O Non-Fiction

Rants, scene write ups, reviews, basically everything that isn’t erotica.

But why won’t she dominate me for free?!

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It’s the week before Locktober, that month when all good boys (and bad boys) hope that a somebody in the spirit of the season, will help them enjoy a little tease and denial.

Net result, a slight uptick in men wistfully publicly dreaming of a bossy lady taking charge, being the approximate equivalent of Valentine’s day for femdom. “Is there a Miss, a Mistress, a Ma’am, who would want little old me?”

And that trots out the same old wishful thinking: what if, out of the blue, a woman wanted to take charge and provide the denial role for one, or a harem of men?

And of course the usual insistence is made, that she be really, really into it and prove that by being free.

Thence comes anguish, why is easy to find femdom only for sale?

Ok, let’s unpack: Why not? What’s going on with all the sex work attached to femdom? Why charge? Why can’t straight guys easily get someone to dominate them for free?

The lazy answer I get is that there’s a ratio imbalance, and in the same breath, that femdoms are fake if they ask for any remuneration. Sites catering to such dynamics, but with a low barrier of entry rapidly clog up with a soft whine “are their any real dommes on here who don’t charge?”

While sex work has always included people who were indifferent to through to disdaining the tasks that make up its labour, I posit rather that the circumstances that make any sex work exist are largely compensations that deal with both the variable artistic quality to audience demand, and the lack of protections for promiscious/ sexually open women.

What does dominating “For Free” mean anyway?

The fantasy of “Free” is that one is so attractive that without the use of currency, one’s partner is so enamored of a person that they fixate and tend to your particular need, getting back warm and fuzzies or erotic hurrah sensations in reply.

Next door to the Free argument is that your own inherent attractiveness should be payment enough- assuming that money makes any social interaction complex and insincere. Ironically the claim is often that it cheapens things to bring money into it, placing the presence of a dollar figure as below priceless.

So, let’s unpack the Free = Authentic false belief, that anything we are passionate about we cannot receive currency over.

I mean, obviously that’s bullshit, we use giving people things including ludicrous amounts of money, as some of the most ultimate measure of someone’s worth. From the bloated salaries of corporate executives to dropping a tip into the hat of a street busker, money means you approve of a behaviour or person.

And, what about me?

I believe the prodommes who say this is their sexuality because I try to take people at their word, but also because I know my own erotic creative overlap into sex work is both a labour of love and a thing I like to get paid for.

So- I enjoy writing fiction, but I am good enough to do it for $$$ so I also do that. Selling my fiction, as well as giving my femdom stories for free, both give me warm social fuzzies.

Let’s be 100% cards on the table. I know that my fiction (and writing) causes both orgasms and emotional feelings of comfort. Both bring me positive attention, and knowing people do donations and kindle book sales to support my sexy art tells me I am special and popular and people love my stuff.

If I didn’t market myself and aggressively pursue attention, the nature of the signal to noise ratio of online content means my work (and thus my voice) would probably go unnoticed. I am loud and have confidence in my value, but more than that, I want you to notice and read my stuff.

That’s a lot closer to the reality of professional femdom.

A lot of what you are paying the pros for these days is availability, risk management and sustaining the lifestyle to do the whatever. I do caveat I ain’t a pro and the pros speak for themselves better than I could, but I am a femme human and being sexy is dangerous… and expensive.

For example, costwise, just as a sexy lady making just herself happy, I have spent about $1000 on lingerie and fetish wear in 2020, almost half of that on latex alone- that’s on top of the hair and makeup- and I’m pretty frugal for a woman who bothers to dress up. On the safety front, I also have to be paranoid and secretive- my overt presence, even an erotica writer draws both social condemnation, persistent sexual harassment, and depending on my visibility, ever increasing threats. 

Death threats, boundary crossing attempts to find and force a personal relationship, you name it. Being female shaped, particularly sexually in public and pestering and wishes for violence happens, largely unchecked, except by your own actions.

Put a face picture out there, and the abuse and negative attention increases exponentially. Sorry, that’s the breaks, not only might people try to shame and hurt me for having my sexuality, but for not hiding it well enough.

I also spend a couple of hundred dollars a year on web hosting for my blog- although not as active as it was, traffic isn’t free for me.  Living, itself, isn’t free, and I am compelled to occupy myself working some way or another to pay for everything.

The Economics of Being a Slut

Sex work tends to exist in the overlapping area of being on the edge or past mainstream acceptability, and significantly limits your options for most women if you are found out. That being said, it isn’t the easy industry the average misogynist seems to think it is. As much as you see a sea of lingerie clad “fakes” doing drive by insults, the economics of sites like OF is that most of these women are losing money.

No really, unless you are very good at marketing yourself, sex work isn’t just real work, it’s got a very poor pay off prospect. This goes to conventional old school porn, where being an actress meant neither controlling any part of the copyright or distribution (much less royalties), to the realities of things like stripping, or even the so called full service sex work.

Leaving aside discrimination on the basis of looks, and the usual ugly age/race/gender biases in paying porn… Payment takes both luck, sales talent and a number of factors otherwise typical of any other business.

If you add up marketing effort and work out their hourly, for most OF models, it’s actually a significantly worse take home than grabbing a few hours at McDonalds or similar. They are, in effect, giving a product partially for the feeling it gives to them in pursuing the dream and maybe a pay off.

Ok, but prodommes?

Domination-for-pay has this factor too. You are managing a client base, advertising, etc… probably trying to juggle complimentary revenue streams (eg clips, phone sex, etc…). It’s likely that you are renting a dungeon by an hour, if that’s expected (although some obviously own their own space), buying and maintaining gear, etc…

None of this is required to be a dominant, however. But, it is required if you have any hope of making a consistent amount of money. And the money pool is small- only a slice of guys can afford either occasional or regular by the hour “sessions”.

Prices go down, ironically not scaling with the actual work or risk. Indeed there’s a certain unfairness that the people in the highest prestige positions in sex work are likely to get the treatment of the most legitimacy and ease in crossing into work that isn’t stigmatized.

I don’t think adult content consumers realize this.

A lot of guys assume that because there are many pros they can see advertising that they are a licence to print money- its not. For a minority of women you can make a decent middle class living (or even be wealthy), but like vanilla modeling or being an instagram influencer, it’s not exactly the most reliable pay off. 

Sexist idiots, in particular, labour under the idea that all women enjoy a sort of sexually motivated UBI. I don’t think I need to spend much time combating the delusions of misogynists with detailed facts and citations, but I do think it does help to look at the ingredients on the salami even if we don’t tour the sausage production facility.

The other sad truth is that the encouragement to go pro can sometimes be a form of self defence. To be a sexually out there woman means wrangling all the same creeps, and putting a price sticker on it can simply be a means to sustain a literal lifestyle that’s incompatible with being perceived as socially acceptable.

