This one comes from my YouTube channel where I’ll often receive questions on a variety of subjects relating to femdom. Sadly, I can’t often get to them in any sort of reasonable time-frame, so I’ve taken to answering them here and sending a link to the individual making the enquiry. So. Onward.

This comes from Germanic, Lovecraftian, ‘satanic murder artist’ ( — I don’t make this shit up) Stein und Stahl Productions:

‘ Hi there. I saw some of your videos and I just wanted to ask you, do any women actually enjoy dominating men, or is this all just for entertainment? Based on all of my experiences, and what I’ve read, it seems like most females are naturally submissive. That’s not to say that there are no exceptions, but it’s hard to believe women would like using your type of therapy or want to stay with their man after dominating him.

Please don’t take this as flamebait, as I’m honestly curious about this and am willing to admit that I’m still learning about the female psyche. I guess what I’m most curious about is, how many women actually get aroused, or in anyway enjoy, dominating a man? Please write back, thanks. ‘

Good question, actually. (I appreciated the clarification that he wasn’t looking to start a flame war, too. It’s hard to tell sometimes.)

(more…)

Passion but exists upon a spectrum of love and hate.
Forgo the one — the other, await.

Logic and reason do not present, in either case.
Alongside emotion, they do not pace.

Wild and unseemly, improper and free.
These are the things you now deny me.

How cruel.
How weak.

To forbid your own voice –
Its madness to speak.

Be along now;
Soon, all memory will be lost.
Erased.
With a quiet longing, perhaps, a hatred replaced.

For passion exists as one or the other.
You may deny me, love –
But never will you be my brother.

I believe Andrew Eldritch (not his real name; kind of like the lot of us, hey?) said it best: love is a many splintred thing.

I s’pose this is to be filed under ‘Journal Entry’ given it seems to be about ‘my life and journey’. At times, I feel as if I’m a postmodern Victorian (yeah, try making -that- one make sense!) trying to lead a Bohemian life — because it’s all that seems to fulfill me entirely.

It’s the syncing up part that becomes rather trying after a time. And yet, the feeling I get when it -is- … well, that’s what keeps me running this especially mad hamster wheel.

The biggest obstacle to my happiness in this arena seems to be what I’ve titled this little drabble. Guilt. Specifically, over the feelings I tend to have which run counter to the monogamous lifestyle that (most) of my heart seems to be most secure in. But then those feelings surge, and mad, unexpected things happen, and, in the psychosocial whiplash aftermath, I’m left going: ‘ … the fuck -was- that?’

More than anything, I wish I could regret them.

I wish … I could decide to finally grow up and be a normal, functioning member of society. That these wild, zany notions would successfully slip from my mind, and I’d have no need to recall them.
(more…)

As some of you know, I love to sing. Occasionally, I’ll share some of them with my Podcast listeners, but I try to keep that pretty strictly about D/s — or, if someone requests — my artistic projects. (I’ve not forgotten you, Arnaut!)

But every now and again, something comes along that magically incorporates everything. Ladies and gents, Laura Branigan’s 1984 ‘banned-in-Boston’ music video, ‘Self Control’.

Okay, yeah, so, I know what you’re thinking: is that the Phantom of the Opera? Why is he here? And, OH, MY GOD, DID HE JUST … ?

Yes. Yes, he did. (And for you lazy asses who have NO idea what’s going on there, WATCH THE FRICKIN’ VIDEO.)

(more…)

I lost my voice.

I don’t know when it happened, or even why. But one day was different than all of the others, and I couldn’t speak. Not literally, though I have experienced laryngitis, and it’s almost as disconcerting. This is when you lose the ability to speak your mind, your soul. All that you are, and everything you’re about suddenly vanishes — and you can’t say where it’s gone, or how it disappeared. Worse, you have no idea how to get it back.

