I see this one a lot: on various websites of professional dommes — as well as Animal Planet. It seems like a strong means of advertising. It’s when they claim that it’s actuality — a component of their everyday existence — that I find myself … less than accepting.

So, I ask myself: how many of these ‘alpha females’ are actually dominant women? Plenty — and I mean, plenty — of pro-dommes are submissive in their personal life. (Why? Because there’s money in femdom for those enterprising beautiful people who are savvy enough to play a role 24/7 and not lose themselves.) Knowing this simple fact, however, I find myself always just a bit suspicious of those websites which tout such a thing to be the way it actually is.

One reason I love to get to know pro-dommes; I get to see beneath the veneer, and meet the actual woman. Sometimes, it’s a match. But most of the time — they’re just regular gals with an atypical job. They laugh, cry, fret over whether a guy they’re into will ever call them back, wonder and worry if they said something stupid to a girl-friend, bitch about their periods, and spend hours on the phone.

Because we’re women. Not automatons. Not weapons of feminine destruction. (For the most part.) And if you are, well, you didn’t get there through being a pro-domme. That’s just smoke-and-mirrors. That is the wizardress, my friends. Go take a peek behind the curtain and then let me know what you find.

I’m not saying alpha females aren’t in existence — there are a number of them; some of which I know personally. There are plenty of queenly women, too — who believe the world should bow down to them; that they shouldn’t have to work, to earn her achievements. That everything should be offered on a silver platter. Yeah. I know a few of those, too. (Though, I tend not to associate with them).

And, yeah, they tend to be beautiful. They tend to be from lots of money, have men falling at their feet, being given everything without asking for it, and taught to believe this is really the way it’s supposed to be. I know, because that’s how my mother was brought up — by my narcissistic beauty-queen grandmother who had celebrity boyfriends through most of her youth.

That’s why I laugh at a lot of pro-domme sites, and, often-times until I get to know them, the pro-domme they represent. Really? Do they really believe that shit? It’s like having an actor arrive for an audition fully-in and not at all breaking character — for even a second. You get lost after awhile — wondering if this is just them — their actual persona, or if they’re putting it on for the purpose of the audition. And the very good ones can fool you quite well.

Most pro-dommes are that: actresses. They know it, I know it. What gets me is that the men who so desperately want to believe — with a conviction more passionate than that of Fox Mulder — somehow can’t. But, hey, we believe what we want to. And in their case — they want to believe that these bitches really are the fucking rulers of the known universe … in their own minds, at least.

Sigh.

Ah, but all is not lost.

For those driven, those crafty enough to pull back the shroud, to glimpse beyond the veil … or … something — the heart of the woman lies underneath; and her friendship is not unattainable. But, do you — brave one — have the courage, the cunning to be real with them?

Here’s the deal.

We get tonnes (and I mean, metric fucktonnes) of subby-boys and wannabe ‘slaves’ contacting us all the damned time, with their, ‘Oh mistress you’re amazing mistress. Your the most amazing thing ever ever mistress. O my god oi’m not worthy mitsressssss!’ (SIC — ’cause that’s how they honestly read half the time. Spell-chequer? Whatever. They’ve never heard of it — or think they don’t have enough hands to fuck with it, given one is already around their cock).

Yeah. Put yourself in our shoes. How eager would you be to come home (or check your phone) and read that shit — a million times a day? From random homeys who can’t spell for shit and are probably fapping whilst typing? Euch. I d’know about you, but I’ve got better things to do.

However … every now and again, we’ll get an eloquent, well-planned, thoughtful, non-intrusive, respectful (but not hyperbolically spineless — as those are not the same thing) letter (I’ve even received one of the old-fashioned variety — in the actual post as of late, which was a very pleasant surprise) message, or email from someone with whom we actually would like to have a correspondence. It’s always a highlight, because it doesn’t happen very often, sadly.

And, yet, there are subby-boys lined up in the thousands at a single domme’s door desperately entreating her time and attention — and, in their wildest dreams, to gain admission to her private inner sanctum. Wishin’, and hopin’ and prayin’ that she might look upon him differently than the others he’s shoving out of the way, or who have come before him.

Unfortunately, the odds are against you. While not entirely unheard of that a domme may meet her longed-for submissive partner among her clientele, it’s probably about as likely as the plot of Pretty Woman. Might make a great rom-com, (and … did, actually, since there’s a bit of that in Walk All Over Me — check my Links and Amazon.com affiliate store for that one) but not that common in real life.

So, you’ve got to be apart from everyone at the get-go. You have to already have a spine, not be a pussy, and able to carry yourself as a human being before you drop on all fours and start calling her Mistress. You need to let your inner Han out; be roguishly charming, handsome, and a bit of a smart-ass. Don’t fucking give yourself over to her, dip-shit. Make her earn it. After all, this is what we want. Subby-boys and wannabe slaves that flood our Inbox and give us headaches don’t offer any chase. There’s no thrill. Now, now, I’m not saying you have to be a jackass, distant, and coy. We get to be coy. You get to be dynamic.

