February 2022 Femdom Projects And Updates

Flowers from my submissive
Flowers From Silver. They smell wonderful.

Oh my goodness, we are already one month into 2022, and it feels like time has started to fly again. Happy Year of the Tiger to all people who celebrate this particular holiday- and to me, because I am a Fire Tiger. Mow!

I already told you Silver and I were looking into the gradual merging of households process. Because of that pesky two nationalities problem this is a slightly more complex process, but ironically achieving that is stepping up my writing and content game. Thanks to being able to travel by car now, January had not one but two chances to see my submissive!

Covid willing, I will see Silver around Valentine’s day. I got to see him in person in January twice, so that’s nice. My Pisces is having a birthday, and I am trying to come up with the best gift for a man who has everything other than making him a carrot cake, which I am excited to do, but is just the start. No spoilers of what I got him for Valentine’s day, but I already had it arrive from Europe and wrapped it. You never can tell with shipping.

I am having a bad couple of migraine months, but seasonal transitions do that. Don’t worry, collectively that disability scenario I mentioned is sloooowly getting better.

Vote My Book For An Award For Taboo Erotica

CORPORATE CONDITIONING VOTING BANNER

I got nominated for a 2021 Golden Pigtail Award for CORPORATE CONDITIONING (over 10x!), and you should vote for it here in the semi-finals. This part of the competition is going to run until February 14th, 2022 and I really, really want to win entirely for ego reasons. Also because with all the real life US political hellscape business, taboo erotica like mind control are under siege. I had a literal dream I won, and I really appreciate Alexa Sommers giving me a reason to feel competitive and excited.

More Femdom Writing for Everyone

My Patrons have decided on the topic for the next Friday Femdom Fiction, and it’s going to be “Sacrifice“. I am excited, and in the mood to write something about psychological dominance. I would like to at least release two short stories for the general readers, so we’ll see where my brain is at for the other one.

Someone got me a copy of “Yes, Roya” via my Throne Wishlist, and it’s a love letter to midcentury fetish art. It’s next on my review docket, although I have a couple of other books like “Enough to Make You Blush” and “Femdom For Nice Girls” also on my shelf waiting for their own posts. If you think a work deserves to be put on there for review, feel free to suggest it.

I am WAY overdue to write something about all the Korean female gaze femdom comics. I will be focusing primarily on Tapas and Tappytoon. Titles like Sadistic Beauty, I Fell Into A Reverse Harem Game, Roxana, A Harem for My Empress, the King and the Paladin, etc… all provide a refreshing alternative source of contemporary things for dommes.

My fun writing project is 14504 words and counting of romantic femdom fantasy. It’s whimsical, very cottage core/dark academia and probably can be released as a straight romance because while the femdom is VERY present and smutty, the tale of a sorceress on her rabbit familiar is putting as much emphasis on the service as it is the sex. This pleases me.

(Other Places to Find Miss Pearl)

As you can probably tell by the sidebar if you are visiting this site by browser, I have been way more active on Femdom Instagram, so go ahead and give that a follow. I get asked this repeatedly, no I am not switching over into modelling or having an OnlyFans, etc… as the effort/risk to reward just isn’t there.

I do have a kink youtube and am hoping to go back to livestreaming soon. Check out back issued videos, and you know, like, comment and subscribe because if I am putting amateur hour full face vids out there this is my consolation. I do not have a Tiktok because I am old and don’t think I am a good comedic actress … intentionally.

I spend too much time on reddit and assist with moderating r/femdom and r/femdomcommunity.

Kink Twitter is probably open on my phone too much. That’s probably where you will see the most stream of consciousness rambling and arguing with other people. Do follow!

A Little Bit of Good This Christmas

I am extremely happy to say the site, with the help of a technically skilled person, has been returned to functionality with a full, clean re-install. After 10 years, it was apparently full of ghosts and accidental messes, as well as bits and pieces that were leftover from past projects. The theme is readable and responsive, enough to serve you the femdom stories that remain the primary draw, without tying you to a particular device.

I am writing this as I delay making gingerbread cookies (to sit in the fridge overnight). Tomorrow Silver is going to drive up to haul me off to Washington, the theory being that if we are going to weather a complete holiday shut down, doing so in each other’s company is less unpleasant than apart. Although they haven’t hurt the borders yet, its been threatened, and I’d hate to do another 6 months, not knowing when we might be reunited. Behind me, a muffled YouTube playlist of vintage Christmas carols, artfully distorted to sound played on a record player in the next room adds a degree of festive feeling to a pretty grey time. It’s not so bleak, I suppose, as it might have been same time last year, when I cancelled seeing Silver, as covid rates inevitably spiked. That year, flying was the only option and going through air travel seemed a high risk activity on top of border hopping.

We are also coming in on our two year anniversary, if you back date things, or a year and a half if you count from formal negotiation of “dating”, which came after D/s. That’s us, backwards from lust into something deepening out. It feels odd, because it fits so perfectly well, that moment when you look at something on the rack “nah nice, but an impulse buy! Never going to fit me!” But try it on anyway and you don’t need to think of even tailoring it. Occasionally I wonder at how well he suits, in that way where I pay a therapist $150 an hour to convince me I deserve nice things.

More or less at this time, I went to an event in the social orbit of Seattle so I could hook up with him. And I did, and after, I told myself that if I wasn’t going to accept his extended kindness, what was the point even? So I did, and fell in love with him.

Today Silver dealt with various fuss around car maintenance, winding up into an increasing frazzle as he tried to make pieces fit to pick me up. He doesn’t like me having to take an Uber to the border, and doesn’t like me having to pay the expense of the ride and have me walk over. He will swab himself and wait 24 hours for his test results, to shuttle me up and back, three to four hours drive. My scumbag brain tries to come up with a reason this is an inadequacy on my part, because apparently it doesn’t want to admit someone can just care about me that much. Enough to spare me $60 and a 40 minute car ride and 20 minutes of ridiculous security theatre.

An old friend, one of those humans you find is relentlessly good to you, helped me fix the gnarled up back end of my website. Every step of the way she apologized for giving me good advice. For imposing with her help. The site is now clean and crisp and no longer fighting against posting things or going down every thirty minutes. Then she trusted me to give her a name for a project she is working on, and my scumbag brain told me asking me was a favour to me.

Silver just about apologized for not being better at the back end of websites. As if it were his job to be all thing to me, as if it were a lack on his part. I understand that urge powerfully, I don’t think it is submissive thing. I think it is the complex tangle of how humans love.

If his apartment wasn’t so small as to probably drive us crazy, if I didn’t need $600 of Botox stabbed into my head every three months, and business with OTs and so forth, it would be tempting to just weather the current spike of plague nestled up in his home.

There, this stream of consciousness is written and I have taken a tranquillizer to prevent the excitement of tomorrow and a thread of anxiety from throwing me off my sleep. There’s disks of gingerbread dough in the fridge and when I made it I felt a little bit of Christmas, a pure bit of joy it would be ok. Tomorrow I have a handful of must do errands before I go, filling a prescription, rolling, cutting and baking cookies, and finishing a gift. I must settle on the things for my suitcase. There may be a family to meet: “Hi Mom, this is my domme!”

Ok, no, it’s that mutual thing where the leather fetish stories fall short as I make a presentation of myself that is not fake, it’s translated. And like any good translation, the meaning will not be lost though the context and language will adapt to the audience. I pack bright kelly green tights and a red plaid dress, and consider I have 12 days to fill otherwise. Latex, in crinkly paper. Twangy body harnesses, lingerie. Plain black cotton panties with lace edges to match. Black tights, opaque, worn in this style since high school, skirts. I seldom wear pants. Shoes must be picked carefully as even with a bigger bag they make bulk.

