Category: O Non-Fiction - Page 15

Montreal’s Missing Stair: Dunter

June 23, 2016June 23, 2016 by Miss Pearl

The Montreal BDSM community is live in a world where everyone talks, but there are strict norms: don’t “make drama” and don’t out people. It’s held up by our heavy reliance on Fetlife as a social tool, which refuses to allow you to say anything negative about anyone, whether calling them out for alleged littering or a rape conviction. But this is my blog, so I can express that I think Dunter is a bad person who should be banned from the BDSM scene.

Dunter assaulted me and violated my consent, and I have witnessed him violate the consent of someone else

Me:

– While demonstrating pressure points, went from demonstrating on my fingers to violently twisting my nipple. I guess he was fed up none of his pressure points were working on me.
– Fondled my fresh surgical stitches, after I explicitly told him not to touch me at all. Claimed he didn’t hear me say no when I freaked out.
– Decided to physically pick me up, until I thumped him in the head. Blames that I was being rambunctious and playful. Implied consent, right?

Another Person:

– During the aforementioned pressure point incident, randomly grabbed someone in the audience and jabs them.

For purposes of libel, that’s all I can explicitly tell you DID happen. You’re welcome to say exaggerating, lying or whatever. But I talk about it because for some reason everyone knows he’s bad news, but he continues to be a part of the scene outside my carefully curated bubble. And I’m going to talk about what other people say too. Good and bad.

The “Gossip”.

Oh, we snicker when he organizes and anti-rape class and taglines it “coming from someone who knows“. And you can say his name casually and everyone has an anecdote about the time he dropped someone on their head, or the way he acted soooo disappointed when the new girl in the community turned out to have six years prior experience. Where ever he goes, he sets himself up as a guru and gets into a massive argument with whomever is organizing things. The posturing battles with other (male) people in authority are the subject of giggling as fetlife posts with euphemistic but insulting nicknames are used to call each other out.

And he continues to act, and play with and endless stream of young women (always young, always bought with his alleged rope skill). And to say anything beyond vituperative behind the fan, sleeve biting sarcasm is DRAMA. Too much, vindictive of whomever, not everyone’s problem. You can tell he’s a creeper by looking at him, right? Don’t be revenge seeking! Don’t drag other people into this! I don’t take sides, whoa…

In short, he’s a classic missing stair.

Popularized by Pervocracy, a missing stair is person who’s like the flaw in a building that all the regulars know to avoid. Like a balcony railing you can’t rely on, a floorboard that sticks up, or the dark basement step that you’re supposed to skip to avoid tumbling headlong, anyone who is a part of the group knows it’s there ans considers awareness of the hazard the cost of living there.

In my case. I got an extra dose of Dunter because I was good friends with someone he dated for a prolonged period. And that’s one of those things I’m not proud of- I was younger and meeker, and although I still consider myself good friends with her, older me would not have the patience that younger me did of trying to ignore the cretin she dragged around everywhere with her. It’s also made me cautious about speaking up. What if people thought this was an ill thought out revenge scheme motivated by a jealous ex? Well, she’s way more chill about everything and actually unaware that I’m writing this, so if you feel inclined to call conspiracy you can’t include her.

I’m writing because nobody else is.

But in the scene at large, there’s also a degree of sexism in the lack of response to completely ostracize him. Because he largely targets women, it’s easy to find guys who’ll tell you, tsk, tsk he means well. He’s so earnest, volunteering for absolutely fucking everything (I mean he did drop someone on their head on some stairs, allegedly, but he means well right?) and how those black t-shirted would be bouncers are TOTALLY keeping an eye on him as he suspends a young woman in the centre stage of their event.

I usually abhor blaming an entire gender, but there’s this powerlessness among the various guys I’ve talked to who hold actual power in the community. As if they don’t control their own venues. Mostly doms or dom-presenting switches and fetishists, respected and even admired. Sometimes they’re even trusted, although trust is hard currency to come by in the kink scene. When the public fights happen they’re over prestige, someone claiming military service they didn’t do or whose rope is the longest. Other than that, most people of both genders shake their head with that little smirk “Oh Dunter, I’ve heard a lot about him.”

Jesusfuckingchristareyoufuckingshittingme. This does not take some sort of advanced degree to figure out. Most of the people of any degree of authority and prestige know he’s bad news. He runs his “Centre” partially as a reaction from being ejected from Montreal’s other kink teaching space, the ALCC. Or allegedly he did. Because nobody would be as gauche as to tell anyone anything specific.

I promise you that I’ve never found a person who requires caveats about their personality or has multiple stories attached to them is good to be around.

