My 2020 Blog Report Card

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Personal favourite post

Silver, Before I Kissed HimMy blog was only just starting to kick back up when I put this together. something of a love letter to a no-strings-attached hook up that I had not expected to do more than restore my rather repressed libido to some measure of confidence.

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On Having A Cross Border BDSM Relationship During Covid

There is a point of comparison between how the safe drama of BDSM and ,the shockingly intense effect a pandemic both weigh on a relationship. One comes from a place of fundamentally healthy intensity, the other forces you to find something to cling to that’s good feeling, just to stop the inherent emotions of a crisis from making you crack. Add the first burning flare of a new relationship and it’s been months of yearning. It’s been a year.

Oh my god, it’s been a year.

We’ve gone from from first kisses at midnight and taking travel for granted, to leaping through hoops to even get to hold hands. I’m writing this in the melancholy cloud of self pity that comes from not getting to spend our One Year Anniversary (TM) together in person. But there’s a certain awareness that at least I have the capacity, despite all this distance, despite getting my own go with Covid, to feel something close to blessed.

Blessed is an odd word, since how we casually use it mostly means fortunate. I don’t think there’s a deity giving out favours, but I can see how when things feel unfair in your favour it is more comforting to believe it. In our case, Silver and I are fortunate in two senses, that he is the one I get to miss so very painfully, and that I get to miss him like this. Not everyone gets even what we have.

Not that I expected it same time last year, but let’s do a retrospective of how we got here: From scratching an itch with a cute sub guy, to deciding there was a pretty good body of evidence this might be my Person.

I thought fretting if I was rebounding after a break up in 2019 was going to be my biggest pathos. I though Silver was Mr. What I Needed Right Now, and I’d work the rest out later. At the time, and you can see it documented month over month, I figured slow was better. At the best of times I am good at feeling things hard, and I wanted to be careful with my heart. I mapped out a month by month calendar of careful escalations. But, people plan, and God laughs, so the saying goes. My commitment to the Aesthetic has nothing on the adaptions we must put love to, to live in and with a pandemic.

And I think of the sentiment, the impacts we put of old concepts: Dating. Courting. Love letters. Shame. Adventure. Simplicity.

I already mentioned that Covid had a sort of time machine effect on relationships, so I suppose I expand on that point. For good or for ill, this has been a ridiculously romantic situation. I don’t mean to say that the sufferings of billions is my immature backdrop. This is no renting an antebellum plantation so the columns will look good in your wedding photos.

This is romantic in the sense that the obstacles add a conflict you have to face together. Where everything is a monumental struggle, so the least bit of your efforts to reach each other has all the more impact. And it’s a lot of yearning, and time to think about missing them.

On Romance

I wish I had saved the origin, but in the ship wars that spill over into Twitter, a fragment of an argument slipped past: Romantic, in fiction, isn’t actually the model of what a relationship should be, it’s drama. Drama necessarily mean a certain degree of angst, discomfort and pathos. Stick “Grand” in front of the word “Romance” and you probably can guarantee deadly peril too.

In this pandemic, everyone flails around for a story to make sense of it. The Spanish Flu and the Blitz are popular. Sometimes we trot out war metaphors from other conflicts. I see the point, to a degree. I had not expected food shortages, sheltering in place or blocked travel would be part of my adulthood. I hadn’t expected to get sick in a pandemic, though I suppose I assumed there would eventually be some acute calamity or another. I just thought it was going to be a natural disaster or a personal crisis. My imagination stretching to earth quakes and car crashes, not long, long months of nothing to do while everything happened.

Covid, ultimately, is going to be Covid, in the stories after this. We’re nowhere near out, with it’s long tail aftershocks on the economy predeicted to last long after we are all hopefully stabbed twice and set back out into the working world. But, for now it’s the older meaning of the term “romance” we seek comfort in, meaning a story, often grand in scope.

I am sure it wasn’t Tolkien’s Hobbit that made participating-under-protest Bilbo the first hero self aware of the unpleasantness of the practical details of adventure. Nonetheless, the Hobbit and it’s titular species are the lives of most of us. Sure we have personal pains, but most of us go out of our way to avoid anything epic, because we are not self destructive.

And yet, in the awful can we farm a lot of just plain awe.