I am packing a jar of mincemeat. I expect to co-opt flour and butter and two knives to slice vigorously. This particular recipe takes forever to bake and makes my diners convert to pie. I don’t expect him to like the rich taste of peel, raisins and alcohol. But it is my Christmas to eat them. In our last video call before bed, a habit that’s turned into 3 or 4 calls a day, he showed me he picked me up some shortbread. He has put a box for me in his bathroom I can stash those things one makes a habit of- shampoo and conditioner and so forth. We are at the drawer-at-your-place stage in our relationship.

The orgasm denial is making him into a mess. Every time I see his cock, hard and erect I immediately get his with the scent memory of sex. We’ve passed pleasantly aroused and into needy, unable to shut down the drive to pursue and touch. Tomorrow he will be unable to stop touching me. I am sadistically winding him up until he can tell me he needs me. I am pushing his limits, my unstintingly giving man.

And perhaps I will let him come before New Years. It is, after all, Christmas.

Justine Cross Domme Class Review

Justine Cross teaches femdom classes and general kink skill classes

The class was the live version of “On Top: Exploring Your Dominant Persona”, taught by Justine Cross,  variously touted as the most popular Dominatrix in LA, participant in extensive public outreach experiences and significant mover/shaker in her community.  She owns two dungeons, which host an important part of the larger local lifestyle community. It’s a dedication of her life to advancing acceptance of BDSM and being a domme a find deeply praiseworthy. She’s very much a role model for others to aspire to.

People familiar with my presence on the internet probably know that I take every option to attend classes that show you how to be or realise your dominant self. Moderating r/femdomcommunity not one week passes without at least one newbie asking “how do I?” Meanwhile this blog exists as an anchor of sorts, dedicated to the subject of being a lifestyle domme for your own delight. Reviewing classes is a nice mix of learning things for myself and knowing where to send other people to learn.

The target market of this particular class is novice dommes. It’s important to reach them directly because femdom is a culturally distinct entity within the BDSM community at large, and although much of it is still dedicated to the interests of male subs and their most psychologically resonant fetishes, it’s also a space that is often much less hostile to female power than the mainline BDSM community can be.

However… Any domme class review I do is fussy. 

If you are upset by having someone’s very affordable public contribution pulled apart with a magnifying glass, I might not be the writer for you. If you happen to BE Justine Cross reading this, message me to send you the cost of a stiff drink, as I am tearing into things with all the concern and sensitivity of a pack of velociraptors on an unattended BBQ buffet. Caveat lector.

And, I’m pretty biased going into this, because I think way too much emphasis is already put on teaching women to embody personas already, and every other domme lesson out there seems still stuck on the archetypes of “The Mistress Manual“, a book I am not whelmed by. On the other hand, all the dommes that teach these classes aren’t stupid, and the queries I get from would be dommes often phrase their need in a pursuit of finding a particular self presentation. This naturally makes a “Persona” class seem more attractive in marketing, so I tried to go into it with an open mind.

Besides, I have an endless desire to know what is out there, because when someone is on the top of their game, as Justine Cross is, even if I disagree on something, they clearly have something I can learn from. I am hardly an indomitable authority, and I would be deeply uncomfortable if there was nowhere else to send folks than me for good information. Safe sources that are different in theory than me should be nurtured, because this pocket of identity is pretty marginalized already.

So, would I recommend Justine Cross’s Domme Persona class?

Justine Cross has both organizer bonafides and a lengthy teacher and presenter resume. They are very good at communicating. I would say it’s an excellent intro class with up to date reminders that dominants can have limits, but little direct emphasis on female pleasure. Most dominant classes for any gender seem more responsibility focused, developing a framework to safely hold authority, but I think domme oriented instructional stuff needs to center this a bit more.

You do not need any part of this class to be a domme. If you want to be better at embodying what people expect of a domme, it’s a much better place to learn than most resourced. There’s value here, but having asked her dead on why this (outside of the self evident safety part she taught) was necessary, I feel the bridge between the dominant self and the external performance is not explored enough by the class.

Additionally, although her Lifestyle bonafides are without question, there’s a few bits in the content that are continuing to hold all dominants to standards only useful to professionals or at best a narrow stripe of kinky folks in a public community. Most advice in her class is good and well taught, but it’s decidedly about embodying a dominatrix externally in a way that needs the dungeon to work. That standard looms a bit too much into her class, though make no mistake, her own communicated joy in her life in no way make dominating seem like a duty or a chore.

First, delving into what she did particularly right:

Without her class I would not have found her wonderful free(!) scene negotiation sheet. She offers it for on Gumroad, crediting its first version originator, Pervocracy. Being properly plugged into the spectrum of kink communities for info is key for any educator, and Justine Cross has that down perfectly. 

(Only one caveat on the attribution: I don’t know if Cliff prefers to reference his dead name professionally, for works predating his shift to going exclusively by that name. This sheet still credits that way. I definitely don’t think Justine Cross is doing anything wrong)

I also really appreciated that the class took the time to talk about dominant limits and explained it in a very accessible way. They did not do off the rack domme characters like I feared she might, the persona in the class title was more of a self selected thing to nurture and construct within the self.

The bones of the Mistress Manual seem to be still there in the very deep background, but the distance from it has included more of the self. I at no point felt like it was a class exclusively on mastering the thing hubby asked one to do, as most domme guides do.

Particular to that point, Justine Cross was very much in her element when she talked about the limits of the old saw, to sub before you dom. Little touches of her personal interest in the cnc messy “abuse” inspired scenarios were a little window into desire that are missing in a lot of conversations, though she is impeccable consistent in flagging real danger.

Her safety discussion was flawless. That I can’t say more about it is due to it’s constancey, and did not veer into over corrections nor neglect the dominant’s comforts. She managed this without being full of safety myths. And I liked she touched on a preference for darker things that outside of care and enthusiastic consent, would be explicitly abuse.

Now the criticisms, because I am a miserable pedant:

There was only one big oof. And not a potentially fatal one, just a misdirection, if you are exclusively lifestyle. Other things I noted would be smaller, for all go into them in detail. I remind you to read my review in the context of nitpicking, and my own agenda, and that I am still recommending her. 

The biggest  issue is I think she wasn’t able to effectively distinguish lifestyle and pro. Some of this is that it’s not a hard binary. And yet, I feel that because of the validity of sex work and the format of kink as delivered only in dungeons, parts of the whole spectrum and quirks of lifestyle only femdom culture were missing. The problem went as far as her intro querstions, asking us to define “dominatrix or dominant” even as she told us this was a lifestyle rather than sex work focused class. Notably she just asks one to define “submissive” in her class.

(Of course some lifestyle only women do call themselves Dominatrices or draw all their inspiration from there, but most do not. This didn’t put the contemporary idea of a dominatrix into it’s larger context of ways to be a domme.)

Nitpick 1: A missed opportunity to befriend an awkward elephant

The low hanging fruit (which I am trying to knock down and discard), one might levy at her, is that her work with clients somehow taints her. That’s sexism, nobody tells all the male pro-riggers that if they aren’t completely attracted to their models, their work is less valid. But the question “are you a real domme tho?” is an elephant in the room. Not because I am asking, but because she is self aware of the context of her audience’s thoughts to be stuck having to build a self justification into the curriculum.