Those of you who find themselves musically-inclined will recognise the title as a song of the same name from Pink Floyd’s Division Bell album, which I would’ve worn out, had it been vinyl. It has particular meaning for this post. That particular group, along with Moody Blues, NIN, Sarah, Tori, Smiths, Cure, and more than I can name here, provided the soundtrack for most of the salient experiences of my youth and young adulthood.

I sort of remember the day I suddenly realised I’d lost the ability to feel. I remember when sex became clinical, and then simply unimportant. I couldn’t say why, however. The abuse? My past? The shame of it all? I’m simply more cerebral than sexual? After all, there were more times than I can count which I’d favoured writing — or even bloody daydreaming — over engagement of the physical act of sex. So … complicated. Messy. Took planning, and really, seemed pointless. I’d get to experience pleasure — physically — for a mere fraction of the time I would ride the holistic high from completing a particular scene, or resolving a plot issue, or finding that I’d written some of my better work.

That was when I’d had the startling moment that I really just didn’t like sex.

I’d had a complex enough history with it; very fickle. But, still, it was one of those things that would not land you happily-ever-after, no matter how you sliced it, and a part of me decided to ignore it. Launch a full-scale denial campaign, conveniently avoiding the realisation that I wasn’t like everyone else, (of which I was already painfully aware in other arenas) and figuring that, at least I had control over the world that existed between my ears.

So, the rest of me just took up residence there. For years. It was fine, to an extent. Helped me endure what would’ve possibly done much more lasting damage during a four-year abusive relationship. It also allowed me to fully disengage any sort of emotionality from sex, which was what I had secretly been seeking all along. At first, I suppose I figured it’d make me happy — to feel more in control, not needing, not craving, not wanting sex. The romantic within me became tragically activated; always seeking, dreaming of, longing for some sort of idyllic love affair that really only existed upon my hard drive, or occasionally, within the pages of rare fiction that spoke to me — into which I’d endlessly escape while somehow managing to function. (Have friends, maintain a full-time job, block out the abusive boyfriend, etc.)

I know what you’re thinking: ‘That’s not a life.’

No. It’s not.

People can survive in a stifled environment that disallows them to develop or ever express their full potential. But that’s about all they can do. They can’t actually thrive, since most of their daily existence is dedicated to escaping all that depresses or seeks to prevent them from changing their circumstances — which, in time, they do themselves. Trust me on that one. I hadn’t realised that a constellation of factors had emerged to ruin my sexuality — or rather, my relationship to my sexuality. One day, I simply disowned it. I fear it was so long ago, I can’t even say when. Most importantly, I had no idea how to get it back.

Until … today.

(more…)

I guess due to Mister P’s outburst earlier this evening, that we’re evidently taking a break from our kink. I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised, since I have seen it coming for awhile now — just wasn’t sure how to interpret, process, or phrase it. I’m still not; but writing is a wonderful way for me to better understand my own thoughts, and reach some kind of understanding. So, let’s begin at the beginning — since it’s typically the place to start.

Somewhere around February, our kink took a dive. Why? Maybe it was related to my getting my audio drama back online, and preparing to launch that ten-years-in-development project. Maybe it was his taking more hours at work. Maybe it was our nigh constant traveling throughout the month. Or maybe … it was something unexpressed, that had been growing for awhile. Maybe it took watching a powerfully obviously femdom Japanese film called Moonlight Whispers; though it was released a decade ago, it’s shockingly current. And in the end, the real take-home message seemed to be ‘kink always wins’. (To better understand that phrase and its full meaning, pick up the film. You won’t be disappointed.)

What did I realise? Something I had already known, and said a few times before, but eventually somewhat dropped and allowed to fade into the background — because it’s too complicated, or otherwise painful(?) to confront head-on:

I don’t like fake control.

(more…)

Sex.