With Dunter, I can’t really blame his other victims from not doing more than talking among ourselves. God knows, getting any kind of traction means putting yourself through the wringer, and if you take on someone you better believe you’ll get one metric ton of bullshit as a reward. But as a community organizer, even a volunteer who reserves a venue once a month, I feel like actually have to say something.

So I am. Because every time us petty kings and queens let him in and “watch” him or don’t use our social capital to express displeasure we are tacitly endorsing him. The guy thrives and succeeds because he presents himself as a leader, and expert and a teacher. And I can say, based on personal experience and the information of people that I consider trustworthy, I do not endorse Dunter for anything and he should not be around people.

Oh, and I leave you with this if you need to do a follow up:

Femdom Life: Orgasm Denial for Him

June 20, 2016 by Miss Pearl

I like to make him beg.

Wildcard is into con-non-con, but as much as he has fabulous instincts as a top/dom (he’s really fucking AMAZING to watch), he’s comparatively handicapped in submissive explorations. He’s not someone who could attribute his sub fantasies to being a naturally passive, meek person. As a sub, his erotic charge comes from resisting, and, as a full sized adult male, this makes orgasm denial the perfect lever to bring him to his knees.

As a straight femdom, your partners will usually be bigger, stronger and heavier than you. A good tease and iron clad willpower is your friend for subs who need a little push back. I adore humiliating him with my power. With so much cultural baggage around masculine virility, it’s like a metaphorical ring through a bull’s nose. No matter the muscle, some of the best feelings out there are making a man obey with the lightest of tugs.

Before meeting me, his fantasies focused on three things: forced orgasms, spankings and forced nudity.

All these are pretty hot, but I brought something more to the table he’s never done before, good old fashioned restrictions on when he could come, laced with lots and lots of sneaky sabotage stimulation.

It might be a femdom porn standard, but also a huge kink of mine. I love it, and I love to tease men until they go insane. I love the way it turns my body into a tool of control. And hooray, guess what? Because I kept talking about it, he started getting into orgasm denial just as much as me! Blame my sexy talk and my apparently phenomenal, edging focused hand jobs. since I brought the subject up, he’s been devouring copious amount of denial based erotica even without my encouragement. Score! Guess that means it was time to start locking him up to make that desperate feeling last! Right…?

Nope. Orgasm denial is a slow burn build up.

First of all, he’s a kink-is-part-of-my-life and not a kink-is-my-life person. Precisely because orgasm denial makes him feel submissive, marathon, months long orgasm denial sessions aren’t his thing. Heck, he finds the idea of more than a week without coming too intimidating (for now). That rules out play built around “never letting you come ever, mohahaha!” But beyond that, as much as he likes non-con, feeling forced even by the presence of sexual potential is also potentially triggering. Wildcard’s dealt with some shit in the past and has bristly, bite-y boundaries. So on the one hand he just wants me to take control, on the other hand everything has to be carefully negotiated to make him feel safe. People are complicated.

Orgasm denial, once you throw in the edging and teasing, is something you’ve got to work your way up to. When I first started with him, what was supposed to be a weekend long denial session lasted less than 24 hours. There may have been an oopsie after an extremely erotic suggestion from me. To combat my devilish ways, he’s had to train his dick to know just about when he’s going to come… and he’s still had more than his fair share of ruined orgasms by accident.

So even in 2015, this was a work in progress. Then we moved house, and Christmas happened, and our sex life cum hobby (heehee) of being kinky libertines took a holiday around stress, packing and some pretty serious relationship growth. And we honestly communicated about stuff. You know, needs and boundaries. Life taught us to have some shitty trust issues that take a lot of deprogramming. You guys endured a blogging hiatus and I’m still tidying up after it.

Six months after the move, I’m happy to say that teasing and depriving him has stayed a mainstay in our sex life. Oh, and edging. I’ve edged him for an hour at a time, making him go just to the point of coming over and over and over again until he was thrashing and begging. And the orgasms he gets from them are some of the intensest he’s ever had.

We do it, over and over again, slippery oil on my palms, or his cock pushing over my tongue. Making him beg. It might not be the rule for daily life, but in the bedroom I make Wildcard work for every orgasm. Last night, after a sound spanking, he even showed how good he’s getting at holding it when I took him to the edge and he managed to hold off for a good thirty seconds of me forcing him. And sneaky truth- he might not have taken on orgasm denial as a full time calling, but when we’re together, even on a vanilla night, he hasn’t come a single time without asking for permission.

