Like many others, I hate assholes. I’m an enforcer, or ‘punisher’ personality, as they say, so I’ve come to terms with my own driving inclination, and at times, need, to take vigilante action against those I’ve perceived ‘doing wrong’ according to my own subjective morality. (That’s a crucial element, incidentally.) Of course, this was more of an issue in my adolescence. Eventually, I grew up; in doing so, I learned that there’s a time and place for everything, and as much as I’d love to don skin-tight latex and set about punishing all of those men in the world that deserve it ( … hey, wait a minute … ) I have to accept that this is neither sane nor very feasible. (Though, what woman doesn’t occasionally fantasise about being a dominatrix superhero? I mean, I know I’m not alone in this.) All jesting aside, there are those less evolved and immature enforcer types who’ve not yet gotten the memo. Recently, I had the (mis)fortune of briefly working with of them.

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. (more…)

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…)

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…)

As my clients are already aware, I’ve been spending my time this week at DomConLA, making my scheduling availability a bit wonky. But rest assured — I’ll be back soon with all sorts of neat new tricks and tactics!

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 … (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…)