Wow.

First off, I’d like to say two things:

1, I wish I had time for making this post today, but I really don’t, since my first choice for a supporting role is coming by to audition in … 40 minutes, and there are several more throughout the day.

2, I’m touched that I received such a response — surprise, shock, concern — from so many people regarding the ‘kink break’ post. (Which you can find yourselves. You’re fantastic, but I don’t have time to direct-link you at the moment.)

Any rate, I’m slightly amused that there was this much of a kerfuffle to begin with; if you go back and read my reflections regarding the Moonlight Whispers film, (again, Google; you’re big boys and girls — those fingers need exercise!) you’ll notice that the take-home message seemed to (very clearly) be:

‘Kink always wins’.

(more…)

Oh, my relationship with all-things-Wonderland runs deep, and stems from as far back as I can remember; traipsing about my grandparents’ mansion as a young girl, pretending that I was wandering a world far from this one.

It’s no wonder that my masterpiece would be a derivative works — for those unfamiliar, known as Hunting Alice, soon to be an audio drama series and broadcast on the Internet.

This, strangely enough, is not about that … exactly. This is about something else. Deeper. The roots of Roulette, in some sense. While I am always aware of myself, I do have momentary lapses of … treason? No. Season? Hmm, not quite. And ‘reason’ doesn’t cut it, since they’re not always unreasonable; but they do change me.

There are many people milling about in my head — many of which whom are my own creations, and present themselves in my fiction works. But sometimes, I get a bit too method. Certain characters, unfortunately, are so deeply ingrained within me that when something triggers them (or someone) it’s all I can do to keep firm hold of myself. It’s just so otherwise natural to slip into the masque of someone else.

(more…)

Ahhhh …

I love my pre-matrimonial bling; almost as much as I do my fiance. (Okay, so not really, but they do both make me smile ridiculously when I look upon them.) See, it’s hardly a secret that we womenfolk love all manner of sparkly rocks — whether they’re on the side of the road, in a rare exhibition, or on our own fingers. And it’s part of the human condition to like things that shine. We’re just naturally attracted to them. (Yes, there is some scientific basis to: ‘ooh, shiny.’)

The best part of my temporary engagement ring? Oddly enough, it’s not the way it says, ‘he-llo’ from a distance as it catches and perfectly reflects the ambient light, sending back a veritable cavalcade of colour and vibrance to the viewer. Or how many people tell me they ‘love my bling’, ask me where I got it, marvel at the design, and seem almost envious. (Though, that is fun. C’mon … ) Nope, it’s when I get to dash their hopes and dreams, allowing them to feel rather silly when I explain that my perfectly marquis-cut, totally clear 1.5-ish carat-weight of  rock over which they’re drooling cost me (well, my fiance — I did insist he pay for my temporary engagement ring, of course) $15.

Wait. A diamond that costs fifteen bucks?

Okay, okay, okay. $17. Because of tax.

Now, take a second and really think about what you’ve just thought — assumed, really. What diamond would cost $15? The answer is no diamond. ‘Oh!’ You’re thinking now, probably somewhat surprised. A cubic zirconia. Nahh. I like my shit real — or close to real. It has to have at least a realistic origin. While CZ’s do fit the bill for sparkly, they don’t have the staying power that a traditionally from-the-earth stone would, unless its hardness is rated close to a diamond. Something a CZ does not share with its mined mimic.

So, what the fuck is it that’s got people ogling before they realise what it really is? Dudes, if you’re paying attention, close the window where you’re watching porn, drop your dick, and read this. (Trust me. When birthdays, Christmas, and Valentine’s comes around, you’ll thank me.)

She, like most brainwashed women (sorry, ladies — but you know it’s true) have been fed the lie that diamonds are all that and a bag of chips. (Yes, even after watching Blood Diamond a bajillion times. Old habits die very hard; especially when we’ve been given them along with our bedtime stories since we were kiddos. Knight in shining armour, white horse, big rock.) This is not only wrong, and unfortunate, but detrimental to your financial security, as I’m sure you know. Why would anyone in their right mind spend as much on a piece of jewellery as they would something with four wheels that goes very fast and is far more practical? Marketing, honestly. Satan-spawn like DeBeers latched onto talented ad execs and excreted such palatable bullshit as ‘a diamond is forever.’

(Incidentally, if you really want something to represent a forever love, go tungsten carbide. And, if you must have sparkly, go with a piece of what I’m about to reveal to you set nicely within it.)

So.

What will make her girlfriends think you’re the bomb and put her in the mood without breaking the bank? (Because, remember — we like sparkly. You + generosity + sparkly = getting laid. Well, most of the time.)

Timpani, please …

Ready?

Y’sure? It’s gonna change your life …

I’m not sure if you really want that …

Are you begging?

… Am I just being cunty now?

Okay, okay, okay.

It’s …

(more…)

This guy’s creativity is amazing!

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…)

We’re not honest enough.

A lot of it has to do with our modern society; they way we hole ourselves up or pile into shiny metal boxes, contestants in a suicidal race. (Thank you, Sting.*) We all want love, companionship, to be understood, and affiliated with something. We seek to belong — even if we can’t admit it. Sometimes, and most often, to ourselves.

