O Self

Having a Sub Makes Me a Better Person

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Subs get hugs

I’m the first to blow a raspberry at glurgey essays on how a Twue Dom is a magical paternal all knowing figure, and equally quick to whine about the pressure that gets put on subs and doms alike to live up to a higher ideal. I don’t think D/s is better than Vanilla. However…

From about the moment Strong wandered, perfectly innocently into my life, even before I thought of owning him as something “real” and was still trying to work through the ailing end of my last relationship, I’ve felt the compulsion to try to push for more. Quite frankly, his presence motivates me to deal with my shit. But, having him as something to think about is also valuable in examining how I approach the world.

For an example: I’m a fairly negative person, at least about how I talk about stuff. This often gives the impression I’m not a happy person overall. I have a few things that stress me out, but by and large, while I’m difficult to please, it takes quite a bit to wreck my day.

In reality I actually can get rapturous about raindrops and light dappled leaves once you get me out the door, and I may be liable to painfully twee “Good morning postal worker! Good morning grocer! Good morning Hassidic father with stroller!” style neighbourhood interactions, but in before I get out the door I don’t like leaving the house just a little bit, and tend to talk about stuff with friends like some kind of agoraphobe. Naturally, one of the sadistic things I tend to do to Strong is give him a stream on consciousness rundown of everything I get up to, what I’m feeling in the immediate moment, etc, etc.. He stoically puts ups with this. So he was getting regular grumbles about the audacity of my friends and them daring to invite me places.

And, he was really starting to worry about me. My litany of whinge would get met with a patient: “Try to have fun, Miss? Please?”

I had to assess something. I committed myself to clear communication with him, as one of the things that one does to try to make sure that one’s relationships are healthy. But sometimes it’s just as important what your words are communicating and I was painting a very dreary portrait.

It’s one thing to let yourself be Eeyore like, but when someone else cares desperately about you being happy, that can effect them. So, I decided to commit myself to communicating the better parts over the doomy and gloomy. After all, 15 minutes of whinge often prefaced hours of fun. Students of psychology know where this is going…

Of course the less you focus on little irritations, the less they effect you. It’s silly, and a little embarrassing, but watching my mouth to make sure I was representing reality accurately cut back on the pre-event grumbly feeling. It’s one of those feedback loop things.

It’s also made me a lot more confident about making the effort to assert myself, and much more focused on achievement. I’m generally pretty live-and-let live about life. But as much as I’m not sure if it’s based on wishful thinking and fantasies, I feel responsible. Like I need to get a nest feathered and ready as soon as possible.

Maybe it’s also because I like the idea of a kept man, someone being had and held for my pleasure, so I tend to be more in the school of thinking of someone as being mine to do for not as a more traditional gender role based desire to be done for, but it’s like a sub is the best possible acquisition who needs a nurturing space.

Goodbye June, Good Riddance

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There’s been a dozen abortive attempts to write about June, and three deleted posts thus far. Particular for me it’s been a real test of my endurance and resilience because I feel like it nudges up against something I have as a personal challenge, but also because it’s something that you have to let digest before running off and making rash commentary.

And yet, a lot of what makes other dom writers valuable is not just talking about the minutiae of safe rope ties and punishment ideas, but spilling their guts about their relationships. From Ferns frustration that finding a good match is hard; to watching Bitchy Jones go from ecstasy to agony as things almost worked but fell apart; to D’s bitter-sweetness in finding what she wants with all the transitory limits that implies; or even the non blogger but frequent Fetlifer mod, Carolyn, sharing older person married life, these people help us decide how it works realistically.

For me,  June presented a chance to look at a place where I’m soft and delicate and downright fragile.

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Lipstick, Tease & Denial

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So I recently discovered a lipstick fetish, and I’ve been having a lot of fun with it.

Smear!I put on lipstick because he doesn’t like it. Not as a torture, but because I enjoy the duality of my mouth made more sexualized by a slash of red, and yet un-sexualized by locking it down under a coat of paint- as much as we use lipstick marks for a kiss symbol, it’s the least  sexy mouth option in practice.

