Sometimes, I seriously wonder about people. What they’re honestly thinking. I mean, I was born in the morning, but it wasn’t this one. Although, I don’t really find this applicable in my everyday existence, what’s kept me from being a card-carrying member of MENSA is the fact that I couldn’t reconcile forking over the dough. In other words, I’m a genius. Changes nothing, and really more a bit of trivia than anything. Still, the length to which people go to try and fool me, or believe that they have, never fails to amaze me.

Case in point: the email I receive. Some of it has a distinct trend; if it’s not from a BMF, or likely to result in a satisfying new professional relationship, I immediately begin to detect the foul stench of bullshit — the worst kind, too; that which has been perfumed and disguised as as to appear like anything but the steaming pile of crap it is.

Most of the time, it’s harmless. Lonely men incapable of drawing the line between reality and fantasy, or all out preferring that it remain blurred at best. No matter how truly fantastic the claims may be. This is why I suspect they’ve come to me already in-role, presenting fantasy as if it were reality. It’s a delicate dance, though. Should they not be nursing some latent psychosis, they always know on some level that I can’t possibly be buying this. You’ve all seen it before, too: 24/7 relationships. Victims of blackmail. His wife, instead of being traumatised by finding her husband with another woman, joining forces with the offending party to punish said philandering husband for the rest of his days, engaging in subbie-hubbie wetdream fantasyland. (more…)

Mistress Roulette and I knew this was a scam from the get-go, but here’s a post from a Mystressworld insider revealing that the website had no intention of ever matching submissive men to dominant women. Instead, it was just looking to cash in on the fantasy. I’ve very proud of the controversial stance that Mistress Roulette took. It always feels good to be vindicated.

What follows is the entire text of what this Mistress wrote for those who want to read it. (more…)

I’ve oftentimes found myself amazed at the popularity of ’24/7′, which has only been strengthened by how many messages I receive on a weekly basis from those ‘slaves’ seeking a 24/7 relationship. Really, what these sadly uneducated (in the ways of BDSM) folks need is the knowledge they’re lacking which would allow them to make better informed decisions. Right now, they’re just blowing with the wind. So, let’s start there — most importantly, let’s start with what a slave is. And incidentally, CollarMe.com hasn’t helped lessen this confusion with their allowing a member to label themselves ‘slave’ without indicating the criteria in which one should label themselves ‘slave’.

I’ll break it down for everyone, to the best of my understanding:

A slave is one who is owned by a master or mistress. Pure and simple. The term of ‘unowned slave‘ emerged, I feel, as a result of confusion on the behalf of a submissive who isn’t quite sure what they are. There are rare instances in which one can be an ‘unowned slave’, but only when they have been disowned for whatever reason. These are then listless, aimless individuals who have been under the guidance and direction of someone for a length of time, and are suddenly cut loose — left to wander, lost, like a pet who’s found itself too far from home, and isn’t sure where they are. That is an unowned slave. Nothing else.

What isn’t a slave? The guy who has been fantasising for the last 10 years about submitting to a dominant woman, goes onto a kinky personals site and labels himself ‘slave’. In fact, he’s not even a submissive. He’s a fetishist. (more…)

It’s a lovely afternoon in Southern California, especially Los Angeles at the Hilton just off the international airport. Dommes of all shape and size are sitting down to tea served by devoted submissive men at the 5th annual DomCon LA’s official Mistresses Tea event. Some of us are professional, others are strictly lifestyle. We all have one thing in common, though: navigating the ever-changing climate of the kinky subculture and taking refuge in a sisterhood that continues to grow through such events, bridging the gap of nationality and geography alike. A commonality we don’t share is the constant tightrope walk in which a dominatrix (that is, a pro-domme) has to walk. One such very experienced lifestyler left us all with a nugget of wisdom after witnessing such acrobatics throughout her lifetime in the scene by the simple phrase: ‘I couldn’t do it.’ The struggle to maintain the line between professional and private — social and commercial, client and companionship — was just too difficult. In that regard, she stated quite confidently that lifestylers have it easy. Thinking back on my own years as a lifestyler, (8 years total, as of this year, for the curious) I couldn’t help but agree that she had a point.

It’s not easy.

I also marvel at some days when I wake up and think how the hell I even got here. When I was a little girl, I dreamt of being all kinds of things: Vampire Queenes, powerful sorceresses weaving spells under whom many a hapless prince fell before long, daring super-spies — capable of death-defying feats, but their ultrapowers of seduction being the best weapon in their arsenal; when I got a bit older and decided I still liked the foreign (or domestic) intelligence agent / investigator route, I figured I could satisfy the other cravings by simply taking the stage and being an actress. I subsequently spent several years there in theatre, but really longed to run the show myself: writing, directing, producing, and performing — the whole nine yards. That became a goal I’ve yet to solidly keep on the back-burner. No matter how I try, it’s always coming back to the forefront — as deep passions tend to do. So, how does a retail wench, office coordinator, administrative assistant, service industry professional — none of which ever really utilise her education in Psychology — and especially not Forensic Psychology — end up a dominatrix? Well, not that dramatically, to be honest. Combine a down economy with a move to a bustling new city full of an entirely different demographic, add more than a sprinkle of distaste for being anyone’s employee, a dash of the thrill of self-employment, heat on high with a strong business model — and away you go! Viola! Dominatrix a la mode. (Though, if you really want to hear something funny, ask me or headslave about ‘dildo stew.’)

