my review of what I experienced at the 2021 ero-hypno con

Notes on Charmed! HypnoCon 2021

If cost was a prohibitive barrier to me exploring latex, the complex vocabulary and my own skepticism has always limited how deep I could go into exploring hypnosis. Enter Silver, a regular subject/sub/victim to turn my mind control fantasies into mind control realities. There’s praise there for how much his experience in this kink has accelerated my own confidence and growth.

I really cannot stress enough the symbiosis in a dominant’s skill and submissive’s skill. The constant emphasis on describing submission as a passive act, and dominants as the universal energy and experts of all kink robs us of so much potential, particularly for baby dominants. Exploring Hypnosis as a niche of a subculture I have found a lot to like. There’s less emphasis on the “True Doms” (or gendered primacy the way rope feels like it decided hemp and patriarchy were unavoidable defaults) and a lot more space to blend it into a whole life rather than being a commitment to a different world.

Charmed! is a Annapolis Erotic Hypnosis convention they have been putting on for several years. This is my first time, and I am quite impressed by the professionalism, both in structure and delivery on the online medium they used this year. The silver lining of Covid is that I probably would not have attended if I had to pay to fly there and stay for a weekend, but the activity in particular is uniquely set to remote exploring and learning.

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8 Things to Buy for Your Domme For Valentine’s Day 2021

Yes, you have four weeks until the holiday. But postage delivery is slammed and everyone is shopping online this year, so I’m giving you a curated list now. As with my last gift guide, what to buy your domme for valentine’s day leans heavily to small businesses and independent makers, particularly kinky ones.

One of a Kind Rope Ceramics by Lexi Pots

It’s a small vessel that stealthily communicates a love of bondage, the unique texture and glazing of this ropework clay pot is pretty enough to put out in public, and quiet enough not to make the wrong people ask questions.

Designer (Potter? Yeah, potter is the right word here…) Lexi makes each by hand, throwing similarly patterned mugs and other vessels, in rough hemp look or detailed lace. Her shop is new- up until recently she worked by commission, and the one of a kind nature of her work means that if you want something shipped in time, buying sooner rather than later is better.

Archer and Olive Bullet Journal in “Secret Keepers”

The fancy must have item in the planning community might have gotten it’s primacy through aggressive influencer marketing, but the Secret Keeper is undeniably beautiful. At $32 USD it comes in a fancy gift box and promising a higher weight of no bleed through paper, while the dot grid is a discreet way of helping your line work and handwriting look less sloppy.

Yes, this caught my eye as a personal coveted item, because while the maker also offers flowers, moons and other trendy designs I am a sucker for the symbolism of keys.

Pair it with a decent set of markers, or a nice calligraphy pen. Stickers aren’t a bad idea, either. Whether your domme decides to use it to doodle or to strictly track your progress, it’s a prestige item whose stamped brass-to-gold keys let you overlap femdom pride with artistic organizing.

Silver Anatomical Heart Locket by Peggy Skemp

An ominous anatomical heart locket offers a delightfully macabre way to express love. There’s dozens of designs on the market now, in all sorts of metals and price points. I picked this one as it’s got a directly traceable designer and fairly old pedigree (2009!).

I’ve seen these offered in materials ranging from resin to brass, and in every size from mouse to cat, but I like that the inside of this locket looks shaped to be the heart chambers, rather than ending the attention to detail.

Fill your locket with a very small nude, a secret only your domme gets to keep, or your credit card number and pin. You know your domme best.

Rose Flogger by Art of Whips

The rose flogger is not a new concept, and by now it’s available in a rainbow of colours real roses can’t be found in. So, why this one? Review of quality matters, because the rose and blossom flogger makes for a small sacrifice of structural stability over aesthetics.

Fragile or not, it’s a fully functional impact play tool, with a pleasant extra weight in the petaled falls and a nice balance at the end of a swing.

Art of Whips has a reliable star rating, which bodes well for it’s chance not to explode after a few snaps on the butt and back of a deserving bottom. Don’t skimp here, nothing’s sadder than dishing out the thud only to accidentally behead your weapon.

Catherine D’Lish Deluxe Maribou Trimmed Robe in Merlot

deluxe femme fatale robe

Is your domme feminine? Heck, are they anything on the spectrum other than butch? Your dominant wants this fancy robe for Valentine’s day. I want this robe. I want her/them to have this robe. Hell, I want YOU to have this robe.

However, if she already owns it… then get her another one in a different colour. Seriously, it’s the femme fatale extravagance that launched a thousand imitators. At $500 US you might be tempted to get a copy instead, but don’t. It’s every bit as lush and soft as pictured and the knock offs will disappoint.