It’s a bit of a surprise to find myself smearing faintly flavoured red paint on, because I very seldom wear makeup. It’s a tool for me, but right now it’s really playing into the chastity aspect of tease and denial.

I’ve talked before about the problems with managing desire by other people- for example the obvious interest of the guy in charge of my driving school does not thrill me the way that captivating a room can. I like that my sub is attracted to my body, but knowing there’s physical fetishes of his that I don’t fit does not trouble me unduly, because they are things that are not earned or done, but come naturally to a woman. Actually, for Strong, this has unsexed my mouth.

But the lipstick… it smears across my lips, creamy, first the thickness of the bottom lip and than twice darting to the highest points of my top lip. I press my lips together, and push left to right, right to left, pressing the pigment. Sometimes I blot it until a clean, precisely folded tissue blushes, reapplying thin layers to build up a brightness, and sometimes I leave a single bold coating. You can feel it after, if you think about it, like paint that never dries perfectly.

But I like that it’s false colouring, an angler fish lure. It demands to be looked at and yet… my lips are sealed.

God Damn It Breasts!

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Angry little tits...

Lately I haven’t been impressed with my endowments.

My tits generally behave with the same maddening ability not to give a fuck that characterizes the rest of my obviously female bits. They’re like the roommate who is forever yo-yo dieting while you carry on in your balanced way.

Sometimes their big, sometimes they’re small. If I’m on hormonal birth control they are usually big-ish compared to non-pill size, but still vary in that range. If I ever have babies for real, instead of synthetic simulated pregnancies, I expect to join team D cup for more than a day or two. In fact, there’s so much cup variance in a given month, that the next person who tells me in glowing tones to get a bra fitting will be strangled to death with one.

I mean, I like my breasts. They don’t even take any sort of acceptance of unconventional beauty. They seem to think that pointing straight forward is a good idea, and I have just enough nipple not to be insecure. they’re a really pretty pale colour. But they do mean needing to own bras in several sizes, because I range from being able to slip a finger into the cup, to spilling out in that cheap stripper trick to look bustier. I also cope with padded bras, not to look insecure, but for a slightly better fit in my clothes.

I’m also broad shouldered, for a woman, which means they’re wide set. Forget just finding a band size that fits and my official letter, instread there’s all sorts of cup placement fussiness. and, TMI time, did I mention the small amounts of proto-lactation? Perfectly normal, and I think I take after my mother, who after three kids, lactated up until menopause. But, I’m pretty sure given the bizarre behaviour, thus far, if I reproduce also I’m gonna be one of nature’s milk cows. Or they’ll shrink down to As and go as dry as the Sahara, just to prove they are free spirited and unpredictable.

Despite tit problems, they’re also fairly durable and perky- while I’m not a big fan of someone trying to twist and remove my nipples, I really appreciate, during sex, having them compressed, wrung, slapped and squished until the skin blooms with a misting of little red dots, provided it’s from the base and on the meat (err, fat) of the breast. Although, although bondage fans have tried, they slip out of  rope like bloody Houdini. And, grow or shrink, they bounce back without the sort of concerns that seem to dog weight loss. My breasts are thus far immortal.

And, hormonal birth control has one other thing going for it- they are now co-ordinated properly. Basically everyone with breasts has one that’s a bit bigger- humans are not symmetrical and right handed people tend to have slightly bigger pecs on that side. But remember how I talked about them going up and down in size like some sort of squeezey toy? Well, they used to do that on only one side too. It looked something like this:

oO

Where’s your God now, bra fitting evangelists?! 

What Does This Femdom Do With Her Time When She’s Not Dominating?

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No matter how many hours of a day you want to devote to BDSM scenes, there comes a time when you probably need to go do other things like groceries and paying the electric bill or bathing. I mean, perhaps some of you shower dominantly, I honestly don’t know. However, for me, 99% of the time I think life is indistinguishable from anyone who IDs as vanilla.