For example being doxxed won’t go any better/worse for my lack of official sex work. I’m still the nasty slutty pervert lady. Femdoms exist in a perfect storm of representing a certain phobic projection to a certain kind of man, while getting smacked with the “whore” stigma, is it any wonder that real or not, they charge?

So why don’t you go pro, Miss Pearl?

In my case I don’t do prodom work, but that’s partly because I don’t have the attraction to the scenario that would involve. Am I asked to? Frequently.

The overlap between dominatrix as a viable commercial archetype, and my sexuality is not close enough to justify it. I don’t dislike all of it!

For example as a writer, even in erotica, the hot thing is incest. I could write incest porn and more people would like my work better. But… I dun wanna.

I got out of vanilla copywriting because the pay to effort was shit. I don’t write incest porn because my personal perception of it being gross (victim of real life incest) isn’t worth the uptick in happy readers.

For me, the other askew is I don’t personally like the two conditionals of pro-domme work, both the necessity of certain conformity, and an availability that makes me squick hard.

Conformity isn’t falseness.

I am overdue to write about the other femdom audience. It’s a whole essay on its own, that we exclude women in conversations about our own physical and aesthetic presentation… even though we are actually the (snrk) dominant voice by dint of the whole nature of contemporary gender roles.

To put it on a napkin: although the economics make male patronage favour certain modes and aesthetics, whether designing, assembling or performing the aesthetic, fashion is a woman’s language. It is so female coded that men existing in our spaces as creators and taste makers cannot escape at least the presumption of queerness.

Nailing that down, it hits the artists dilemma: what sells is nessarily pragmatic. Just as the technically submissive enjoy more real power in a BDSM sex act by virtue of the fact that that their submission isn’t passive, he who pays the pegger picks the pipe.

Where we go wrong is saying that he composes the entire scenario. It is possible that clients can create it as a form of vanity theatre, the Sun King (or Sun Kink, if you will) in the centre of his ballet of courtiers. But, again, composers, costumers, set designers, advisors, etc… all express various points of agency.

I am no baroque ballerina, but that is a lot more personal pathos than a dislike of every bit of dance. Supposed social structures and group participation in a whole, to me are fundamentally a reminder of my being broken. Trauma or Autism, I cannot hear the beats that everyone else seem to.

I mean, this makes me a unique kind of fraud, because I pass pretty well as a relatable rebel. Only once you spin out the #fuzzyslippers and #pyjamadomme to its extreme, I fall out of step with the chorus.

I am correct that the monopoly that the current structure has on defining femdom (looking at you Annie Nomis, you Academic Elise Sutton) is hot garbage, but “Real Femdom” is just another trap of limited definition. I am not going to be any more happy if the entirety of my sexual performance is directed by that norm set more so than the Dominatrix one.

Back to the point at hand, however, that norms, themselves, help us bridge the gap of communication with the unique selves. Costume, title, tool- all are overlays onto bridging the isolated self into the other.

I am reticent to admit but one of the places I am most able to connect to others is through my sexuality. The intensity of the moment, a free ability to suddenly lose the bewildering metaphorical wall of noise that most people are and just be merged as the self overlaps over my victim is a sensation of joy beyond my body.

Some sort of conclusion

When you pay a sex worker, they are no more or less fake than anyone you interact with. What you are paying for is the risk and the effort involved to make themselves work for you, outside of the pure creative work.

Being upset people ask for payment is being unaware you exist in a world that largely caters to your desire and asking for people to make it even easier for you- there would be more out there lifestyle femdoms… if you dealt with that pesky sexism problem.

Scene With Silver Go Whoopsie

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Sunday, we played casual over webcam, myself in a clingy leather look mini dress but also wrapped in a loose black cardigan, and him no collar or other symbols except the hidden presence of a moderately sized butt plug.

I did not plan, let my mood decide where things went. As I am prone to I let a riff about my future desire to lay out belated birthday spankings with a hard backed hair brush pull us into that intimate state of focus on eachother, and the theme of the day became discipline.

Discipline is not a common activity for us. I don’t like the sensation of not receiving compliance and correcting it, most of the time, and have a hard time eroticizing not getting what I asked for. But it serves a purpose, and I ventured there: had he been bad?

He, squirming and enjoying the penitent vulnerability, confessed to missing three days of daily edging. Technically within compliance- as with most of my orders it was and if/then. If he is not sufficiently stressed by life, then edge and tell me about it. 

But I had given him the option that if he acquired guilt he could purge it in scouring. I am attracted to anxious people, and understand a fair amount about their psychology, one part being the painful state of feeling insecure about disappointing long after the disappointed party has gotten over it. And I know any anxious person go into a guilt spiral when they contemplate the comfort of being told something they feel they caused is still pricking them.

Punishment here is an act of reassurance. I mean, ultimately it’s makeup sex for kinky people, something we mutually enjoy to turn off the scumbag brain going NoNoNoBad 

I can’t, with distance and Covid19, obviously do pain play the usual ways, but while I am not a fan of the self spanking (I think I could get into literal self flagelation with a knotted rope scourge, but we don’t have one), we have the pavloc and the relative safety of stress positions.

Although pushing a button to make a zap, wince and erection throb will never get old, I like stress positions in particular, for Silver, because he is in meticulous physical shape (my cute little gym bunny!) and is the sort of person to whom if you said “fuck yourself until you are tired” he would do so not until his arm was sore, but until he was a weakly twitching heap on the carpet.

Summoning my disciplinarian voice, which for the record, is still in the territory of “croon”, but conveys a slight edge to ratchet tension, I ordered him to strip. This, he did so, shucking off clothes with wild abandon.

So I made him stop, remember to fold everything neatly.  I enjoyed the enthusiasm he peeled off with, don’t get me wrong. There’s an erotic thrill in the strip and toss, but the Aesthetic is a dominant’s most useful weapon in maintaining a unified mood.

Chastened by my observation of his flattering but accidentally disobedient display of eagerness, everything else was removed and duly folded, then piled in a tidy stack and held, fancy waiter style, on a flat palm with arm extended.

He edged for me and I corrected him accordingly, reminding him I would never discourage him from being excited, but he still needed to remember for the sake of remembering, and finding satisfaction, we moved on.

I made him hold the stress position called “motorcycle” which is basically a wall sit sans wall and with your arms up, and edge the three times he said he missed. During that he had to repeat several times, the first because he forgot to count out loud (to be fair I didn’t tell him to) and the next few times because his legs had enough.

Anguished, exhausted, vulnerable. I stressed that not doing wasn’t the failure as much as not telling me. And that I didn’t mind him collapsing and trying over and over again.

As much as he endured for me, I also layered on cooing, encouragement, reassurance. I am a sadist with a soft heart. I love his suffering and making him so makes me gooey inside. My physical arousal at each desperate groan when is strength gave out was matched with a certain sympathy.