Man. The power it holds over us human beings is pretty phenomenal, isn’t it? While it has a greater physical impact upon men, it has an equally emotional one on the fairer sex (and, of course, some men as well). So the intensity, and the need, is quite equivalent, but expressed very differently — and with enough overlap to create the dance between the sexes we all know well. The truth is, there’s a lot of research that says we’re basically serial monogamists as a species; while some of us can certainly hack forever, we may not be expected to do so consistently.

And, yep, that means just what you think it does: when she’d rather read, and you’d like to … erm, ‘make use’ of your own ‘reading material’ — it doesn’t mean the honeymoon’s over completely and eternally — but the infatuation is. While it’s a rather sad thing to mourn, and I’m happier in general knowing that my fiance’s orgasms are under my control, these blips on the sex-dar are pretty normal — and very human.

Once you’ve come to accept that, what the hell do you do? It’s tricky, honestly, because what I’m about to tell you proves a real test for most couples, and explains a good portion of the rising divorce rate over the last 30 years. When both partners decide against ‘forcing’ the sexual chemistry back into their relationship, they tend to ‘let each other be’ — sometimes entering a no-sex spiral that lasts for months. Or years. What began, ‘Not tonight, honey. I really want / need / have to X, Y, or Z,’ became a lower expectation of sexual interest, which then became a decreased need, and the forming of a habit and entirely different dimension of the prior sexual relationship. This is typically how, and why, couples that were once engaging in a healthy, active sexual relationship have managed to dry up and go celibate for years.

So, what the fuck happened? A number of things. Habits are tough to break, and a respite does not equal a permanent sexual lull. There are a lot of dependent factors, but also some ways to avoid the major pitfalls — if you know what to look for and have genuine compatibility.

Hmm. Speaking of lulls and genuine compatibility, my fiance’s getting home soon. While I feel this is no doubt a very important post to be making, I think it’ll have to wait.

Keep your eyes peeled. And in the meanwhile, ask questions. You know I love those.

Wow, another one already.

This one from another guy off CollarMe, asking a pretty common question: are masochistic fantasies healthy? Especially, those in which one desires to be hurt, captured, or forced to submit? It’s a very long, individualised answer — which I rather hinted at in my brief response:

‘Great question, [name given].

Submission exists in many forms — and is as individualised as we are. The key is to understand what’s triggering the ‘submissive fantasies’. It may be a negative or abusive situation from your youth; or, conversely, you may have never experienced anything like that and be secretly curious about it. Sure, you know it’s an awful thing — to be harmed, made to suffer, and experience fear. Consciously, that is. Subconscious is a whole other ball-game, and it plays by very different rules.

Not sure how much you read from my profile, but I’m a psychosexual therapist, so this sort of speculation is my stock and trade. I’m always evaluating the presence or absence of ‘healthy’ versus ‘unhealthy’ kink — namely, that which has presented itself to you based upon negative conditioning from the past through abuse, etc. (unhealthy) from the stuff we fantasise about which comes to us from a place of curiosity about and fascination with the unknown (healthy). My favourite thing to (at least attempt) to do is transform a negatively conditioned ‘unhealthy’ kink into a positive kink experience in a safe, controlled environment. Takes work, but it’s certainly worth it.

I have a number of episodes about this very topic throughout my Podcast on iTunes, ‘Diary of a Dominatrix’. Take your pick, really, or browse the various posting through my website. It’s a hot topic; so hot, actually, that the DSM-V is actually taking such things into account regarding their ‘sexual perversions’ sections. About bloody time, too.

Hope this helps; best of luck to you.

-M Roulette Chatelaine’

What are your thoughts? Experiences? Any you’d like to share?

Think your man wants to fuck you and only you? That no matter how devoted to you, how submissive he is, how much of a true slave he is to you, that yours is the only pussy he wants?

Think again.

So, it’s been an interesting day, to say the least. After a particularly insightful discussion with an old friend about a surprisingly common problem, Mister P and I decided to Podcast on the timeless battle of the sexes; more specifically, sexuality.

