Miss Pearl

I'm the admin, and writer behind this blog. No you cannot hire me to dominate you. :)

Urban Dungeon & Montreal Fetish Scene Issues

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new mfwurban logo

So yeah, if you want to deal with missing stairs, unfortunately one of Montreal’s more popular fetish venues is in the middle of one of those scenarios. Urban Dungeon, a play space that hosts numerous events and is closely affiliated with Montreal Fetish Weekend, is run by someone with a known reputation for abuse. It is not challenging to find people who will tell you Herr_Kommandandt is a dangerous person. Nonetheless tons of people who are aware of this continue to hang out there including people whose friends (whom they believe!) have had alleged consent violations or other abuse happen to them.

I avoided it personally, because I got a bad gut feeling about the whole thing, one of those intuitive guesses that something seems off- maybe it was the pile of people with resumes for profiles about all the things they are involved in, which I always see as a bad sign because it means they want you to respect them off the bat and award them authority.

And because I run the 18 to 35 munch, people tell me shit. It wasn’t unsurprising to get given a FYI about eight separate incidents and people. But still, it’s really fucking thorny to deal with. There’s literally no way I can stop this, no matter how much social capital I have and the best I can hope is to close ranks with the TNG style stuff I do run and tell my friends and guests to be careful.

But other than that, it’s not like I can go to the police and say “oh by the way there’s alleged alleged abuse going down between kinky people who use psuedonyms, and probably none of the people this happened to will testify because they are utterly fuck terrified of the social or legal consequences and because he preys on people from marginalized populations (sex workers, the mentally ill whom he can say are just “crazy”). Nobody believes or trusts that they’ll be heard in any meaningful way. I sure as fuck don’t- it’s not like anyone listened about Dunter.

I’ve told my fellow organizers at MEOW and the secret TNG play party. I even told someone connected to the Urban Dungeon who has clean hands, in case he’s simply been oblivious. I mean I doubt it, but I’m clinging to the idea that he’s not an accessory because I need some innocence to stay motivated.

But it’s a rock and a hard place, because it’s nearly impossible to get anyone to publicly admit this shit happened to them. They’ll talk, candidly, and off the record, but… eugh.

All I’ve got to go on with this is fleeting social capital, so I guess if I end up publicly known as that crazy vindictive bitch in Montreal I guess you guys know what happened. It’s not like I ever go to Montreal Fetish Weekend anyway.

Siiiiigh. Sorry guys, it’s not a sexy anecdote, it’s one of the harsh realities of the BDSM scene that the terror of being outed and the limited pool of events make things a lot darker than they should be. They’re bigger than me, they have a larger pool of social capital and they have more money than me, but fuck, if I can’t use my popularity to tell people about this what good is it?

If you believe me as a reliable source, stay away from Urban Dungeon.

Follow along here:

Fall, Projects, Relationships and Stuffs

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cozyIt’s cuddling weather! <Squeeeeee>

Summer heat saps my energy, zapping my will to move and probably putting me at my most emotionally meh. Yeah, I have air conditioning, but then there’s a noisy fan and that weird dry-cold draft.

For me, the encroachment of fall always comes with a little burst of enthusiasm for life, something about the colour of the light, and the cool air. I’m about as far from Agrarian/Pastoral as you can get without living on the ISS, but the moment I can put on thick knit black tights is the moment I start skipping and hopping about.  And it’s the time when Wildcard stops scuttling to his side of the bed with a “don’t touch me you’re too WARM!!! T_T”

So what’s up with me?

The massive (vanilla) project I embarked on at the start of 2016 is starting to settle down, so as of February 2017 I have actual breathing room to work on other projects. The blog overhaul is basically done, although I might look into a better mobile browsing template and tweak a few things, for example making the title and logo smaller. I like it, but yes it occur

Again, a big thank you to the various people who helped out, particularly the Phantom Reviewer and the people who drove themselves crazy trying to figure out the source of the mystery space in my sidebar design. That’s resolved and my general web presence is much more part of a connected unified whole. I know because I’ve started getting messages on fetlife and elsewhere from blog fans going “ZOMG IT’S YOU!”