And if you really must, yes there’s a ruffled vegan option and a glossy satin version. Regardless of your pick, with a likely high demand, you should get it now. You can thank me later. ^_^

Daddy has No Gender Sticker

Because I know a lot of dommes who are also Daddy, although my own personal tastes lead heavy femme and I’m surprisingly rigid in titles (for someone she uses she/they), I would be remiss not to toss this item into the Valentine’s tribute pile.

Daddy has No Gender” is particularly affordable to add to a card, maybe along with a meal out, or a nice boot blacking session. Or just as a little something for those broke-and-queer folx.

Certainly, I definitely do have a favourite pair of very vintage Doc Martins in my cupboard that make me feel dominant and tough, so it might not be *my* favourite word I can be glad there’s more aesthetics out there for us.

Red PVC Mask by Cybill Troy

There’s a lot of different masks in the shop, 5 Point 6 Roentgen, so it was a hard task to choose a favourite. In the end, although there’s a constantly updating stock of options, I had to go with the shiny number on the left.

I was a bit concerned, at least at first that a vinyl face mask was going to be a non-starter. The material might be fashion (and fetish) forward but a covid mask isn’t supposed to block all air, just particles. However, I can say from owning the black version, that the inside fabric layers offer plenty of filtered ventilation.

Give it to your domme for a park date, to make her the ultimate object of no-touch tease and denial, or keep it for better days as an accessory to compliment fetish wear and punk looks alike.

And, buy it knowing the original name of the shop was “Off Duty Dominatrix”. She might not be scening in the dungeon right now, but Cybill Troy can definitely serve a look, can’t she?

The Basilisk by Wandering Bard Toys

Ok, I admit I actually want this not for the fantasy of doing a lizard that can make you hard as stone. I like the unique curve-and-ridge combo of this break out designer’s hand poured, body (and butt) safe silicone dildo.

Whether your domme’s the type to strap one on or satisfy her own orifices, The Basilisk offers both the standards (three sizes, custom density options) and a shape I really haven’t seen in any other line.

Don’t like the colour? No problem! If blue isn’t to your tastes the mold masters at this two person work shop will blend you all sorts of other shades.


Inevitable Disclosure:
Nobody paid my to write this and I am not receiving kickbacks or even review copies. I mean, honestly if someone wants to send me any of these, I have a PO box?

Sex, Platforms and And When the Marketplace of Ideas Is A Shopping Mall

CN: perversity, discrimination and sexual assault and exploitation 

free speech porn and the POTUS

Jesus Christ, 2021. Nobody actually thought you were going to be different, but if we had any hope, you definitely managed those expectations effectively. One attempted coup later, let’s talk about where kinky sex applies to the current situation occupying anyone with an internet connection and grasp of the english language.

In the wake of banning the POTUS from various privately owned, but widely used social media outlets, there is a timely discussion on if the concept of “Free Speech” is applicable in relation to losing your access to commercially controlled platforms. Being a shiboleth for Americans, private curation gets called censorship, and people argue that this circumstances is completely different from state muzzling. 

Ultimately it’s the more sophisticated version of whether “irregardless” is a word that you can use interchangeably with “regardless”, or not. 

That’s to say that people are both correct that anyone using irregardless knows that more listeners understand it to mean “extra disregarding of prior argument”, but it’s not what that word originally meant. And, everyone hearing “this is an attack on free speech” knows damn well that the lines between aristocracy-level-powerful corporations and the state is blurry.

As a person who makes porn and has weird sexuality, I therefore find myself with the strangest of bedfellows indeed. This is even as I support excising the instability in the US like an old timey approach to breast cancer: carve off the whole teat into the lymph nodes to save the patient, if you have to.

If the house is on fire, forget about bath water VS baby ratio, and chuck the whole tub. However while sending your metaphorical bathtub out the window, you can still try to make sure it lands baby side up, and acknowledge some metaphorical babies may be harmed in the flight through the back garden.

And here we horny, loud fuckers are, shouting from the mall parking lot where we were ejected over a lewd, or being too strident about our rights, or having the wrong fetish.

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6 Femdom Highlights of 2020

Castlevania Season 3 = Femdom x 9000

It’s hard to believe that this dropped in March 2020. Just as North America became aware this Covid issue wasn’t someone else’s problem, we got ALL undead femdom.

Between bondage Alucard and Hector/Lenore, there’s nothing at all left in subtext and fan fic writers and femdom enthusiasts the world over are now waiting on baited breath to see if the F/m couple of our cartoon vampire dreams gets some sort of non-tragic ending.