We are all aware of the fact that bad things breed good chemistry. The shared experience of suffering, even ritual and light suffering, bonds you to new friends and compatriots fast. Much has been said of the addictive nature of rollercoaster relationships, no matter how much they tend to behave a lot more like steamrollers to our lives and real happiness. So, what about the inherent drama of kink?

I believe that one facet of BDSM’s appeal is putting that lightening in a bottle. Like taking up sword fencing or tae kwan do, or immersing yourself in a nice novel, you get all the advantages and high energy of what would be bad otherwise, and none of the messes. A beating ends with check ins and aftercare. A scene almost always begins with both parties having the understanding of the ride the are on and where it is going. BDSM relationships really don’t get much worse than vanilla ones can, but can have a significant uplift than the alternative.

Perversity breeds a language for obsession, foreplay for days, and investment. I know a lot more kinky folks who are REALLY into their partners and the relationship itself, than vanilla couples. (I think people who are living a $Religion Lifestyle are the only ones I see otherwise so reliably obsessed in building a big thing off being together)

Now try being kinky, dating with a lot of firsts that are symbolic even for vanilla folks, and then have a pandemic crash through your world.

Let us be clear, in these times I exist in a position of relative safety and advantage. I survived Covid with only mild respiratory damage. Silver and I work from home, and live a not unreasonable commute from the only easy to reach neutral ground between our nations in the world. We even managed a visit in October, because I could afford a $250 flight and a $60 uber, where I plucked his technical virginity.

After, I confided that I had not expected it to impact me as much, to feel so bonded. I had lost my own technical virginity with the speed and enthusiasm of a teen breaking in her first pair of Doc Martens. Literally. I snapped my hyman like I was trying to make something transform from painful and chafing, to the badge of experience and the power I wanted fucking to symbolize. Control. Freedom. Artificially extended childhood through “purity”, as the larger body of adults recommended, constricted.

So it was bewildering to feel something a little more real just from popping a little rubber bag on his cock and making him ejaculate inside me. And it was reassuring to be told that he also felt like something relevant had passed between us. Uh, did True Love really wait? Snrk.

I love him, rather intensely. Did I mention that?

In November, after passing quarantine confinement for the first part, we made a last pilgrimage to the Peace Arch. The sky, which had turned Cascadia grey by my return home from Washington and dumped water daily, gave us a break for one perfect Friday afternoon.

Understand, of course that this park meeting would be unthinkable if we didn’t lead very constricted lives. Numbers of infections are watched in British Columbia and Washington. Even so, this was the tail of the year, with few leaves in the trees and the earth even more muddy than our first May meeting. And the park had only a few well swaddled few, more border guards than guests.

These days, there’s a significant pressure, and for good reason, to be as good as possible. The intimacies of my picnics feel as daring as the carnality of my sex life, if not more so. I worry that I made my calculations wrong. I worry that if I tell you, even here in a fairly shielded sex blog I will end up earning some sort of scarlet C. And guilt too, because some people don’t have a means to see the one they love at all. And woven into this shame, is a sort of awareness of the larger struggles from time past.

So much hope and want, all poured into one thermos!

I made oxtail soup from scratch in my roomate’s instant pot. Simple, carrots, celery and onion, the latter diced nice and fine, and a little tomato paste and herbs from the last on my balcony. I wrapped the thermoses in a pretty tea towel, making the most simple thing we were stuck with as special as I could. He brought pumpkin pies capped with Chantilly cream, rich and perfect. After the bandstand proved occupied by one of the few other people (the seemed to be doing some sort of group therapy), we stole away to make a plastic tablecloth and blanket nest at the door of the little building that serves as a kitchen-for-rent in better days.

I wish I could tell you of some great erotic secret game we played, but the truth was I had a migraine that made me ache until he began to stroke along my back and neck. Though there was more than captured kisses, there wasn’t the full lavished torments to the degree we sometimes do.

The truth is that I’d seen that arch that’s a monument to our respective nation’s diplomatic peace a good dozen times now, and until now I though it was trite and over stated. It’s League of Nations styled optimism that the First World war got it out of our system at long last, refreshed just this year with new white paint on a hulking structure that’s too public to pretend its a lost gate to Narnia, or some such. But there, framed by trees shedding their last leaves, and cuddled close against the wind, the fact that the gate was essentially closed hurt. It was a family heirloom you took for granted as “that old thing” now pawned, or lost in a fire.