Good boy. In the aftermath of his punishment the topic turned to the erotic, asking him when he did have free permission to cum (basically before me). What moment in fantasy was his release?

We all have our triggers. Mine is usually when the text hits a climax demonstration of some symbolic extreme loss of agency. Not shockingly I tend to read a lot of modification, brainwashing and captivity stories. And, as I mentioned these are often vile, physically impossible nonsense, and most definitely the sort of stuff we firmly call “cnc” to separate the barrier between really wanting to keep someone in your basement and imaging elaborate scenarios where this might be possible but no real persons are harmed.

His trip, more often than not, is the moment when the victim-protagonist succumbs to the control, hypnotic or otherwise, usually a symptom there of being their own orgasm.

So thus, I pushed, no orgasm until I take something from him permanently, only endless edging. He could either wait until I take his virginity in October (mine now!), or come up with something else.

Right hand continuously stroking a rather immensely thick erection, he thought for a moment and daringly suggested his twitter user name.

“You have a twitter account?”

Yes, lurking to follow points of interest, including a quiet follow when I first propositioned him back in November 2019 (American Thanksgiving), after I gave him my various and sundry online details so he could get to know my sexuality. Unlike Ferns, I treat my body of work so important to my core self that I do not want sexual or romantic contact with someone who has no interest in it.

Also of course, predating me, Silver quietly follows other content makers and dommes, either past service providers or persons of interest- this being the actual revelation. I actually am not sure what to do with that information since while I am a big believer in healthy relationships when practical with exes and in trust that it’s fine to think your friends, or other people are hot, I am not sure I want to pry into what feels like their intimacies.

For example, I enjoyed him sharing a few past scene photos providers had snapped of him, but in these cases the “she” wasn’t in the photo and I could admire her work more abstractly.

Providers aren’t exes, but they add the desire in me to treat them with the same respect and accommodation. Although I find the “true love waits” purity of a one partner only rhetoric alarming, I see the concept that intimacy and romance change a person, paid or otherwise, as a feature not a bug.

But, obviously providers don’t want some civie patiently slotting them into the same category I do of former members of my kid brother’s polycule, which is to say a distant sense of positive obligation that they have remotely plausible chance to turn up and be given a cup of tea.

So I get ridiculously British concerned about manners over it, a sort of fumbling divide by zero where I am feeling awkward because I am imagining a dominatrix bothering to reach out to a former, fairly casual client to catch up because she is in town or whatever. I project that role onto a hypothetical *them* and then immediately feel wildly embarrassed about daring to presume. Because obviously that isn’t plausible.

You can add a third meta hypothetical of said poor dominatrix standing in my kitchen patiently looking perplexed while my overly fussy brain steams out the ears harder than the kettle I am making her tea with.

Back to the moment (and erection) at hand

It’s not the first time Silver’s told me something relationship related mid-edge. Last time I ordered him to confess I learned, while pumping his cock, that he had politely sent his former dominatrix a letter cancelling her (er, his?) services and told his parents I existed. 

I think it’s kind of endearing that unless he’s come recently, my presence tends to cause the urge to furiously masturbate. 

I teased him about being “sneaky”, and I admit to a little spur of sharpness, even though contextually it was something that made the most practical sense, mostly because I assumed he did not have one after he mentioned not wanting to participate in the hurly burly of the barely moderated social sphere.

But, I also reassured, enjoying the bit of fight and the vulnerability of having a secret pocket he compulsively had withheld.

I leaned into this, pushing for more, asking what else, and he offered out handing over previously stashed erotica and porn (not to deny by my preference, rather as intimate data).  

Yes, but I knew he had those. What else?

He had a pause here, a mental barrel scrape, and I observed something very true but very difficult.

With every relationship, within 1 to 6 months, that person’s core structure become self evident, non-negotiables that I accept. Silver is an intensely private person. He will omit to mention things you would think were normal- not just a sort of grey rock, but affecting a river tumbled smoothness.

He would never give you his opinion on politics or share the latest documentary he is listening to. He wouldn’t mention an event he attended and spare any show of temper, blanketed under the most careful bland patience, withdrawing from the hint of social drama.

I had previously accepted pieces of him will surface in their own time. We might be ancient and well wizened decades from now, only for me to discover that every day he takes ten minutes to do an act of anonymous charity, or that he is a huge fan of 90s EuroPop sensation Aqua.

But, without thinking it would be hurtful, I teased about his tendency to lie by omission.  I had meant to underline the known contrast that Silver is deeply submissive and immensely independent and individualistic. It did not carry that.

This isn’t the first time I have played with the real. The other week I did a mind fuck, narrating that his (normal) anxieties about the relationship were actually his real self asserting over my seductive hypnosis, producing extremely aroused shivers of fear from him.

This time he visibly shrank back a bit and his eyes took on a hurt cast, small an vulnerable. I could not and would not eroticize that. His penis, previously rock hard, gently curled towards the left. 

Oops.

Silver did not cry off, but after a moment of reading his expression I did, breaking tone. There’s a difference in the way I use my voice, and had I been there in person it would be my arms that held him.

I do have to be careful, for me what is a reasonable right to privacy, is not necessarily a part of the self everyone is proud of. I told him that I loved the whole him, that I didn’t need all truths just for the sake of collecting them and preferred him to keep his space and secrets. 

Even these blog posts are run through him first, catching anything, in description of his life or our shared intimacy, that is too much and too raw to feed to the world.

Me keeping a blog is non-negotiable, me treating his own story with care is reasonable.

He told me that it was a hard moment where he thought he might safeword but he also thought I was really upset. And obviously, in his mind, he couldn’t safeword out of my raw feelings?

I told him he very well could. It is ok to take a break on a heated or difficult discussion, to make some things off limits, even to someone who loves you. 

Obviously there are practicals, but ultimately short of trying to shut down “aaaugh you are literally on fire” a safeword is BDSM’s best contribution to interpersonal relationships. 

We talked a bit until the raw feelings dissipated, in in the way that we do my words began to arouse him again, drawing his cock back up skyward and him restored. And I took back that purr of presence, by gesture and word telling him I was forcing him to come for me. 

Swift, hard, and with a complex sort of regret. Tease and denial versus making a man come is a bit of wanting to have my cake and eat it too. I want that rapt attention and desperation, but also I want him to have that mind blanking sensation of release. 

And then cozy discussion after, the usual routine, cupped palm to avoid anointing the carpet with thwarted biological imperative, rinse, towel around his middle. Chatting about the week ahead, we pretend covid and the US political situation wasn’t ominously intervening on the earnestness of our longings.

Parting ways a tiny bit of sad quirked, and he picked up on it and asked if something was wrong. I explained that I was just labile after, and it wasn’t his place to need to reassure me for something that was a bit of echo sad for finding a boundary. I told him, honestly, it would dissipate on it’s own.