For such things does one write.

Yeah, yeah what about the porn?!

Writing-wise, as of January, I have a few projects I want to work on, including finishing up some story requests from people- JT is due for a misuse-of-professor story, while I have a second chapter of this superman porn parody 3/4 done, and of course that sequel to The Pet Gentleman is languishing, waiting or me to sit down and finish it already. Part of my goal for the first 6 months in 2-17 are setting aside time to bash what’s written into some semblance of sharable- something that’s been embarrassing delayed in a George RR Martin fashion for far too long.

That’s not even mentioning that I’d really rather be creating more general femdom stories for the blog than my current once every three months output. I suspect I’m not posting as much because I am getting exceptionally focused on perfection. The Friday femdom fiction in particular tends to stretch too damn long when I start writing them, which is the antithesis of what started as 500 word shorts to be dashed off in quantity. I managed one last week, but I can’t say I expect to have breathing room until October has passed.

Also video

In the mean time, I’ve also gotten into doing Periscope live feed videos, with an eye to eventually creating a youtube show. The trick is, of course the topic as I am currently just rambly, which is a topic in its own right, but I feel like I need more effort. Maybe I’ll vlog! Part of that is I finally said fuck it and put myself out there- I spent a good part of the last decade being careful “just in case” and have come to believe that while I don’t want to be stalked and harassed as much as the next person, I am never going to be vanilla-important enough to be penalized if I get recognized at my day job.

For the record, my day job is something that uses all those obnoxious high school math things I was very sure I wouldn’t need. Basically imagine me wearing a giant pair of headphones and hiding in a back cubicle somewhere slapping data into shape, not exactly the career path that gets derailed when someone sends your boss a nasty letter telling them that they employ a woman who likes certain aspects of sex. Also I’m out to my parents (my dad approves of my art as long as it makes money, I’m estranged from my mother, but she knows this exists).

So yeah, if you do Periscope, you can hear my voice and watch me flop about in hilariously low res. Also see the derp-tastic thumbnails the app captures. o_-

Love? Kink scene?

Wildcard and I are moving towards year 3 of our relationship. The official date is fuzzy, since we basically fell into bed shortly after he broke up with his ex, but held off putting a precise label on it for a while after, even if I have basically been living with him since November of 2013. We continue to be a part of the Montreal kink scene, with me running my monthly munch for four years, more or less. (Eeesh)

My love life goes as it should. It is not a D/s or M/s relationship, but it is a femdom relationship in the sense that I am a female dominant and I am in the relationship. Yeah, it’s complicated, but honestly if other people’s anecdotes are anything to go by, an explicitly power exchange dynamic isn’t really easier or more smoothly role defined.

Meanwhile the 18 to 35 meetup is one of Montreal’s more popular, long running events, filling a much needed niche and spawning other events. I won’t call them “copycat”, but they’re certainly on the same theme:  a 25-45 event, and 45+ exclusive thing. Although they are by function exclusionary, they end up creating more participation by serving one or more specific groups, sometimes accidentally- 1835 ate the flailing QueerNonBinaryLesbian bits that weren’t all supported at the time, and although there’s now a woman only munch (M.E.O.W.) I benefited from being a good space for lovely people.

Now we’re continuing to evolve as the kink scene in Montreal continues to get larger and larger. My biggest challenge for the coming months will be maintaining the great culture of the group, which is not a bad problem to have. That and at 30 I eventually need to consider phasing out of this and finding qualified volunteers to take over.

So I’m very much looking forward to what the end of the year will bring, but also the potential to hunker down and take a well needed break.

—

Art is borrowed from Hannah Hamilton of Verbal Vomit.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Her Hooded Fuck Toy

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Fuck me.

