fuck for me.

I can hear the faint squeak of the fleshlight sometimes, see the building pressure and tension in his face and upper body. It’s very different than making him edge with his hand for me.

This way, it’s a whole body commitment, and the desperation on his face gets very different, not just intimate because it is closer, but this extremely vulnerable fear, knowing that the pleasure he is chasing is putting him closer and closer to the risk of involuntary disobedience.

I have my panties to the side, two fingers working in and out, running a spoken line of erotic teasing that I amp up and down. The right words and he gets increasingly more incoherent.

Human sexual pleasure is two parts, the mental and the physical. While the mechanics of orgasm have their own nerve paths to complete the reaction, regardless of the state of your spine, we know the brain’s independent ability to arouse can exist without touch and friction.

I cannot wrap my legs around him, engulf and take him inside. There are about 200 km separating my airy, gauzy bedroom from his more modern and boxy, sleek space. But, I can fuck him with my words as deeply as he is thrusting into the slicked, ribbed and sucking channel of the toy.

It’s not his own movements that make him almost come, it’s my reminder that he’s helpless for me. Sincerely making my case for how trapped he is is the best way to turn him into a pile of whimpers.

I remind him that he begged me not to come last month, and no matter how good this feels, he can’t come now. I remind him that he is opened to me, to use as I see fit. I remind him if he does come it will be with my visit, now less than 2 weeks away, but only a chance to have me consider it.

Because if he does come. he’d better be emotionally ready to take that vulnerability, the drop of succumbing.  He’ll lose that reassuring numbing of unsatisfied lust drugging him from thinking too hard about the most dangerous thing for him. He wants me so badly, and sexual release is removal of the hand on his throat, only to leave him yearning for me to put it back.

He wants my love. But, coming or not, that’s a constant.

Best BlowjobMachines.com wanted to toss in a support, and they weren’t particularly rigid about the how, only that I let you know about their page on Best Blowjob Toys. Honestly in my opinion there isn’t enough sites out there promoting and reviewing male sex toys, so as an enthusiast of all things to use on men (or make them use for you) it’s nice to get a support from another project that’s in close alignment with me. Oh, and if sucking isn’t your thing (or you are a man without a penis), they are also pretty enthusiastic about sharing their post on Best Anal Toys For Men because dick or not, most men have a butt hole.

Friday Femdom Fiction – Hypnosis and Stockings

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woman on couch uses watch to hypnotise non binary masc, she has stockings visible
Art commissioned from: Izzy of @dikedig  (insta: @dikedig )

Imagine two people seated on a couch in a small sunny apartment on a Sunday afternoon: Marianne and Charlie are not quite a couple, but they have started to weave an intimacy through Charlie’s ever willingness to submit. Marianne has given them permission to call her Ma’am, and is starting to weigh her feelings between ‘Mistress’ and ‘Domina’.

This occasion is already planned, the terms and activities decided before Charlie arrived. They know they will be hypnotized, and that Marianne will make them worship her feet.

And whether this happens before, during or after, Charlie knows those feet already have them completely captivated.

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8 Things He Does When He’s Only Ever Been With Pro Dommes Before You

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spotting the former client of a prodomme

Sex work is normal, and more than normal, healthy.

It’s important any piece about sex work acknowledge this fact explicitly: remuneration for the erotic is a perfectly reasonable thing. It might take many forms, and you, the reader, even if you are a lifestyle only domme, probably consume some manner of product of the larger industry. Perhaps you stick to erotica, or buying gear inspired by the things popularized in porn. Perhaps you, yourself like to enjoy the performance of a stripper or you are a client of someone yourself.

Nonetheless, when you are a lifestyle femdom, you will find yourself in the curious situation that not only are most resources for straight women tailored under the expectation of copying the pro experience, but a significant number of your partners will, up until you, have only ever experienced submission in the context of a professional, and it shows.