Make no mistake, Justine Cross’s professional work experience in no way makes her lifestyle “authenticity” lose its loud self evidence in everything she does. Part of the fun of her class is her use of tone and expression where you can see how uplifted and comfortable she is in her kink. I found myself admiring her- she deserves the prestige she has. I don’t cringe to know she puts herself forward to the media to represent what femdom is. If people think I am like her, by pop culture exposure, that’s a compliment to me.

It really sucks that lifestyle and professional have to be put at odds. Most pro dommes are both. Even if they were not, it wouldn’t matter- that a person wants to dominate is personally enough for me. I want them to be fulfilled doing it, but being lifestyle only also never stopped someone from trading in harmful info either.

I do not think we got a bridge built, and about the only point she looked self conscious was in reference to professional work she does when it gives the client most of the say in the script of his scene. She mentioned him being happy was enough. I sort of think that was a missed opportunity to talk about the unique permission women get to express power through nurturing, giving and empathy. 

I think that the standard we hold dominants, particularly sex workers to, harms dommes. As much as I dislike advice that teaches dominance like a purely giving thing, it’s a worse burden to place on female dommes that if we overtly acknowledge we might focus on the sub we lose respect and power. Femdom, in the name, has permission to be gendered and thus the other. Where it is most in alignment with feminism is when it rejects that power has to look like by a very male standard.

And I think we need to have a stronger foundation, collectively, that traditionally feminine associated things, from homemaking to penetration, do not have to be submissive.

Nitpick #2: The direct female pleasure problem 

All that being said on being giving not being inherently submissive, we are also still struggling with having pleasure or being selfish at all.

My biggest criticism of most of the intro/general het femdom classes I have attended is that they focus on getting it right as a vocation and not on pleasing yourself.  There may be a lot of focus on projecting authority through symbols, technique, and body exercises, but none about achieving and outcome other than “you are happy because you feel you are recognized as a dominant, including by yourself” and “he is happy because he got what he wanted”.

It’s like if an intro to sex class covered lingerie, dirty talk, anal and deep throating, and neglected to talk about her orgasm. Some of this is coyness inherent in our sex taboos about women. At the best of times, it’s framed as a nurturing, generative performance. But even so, these classes never seem to touch on things like the stealth-domme parts the novice might realise she was doing all along. Or ask her to think about her needs directly and how she might get this met.

And all these personas seem less like permission to be a part of yourself you suppress and instead creating a new part of the self who is allowed to do things the you, to this point, can’t. Notably while Justine Cross asked us to look to our own examples of fictional dommes to build that persona, she didn’t linger there.

I think the why do all this was missing

Maybe it’s the brevity of the class, but the most interesting part of examining your fantasies and fixations is seeing how they might embody what you personally want. Sometimes it’s a means to an end, sometimes the moment itself is the goal. In Justine Cross’s framing, dominance seems more like a means to an end in itself. The argument was present: Be like fictional domme or real dominatrix to be domme.

She doesn’t ask why you might want to be a domme or what emotional or sexual fulfillment this might bring you. In Justine Cross’s class, being perceived as a domme by yourself and others is enough in itself. Am I doing this to create a safe space to be sadistic? What kind of buzz does having power give me, or am I more focused on the reactions of a sub? Am I strengthening my ego in just knowing I have admirable topping skills or do I want the outcomes for me?

Mistress Shahrazad, teaching at The Ritual Chamber, is the only domme class teacher I have found, to date, who suggested you might have to struggle to even identify, much less vocalize one’s needs as a woman. I think because her class was FLR focused things could get away from the constant performance part dommes in particular get asked to do. I find it odd, given how much mainline feminism is exploring the perils and pitfalls of asserting oneself that femdom lessons for women don’t touch on that psychological side more.

For Justine Cross, her style section for dommes is a fashion shoot of her different looks. This is in sharp contrast with her sub class (reviewed later, below), where sub style is the permutations of kink preferences. It’s a very external presentation. It’s true that women have more permission to express themselves via outwards adornment and affect. Nonetheless, it’s another missed opportunity to talk about how style leads to her feelings.

(I often wonder if I might just be weird?)

My sadist self needs no mask, she uncoils out of my core into occupation of the entire room. I don’t take her to the grocery store and the DMV, but she is indelibly there in my sexuality. Flirt and her teeth are what smile back. Fuck, and it’s your mind I try to unpick to control the interaction. Reciprocal horny loops occur when someone I want subs to me.

In the larger world, when a woman wants to be sexually or romantically dominant, the matter is presented very differently than to a man. We still drag her into caricature flavours of dominatrix: governess, goddess, amazon, and so on. These aren’t even what real life dominatrices are like! That’s (based on my current sample) usually warm, empathetic, creative, cynical and queer. But, the archetypes we are given as baby dommes aren’t even the power fantasies that move reams of women’s fiction. If someone is a governess or a teacher in a story that’s typically sold to women, the former is about independence in a historical setting and the latter about her dedication to a traditional but essential job. Neither give her permission for cruelty in a way that powers sadism.

Being a Dominatrix can be one kind of permission, but we need more!

Sure, plenty of women look at the capital M “Mistress” and want to embody that, but meanwhile the male dominants are getting to be heroes and vampires and corporate bosses. Or in real life, allowed to be middle aged alt/nerd guys playing make believe patriarch. He’s getting his dick sucked by someone he is calling “little one”, and we dommes are all over here trying to not be collectively scraped off the internet by social media female body bans and credit card providers.

Maybe it’s because hard power, and unapologetically self focused power are usually denied to women, without severe social penalties? A world where the female orgasm is more obscene than the male one on film will necessarily put female pleasure aside unless abstracted, euphemized or channeled into approved outlets. But, as much as women have permission to wield certain kinds of embodying and giving power men do not, the experience of being dominant that keeps the domme as purer, more limited thing than male doms are way more shades of the “The Female Eunuch” than I would want, given what a disappointing TERF Germaine Greer turned out to be.

Shows like Billions and Bonding, the latter of which Justine Cross cited as a good example, subtract female sexual pleasure from their scenes. Instead it’s the admiration of other women for your topping skills, and strict distance from one’s more vulnerable desires, an aloof power. You have something your partner wants, done well, ideally naturally.

I do think women regularly fantasize about being a dominatrix, along with other sexual vocations. So, classes to do this make sense. The dominatrix is a transgressive and yet very traditionally feminine place to be, a forbidden deviance that promises a power trip. However, I think men do not use those same self imagining filter tools to enjoy their dominance.

Dommes are not asked what they want in the context of their lifestyle-only relationships. The presumption at best is that you can put on a persona as a tool, but nothing about one’s own fetishes. Empowerment is mentioned, but never “horny”.

All of this is more like a context of the domme class’s absent female pleasure problem.

That Justine Cross doesn’t address this context head on is not an endorsement. In practice she does more to make kink accepted in the mainstream than I do. But I think in swelling our numbers I must stay like Nidhogg in the roots of Yggdrasil, that nasty dragon gnawing the base of the world tree. My place in all this is about a certain sort of self assured self advocacy. I have to stand firm that what a femdom is must be expanded without eliminating any of the current forms.

Male subs are *extremely* good at collectively saying what they want. There is an ocean of porn in every permutation imaginable. There is virtually none for lifestyle dommes, to the point our male partners routinely either think we don’t exist or their porn is for us. For an industry that acknowledges that women can make up a third of the customer base, we are still stuck in “but women don’t like this” for commercial content.

So, it’s a situation of scarcity that puts that problem. Maybe in the end I am naught but the lunatic fringe, but content for us needs to be more inclusive of ways of being. Elsewise we will have more eras of “not like other femdoms” in lifestyle only land and continue with the ongoing rejection of gendered labels by otherwise cis women (or femme folks) who feel excluded by the lean of contemporary femdom culture.