Here we were, almost quaint enough to make the most Family Values oriented elder cluck indulgently at us. This picnic was all we had. Sure, I wanted him back in a rubber bondage sack with his hard cock peeping, and every fiber of his being focused on what I might do next, but it’s going to take either great age or a traumatic brain injury to make me forget that afternoon.

The soup arrived still so hot it burnt my tongue, but I want to make it again. And I can’t tell you if the pumpkin tarts were the best I have ever had, or if that was the moment’s energy giving them the flavour, but ultimately, if my meat prison is giving me intense happiness in a pile of things I would have previously thought were mundane, I will take it.

We hoped hard, in a few weeks, things might stay as easy as they had in October and maybe, just maybe, one more meeting to end the year. One more hand on throat, midnight kiss to seal 2020 with the same hope we entered it with.

And after.

The panedemic got worse, of course. We know, you’re reading it with me. The optimism that I had thought perhaps to risk an imprudent NYE rendez vous all abated. I MISS HIM. I won’t see him or hold him or pin him in place and hurt him for months.

The park’s awash in the sky’s further blessings: wet snow, and here I am making a tearful record. I shan’t fill his ass with anything, but toys at my direction. I have to reassure my beautiful, perfect man that my crying isn’t some ill he did me, but the awareness of wanting.

And the pictures we send back, well, his pale face and perfect dark blue eyes have a little sad. The hair he grew out long enough to yank will have its trim. I suspect he just packed the bounty of gifts he wanted to get me into a big box an freighted it to me, instead of getting to watch as I blushed redder and redder at each unwrapping and put kisses on his neck to hide my face.

There’s a rubber armbinder still in tissue, waiting for me to join him and strap him in. There’s promise unrealized, things I hope for. Even our relationship, at one year at the end of the month, has crazy holes we will have to wait to back fill. We have spent barely three days together in a row, and still need to determine if four is too much. I have to let time keep going forward to get there.

I will comfort myself. I make the effort to dress and pretty up as if the pandemic barrier might drop at any minute and I would need to drop everything to see him. (with laws in place, I doubt it will go that fast). After January, I will buy a short whip, and take it to the nearest park to learn to aim it, so the next time we are alone, even if he’s stolen from me again, I can send him back with welts.

I will progress as best I can with what we have for now. And it will be some comfort that although hot soup and a picnic are now the height of decadent luxury, they feel like much, much more.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Doggy Style

She rolled back, butt towards her heels, arms unbending so her head is low and her hair pooled on the floor. She looked back over her shoulder, at the anonymous effect of the leather mask on his face, and the line of the lead pulling taut from his collar.

He was hard for her, want etched across his body, her posing holding him enthralled, tighter than the lead. She’d stripped him, earlier, teasing him about his eagerness to rut, telling him he was like a dog that had scented a bitch.

“And I am just the Bitch to breed you, aren’t I?”

That was a loaded word. Bitch for her: harsh high and unfeeling. His occasional wearing of the label: lowly, desperate and needy. This time she taunted him at how much he wanted to fuck, told him he was little more than an animal even as she jerked his cock.

Words tugged at him as she squirmed against him and crooned in his ear to admit it and say it out loud, that he was her dog, nothing but an animal, brainless, desperate, and her cunt convulsed as she pressed her thighs together.

She made a show of presenting the mask to him so he could see the black snout and pointed ears, a shape she thought was more doberman than anything else. She liked the fit, the way he looked at her through its eyes, hungry, humiliated and yet wanting more.

She made him pant for her. No barking, she didn’t like the abrupt sounds, but growls instead of groans while she buckled the collar and led him, from the chair, across the room.

He saw her shed her clothes, what little she had been wearing when they started playing and the revelation of high, small pointed breasts, and a heavy roundness to her ass that tapered to the tight pinch of her waist. 

Tugs to the leash pulled him closer before she settled into position, dropping to her knees with grace, and then all fours with her elbows bent. When she caught his eye the pose extended…

…And he had a direct view of the split of her body, shameless in her power. She giggled, “Caught my scent, did you?”

Her cunt was a wet dark slash. Brown lips around dark pink, glossy. The leash tug told him what to do next and the mask let him tilt his head to press his real mouth to her. It was more nuzzle than lick, at first, getting himself marked with her.

She smelled of musk and tasted of lemon and salt, but soon this treat was pulled away from him and his leash was yanked.

“Mount me.”

He knew his part and her intent, hands to her sides, cock pressing, letting her own back writhe and the slick home it to hilt. Hot, just the space for him and not more.

