So, in case you hadn’t heard, Nite Flirt is in beta, and I’ve been a Flirt for a good 6 months or so now. New, in comparison, but among the top on the site. Every now and again, I like to scroll through the various listings by other Flirts, laugh at the silly little ‘princess dommes’ and take a few pointers from the more skilled, successful and worthy dominas.

If anything, I’ve always had something of a courtesan fantasy. They were so in control — regardless of era, they had the most powerful men of their time at their feet: lords, dukes, kings, and emperors; CEOs, senators, and presidents. It’s a double-edged sword. There were of course, ladies, duchesses, queenes; wives and first ladies involved, too. The truly skilled courtesan would make her client more beholden to his wife, teaching him how to worship and admire her. In exchange, he would always belong to her, for she was the teacher. The one who taught him how to love, and truly please a woman.

Everybody wins. (more…)

When my boyfriend, Mr. P, told me a couple of days into our most recent experiment with chastity that if I didn’t do the scene soon, he’d start deliberately picking fights and creating disharmony in our usually level and very rarely rocky relationship, I took heed. Within seconds, I could feel the control being silently taken from me; the pressure of having to perform starting to bear down. If my emotions didn’t ebb and flow to the same rhythm as his need for abuse, then he was going to actively bring it out of me — even if not necessarily consciously. It was an important piece of honesty, which I praised him for, and appreciated his expressing it to me. But it didn’t lessen my predicament in any way.

See, I wasn’t ready yet. Not nearly. My head was swimming with intriguing and intense behavioural modification methodology, since part of the grand scheme is learning to transform some facets of our darker natures into that which can be better integrated into our base personalities. Namely, his, since mine can be expressed through my fiction, or even being particularly forceful in my demeanour. His, however, needs direct, merciless abuse.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to abuse the one you love? More so, if you have been abused by people who, at points of your life, have claimed to love you?

Talk about a mindfuck. (more…)

As the gentle melody of Phillip Glass rises and falls to the nondescript carpeting of our modest apartment, lapping at my ears and soothing my frayed nerves and heightened senses, he writes to me.

I’ve asked him, again, because I believe in him; I believe in this. He isn’t writing to turn me on, to make me wet, to prove to me that he can do it. He’s writing for me, because I’ve asked him, and because it’s within his nature and talents to do so. It isn’t an assignment; it’s a feeling. Not a task, but a total immersion.

Because when he writes … he steals the moment from me, and holds onto it, preciously, for safe-keeping until further notice. He has done so many times, and in each, he reminds me not only why I love him, but why I always have — even before I really knew it. As I watched him chew idly at (many) pen caps, reclining in an office chair, contemplating his next move: be it to bet, raise, or fold; invest, stop, or pull, engage or disengage from any particular event, or, always stirring in the recesses of his consciousness: where will he go from here?

Here, where we are today, is different from what I’d ever imagined, sitting mere feet from him, at my desk in his office; sharing his space, quietly wondering if he felt I was in violation, or if it was truly welcome. That poker face. I never could read him. He was too good — even for me. (And that is saying something.) I wouldn’t know … for years. I’d never even really, honestly, had a dream come true, as they say, that meant something to me. But it was worth the wait.

Even as I sat disbelieving, watching, wondering, waiting, hoping — just maybe, maybe some day, I’d have a real glimpse into his inner-workings; some sort of passage into the deep inner-sanctum. The place where he keeps his dreams, his secrets, his deepest yearnings, longings, fears, and nightmares … If I could hold that key, we would be complete. Not I, not he — but we would be complete.

I don’t ask him to write for me, but for us. It always jostles the lock, just enough, so that I can peer inside yet again. And the wonders that I behold … every time …

I ask him to write for me — not (only) because it arouses or excites me; but because it takes my breath away.