By the next day it’s mostly gone, and fits into my knowledge that my ability to deserve trust as a dominant is not born of telepathy but testing, and proof that I won’t mangle things when tenderness is needed.

I discussed this with Silver a bit more than his usual read through because it deals so much with his vulnerability. I do ask you treat the privilege of his consent to share with the same respect I do.

September 2020 Link Tie Up

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Domme magazine, the publication by dommes, for dommes
A magazine we wish existed

A link share? In 2020? But why?

I agree, the era of the blog heyday has long since passed, and once Yahoo put a bullet in the back of the head of sexy Tumblr, that removed another leg in the self maintained circle of femdom content.

These days stuff has moved into social media channels: places like Reddit and Twitter, and a rather odd trickle even onto Facebook. Discords are also popular, with a virtual explosion of them, unlinked chat rooms you basically have to stumble over. Of course some people still continue to roll through, like Ferns with her now venerable Domme Chronicles, but many of the big names of the last decade have dwindled into hiatus. E-lust, the post sharing ring, is shutting down this year.

But, I still think there’s a role for a link dump post of stuff I am looking at lately or think is worth sending you off to. The golden age of the blog is done, but the archived, free internet is still an anchor.

I think that’s incredibly important because we are one power mad “protective” legislation away from losing further swathes of freedom to be adults online.

I threw together the image in this post imagining a sort of world where that wasn’t so. “Dømme“as a magazine title is a hat tip to the censors of Instagram, whose anti-sex work and sex negative twitching delist any overt keyword they associate with femdom (and not M/f, of course) in the name of protecting women. Gag.

The picture, itself, was used with the permission of Dommextra, who is one of the most fabulous voices in the femdom-o-sphere. She gives a really candid view inside her relationship, as well as crackly independence and a delightful exploration of of her own power we are all lucky enough to be taken along for the ride for.

One of my favourite parts of her writing, other than addictively shareable relatable femdom tweets, is that she crosses streams, talking about her adventures dipping her toe in the pro side as “Finesse“, and sharing her really pithy insights on the comparisons. With the conversation dominated by swerfs and greedy cheap people, versus almost total lifestyle only erasure, as a femdom I appreciate just how good she is about sharing her experience.

With all of us stuck inside, there’s been an ever blossoming selection of online classes and workshops- usually these would only be accessible if you lived in the geographic area of the event, but Ruby Ryder over at Pegging paradise is offering a web ready set of free pegging classes this month.

Meanwhile, as the impact of the pandemic just slaughtered in person sex work and with the Only Fans boom, there’s other classes in taking things online, put together by groups like Wicked Alliance. Classes range from $22 US to $30 US and tackle topics like finding your niche and green screen work. Ultimately porn is art, and even if the art isn’t for me I can appreciate treating kink content like it’s grown up and worth good production values.

And speaking of awesome adaptions to the current covid climate, OffDutyDominatrix, the store is offering a selection of gothic and fetish look personal masks. I own one and I can say that, without receiving any compensation (Silver bought it as a gift for me) I think it’s my favourite to wear about.

If I were going to try to collect any sort of payment I would drop an affiliate link to Pink Cherry, my absolute bargain basement supplier of cheap sex toys, but I totally did not actually test the riding crops. I just shop from them a lot for rock bottom price stuff I can try- they being the source of my once upon a time Valentine’s riding crop bouquet.

I suppose I will close with a polite request that if you have a virtual event in October or an exciting link you want featured to send me a message, because I will probably try to do another one of these next month!

Sonnet III for Silver

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How can my joy hurt such to make me weep?
Your first words to me at each starting day;
Your last spoken when you stop to sleep.
First in my thoughts, but so very far away

Lithe, love, light and pale as the summer grass;
Clever fast and lusty, gifted in your wit.
Patient with my heart: sharp & frail as glass
Perversity met, matched- as a glove may fit.

My whims & needs as much your fondest treasure
You I may wanton toy, hurt & restrain
& yet you strive to bring me more pleasure
And smile to give your thank yous for the pain.

So if this year’s chances keep us apart
To have you is well worth a heavy heart

I caught myself crying again, while doing laundry. It’s a scary time, with the uncertainty of what might be, between going back to work after sick leave, watching the rather grim situation in the US and the world. But, love is such that, suck or not, I would rather miss him than not have him to miss.

He stoically puts up with my poetry.

The 3 Usual Idiots Trying To Destroy Femdoms

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The Threatened, NCB & the Domme Police

I have a person I know in real life, who is both a professional and lifestyle domme. Since there story is theirs I won’t screen shot it, but I will use the situation as an educational anecdote.

They (the dominant) were doing an AMA as part of a friendly FB thing, with a bit of an educational bent, when Chuckleface slides into the comments and starts picking away at stupid shit- whether a drink was domly enough in her video, etc…

This is, if you are a female dominant, just par for the course. True, male doms occasionally deal with someone trying to get into a weird alpha slap fight, but alongside the regular inbox wankers wailing for attention, you get three different kinds of dingdongs: the Threatened, (NCB) Non-Consensual Brats, and the Domme Police.

The Threatened

Among the Threatened, the guys who do it would tell you it isn’t about gender at all, or they would vomit out some sort of biological essential garbage about the body mass differences. The latter is bold of the sex that has their genitals external to their body. These guys actively seek out any claim a woman might have to even limited power or authority to be triggered by it.

Then, like a particularly fragile masculinity based sea cucumber doing a last ditch fear reaction, out comes their misogynistic guts. In effort to take you down a peg or two, they vomit up everything from out of context accusations of being a man hater, moral railings about your Jezebel ways, to the same tired tangle of speculations on your age, physical body, incompetence, etc…

In their mildest form, the Threatened are violently defending their idealized perfect fantasy from icky real women who don’t fit, but most of the time they just feel so socially insecure that they calamatize that any woman who doesn’t bend to them unmask their soft mess to everyone.

Non Consensual Brats (NCB)

NCB think if they piss you off you will “make” them behave. The best meaning imagine they are being seductive and providing enthusiastic consent by being as unpleasant as possible, while the worst lean into their fantasy over you, seeing your feelings as just another tool to get them where they want to go.

This adds a bonus scary problem if you have disparate sizes and physical resistance. While some dommes, by confidence, personality, or being skilled and swole, can safely take town someone either bigger, or sometimes just physically able enough to pose a significant challenge, this puts you both at risk of an injury neither of you planned or wanted to consent to.

This isn’t, of course, the push and pull of a more primal dynamic, or the well established sass of a wanted fight. NCB are not a “bit of spirit” to spice play. Nor are they the healthy ability of a sub to say no at any point. NCB are a relentless push that thinks dominant consent doesn’t matter, and often refuses to acknowledge how much their own consent is actually supposed to power a dynamic.