The Unbound Box Rocked My Socks

June 18, 2016June 18, 2016 by Miss Pearl

Every blogger likes loot. In disclosure before I talk about the Unbound Box, the origin of this was a freebie with no expectations other than reviewing it, but I can confidently say I loved what I got. I liked the presentation, I liked the contents and I found the company itself super pleasant to work with.

Unbound is a sex toy/adult product retailer going for a combination classy/tongue in cheek aesthetic. They’re as likely to remind you you deserve equal pay as all the orgasms you want. Unlike many loot crates, you have some advance warning what you’re going to get, but in my case I went into this completely blind.

I also did not expect to be happy with the results, just vaguely awkward. I get a lot of promotional spam demanding the moon and offering dubious rewards, often “become an affiliate and I swear you will profit!” style invites for products I would never buy or suggest others buy. And although I like the theory of loot crates, in practice I’ve never got a surprise bag where the contents seemed worth the hype, whether makeup samplers like Birch Box (which SHOULD be a box of floggers and canes, but isn’t) or the eponymous “Loot Crate” full of geeky tchotchkes. There’s always a few ok items I wouldn’t have bought anyway and a lot of clutter that feels wasteful. So was the Unbound Box one of those junk bags? I’m happy to say it is not.

Unbound sent me the May 2016 sampler, DELTA ∇, a late birthday gift for yours truly.

Honestly, when I got the package notification. I forgot it might be coming. I had no clues of what was inside, just a plain white box, with something loose but heavy gently sliding when I shook it. However, slicing open the cardboard was a shiny black box tied with a satin ribbon. Squee!

I love presents. I love nice presents even more.

Although they don’t have a set guide on how much you get every time, there were four items in this box. The Intro 2, a vibe with a two finger design; a high end clitoral sensitizer (aka warming lube) by Exsens; and some rhinestone pasties and a body chain, all neatly packed up, including a little cloth storage bag for the vibrator with a sassy quote from Mae West.

As far as the wins, I fell in love with the vibe they gave me (the Intro 2) and they actually hit onto sexy adornment I might actually wear- probably to the sexy Indoor Beach Party I’ve planned next Saturday. And to be fair I’m giving the sensitizer a boot on principle- I’m not a big fan of warming lubes, but I have plenty of friends who are and was able to pass it on. (Note to you Peppermint Kitten, my readers are enthusiastically waiting to see how you liked it!)

Yes, I am shamelessly making my friend rub strange creams on her genitals. But if she doesn’t like it she has a wonderful submissive husband to use it on. #evilcackle

But the Intro 2… omgomgomg.

Not so much a rabbit vibe, but as one particularly reviewer put it, shaped like a Totoro, Unbound aimed to have you use this on your clit and nipples as a part of the Delta’s theme. Out of the box it’s got all the hallmarks of the modern lady friendly toys- pleasant colour schemes, abstract rather than shall we say organic shapes, silicone skin. In other words, a vibe that I would sadly admire on the shelf and move on.

With this toy, the idea is that you can blitz concentrated spots with tingles, lightly pinching and pressing for surround sensation. But what isn’t advertised is that this is a perfect masturbator for a clitoral sides/labia person, which I am, and someone who likes a lot of pressure.

My personal self pleasure technique is what sinks most vibes. In a diverse land of jackhammer hitachis, flicking bunny ears and buzzing bullets, none of this accommodates that my usual self frigging is a sort of rapid V motion with my fingers that puts more arm into it than rowing a boat. Add a motor and my tiny clit either goes numb from over stimulation or gets missed entirely. Vibes always were the thing the cool girls got to play with, and strictly not for me. That is until a nice little surprise inspired me to give it another shot. I mean, it’s only polite to try a gift, right?

Yeah, if you’re on team highly sensitive clit, this little wonder will fit just right into the sides and work with your natural shape, teasing the lips and hood to let the sensations build up, while the base will let you keep pressing. No more going numb from too many tingles or not enough sensation- I’ve met my vibrator match finally and that means this loot crate did it’s work, getting you to reach out and try things, as curated by someone who understands their market. Consider the Unbound Box a win.

Unbound Box Value, Based on my Searching:

Intro 2 by JimmyJane – About $60
Fresh Ginger Litchi by Exsens – About $30
Mimi Rhinestone Pasties by bjoux indiscrets – About $10
Body Chain by Unbound – $10-ish, but it’s a unique item

Cumulative Price: $110 US
Actual Price: $65 US
Functional Value, based on what I actually wanted: $80 US
A Vibrator that Actually Gets Me Off? Priceless.

