Femdom Review: The Control Book by Peter Masters

controlOr, as an unofficial subtitle… A Manual on How to be That Guy.

This is a bad book. It gets a lot wrong, wastes a lot of the reader’s time doing it. I’m going to be charitable and suggest that Masters is expressing himself poorly and would never endorse violations of consent. However, based on how this is written, the advice contained within has no place in a contemporary BDSM scene. It’s a pity because there aren’t really much in the way of (focused) resources about the behaviours you can use to compliment and express power dynamics. It mistakes talking a lot for making an argument and has enough problematic suggestions that it has no place in any kink curriculum.

So if you want to read it, basically imagine you were going to do a comedy skit about the ponderous True Dom you may have had the misfortune to meet at a munch, and expect a combination of tedium and terrible advice.

[Before I go any further, it’s worth noting that everything I stand for is pretty much diametrically opposite to this guy’s approach in this book. I can’t actively claim that Peter Masters is a bad person with any confidence, so if you are the author rest assured that I’m the kind of TNG/18-35 tumblr born brat that’s probably ruining kink and my shit probably looks just as appalling to you. That being said you are wrong about things with this book. WRONG.]

Here’s the highlights of the yuck:

  • D/s is only 24/7 and that’s what makes it distinct from topping & bottoming.
  • There’s no such thing as a switch and no room for them.
  • The best way to approach and gain submission is to start ordering subs around at a party.
  • Negotiation? What negotiation?
  • Subs are slightly brain dead, but it’s hard(er) to control a sub who is a good communicator.
  • Safewords are a barrier to D/s & here’s how to ignore/avoid them.
  • Lots of unsubstantiated pop psych.
  • Gender archetype Warrior/Mother examples without much examination of where they might come from.

Need more critique? I’ve got more to say.

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Friday Femdom Fiction: Licking Her Sweat; Loving Her Feet

FRIDAY_Sweatstoryart[Coming home soon. Prep for me.]

The text hit his phone while he was still lazing in the sheets of their bed, pillow wedged into the small of his back, while he played with his cock without any serious plans. She wouldn’t let him come anyway, but she liked it when he teased himself. He’d woken up when she did, an hour ago, early before the summer made the outside untenable. But while she laced on trainers, he settled back down to doze and from there into a little bit of porn and self love.

Now, with her warning, he stretched and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Pausing to flatten the covers into some semblance of tidy, he headed down the hall to the kitchen. He knew what she’d need, and without being told, he took down one of the big water glasses from the cupboard, filling it with water and a handful of ice. After an exploratory flick of his tongue in his mouth and he left the water on the counter for a minute, while his teeth got a quick brush.

Minty mouthed, he rushed back to the hall and took his place in front of the main door, holding the glass of water in both hands as an offering. He heard the stairs, then the pause where he knew, on the other side of the door, while she unclipped her key from the strap of her sports bra. The door opened and he drew in a breath of air in anticipation.

She was dressed in brief shorts that failed to contain her fullness, and the solid squeeze of the spandex gripping and holding her chest. She had both hands full, one with the key, the other clutching her cell phone. Her dark hair was pulling a curl from the humidity and her own heat and dampness, while her cheeks carried the blush of fading exertion.

As she always did, she paused to admire the view. He felt a rush of pleasure at being able to make her happy.

“Hey there, cutie.” She took the glass and gulped greedily, a little exceeding the containment of her lips. With the water drained, she set it on the hall end table next to the mail basket and put her key back on its peg.

“Did you have a good run, Mistress?”

She smiled and pointed, with a nod. “Phew, yeah. Undress me. I need a shower.”

He slid from his knees to all fours and hand walked to her, keeping his head down. She had slim, long legs, white with tapered ankles and creamy thighs. She liked to lace her trainers on tight, pulling each cross of cord snug before tying them in a neat bow. Now he kissed the tops of her feet, before prising at the knots.

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Hate Mail 2016 #2- Paul Anderson, Jeremy Smith’s Twin Brother

Oh look, we have a new message from Jeremy, this time calling themselves Paul Anderson! And boy is he mad. Having a burr in his thong, he spares no invective for a frank expression of his feelings towards me. He really, really doesn’t like femdom. This time he spared the implied rape threats (you know the kinds where they don’t say they’ll do it but if someone happened to, wouldn’t it be lovely?) but not many of his trademarks.

Can we stop confusing masculinity with misogyny? Just because you have all the femininity of and looks of a warthog and are easily intimidated by both masculine men and feminine women DOESN’T mean you have the monopoly on the truth (nor does having a pair of tits, much to the detriment of the usual “thinking”). The thought of an old skag like you in a tutu is quite vomit inducing. Femininity , REAL femininity is submissive in nature, hence all misandry ridden old cunts like you are so fucking ugly and nothing but reject fuckbags. Funny how you agree with so-called submissives about women being regarded as inferior, yet remain strangely silent about arrogant, pervert whores and wannabee’s who advocate nothing but submission/chastity for your rivals (or at least DON’T complain as vociferously and as often about those who do). If you can’t stand any aspect of the scene, stick to cookery or flower arranging. Don’t we have enough self serving,pitiful whining from you greedy fuckers in the real world about the non existent pay gaps and glass ceilings that are used to explain what in truth is just inadequacy? Yes, we do, so if you could STOP trying to pervert perversion to suit your needs and no one else’s, it would be nice. I won’t hold my breath waiting for it though.

Having decided the “Jeremy Smith” brand was tapped out, this UK based Troll decided he was deeply offended by a tweet I made, so much so to leave twitter and come foam in the comments section of my “Contact Me” page.