At their best, NCBs just need a clue, because they don’t realize they are missing a piece of how kink works. However, NCB may even be a sad reminder a sub orientation doesn’t stop you from being abusive, verbally or physically.

The Domme Police

Amit on Alabaster

Sometimes, mind you, the Domme Police would tell you a challenge is all about making the dominant prove it, because they feel they are the sacred heart testing scales of truth. Only, rather than your heart weighing less than a feather, it needs to weigh more than a pair of floggers to be pure, and there is no cute crocodile to pet.

“Prove you are a dom” breaks dominants and drives femdom away from bothering. Not breaks, as in makes them submissive, just creates this sour taste in the mouth. They, like the fedoras of yesteryear trying to ferret out fake nerd girls, or a bigot questioning if you are a “diversity hire” operate under the assumption you inherently don’t belong here.

Although less explicitly abusive than the often bordering on incel, glass Alpha types of the Threatened, there’s an implicit destructiveness in the gatekeeping that is no less corrosive. In some ways I hate these people more than either of the first two categories.

Who could blame a new domme, or a tired one, for agreeing they don’t fit and looking elsewhere?

Unlike the overt explicit explosion of the Threatened, the problem with these folks is they are masters of making their illogical challenges a test of your mastery. Their self justification is often just the regulation of fakes, and exploitative types and the more adroit trick others into nodding along in the name of “standards”.

But, if you disproportionately provide the community incentive to a woman to sick around of a velcro dildo, you aren’t the tempering forge heat or the winnowing farmer letting only the strong flourish. You are a cancer on BDSM.

You are not, to wander into other, Northern mythos, Heimdall on the bifrost, guarding betwixt sacred kink and dull, profane vanilla. You are Nidhogger, the dragon gnawing away at the roots of the World Tree, destroying a nurturing growth meant not to contain just kink but the entire connected worlds that we travel in and out from to be part of the whole person and larger community.  

And though you whine that BDSM needs experts and you just want safety and subs to get what they deserve, you are never there when missing stairs need nailing. You don’t tend and water those roots, you gorge yourself while secretly hoping the whole tree topples.

The furious energy the Domme Police expend demanding, testing and frankly preying upon the newer or trying to take (always female) teachers down a peg or two is sometimes even a mark of a more cowardly predator, the mask of the first type I mentioned.

Being the Domme Police, like unsolicited NCB behaviour, is just an effective cover to lash out.

In the example of the guy that inspired this post, the unmasking of his past as a serial harasser in other, non-kink communications was swift (and very public) and the handling by the domme presenting her AMA was able to deal with him with patient skill but…

…imagine if femdoms didn’t have to wade through three different flavours of (usually men but not always) idiots trying to actively make this harder for us?

Polishing Silver

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Silver is, among many things, my muse. Lurid and vivid sexual creativity was one of the gifts the fae left for my birth, and love makes me into a better artist.

Every Sunday, minus when he was road tripping to family, or those weekends we managed an in person park picnic, we have Sunday Worship, aka furious mutual masturbation over webcam, aided by teledildonics via the good people at Lovense, and the quieter cooperation of the manufacturers of the Pavlok.

This particular weekend, a Hush was buried in his ass and the app hooked to my phone so he could experience vibrations entirely under my control. I was squeezed into a blue latex number that didn’t just hit him in the fetishes, but punched the target through the wall. It also appealed to me on two axises of desire: my long standing teasing kink (Mercy Maria uses pro-domme work to get herself a reverse harem, I seriously consider stripping as a sexual outlet), and my newly discovered interest in the medium of rubber clothing, itself.

And regardless of the props or where I decide we go this time, my mouth is always spinning out filth: alluring, lewd and descriptive. I’m privately very self critical of my abilities as a hypnosis mistress, but I do have a gift for the erotic gab, and Silver was enraptured at my crooning and storytelling.

The fantasy I almost made Silver hands free cum to last Sunday was telling him about sharing him out to my domme friends. It wasn’t the detail of hands touching, the excess or the cruelties. It was describing him earnestly looking to me, to be sure he was serving them properly, like I wanted. 

It’s that “you endure what they, do but you know it’s all about your Miss” that gets him so bad.

Ultimately Silver is a romantic, in that he doesn’t want to serve any random domme, regardless of having certain aesthetic fetishes. He wants that connection to one person. I don’t think I can fully express how sweet that is.

When he is screaming in mixture of lust and distress because he thinks he is about to cum without permission, well… that’s really gilding the lily.

I am also very big on the intimacy of a singular “person”. I fail at “proper” poly, although I can do some group activities just fine, but the idealized network of loves and separations of relationships in one’s sexuality just… does not work for me. I fall in love and that person is writ large in the sky.

Silver. Silver. Silver. I actually slipped into love more gently than with anyone so far. I am lucky about his amiable patience with my slower roll to “commitment”, but in turn it was not quite the same 2 by 4 to the face that some of the past experiences were, and yet… I prefer coming to love him slowly. I prefer the crush kindled as a certain warm affection that grew and grew until the hearth of my heart was lit bright and hot.

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Fantasies of Taking My Submissive’s Virginity

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Relieve him of his virginity
Manga has everything!

Silver is somewhere out in the Midwest doing family things like the caring, good son that he is, but in that time I am entertained by a fantasy of fucking him.

I already told you that he is a technical virgin. The reality of his “innocence” is, of course complex. He builds desire together with me with sophisticated experience because he didn’t particularly limit himself in exploring his kinks, just (in my perception) the complexities of wading through three miles of waist deep vanilla courtship expectations, just to reach a possible opportunity to try an activity that wasn’t the highlight of his fantasies, provided no incentive.

But I like penis in vagina sex, so it’s on the table. Between Covid-19 and some incredibly complex feelings on my side, it hasn’t happened yet. But, not for lack of desire.

He seems extremely interested in losing his virginity now.

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How To Find A Domme

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Ok! So you are into this, and you want to find a partner to experience your kinks with. You may have been inspired by the porn you’ve watched or seen, or maybe you had a few past experiences with someone that set you on the quest to replicate your discovery, and find a domme. Now what?

This post intends to be a comprehensive introduction to trying to find a woman to dominate you, and the bare bones of getting a femdom relationship to be more likely to happen. Long time readers might think this is all very basic but, it comes up over and over again in discussion forums dedicated to kink, and in my inbox. Should this information help, please share it- it’s a great way to help other kinky folks better get the help they need.

(I do warn that if it seems like I’m using the phrase “find a domme” over and over again, this is intentional. Search engines are dumb and will toss repetition higher in ranking, meaning it’s easier for people like you, the reader, to find this information even if you are stuck googling.)

And, of course, this isn’t the last word I have said or will say on the subject. For a short form version, here’s 8 things to help you find a femdom. I also did a link post on how to find a mistress, for other resources.