There was an intense urgency to her command that carried through his hood. He could not see her body, couldn’t smell or taste her, and all sound was filtered through the leather.  He was laced in and then the D rings at the back of his head had been locked together with little padlocks. There was no way he was getting out unless someone else undid things for him or he somehow found a knife and slit it off.

But he could feel her. His hands were unbound and he located her legs and the smooth squish of the warm skin, felt the chill of her foot brush against him, before blindman groping his way between her thighs. She was slick enough the coarse curls were soaked, the lips feeling like little folded tongues as lined himself up.

His cock was erect at her command. In the hood he had nothing to do but kneel on the cushion and edge, feeling the plug lodged against his prostate, and keeping himself on a cycle of sensitivity. when she left him like that he lost track of time, lost track even of how many times he’d had to hold off short and get his breathing under control.

The room was very cool, almost uncomfortably so, to make prolonged hooding bearable. Even so it was almost too stifling to be covered like this and do his best to breath through the mesh of pinholes over hid mouth and nose.

She helped him get properly lined up and in- even voraciously aroused her cunt constricted. Dutifully, desperately, he made pumping thrusts. He hoped she didn’t ask for more as between the edging and the plug he wasn’t sure how much he could hold off. Of course this was no barrier to her. Her fingers tug into the muscle of his butt and she repeated herself again.

Fuck me.

She looked up at the almost featureless hood, seeing the sweat bead on his skin. The mask had a slight protrusion over his nose, while the regular pattern of tiny breathing holes gave him a permanent look of blind surprise. Without her ability to see him, he was no longer her boyfriend with the sun spatter of freckles and the dark coiled up hair that always tangled if it got longer than an inch, just the pumping engine for the cock that she’d engulfed.

She grabbed him, inside, with her thighs, fingers scoring his bare back,”Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

His chest pulled up away from her even as his hips ground against hers. She was always so shy about her desires until the hood went on and the locks snapped shut. Earlier, when they were shy new lovers, she had baffled him that someone so outspoken in their faily life needed the lights off, and kept so quiet in bed. But now, in control, the lights were blaring bright, letting her admire the long lined of his body- crevice, muscle, vein, dark, but not as dark as the black leather of the hood.

With a guttural noise, she spurred him harder, with the casual lack of care she’d switch her vibrator to a higher session. Let him worry about holding off orgasm, all she wanted was the spasms of coming around him over and over again.

By the third time she came, and she knew that even through the hood, he heard her screaming, he was fighting her, fighting to stop before the building tension sent him past the point of no return. But it was too late and a spatter of warm and wet burst free just as he struggled out of her cunt, hitting in a messy clump on her lap. She laughed. “Ooops.”

I have more free femdom stories here, link keeps you on the site. Lots of loving couple stories, with a few harder tales of harsher domination!

 

Busting the Burglar

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It was (punish) Tuesday again, and I’ve been itching to try something. Usually, I’ve taken these preplanned interludes to practice my topping skills. They end with Wildcard in shuddering convulsions, the sign he’s taken his limit of cruel, hard hits. It’s very rewarding in its own way, the warm up, the steady pattern of ever increasing intensity and then finally the painful pulverization. He always asks to have his wrists bound and I tease my masochist when I check in, to see where he’s at, asking “more weight“, the defiant last words of the only sane man in Salem.

But it wasn’t a night for that. I could read, mostly from his desultory masturbation, that his stamina was limited. I had a long day too, and after spilling my guts at a therapist was in no mood to build a carefully accommodating psychological trap to compliment whatever implement I was going to pulverize his butt with.

I got him to put on all his clothes- he has starting in just a shirt. He didn’t know what to expect, although he knew I was taking control.

Then I ordered him to pick up his laptop and stand by the window, as if trying to escape.

While he had dressed I’d found a plastic water pistol, the safe, orange kind designed to not fool passerbys into a panic, and armed myself to defend against the “home invader”. I held him at gunpoint and berated.