I’m not really sure I understand what he’s rattling on about. I mean, thirty is old enough,  if you’re a raging misogynist, which he is. Being “ugly” is a non-objective personal aesthetic preference and has little to do with anything. I can be ugly if he wants- I am not fussed.  It isn’t much of an argument, but it does follow with the pattern of his posts- that femdoms are repulsive, evil people who REALLY hate men.

But what I’m really curious about are the “arrogant, pervert whores and wannabee’s who advocate nothing but submission/chastity for your rivals” that he’s talking about. Rivals? Like rivals femdoms? It’s almost a pity that this guy only does drive bys.

Maybe he thinks my rivals are men, which is not how it works. For someone who has strong ideas about the nature of the fetish community, it’s also clear he’s never set foot in it. I’m also not sure where he’s going with the cookery-and-flower arrangement comment. It’s such a non-sequitur, particularly for a guy who just shat himself noisily in his fury to communicate that I am NOT FEMININE.

Never mind, I’ll eschew my usual habit of calling him nuts because stigmatizing the mentally ill is bad and most crazy folks can conduct themselves with dignity he lacks, but whatever his issue is, I wouldn’t say he can be described as rational.

As is the pattern for Jeremy, he believes femsubs are a thing, but cannot bend his mind around malesubs being enthusiastic or loved. He whines and carries on about how mean BDSM play is to do to a man, but never seems to stretch to understand that there are a cadre of gentlemen who would be heart broken if there weren’t commanding and sadistic types. Mostly, as is his habit, he thinks that the marketing copy of pros is how things really work and mistakes the erotica for reality.

This is what I said that got him so het up, by the way:

Now personally when I wrote the tweet I wasn’t just thinking about myself, but also the toxic assumptions that sub men are failing at their gender identity, and the way the cliches of kink writing often leave queer, non-binary and butch women out in the cold. But I guess if you have two brain cells huddling together for warmth in a howling void, it’s natural to conclude I meant that femsub was wrong.

It’s like a magic power, to be a femdom is to attract people who are deeply distressed, not specifically just that kink exists, but that a woman is perverting some natural order they need to function. If they aren’t completely dismissing your kinks as confusion on your part, you’re some sort of evil mutant.


Missed out on Jeremy? Here’s his last message. And his first message!


On Tantric Massage And Teasing

Tantric massages meets dark tantraTantra is a meditative practice using the sex between two people as a transcendence, a way of blurring the self/other boundary. It’s an infectious idea that slithered it’s way, cross colonial style, along with the Tao-ist sexual practices it blends into. When I talk about integrating tantric massage into my bedroom life, it is first important to acknowledge that it is a spice, like cumin and chili and cinnamon, imported and used in ways that the people who discovered it probably never intended.

But sex between humans is a beautiful perversion of a simple bodily function, more than just the raw exchange of genetic information. Leave the instinctual simplicity to fish and cows, even if you are about as spiritual as a rock, we are all deviants. Even the vanillas. You can’t talk about orgasm or romantic love without shades of something bigger than you behind it- it’s the doorway through the profane to the same divine chased with supplication and worship. The same enveloping bigness of Jesu, our Hearts Desiring or Hare Krishna ecstasy spring from a genital, venal root. Why wear robes of priests and clergy and sit in drafty temples, when you can open yourself in the naked comfort of your bedroom? Touch. Taste. Kiss. Torment. Fuck. This is the way we pray.

And D/s, and BDSM play are very much about energy and connection, and even the most materialist and rational kinkster still feels that rawness, exchanging power in a hierarchy of our own construction. The principles of tantra are particularly alive in the tease, that key component to briefly obliterating the anxious, busy, distracted self into the erotic.

I make things ready.

The first thing, as in an scene at home, I clean. I strip the bed and change the sheets, fluff the covers flat, and knowing that I’m about to get messy, I take a smooth, clean, wide top sheet and stretch it out over everything. I do things topsy turvy, because I am me. Some couples, the sub does the setting of the place. Either way,  the foreplay begins long before we first touch, in thoughts and plans and this preparation.

A lot is said about achieving a submissive mindset. There’s a knack to it, tricks and shortcuts through those everyday fetishes, power symbols and ritual. But when you take on the lofty perch above someone, you take those same tools to elevate yourself. If I am to feel myself and in control, I want the space to be perfect. I want to prepare myself with a shower beating down on my naked skin, washed and fresh, dried with care. The first secret to feeling attractive is to treat yourself like you love yourself, and this is where I start.

In dominance, I bring the comfort I have in my own skin to my partner. I am, when I dominate, beautiful, and I share that beauty with him or with the room. How could I not be, when I am my most happy self? With an audience, I can make them into my tools, adding them to the pull and push on the submissive, or I can block the eyes from my mind, cloaking myself in confidence.

You can see why I speak of seemingly fuzzy concepts like tantra when I talk about my sex life, because the ability to do that is a magic trick that mystifies people. I’ll tell you a secret, my secret of how the trick is performed: bring an utter openness to the moment and be prepared to take what your bottom or sub can give or reject it as suit you.

I started this time a day early, telling him I wanted to give him a proper massage.

I mixed fresh herbs from my window boxes, mint and rosemary, with warm sweet almond oil. I laid out cloths, and my tools: a knobbly thing for working tough spots and glass marbles for the rolling pinpoint sensations. I started early because I wanted to avoid surprises, and have things flow.

We had a conversation through my fingers, finding him locked up, tensing at any stimulation. Nothing was wrong, per say, but everything was a little askew We connected through touch, him touching me in return, finding places in my hip that when pressed loosened and turned to pleasure. Rosemary is a wonderful scent, mellow, ungendered, almost musky without being cloying. It suffuses us both, making sure we are on the same page for tomorrow.

Then, Punish Tuesday … Plus Fun

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