So, brave subby-boyfriend applicant. Here’s a sort of checklist you can scrawl down on a nearby napkin and stick in your pocket.

Call it ‘Lesson Plan 1′. (Test? The test will be through application. In the real world.)

Ready? Good. Here we go …

1. Got a job? Excellent.

2. Not looking for her to take over your entire life and be the sole means of your existence? Very good. That’s fun in play, and quite arousing (and endearing, actually) — but 24/7, it just gets annoying. After awhile, we just want to smack you around and remind you to grow some fucking balls, you pussy! But then, you probably like that anyway, so — good on you, mate. She doesn’t. Not yet.

3. If circumstances permit — still talk to your family? (And by circumstances permitting, I mean you’re not in some long, drawn-out and super-dramatic estrangement game.) Send your mom (providing she’s alive, of course) flowers on her birthday and Mother’s Day? Love and defend her honour? Good. We like that shit. It’s cute. Like the old rules say, the way a man treats his mother … Yep. That’s what we can expect in 50 years.

4. Do you know who the fuck you are? It’s okay if you’re still figuring it out; to some extent, we all are. But do you have enough of an idea what you are, and what you aren’t? Do you get that when a domme asks you who you are you don’t respond with, ‘I’m very submissive, Mistress.’ ? Because we already know that. You also don’t launch into some para-masturbatory explanation about all the kinky delights you wish to share with her.

Here’s a good primer.

HER: Hey. I’m Mistress Whatserbitch. Who’re you?

YOU: I’m John Doe. (Not ‘SlaveBoy4U’ or some other bullshit.)

HER: Cool, John. So … tell me about yourself.

(Here’s the one you do not want to fuck up. Two options: toss the ball back, or stick with the general.)

YOU (Option A: Toss-back): Well, what would you like to know?

HER: Anything. Surprise me. (Which is a very good response, since she wants to see where you’re going with it. Are you going to melt into fanboy-subbishness, or actually be a man? … Of course, it’s a test. That’s what we do. It’s fun.)

YOU (Option B: The General Response): Well, I used to be an accountant before, well, the economy went to hell. Now I’ve only been in my new job for a couple of months, but stuff’s looking up, I think. Let’s see … I like movies, though I think people made too much of a deal over Avatar — it revolutionised the industry, sure, but whatever. Oh, I like to cook. Italian, so — came from a large family, and everybody cooks. My mom taught me. [Pause] Not, uh, saying anything, but … I’m a pretty damned good cook.

HER: Are you? (Score!)

YOU: Oh, yeah. I make a lasagna from my family’s homemade recipe that’ll knock your panties off.

HER: Oh, really?

YOU: Absolutely.

HER: Uh-huh. And if you’re wrong?

YOU: Wrong? (Laugh. Be confident about it, but not a dick). Oh, I’m not wrong about this. I’m good at reading people. I know what they want.

HER: Do you now?

YOU: Oh, yeah.

HER: And what do I want?

YOU: For me to shut the fuck up and let you talk because I’ve spent way too long telling you about myself to the point where it’s becoming rude.

HER: (Laughing.) Well, shit.

Now, this can go two places. If you’re cute — dinner date is on. She already knows you’re submissive, so she just may be set up for an awesome meal and super-hot kink. Uh … bonus? And why does it work? Because you’re not an asshole, you’re showing you’re confident. You’re giving her a challenge — saying that she will want you. And NOT in that ‘I’m going to top you’ sort of way, but I’m going to make you want me sort of way. And that shit is fucking Hot with a capital ‘H’, bitches.

So, even if you’re not as super-smooth as … this weird amalgam of my ex-boyfriends, fiance, and Dalston Lockwood — you can still stand a chance. Just remember your 4 C’s:

1) Confidence

2) Competence

3) Charm

4) Chivalry

That’s all it is: Show us you’re confident at the beginning; that you have competence — in your life, with others, at your job; charm us, because we love a guy that’s smart, clever, and can laugh at himself. (That way, even if you fuck up royally, we’re likely to give you another shot.) And chivalry — because it’s not fucking dead, and there’s a huge difference between being chivalrous and being a doormat.

Learn the difference.

… and good luck!

–

NiteFlirt is an education. But I don’t have time to relay everything, so here are the Cliff notes.

All of these women with lens-flare tits and sparkle-cunts designed to entice men to engage them in phone sex — usually for large amounts of money, though, not always in the category of Financial Domination. Of course, I receive these calls myself at times, being a psychosexual counselor and dominatrix. It never ceases to fascinate me how much time, effort, and cold, hard-earned cash, these guys are willing to blow on these spoiled brats.