Which brings us to … headslave. (more…)

Thanks to the almighty gods of search engine optimisation, I’m #4 on the Google search for ‘Elise Sutton Femdom’. Rock on. A couple ahead of me, there’s another link: femaleledrelationships.com. It was talking about Sutton, so I checked it out. Not very positive. In fact, a lot of the postings on the forum seemed to be agreeing that Sutton is a ‘caricature’ and her website is ‘out of touch with reality’; written purely as ‘masturbatory fuel for neurotic male submissives’ and not at all geared toward its self-proclaimed target audience: female dominants.

But, wait! There’s more … (more…)

Have you ever been forced to be in the same room with a rape victim? It’s a deeply uncomfortable experience. They’re quiet — too quiet; or they can’t seem to stop crying for longer than every 5 or 10 minutes. You don’t know what to say, or do, because nothing helps. And you just wish they were gone. That you didn’t have to deal with it.

I once was myself, before I grabbed and threw her into the nearby closet. But it was too dark, and I could still hear her. She wouldn’t stop screaming, and now she was crying almost constantly. I couldn’t concentrate; got nothing done while she was there. So, finally, I beat her just long enough until she was quiet, so that I could transport her to our basement. While I knew it would no doubt attract some attention, I was out of other options. I knew there, underneath the floor, where her muffled cries would only be heard in the dead of night while we were sleeping, was where I would bury her alive.

She was seven.

I’m not a monster. I do what I do to survive. (more…)

Jesus. This bitch can’t tell her id from her death instinct, and her website clearly needs to be put out of its misery. But let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?

So, here I am, wandering the web minding my own beeswax, when — lo and behold — I find yet another site on Female Supremacy. (Always in caps, mind. Forget proper sentence construction or grammatical correctness.) Fantastic. As if Mystressworld.com wasn’t enough of a blight on the whole of femdom, (plenty more on the madness of Mystress to come), now I’ve discovered Elise Sutton — who, evidently, has been around for a hell of a lot longer than a quack like her ever needed to be. Not to mention her ‘Psychoanalysis of the Submissive Male’ is inherently flawed on the basis alone of containing absolutely no psychoanalysis whatsoever. Can you do that? Write a piece about violins and title it: ‘A Theory of Baseball’? I was under the impression that it was faulty — not to mention just flat dumb. Of course, anyone with an actual degree in Psychology, (yours truly) can tell after 5 agonising seconds on this wacko’s website that this woman wouldn’t know an unconditioned stimulus if it bit her in her female supremacist ass.

For those of you who have not studied in the field of Psychology, psychoanalysis is very specific to the theories and practises first introduced by Freud — who very heavily believed in male supremacy based off of biology alone. Oh, I’m all for turning a field on its head and flipping it about. But you first have to have some idea of what you’re seeking to challenge. You want to break psychodynamic theory? Okay, then first, you need to learn it. Which, clearly, this cuckoo hasn’t.

This is not a difficult concept to grasp. (more…)

Let’s start with the basics.

On an average day, during the course of a 24-hour period, I get several emails and probably a dozen messages. While they’re mostly from strangers — through the kinky social networking sites of which I’m a member, or just having stumbled upon my website through some other means — there are always a few with whom I’ve already been acquainted; who are following my site, keeping up with me, and seeking my time and attention. But, typically, the messages and emails from strangers have one overarching commonality.

They all claim to seek to serve.

All right. That’s perfectly well; but the greater question is — what exactly is service? How is this truly defined? While it’s different for each and as individualised as the sender, there is yet another common thread: they claim to wish to serve me in whichever manner I see most befitting. Whatever it is I need most. Anything, mind you. Anything for me. They’ll drive hours out of their way to clean my house, paint my nails, massage my feet, run my errands, chauffeur me everywhere about town, and even make themselves available to my friends. Why? Because they want to serve me. They want to do for me what I most need. Anything. Anything at all.

Okay. All right. I’ve reached a point now where I’ve come to complete honesty with them. I’m a professional. I’m operating a business. What is it that I need most from them? In what way could they best serve me?

It should be obvious. It rather floors me when it’s not.

Instead, what do I get from these selfless, generous men, only seeking to serve, only seeking to please me above their own desires, needs, and wants?

Excuses. (more…)