His fingers dug into the softness of her hips and her command encouraged, “Fucking rail me.”

And she used him, devouring that energy as he drove into her.

She didn’t count the thrusts, making cries into the floor, welcoming triumph. “Harder!”

Her taste was still in his mouth and his sweat starting to bead. Her hand hand slid to reach back and tweak her clit.

“I’m going to c..” He tried to warn. Wild pounding thrusts gave him little leeway, her clear enjoyment even less

“Dogs don’t talk!” She grunted. And then her attention was elsewhere as he felt the clench and squeeze of her coming. Something about the spasm of muscle pushed him out and her forwards, but then he came in a single spurt he couldn’t stop, and a second pulse, a white line across her back and another dripped from him and across her sprawled thigh below him.

From the floor, in a c curl, with him collapsed nearby, she took a breath and sighed out, “Good boy.”


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Femdom Review – Libidex Matrix Latex Catsuit For Women

matrix latex cat suit review

So you were looking for a latex cat suit and you were considering getting the Female Matrix Catsuit from Libidex…

I got the Matrix, my first latex catsuit, as a gift from Silver, who seems to be spending his entire personal entertainment budget trying to wrap me in head to toe rubber, an activity I am not at all resisting. One thing we noticed, however, is the lack of easy to find reviews. The sites that sell them (in this case Libidex), usually have a user submitted section for comments with stars.

Reviews from other people are important, for a number of reasons. For most enthusiasts, latex clothing remains very much the mail order fetish gear (or to update terms, online shopping situation) it was 100 years ago. Often involving significant international shipping. While there’s a whole thriving review industry for sex toys, mostly dildoes and other thing designed to get people with vaginas off, latex seems to be largely a matter of word of mouth, or scrounging old forum posts where some blessed soul spread sheeted a list of brands.

So, my experience with the Matrix Latex Catsuit for women?

This is a footed, full neck to toe latex catsuit available in a scope of different colours. Mine is a size medium, in basic black. My version has their standard thickness latex (o.5 mm). A triple zipper pull system lets you open an access window, probably best for sex, but also bathroom breaks without having to undress, and I suppose, getting your tits out if you would prefer that.

Price: Regular £245 (or $326.77 USD or $424.54 CAD) – get on their mailing list for frequent sales.

Want more? Keep reading.

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Femdom Review: Tempting the Domme by Golden Angel

Available: Kindle, Audible, Paperback

Author Page: Golden Angel

How did I get this? I bought it.

Contents: Modern Femdom Romance, Hooking up with the Boss, Kink Club, Stand Alone In Series

Did I like It? It’s ok.

I feel bad when I don’t like something, because there’s so few F/m works targeted at women. Tempting the Domme isn’t bad, per say, but there’s a few things I just couldn’t get past. In the first place the setting, a pair of BDSM clubs called the Stronghold and the Marquis, had traditions taken from the worst kind of trying to justify itself BDSM-as-a-culture. Next, the male lead repeatedly ignore the ostensible Domme’s “stop doing that”. Finally there’s too many characters, and I didn’t need to know about a catalogue of their goings on, nor do I think anything of note really happened to any of the side characters worth dedicating so much time to them.

Uhgh, the author, who seems to normally nail out perfectly serviceable M/f romances, doesn’t deserve my fussiness. Maybe this would work for someone else? She clearly is familiar with how BDSM actually works, and her sex scenes pass the possible and chemistry present test. But, I don’t think making the heroine that resistant to the situation is doing the book any favours and ultimately that swayed my away from liking it.

The premise is a “He’s the Boss So It’s A Bad Idea”, which isn’t the worst way to stop a simple, modern relationship transaction from resolving in chapter one. However there’s so much additional accidental showing of how the sub, Luke, has the Domme, Olivia, at a disadvantage. She manages the Marquis, he has part ownership. He’s forever walking into her office to deliver gifts, calling her a pet name she tells him to never call her, etc. The text reminds us repeatedly it’s ok because Olivia secretly likes it and her attraction to him (and lack of hard no) is consent.

This isn’t like, weird Gor style all women want to be taken hard nonsense. But the book very much does not believe reluctance is a reason to stop. And more than just owning part of her work place, those squintillion characters (all heroes of their own books) who make up the social network, including the other owners Olivia is under, are gung ho about mashing the pair together even though she is clearly wildly uncomfortable.