His take on it is not something with which I’ve been unfamiliar — but no less find troubling. See, he always wants a new partner. Regardless of what’s going on around him, if there’s new pussy to be had, by God, he wants it! He says all men are oriented this way due to pure biology. Now, the reasons why he doesn’t go out and fulfill those apparently natural drives and instincts is due to the consequences it would involve.

Women, on the other hand, don’t crave strange cock — most of the time. We can be satisfied with the cock we know gets the job done; especially if it happens to be attached to a dear friend of ours, and someone we have a great affection for. This doesn’t factor in with men, and quite frankly, they don’t get this about us. Meanwhile, the knowledge that they’re always imagining and desiring a new sex partner — which, quite obviously, isn’t you anymore — is hardly comforting.

I hate to say it, but it really, really does remind me of one of my favourite romantic comedies. (Not to spoil it for anyone, because it really is worth the watch, but it turns out that men and women are not so easily defined, and men are not always on the constant search for ‘new cow’ — just, watch the film to get the reference.)

So, what Mister P is telling me is that it’s true. After they’ve had us once — just once — and the thrill of the new conquest has abated, a part of them is off and running to the next. Upon just a single sexual encounter, he’s already bored of fucking you.

Charming.

Naturally, I asked him: ‘if there’s no guarantee then, that a man will not just up and fuck up and fulfill his constant need for strange one day, then wouldn’t it make sense that the only way it could be guaranteed is if his woman locks his cock up?’

He blinked for a moment, and then responded (almost hesitantly): ‘ … Yes.’

‘Interesting.’

And there you have it. The battle of the sexes rages on, and the next Podcast episode will be our latest contribution to the eternal war. We haven’t even begun it, and I can already tell you, it’s gonna be one to remember.

By the way … anyone have any suggestions for good, comfortable, solid and reliable chastity devices? I may be in the market for one very soon.

Check back for the next Podcast episode.

So, my favourite socio-pundit, Blanche Black, is at it again. This time quoting Sherry Argov. You may remember her. She’s the chick who believed so heartily that women love bitches that she wrote a book on it. Zoom. Best-seller. At that point, she realised that love wasn’t enough for the fairer populous. No, no. If that love doesn’t come with a price-tag — typically with diamonds (and don’t get me started on why that in itself is insanity) accompanied by wedding bells, it’s just not bringing it home. Of course, Argov couldn’t stop there, so she presented to the world this past summer her magnum opus: Why Men MARRY Bitches.

Oh, dear, christ. How can I ever hope to express the full extent of my conflict over this?

Because:

A) It’s largely true — and it works.

B) It shouldn’t. It really, really shouldn’t.

See, I’m rather living proof of this, since my mother’s earliest lessons involved manipulating men. I was too young to realise that it was … well, kinda wrong, and that the world didn’t really work that way. (I know. Funny coming from a domme, isn’t it?) The truth is, I don’t believe in either (or any) sex being superior to the other. Both genders have strengths and weaknesses. Really, they fit together quite neatly, once you get past the cosmic joke of all the internal conflict. And even that’s not true in every case. Quite honestly, dominant women and submissive men get on very well in tandem. So long as they both remember to respect and appreciate each other.

But … it doesn’t seal the deal.

Nope.

Sad, that in this day and age, we have to look at tying the knot as a business transaction, but really, isn’t no different from any other sales conversion. You’ve each convinced the other that you’re worth the contractual agreement, because of your fancy advertising or dollars poured into market research, so you sign on the dotted line. It’s true that men don’t marry nice girls. Nope. They marry bitches. They like nice girls. They enjoy nice girls bringing them coffee and sharing their office space. Cleaning up their desk and ensuring that the blinds are open when they come in and closed when they leave. They probably even appreciate those women who take the time and effort to make their lives a little easier, to see that they feel supported, valued, and loved.

But do they seal the deal with a nice women?

Natch. (more…)