Now, being a writer of transgressional fiction, I’m always challenging normatives and established idealogies. I also avoid the good guys versus bad guys cliche; my protagonists tend to be anti-heroes (and heroines) and reformed villains. My actual villains are never so black and white. All characters are shades of grey. But something stood out to me very quickly throughout my earliest investigations into characterisation:

Sexual attraction has no moral compass. None. Zero, zilcho.

This is largely why it’s tough to distinguish the stereotypical idea of a dominatrix from a fictitious villainness. They’re all voluptuous, drop-dead gorgeous, powerful, cruel, and hell-bent on destroying the hero. And, okay, I’m far from a psychoanalyst, (read: neo-Freudian) but if the hero’s hot, and the villainness is hot, those two are definitely going to want to be getting it on. Why? Because that’s just the nature of things. It’s very basic social and interpersonal psychological theory: those who are of acceptable (though, that’s variable) age, desired sex and gender, differing bloodlines, and of relative physical attractiveness (especially if the levels of physical desireability are closely in line; just as you tend to see long-term coupling between those who are about as ‘attractive’ as the other) are highly likely to experience sexual attraction to one another.

Of course, there are always other variables involved: circumstance, physical state at the time of meeting (as those who have, for example, just survived a traumatic experience will be more likely to get it on with someone nearby meeting the above criteria) being the two biggest. I recall an anecdote from a psychologist friend of mine for whom I worked as an assistant upon my coming to Los Angeles. This mild-mannered, no-nonsense, understated and serious woman engaged in a spontaneous, impassioned make-out session on an overseas flight with her fellow passenger (whom she’d only known for the past 3 hours) when the plane took a sudden nosedive. The intensity of the moment prompted her to act in impulsive, uncharacteristic ways with this attractive stranger who was quickly becoming a single-serving friend, or acquaintance.

And of course, it’s not going to be anybody, and everybody. But this is the number one reason why we all have villains we love to hate, and, despite our own embarrassment — would love to do a lot more than just hate. In fact, passion is nothing more than an intense expression of emotion, and when the wires get crossed, it can present itself as anger. Rage doesn’t have to have a direct cause to be expressed; it can be a nebulous overall feeling of irritability and distress. As a result, many, many dominants — especially dommes — are really just rageaholics foregoing the necessary therapy to work through those powerful emotions. It’s easier to pick up a whip. It can also be extremely dangerous and lead to destructive and abusive patterns in their lives, and against those they love. Often-times, those submissive men who have suffered through their wrath and unsorted rage and issues of low esteem and fears of abandonment become my clients. Once they’ve had enough, that is. It’s amazing how long they’ll stay.

So, I evaluate these cases carefully, and, knowing what I know, it never really surprises me when each one of their tormentors turns out to be some sort of exceptionally beautiful, sexy, ‘dominant’ woman. Now, I use the term in quotations for a reason, since I hardly find them to be truly dominant women, but spoiled little girls who never grew up, learned their value, or to harness their own power, were able to form a solid sense of self, and, conversely, never had a secure base from which to explore the world, as well-adjusted children enjoy.

If she was neglected or abused, she lived in fear of abandonment or the threat of physical, emotional, or psychological danger; learning to wall herself off, defending against anyone who dared to try and get close, making healthy relationships of her own an impossibility. As a young girl, her playful dominance of the boys in the schoolyard — tying them up and laughing at the ease with which she was able, set the stage for her next and most grand role that she would adopt in junior and high school: the compelling ice queen, now receiving the adoration of her ever growing male entourage that she never did in her earliest years; she already knew it was so simple to subdue and control them. It was a natural form of interaction, and would define her pattern of relating, inciting her to be continually dissatisfied, hopping from one relationship to another or avoiding any sort of commitment altogether. She would tell herself and her girl-friends that she wanted a man who would be a companion, allowing her to express her own vulnerability in a safe space, but only draw to her emotionally-stunted mama’s boys who were either as fearful of commitment as she herself could be, or looking to lose themselves in her identity. None of them ever truly up to the task of winning her heart, loyalty, or trust. So, she continues alone in the midst of a sea of faces she barely knows, remaining in the company of men who devalue, ignore, or even abuse her, as her initial dominant spark has faded to a mild embre of what it once was, beaten down by her own lack of understanding, refusal to introspect, and the neutrality of the world. Lonely, miserable, and living with the certainty that people cannot be trusted, true love is some kind of bullshit faerie-tale fed to us as children, she realises that being a pro-domme will allow her to be the same uncaring, distant figure she now believes herself to be, and make money pretty easily by expressing the anger she’s already amassed through physical violence, verbal, and emotional abuse. And she continues, empty, despairing, nursing her own private wounds, while allowing the entourage to continue, caring for none of them but herself.