I’m a bit of a home body. Lately, my time’s been spend on little projects like re-learning CSS and brushing up on some languages. I’d like to say that I spend my time with a finger on the pulse of the kink world, but actually I’m more likely to spend time on Code Academy or Duo Lingo than Kink.com or Fetlife.

I also spend time doing catch up housework. A lot. It’s not that I like doing housework, it’s just that I tend to neglect things until they urgently need taking care of. And I’m not exactly the most organized of people, so only the most simple organizational systems get any sort of useful result. As this is being written I’m getting myself out of dishes debt, one dish drainer full at a time and getting caught up on the laundry.

And yet, I’m not a complete disaster on the domestic front. The other mid-blog interruption is preparing a whole roast chicken alongside and oven tray of lemon-savoury vegetables- that’s onion, carrot, button mushroom and potato prepared with savoury and lemon zest (as well as a drizzle of sunflower oil). Somewhere in the six months after leaving home in my early twenties I developed from rudimentary ability to put edible things in front of other people, to the ability to turn random ingredients into something satisfying.

Of course I have other little projects. The visual art bug hasn’t bitten in a while, but it’s not atypical for me to go through a torrent of doodling and sketching, and then chuck the sketchbook when I’m done. And there’s a half dozen novels- there’s Catamite, which you can read here, and other things less erotically focused. And way more time than I should in internet slap fights, bastions of free and unhindered speech where the watchword runs- I disagree with what you have to say, and I think you should be put to death for saying it.

I round that out by being painfully and unabashedly nerdy. From running around in minecraft to LARPing, I’m past shame about this. It’s fun, and it’s as much a part of my heritage as other families who gather together for a Big Game or go to church every Sunday. My parents met each other, and their respective spouses, through the SCA.

It’s banal, but it’s important because that’s what I decided to invest the bulk of my finite life in. And to be honest, those parts are more the longevity and attraction predictors, more so than mere kinkiness, for finding partners.

So what is the other 23 hours of the day, for you, when it’s not about sex?

Why I Write a Femdom Blog

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I’d really like to thank femdom resources, for deciding to add me to the blogger list. I really appreciate being part of the archive of resources in their collection, and I hope readers find me helpful, or if not helpful, entertaining.

OMissPearl exists, hopefully, not just as a platform for self aggrandizement (although there’s lots of that), but also simply to be another voice. In what was very few years ago, I remember when Bitchy Jones seemed to be the only voice out there, and Dan Savage was still telling novice doms how lucky they were they could go pro, and to look to advertising for porn that spoke to us. Her brilliant bitterness was really inspirational to me.

At 27, I’m finally old enough to start speaking retrospectively, although if it comes out awkward, blame lack of experience. At least, I’ve stopped being “smart for my age”, which I’d like to think happened due to an increase in age not a drop in smart. 😛

When I started this blog, I was also inspired by trying to put my porn out there after reading Little Submissions. At the moment the rant-to-erotica ratio has somewhat pushed these projects off the radar, but I’d have to say that I really appreciate your patience.

These days, what I have is both planted firmly on the shoulders of giants, and surrounded by taller giants still. Which is a sort of odd mental image, I suppose, and makes the whole thing sound like a mosh pit our of Jack and the Beanstalk.

Anyway I’d like to thank my readers, old and new. We passes 10K visits this year about two days ago, which for me, is probably the most attention a project of mine has ever gotten in a measurable, consistent way. There’s a few projects that are in the pipeline:

1) Reviews, when I can sound a bit more positive about the creative work of others

2) More direct commentary on scene and kink stuff that needs to be talked about.

On the latter point, I’m putting a shout out for content requests. What are things that you think aren’t getting enough love in the BDSM scene? In kink outside the scene?

My Buttplug Is Dented!

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Once in a while I get the urge to shove things up my ass. Only I’m next door to virginal with this, so that means small, carefully selected toys. And since the urge only strikes when I’m really, really horny (in this case a reaction to stress alongside breaking out and stopping eating), normally they live in a bland as hell cardboard box.

So I’d reached that point in a post shower masturbation session where my hair was making a puddle in the pillow while my fingers were making a puddle between my legs, when there was the itch to do it.