He took a moment to understand, looking puzzled, but back in the day he was captain of his college improv club, and we met at a LARP, so he’s a quick study. Honestly narration comes easier than dialog- I’m impressed with myself too. I took the lead and he fed off my “reactions”, making himself into the scared thief I wanted.

I threatened to shoot him and made him put the stolen computer on the bed. Considering my prey, my talking turned from briskly intimidating to giving him glimpse of hope. By appeasing me and stripping, I made him feel he could escape the police or worse, a bullet. He was forced to accept my examination and fondling, play with himself until he was hard enough to meet my satisfaction.

I pushed him up against the wall by his throat and nudged his balls with the muzzle. I told him about my neighbours who would love to take advantage of a naked man in this bad, bad neighbourhood. I bent him over the bed and bare handed spanked him. Whenever he started to lose the least little focus, the gun was there as a reminder, pushing him into compliance. I needed to believe that I could scare him enough to make his strength stay suppressed.

In the two years since we started dating, Wildcard has put on muscle and confidence. I’m a good girlfriend and a good dom- campsite rules apply, and he’s better than when I found him- although I admit the work has been his and I’ve merely made a supportive environment for him to grow into. The change is that the man I’m dating now is not the sick, skinny and shaken person I could pin and lift and beat in a physical fight. I no longer have to worry I will steamroll him by simply expressing myself. Hence the orange plastic gun is a fig leaf, a symbol of the sincere submission and surrender he is giving, and I hold it in my hand with a great deal of joy.

I threaten him, pushing him all the way into the vestibule until he’s close enough to the smoked glass to see through the fog and pick out details on the street. He’s just a little terrified, like a roller coaster makes you think you’ll fall, he’s able to see the risk of being shoved out the door for everyone to see his nakedness, and feel like it’s real.

I talk up the risk. Through my words he knows that there is an involved, aggressive “sorority” down the street, an invention based on the female neighbours in my own past college residence, who reacted to a real, harassing flasher by rising together to prepare for battle. I’m keeping things light even as I talk about killing him, layering on the erotic with an eye to how his fetish for exposure gives me leverage.

There’s two tracks of dominance- one where there’s an angry woman blackmailing a burglar, and one where Miss Pearl knows every one of Wildcard’s buttons and just how to push them.

Bu the time the scene ends, and I give him only his shirt back, to cover himself in a clutched grip before banishing him to whatever fate awaits him on the street, he’s full of happy energy. In the vestibule, freed, he picks me up and bumps his crotch to mine, both of us giggling as he almost tipped over and dropped me on the floor. This is love.

Femdom Review: The Control Book by Peter Masters

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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

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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

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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

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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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Reader Letter: Communicating Your Needs To Your Sub

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This reader has another common femdom problem- dealing with getting the head space right when your frame of reference is decidedly focused on partner pleasing. Add that age old bugbear of personal anxiety about your attractiveess, and you have a thorny problem worth examining.

readerletterHi Miss Pearl,
I just wanted to say I love your site. You have really given me perspective and help to evaluate how I want my relationship to be, not how others think it should be. I do need some advice though!
I have been with my boyfriend for almost 3 years.  He has been in one previous D/s relationship that ended badly, and has not been in one since. I have recently discovered, especially since being with him, I enjoy being more dominant. The problem is, I have never been in a D/s relationship, and I feel like he is more experienced than me. He also seems reluctant to try things with me, and is convinced I want to be dominant just for him. He also has a hard time telling me anything that he likes, he only says it is about a “headspace” for him. From the things he says, I think he needs a nurturing/loving domme. I also think he has some shame about the things he likes it bed, and usually leaves it up to me to try new things. I find he does open up more the kinkier the things we try.
The problem is I feel like I have hit a wall. I know what I want, and I have all these fantasies, but when it comes to trying them I get anxiety. I end up stopping what I want to try and we just have vanilla sex.