I know this pattern, because I was dangerously close to becoming it myself. Without the genuine love, affection, emotional support and firm guidance from my boyfriend who had proven to me years before that he was a good man and a reliable, rather unconditionally selfless friend, (as well as trustworthy and dedicated boyfriend or husband) I probably would’ve continued right on down that path, eventually being consumed by my anger, and becoming the kind of person no one really wants to be around. Especially since I’m not a DD fake-tits bottle-blonde. Again, if you’ve got the looks, you can get away with anything.

There’s another type of domme different from the first. The Spoiled Princess type. (Very different from, we’ll say, The Abuse Survivor type.) She had everything. Adorable just as soon as she popped out, she grew to be a cute kid, a beautiful teen, and is now a gorgeous woman — likely with quite a bit of enhancement. She’s every man’s dream on the outside, and men crave any opportunity to be with her. Submissive men, however, want something more that she’s already got since she went through college on Daddy’s dime, paying for all of her frivelous wants and needs with his plastic. She doesn’t really need the degree, because she won’t need a job. She’s already got men lined up outside of her door to fuck her, pay her bills, offer her places to stay, and, in general, make sure that she never has to face the unsightly thought of growing up and becoming an independent human being. She is spoiled absolutely rotten, through and through. And because of the way she looks can get away with every nauseating minute of it.

Knowing that this is a pretty popular fetish, many professionals have modelled themselves after the Spoiled Princess type, looking as high-school cheerleader-esque and as much of an actual princess (crown and all) as they can muster. And, my God, does it fucking pay. I have a financial domination listing on NiteFlirt because of the pervasiveness of this phenomenon. Occasionally, I’ll get a call and ask why on earth they called my listing, as I genuinely want to know. I have no guilt about my listing, just in case you were wondering. I’m a working woman. I’m not sitting around eating bon-bons when they call. They’re paying me for my time, which is valuable. But a typical call regarding financial domination will go like so:

MR: So, you attract these horrible, emotionally immature, bratty women who use you for your money.

Caller: Oh, yes.

MR: And how are you aware they’re only dating you for your dough?

Caller: They tell me.

MR: They tell you? You ask?

Caller: Yes. I asked my last girlfriend, and she told me it was all for my money.

MR: Wow.

Caller: But it’s not a bad thing.

MR: You are aware that this economy is only going to worsen.

Caller: Yes.

MR: How will you feel about your gorgeous spoiled brat when she’s taken away the roof over your head?

Caller: I save for a rainy day.

MR: This is more of a typhoon.

Caller: But I enjoy it. It arouses me. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with it if I enjoy it?

MR: You love the fact that they’re horrible women using you for your money.

Caller: Yes. I love it. That’s how I found financial domination. I’ve been doing it ever since.

MR: How long has it been?

Caller: 15 years.

MR: Jesus christ! Don’t you ever wonder if, I d’know, you might’ve been a millionaire, were you not buying these bitches mansions and cars and dogs?

Caller: I’m sure I would’ve been. But I’ll never know.

MR: Does it not sadden you?

Caller: Oh, no. I love it.

MR: What do you think happened to you to make you believe on some level that you’re only as valuable as your earning potential? You’re like evolutionary psych in overdrive. Why not find a good woman and provide for her in a traditional husband-wife setting if it really puts you so at ease?

Caller: Because I like being used.

MR: Any idea why?

Caller: No.

MR: Don’t you ever wonder?

Caller: Why? I’m happy.

… And there you have it folks. The crux of it: why wonder? He’s happy. He gets arousal, they get bling — at the end of the day, somehow, these two components of a very dysfunctional relationship are happy. This is why human beings confuse the ever-loving fuck out of me, and I have to just tell myself we’re all illogical, and things in the realm of emotion and sex — sexual attraction, especially — are operating on an entirely other level. And that level is far from being a logical one.

As with multiple clients, there will always be those that simply don’t want to be helped, because they don’t see the issue. In the case of financial domination, their accounts are being drained, they can’t fathom why they’re going into debt, and once they do find the source, the addiction is too powerful to touch. They keep doing what they’re doing.

Jesus H. It’s no wonder the American economy is in shambles, central banking shenanigans aside. Keynes would be proud. (Fucking Keynes.) A modern take on his ‘bury bottles of money in the sand so that the government can dig them back up’ will be replacing ‘government’ with ‘spoiled brat’.

I can take some comfort in hoping it fucks up her manicure.

Now, I may be opportunistic when it comes to flexing my own punisher-muscle, but I’m hardly petty. So, names will be ommitted to protect the guilty. (The very, very guilty.)

Our story begins on a typical day — of course, for a pro-domme, that could be anything. He contacted me in the usual way, and I gave the benefit of the doubt, despite such fantastical nature of his claims. Plus, it’s always a bonus when they can spell correctly and utilise proper grammar. (Of course, so could Ted Bundy. Moving on.) Well, I was intrigued, although I can’t say I really wanted to work with him. Something felt … off. So much so that I contacted a friend of mine, the lovely Guinevere the Severe out of NYC, who heard my concerns and gave wonderful advice which supported my own suspicions: it really didn’t matter what everything else seemed; if I felt even the slightest bit off, it was hardly worth the money from the business transaction.