Take this not at an accusation of the evil fakery of the Pro, but as a certain pattern that I just keep seeing pop up over and over again.

1) Kneeling and wanking on a towel to finish is normal to him. 

These days there’s a well needed thaw on “dommes don’t fuck/BDSM is not sexual” by default. (And thank goodness!) But, quite reliably, if your partner wants to get off to femdom and it’s been pros only until this point, they don’t think it will be with any contact or physical assistance from you.

This is largely due to the letter, rather than the spirit of anti-sexwork laws being obeyed, but people who have only experienced being clients also expect a certain physical distance as part of emotional boundaries. So, knees on the floor, towel down and several feet away, a supervised wank has an odd habit of being how he expects things to wrap up. Can it be hot? Sure, but like the particular patterns in sex based on what looks good on camera trickle from porn to regular bedrooms, this one is a very strong tell.

2) Being *wildly* grateful. 

The thank yous don’t stop, from when you first agree to play to days after. It’s nice to be appreciated and infinitely reassuring if you are worried that he might not want a second time, or you need a little aftercare. Still to the point you start feeling slightly concerned they think this was a lot closer to helping them move a couch than mind blowing sex for you.

It’s not that you were “better” than his past experiences (although if he likes a lot of emotional intimacy it might necessarily have been). But, while kink, at the best of times, is vulnerable, the environment that makes sex work the only easy to find outlet tends to feed the idea this was being dooted by a unicorn. So many check-ins to say thank you again. So. Many. @_@

3) Reflexively calling play time “sessions”

Lifestyle BDSM is less likely to use this to describe a hookup, whether alone or at a play party. That’s not to say that one never does, but the framing of taking a private lesson or some sort of treatment or luxury spa time can bleed into both the approach he takes to it, but also how he talks about it before and after. The kink scene at large tends to pick up on it, as well, but it’s been my experience that M/f tends to frame it in terms of a scene. Again, it’s not bad, but it is a very philosophically different position to be in.

4) He gets weirdly anxious you are not being properly compensated. 

This doesn’t necessarily mean money, but there remains the perception that some sort of payment/service always has to go with the kink play out of “fairness” to you. In any relationship, gifts and acts of service make up 2/5 of the love languages people might approach relationships with. In professional domination, there is Often he’s quite free with the gifts or nurturing, and gets emotional gratification from doing so even independently of whatever other BDSM activities you do together. This is a bit of a chicken and egg thing, since if you don’t find paying for something very personal gratifying you aren’t going to be as likely to seek out a professional dominant.

5) Extremely healthy attitude about sex work as work, which generally extends into respecting women’s time and labour.  

Maybe it’s a selection bias to the guys I date too, but I find frequenting sex workers actually tends to have a certain awareness of how much femininity is performance. I can’t speak to every client ever, but it is very refreshing to be free of the guys who go out of their way to tell you you are prettier without makeup, or who expect a medal for preferring a less mainstream body type.

6) His mind is blown by very cuddly aftercare, possessive intimacy, or sex that blends into BDSM and back out again.  

See towel wanking for the other symptom of very hands off BDSM. Nobody is touching these boys in anything other than a controlled fashion, so expect a really big eyed paralyzed reaction the first time play ends with significant snuggles or involves climbing on top and biting. Mix stroking, petting and massage into play and they practically have some sort of temporary tour of nirvana… alongside the most bewildered faces this side of an Organic Chemistry class. 

7) Has trouble understanding you are getting anything out of this, though more than happy to do things your way even if it isn’t his fetish. 

Even when you just had a loud, sloppy orgasm. Even when he just spent the last hour falling all over himself trying to please whatever arbitrary kinks and preferences the fetish fairies gave you. In addition to feeling you need to be paid, your fellow may even need constant reassurance not the standard “did ya come/was it good for you?” but “That wasn’t *too* much of an imposition, was it?”