Nitpick 3#: A poly/pro approach is not acknowledging a monogamous majority

This was the heaviest structural issue I noticed. She defaulted to putting dommes in contrast to eachother, way more than subs are placed apart. I think it makes sense for a public living marketing power house like Justine Cross, but it will not necessarily make her lessons accessible to couples or the vast majority of serial monogamists and monogamish folks.

For example, when we talked domme limits, she suggested if something is a limit to you, you could refer your sub elsewhere for that. Great advice for pros, who have a healthy and supportive culture that is naturally more stringless poly, and uses referrals to strengthen the whole community, terrible for the average monogamous woman. That’s what the majority of dommes are, and there are other ways to navigate your limits than opening your relationship. I would be careful to go as far as saying it will have the opposite effect of encouraging dommes to push through their limits for fear of having to share. But it left a hole in this particular issue that needs patching.

The most frustrating example of this domme inter-comparison approach was the closing topic. It was titled “Honing Your Craft or specialty – What do you want to be known for?”. Nope. Please do not. Topping is skill based, being a domme is absolutely an internal desire thing, and the “craft”/ vocation part is explicitly a pitch only women seem to get. 

In pursuit of this dominance-as-calling idea, Justine Cross described developing a personal style to differentiate yourself from other dommes. This is not advice lifestyle dommes need, and is actually harmful as phrased, implying that pursuit of social distinctiveness should be prioritized. Lifestyle dommes do not need to convince anyone they are specialized or have branding. 

You might use a persona as a tool, but you absolutely aren’t doing it in healthy competition with other women, as an artist. Your relationships don’t work that way; you can offer a more complete picture of yourself because the world is structured to allow you to do so. Being a domme, for most women, isn’t like becoming a burlesque performer, where you take on a stage name and create an audience digestible snapshot. You definitely don’t worry your domme identity is too much like another domme- you may never do more than read/watch these other women or have interactions that are indistinguishable from vanilla.

In the kink community, on the lifestyle side, there’s definitely a possability social prestige in building a public parasocial identity even more so than just being “the funny one” in a friend circle, but this is not needed. I can say first hand as someone whose whining on the internet for nigh on a decade accidentally gave her a perceived identity, or who had people think she was an aloof badass in the in person scene in Montreal, because I was the event runner and didn’t feel comfortable seeking play in a pool I had authority over- that identity doesn’t need tweaking. You can just be yourself as most of the whole person.

Again, this segue into taking persona to mean something like a brand was a missed opportunity. It could suggest differentiation in pursuit of satisfaction, where a unique style was more about focusing on your fetishes and putting a you focused spin on it. And ironically that’s more of where her partnered to this sub class went.

Contrasting this with Justine Cross’s submissive oriented class

On Your Knees: Power in Submission”, is aimed at subs in general, though marketed with a hooded suit sub dude picture (which she noted in her class was not optimal, but still nice to see a boy sub in central focus), and was flagged in her domme class as an alternative. As such, I couldn’t feel I was doing a review justice without looking at her recorded class for subs. It was incredibly well done, and I feel I would give it as a good class for anyone from a future person who saw themselves as a client only, to a baby sub just starting out.

Unlike the domme class, this one dedicates a whole section to sharing your needs, something conspicuously absent in advice for femdoms, both in Justine Cross’s Persona class and most educational resources. It’s woven throughout our shared culture, that the subs are not asked to distinguish themselves in the sense dommes are, or dress up in a way that exists in the interspacing between our perception of ourselves as sex and the perception of others of us as sexy. 

Although the kink negotiation worksheet was provided to both classes, only in the (recorded) sub class was there any effort to review it.  She asks the sub class  to explicitly fill out answers to “I am, I need, I require”, which she does not do in her domme class.

It’s actually rather interesting to me that she does more to justify what she liked in the class for subs, than she does in the class for dommes. Some of this is based on curing the starfish idiots (or “hotdog sub, a term I am now stealing). These people assume dommes are telepaths or monolithic. Still, the presentation on expressing your needs includes things like “making you feel better after you have had a bad day”. I am not saying that’s not very *submissive* as you can do whatever you like in your D/s dynamic and doing that is something I personally enjoy as a dominant!  I am saying that I would be shocked if the average femdom-for-femdoms class talked about communicating to your sub how to make you happy in such a nuanced way. This is missing, given how often dommes ask plaintively if they are allowed to be vulnerable or have needs too.

This class would have actually worked as a general BDSM ed class and is a lot of stuff baby dommes also need to hear

It’s a pity we don’t. In this class, there was a lot of practical advice for subs about leaning in, and working with what the dominant is putting down, as well as reminders of where the reciprocal way a scene works. I have to wonder if most dommes are expected to come into this already knowing that. Nobody tells us to approach it from a place of mutual goals. Giving to a sub is always self conscious, if mentioned, caveated with “but I am still a dominant”, while the sub is assumed to want a more whole spectrum as natural.

Dominance, like masculinity, is alas, more fragile than femininity or submission.

What makes a great sub, according to Justine Cross, also includes style/persona. And yet, these mean very different things than the domme class taught. For subs, she emphasizes the skills and self knowledge of what they are into as informing their persona. Styles are a lot more play oriented “bratty bottom” versus a super masochist, and so forth. There’s way more here about your needs as a sub, to help you with self knowledge, while the domme persona class didn’t seem to put even the play preferences of the domme central.

She also emphasizes how subs can build practical skills like massage or cooking (or specific familiarity with a flavour of kink). I am sometimes critical that this can lead to male subs feeling like they only have value in very sesexualized roles, and she might have toughed more on the subject of the female gaze, but she did a very good job of teaching how important being personable was to getting folks to play with you.

It’s part of the greater tragedy of femdom as a culture, because Justine Cross leaned, via her own examples, even way more into her own dominant pleasure in this class. Although she repeatedly emphasized she was a financial dominatrix, her broader explanations and real life anecdotes took the audience past stereotypes and better illustrated that sex work isn’t the orphan in the spectrum of what we might desire.

But, the bones of the difference I am talking about, in how we teach to dommes versus subs, is very clear in the two outlines…

Domme ClassSub Class
– What makes a great dominant?
– What makes a bad dominant?
– Consent using the Kink Negotiation Worksheet
– Archetypes
– Style and fashion
– Technique and style
– Training, knowing your skills
– How you identify, using a title or a name
– Character or Persona
– Honing Your Craft or specialty – What do you want to be known for?

Bring all of your questions and together we will explore common dominant archetypes, styles, techniques so that you know how to begin your journey into domination. Whether you are single or with a partner you will learn skills to help you enjoy this path with confidence and sexual creativity. Unleash your inner dominant in the bedroom and in life!
– What makes a great submissive or bottom?
– Learning to express your kinky needs
– Consent using the Kink Negotiation Worksheet
– Styles of submission
– Protocol and etiquette and other fancy words – for how to serve
– Contracts and agreements
– Boundary setting and inner work
– Skill building for service

Together we’ll explore the role of the submissive, and how to safely create boundaries for healthy D/s relationships. If you are just beginning your journey this will give you the foundation to serve, as well as make a great impression on your dominant.
Class comparison taken directly from Gumroads and correct as of November 2021

Some sort of conclusion of this review

Having continued the trend of making myself completely unwelcome in any dungeon around the world with my pickiness. I should probably finish this wave of negativity with a few other caveats. I haven’t listened to her recorded class, and she was teaching live with a significant head injury the night before. Although she assured us she did not have a concussion, my own professional (snrk) background means all the symptoms she publically mentioned made be a little suspicious- I have to emphasize that what I got might have had the parts I though were missing if she hadn’t had an wrought iron bit of sex furniture bean her hard enough to give her a headache the next day.