So many online kink classes!

Probably the one benefit to the pandemic was that we were all forced to find new ways to run our kink communities. The educational component, previously locked to physical spaces, became unmoored from geography. It’s suddenly become possible to attend classes anywhere in the world

My highlights include several hypnosis workshops, and decided I particularly like The Eulenspiegel Society (TES, of New York) and via classes hosted by Dating Kinky.

Meanwhile the Ritual Chamber in Toronto has weekly options as a great way to keep the space available while most pro-dommes have taken a break in the name of public health. Likewise Ruby Ryder is running a rotating series on how to peg, for both beginners and advanced players.

That sexy tease of a poster

Earlier last year, the film “Cordelia” shared an elegant image of implied female dominance with a great aesthetic. something about her long dress and his high collar hinted at a historical romp- which given the target market of the typical costume drama, was particularly exciting. For a couple of weeks, we all lost our minds hoping it was the must needed femdom historical.

Unfortunately it wasn’t. A psychological thriller about the mental health of half a set of twins wasn’t what we are into at all, so we decided we needed “Regency Femdom Week“.

Ferns Started Offering Audio Stories

Launched through her Patreon, long term author of Domme Chronicles, Ferns, took her occasional presence on podcasts and went one step further. Erotica in a sexy Australian accent from the queen of lifestyle femdom blogging? You most certainly should take a listen.

I am told her book is also due to become an audio book too, soon!

Silver Became My Property

femdom latex sleep sack

You may or may not have noticed a bit of a content renaissance here and to be honest a significant portion can be blamed on acquiring a muse. Starting an Owner/property relationship back in January has been delightful.

As well as new femdom stories, you have probably been both following along with my real life write ups, or at least enjoying the occasional illustration, often directly inspired by my escapades. Oh, and sonnets.

And there’s almost certainly more to come- see the illustration on the left for an example.

(You can find posts pertaining particularly to him under the Silver tag)

Satanatrix and Empress Ming Caused an International Incident

Shooting a femdom film, with a priest in a Catholic Church was a risky move, but completely delightful. Unfortunately everyone got nailed with a public obscenity charge, but not only do I strongly feel it doesn’t meet the criteria (locked church after hours isn’t public), the clear intended blasphemy is both drenched in artistic merit and given the long term hegemony of the Catholic Church… not exactly punching down.

Although many people were SHOCKED such an indecent act might occur and the altar ritually burned, I donated to Ming’s Go Fund Me, since booting the hornet’s nest of the faithful can mean dealing with getting loudly and publicly outed, and then a mountain of abuse.

My 2020 Blog Report Card

Because I think this data is neat!

Total ViewsUnique Visitors
126,64760,257
There was a blip in my measuring mid year, so all data is minus a month and a bit

Top 10 Posts of 2020 (By Views)

Personal favourite post

Silver, Before I Kissed HimMy blog was only just starting to kick back up when I put this together. something of a love letter to a no-strings-attached hook up that I had not expected to do more than restore my rather repressed libido to some measure of confidence.

Top Referers

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I think you want me to write more femdom stories…

Projects Outside My Site

On Having A Cross Border BDSM Relationship During Covid

There is a point of comparison between how the safe drama of BDSM and ,the shockingly intense effect a pandemic both weigh on a relationship. One comes from a place of fundamentally healthy intensity, the other forces you to find something to cling to that’s good feeling, just to stop the inherent emotions of a crisis from making you crack. Add the first burning flare of a new relationship and it’s been months of yearning. It’s been a year.

Oh my god, it’s been a year.

We’ve gone from from first kisses at midnight and taking travel for granted, to leaping through hoops to even get to hold hands. I’m writing this in the melancholy cloud of self pity that comes from not getting to spend our One Year Anniversary (TM) together in person. But there’s a certain awareness that at least I have the capacity, despite all this distance, despite getting my own go with Covid, to feel something close to blessed.

Blessed is an odd word, since how we casually use it mostly means fortunate. I don’t think there’s a deity giving out favours, but I can see how when things feel unfair in your favour it is more comforting to believe it. In our case, Silver and I are fortunate in two senses, that he is the one I get to miss so very painfully, and that I get to miss him like this. Not everyone gets even what we have.

Not that I expected it same time last year, but let’s do a retrospective of how we got here: From scratching an itch with a cute sub guy, to deciding there was a pretty good body of evidence this might be my Person.