I can’t possibly be the only one who’s noticed that modern BDSM clearly favours the female partner — whether she be submissive or dominant. If in submission, her dominant tends to be loving, doting, and indulgent. Occasionally restrictive, if it seems to be in the submissive’s best interest. She gives over her power, just like the male submissive does, trusting and seeking to build greater intimacy with the dominant. The female submissive is rewarded for her submission, however, whereas it’s expected of the male submissive — especially if you’re dealing with a female supremacist-oriented sort of female domination dynamic. Then the male is practically treated as less than human, expected to serve without reward or gratitude, where the ultimate objective is to break down and subjugate their will. The female submissive is coddled, cherished and adored — the object of desire and affection. The male submissive is a degraded, denied, and defiled — simply regarded as an object. If anything, of contempt, or with no identity or value at all.

What kind of fuckery is this?

For one, it really does support my theory that the majority of dommes are angry feminists who have decided that men must pay — and hey, there’s a whole bunch of them out there that want this kind of abuse, so where’s the problem?

That’s the greater question. Where is the problem?

I’ll tell you one thing; when we attest that human slavery is atrocious in third world countries, but are perfectly accepting of consensual slavery without even examining its roots — Houston, we have a big problem. (more…)

I get this question a lot. So much, it’s almost surprising I’ve not tackled it before now. Though, perhaps, because I really don’t have much of an answer. For me, it doesn’t seem to so much be activity-oriented as it is geared toward a certain individual. To wit, I enjoy just about anything with my boyfriend — be it over-the-top kinky, or almost vanilla. I had a great time getting to explore Domina M‘s wonderful nickel talons with the lovely bound Guinevere — likely because there’s a good deal of sisterly affection. Had I been trying out my domina chops with someone less pleasant, or overly critical, it wouldn’t have been nearly the fun, esteem-building experience it was.

Of course, I run into an issue then in my professional life when asked that famous question: ‘What do you enjoy, Mistress?’ What the hell do I enjoy? Are there any activities that are entirely independent of whether or not I’m enjoying them with a particular person, or type of person? There might be, but, considering I choose not to play (seriously) outside of my relationship, I’m much more aware of those that I know I share with my boyfriend only. Strap-on’s a good example. It’s definitely something I love to do — especially for the effects it has upon him and his behaviour — but only with him. Though, oddly enough, I do love to talk about it. Actually, my NiteFlirt callers get that quite a lot (more…)

I am a dominant woman.

I don’t play at it, I don’t simply fantasise about it. I just simply am.

I was the vampyre queene while the other little girls were playing at being faerie princesses. Though I could perform the many arias of Briar Rose to perfection, it was Maleficent’s litany to Prince Phillip on the hopelessness of ‘true love conquering all’ and the delivery of her own power-play that captured my heart. Needless to say, I was always a little bit dark. The many personae in my head as a child, (which led me to believe I was mad before I realised I was actually just a writer) ranged from powerful, dominant women to the seasoned villainness and the experienced seductress. No ingenues, naive faire maidens, or delicate flowers for me. The only princess whom I admired was Leia; I often found myself fantasising about being the one seductress mastermind capable of making even Bond succumb and surrender. (Ridiculously hot kinky sex to follow — and of course, he’d live to fight another day. But his body, his heart, his soul — those would be mine.) But Fleming never made my fantasy come true. Naturally, I never quite gave it up. I kept on writing, kept on dreaming, kept on creating tales of mystery, espionage, suspense, murder, even science-fiction and fantasy — with daring, empowered women and the strong, devoted men who were helplessly under their spell, though powerful in their own right. (more…)

It started with an otherwise uneventful conversation in the car.

‘You don’t really believe what you wrote in your profile.’ It was abrupt, and my expression completed the portrait of confusion. ‘I don’t?’ I asked him, wondering what had been the impetus for this spontaneous analysis of my profiles on CollarMe and FetLife. ‘You don’t really believe that women are the superior sex, and that all men are secretly submissive.’ He gave me a look. And to a certain degree, we both knew he was right. ‘But where did I say ALL men? And while I’m not a feminist, I don’t deny the argument that every woman has a sense of inner dominance that can be nurtured, just as men are generally denied the opportunity to be submissive.’ Opening the door for me, he shook his head. ‘Yeah, but that’s not what you said.’ I didn’t? Stepping out, I’d made a mental note to give it all a second look as soon as I was able. And for those of you who’ve seen my standard profile, you’ll notice there are a few changes. I feel they were necessary to put forth a more accurate view of who I am, and what I perceive.