And I actually think you SHOULD do both classes, because the recorded sub class was much more superior in conveying dominant joy and pleasure, as well as a bunch of good general advice including handling consent violations versus accidents, and a certain supportive frankness of building stuff together. And for the $20 USD the live class cost me, and $15 USD for the recorded versions, you are getting a bargain. At that cost, Justine Cross has made good information extremely accessible. She should be commended, tipped and celebrated.

And I hope I can see her interrogation work shop, because the purring enthusiasm she brought to talking about the subject in an off hand mention was a brief moment of feeling completely and entirely understood. I do want to see her speaking more narrowly than generally, as I suspect my socks may be blown off.

Je te rievens / I come back to you

Whoops, this sat in drafts as the remainder of August and the first half of September into real life obligations and migraines. Here’s the yearning horny, albeit a bit belated!

My body wakes me up at 3AM for its own reasons and I seek his warmth and scent. I find him gone, and I am in my own bed, feeling his absence as a sense-ghost in my memory.

I think about the history he told me, discovering his submission online. Of his eager acceptance of what I say when I assert this or that in my tinkering with the comforts of life. I think about one, then two fingers sliding into his ass, my tugging, pinching and hurting him, and the interplay of our desires through his pain. Of the texture of his hard cock in my mouth, just slight slicked with the oil from the flavourless silicone we use.

I think about how odd it feels to spend two weeks where my sadism can uncoil itself without ceremony, whenever, however. Limits of reason are not something I care to exceed, so I am truly free to do as I wish. It really feels like a visceral thing in my chest, stuffed away behind my breasts. Tonight, at 3 AM in the dark, these ache. 

With him, cruelty happens as easily as a fresh cup of tea, his skin blooming in whatever the latest thing I do. The marks flare bright and usually fade in less than an hour.

I consider you, I consider you… 

The lyrics bounce about in my head, Anges Obel’s Beast. I have run my mile like the stanzas suggest, appreciating this wholeness with him. For the first time in a long time I felt fully unfolded, imagination painting me as something monstrous that usually keeps itself shrunk down. Something with long claws, like hooks, and a flexible body.

He is so small in my arms when I wrap around him. He who is three inches taller, and who I strain to reach when we kneel together to fuck him from behind.

I slap, strike, spank. He fast colours and fast fades, my hands marking for an hour, excepting a few bruises. I bend my mind around his circumstantial masochism, understanding the pain that is good pain, and the bad pain that is very wanted. It took me a few goes to understand that gentleness with fucking his ass was not needed, unlearming the chiding “ouch” from past partners and best practices, to trade for vigorous violation.

After we play particularly hard, perhaps an hour later, when my need to know overturns my commitment to the quieter moment, I watch his eyes and almost hear a click, as he tries to make the experience of me on him into words. It doesn’t come easy, but he knows I need him to articulate the nuances. I am oddly particular about his motives, for all that I glory in my sadism’s freedom.

My mind is a strange time traveller

All the time I visited him, I struggled with a blog post that put to words the sensation of having my mind focus on what’s next, beyond my visit. Now that it is past, I find myself, instead returning to the time before. Of all things, the memory of his smell leaves the strongest means to travel back.

It’s ironic because he is not particularly pungent. He has switched, recently, to some spice and old leather soaps, but it’s not those, as nice as they are, that places him so intensely he is a taste in my tongue and sinuses. 

When we fuck, the ghosts of us bloom beyond our bodies. If my sadism is something in my chest, our sex scents, older than the species, are a warmth of considerable comfort that emerge from us both to soothe. I wondered out loud at that, if others might sense him on me and react, if, in the way of humans it would turn men away or drive them more intrigued.

Perhaps nobody could tell, but where we fucked and laid together, we became overlapped, and myself wearing his scent like his arms about me.

The morning when I left, I didn’t shower, nor the night before, jealously keeping him on my body. But, by the afternoon, settling back into Vancouver, hot water and an engulfing robe gave me comfort. And still it is like I remember the scent now and that becomes enough.

Grey morning,  

It’s now morning as I write this, and the city is ghost calm, the only noise the compressor of the fridge and the hum of the furnace. His bedroom is quite noisy. You wouldn’t think thus, for he would swear to you he prefers suburban calm, but the condos of the area have pushed the density considerably. Things whine and woosh on the road, mumbles travel up from below and yells make their way from outside.

I want to hear his voice: the rumble hinting the bottom depths of it, the slight lisp when he is tired or the plastic braces that keep his teeth straight while he sleeps are snapped in place. The way he finally became less self conscious and let himself sing along a bit to music. The working from home professional voice, listened to while I poke at my laptop and appropriate the sex wedge as a back rest.

Just before I left, I asked a bit about his past, the before me. He was precisely honest in a way that brought out details from memory, but also sparse in some things. I am not the first woman he has submitted to, taking on the mutual self discovery with a long term online friend.

He is careful, understandably, as any man would be when their partner says “tell me about your ex”, but for me it is more a comforting sequence of knowing not precisely the erotic details, but how he made his way into understanding what we do. I am fishing, not for comparison, but to find what part might be submerged, mapping out a depth.

I think that I am largely open about myself. Too open, by most standards: sex blogger, sharer of feelings and criticisms, quick to say what I think. I want to be recorded, understood, and, I guess, accepted. I know the latter two are unlikely, but I am shockingly good at getting myself heard. Silver? I watch him manage to make small talk that is warm, friendly and doesn’t even reveal an opinion on a sports team, much less politics, even casual hobbies. He’s as hard to grasp as a breeze.

Strangers on the internet know I still suck my thumb in my sleep sometimes, and that I repeatedly miss shaving a few of the hairs on my ankles until I start to resemble a clydesdale. Silver, meanwhile, is the first person I met to whom “still waters run deep” is actually true. I used to think a core part of loving someone completely was knowing them with the same thoroughness, now I come to discover it’s more like a compulsive need to explore until I do.

I could dig for a long time before I’ve mapped (mined?) all of Silver.

This is also the first relationship I have been in that I put myself utterly first. This sounds luxurious, but actually it’s painful and often very bruising to my ego. You see that means a lot of addressing my self protective crazy. It makes my critical of past loves, as something I am unsure about is at what point did perfectionism in muffling my distress become dishonesty and at what point was it a boundary?

There now, reader, I have contradicted myself. An open book who somehow always shocked her exes with the depth of her dissatisfaction with tthem. An honest speaker of her thoughts who uses the needs of others to not think too hard about what she wants.

With Silver, from day one, I placed my standards higher. I extended my desires, and treated my wants like needs. He meets them. Oh my goodness does he meet them.

I am all aflutter with terror because I want him so very badly. This in turn makes an insecurity that the needy anchor seeker in me will terrorize him into trying to protect me by pulling back. I am trusting he won’t, thus far he isn’t.

I am cared for.

He drives me back to Vancouver, so I can walk the park length left to the border and cross back. On the way, he thoughtfully pulls into the little lighthouse Starbucks of a small town just before things shade from the poverty sprawl of Northern Washington to the wealth of south eastern suburban Greater Vancouver. 

Although most of what we just drove through was industrial boxes, here it’s a picturesque core of a small town. Autumn is hinting, a stroke of orange or a bloom of the first hint of red in some of the leaves, and a grey, chilly mist whispering that maybe the angry scourge of summer heat is done. Autumn is a weakness that turns me into romantic mush.