Fuck Homophobia; Fuck Islamophobia

June 15, 2016 by Miss Pearl

This is more like a one shot service announcement, but as a sexual libertine I wanted to put this out there, based on the Orlando tragedy:

Fuck homophobia. Fuck blaming Muslims.

As a non-American I don’t feel qualified to give more than an opinion on the subject of gun control (why do you need those? wat? whyyyy?) but as a sexual libertine who screws and plays with people anywhere on the wonderfully unrestrainable gender spectrum, and whose life is so far on the side of sexual liberal that I don’t even know what normal looks like anymore…

We don’t deserve to die, and what kills us is not our choices, it is the choice of others to hate us. And that hate is not uniquely confined to any variant of monotheism, that is a 100% optional. Let every politician who hemmed and hawed about transgender bathrooms or gay marriage know that YOU did this. Let every pastor who decided that the pulpit was their hate catapult be ashamed. Let every TERF who sneered about what a “real” woman was hang your head in fucking SHAME. Hell, even you in the back who was hoping to be the bigger man and saying that it was okay for people to be perverts as long as they hid their icky secret and never expected right, fuck you in particular. Fuck your hate the sin, not the sinner. I am my “sin” and if love is a sin, than fuck you, we love.

The killer was your textbook scene creep (you know the type, nasty messages, nasty disposition, missing stair extraordinaire), lashing out from the closet doorway. Sure he dressed himself in the raiment of whatever big name terrorists he could wind about himself, but if you are buying into this as a remotely Muslim thing… well I don’t know if the word “racist” applies to hating on such a pan-ethnic faith, but you are certainly an ignorant bigot. More than that, you’re explicitly on his side, where he loudly tried to distract everyone from the fact that this was a hate crime with a huge component of self hate. This was the UpStairs Lounge arson attack again, made possible with assault weapons. This was a horrible, abusive person abusing what he (secretly) loved as surely as he abused his wife. Fuck you for trying to make this a talking point so you could bully and harass Muslims in the name of people that, let’s be honest, a decade ago you probably barely acknowledged as human.

I love living in 2016, where Axe body spray ads feature men in heels and I can marry any one adult that will have me. But holy fuck, guys, can we not make a hate sandwich and pretend that being mean to gay people isn’t a homegrown bit of bullshit bso we can be horrid to brown people?

We clear? This blog is pro QUILTBAG and pro any damn faith that gives you peace and cultural warm and fuzzies, whether it’s all of them or none. This is just another drop in a rainstorm of people shouting about gay rights and not being a bigot. But if i have a soap box, I will at least express solidarity to the some 10K sessions you guys make here monthly.

Unbound by Cara McKenna: Femdom Romance That Gets It

May 31, 2016 by Miss Pearl

Wanna know how you can take the tropes and rules of the genre of romance and make a well realized self discovery setting with flawed but pleasant characters, and write a femdom story that is believable? Tired of erotica aimed at sub men and looking for something written to please a female dominant?

Unbound, by Cara McKenna is one of my more pleasant surprises for 2016. Holy shit, is it a tightly little packaged example of a good, realistic femdom romance. You know how you really want something to exist, and you bemoan that you can’t seem to find it, and BAM, there it is, better than anything you could write?

I have a moderate romance novel habit, usually enjoying the so-bad-its-good and the occasional just plain good read as I do my daily commute to and from work. I’m usually a big fan of historicals, but Amazon gave this to me as a suggested read. Judging a book by its cover, it’s another shirtless headless dude with a vaguely kink hinting title, and I admit I was all prepared to hate read my way through a hideous M/f train wreck someone dashed off to pay the internet bill. I admit I am a snarky, mean reader. Then by a few pages in the author managed to make me go from predatory reviewer to tentatively intrigued:

There’s nothing in summary to make you expect something different. Our heroine, Merry, is off to do a hiking adventure in the Scottish Highlands. She’s recently lost her mother and a significant amount of weight, and is dealing with the ramifications of that. This is the first sign that we’re in for an actual treat- while most books handle weight loss like a Cinderella transformation, Merry is dealing with all the realities- loose skin, changed relationship with people that’s a mixed blessing, and trying to bend her mind around a healthy relationship with herself and her body. Rather than glamour, she’s feeling alienated from her identity as the fun fat girl- her long term FWB dumped her and she’s having to re-examine both her friendships and her relationships with herself. Then her swimming in a Scottish lake gives her dysentery.

In a writing genre where beleaguered heroines get dainty fevers and miraculously limited concussions, I’ll give the story props for going there. The narrative about as coy as the POV would give about the symptoms, but weak and fainty, she ends up on the doorstep of a local hermit, a guy with a Dark Past (TM). Our hero, Rob, is an alcoholic who deals with his problem by getting away from society. Oh, and he’s a pervert.