I thought fretting if I was rebounding after a break up in 2019 was going to be my biggest pathos. I though Silver was Mr. What I Needed Right Now, and I’d work the rest out later. At the time, and you can see it documented month over month, I figured slow was better. At the best of times I am good at feeling things hard, and I wanted to be careful with my heart. I mapped out a month by month calendar of careful escalations. But, people plan, and God laughs, so the saying goes. My commitment to the Aesthetic has nothing on the adaptions we must put love to, to live in and with a pandemic.

And I think of the sentiment, the impacts we put of old concepts: Dating. Courting. Love letters. Shame. Adventure. Simplicity.

I already mentioned that Covid had a sort of time machine effect on relationships, so I suppose I expand on that point. For good or for ill, this has been a ridiculously romantic situation. I don’t mean to say that the sufferings of billions is my immature backdrop. This is no renting an antebellum plantation so the columns will look good in your wedding photos.

This is romantic in the sense that the obstacles add a conflict you have to face together. Where everything is a monumental struggle, so the least bit of your efforts to reach each other has all the more impact. And it’s a lot of yearning, and time to think about missing them.

On Romance

I wish I had saved the origin, but in the ship wars that spill over into Twitter, a fragment of an argument slipped past: Romantic, in fiction, isn’t actually the model of what a relationship should be, it’s drama. Drama necessarily mean a certain degree of angst, discomfort and pathos. Stick “Grand” in front of the word “Romance” and you probably can guarantee deadly peril too.

In this pandemic, everyone flails around for a story to make sense of it. The Spanish Flu and the Blitz are popular. Sometimes we trot out war metaphors from other conflicts. I see the point, to a degree. I had not expected food shortages, sheltering in place or blocked travel would be part of my adulthood. I hadn’t expected to get sick in a pandemic, though I suppose I assumed there would eventually be some acute calamity or another. I just thought it was going to be a natural disaster or a personal crisis. My imagination stretching to earth quakes and car crashes, not long, long months of nothing to do while everything happened.

Covid, ultimately, is going to be Covid, in the stories after this. We’re nowhere near out, with it’s long tail aftershocks on the economy predeicted to last long after we are all hopefully stabbed twice and set back out into the working world. But, for now it’s the older meaning of the term “romance” we seek comfort in, meaning a story, often grand in scope.

I am sure it wasn’t Tolkien’s Hobbit that made participating-under-protest Bilbo the first hero self aware of the unpleasantness of the practical details of adventure. Nonetheless, the Hobbit and it’s titular species are the lives of most of us. Sure we have personal pains, but most of us go out of our way to avoid anything epic, because we are not self destructive.

And yet, in the awful can we farm a lot of just plain awe.

We are all aware of the fact that bad things breed good chemistry. The shared experience of suffering, even ritual and light suffering, bonds you to new friends and compatriots fast. Much has been said of the addictive nature of rollercoaster relationships, no matter how much they tend to behave a lot more like steamrollers to our lives and real happiness. So, what about the inherent drama of kink?

I believe that one facet of BDSM’s appeal is putting that lightening in a bottle. Like taking up sword fencing or tae kwan do, or immersing yourself in a nice novel, you get all the advantages and high energy of what would be bad otherwise, and none of the messes. A beating ends with check ins and aftercare. A scene almost always begins with both parties having the understanding of the ride the are on and where it is going. BDSM relationships really don’t get much worse than vanilla ones can, but can have a significant uplift than the alternative.

Perversity breeds a language for obsession, foreplay for days, and investment. I know a lot more kinky folks who are REALLY into their partners and the relationship itself, than vanilla couples. (I think people who are living a $Religion Lifestyle are the only ones I see otherwise so reliably obsessed in building a big thing off being together)

Now try being kinky, dating with a lot of firsts that are symbolic even for vanilla folks, and then have a pandemic crash through your world.

Let us be clear, in these times I exist in a position of relative safety and advantage. I survived Covid with only mild respiratory damage. Silver and I work from home, and live a not unreasonable commute from the only easy to reach neutral ground between our nations in the world. We even managed a visit in October, because I could afford a $250 flight and a $60 uber, where I plucked his technical virginity.

After, I confided that I had not expected it to impact me as much, to feel so bonded. I had lost my own technical virginity with the speed and enthusiasm of a teen breaking in her first pair of Doc Martens. Literally. I snapped my hyman like I was trying to make something transform from painful and chafing, to the badge of experience and the power I wanted fucking to symbolize. Control. Freedom. Artificially extended childhood through “purity”, as the larger body of adults recommended, constricted.

So it was bewildering to feel something a little more real just from popping a little rubber bag on his cock and making him ejaculate inside me. And it was reassuring to be told that he also felt like something relevant had passed between us. Uh, did True Love really wait? Snrk.