Masts from a marina peeping below the parking lot. I don’t want to leave him. I imagine a half dozen perfect maybe somedays as I steal what kisses I can. We reach the parking lot of the peace arch and he walks me to the border, where I will cross.

He likes a long, lips pressed kiss best. His kisses fascinate me, like nobody else. His cock settles in my body more easily than any other. He has the darkest blue eyes I have ever seen.

I am full to bursting with “what’s next, now!?”

What’s next? Here I am in Canada, first day back, I am considering my balcony garden and what parts survived my absence. Inexplicably the tender first zucchini that died in the heat wave came back robust, maybe there will be a crop. I regret only the goth cherry tomatoes, tenderly nurtured into bushy green from scant seeds from etsy. 

Life will continue. Delta will do its thing, in theory at some point in September he will make an expensive trip to see me. But, we will be apart, for now and wait to see what will come next.

Excuse Our Dust (From Seattle)

A visit to Silver in Seattle

Oh whoopsies, broke a few things on the site there, didn’t I? Hopefully the new template tweaks are working nice and smooth in your browser. Feel free to leave a comment if they are not! Otherwise, it’s been busy these last few weeks, but up until last week, maybe not so exciting.

What have I been up to this summer?

No sooner did I get into doing live streams, but an amazingly awful blanket of heat waves hit my province, turning my possible filming space into a sauna. I do not like it when my gloomy, damp home turns into a place where the weather is literally “firestorm”. Still, all wasn’t bleak, despite having to resort to covering my windows in tinfoil like I was a conspiracy theorist doing interior design. During the truly medically terrifying heat wave, Silver gifted me with a few nights in hotel, coming to the rescue with his very typical eagerness. He is good to me that way. This was also a pretty major milestone for me to trust someone enough to let them give me something at that cost.

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BDSM Belongs At Pride

kink belongs at pride BDSM belongs at pride we belong at pride

It’s smug kind of “I told you so” that this year the conversation has turned from an almost kink critical “they can’t consent to that” to a reminder that we very much belong. When I bashed out the ideas that formed the skeleton a few months ago, suggesting kink in public was actually ok was enough to get me blocked by people.

Don’t take my word for it, check out the ever insightful Kat Blaque or Watts the Safeword. They don’t necessarily agree with me on all points, but before you read me, it’s a good idea to arm yourself with some other perspectives to understand that in writing this I accept my take is probably the most radical, it’s coming from a larger nudge to the Overton Window from everyone. You don’t have to agree with everything I am going to say. You can take some of my arguments and discard others. I just ask that you assume I am arguing from a good faith place.

I believe BDSM belongs at Pride, and the arguments not include it are fundamentally against the spirit of the event.

But first, a caveat: If you don’t think kink belongs at Pride, or you disagree with me, you probably aren’t a bad person.

Sometimes these arguments against kink are trying to be protective, either of people at large or minors. The problem is that they rest on claiming any awareness of kink anyone could have is a comparative level of lewdness to reenactment of a Public Disgrace shoot. Another is to suggest that it’s a derail, that being kinkyed has nothing to do with any of the different identities we choose to address. Sometimes this attitude is because a ham handed kinkster tried to make a one-to-one comparison at some point in the past about how their marginalization was equivalent to a group with worse troubles. Sometimes the person perceives kink as a peculiar hobby that could also traumatize people, putting it in the same camp as the “no cops at pride” conversation.

Kink isn’t actually as lewd/filthy as people make it out to be in its totality. BDSM, as a subculture evolved so concurrently with the queer communities it weaves in and out of the fabric of the latter’s identities that separation of impossible. Additionally, the wholesale rejection of kink is explicitly ace-excluding, insisting on a very narrow definition of sexual and non-sexual.

My radical take: I think the whole enchilada should be there

Yes, the Leather folk. The people on leashes. The pup masks. They not only should be there, but not quarantined off in a special “after dark” space. And I push more progressively, that there’s even significant context in which a “scene” in public is also not a violation equivalent to vanilla genital fucking either.

This isn’t going to win me many friends to be the weird lady who actually thinks that say, the cherry tree shibari shoot that happened a few years ago in Toronto (not at Pride but in a public park) is fine. It’s not because I think I should be dragging everyone into being actors in my own personal fantasy re-enactment. I do feel that even just flying the leather pride flag and allowing a few sashes and corsets, or just carrying the paraphernalia of kink is still conceding unfair ground. And I do not personally put myself in the business of having elaborate public bondage scenes (etc…) in public not because I think they are morally wrong. I do so for the same reason I cover my breasts even though it is legal in my country. I decline to do certain things because of my own self protection against coercive harassment.

But Miss Pearl, you say, how can you force your sexuality onto people?

I dunno, I have a hard time taking that sort of pearl clutching (snerk) about kink when people wander around wearing special monogamy rings and inviting their whole family to watch them celebrate their monogamous commitment in a monogamy dress, with a monogamy cake, and two very sex themed optional monogamy imminent parties, in a monogamy ritual where they often make a big deal about exposing and tossing special underwear and showing how pair bonded they are in public.

Or walking past lingerie ads, or ads for dating services, or lovers lanes of steamy making out. The monogamous, ostensibly vanilla pair bond is seen as so wholesome that naval boats raffle the first kiss with your spouse at port as a ritual, and force everyone else to watch. At a certain point, the decision of what is and isn’t allowed is going to be pretty arbitrary to the culture it exists in. The concept of “private” grapples with the problem that relationships that are vanilla are interwoven with the culture and desires of others. People can be sincerely offended if they aren’t invited to a wedding of someone they care about. People WANT to gather to wear penis veils, or chained to a blow up doll, and run about the street collecting pre-wedding forfeits. 

Ok, you might argue, but BDSM is sex, that stuff is less sexy. It’s romantic.

So, if you mean to tell me a collar is a constant tool of overt arousal and ALL public play is the most vile of exhibitionism, prepare to be severely disappointed. Not only does the tokens we wear have a lot more on par with stealing your lover’s hoodie (or in Silver’s case me thiefing his white cotton t shirts), but usually they signify more of the romantic/belonging aspect of a BDSM relationship than the sexual one.

Not only that, but the bizarre pageantry of kink, precisely because things like leather are off the mainstream, aren’t particularly obviously sexual unless you have a subtext decoder.

Sure that guy might get aroused by being called “pup” as well as get emotional fuzzies, but the leather pup mask he is wearing is so much a fetish that it’s not even sexual unless you share his kink. And we allow plenty of sexy things as empowering- the wearing of revealing clothes and lingerie, padding, etc…

Ok, fine, you may argue, but non-consensual exhibitionism is bad. The world is not your free audience. Why did you need people to know about your private business?!

Sometimes I shouldn’t need to hide. Part of Pride challenges and pushes back on the norms that decide, say, my tits need to be in a top, but the same chest on a man can flop and wobble in the sun. This might be a feminism thing, but its an argument that pokes at what gender even means. Banning kink is part of collectively enforcing that the rituals of relationships and families that people take for granted have to be that way.

In the case of kink in Pride, it isn’t about flashing people, for the most part it is about freedom. I know that a fuck ton of frightened arguing pops out about how they totes saw triple fisting pony butt plug tails, but while I won’t bother telling you it NEVER happened ever in the history of humans being dumb, I can say it’s a fixation that indicates a complete lack of education about what kink and fetishes look like.

While people fret about the overt stuff they easily note, most fetishes pass. It’s sometimes the Pleasers on the Drag Queen. The day collars. The body parts and clothes that the average person would never never think you could find arousing (like wool knit!)