I hope you’re enjoying our Podcast. I’ve noticed a theme among the episodes: the dispelling of many myths in BDSM or the alternative lifestyles in general, and we’ll continue to do that. Especially femdom. There’s a tonne of myths surrounding the practise of a female-led relationship. Female supremacy is a big one. I know it gets a lot of subby boys hard, but I can’t be down with something that’s obviously false just because it has arousing capabilities. I wouldn’t be me.

That’s actually what I’m here to share with you today. Some stuff you may not know about me. While Mister P breathes into my ear how powerful I am while my strap-on is plunged deep into him, the truth is, power is relative and circumstantial. I may carry myself with an air of self-sufficiency and the knowledge that I have just as much right to be here that anyone else does, but I worry. I get scared. I can be driven to tears — though, rarely ever in the company of someone else. I do have my pride — whatever the hell that means. There are days I want nothing more than to throw my arms around Mister P when he gets home and curl up next to him on our sofa while he surveys his stock portfolio. It can feel like one of the most peaceful places on earth to me. If I can’t get to sleep, just the steady and rhythmic beating of his heart can lull me to dreamland — arriving with warm, fuzzy thoughts. I jest that my body has come to interpret his arm across my torso as we sleep as a ‘nightmare guard’, as I’ve woken short of breath to find that he’s turned over on his side at some point during the night — which, strangely enough, doesn’t happen if I wake to find I’m still nuzzled against his forearm. I may be a dominant woman, but I’m also a human being.

I realise this isn’t something you want to hear, since it continues to shatter those myths you hold so dear. (Hey, I rhymed.)

Dommes need subs. (more…)

There are things in this life that cause the sadist in me to come crashing through, and it’s not always what you’d most readily think. No. You might not suspect this. This one might escape your myopic eyes; your so-selective ears. Because you, Joe Average Kinkster, are looking for the wrong thing — and may or not be cheating on your wife in your dogged, blind pursuit of it.

You disgust me, sir. And I think I hate you.

I don’t want to, honestly, but a part of me does. But what do I know of you — your position? What’s led you to this — to overlooking good, soulful writing, honest pontification, philosophy and theory — with an eroticised twist — in pursuit of pure, unadulterated porn? If you are one half of a couple, what’s driven you to seeking this instead of your spouse. To crave fake tits and perfectly Photoshopped pussy, and the strange, harsh voice of a woman who doesn’t give a shit about you — and you know it.

What led you from what you thought would be your perfect life … to this.

What do I know? I’m not even sure how to get there, no less keep it.

I pity you. I fear for myself.

For all my wonderful commenters, readers, followers et al.

Every now and again, I get some pretty wild ideas. As usual, I’ve always got a number of bizarre things buzzing through my brain. This just happens to be another one. Sure, I could do it alone, but it’s that much more fun to be collaborative.

That being said, I’m currently researching BDSM in ancient context — specifically, how it may’ve once fit in with certain religions and spiritualities in the primitive world. I know certain Grecian practises, for example, in service to the Greek Pantheon required loads of drunken debauchery — but it was, of course, god- or goddess-dependent. Zeus probably wouldn’t give a shit if you fucked in his honour; but Aphrodite and Dionysus would be all about it. It’s no surprise I’m quite learned when it comes to Greek mythology, being that a good chunk of my heritage is Athenian Greek*, but the other religions, well, I’ve only touched upon. I’m sure that Hindu, for example, is rife with such things. (more…)

Dear Economy,

What the fizzuck, yo? I’m going more broke than a joke. (And jokes, in case you were unaware, are seemingly penniless. … Don’t mention it. Here to help.) Apparently, you’re worse than De Sade. And that, my friend, is hardcore. Unfortunately for you, I’m not a submissive, so we’re having a difference of opinion over this whole you-torture-me-senseless thing. I’m sure a bunch of people are loving it — but I’m not.

I’m a Libertarian, which you may not know. The less market manipulation the better, because I know you’ll sort yourself out eventually, no matter what we do. But, damn! The waiting! You’ve already taken two of my most amazing clientele away from me until sunnier skies — on the same bloody day — and now I get to deal with further inflation, and an exhorbitant bill.

Sigh.

No wonder a lot of pro-dommes are leaving the biz. It’s just too difficult to make ends meet.

In your debt, (you asshole)

- MR

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EDIT:

No, no, no, no, no. I couldn’t do THAT. I mean, I’m a hard-working woman. I EARN my living. I don’t sit around eating bon-bons and expect someone else to pave my way. And hey, when your health sucks and you can’t do much, (like mine has for the last 5 months) then you’re pretty screwed. I couldn’t possibly start asking for hand-outs from the financial dom guys …

No way …

Even if all they’d really, really have to do is, say, send a little here and there through my Donate button. And, depending upon who donated the most — well, maybe they’d get a photo, or … a free 15-minute phone call, or … something to show my gratitude …

Maybe …

P.S. You may have something there …

Hopeful,

-MR