A while ago I bought an anal starter kit. It was the worst shade of lurid, Pepto Bismo pink, and on a steep discount over at pinkcherry.ca. But, Doc Johnson signed off on this, and since $20 is not a bad price to pay for a bunch of things I can’t see anyway…

So I’m deciding among my options: I have the condom to go over the buttplug (hygiene), the off brand KY, and go rummaging in the box for the “big” one. Lest you think I’m a size queen, that’s about the girth of penis at its widest point and that’s too much for me.

Only it’s not exactly smooth anymore. It’s gone all ripply. Like there’s a pinch, or a crease or a big dent. Well… it was $20 for a set. Looks like being stored horizontally was too much for the structural integrity and the soft core squished. So there I was, really horny, stymied by my own cheapness.

Don’t worry, anal explorations were not hampered by Mr. Dimple. 😛

Cum

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Cum tastes kinda like baking soda.

Sorry, that’s the non-erotic truth. Porn (especially cartoons, which have a lot of artistic licence)  generally go in for creamy, squirted cum shots like it had the consistency of slightly diluted dish soap, a couple of gallons at a time… Often it is things like soap when you see it in real person porn, and actors speak ruefully of getting a mouthful of Cetaphil more often than they’d like. Real life? Not so much.

I like semen. On me, on him.

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Horny Women: Turning Me, and Females (Animals and People) On

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With various corners of the internet talking about a book that just came out “What Do Women Want?: Adventures in the Science of Female Desire”, and the accompanying media articles, I suppose it’s topical to discuss my own relationship with the subject.

Thanks to Puritanical morals, human sex research has been greatly hampered. From the only recently formally discovered “internal clitoris” (circa 2009!) to decades upon decades of fucked up animal sex research because we assumed that certain human social models apply to the animal kingdom as the biological gold standard. As well as it not being polite to talk about all the gay animals until very recently, one of the things that’s getting talked about is female desire.

So… what do I think about my own sexual desire, as a woman?

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FemDom On a Work Morning

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Space invaders, winter of 2012, I'll be sad when it breaks.
thedrunkenmoogle.com

Morning. Wake up at 5:00 AM, flail a bit for my phone and check the time. Be not quite sure why I woke up that early, go back to sleep. Feel all fuzzy at 6:00 AM when I was supposed to wake up. Sort of flail around and semi doze for 45 minutes against my better judgement. Poke the sub, put the kettle on. Salted Caramel black tea in my Space Invaders mug (see image). Random internetings.

Look glumly at perpetual mess in the kitchen, make mental note to take trash out to avoid smells from Atlantic salmon steak last night. Decide to at least make mess a little better and empty sink for easier dish washing. What to pack for Lunch? Salad? With ham? Sandwich?  Clean inside of sink, wash a knife. Breakfast is at work, there’s still bagels left from the ones I bought yesterday. Salad-with-ham, also chopped fennel, pickled turnip, baby romaine lettuce, small cuke. Time to get groceries after work. Ham? Why not! Make a mustard based dressing. Put tupperware in platic bag to avoid bathing the inside of my purse in homemade mustard dressing. Because the sink is empty, wash all lunch related dishes. Pat self on back, put lunch in purse. Have forgotten this step more times than I’m comfortable admitting.

Sip tea pensively while looking for what to wear to work. Weather promises to be cool and rainy, meeting with boss today. am angling for a raise, need to look competent but knid of cuddly because this is marketing. Corporate manic pixie dream girl ahoy! Uhgh. Body is transitioning back down from progesterone peak (it’s the placebo week on birth control, whee) and I’m no longer a puffy Dom, just a spotty one. Black tights, over not so nice undies (reason implied) in last sentence. Okay, skirt day. Polkadot matron dress? Too formal. White blouse over new white bra, layer with plaid dress pinafore style. Workable.  Brush hair. Earrings are already in ears, pearl studs. Wet weather means freshly redyed (hides grey) hair has plenty of body but lots of poof. Debate buzzing my hair, non seriously. Wish sub a good day, hop off to work.