But what if it *IS* obviously sexual damn it!???

Yeah, you might see a vagina costume or a packer. But the lady on the float in the strapon probably isn’t particularly wet right now, she is enjoying feeling so safe about herself she can be open. She, or the big pink labial mascot, or any other permutation of this nature also may be making a transgressive point about gender. We live on a planet where multiple human cultures still explicitly display dicks on stuff, including things like the incredibly wholesome Japanese penis festival or Michelangeo’s David. 

Inversely, we tolerate loads of vanilla stuff that is in the borderline if you have plausible deniability. This is the unfairness to kinky folk- what we do doesn’t get this space. Have a wedding in a park and people may even cheer, hold a collaring ceremony and it’s uncomfortable stares.

And sometimes the sexual is important because it means more. The strapon scene in Sense8? Where you see a wet rainbow dildo bounce on the floor? That’s the sexual turned to convey a profound amount of meaning, of acceptance of one of the character’s core identities. 

Love is love is all very well and good, but we live in a world where the public regulates the private. Sex is also sex. Sex toy bans, porn censorship and even regulations around sodomy all make the intensely personal NOT have the right to that privacy. You cannot say that a dildo is a secret thing and then demand that you can only buy one for “novelty or educational” purposes in certain US states.

Nor would it be ok to tell queer folk they could love who they liked, just to abstain from sex all their lives. Again, all love is the same love until your “It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve” is actually in effect outside of the most superficial or sanitized expressions of what love might look like.

But, what about kids at pride? Pride is a family event now! And gay kids benefit from attending, if there’s anything sexy they might not go.

I am glad you have thought about the children. As minors with less rights they need protection… however!

We already went through a great deal of time insisting that people being gay or trans in public were requiring conversations kids just weren’t ready for. People tried to argue two guys together meant having to explain the mechanics of anal. And various other permutations of being ok, grudgingly, with kids figuring out a bit of hetero but being in Grave Danger if they had any inkling anything but Barbie and Ken dream wedding was afoot. This is nonsense, you can age appropriately scale the conversation to protect a minor- the same way you can simplify or go into detail as appropriate on subjects like pregnancy or why Aunt Jo uses they pronouns.

I get this is a fraught topic. Again, everyone is still iffy about things like (O.W.L.) Our Whole Lives and fighting over abstinence only education and how and when kids get to know things.

But, if you mean to tell me “some adults like dressing up, feeling different sensations or playing with who is in charge” is too hard for you to say, oh dear

And if you think there’s really anything at Pride that isn’t popping about in kids cartoons, as comedy or dramatic peril, you haven’t been doing a good enough job screening your kids media. If you are freaking out about pup masks while letting your kid grow up on paw patrol, yikes. Don’t like Bondage? Take Disney off the net blocker white list, and toss out superheros. If you think your kids aren’t integrating these “innocent” scenes into their fantasies as their sexuality develops, I have news for you.

Further, our habit of waiting until anyone is 18 before thinking they can acknowledge kink exists is not really a solution. There’s precious little sex ed, outside of Scarleteen that even acknowledges kink is a thing, outside of closed communties and the intentionally lewd. This is doing harm.

I will never advocate minor/adult kink relationships, but I wouldn’t advocate them as a vanilla thing, either. However! I explicitly believe you can have age appropriate awareness, the way we teach condoms, biology and consent as part of a healthy sex ed. I further feel that when someone who has sexuality but must be protected to discover it can only find one version, it will cause as much shame as abstinence only sex ed does. 

By shutting kink out of a public festival of Pride, you are projecting a simplified perception that this is exclusively a weird extra sexy sex thing that can’t be scaled up or down. You are not allowing minors to receive holistic sex ed in a context where they aren’t directly engaging with adults. Ultimately this goes back to my point that sometimes it’s just thematic resonance or romance, and if you don’t know that, it’s not fair to fail to let kink folks show otherwise.

Ok, but what if BDSM *is* sexual? You write a porn blog, god damn it!

Sex (in that larger sense) in public also already is a conversation that varies by culture. Who gets declared more or less lewd and what it means where you do things is variable not just by place of origin, body proportions and what we think about that role.

Thus we can have the most wildly erotic dancing in no kissing Bollywood films, or have cultures that consider someone more sexy in more coverage, not less. Generally most humans like full say in whose engorged and moistened genitalia they are exposed to, but even so, the codpiece, the merkin and the penis gourd exist. And none of these are anything other than ok, normal clothing, albeit generally formal.

Further, there is validity to exploring that edge of presumed acceptance, as well. As an intersectional thing, you are under extra scrutiny for being “sexual”. If you are fat, femme, or even just gifted with prodigious breasts or buttocks, for example, you are more policed than you are slim, masculine and so on. Just being seen by other people as being more lewd can, in fact, be a form of discrimination. This effects everyone Pride is meant for, and accusations of predation and more desire are a historical part of the violence such groups experience. It’s a very real double standard.

While flashing people for your jollies is not ok, being able to make people acknowledge that you have sexuality and it should be celebrated is extremely Pride, and so is declaring your sexuality is no less shameful than another person’s.

What was that about BDSM being Queer?

BDSM is, among many things, a loose collection of subcultural norms. Today and for all of its history, its place as part of alternative culture has made it not so much an ally as an active part of Queer cultural history.

Aspects like “Leather” are more Queer than not, with the adoption by straight people following after their popularization in gay communities. While today people may be more familiar with things that are profoundly heteronormative, like the popularization of 50shades, in practice, while BDSM communities may have explicitly Gay, Lesbian, etc… off shoots, and some pockets that are homophobic hot messes, for the most part it is a space built on norms that are some of the most accepting of being queer.

Further, BDSM’s parallel evolution interweaves with the same counter cultural pioneering that created space to be increasingly openly gay, trans, etc… TES, possibly the world’s oldest continuous BDSM group, was participating in Pride when it was still branded as Gay Liberation. The early community building of kink explicitly modeled itself after the same going on in feminism and gay rights.

Sanitizing this from display is selectively determining that some parts of being Queer and Queer history are not ok, and Queerness is ok as long as it’s only a gender swapped version of some sort of 1950s dream.

Right, great, we will let the queer kinksters in, leather daddies and dykes on bikes are go! But you F/ms and M/fs who aren’t containing one or more trans people can simmer down.

(Here is the point that the people tend to lose patience and get unfollowed. You can be mad if you like, but I ask only you bear with me, to my next point…)

For a significant part of the kinked population, the answer of what your sexuality is, is to say BDSM and/or fetish. Sure they might have a gendered preference for who they do that with, but something we don’t talk about is how common it is to be kink dependent for attraction to function. And this is where people get frustrated and tell me BDSM is not an orientation like gay or straight. True!

It is actually under the A for Asexual.

Although not everyone *needs* kink for a sexual or romantic response to work, if you do require BDSM to have functional sexuality, you meet precisely the criteria laid out for demisexuality or other parts of the spectrum of asexuality, aka Grey Ace or Aspec. A lot of kinksters, themselves, have their minds blown when they realize this is them. But yeah, you, reader, if kink is the only thing that makes your sexuality function, could identify as Asexual.

What is Demisexuality/ Grey Ace? 

A less understood part about being Asexual is that it is an umbrella term. It can include the obvious complete absence of a sexuality, but it also includes being Aromantic (where you can be sexual but simply not experience romantic love); and the so called grey or demisexuals, whose.sexual experience is pending a limiting factor. 