I feel like I am lacking the confidence (I am a bit chubby, and have some body issues) to take the reigns, and combined with my anxiety it’s holding me back. What do I do? How do I get over this anxiety? Any advice is greatly appreciated.
Thanks,
M

Dear M:

Some of your problems are things that you can work on with your partner, some is his stuff to deal with, and some of it are things you need to work on to help yourself heal. I’m going to start with you, because it’s easier to work on yourself than change others.

First, you:

You deserve to take care of yourself emotionally and feel good.

It sucks not to love your body. That part has to come from inside. As much as I can try to point you in the right direction, you will probably find a good therapist can better give you the tools to help build a self image that helps you recognize how beautiful you actually are. I’m going to come out and say that you can be morbidly obese and be captivating.

Look, you’re probably like most of the people living in the top and middle bits of North America. That means, by clinical terms, a little “overweight”. No biggie. Your ancestors for the last thousand years busted themselves to make that possible for you. Only a minority of heterosexual men are specifically wired to their preferences enough to find this anything close to a draw back. If it makes you unhappy or causes you health problems, by all means discuss it with a doctor, but don’t let your body ever stop you from being a femdom.

Some of the most beautiful women in history have had your general configurations- we immortalize them in art. Still other women are erroneously remembered for a beauty they never official had- Cleopatra, for example, was written in her era as not being particularly physically compelling. Her charm was in being an educated, confident polymath and her power was in her self assurance. The aftermath is that we remember her as pretty because guess what- power is beauty more so than the other way around. Getting back off the tangent, take the time to surround yourself with role models who look like you, to remind yourself that a soft body is not a bad body.

The other thing I noticed is that your question is laced with things you think he needs. I feel like his needs are overshadowing yours in your decision making process and this may be causing part of his impression that you are just doing this for him. Maybe he’s a black hole who takes without giving any input, but I don’t see you talking about your specific fetishes and desires, just his lack out output.
One of the hardest, most vulnerable things about femdom is it asks women to be selfish after a lifetime of being told our strength and power in in how we understand and control the needs of others. Being dominant often means putting ourselves out there- we have to deal with the expectation we should be assertive, mean, but even more frighteningly, suddenly we don’t just have needs but also wants and whims.
He’s not getting that your main want right now is reassurance you are desired. But, you are also leaving yourself out of your own sex life when you only look for what he wants.

Now, him:

With your partner, there are some things he needs to stop. One of them is the “you are just doing this for meeeee”. He probably thinks he’s helping, but it’s is seriously undermining since he’s essentially telling you that your sexuality doesn’t exist. Since you already have problems with self abrogation, this is creating a negative feedback loop, you are looking to get your dominance appreciated and he is trying to spare you doing him a favour. He needs to start pushing himself out there and surrendering his needs, just as much as you do.

As a part of that, he needs to understand that sexuality is a back and forth. It is not one person’s job to bring the entertainment for the night and react and he can’t use his submission as permission to be a lump on a bump. That being said, a lot of people being communicative really challenging, and his base state may be what he’s presenting. Only going by your description, he may just count himself lucky he gets sex on whatever terms you decide it happens.

I hope that helps you have something to talk about together. Wildcard and I use a weekly brunch at a cafe (my treat) as a nice space out of the house where we can discuss these things and that check in time outside the bedroom is very important to us.

Now, BOTH:

Right, so now you’re prepared to talk about it together, I recognize it’s still a little daunting to get your sub to open up. Now before you get out the hammer and chisel, there are a few tools you can use as conversational aides.

First of all, avoid accusations. It always goes one of two ways. Either the conversation gets derailed by mea culpas and you reassuring him, or if he’s a defensive soul, it gets fighty. Acknowledge the problem is a mutual challenge that you need his help with. Neither of you are going to get anywhere until you both put your kink cards on the table.

To do that, there’s a wealth of resources like mojo upgrade or fetish checklists that you can share with each other. You may even find this makes things easier as sometimes face to face conversations can be overwhelming for even the best of us. Communicating your needs shouldn’t be a bridge too far- between the pair of you, there’s bound to be some material to work with. However, it has to come from both of you.