So, I kept that in mind and proceeded with caution.

So far so good. He was a bit paranoid about some things, and so it took longer for me to receive his payment, as it always does when it’s sent through sail mail. And, though I was sick as a dog the day of our scheduled appointment with no other channel but the site on which we’d met to make contact, I kept the appointment and muddled through as best as could, with my migraine pounding as I tried to enjoy something that would hopefully settle my stomach and keep up my blood sugar (as both tend to get a bit wonky when you’re ill). It sort of worked. I paid enough attention to determine he was actually being truthful (as far as he was aware; if he was lying, he himself believed it) and gain some background information on this guy I secretly had little desire to be meeting, no less begin an intensive business relationship. Why intensive? You see, he wanted a chastity sentence, and for me to be holding the key. Now, that’s nothing. It’s his reasons for desiring it, and his claims for his need of it, which are, at most, blog-worthy.

In professional domination terms, it was sold to me as a fairly straightforward deal: guy wants chastity. Lock him up, hold the key, and do whatever I choose, or he wants to fulfill his fantasies, in the meanwhile — part of the fantasy being the constant threat of his looming chastity sentence being extended. (I’m sure he whacked it numerous times to that alone.)

Ah! But wait … there’s more! (There’s always more.)

To spare you the ridiculous details, and the grueling snail’s pace at which they were presented to me, I’ll lay it all out for you in a nice bulleted list. Bear in mind, of course, that this is what was presented to me, not what I believe to be legitimate. (We’ll get into all of that later.)

1. He’s an incurable, narcissistic, misogynistic asshole (okay, that I believe) whose only recourse is to allow himself to be made chaste which, in his opinion, renders him entirely harmless and at the mercy of all the women upon which he would otherwise prey.
2. He seeks chastity primarily to save his non-consensual slave (who he had consistently blackmailed, raped, and has otherwise owned for the last couple of months) from further abuse, humiliation, torture and harm until their negotiated terms have been resolved, although, he does not seek for his chastity sentence to extend to this date, but rather hopes that ‘a couple of weeks will be enough to kick him back in line’.
3. Although, he acknowledges a degree of selfishness in his vigilante behaviour toward this woman, believing himself to be punishing her deservedly, he sought my counsel and services out of fear that he was unable to control himself, and that his absolute power had, indeed, corrupted him absolutely.
4. Once his chastity sentence has concluded, or the time in which she is indebted to him has resolved, (whichever was to come first) she would voluntarily sever all ties with him and extricate herself from their shared resources and communities, barring future correspondence or involvement.

He made no attempt to even slightly lessen or disguise his outright misogyny or blatant narcissism, constantly referring to this woman as ‘the bitch’ or expressing what a terrible person she was, and how she no doubt deserved all of the horrible treatment she was getting from him. Funny thing was, like some narcissists, he didn’t entirely believe it. Rather than spreading out, holding his head high, and stating her abuse in an almost casual manner, he spoke of it with genuine pleasure, but a bit guiltily. He kept searching for my approval; wanting me to confirm his wavering belief that ‘this bitch deserved everything she got.’ He didn’t like it when I gave little to no indication what I thought of his story, and would neither support nor negate his claims. He was a deeply secretly dependent person, and didn’t like floundering on his own. But then any man who dreams of submission, but struggles with narcissism as the result of a compensatory inferiority complex, is going to be contending with some very severe cognitive dissonance. No doubt, he projected most of what he hates of himself on to this woman, and vicariously abused himself. No narcissist can do this for too long. Of course, he wants to appear noble in my eyes, since I was to be the one providing what he so desired. (That is, if he even knew what he was really seeking to do. It may have never once entered his conscious mind.) Rather than admit to wanting to stop the self-abuse, he had to play the punisher card, and claim it was for the betterment of his slave — who deserved it, of course. He was just looking to be merciful. It would be unfortunate if he was aware of what was really going on, and instead chose not to tell me. That kind of honesty would have almost made me want to consider continuing to work with him.

So, the next few days were not fun for me. I was ill, bed-ridden for an entire day the following day, and had to move all of my appointments to the start of next week. He was to email me directly, rather than through the website, following our conversation, which he did. I found it curious that one with a full-time job was able to be so casual about returning to work, and being able to email me minutes after we had parted company, but perhaps my work ethic differs from his, and vice versa. I noticed the email coming through and made a mental note to address them when I was well, which wasn’t for another three days, at least. So that by the time I was able, I had multiple messages — some providing information I had requested, and others simply carrying on about the situation; specifically, seeking to appeal to me for a lesser chastity sentence. When I wasn’t responding, he began to assume that I really didn’t find what he was doing to be all that bad, (hah!) and that, clearly, this woman was deserving of everything she was getting (yeah, right!)