The book teases you, taking a slow burn approach to all things sexual, and I was all prepped to pout a little when it was revealed that he was a Secret Dominant who was going to Teach Her To Love Her Body Through Submission, when once again the book surprised me. Rob is a sub with a thing for scratchy rope. And Merry, who hails from the west coast fashion industry is fully aware of kink things and doesn’t miss a beat. Repressed and British bloke meets a woman whose backstory is a baby born of a gay man and a single-by-choice hippy mother. She’s not only cool with it, it doesn’t occur to her that he’s odd.

You know how rare it is to find writing that really gets it? That recognizes the pure joy that’s in the dominant side for women? Or that clues in how desirable a sub guy can make you feel? I won’t get too spoiler heavy, but these characters manage to connect on multiple levels, both zingy chemistry, and no sense that the demons they battle are pure dramatic padding. And my goodness, it’s good to have a sub guy be written as a delicious piece of fuck meat, and a dominant heroine not have to use the proxy of Mistress AngryWhip to express herself.

One does not read romance to break free of comfortable formats- like watching baseball you go into it with expectations of the rules everyone is operating under. Consider this a perfect play, from someone who knows her genre well and knows how to speak through it to make a very modern, approachable story that delivers the obligatory warm and fuzzies while managing depth of character.

Femdom Life: Getting What I Want

April 12, 2016 by Miss Pearl

Dear reader, tonight was Punish Tuesday, our pre-organized kinky sex night, and I just got my brains fucked out.

I also did what I have never done before. And it wasn’t something you would easily guess. No, seriously!

One hour of foreplay for me. It sounds so improbably vanilla, right? The sad truth is that life isn’t like those bdsm stories where the dominant always gets her needs met. The reality is that either sex has worked for me or it hasn’t. Now Strong could be a generous enough lover, but we had so little time as a couple that he can be considered out of the discussion.

But it is almost embarassing that I’m almost a month shy of my 30th birthday and I’ve gotten so used to compromising what I needed that for all I can beat a man purple or tease his cock for an hour, asking for turn around physical attention was a taboo fetish.

So I stripped him and he and I cuddled up on the couch. One set timer later and he went to work with my body all lips and tongue and touching

Somewhere along the way, long before I appeared on the scene, Wildcard learned to work a woman’s body, with the same studious and attentive perfectionism and passion he puts into his cooking. But instead of rendering the fat of the roast chicken he’s salted and dismembered, he’s finding little spots between my fingers to nibble and zones on the back of my thighs to stroke.

And then as everything in me opened, he liesurely fucked me while I took that delicious sensitivity into an orgasm so loud I suspect the neighbours heard it through his desperate muffling hand. Apartment life.

Afterwards, with his erection lingering and my cunt having none of the freight train he likes to pretend is his penis, I filled his ass and gave him a slippey hand job – it mus have been intense because he was practically flapping his unrestrained arms.

Femdom Life: My Real Sex Life and Writing

March 25, 2016 by Miss Pearl

Unfortunately the last six months have been about everything *but* my sexuality, and the blog has languished, although I still pay the hosting fees. And Jesus, being popular is NOT cheap. i might just put out a tip jar or something.

I’m not out of kink. I keep up with the monthly 18 to 35 meetups I host (Montreal folks, take note), and there have been exploits, but my sexuality has not been the point of my artistic focus. I moved house. I did a lot of therapy, once every two weeks, to deal with my serious abuse survivor issues. I took on a very social project and every scrap of my creative energy is feeding that. Meanwhile my job promoted me to something more challenging (and FUN) but it’s extra time and attention. and Wildcard’s sexuality decided to hide under the bed.

This is not to say that I didn’t get up to hijinks. A nice young man has claw marks. Another one has been toyed with at a couple of play parties. My aim with various hitty things has improved. But I haven’t really felt the passion there- and I’ve been dealing with personal relationship things that I wanted to not violate someone’s privacy over.

Nobody wants to be humiliated by having the world know them as Mr. Emotionally Flappy. But here’s the thing…

My partner was having trouble mustering enthusiastic consent, and still does. I don’t pressure people into shit they are not 100% on board with. I deserve better than that, even leaving aside the serious ethical impact, you don’t get to fuck Pearl just to please her so she won’t leave you. It takes its toll on the ego – loving someone intensely, but being dominant and thus discovering that vulnerability is the one thing they can’t bring into their sexuality. We are working on this because it is important to me. And it’s important to him- it sucks to want to get close to someone and feel you don’t measure up to what they want. Like the core you will be wanting.