I love him, rather intensely. Did I mention that?

In November, after passing quarantine confinement for the first part, we made a last pilgrimage to the Peace Arch. The sky, which had turned Cascadia grey by my return home from Washington and dumped water daily, gave us a break for one perfect Friday afternoon.

Understand, of course that this park meeting would be unthinkable if we didn’t lead very constricted lives. Numbers of infections are watched in British Columbia and Washington. Even so, this was the tail of the year, with few leaves in the trees and the earth even more muddy than our first May meeting. And the park had only a few well swaddled few, more border guards than guests.

These days, there’s a significant pressure, and for good reason, to be as good as possible. The intimacies of my picnics feel as daring as the carnality of my sex life, if not more so. I worry that I made my calculations wrong. I worry that if I tell you, even here in a fairly shielded sex blog I will end up earning some sort of scarlet C. And guilt too, because some people don’t have a means to see the one they love at all. And woven into this shame, is a sort of awareness of the larger struggles from time past.

So much hope and want, all poured into one thermos!

I made oxtail soup from scratch in my roomate’s instant pot. Simple, carrots, celery and onion, the latter diced nice and fine, and a little tomato paste and herbs from the last on my balcony. I wrapped the thermoses in a pretty tea towel, making the most simple thing we were stuck with as special as I could. He brought pumpkin pies capped with Chantilly cream, rich and perfect. After the bandstand proved occupied by one of the few other people (the seemed to be doing some sort of group therapy), we stole away to make a plastic tablecloth and blanket nest at the door of the little building that serves as a kitchen-for-rent in better days.

I wish I could tell you of some great erotic secret game we played, but the truth was I had a migraine that made me ache until he began to stroke along my back and neck. Though there was more than captured kisses, there wasn’t the full lavished torments to the degree we sometimes do.

The truth is that I’d seen that arch that’s a monument to our respective nation’s diplomatic peace a good dozen times now, and until now I though it was trite and over stated. It’s League of Nations styled optimism that the First World war got it out of our system at long last, refreshed just this year with new white paint on a hulking structure that’s too public to pretend its a lost gate to Narnia, or some such. But there, framed by trees shedding their last leaves, and cuddled close against the wind, the fact that the gate was essentially closed hurt. It was a family heirloom you took for granted as “that old thing” now pawned, or lost in a fire.

Here we were, almost quaint enough to make the most Family Values oriented elder cluck indulgently at us. This picnic was all we had. Sure, I wanted him back in a rubber bondage sack with his hard cock peeping, and every fiber of his being focused on what I might do next, but it’s going to take either great age or a traumatic brain injury to make me forget that afternoon.

The soup arrived still so hot it burnt my tongue, but I want to make it again. And I can’t tell you if the pumpkin tarts were the best I have ever had, or if that was the moment’s energy giving them the flavour, but ultimately, if my meat prison is giving me intense happiness in a pile of things I would have previously thought were mundane, I will take it.

We hoped hard, in a few weeks, things might stay as easy as they had in October and maybe, just maybe, one more meeting to end the year. One more hand on throat, midnight kiss to seal 2020 with the same hope we entered it with.

And after.

The panedemic got worse, of course. We know, you’re reading it with me. The optimism that I had thought perhaps to risk an imprudent NYE rendez vous all abated. I MISS HIM. I won’t see him or hold him or pin him in place and hurt him for months.

The park’s awash in the sky’s further blessings: wet snow, and here I am making a tearful record. I shan’t fill his ass with anything, but toys at my direction. I have to reassure my beautiful, perfect man that my crying isn’t some ill he did me, but the awareness of wanting.

And the pictures we send back, well, his pale face and perfect dark blue eyes have a little sad. The hair he grew out long enough to yank will have its trim. I suspect he just packed the bounty of gifts he wanted to get me into a big box an freighted it to me, instead of getting to watch as I blushed redder and redder at each unwrapping and put kisses on his neck to hide my face.

There’s a rubber armbinder still in tissue, waiting for me to join him and strap him in. There’s promise unrealized, things I hope for. Even our relationship, at one year at the end of the month, has crazy holes we will have to wait to back fill. We have spent barely three days together in a row, and still need to determine if four is too much. I have to let time keep going forward to get there.

I will comfort myself. I make the effort to dress and pretty up as if the pandemic barrier might drop at any minute and I would need to drop everything to see him. (with laws in place, I doubt it will go that fast). After January, I will buy a short whip, and take it to the nearest park to learn to aim it, so the next time we are alone, even if he’s stolen from me again, I can send him back with welts.