Now, I already knew given his narcissism that he wasn’t at all bothering to read me, and since he feared my silence indicated something having to do with him, (can you believe it?) he began to replay our meeting in his head and come up with all manner of erroneous assumptions based upon what he had inaccurately recalled. Since I was not responding, and he wasn’t receiving what he wanted (some sort of abuse from me, stating what an awful person he was and how severely he needed to be punished for these transgressions) I was finally feeling up to answering his messages, and tried to respond to everything he had sent over the course of the last few days. I was honest, and responded in kind. They were getting progressively weird, and that vibe was starting to come through once again, even stronger this time, so I decided one of two things would happen: he was legitimate and would respond sincerely, or he was going to insist upon playing games, try and consistently manipulate the situation, constantly speculate about me and why I wasn’t in contact with him on a daily basis, and lash out as a result of the implied rejection, behaving juvenilely, cruelly, and making it seem as if our failed business arrangement was his idea, and he was responsible for ending it.

Can you guess which happened? Ding-ding-ding! Rather than truly begin handing over the control so that we could start work together, he responded maliciously, hurling vile insults and snide remarks, letting the misogyny and filth that permeates his personality fly without further thought — going far beyond polite decline, or childish rudeness.

To wit:

You’re not much of a strategist.

Oh, if he only knew.

You should have saved your abuse until you had acheived control and there was nothing much I could do about it. Instead, you have shown your hand while I still have a choice, and it seems obvious that it would be a mistake to give you that kind of power.

And this is just a little bit funny; see, even when I should show my hand, I still have trouble with doing so. In short, I never show my hand. So, just as an FYI, if you think you’ve seen it — be wary. You’re only seeing what I want you to. For that matter, who knows what you’re seeing?

As for what I have done to [blackmailed woman], it may be coercion but it isn’t rape. She does, after all, have a choice, albeit not a pleasant one.

Not a pleasant one! Well, I’ll say! I suspect he has no idea of what being blackmailed feels like. Had he, well, perhaps his actions would reflect that knowledge. Unfortunately, he remains a jackass. Now, onto examining point #2: ‘it may be coercion, but it isn’t rape.’ I’ve already suggested he buy a dictionary with the mounds of money he claims to have at his fingertips, but for demonstration, here’s the official word from the OED:

RAPE: v. force (another person) to have sexual intercourse with him against their will.

Oh, lookit that! Force. What’s a great synonym for ‘force’, boys and girls? How about ‘coerce‘? That’s a pretty fucking good one. So, unsurprisingly, he’s very, very wrong in his assertion of not raping this woman, but merely ‘coercing’ her. There is a choice in an act of coercion, but coercion is rape. In fact, there have been acts of defined rape which don’t even involve coercion, but rather obliviousness, or where choice was impaired. It’s still rape.

So, where were we? Oh, yes … he continues to repeatedly rape this woman. And, according to his bizarre, self-absorbed, violent misogynist view of the world …

I did not realize, but I’m afraid that you too are the type who would benefit from some of that treatment. Obviously, you need a cock up your ass to realize that you aren’t quite as superior as you seem to think. It won’t be mine, but I do hope that someone does it.

Yeah. I’m not kidding. Fucker actually said that — typed those words to me. Saying I need to be anally raped. That I’m ‘the type’ — whatever that means. (He and my ex seem to have something in common.) I’m used to this coming from woman-hating, using, and abusing cocksuckers (and, you know, not in a good subby-boy kind of way) such as himself, but it surprises me just a bit every time. Not to mention such words coming from a narcissist are supremely laughable. I love how he adds ‘it won’t be his’ — like that was ever an option. It’s little doubt that his slave hates every minute of him savagely raping her. You might say he falls into that ‘not if you were the last man on earth’ sort of category. Were it up to me, I’d let the race die.

Now, he’s decided to pout, as a result of my rejection:

So, I’m not going to put up with either counseling or chastity from you. I cannot trust you and have no intention of surrendering to you, although I think your dominance is mostly theoretical.

I guess that was supposed to hurt. Or something. People do strange things when their egos’ are wounded.

Keep the money, since I have no means by which to recover it. I’ll write it off to education. Money was always your primary goal, and you got some, for very little effort and should, therefore be pleased.

He was correct in his assessment of really not being able to recover it, outside of receiving a refund, which I would have given, had he asked. Though, it wouldn’t be much. He’d already spent most of it. Money was hardly my goal; I just can’t stand people who aren’t serious about their self-improvement, and I told him that.

Easy come, easy go. But I knew he’d be a problem. I was just hoping it wouldn’t waste too much of my time. Score one for intuition. I guess M and Guinevere were right: trust the vibe. It’s never wrong.