Coercion takes different forms, and I empathized with Olivia identifying that the whole scenario put her in a huge risk if it didn’t work out.

So it isn’t just her singular employer, it’s her other employers, their significant others and her colleagues all finding Luke’s aggressive pursuit of her not only exciting, but a great deal of text is dedicated to everyone caring very much about her personal life. I don’t feel the author realized how much this actually undermined Olivia. I was more scared for her here, where the people were the center of her world were more concerned about a HEA for Luke than how unhappy it made her, than I was for the later Narrative Peril.

For all 25% of the text is dedicated to talking about the safe, protective nature of the club’s teaching and practices, it seemed to be protesting too much.

As for things that we didn’t need, there were also pages of X likes Y but Y likes Z level explanations of social dynamics I can’t figure out why, as a person reading one book in a series, we care about. Between the new characters in the sub class and the regular cast from other books, it honestly became hard to keep track of who was what. Unfortunately Olivia’s perspective didn’t really seem like she liked anyone much either, which as a domme reading about a domme navigating an almost entirely M/f world ended up contributing to the deep sense of not belonging.

There’s a few touches I did like: Olivia’s anxious disguised as aloof domme ego, and sense of self in relation to that. The unusual inclusion of Luke still smarting from a breakup where he was called boring, was interesting. Additionally the author really hit her stride with the exploration of his in scene submissive mindset- it is more realistic than a lot of works write for men. Additionally, Luke being pushy gets a bit better once the will they/won’t they ice gets broken.

I can see where the norms of the genre were working against the intent of the story.

Romance isn’t, by tradition, about situations that the reader might want to actually be in themselves. High drama courtship that would make you mace the lead in real life can also be read with trope goggles on. However, I still think his boundary crossing might have been helped by restructuring him as less of a pigtail pulling tease. Or at least holding off on that until they had an established dynamic. Or it might have helped to discuss the expectations of male courtship to sweep her off her feet versus his role as her boss in text.

As far as serving tropes for tension: There’s a few points where Olivia has real problems due to external drama and peril provided by the narrative, and that lets the characters be put in close enough contact to bond, outside of work. This, ironically, flows a lot less creepy. Still, “were it not for a crazy stalker I wouldn’t tolerate you trying to help” still isn’t setting a comfortable coercion free bed in which the characters could romp.

The peril is also where the author showed some of her strengths and more distinction in the other characters.

For example, I had to giggle at all the Alpha Doms falling all over themselves to try to be useful in a manly way. There was good stuff in the ego push/pull of how very little most people are actually the masterful or timidly enticing sex stereotypes we fantasize about. A side bit about one of the more manly tops enjoying being spooned as a source of shame for him suggests the author, herself, isn’t unaware of the difference between what kinky people aspire to be, and who they are.

Which brings me to the third “nope”. Woven throughout the story was the means by which the club culture initiated new kinky people to being in the group. As per the narrative they had switched from everyone being required to do an “initiation scene” to taking a group class, sorted by category.

In the world of the Stronghold, more binary switches or role fluid people really aren’t a thing. BDSM transcends sexual pleasure and is to be done casually with anyone as a part of the learning process. All dominants must experience “everything” they want to do to subs.

I quote Silver directly:

I wonder if anyone has ever written a book where before someone can sub, they have to dom. “Oh, you want to be spanked? Well, here’s your paddle. Have to pass the standards.

There really isn’t the idea in the culture of the club that being a submissive can be a personal thing. Meanwhile doms are elevated outside of their relationship dynamics, even encouraged to leer and intimidate the new sub class for mutual titillation. The subs are supposed to wear revealing outfits that distinguish them from the doms, and are perpetually referred to by anyone as “subbie”. Although there is no protocol of obedience, adding in amplified gender roles for most of the side characters really built up the atmosphere of an environment where subs were cherished but not really exisiting in a position as equals outside of their consent. The situation isn’t far from how people act in real life, but it really isn’t a healthy one.

Tempting the Domme is very close to confronting the gendered part of the problem effectively

The problem of universal sub disempowerment is not the author’s fault. Fantasies, and from thence, the kink scenes that tried to recreate them, are forever coming up with scenarios where the power imbalance is real. From putting uneven prestige on being a top and mentor, to creating an artificially one size fits all concept of the helpless sub being ‘protected’, power dynamics nobody needs or signed up for creep in. BDSM also often tries to recreate a sort of hyper-gender role dynamic across the D/s lines instead, and that’s in the book as well, but the author handles that a lot better.

