Hoodie – Poems for My Submissive

Your hood, my hands poem caption

A hood holds your face as my hands would
If I could in this ocean of the uncertain
Clasp and shield both sides and wrap about
So all thoughts beneath were mine

I don’t pretend to know all, even as I want everything.
I want the mask over your breath to be my palm
And the lense in front of your eyes to see only me

I adore you.
Oh, you contain a wound up spring, I could twist that taut
Or pull the right place to collapse your cords
Tumble limbs into the bed and fret as you tangle in my hair that you somehow hurt me to be held

Silly man, your flesh is mine to bruise, and wrists to grip
You will nibble at my praise like a shy thing in the grass
Until tamed, I tie a ribbon on your neck

I’ll make that fast, still your concerns and comb out all worries with whispers

11 Types of Porn On My Twitter Feed

  1. Zoomers wholesome fucking in earnest static cam, and somehow ends up being less sexy and more heartwarming to my elder millennial crone self.
  2. We’re here, we’re queer & we have no pants. The gender rainbow on the other side of the Overton window. <3
  3. Oh look, $pornclipsite made a sale and auto posted. You are (allegedly) gonna get shadow banned for that bot work, careful.
  4. Half the libidex catalogue and still not allowed to cum
  5. I don’t know who any of these characters are but their fandom ships them with my fetish, so I guess I am here now?
  6. Fairy princess anal fisting gape cat ears nyahhh
  7. Hypno spirals and migraine inducing flashes.
  8. This highly stylish goth is VERY focused on square peg/round hole problems with her partner
  9. Squint real hard and this re-shared M/m porn might get you off without making you feel completely unattractive as a dominant who prefers male subs
  10. Hot femme with caption about being bad at writing social media copy, damn it!
  11. That’s a lot of dommes on tiktok. Huh.

If you actually thought this was #relatable say hi and follow me on twitter!

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.

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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Taking My Submissive’s Virginity & My Feelings -An October Visit to Silver (Part I)

Taking My Submissive's Virginity, mending buttons, different ways to dominate him, and love

This is going to be long, and entirely true, a diary trying to fit three days into some coherent narrative.  After I started writing I realized the average reader didn’t want to gobble up several thousand words in one post, so I’ve broken it into parts.

The button on his coat set itself free, and I took the sewing kit he never used, but had in stock in his usual bachelor practicality. Then, with a needle and cuss, I mended it.

I said it would take two minutes, and it was more like fifteen, but I was happy to do it all the same. My slightly more than weekend visit had been an indulgence for me, but it’s in my nature to find pleasure in the smallness of the mundane.

When this happened we were a few hours away from carting me off to the airport, and the two weeks of confinement I am enduring while I write this. The obvious response on my part, with very little time left, was to have a “what does this all mean?!” relationship conversation and follow it with a blow job. I might be a bit of a yoyo sometimes.

After I talked about hard questions, like where this is going, desire followed. Posed like a man proposing, one knee down, one up, I suck his cock into my mouth. While I do so, his hands grip the marble edge of the counter behind him. He’s holding himself exposed and vulnerable for me by instinct, and more than a little conscious commitment to the spirit of the law, if not the spoken letter. I haven’t told him to act as if he’s invisibly bound, but he adopts it as naturally as I stir need in him.

He always submits to me.

I think, given a choice, he would prefer a hand job. This blow job definitely isn’t about what he wants, more satisfying my own cravings. I like using my mouth. I’m not so skilled, but the nerve endings and the taste, from oral, are both deeply gratifying to me. So he surrenders to this, accepting his place is to be used how I feel like it.

This time, to my delight, he also makes  few thrusting forays, fucking my mouth. If I was a bit more relaxed I would rub my clit and come with his cock in my mouth. I like his taste and shape, and how he feels, even after four days of exploring desire, he still gets fully hard inside me.

Unfortunately, for various reasons I am still holding an unplaced thread of anxiety, and yet, in his company he has made the pain and half body cramps of the migraine I have had for 4 weeks finally leave me. We’re in a pandemic and work (in an office, back in Canada) is bothering. A doting, beautiful submissive man in another country is a treat at the best of times, and an extravagant luxury in the current circumstances.

I took my property’s technical virginity.

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Sonnets for my submissive

Sonnets For My Submissive V

I know why Fenris ran the sky after such prey.

The Sun

My lover’s lines are gilded in the light
And from the window, the warm rays caress
My hands grip his cream wrists and thighs squeeze tight
As firsts now gathered, my right as Mistress

Fill me twice within four days, and come quick
Your release my claim, your cock my possession
Fit where I ache and wetness makes me slick
Taken to satiate my obsession

You live to suffer & to offer joy
Vulnerable in every drop I drain.
Made for this, alluring man, my eager toy,
Who pleases the eye, & as much my brain

But in this golden hour I seek to share
Let the sun kiss also, where I find fair

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7 Ways To Fuck Up Adding Chastity To Your Relationship

adding chastity to your relationship
Don’t destroy your own dreams

I’m writing this as a quick hot take assuming a hetero audience, and likely a lot of nodding along from the femdom side. I know that there’s no shortage of complain lists in kink, so with each point, when it comes to adding chastity to your relationship, I tried to add some alternative DOs as well. Negativity might drive clicks, but ultimately BDSM is supposed to be fun.