How subjectively shaped, are our opinions and perspective, without proper analysis and real-world testing. Being a dominant woman has no doubt drawn many submissive men to me. Are they all? In the heart of every man, is there a little boy begging to submit to a powerful woman? No. Just as there are submissive women, are there dominant men. It has just been my own experience that a large number of the population are submissive. But, again, not everyone, which is why I find the point of clarification worthwhile. All theories need rigorous testing, and every argument a worthy opponent to play devil’s advocate. (more…)

As if the battle of the sexes wasn’t divisive enough; when you start adding the sexual subtypes into the grand equation, it seems things fail to add up even further. Dominance and submission creates a whole new spectrum — which is only half the story. But, really, you don’t need me to point out that across the sexes, dominance is submission is hardly the same. Which is the basic principle behind the four sexual subtypes; those same four which tend to make us all feel like we’re not even the same species; nevermind compatibility. Fortunately, it becomes far less complex or overwhelming if we go back and better examine the most likely origins in the history of Western civilisation. So, take a step back with me, through time, into oral tradition, and the tales of Camelot.

It’s all right if it wasn’t readily apparent to you before now that it goes far beyond knights in shining armour seeking to rescue damsels in distress. Though, there are your submissives right there. Wait — knights? Subbie boys? Your classic Damsel In Distress is plain to see as the archetypal behavioural Eve for submissive women today, but knights? Brave knights? The dragonslayers? Those knights? Yes, the very same. But, you’re figuring, upon rescuing aforementioned damsel from her tower prison or serpent captor, the two ride off into the sunset, living happily ever after, of course. But as to this being the real ending, I’ve always been sceptical. ‘Really?’ I often asked myself, as a young girl. Now, as an adult Domina, I know why. The story ends before they get back to his place, where they both discover they’re not really sure who’s to make the first move. She won’t. And secretly, he really wants her to.

All the while, running through his mind, (once they finally do bypass the initial awkwardness and get down) is the respect and devotion he has for his Queen. And somewhere, in the darkest recesses of that imaginative mind, he dreams of being her faithful, unyielding servant in the bedroom as well as on the battlefield. (more…)

21 March 2009

Every now and again, we meet certain people who influence our lives in unexpected ways. For whatever reason, good or ill, they leave a mark. Sometimes it a shallow cut, a deep abrasion, a gentle and reassuring squeeze, a meaningful kiss or an indelible scar. Since this time last year, I’ve experienced a bit of them all; and, it’s hardly surprising — I continue to. That’s life. That’s being human.

Yesterday, I encountered a disappointment. A shallow cut, we’ll say, though, it came at a time when it felt more abrasive than that. I was losing heart. The economy is in shambles and only getting worse as the US Government continues to make bold moves of greater and more stupendous stupidity; friends have been laid off left and right from jobs they once believed to be secure, and everyone around me is in a bit of a mess struggling to make ends meet and simply survive at this point. And speaking of friends, there’s nothing like the Domina sisterhood. We thrive on this sort of thing; sharing our thoughts, experiences, and just in general, what it’s like being a Dominant woman. It can get very lonely for those of us that truly are.

I thought I’d found a group of like-minded souls who were relatively aligned with my own purpose and resonated to similar psychology. And by this, I mean I’d been a frequent visitor to the collarme.com IRC server channel #subs_for_Dommes. First things first, though. These women don’t exactly make themselves clear, and for all the ‘authority’ they’re asserting, it really seems more like, as headslave (my boyfriend and personal slave) will tell you: ‘only losers tyrannically defend their minuscule turf.’

Indeed.

But, as the late Lewis Carroll oft-said: let’s begin at the beginning, work our way to the middle, and when we come to the end — stop. (more…)