I will progress as best I can with what we have for now. And it will be some comfort that although hot soup and a picnic are now the height of decadent luxury, they feel like much, much more.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Doggy Style

She rolled back, butt towards her heels, arms unbending so her head is low and her hair pooled on the floor. She looked back over her shoulder, at the anonymous effect of the leather mask on his face, and the line of the lead pulling taut from his collar.

He was hard for her, want etched across his body, her posing holding him enthralled, tighter than the lead. She’d stripped him, earlier, teasing him about his eagerness to rut, telling him he was like a dog that had scented a bitch.

“And I am just the Bitch to breed you, aren’t I?”

That was a loaded word. Bitch for her: harsh high and unfeeling. His occasional wearing of the label: lowly, desperate and needy. This time she taunted him at how much he wanted to fuck, told him he was little more than an animal even as she jerked his cock.

Words tugged at him as she squirmed against him and crooned in his ear to admit it and say it out loud, that he was her dog, nothing but an animal, brainless, desperate, and her cunt convulsed as she pressed her thighs together.

She made a show of presenting the mask to him so he could see the black snout and pointed ears, a shape she thought was more doberman than anything else. She liked the fit, the way he looked at her through its eyes, hungry, humiliated and yet wanting more.

She made him pant for her. No barking, she didn’t like the abrupt sounds, but growls instead of groans while she buckled the collar and led him, from the chair, across the room.

He saw her shed her clothes, what little she had been wearing when they started playing and the revelation of high, small pointed breasts, and a heavy roundness to her ass that tapered to the tight pinch of her waist. 

Tugs to the leash pulled him closer before she settled into position, dropping to her knees with grace, and then all fours with her elbows bent. When she caught his eye the pose extended…

…And he had a direct view of the split of her body, shameless in her power. She giggled, “Caught my scent, did you?”

Her cunt was a wet dark slash. Brown lips around dark pink, glossy. The leash tug told him what to do next and the mask let him tilt his head to press his real mouth to her. It was more nuzzle than lick, at first, getting himself marked with her.

She smelled of musk and tasted of lemon and salt, but soon this treat was pulled away from him and his leash was yanked.

“Mount me.”

He knew his part and her intent, hands to her sides, cock pressing, letting her own back writhe and the slick home it to hilt. Hot, just the space for him and not more.

His fingers dug into the softness of her hips and her command encouraged, “Fucking rail me.”

And she used him, devouring that energy as he drove into her.

She didn’t count the thrusts, making cries into the floor, welcoming triumph. “Harder!”

Her taste was still in his mouth and his sweat starting to bead. Her hand hand slid to reach back and tweak her clit.

“I’m going to c..” He tried to warn. Wild pounding thrusts gave him little leeway, her clear enjoyment even less

“Dogs don’t talk!” She grunted. And then her attention was elsewhere as he felt the clench and squeeze of her coming. Something about the spasm of muscle pushed him out and her forwards, but then he came in a single spurt he couldn’t stop, and a second pulse, a white line across her back and another dripped from him and across her sprawled thigh below him.

From the floor, in a c curl, with him collapsed nearby, she took a breath and sighed out, “Good boy.”


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Femdom Review – Libidex Matrix Latex Catsuit For Women

matrix latex cat suit review

So you were looking for a latex cat suit and you were considering getting the Female Matrix Catsuit from Libidex…

I got the Matrix, my first latex catsuit, as a gift from Silver, who seems to be spending his entire personal entertainment budget trying to wrap me in head to toe rubber, an activity I am not at all resisting. One thing we noticed, however, is the lack of easy to find reviews. The sites that sell them (in this case Libidex), usually have a user submitted section for comments with stars.

Reviews from other people are important, for a number of reasons. For most enthusiasts, latex clothing remains very much the mail order fetish gear (or to update terms, online shopping situation) it was 100 years ago. Often involving significant international shipping. While there’s a whole thriving review industry for sex toys, mostly dildoes and other thing designed to get people with vaginas off, latex seems to be largely a matter of word of mouth, or scrounging old forum posts where some blessed soul spread sheeted a list of brands.

So, my experience with the Matrix Latex Catsuit for women?

This is a footed, full neck to toe latex catsuit available in a scope of different colours. Mine is a size medium, in basic black. My version has their standard thickness latex (o.5 mm). A triple zipper pull system lets you open an access window, probably best for sex, but also bathroom breaks without having to undress, and I suppose, getting your tits out if you would prefer that.

Price: Regular £245 (or $326.77 USD or $424.54 CAD) – get on their mailing list for frequent sales.

Want more? Keep reading.