A common experience for demis is romantic love being the gateway to experiencing attraction. This means that until that bond is there, nothing can happen. People generally get this, and the modern branding of Pride, “Love is Love” make this incredibly accommodating. Another way one might be on the asexual spectrum is for it to be sporadic, say a libido that is very low or unpredicable.

But for an asexual person, another condition one might have to experience sexuality or attraction is having a paraphilia or fetish. 

In my case, if you tried to have me have a sexual and romantic relationship without kink, the answer is, I couldn’t. I mean, I could fake it and be utterly miserable, but my kinks are my kinks. And for me, love and kink are two factors that regulate my sexuality. Unfortunately this part of sexual knowledge is so removed from the conversation it took a lifetime to learn this was a hard truth.

As a result, I had years of painful, bad sex that was in no way coerced by my partners, with everyone telling me it was just a matter of time and practice. I can’t blame them, although one party was outright abusive, the rest were largely good, giving humans who tried to find the clitoris, etc…

The most giving, foreplay granting hot vanilla human will waste their time with me, and I them. In my case, I can experience some easier physical attraction if I fall in love (almost universally facilitated by a text based medium and kink) and my bits have the right nerve endings to use them conventionally, but subtract my fetishes and that relationship will die on the vine.

Further, my porn consumption follows that pattern- screw gender, I am just looking for a certain intensity and activity set. Gay, straight, agender… although the consumptive scope means I write what I like, I also consume a lot of romance and fast flip through perfectly well done sex scenes. This is my life.

I wanted to be “normal”. It would have made my life, including my dreams of sex work, much more feasible. But my body and heart needs something very specific. If I get that, fireworks. If not, it has all the erotic thrill and romance of looking through a 1960s wallpaper catalogue.

But what about Pride? You don’t mean to tell me all kinky folk are Ace do you?

Sure, for some people kink is a value add not the main event, but that’s not on you to decide from a distance. I wouldn’t say my experience is a one to one comparison with every other kinked person, and I definitely personally don’t go blundering into Pride declaring it needs to be all about me now. But! You cannot celebrate people being Ace with the same commitment to equality if you won’t actually acknowledge what Ace can and does look like.

I can understand when you are getting murdered for holding hands in public, this is not comparable to me lying on my back wondering why this is the bad kind of pain while a very considerate vanilla partner tries their best. I have amazing passing privilege, just like people tend to not notice my bisexuality or my gender fluidity.

I also acknowledge my fully radical position on kink inclusion is not going to win me any friends. But I do ask that you consider how much ground we give up by conceding to even a very sterile kink, and how arbitrary even our definition of scene/ not scene is. I do not think it’s fair to let people who are not even kinky have such a strong voice in defining what is both sexual and not actually means. And I have some concerns that our caution that we violate consent to even let people know we exist is a form of internalized shame.

Kinky folk are not a monolith, but neither are we benefiting from closeting and ignoring that a good part of what we built is actually a culture, not just a sex thing. In conclusion, BDSM belongs at Pride.

(There is a whole other argument that kink is morally reprehensible in it’s own right, which, well, I can’t help you there. Sure just because it turns someone on doesn’t make it ok. However  after a point, once we hammer out whatever SSC, RACK or PRICK system works best for me and my partners, what I do with consenting adults eventually falls into “fuck off, this is my thing, die mad about it”)

Long Distance Fleshlight Fuck

I’ve done a bunch of housekeeping and found some writing that never got shared. Technically this is like, September 2020, but it’s no less raw and sexy. As per the title: a long distance fleshlight fuck, caught on webcam. Also Silver has been even more away for 4 days and I am already climbing the walls. I have a problem. 😛

His face, oh, his beautiful face.

Desire/Restraint
Desperate, wrapped & milked. Fearing Release as much as her craves to have it. Long distance fleshlight fuck

I am watching him, pixelated a bit (although apparently my video is just fine), and a tiny rectangle of myself, a video call reflection. I am perched on my bed in a pair of emerald green panties, with my hair in a pretty dark braid down my side. 

We are both ghost pale, shared gifts of ancestors who hung out in the arctic circle. I think we are good looking, and nobody has disputed that fact with me recently. Myself with the faint traces of worn out makeup around my eyes, and a nose that turns pink any time the temperature dips below 15 C. 

I have strong, dark brows and eyes to match. He, blond, has that golden sand colour with the warmth of a sugar cookie just starting to brown on the bottom in his hair, or the warm way a cream lampshade looks when the light’s on. His eyes are very blue, but a deeper riff on the colour, no water or sky comparisons, more Persian, Azure or Sapphire. The only pink is his lips, small thumb print nipples and the ruddy swollen gloss of his cock.

He’s so beautiful to me. 

Lean angular lines, slender limbs, so fragile and delicate looking, at once with the placement of deliberately sculpted, built muscle.

The fleshlight he bought was chosen to please a voyeur, in clear. While he fuck it, it’s hidden from the screen. But I saw it earlier in photos, close ups of his cock penetrating, careful to showcase what he is proud of, but more importantly, proud to give to me. Now he has the camera set so I have, quite without him thinking about it, almost the angle I would have if we were fucking, and his cock was engulfed inside me.

The trigger for this particular escapade was me filming myself slithering out of stretchy black jeans. Somehow this tongue in cheek little end of day inclusion of the mundane was the encouragement to make himself ready to fuck for me.

I can hear the faint squeak of the fleshlight sometimes, see the building pressure and tension in his face and upper body. It’s very different than making him edge with his hand for me.

This way, it’s a whole body commitment, and the desperation on his face gets very different, not just intimate because it is closer, but this extremely vulnerable fear, knowing that the pleasure he is chasing is putting him closer and closer to the risk of involuntary disobedience.

I have my panties to the side, two fingers working in and out, running a spoken line of erotic teasing that I amp up and down. The right words and he gets increasingly more incoherent.

Human sexual pleasure is two parts, the mental and the physical. While the mechanics of orgasm have their own nerve paths to complete the reaction, regardless of the state of your spine, we know the brain’s independent ability to arouse can exist without touch and friction.

I cannot wrap my legs around him, engulf and take him inside. There are about 200 km separating my airy, gauzy bedroom from his more modern and boxy, sleek space. But, I can fuck him with my words as deeply as he is thrusting into the slicked, ribbed and sucking channel of the toy.

It’s not his own movements that make him almost come, it’s my reminder that he’s helpless for me. Sincerely making my case for how trapped he is is the best way to turn him into a pile of whimpers.

I remind him that he begged me not to come last month, and no matter how good this feels, he can’t come now. I remind him that he is opened to me, to use as I see fit. I remind him if he does come it will be with my visit, now less than 2 weeks away, but only a chance to have me consider it.

Because if he does come. he’d better be emotionally ready to take that vulnerability, the drop of succumbing.  He’ll lose that reassuring numbing of unsatisfied lust drugging him from thinking too hard about the most dangerous thing for him. He wants me so badly, and sexual release is removal of the hand on his throat, only to leave him yearning for me to put it back.

He wants my love. But, coming or not, that’s a constant.


Best BlowjobMachines.com wanted to toss in a support, and they weren’t particularly rigid about the how, only that I let you know about their page on Best Blowjob Toys. Honestly in my opinion there isn’t enough sites out there promoting and reviewing male sex toys, so as an enthusiast of all things to use on men (or make them use for you) it’s nice to get a support from another project that’s in close alignment with me. Oh, and if sucking isn’t your thing (or you are a man without a penis), they are also pretty enthusiastic about sharing their post on Best Anal Toys For Men because dick or not, most men have a butt hole.

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.