In real life, even our concepts of “Top” and “Bottom”, coopted from queerness, drag in ridiculous ideas about the inherently submissive nature of penetration. The author does a really good job of touching on this and the male protagonist’s struggle with self acceptance. But, as an idealized premise there’s a huge amount of infantilization, and a pretty pernicious problem.

With power oriented along gendered lines for most practical levers in the larger culture. BDSM often stumbles over making M/f heterosexuality, if heterosexuality did drag. But humans don’t actually do binary as well as we like to act we do.

I had a post I did a while back “Queen Hatshepsut’s Strapon“, where I unpacked the problems with centering power on giving a domme a phallus (rather than her having one because she wanted one). Here, the core complexity is softness versus gender roles.

So as a character, excepting the lack of respect he shows for Olivia’s comforts (even when he seems to clearly understand they are there and how line crossing his behavior is), the sub, Luke is an interesting study into where gender and BDSM stereotypes break down in trying to support the lived experience of the people involved.

Credit where credit due, I also appreciated Olivia’s distrust on Luke’s constence, and a certain additional pressure on her side of not feeling unattractive as much as being very used to even men who are into it deciding they just couldn’t handle being like that.

It’s why I, as a reader, feel bad about the fact that I didn’t like it. When there’s very little on the market that’s serving a need, it puts too much pressure on the stuff that does, and for a get-what-you-pay-for kindle ready, well, it’s just ok?

My Ever Growing Latex Fetish

My name is Miss Pearl, and in 2020 I confirmed I definitely have a latex fetish.

my ever growing latex fetish black latex gloves hanging to dry
My gloves, drip drying

You know, I kind of wish I’d found a cheaper inclination. Like, you know, meth, or Warhammer 40K. It’s probably the price, as much as the initial association with the marketing that put me off it.

My first real life latex fetish experience was the Swede wearing a clear singlet, one size too large, to go dancing. At time I found the texture of sweat and warm rubber interesting. Still, there was the two barriers: the cost and my association with the fetish with the very male gaze version of femdom. Full body latex was generally sold with the harsh, perfect dominatrix and the emotionally unreadable sub.

So, initially it was one of those things I decided I was neutral about. I figured if it popped up, I’d try it. But, life, to this point, didn’t give me a lot of freedom to do so, before putting down what is still a significant amount of money. Plus, I knew I liked more obvious things like corsets, so when I could afford it, there my money went.

This year was the down the rabbit hole. Plague year or not, my collection has, snrk… ballooned. Blame Silver, yes, but also this wouldn’t have been possible were it not for my own desires.

So, my latex fetish journey, after the jump…

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12 Things To Buy Your Domme For Christmas In 2020

It might be Thanksgiving this week for my American readers, but as a Canadian there’s no barrier between me and full blown holiday cheer. Thus, in the spirit of writing the content I wish to see in the world, here’s the shopping guide of things really worth gifting. Well, giving to me. But you get the point.

A Shiny Dickosaurus Rex

3D printing makes anything possible and the glorious dickosaurs by Mae (@adorabledomme) are one of the best things to come out of 2020. Glossy and fierce, a word of caution if your ornaments will be put to any recreational use they are not made of plastic that’s body safe, so make sure that any explorations in trying to make reverse fossils use a barrier method to keep their fierce creatures contained. Give her a whimsical reason to smile as we kiss this trash fire of a year goodbye.

The most ludicrously glittering shoes

Irregular Choice offers shoes that let you put the femme in femdom. Sure the Nick of Time shoes aren’t the usual fetish fare! But, if getting to sit at your feet and worship is the real gift you can give them, let your sub see them appropriately adorned.

I want them. Or in purple. Or black. And I want to press my size 41 foot into his face before making him plant perfectly precise kisses in the middle of each bow.

Hard Smacks & Fat Stacks

Pen & Kink is back at it, with a must have kinky kitchen wall print. Pair with maple syrup and a long handled cheese board to give to your domme friends, or anyone else who isn’t ashamed to show wasn’t on the menu in their house.

Not a decor kind of domme? There’s tshirts, stickers, and of course all sorts of lovely other designs. I’m partial to “Silence is Golden”, or the “That’s a Paddling” pillow.