Nag

Nobody likes a nag, and coercion through persistence is going to deliver the least fun experience for all of you. Unless she’s specifically into grudging acquisition, nagging to be locked, or after you get locked, nagging for release, are both going to give her a headache.

Instead, take the time to understand her turn ons. She’s more likely to want you out again if she’s horny, than if you pester. Additionally, approach the topic of adding chastity to your relationship with honesty about how much of a deal breaker or not chastity is for you. This will be super hard, but wearing her down to a yes won’t be any better than getting a no up front. Do try to make a difference between understanding her reservations about the activity and pushing past her consent.

Promise her it will make you a better partner

This one is the keyholder bribe-to-play standard. Forums, porn and how to sites are full of people talking about how you will be a better partner in bed or emotionally when you are caged. I cannot stress how much this is a bad idea. Everyone wants to be a better partner, so I can understand how it can make you feel warm and fuzzy to think about being extra motivated. Nonetheless, all she is going to hear is that she needs to bribe you to get her needs met.

Instead, think about your pitch in terms of how it makes you feel. Communicate your arousal or sense of being loved. This has the additional dividend that your partner is more likely to develop the feelings along with it, than if they think this is how you will do the dishes reliably or whatever.

Dive in too fast/heavy

So she said yes! Awesome, as much as we write about this as a fantasy men provide to women, maybe she’s super into it. Maybe it’s even her idea! The mistake you can make here is huge commitments, like long term locking when you have never done it before. Chastity is an acclimation that favours you both building endurance and familiarity.

(So yes, maybe don’t so the full, hard denial Locktober if you have never done this before.)

Ignore custom fit

Not just fitting the device to you, avoid off the shelf fantasies. Don’t assume everything in chastity porn is a fait accompli. Adding chastity to your relationship isn’t a rigid, one true way activity, so assuming you are absolutely obligated to do everything in the porn is doing yourselves both a disservice.

You already know you are supposed to ease into it. While you are doing so, focus particularly on the parts that work for both of you. Porn tends to both cram every fetish it can together to maximize audience size, while depicting the fetishes as rigidly as possible

Unlike a chastity story or porn clip, your relationship only needs to appeal to the people in it. Discard or add anything that works for you.

Assume she hates your penis (or sex)

One of the biggest fuckups would be locked subs make is uncritically buying into the idea that no normal woman wants a guy’s dick. Yes, we probably grew up with the stereotype of the horny man and the frigid woman who needed wooing. This also is a perfectly valid fetish, in its own right. But, and here’s the big caveat, you don’t have to do it if you don’t need that part. By leaning only on humiliation/rejection framing, you reject a whole avenue of being possessed.

I call this stereotype out more than anything else. Along with the chastity for better relationship treatment bribe, chastity because the person finds sex with you appalling is probably the biggest sales pitch barrier.

Sometimes getting her on board is more about getting across that it’s a game of cock on demand and on her terms, not deprivation for her.

You don’t let her develop her own relationship with chastity

I mentioned the problems of assuming she doesn’t like sex, or bribing her by being a good partner. I also talked about avoiding approaching it with the assumption she finds your penis repugnant. With the practical dominance of male voices in communities dedicated to the subject, even though adding chastity to your relationship might be something you are trying to make all about her, beware of accidentally giving her an equally cramped emotional and psychological cage.

Try to be patient if she goes off script from your fantasies, but still seems into it. Be extremely mindful of resources that assume her feelings and make space for her to experiment and tell you what she feels about it. Your keyholder may very well surprise you with plans and fantasies of her own.

Fucking up your framing/introduction

Explain cock cages to the average woman and she might laugh uncomfortably and say no. This isn’t because the idea is inherently worthy of contempt, but because the information is seldom presented in pop culture or porn in a way that makes it approachable.

Your partner is a unique person with her own hopes, dreams, and so forth. You almost certainly know her better than any how to article could. But, what you can bring in common is that first opener.

Telling her that you like a physical reminder of her, and your desire for her via a cage won’t work for everyone, but it’s a definite step up over going straight to talking about your own degradation, if that wasn’t part of your dynamic already. Pitching being submissive to her is similarly more positively done by talking not about what she lacks “could you be more dominant?” but via those traditional I statements “I feel I can trust you and share my fantasy. I like that I can be vulnerable with you.”

In conclusion…

This is not the last word on the subject, and I definitely encourage you to look at other resources. If you get one take away from all this, the paradox of selling chastity is simultaneously to give her room to have her own feelings and desires about it, but also to examine your own desires intimately enough to translate them into the terms that work for her.

Fantasies of Taking My Submissive’s Virginity

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

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 essay intends to be a comprehensive introduction to trying to find a woman to dominate you and the basics of getting a femdom relationship more likely to happen.

Nonetheless, although my information is very basic, it comes up over and over again in discussion forums dedicated to kink, and in my inbox. Should the 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.)

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.

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 are 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…) and 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.

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.

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. She probably also has some equally terrible stereotypes about what sub guys look and act like. Further, how you frame the subject will go a long way to how it comes across.

This is not, Good Looking Loser’s PUA bullshit claims or 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 platonic idea of what a dominatrix is, is a service job. Even if you absolutely positively mean that when you want to find a domme you want just the fetish mistress in the leather uniform, and who hates you, you will still need to break down what you want.

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

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