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Femdom Review: Tempting the Domme by Golden Angel

Available: Kindle, Audible, Paperback

Author Page: Golden Angel

How did I get this? I bought it.

Contents: Modern Femdom Romance, Hooking up with the Boss, Kink Club, Stand Alone In Series

Did I like It? It’s ok.

I feel bad when I don’t like something, because there’s so few F/m works targeted at women. Tempting the Domme isn’t bad, per say, but there’s a few things I just couldn’t get past. In the first place the setting, a pair of BDSM clubs called the Stronghold and the Marquis, had traditions taken from the worst kind of trying to justify itself BDSM-as-a-culture. Next, the male lead repeatedly ignore the ostensible Domme’s “stop doing that”. Finally there’s too many characters, and I didn’t need to know about a catalogue of their goings on, nor do I think anything of note really happened to any of the side characters worth dedicating so much time to them.

Uhgh, the author, who seems to normally nail out perfectly serviceable M/f romances, doesn’t deserve my fussiness. Maybe this would work for someone else? She clearly is familiar with how BDSM actually works, and her sex scenes pass the possible and chemistry present test. But, I don’t think making the heroine that resistant to the situation is doing the book any favours and ultimately that swayed my away from liking it.

The premise is a “He’s the Boss So It’s A Bad Idea”, which isn’t the worst way to stop a simple, modern relationship transaction from resolving in chapter one. However there’s so much additional accidental showing of how the sub, Luke, has the Domme, Olivia, at a disadvantage. She manages the Marquis, he has part ownership. He’s forever walking into her office to deliver gifts, calling her a pet name she tells him to never call her, etc. The text reminds us repeatedly it’s ok because Olivia secretly likes it and her attraction to him (and lack of hard no) is consent.

This isn’t like, weird Gor style all women want to be taken hard nonsense. But the book very much does not believe reluctance is a reason to stop. And more than just owning part of her work place, those squintillion characters (all heroes of their own books) who make up the social network, including the other owners Olivia is under, are gung ho about mashing the pair together even though she is clearly wildly uncomfortable.

Coercion takes different forms, and I empathized with Olivia identifying that the whole scenario put her in a huge risk if it didn’t work out.

So it isn’t just her singular employer, it’s her other employers, their significant others and her colleagues all finding Luke’s aggressive pursuit of her not only exciting, but a great deal of text is dedicated to everyone caring very much about her personal life. I don’t feel the author realized how much this actually undermined Olivia. I was more scared for her here, where the people were the center of her world were more concerned about a HEA for Luke than how unhappy it made her, than I was for the later Narrative Peril.

For all 25% of the text is dedicated to talking about the safe, protective nature of the club’s teaching and practices, it seemed to be protesting too much.

As for things that we didn’t need, there were also pages of X likes Y but Y likes Z level explanations of social dynamics I can’t figure out why, as a person reading one book in a series, we care about. Between the new characters in the sub class and the regular cast from other books, it honestly became hard to keep track of who was what. Unfortunately Olivia’s perspective didn’t really seem like she liked anyone much either, which as a domme reading about a domme navigating an almost entirely M/f world ended up contributing to the deep sense of not belonging.

There’s a few touches I did like: Olivia’s anxious disguised as aloof domme ego, and sense of self in relation to that. The unusual inclusion of Luke still smarting from a breakup where he was called boring, was interesting. Additionally the author really hit her stride with the exploration of his in scene submissive mindset- it is more realistic than a lot of works write for men. Additionally, Luke being pushy gets a bit better once the will they/won’t they ice gets broken.

I can see where the norms of the genre were working against the intent of the story.

Romance isn’t, by tradition, about situations that the reader might want to actually be in themselves. High drama courtship that would make you mace the lead in real life can also be read with trope goggles on. However, I still think his boundary crossing might have been helped by restructuring him as less of a pigtail pulling tease. Or at least holding off on that until they had an established dynamic. Or it might have helped to discuss the expectations of male courtship to sweep her off her feet versus his role as her boss in text.

As far as serving tropes for tension: There’s a few points where Olivia has real problems due to external drama and peril provided by the narrative, and that lets the characters be put in close enough contact to bond, outside of work. This, ironically, flows a lot less creepy. Still, “were it not for a crazy stalker I wouldn’t tolerate you trying to help” still isn’t setting a comfortable coercion free bed in which the characters could romp.

The peril is also where the author showed some of her strengths and more distinction in the other characters.