So, where to start, to find a domme?

Let’s assume you are the most basic of novices. You are currently a single adult…

You have two options that are fairly different: a professional domme (prodom and dominatrix are other common terms she might use) or the so called “lifestyle femdoms”. The latter are a lot closer to a wife, girlfriend or friend with benefits, as far as finding them, while the former means hiring a sex worker.

Finding A Domme By The Professional Route

[DISCLAIMER] I am a lifestyle only femdom so the information here is not based on being a primary source. There are many professionals who have written more nuanced, insider perspectives on their business.

The chief advantage of the professional route is that you can get the closest from-porn-to-demand experience, and the only strings tend to be basic human respect and a significant outlay of money on your part. Unfortunately most places stigmatize and/or criminalize sex work, so you and your provider both assume some risk. Note that of the various sex workers you could see, the prodom is less likely to offer explicitly sexual contact (touching your genitals, sometimes even pegging) than many other categories (such as escorts, massage parlours, etc…). Also, depending on the laws of you area, the conversation on how to try things like pegging can still be complicated.

Professional femdoms are usually extremely up front about their advertising, although they range on skill, experience and selectiveness.

You can expect her to ask for references or some sort of identity verification on your part, and a deposit is normal. It is ok to politely ask for references from her, and most professionals are extremely patient with the new and confused. She almost certainly has a website or clear guidelines on what she wants, and your ability to follow those are going to be part of how she screens to make sure you are not terrible.

Not ready for in person? There is also a whole host of remote services, from camgirls and phone sex (now voip enabled!), to women who work as a sort of adults only influencer, producing porn content through sites like OnlyFans or Clips4Sale, but allowing you to pay for more personalized fan access.

Do keep in mind that a prodom is probably is not looking for a full time relationship, and she vastly prefers if you read whatever pricelist, client requirement or menu she has published as a FAQ. Expect her to be extremely strict with her boundaries and time- she has to be.

I’ve already spoke exhaustively about the trade offs in other posts here and why I make a big deal about not being a pro femdom. However, speaking from a less me focused perspective: In your paid experience, expect her to be in the business of creating an immersive fantasy. She may be personally into what she is doing and a lot of pros value their vocation, but her connection with you is a lot closer to other forms of body work and emotional labour, like a barber, personal trainer, massage therapist, or a life coach. Don’t expect this to be the gateway into magic kink land where she lives as she does in a session, at all times.

Nonetheless, the connection you share might be intimate and meaningful. What she is offering is not fake, just that she’s deeply simplifying everything for you and taking a lot of the up front risks.

The Lifestyle Femdom Search

Here’s the illusion buster: a non-pro relationship means dealing with the whole woman. Much of the same challenges of heterosexual dating and hooking up exist here, except there’s the extra bonus that many dommes sincerely don’t realize what they are into could overlap with what you are into.

There are a vanishingly small number of women looking for pick-up-play with people, much like it’s hard to find women actively seeking a vanilla one night stand. I don’t personally feel women are less horny than men, but unless you are living under a rock, you know the social and physical risk, and the high chance of an unsatisfying experience generally favour being much more restrained, and hiding your interests, than it does for a man.

Find a Domme By Meeting A Lot of Women

Sorry, part of this is a numbers game. I wish I could tell you that you could easily follow a quick flow chart of steps 1 through 37, but you, the human have to do all the stuff that makes humans generally attractive (good health, a passing awareness of fashion and what looks good on you, learning how to carry on a conversation) and talk to people.

I can give you some tips to make your search more efficient, but this is still not going to be fair or necessarily easy. You could be a nervous virgin or the local Lothario, but the path to finding a partner doesn’t especially change just because you have particular needs.

Looking in the Kink Community to Find a Domme

Your nearest BDSM community has a few openly dominant women, either switches or not, and some of these women are more casual about who they play with. This is not a bad port of call to start with, but absolutely go into this not with the desire to bag a girl right away and skip off into the sunset, but put yourself in the proximity of kinky women and to learn stuff.

And… don’t just try to learn from the dominant women. Talk to the other male subs. Talk to the male doms. Talk to the female subs. Talk to the switches. Talk to the plethora of nonbinary humans who may fall anywhere on the spectrum of kink interest. Think of it as your chance to sponge up information about anything from safe play, where to buy or how to make gear, and new kinks to try, through to watching other people’s drama as educational bad examples.

Vanilla Places to Find a Domme

Your next best place to find a femdom is in alternative or nerdy communities. Goths, pagans, LARPers, tabletop RPGs, polyamory support groups, the burlesque scene and so on tend to favour women who are more open minded and imaginative, and this tends to extend further to their approach to the bedroom. Again, this isn’t a slam dunk scenario where you can order a dominant out of a catalog, but if you find someone you have mutual attraction to, the conversation is likely to go a lot more smoothly.

More on flirting and asking for what you need later, because the third best place to look is your immediate pool of who you would normally date. The trick, when you want to find a domme in your own pool of typical matches (co-workers, friends of your friends people who share your hobby, religion or ethnicity, even people on dating sites) is knowing how to get that conversation open without embarrassing or scaring either of you.

Asking For What You Want

Tell the average woman you want to be dominated, and she will not know specifically what you mean by that. She probably has some pop culture ideas of the gothy, harsh mistress in a corset who doesn’t particularly like men. She probably also has some equally terrible stereotypes about what sub guys look and act like. Unfortunately, parallel to your quest to find a Domme, femdoms have their own barriers to self discovery. Therefore, how you frame the subject will go a long way to how it comes across and one of your main goals is avoiding getting you both stuck in unappetizing stereotypes.

This is not because all women want a hyper dominant alpha bull god who is 6’11” and counter balances his enormous penis by stuffing his back pockets with thick wads of cash. This is because the commonly understood idea of what a dominatrix is, outside of those with much real experience with kink, is a service job meets every negative stereotype about women. Even if you absolutely positively mean that when you want to find a domme you want just the fetish mistress in the leather uniform who hates acts like they don’t like you, you will still need to break down what you want, and what boundaries that will happen in.

You need to answer what it means to you, personally, to find a Domme, before you can communicate that to a partner.

Do you just like her being the ultimate arbiter of things in your relationship at large? Do you like nurturing and pampering? Do you get aroused from feeling jealous? Do you like the sense of humiliation? Or is it being helpless? Or both? Or is it being extremely looked after and cherished?

Do you have specific fetishes like feet, or being spanked? Do you want things in your butt? Do you want a plastic or metal thing on your genitals she carries the key to? Wear lingerie?

If you can’t answer those questions, she won’t be able to figure out what makes your cock throb. If she likes sex and she likes you, she probably wants to know more. But, if your plan is to just go supine at her feet and say you want to be dominated, expect your quest to find a domme to be a disaster. You need self knowledge.