It’s also psychologically relevant to me because I admit I have trust issues. When a significant amount of people have let you down in a fundamental way that damaged you (child abuse, etc…) it hardens you.

So add a medication that kicked the crap out of my libido and though I’ve made stabs at it, I suspect you can tell my heart wasn’t there the last little while.

But, on the other hand, I wanted to take the time to note I’ve gotten some lovely fan mail. When I started this blog it was about evangelically trying to get the word out, providing some sort of voice for people like me.

It’s gotten better. It really has. Since I started writing I built a thriving real life community, published a moderately successful book and got out of an abusive relationship (in not particular order). I loved again, lost and love now.

So I’m going to go back to writing here a bit more, but no promises that it won’t be embarrassingly navel gazey or contain more updates on personal growth and less hot sexxx.

Femdom Life: Fingering, Negotiations & Ruined Orgasms

January 17, 2016 by Miss Pearl

Friday night, we have sex.

He reached for me, nestling the length of his body into the roundness of mine. Even when he’s no longer the skinny boy I started dating, and has filled out into muscle and robust health, he’s still made of stiff lines and delicate details, like an origami figure someone folded out of starched silk. Now there’s a solid weight to his arms and legs that I find pleasing. I liked it when he was so light that I was the heavy one, but I like this new sign of remission in his health problems.

Thursday night I was unbridled honest with him, even more so than I ever am with you, dear reader (of course you get a curated window into my life, but you know that). I asked for things put aside between our move and his many hobbies. You cannot mandate desire but you can make people aware of your own wants. So now, Friday night, he seeks for me.

He feels for my cunt, touching either side of the furred lips, not tor hard, not too soft. Fingering, remembering that my genitals and my pleasure are not some sort of buried secret that takes a cave diving expedition of plunging and rooting about inside. There’s a whole zone of sensitivity, inner thighs, vulva, buttocks, brushing, pressing just with the pads of his fingers. I feel arousal as the motion of tiny muscles and an awakening in nerves that I’m usually only subconsciously aware of.

Earlier we’d played all silly, miming tying me up so I could pretend my outrage, promising dire things even as I held my arms still to maintain the illusion of the invisible ropes. When he was done, his fingers flipped a switchblade made of nothingness and slit the bonds. Make believe demands support. Playfulness is a key thing I need in a partner.

I don’t let him control things, even if I can play at it. I don’t want to lie back and be pleasured, I want to rip off his armor and expose his vulnerabilities for me to play with. I lean up from my nest of blankets and roll over, pinning him down. I tell him precisely what I’m going to do to him, how I’m going to tease him as restrain him and toss him about like a rag doll.

He asked for that, to not rely entirely on my whims, but know what to expect when I take control. It is a challenge. Dominance for my is embracing the capacious moment of my fickle fancy, but I will not let that get in the way of enthusiastic consent. If he needs more scene pre-planning, than it can only expand the submission he can do with me.

Pinning him down I find his cock, already mostly stiff, and with a right palm slathered with sweet almond oil, lathe the root to the tip with curl fingered, dragging strokes, all the while shoving my hand over his mouth and sometimes pinching his nose. He knows he’s not going to come, knows exactly how far I’m going to go, and can rely on that certainty.

Tuesday night, similar to this, I threw him straight out of his comfort zone by staring intently at him. I’m past feeling self consciously silly about my so called dominant aura. It might be cliche, but when I wish I can pull up that cloak of control. And yet… indomitable Miss Pearl terrifies him, leaving him paralyzed and rattled. I’ve never had to deal with it before. I’ll never claim to be some master Mistress who can make a man into a puddle with a look, but in my near decade in a half of fucking around with kink, I’ve never dealt with someone trying so hard to run towards me while desperately trying to run away.

This time though, no hitches. Just saliva and oil making a slickness, alternating spidering my fingers up the ribs and the side of his stomach. I see him slip into a better place, until I’ve tugged and teased him straight into one of those ruined orgasms that are intense enough I worry I mucked up and made him cum.

When he gets his bearings back, he keeps trying to roll towards me and I keep inching away. Groin to chest is a splatter of semen that I hardly want squashed into my body in the middle of the night. I’m amused as he plays out the part of mobile wet spot, earnestly trying to please me by going back to touching me.

I do not want an orgasm.

I have had way too many orgasms, because I was supposed to, because it was expected of me, because my partner’s ego demanded it or even for the entertainment value. I don’t want to relive those choices. I am not ready to come yet, not relaxed enough. The threads of arousal are there, but the weight of duty to reassure him with one snaps them, and I gently puts his hand on his chest where it isn’t gloopy with sex leftovers.