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

SATURDAY, MAY 2, 2009

Don’t Get Taken For a Ride
MystressWorld.com is a scam, designed to play on the sincere desires of submissive men and dominant women to meet one another. Here is how it works: You are typically contacted by someone with the name MystressWorld on sites such as the CollarMe.com website, instructing you to email them at yesmystress@yahoo.com. From there, you are instructed to send cash payment via mail to a PO Box or paypal and promised to be part of training in which you will meet a partner in your area serious about having a D/s relationship.

Women are targeted as well as men, and the women are used to lure men, and both are cycled in and out of the program and separated. Whenever people are getting close to meeting, they are often separated and for additional payment, one can stay in the program for longer periods. The trick then is to dangle the promise of getting people together, all the while trying to maximize their profits in getting people to send more money.

So what do you get if you are foolish enough to join? A series of training webpages that could only appeal to the most childish minded. After finishing a given “lesson” you email what you did back to the site manager and advance to the next lesson. There are literally many dozens of such “lessons” and domme as well as male submissive must complete them. It is an endless maze, leading to nowhere.

Bottom line, is that MystressWorld is a scam and you will be taken of your money at the end.

I am a domme who was formerly involved with MystressWorld and left after realizing the dishonesty and lies that were all too routine. There are several other of us who left around the same time. I wanted no part of it and was used. It is wrong to deceive men and women this way and it was wrong to have used us to in turn use men to send money.

The purpose of this blog is for people to find it and be warned. Google “mystressworld” for more information and verify for yourself what is said here. If you join, you will be taken advantage of and used. No ifs or buts about it.

Many on the Collarme.com website are organizing to fight this and bring better public attention to this fraudulent scammer and our hope is twofold. First, to warn people, and two, to bring to the attention of the government the money scam that is being done. Doubtless tax-evasion of the money being made is being committed.

Together we can destroy this person and this site and send a clear and loud message that the true BDSM community will organize against these kinds of frauds out there who attempt to victimize our members. Men and women, submisive and dominant alike, organize against such sites and fight it as best you can by joining groups or posting messages whenever you see things like this.

NEVER GIVE YOUR MONEY TO THESE PEOPLE.

You will be robbed and a fool if you do.

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.

Really, I think because I’m so new to this in a professional sense, (but not the scene in general) I unintentionally give people the wrong idea at times, not quite yet sure where the boundaries are and what’s status quo. I thought, honestly, that when a domina explained that she has a ‘personal slave’ it’s enough to get those who would otherwise be seeking a personal relationship with her to understand she’s just not available; or not doing that. Either way. Ohhh, little did I know. Namely, because the social dynamics of the BDSM community tend to crisscross and overlap with many other relational dynamics and sexual orientation; to wit, the bisexual, polyamourous and other-such groups — for which I have affinity, simply because I know individuals from all walks of life, and am friends with just about anyone. (Well, maybe not mass-murdering fuckheads. I tend to take issue with them. Luckily, I’ve not met any yet. If and when I do — well, that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get there, I suppose.)

So, all that being said — who am I? What am I about? Well, you can find me places that contain that information, actually — CollarMe, FetLife, even KinkySpace — but for ease of convenience, I’ll put it here, too. Just in case people haven’t seen my profiles there, or read my biographical page here. Ready? Here we go …

I’m straight, monogamous, and very happy that way.

Now, I’m not saying that I don’t have an affection for my friends, or enjoy the warmth that can come from such friendships; but they remain friendships for me. I don’t play outside of my primary relationship. I’ve never really found a need, or even a curious nagging, to do so. I receive offers by the dozens from submissive men all over the place who wish to be my ‘personal, live-in slave’, or do my housework, or have a personal relationship with me. I’m just not interested. I don’t need a personal slave; I have an incredible — and I do mean incredible — boyfriend who plays so many roles, that anything else is just superfluous. I’m one of those very lucky few dommes whose boyfriend is also their submissive, best friend, and even business partner. Seriously. Oh, and he doesn’t shy from his half of the housework, either. In fact, he doesn’t pay much attention to who’s done what, when, or why. He just helps out where it’s needed. And then some. Like a now good friend of mine since DomCon LA has said of him, he’s quite impressive. Not only quite the model of what I think a submissive man should be, (likewise of Sea, the aforementioned friend from DomCon) but a strong man in his own right not seeking to be saved, and, through some work we’ve done together in our relationship, understanding that it isn’t healthy to try and save, either. (An affliction we’ve both admittedly suffered at certain points in our lives, but are ‘recovering’ from.) Which is likely why I’m a big fan of helping my clients to help themselves. It’s the whole teach-a-man-to-fish thing. In the end, they’re less likely to starve. Plus, that feeling of having some control over your own destiny is deeply comforting to me.