Of course, if you have no practical experience, your likes and dislikes are theoretical. Nonetheless, you can still probably break down your porn to particular aesthetics, acts, etc…

Flirting Like a Sub and Being Attractive to Women

If you haven’t noped out by this point, and are still reading… Let’s talk about advertising yourself. I already told you to play the numbers game, now you optimize.

Being attractive. Every human has the potential to improve on what they were born with. Maybe you look like an emaciated toe after the scurvy set in, but someone fucked your ancestors. Knock out the low hanging fruit (hygiene, fit of your clothing, any health problem you can afford to treat, cardiovascular fitness and enough muscle to hold your body upright).

What do the women you find attractive generally go for? Ok, take “Creep” off your stereo. There’s all sorts of personal, subculture specific sorting people do. Beyond that, what media do these women consume? What do advertisers try to sell them as far as men? This is how to human 101, but I am writing this assuming you got the masculine upbringing that specifically punished you, explicitly or implicitly from showing an interest in girly things, so if you are a normal fellow I am giving you valuable recon information.

Playful surrender and alluring teasing. Ok, fine, now the good stuff. Your teeth are brushed. Your shirt fits. You realized the kind of $blonde you like generally prefer hangs out with guys who affect a surfer look. Whatever. The nice part about kink is it is actually surprisingly polite to take public. Flirting as a sub is all about sending out test balloons.

No, obviously you can’t ask your coworker flat out to be your keyholder as the first word go. Flirting is about building up a slowly escalating rapport which, because humans are so notoriously bad at judging, lets either of you safely exit the process at any time

I have a pet theory that the ability to navigate social nuance is the true peacock display, swollen rump or stag horn grapple of the human species, but leaving off the pet evolutionary biology theories of the author, and back to helping you…

The three things you need in your would be domme are the enjoyment of being in a one up position, a degree of open mindedness and/or a creative but romantic streak, and an attraction to male vulnerability.

Your best flirting tactics to open the conversation and test the ground is to see how she reacts to you casting her as in charge (eg “you’re the boss, yes ma’am, I know who’s the queen of the office, I know my place around you”). To see about how likely kink is going to go poorly, check how she responds to what if scenarios (eg if she has a great deal of scorn for non-conformity in her peer and an assumption people only work a particular way in gender roles, she probably won’t respond well to the idea of pegging you). Lastly, check how she sees men in distress, pain, etc. Empathy is the twin of sadism, so being very caretaker-y or liking comedy where the victim suffers could both be examples of tells. Your job is to not escalate too fast, and both give you room to step off, if you need to show her no harm done, or segue back into just friends.

Lastly I want you remember that every relationship is unique to the people involved. It’s probably going to be a fusion of your aesthetics, tastes, kinks, things that you mutually create and discover, and the exact same for hers. Your functional femdom will probably not look off the rack, straight from the porn or otherwise be by the numbers. Embrace the custom fit.

Thus, I am not promising you a magic bullet, but you will end up a fair lot closer to your goal than if you just set out to find a domme cold. And hey, I pay for my own hosting, toss a Kofi to your blogger?

Covert Kink, Desperation, and Crossborder Femdom in Covid19

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I don’t want to make a spectacle. Regardless of my personal politics of wanting a world where collars are as welcome as wedding rings, we want to go some place private and fuck, not have our covert kink in a national park.

I want him chained to my bed, instead I am picking a goth lite outfit, and a cream and blue picnic tablecloth, while refreshing the weather report over and over again.

We definitely do not want to make our way through the neatly manicured lawns of the park, and past every other couple doing the same thing to find this relative privacy. I have to throw a blanket over our laps because my nibbling on his ear gets him rock hard, and all our twining up together causes my skirt to ride up to my waist.

From time to time there is a pause as passerbys stray too close. We are mindful of the fact that this is a “family” park. I think there was even a wedding going on at one point.

Fuck. I want to practice the glide of a strapon in and out of his ass, and instead we are discovering an advanced form of footsie.

A boomer grandpa, local, notes we have been there almost long enough “to pay taxes”. Silver deflect politely would that jocular kind of conflict prevention Midwest politeness that he seems to manage to keep everyone at arm’s length with. 

I really, really don’t want any of these people involved in my love life, but here we are, like a couple of teenagers dodging our parents, sighing with a sticky yearning that glues our gaze to each other. This is time two, last time was for my birthday, covertly hypnotizing my submissive at the park.

But it’s a date, and I have taken care with my makeup, although the humidity pulls my dark hair into curls. A halo of short pieces standing up about my scalp, while the first hints of my grey hair peek where I will brush dye this week to turn it back dark. Nonetheless, I feel content that I look pretty, and feel myself. The only real hint of sexuality is black thigh highs, opaque and fixed to my pale skin with sock glue.

Silver’s dressed casually too, just like last time. Fabric soft to my touch, tasteful, and if you didn’t know there was a pattern, rather camouflaged by maleness to appear invisible. I guess the word is Normcore? I like it. He makes me feel safe in a way I haven’t figured out how to articulate completely yet.

He also brings other supplies in a black duffel bag, and a slightly imperfect latte order, which he handles getting wrong with an acceptance I prefer. The picnic lunch for me is berries, olives, cherries and smoked salmon, and for him a simple wrap.

I meet him where the path leads off into the American parking, hopping the edge of a decorative flower bed to get closer quicker to kiss him. Over the course of this long quarantine he’s lost a little bit of weight, and I feel it when we press together. As usual he has almost no scent other than the imperceptible pheromones that I suppose you can’t really put a smell label to, but there is that warmth in aliveness of another human, and that presence that I love.

By now in our relationship I’ve learned the density of his body the stiffness so well, I could recognize him by touch. It’s an exploration that started the first time I pushed him down onto his carpet. I can’t be so bold, here in the park.

But femdom isn’t about the obvious costumes, and it isn’t about needing elaborate furniture. It’s not even about sweeping gestures you can see from a mile away. I can be subtle and I can be so appropriate I could carry on in the front pews of a church. I fit our dynamic into this space, where it belongs.

The only hint of what we’ve done so far is like an inside joke only we get: a pocket watch that hangs around my neck on a long brass tinted chain. It doesn’t look naughty, and if you weren’t a hypnosis fetishist or you didn’t know what we did together, you wouldn’t know what it implied. When I show it to him, after we’re cuddled up together, he ends up with his hand wrapped around. 

It’s less what I do, this time, but what it means.

It means I love him. It means that I see the idea of swinging a watch and speaking in a trance pulling sing-song sexy. It means that I meet him half-way on any perversion, not out of indulgence but because it makes me wet.

So much of kink really is just elaborately overwrought romantic gestures with a fig leaf of harshness. All the business of collars and promises of obedience, and the other ridiculous backstage scaffold to make power exchange work, ridiculous romantic drama. I swear half the attraction to this is your ability to go over the top and keep your street cred.