For example, I had to giggle at all the Alpha Doms falling all over themselves to try to be useful in a manly way. There was good stuff in the ego push/pull of how very little most people are actually the masterful or timidly enticing sex stereotypes we fantasize about. A side bit about one of the more manly tops enjoying being spooned as a source of shame for him suggests the author, herself, isn’t unaware of the difference between what kinky people aspire to be, and who they are.

Which brings me to the third “nope”. Woven throughout the story was the means by which the club culture initiated new kinky people to being in the group. As per the narrative they had switched from everyone being required to do an “initiation scene” to taking a group class, sorted by category.

In the world of the Stronghold, more binary switches or role fluid people really aren’t a thing. BDSM transcends sexual pleasure and is to be done casually with anyone as a part of the learning process. All dominants must experience “everything” they want to do to subs.

I quote Silver directly:

I wonder if anyone has ever written a book where before someone can sub, they have to dom. “Oh, you want to be spanked? Well, here’s your paddle. Have to pass the standards.

There really isn’t the idea in the culture of the club that being a submissive can be a personal thing. Meanwhile doms are elevated outside of their relationship dynamics, even encouraged to leer and intimidate the new sub class for mutual titillation. The subs are supposed to wear revealing outfits that distinguish them from the doms, and are perpetually referred to by anyone as “subbie”. Although there is no protocol of obedience, adding in amplified gender roles for most of the side characters really built up the atmosphere of an environment where subs were cherished but not really exisiting in a position as equals outside of their consent. The situation isn’t far from how people act in real life, but it really isn’t a healthy one.

Tempting the Domme is very close to confronting the gendered part of the problem effectively

The problem of universal sub disempowerment is not the author’s fault. Fantasies, and from thence, the kink scenes that tried to recreate them, are forever coming up with scenarios where the power imbalance is real. From putting uneven prestige on being a top and mentor, to creating an artificially one size fits all concept of the helpless sub being ‘protected’, power dynamics nobody needs or signed up for creep in. BDSM also often tries to recreate a sort of hyper-gender role dynamic across the D/s lines instead, and that’s in the book as well, but the author handles that a lot better.

In real life, even our concepts of “Top” and “Bottom”, coopted from queerness, drag in ridiculous ideas about the inherently submissive nature of penetration. The author does a really good job of touching on this and the male protagonist’s struggle with self acceptance. But, as an idealized premise there’s a huge amount of infantilization, and a pretty pernicious problem.

With power oriented along gendered lines for most practical levers in the larger culture. BDSM often stumbles over making M/f heterosexuality, if heterosexuality did drag. But humans don’t actually do binary as well as we like to act we do.

I had a post I did a while back “Queen Hatshepsut’s Strapon“, where I unpacked the problems with centering power on giving a domme a phallus (rather than her having one because she wanted one). Here, the core complexity is softness versus gender roles.

So as a character, excepting the lack of respect he shows for Olivia’s comforts (even when he seems to clearly understand they are there and how line crossing his behavior is), the sub, Luke is an interesting study into where gender and BDSM stereotypes break down in trying to support the lived experience of the people involved.

Credit where credit due, I also appreciated Olivia’s distrust on Luke’s constence, and a certain additional pressure on her side of not feeling unattractive as much as being very used to even men who are into it deciding they just couldn’t handle being like that.

It’s why I, as a reader, feel bad about the fact that I didn’t like it. When there’s very little on the market that’s serving a need, it puts too much pressure on the stuff that does, and for a get-what-you-pay-for kindle ready, well, it’s just ok?

My Ever Growing Latex Fetish

My name is Miss Pearl, and in 2020 I confirmed I definitely have a latex fetish.

my ever growing latex fetish black latex gloves hanging to dry
My gloves, drip drying

You know, I kind of wish I’d found a cheaper inclination. Like, you know, meth, or Warhammer 40K. It’s probably the price, as much as the initial association with the marketing that put me off it.

My first real life latex fetish experience was the Swede wearing a clear singlet, one size too large, to go dancing. At time I found the texture of sweat and warm rubber interesting. Still, there was the two barriers: the cost and my association with the fetish with the very male gaze version of femdom. Full body latex was generally sold with the harsh, perfect dominatrix and the emotionally unreadable sub.

So, initially it was one of those things I decided I was neutral about. I figured if it popped up, I’d try it. But, life, to this point, didn’t give me a lot of freedom to do so, before putting down what is still a significant amount of money. Plus, I knew I liked more obvious things like corsets, so when I could afford it, there my money went.

This year was the down the rabbit hole. Plague year or not, my collection has, snrk… ballooned. Blame Silver, yes, but also this wouldn’t have been possible were it not for my own desires.

So, my latex fetish journey, after the jump…

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