Neither of us come. It’s funny, I feel more in control without one, while he feels more out of control when he loses the option. Again, among his limits, no long term orgasm denial. It’s unusual, usually men are wild to be denied or get no pleasure from it, nothing of this in between wanting and not wanting.

So, always negotiations, always touching and dancing around the meta narrative of our sex games, where we are still two incredibly contained people. Some people fuse into one in a relationship- we’ve both learned to recoil from that. Instead everything is two little boats bobbing about in a big ocean, nudging our hulls, neither sure enough to abandon our craft and jump ship.

It’s not the story that sells, dear reader, not where I know that people are here for the ruined orgasms, not the psychological intimacy puzzles. But it’s the truth, so there you are.

Secret , Shameful GenderQueer Confessions

February 15, 2016January 3, 2016 by Miss Pearl

I am a cisgendered woman. This is to say that I am convinced that I am female, and the body I am in best conforms to the medical definition of female by sex. I also navigate a world that is particularly aware of the importance of trans* and non-binary gender, being the younger half of the kink scene.

Trans, on a binary, is pretty automatic, at least if you are not a twit or a bigot. I was fortunate enough that at the age that other children were being taught please and thank you, I had the process of a gender transition explained to me (why does mummy’s friend seem both male and female? He is actually a she- they are living for a year as a woman as part of the process of deciding if a surgical transition is right for them). Okay, cool, this was as much a part of the background as having a copy of “Heather Has Two Mommies” in my picture book collection, although that in itself was confusing because I had two female caretakers who were sisters, both of whom were heterosexual, and one of whom I was using a male nickname for father for but who presented as very femme.

Where I start sucking at things is where we get into the “they” pronoun situation and people who are trying to do gender fuck, or gender fluid. I realize, only with some consideration on the matter, one of the reasons why I’m finding the process so alienating instead of just another quirk to incorporate into the wide and wacky world of social etiquette is probably due to my mother’s queerness combined with their poor boundaries in relation to my own gender expression.

My mother is a product of an era when masculine woman was ‘butch’, but for her the presence of the feminine and feminine sexuality is squicking and triggering and aesthetically non-pleasing. The fictional sexuality that I got dramatically over exposed to from her is gay male snuff porn, as much as in real life she behaved like a straight person. Perhaps, born in my generation, she’d just call herself queer. Unfortunately as her daughter, my body and development were subject to the overflow of her experimentation and discomfort.

And this is how I ended up in toddler sized Renaissance cross dressing garb with a stuffed codpiece, and why people who see my baby photos assume I was a boy.

Femdom Review: Dancing Backward- An Adventure in Male Submission

April 2, 2016December 28, 2015 by Miss Pearl

Dancing Backward: An Adventure in Male Submission by Thomas Lavalle

Nope, didn’t like it. Dancing Backward was a pretty good example of how not to make me happy, and really a good percent of what is wrong with femdom porn if you are trying to appeal to female readers. Or male ones who don’t get something out of self hate.

Some of this was simply it not being my way of expressing my F/m kink, but it had a lot of oopsies and pitfalls typical of the genre- as much as I hate to pillory the creative output of other people, this is precisely the sort of book that makes it hard for women think they would enjoy being a dom, and indeed represents male submission as something pathetic. On the other hand it’s one of Amazon’s more popular femdom novels, so if my review is scathing, I’m sure the author will dry his tears with a handful of the royalties he’s earned.

To briefly summarize the plot: This is a story about a control freak who marries a passive sponge, and then when he proves to be a passive sponge, turns him into a punching bag.

The most glaring problem was that I never got any sense of why the couple liked each other. An interesting premise, essentially of a gender inversion 1950s marriage, turned into odd abusive weirdness sans any sort of context- our hero Christopher is essentially an ambulatory submissive erection, while his wife, Kelly, didn’t really have any characteristics other than hawt n’ dominant- her G cup breasts had as much personality as she did, while she groped about the femdom cliches with inexplicable motive, coming across as less kinky and more that the universe had dictated this was how things worked because the author said so. Really, you know you’re going to have a bad time when the description blurb calls the femdom “spoiled” and “bossy”. About the only moment she seemed human is the vague mention she had decorative ballerina figurines- otherwise I got the impression that literally any idiot who met her minimum threshold of attractive and she could push around would do as she was just a culmination of everything the audience is supposed to find attractive crammed into one barbie doll shaped carapace. She had no beginning and no end, just ambition and a sense of self importance that came from no place other than narrative dictate. Hell, when the novel opens she doesn’t actually appear to have any close friends.