Sincerely,
Miss Pearl

A Perfect #PunishTuesday Spoon Spanking Session

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Seventy-Three Demerits. He’d earned them over the course of the week, fifty from an orgasm sans permission (it might have been a forced orgasm on my part, but I’m a cruel, capricious Mistress when I want to be). The rest are for little misdeeds: broken rules and bratty behavior. And ok, after a major flu that left me poached and miserably stuffy, this wasn’t *actually* the right day, but the health related rain check. #PunishTuesday is the concept I hold to, no matter if “Wednesday” is the actual word on the back of my cute days of the week panties that evening.

With the heath related holiday, when the actual day came around, he was already excited. Blame it on days of teasing, and reminding him about his mounting sins and the punishment he was due for them. Even so, I sent him out of the room to get into the right head state.

Getting Ready & Setting The Scene

While he was gone, I took the time to prepare my space by cleaning. True, dozens and dozens of sub people will blow raspberries here- he was off relaxing and I was corralling the forest of water glasses and tea mugs that accumulate in the bedroom, stuffing the loose laundry into the hamper and making the bed. I know this is not the standard BDSM fantasy. I know someone is already typing up “but a TRUE sub would…” Nonesense. I like the control it gives me to clean and make a space orderly. It’s meditative and it makes me feel like all the parts of the space are ready to respond to my needs. And I wanted to get my head right too.

I don’t believe dominance is a put on, or a fake thing. But, for most of us, the so called lifestyle is not a 24/7 all on all the time experience. 50% of the population is kinky, but we hardly all build our relationships around that one facet. Sure, I need Wildcard to be into kinky sex to make things work, but it’s just as important he can empathize and enjoy the other things I value. And for us, as with most couples, there are hard boundaries on where my power eclipses his. This is how we take two separate, independent people and put my power over his.

I make the bedroom look how I wish, getting the covers smoothed flat; checking the ready to go restraints; plugging in the pretty fairy lights that serve as a lamp; and putting out toys on the bedside table. Then prepare myself. I take off my clothes and step into white heels from my collection, glossy, with a platform in the toe that makes me taller. Indoors they don’t feel like hobbles, they feel like power, nor is my nudity a vulnerable exposure.

I do my eyes with a stroke of black and my lips in a bold matte red. As a last touch, (because if you can’t be yourself in the boundaries of you sex life, where can you?) I dash off a little heart on my left cheek.

It begins.

He is naked, except for the brown stripe of collar around his neck, already sporting a swinging erection. His ‘preparation’ was clearly touching himself and I take advantage of that, leaving the overhead light on to catch every bit of an intense self edging session on camera. Only when he’s so intensely close to exploding his face is in a rictus of intensity do I let him ease off, but the video goes in my little library, to be enjoyed at my leisure.

“Do you think you deserve to be tied up?”

It’s important for me to get him to state preferences. I don’t like black hole or starfish subs, who passively flop into the scene and expect this to do down like I’m some sort of housekeeper cleaning a particularly warm carpet.

I also make him ask for the cuffs that extend from under the mattress, holding him around the wrist, face down. It’s just your basic under bed system by Sports Sheets, versatile, safe and above all idiot proof, but once the velcro hooks he’s no more going to go anywhere than if I used locks and buckles. I like the medical/mundane nature of it, just like how washable my strapon harness is, all nylon and straps. It’s better than half assing it- that’s the problem a lot of the fetish stuff has, trying to take you into another sort of world with hints of high end fetish wear, and all you get is cracking, fraying pleather or whips that shed their caps on one hit.

This is real, and he’s about to feel real pain, so he gets a warm up. I’d made him ask for that too, escalating a patter of hits to rise the blood in the firm rounds of his ass. He’s very male, furred without vanishing into the pelt, coloured a little golden, like wheat seeds. He loves the cuffs on his wrists, and I can feel that they are bringing him into a state of accepting relaxation (dare I invoke “surrender?” or is that too cliche?) even as I pick out the wooden spoon.

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