8) Usually able to clearly articulate his desires and separate how he thinks something will feel versus how it actually feels. 

Your average former client had a past partner who is very used to extracting actionable activities out of the often incoherent and oneiric space of fantasy. Can the traditions and practical parts of pro-work lead to some very unusual behaviour? Sure! But, for all of that, there’s a certain requirement to tease out what he wants from the vague flappy sea of human guessing and fretting. A professional session is not cheap, and professionals who thrive also have a particular knack for extracting want from “um, ah… I have this fantasy…”

As a bonus: You also have an accidental screening for the maybe-masochists who are more attracted to the idea of bottoming than receiving.

Defining (A Distinct) FemDom

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Why I prefer femdom's culture

Credit for the topic here goes to Natasha Strange of kittenwithawhip, who started a blogging project themed as “FemDom Society” (no not that one!) I’m not in the official roster, but I thought I would throw in my support with this.

Why Femdom As A Niche (VS BDSM as a Whole)?

I no longer believe you can define femdom as being just a dominant who happens to be female. To use kink dominance in men as the norm is to ignore that there is no reason to make women the other. In over a decade of practical activity, I can say that given the options, I think “Femdom” as a niche, is not only distinct enough to deserve clarification, but the most likely of the collective approaches to being kinky to give me what I want.

True, I’ve written a bunch about feeling like the stereotype of the domme doesn’t suit me over the last decade. As with anything with a decade in tenure, even just looking over my blog, some parts I’ve argued are very insightful and some parts are pure cringe. Criticisms of the niche are correct, that it is not, as a whole, any escape from a gendered restriction on how women are allowed to express power, and much of Femdom still focuses on what men want as a priority.

But, for all my contrary streak, I have never felt Femdom didn’t have a unique face, flavour and aesthetic. I am glad I kept at my picking, because contrasting the more universally framed culture of BDSM VS this more explicitly gendered part, Femdom is a heck of a lot more welcoming to dominant women in particular. Yes, male fantasies and desires do put a lot of pressure onto my behavior. Nonetheless, I do not believe Femdom is just a manufactured façade that excludes women from their own self representation. Further, I do not feel that the BDSM community as a whole gives me more voice than femdom, and in a lot of ways, I am significantly more invisible in the former.

Thus, if I am in the business of pursuing orgasms and emotional satisfaction, femdom has the largest chance of providing it to me. Not all parts, of course! For example I am not particularly enthusiastic about the female supremacy fetish version, and I don’t find much gratification in the full rejecting men except as beta eunuchs shitck either. But, I really like guacamole, but have the cilantro taster gene, and that doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive either.

More than that, I believe that rejecting femdom, as a dominant, skirts awfully close to the same “not like other girls” style misogyny that attempts to escape the oppressive parts of gender by attacking the feminine.

I did not always notice this. I think the moment I realized that I had to reconsider how I was choosing to approach my identity was when a regular fetlife mod of domme groups, Carolyn, commented that she had an easier time connecting and getting along with male dominants rather than equivalent peers. It was an innocent observation: Femdoms just seemed to have more in common with her and her approach to her sub.

Whoops. I can’t call it malice, but I grew up with a very parallel problem. I’m a nerd, and historically that has made me a minority in the gaming and fandoms I like. And it is extremely common for one of the reasons my female peers to cite for not having more female friends are that women are not only boring, but typically some version of crazy and competitive. I don’t think Carolyn meant that she generally doesn’t like women, but it made me deeply suspicious of rejecting anything domme coded just because.

Sure, there’s things, for me that are more typical in male dom culture (like feeling your sub is incredibly sexy) that click with me. Nonetheless, it really made me reassess both my own behaviour and how I perceived other dominants like me. I couldn’t go around assuming nobody has anything in common with me if I don’t try to understand them. So I did, and I have largely come to conclude there are enough femdoms like me in my desires and outlook to make the stereotypes of first impressions irrelevant.

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