The writing honestly, is good at least as sketching out the male protagonist as a believable person (albeit a realistic waste of space or a victim, depending on your reading), but as a female dominant I found Kelly repulsive- angry and condescending, with a side order of female superiority wankery and nothing to back it up other than that she makes gobs of money. The side character, Carmen the Cuban, was actively offensive, a fetishists idea of what a Hispanic is, making sure you knew Ai AM EL SPANISH! every other sentence, in a way that made her feel like Dora the Explorer’s sociopathic cousin. None of the female doms made me want to be them or even in the same room as them. If a guy handed me this book and asked “can we do this please?” I’d probably run away.

And then there’s the whole subject of the weird abusive stuff, which was encoded into the universe such that the audience was supposed to see the aggressive mistreatment of males as not grounds to call the police, but just vaguely titillating. I’ll take the time to say this now: Mr. Lavalle, nobody this side of the ’90s says “you go girl!” unironically, and certainly not regarding CBT or how the only true way to deal with life is to dom the lesser menz. The only people who are still using that tired little phrase is the sort of persecution complex MRA who never actually interact with actual women and write eight page screeds on why women are out to get them.

As a writer of non-con who gets off on rape as a concept, you think I’d be all on board with the setting’s darker side- after all, I am quite the sadist. However, the rapey nonsense is all over the fucking place, and not even particularly empowering or just a sadistic fantasy for women- for example just incidentally in the background, Kelly worries about the impact on her career of turning down some random wealthy dude. This was forshadowed as her cuckolding partner in the next book, without examination of how creepy it is that now the guy is aggressively sending her mash notes bout how their hookup is inevitable. Of course, like any porn dom, rather than, you know, getting off on male submission, she’s written to actually want a Real Man TM, like Stalky Pants McSouthAfrican and this forceful attitude is not time to speak to HR, but a rare moment she seemed to respect a male. Do. Not. Want.

Meanwhile Kelly, herself, also comes across as way less domly and more abusive. She isolates her husband, banning him from friends and hobbies. Even before they bring in the whips and chains side of things and she’s waffling about with a pure power exchange relationship, she mentions offhand that she rarely had to slap her husband as a sign of his goodness. This is supposed to be a normal relationship up until that point. Heterosexual dudes in relationships reading this, if your female partner slaps you and it is not part of a consenting dynamic or to get your attention while you sleep walk off off a cliff, that shit is not okay.

And then when she decides that they are going F/m full bore femdom, of course she doesn’t ask because in this universe male subs are just defective men who will go along with any nonesense as long as the woman forces them too. Half the time she’s mumbling about female superiority, the other half the time she’s debating who will actually fuck her now since a sub guy won’t do. Our hero devotes a extensive amount of whining and carrying on about how he’s sooooo emasculated, and yet as much as they started out exploring an inverted 1950s dynamic, much is said about how useless he is as a housekeeper, etc, etc…

Which is back to my point, Kelly talks about how her Christopher is ‘sweet’, but all he does is either fail to keep house (so she can punish him) or whine about how terrrrrrrible this new thing is, never showing an ounce of romantic initiative, agency or creativity. We learn that when he met Kelly in college, he dropped out of his graphic designer program a few credits shy of graduation to be her full time house husband, and never expressed himself creatively again. He does not turn around and flourish in the home. Instead, he becomes this useless lump who actually hates housework and does it for fear of punishment. He does not act remotely emotionally fulfilled by a life of service, but neither is he good enough at it to make me feel like Kelly’s getting a good deal- instead she spends much of the book pissed off that her partner is dull and clingy as wallpaper paste. Her solution, to transition from domestic D/s, to full sadomasochistic BDSM, feels like more effort than just hiring a damn maid and throwing him out on his ear.

If you are a sub guy into being treated badly (at least in fantasy) with stabs at SPH, domestic service, feeling emasculated by obedience, and the idea that nursing at big boobs are hot, you will have yourself at least one fantastic wank reading this. If, I suppose your SO lets you. Although if you have an SO, you’ll know this is pure fantasy, and one hopes your relationship is a lot more nuanced and healthy than the nonesense written in here.

If you are a dominant woman, you will come away feeling vaguely insulted and disappointed that once again, your kinks are simply not considered to matter when you can be used as a fantasy object.

Category: Erotic romance
Rating: o (1/5)
How I got it: Bought it!
TL;DR: Rising star executive Kelly turns househusband Christopher into her slave. An unsatisfying turn off, with unpleasant main characters.