So, now you know. Don’t want, nor need, any slaves. Want to keep the other submissive men in my life as clients, and, in very, very rare circumstances — as friends. How rare, you ask? If you’re a client, or were a client, or we met in such a capacity, it’s unlikely I’m going to be able to re-categorise you into a non-professional context for quite sometime, since I keep my social / personal and professional spheres separate.

Now, the meat of what this post is REALLY about …

Strap-on play.

Say, what? That’s right. The real impetus for my even writing this post was the continuous stream of requests I get for strap-on play. First of all, there are two reasons I don’t do it — that’s right: I do not do it. And here they are, easily broken down, once again:

1. It’s illegal to do so professionally in the state of California.

Yep. Believe it or not, those ‘pro-dommes’ who offer strap-on play in California? … Not pro-dommes. If … you catch my drift … (I’m sure you do.) And, hey — if that’s your thing, then you go at your own risk, pal. (Because it most certainly is a risk.) I can’t speak to other states, at this point. I’ve just not researched it. But I do know the laws of the state in which I’m operating. While that’s not my only reason for saying ‘no’ to professional employment of the dildo, it is a pretty good one, despite personal preference. Which is what’s coming next …

2. It’s an intensely personal thing for me, and not something I desire to share with anyone but my boyfriend. Period.

People have cited this particular post as being a ‘testimonial’ of my professional services as a dominatrix, and subsequently, something they can treat like an item off of a menu. And it makes me sick. Physically, and emotionally ill. I won’t dare name names — and I know that some of them were not at all intentional, but the effects are the same. I’m left going: what the fuck? How could someone take what is a powerfully intimate experience from my life and treat it as if it’s something I’d ever imagine doing with them? How? It’s absolutely fucking baffling to me. Absolutely.

So. While I appreciated more than words that headslave, AKA my boyfriend, (as you now know, and won’t forget — right?) wrote that beautiful vignette about how he felt about our experience — our little shared moment in time — I had no idea it would be so misconstrued by the world-at-large. But, such is life. I’d never remove it from my site, because it’s in my journal. Not on my Services page. What I offer as services is on my Services page. What I talk about from my life, or theories I have, or anything having to do with me — that isn’t indicated to be the professional me — is in my journal. So, now that you know, please-please-please — stop asking. In fact, let’s just pretend you never did and call it a day. Okay? I’m willing to do that. Be glad that I am. Because you’ve otherwise no idea the level of fury and sadness that such (likely harmless, but nonetheless nonchalant) requests bring out in me. It’s a great way to instantly get off on the wrong foot.

Now. As for what I do enjoy? What I do offer — outside of what’s written of in my Services? Well, that’s to be explored another day. I plan to write a post for each of my personae and what I enjoy to do in those roles — yes, professionally, as well. So, stay tuned for that. In the meanwhile … you know what I’m about. And I feel better now that you do.

Hope you’re not too disappointed. I’m not. Live authentically, or not at all. That’s my new motto. I’m finding that it’s a pretty good one.

I’ve never been to such an industry-oriented conference prior to this one, and so far, it’s been amazing. I’ve met some of the most incredible professional Dominas there, with tonnes of experience in the biz, and a huge following in their own right. It’s encouraging, charming, and a little dazzling for someone such as myself who’s been in the lifestyle for quite some time, and only recently broken into the business. Their advice, guidance, and even friendship, has been absolutely wonderful, and I can’t wait to spend more time with them while they’re in town, before we all resume life as usual, back in our own corners of the world.

Nothing as of yet truly newsworthy, but we’re just getting started. The seminar and convention hall hours are one thing, but after that … everybody’s in the mood to play. Oh, and believe me — with an entire floor full of Dominas and eager subs and slaves, there’s little else anyone wants to do! More on that to come, trust me …

DomCon will officially conclude on Sunday, but I’m going to be cutting out a bit early; my last attendance day will be Saturday night, as I’ve got some schedule conflicts after that. As much as I’ll miss everyone, I’ll be so happy for the experience of getting to know the finest and best dominas and mistresses in the industry; and be ready to start taking clients again Monday, the 11th.

Should you want to request a session while I’m at DomCon, have the consideration and foresight to schedule with me at least 24 hours in advance. Since I really can’t do a lot of scheduling at the moment as I’m too busy enjoying the con environment, be sure your session is fully paid for, and I’ll let you know the soonest we can ‘meet’. If you’re new to me and the way I do business, read up on how to conduct yourself and schedule an appointment; my FAQ should also answer any of your more common questions, and it’s easily available here, too.

That’s all for now. Just wanted to take a minute to let everyone know how things are going, and say how much fun I’m having. Speaking of, I’m off to go do more of that very thing! Jay Wiseman is even doing a special industry-only thing on Search and Seizure! Having almost gone the forensic psychologist and criminal investigator route, I can never learn enough about how the laws are changing, and what the impact will have on whatever my business happens to be.

More to come …