Take our little bit of sneaky bondage: binding Silver’s wrists with a hand dyed grey silk ribbon. The gesture is covert kink again and not so obviously in bondagey anyone can tell what we are doing. Later, the ribbon ends up around his neck as an eccentric accessory.

Who specifically obsesses for weeks over finding ribbon soft and perfect enough to be suitable? The poor etsy purveyor who expected to sell it to decorate bridal bouquets contends with a lower star rating because I think it frays too much for the aesthetic I wanted.

I care so darn much about these things.

Meanwhile, his urge to serve means he has yet again brought me flowers, this time pink lilies, with almost tiger like stripes. He wants to give more to me. I can tell he really does.

Normal relationships don’t let you do that kind of thing. You would come across as weird and obsessive. Maybe on special ritual occasions it would be permitted, but things like him automatically bringing me a bouquet just for this casual little hangout (at least for white educated, middle class leftie nerds), would otherwise be seen as a bit much. Here? Perfect.

I think as much as people focus on kink as whips, leather and giving yourself as an object, kink is just as much about the permission to transgress social boundaries without transgressing personal boundaries. It’s the meaning we assign to symbols, not the symbols themselves that have the power.

And some covert kink is more physically hidden.

It’s funny, even with hours of the spooning up together, for the first half we talked about very little. I suppose that’s why they call it sweet nothings; coming up with a dozen synonyms to say that you love someone.

He discovered a new cruelty in this situation. Because we do not want this to be shared with the public, when I touch him, I command him not to move. Not one wriggle, hump or thrust. Nothing to get more sensation than what I give him, and the moment that unavoidable biological programming makes him break, I stop.

And then he collects himself and, when I know I won’t violate anyone else’s comfort, I start again.

He says I have ruined him in a dreamy sort of voice, before flopping off to the side. It’s terribly butterflies inside producing for me, making him this helpless.

The worst, for him, is when he is kneeling in front of me, just about the length of my legs, far enough to have to lean to kiss me. My dextrous feet find the outline of his cock through his pants and up between his leg, pressing that spot where that length of his cock tucks back into his body. Silver is built so it is uniquely close to the surface, and that grab between the legs turns him into a submissive puddle. This is barely a pat, but because we have that shared memory, if I can’t just handle him like we do in private, I can take him close to that place.

I have long toes, and a fair amount of flexibility in my feet. This is easy, sitting sock footed, grinding and stroking his cock with the ball and arch of my left foot, while my right keeps up the pressure on his perineum. All this is concealed away under a blanket and his palms, by my command, stay flat on the ground. It’s also memories of being a silly dumb teenager in a park with another virgin, doing way too much PDA. He’s “middle aged”, I am almost there. I see what people mean when they say love makes you feel young again.

Remember: No moving. No hints. Keep it hidden. Keep it tasteful.

At one point he gets so overwhelmed that he reveals another quirk: his natural tendency to bite.

The poor thing is self conscious about it. I had my suspicions when he out of the blue suggested biting my breasts the first time he got his mouth on them. He swore he was simply anticipating my masochism.

Silly man, your secrets are all mine eventually. I know what you crave even before you have learned to articulate it.

The next round of teasing my hand is in his mouth, ordering him to bite down. I am much too aroused to find this painful and I enjoy forcing him into what he likes.

It’s a fun kind of dehumanizing. After, each time I have matched prints and realize some upper middle class dental requirements of his childhood took a couple of the front teeth, to give him that perfect white, even American smile.

He seems perplexed at the tooth imprints  even as I admire them, and kisses them at my command. He says he feels like he should apologise and I tell him if he does that I will slap him.

I watch his mind process that, until a smile of complete content smugness washes over his face. He realized the game is rigged: He always wins, exactly the way I want him to.

One apology later and I deliver a pop-slap from a short distance, discreetly but with a sting. That’s the least covert kink activity the whole time, very careful.

The real and heavy.

The last hour gets oddly serious because I talk about my trauma. We are discussing the general operation of our brains- him navigating not wanting to insult me by saying that had our connection via pastimes ceased, prior to the revelation of my interest in him and my kinks he would have continued merrily along in bachelor isolation.

Nerd love. He is an island unto himself, I described myself as having a personal affect like the Prince Ali number midway through Aladdin. I am not an open book, I am an animated billboard spelling out my seemingly innermost thoughts.

You, reader, cannot hurt me as you have no access to this vulnerability: that I could be made happy in a way that made me care if I got more. Silver and I have managed to mutually catch each other by something we deeply need.

So it takes more courage to gently let him know just how insecure I am. That my initial refusal of random acts of delivery soup when I am ill, or being doted on with material things is a particular kind of lengthy damage.

There’s that Hozier song “It will come back”.

I know who I am when I’m alone/

Something else when I see you/

You don’t understand, you should never know/

How easy you are to need/

Hozier

The kind of damage you give a child by alternatively depriving and smothering them. Where they learn to be wary in love, because that’s how you get got.

It’s not a kink thing, where I dominate because my mother abused me and my father abandoned me. My desires exist separate to that. On the contrary the predation of my kinks get tangled up in the gunshy vulnerability of a serial abuse victim- I don’t feel submissive in this vulnerability, but I feel more cautious because to let someone submit to me is to open myself to joy.

It’s always been easy to love someone, and never been easy to be loved properly.

Last week, as well as enduring seventeen days of migraine, I examined my history in the context of past relationship choices. Brain weasels skip about. I feel incredibly embarrassed about this.

But it is who I am and what I feel.

Canada will later extend the border closure, surprising neither of us. By the time this is written, the park will be closed again on the Canadian side, citing that the sheer parking overflow was causing issues, even if the meetings themselves were safe. A petition to reopen the park is at over 2500 signatures now, and ticking up, but who knows when or if I will hold him in my arms again?

But, we endure. What other choice do we have, for now?

Image provided with permission, by Pen & Kink

Hypnotising My Submissive At The Park

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“The more you desire me, the more obedient you become. The more obedient you become, the more you desire me.”

Initially, the syllables don’t flow easily, but the loop pleases me. After I’ve taken him down with simple breathing exercises, timed with counting, I make him repeat them until they come out in a smooth mantra.

He is so relaxed in my arms, I am cradling his head, controlling how he flops back onto the bright gingham checked picnic cloth. It’s about two in the afternoon and we are both making the best of things on international territory, a park that lets us be together in person while a border is mostly shut.

To anyone observing, we are one of the many couples here, in their invisible bubbles, slithered up to one degree of intimacy or another. We are not the most bold, that point goes to the wriggling pair who brought a blanket, nor as practical as the two or three who brought a tent. I don’t think anyone could be brought up on a public indecency charge, but it’s a common state of shared longing.

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