Twisted Monk Limited Edition “Tannenbaum” Rope

O Christmas Tree! Decorate your cute little bondage bunny in limited edition festive hemp rope. Snag it now, it’s only here for the month, and I can’t tell you if it will becoming back. Personally I am already imagining a suspension with rough hewn timbers, a wreath crown, and fat advent candles dripping hot wax.

And hey, the colour might be just for December, but there’s the lifetime safety guarantee that if you get a little tangled and a safety snip is needed, replacement is possible.

Now if only regular Christmas lights and garlands came with that offer too…

Silver (4) Balls

Shiny 4 Balls in silver stuffs more than a stocking, though at the budget “Planet Dildo” price makes it particularly perfect to pad out gift bags and sparse packages.

And with frequent sales and fairly fast shipping, if you miss the inevitable Black Friday deal, Tantus pretty reliably runs 50% and 40% off sales.

Want to see more? Keep reading after the jump…

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State of the site 2020

State of the Site (and Miss Pearl) 2020

Oh dear me. If you told me this blog was going to have stretched through nine years and now four relationships, being one of the most lasting achievements of my life (for good or for ill). It’s had numerous hiatus, only to pop back up again, when I least expect it and get sucked back into writing.

I’ve made no secret that a chief barrier to participation has been my love life. Dead bedrooms do not birth good text. When the core of your withered inspiration is the decline of your connection to another human, that marks a pull away from trying to talk about sex, because I try to avoid using the candidness of my personal life to potentially humiliate people.

(I mean outside the sexual sense!)

Primary projects for O Miss Pearl

  • Improve site finances
  • Increase content
  • Give the site a facelift & do back architecture work
  • Replace back art
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femdom ratio | ratio subs who bitch about the domme shortage are just another type of incel

The Harsh Truth About The Femdom Ratio

If you aren’t in the mood for tough, skip this post. I am well aware that a lot of submissive guys are extremely depressed about their inability to meet a femdom. This link is for nice advice on how to find a domme. Don’t read this post if it’s going to send you into a self castrating death spiral, ok?

Boys, you and I need to have a little talk about the so called “femdom ratio”, m’kay?

Just about every day a submissive man skips into a forum or bdsm group somewhere and complains loudly that there just doesn’t seem to be any non-pro femdoms out there.

Not only does this cause every non-professional femdom in the group to intensify her urge to only lurk, or leave, I find a pretty common pattern in these guys. To be exact, three common features:

They haven’t actually looked.

Ok, sure, they made a fetlife account, stumbled into a reddit group about femdom or popped into a discord. Maybe they got as far as femdom twitter or the comments and inbox of some domme’s website!

But they are invariably acting like a man walking through the local restaurant district decrying they lack of private homes welcoming them inside for home cooking. The minute they discover they aren’t instantly rewarded for thinking about kink with a hot loving femdom girlfriend, or the first few lazy messages get silence or a price sheet.. complaints! Additionally, sometimes they immediately demand someone else help them find where all the hot, single, promiscuois (and usually somehow monogamous to them) dommes hang out.

Do they google the problem? Of course not. Do they ask other sub men in relationships how they got there? Nope. They want something like the weird pneumatic sex tube tinder out of Logan’s Run.

They are boring as hell.

Ok, maybe they actually have positive qualities, but they sure as skippy have literally no idea how to share them. I can hear the tea kettle whistle of shrieking indignity already. But Pearl! Dating is HARD. The femdom ratio is so bad you ask us to be the exceptional top 1% of all submissive men.

No, you numpkin. First of all, you can’t be the top 1% of submissive men, that’s Silver and he belongs to me. Truth is most humans are vaguely earnest little potatoes, and that’s ok. But the average femdom ratio whining sub is going to send you a message that says “hello, I am potat, age X, I want to be told how to jerk off”. Some of the more creative ones might put something they hope you are like “I hope you are blonde” or “I want a nice mommy”.

Don Juan of the femdom ratio idiots might muster “you look attractive”, picture provided to him or not. Yawn. They essentially want a woman to find them fascinating, while giving her nothing to fasten herself to.

Sometimes I feel bad when these guys decide to replace servility for a personality. They forget that Service is a fetish, so anyone receiving it will already think that the sum total of the needed interaction is done. Then again, so many of these blokes have basically turned into Nice Guys who think being the door troll at the dungeon party is the secret to sexy femdom love that I have also learned it’s a quicksand of covert contracts.

Learn to hold a fucking conversation. Learn to make your appearance visually interesting. Be a potato, sure, just try not to be an unpeeled raw potato on an otherwise empty plate.

They have never considered what the inner life of a woman might be like.

At my most sympathetic I blame being raised a boy, and thus actively discouraged from considering anything girly. A sheltered young 20 something can be forgiven his innocence. It’s the same learning curve a baby domme might go through when she discovers that the zipless free labour promised by service subs isn’t actually reliable enough to make her feel powerful.

But these guys consume the porn specifically targeted to tease them, and never think beyond that. There’s a radical revelation to them that straight dommes don’t also (usually) want to look at porn that focuses on dommes to get off. It’s a bridge too far that women can have a spectrum of approaches to their kink, or their own porn and media separate from what the subs like.

In short, a level of empathy that’s stunted to protecting the self onto others. Sometimes it comes out as unsolicited nudes or offers of service tailored only to the guy’s pleasure. Sometimes it’s as easy as being bewildered that women have different safety concerns and relationship priorities. Either way, when these guys complain about the lack of dommes, they are pretty explicitly defining dommes in terms of their desires, not hers.

This kind of femdom ratio guy may also pop up in a very conservative country where overt sexuality can be punished, or even fatal to the woman. What makes these guys unsympathetic is it hasn’t occurred to them that dommes exist in these environments too. They are so busy complaining that none of the women around them are inherently into their kinks it doesn’t occur to them that these women might very well be as kinky as them.

More Variations of the Big Three

Got it? Ok, let’s look at common permutations of those three fuck ups. Slap yourself if you are doing any of these “no domme due to femdom ratio” pitfalls.

  • Waiting for a femdom to fix everything and do all the work once they throw herself at her feet. (AKA the starfish sub)
  • Femdoms don’t exist unless you want tp sub to them. (AKA women invisible when I don’t look at them)
  • No skill in vanilla, assumes that femdoms will all be inherently attracted to them, because all the porn ones aren’t picky about everyman protagonists. (AKA dommes are PEOPLE?!)
  • Searching for the magic domme dating formula that unlocks her private messages and from thence, her dungeon. (AKA dommes are a special hive mind)

But I can’t find any femdoms, and I’m not an incel!!

Great. What separates you from ratio subs is that you can understand finding a compatible partner takes time. Being single and looking is not the same thing as maintaining behaviors that are the kink scene version of a fedora.

As long as you acknowledge that everyone has challenges, it’s ok to feel a little blue. Just like, quit the woe is me no dommes shtick and you won’t be an insufferable mess as well as lonely.

It’s not fair, the femdom ratio is because subs would serve ANY woman and women are picky.

No, everyone who has a viable relationship gets picky. If you really weren’t picky, things like sex work wouldn’t cause you to screech it isn’t reeeeal.

You just like shitting on men for being weak, you misandrist!

No, honey. I have hammered out post after post of helpful, patient advice on how to find a mistress. I am going to take a good faith interpretation that you just have a hard time seeing humans suffer, and I will be clear with you: letting men do those three things I listed keeps them lonely and isolated.

To go out and express your desires, as a submissive man, is fucking brave. You are running against gender role training where being openly weak, vulnerable or wanting to have either of those might even get you attacked.

But as long as you keep telling dominant women they don’t exist, you are shooting yourself in the dick.

Try asking not how to find a domme for yourself, try asking “what spaces do dominant women enjoy being in?” and I bet you will start to find us everywhere.

On BDSM Advice that Does Not Work

(Or A Long Response to A Tweet by Simone Justice)

Trying to talk about the subject of BDSM advice includes the laughably bad, but also the zone of places that’s subject to more of a grey area. Sometimes you have the SEO spam femdom garbage where it’s content that’s little more than key words strung together (thank you Cara Sutra and your active effort to make the kink internet just a little more broken to make a buck), sometimes it’s wankery like Elise Sutton, telling people what they wish to be true to sell books. Sometimes, more rarely, it’s actively dangerous advice that could seriously hurt people like the rapey nonesense of Peter Masters “Control” book.

But then there’s the whole category of advice that is just not useful, being given out because it assumes a lack of distinction between professional dommes and non professional dommes. In most cases this advice is more tedious than will ever do immediate harm to anyone, but it’s still something to be flagged.

Stuff like this casual Saturday morning tweet from Simone Justice…

There’s a lot to unpack here.

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