Diary of a Dominatrix#31: Elements of Femdom

Strap-On and Tease Video Preview

Here’s what we’re saying:

MR: Is there anything you wanted to talk about before I go get it?

P: Please, can I come if you fuck me?

MR: Please what?

P: Can I come if you fuck me?

MR: Probably not

P: Please

MR: Remember, what I put on the calendar?

P: Yes, but please.

MR: But why would I change it?

P: You know I feel scared.

MR: I do

P: That I feel really vulnerable, and I might feel angry with you. it’s so not fair. Particularly if you come.

MR: And what do I always say?

P: I don’t know?

MR: If you start to get angry. If you start to really feel, distant, and incomplete. We can talk about it, and we can negotiate it. But right now, I think I should fuck you, and tease you. And you shouldn’t come. OK>

P: OK.

Last night she replied with, “I’m right here.” Which, of course, doesn’t really help me because my desire is more specific.

Really what I’m saying is that “I desire to use you to achieve a form or release that will bring us closeness and a sense of fulfillment.” And what she’s telling me, often specifically, is that she’s available to hold me, but has no desire to bring a premature end to our experiment in chastity.

It reminds me of getting my heart broken. When I was younger and experiencing young love, it felt like a well of feelings had sprung up inside me. I was given to feelings of intense infatuation, longing for fulfillment, and the desire to be recognized and appreciated. In those days, it didn’t seem like the sun would rise for me without the approving consent of my beloved. But young love being what young love is, those days would end for one reason or another. And I would be left along feeling empty and abandoned.

I tried to separate myself from my feelings. To intellectualize them away, because all of my feelings would be of her- the object of my desire and meaning. Sometimes an ex would express some sympathy and seek to get together for coffee or something so that I would feel less alone. Those breaks would be a tremendous respite from the feelings of emptiness, but also a cruel trick upon the re-blossoming feelings of desire. We were “just friends” now, and friends didn’t desire each other. At least, they we’re supposed to.

I felt so pathetic in those days. Depressed. Wanting my life to be over. Numb. If I really stopped to think about it, I knew I’d start crying. If I put aside the desire for death, telling myself that things would eventually get better, but those sentiments seemed so hollow in those days. But, eventually, I grew up. Young love passed into the more pragmatic coupling of the late 20s and 30s. I no longer looked to my partners for fulfillment beyond the evening, and no longer burdened them with the messiness of my life. Life became simpler: predictable; scheduled; stable; livable. And that’s the life I chose to settle in and shape my identity around.

I don’t even like to really reflect on the horrible heart breaks of young love. I feel a period of deep shame come across me when I even admit to myself how pathetic everything was back them. Far from the predictable everyday, I only knew a chaotic mess of unfulfilled emotions and a life that felt like it was spiraling out of control. But chastity play seems to be bringing me back to those younger days- an outcome I somehow knew but would not have predicted.

Chastity and teasing fills me with a similar intense longing. I feel flooded by intense, demanding emotions that find no release except for quiet dissipation over time. It’s strange to take feelings of intense longing or, if I’m honest enough to admit it, rage and be told that “It’s OK,” and to just let them pass without acting on them. My mistress is there to hold me through these emotional storms, but that feels as empty as coffee with my ex-girlfriends used to feel. It’s nice and it helps with the feelings of being in it all along, but it only ignites other emotions (often amazingly negative) that then have to be allowed to pass.

I almost feel as though chastity play is an intense experience that can only be truly allowed to dissipate in the same somber aloneness that I used to fall into to try to put some order into an otherwise chaotic life. That when the session is over, the more rational and structured side of myself will once again step in, tell me it’s no big deal and to take a sleeping pill and go to sleep. Until we do it all over again the next day.

I was particularly worried last night when she told me what it was she had planned for this evening. She said that when I got home from poker, that she was going to restrain me, tease me, and then brutally fuck me with her strap-on until she was able to achieve orgasm. All in all, she expected to scene to be a couple of hours and to feature more of the darker and less loving sides of herself. This fills me with considerable consternation.

As I outlined in an earlier post, the ever popular “Getting Bound and Fucked by Your Lady,” I am used to my mistress pushing me to new limits in our strap-on play. But past episodes had featured an orgasm, followed by holding and aftercare. It was during those times when the world would all return to feeling normal and sane. I was able to marvel how intensely out of control I’d felt only just a moment ago as I was able to bond with her over the intensity of our shared experiences. But tonight’s session will be different; I will be brutally violated until she achieves orgasm. Then forced to slowly dissipate the intense feelings that such a unfair violation force upon me. I feel as though the intensity of my emotions will overcome me.

When we’ve experimented with it in the past, the unfairness or her bitchy and uncaring demeanor would match with the rising well of negative emotions I would be overcome by. When asked how I was feelings, I remember cursing her repeatedly. I hated her right then, just as I’d hated me ex-girlfriends back when they were the ones bringing me pain. In the particular session where we experienced these things, my mistress took this negative energy as an opportunity to ramp up the intensity of her violation. She slammed the full nine inches of the dildo deeper and more vigorously into me as she screamed an me what a emasculated slut I had been rendered to. In that particular episode, I eventually folded to feeling of unbelievable need. My cursing eventually gave way to soft whimpers as I begged her to please touch me. The massiveness of her hard, massive phallus seemed to comparatively powerful to my flacid penis, I couldn’t even understand how anyone could bring themselves to pay it any attention.

But then the scene changed, as it often tends to with Roulette. She suddenly took pity on the cowering useless man she was fucking, and allowed me to touch myself. I was so grateful in that moment as she allowed me to bring myself to orgasm. I knew that soon I would be back in the realm of the sane, and able to look what I had just experienced as a strange type of experiment which had now run its course.

But, that was then, and this is now. Putting our play along a timeline, it seems Mistress Roulette has been continually pushing me towards this end. First pushing me to larger dildos, then playing with the idea of unrequited and unloving violation. In our last such scene, she pulled me back from the brink. Tonight, I am not sure I’ll be so lucky, and that has me feeling very weary indeed.

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. I really get energised through recounting all of the gritty details of our strap-on sexual experiences, which we typically have frequently. Once a week at least, and several times at most. Of course, with a lot of things in flux and schedules being a bit crazy, we haven’t in awhile. But we’ll probably be doing a show of it for fetishchatlive.com, too, which means you’d actually get to see it as it’s happening — hence, the live part. It’s a big hit, actually. If you’d like to know when the next show will be airing so you can see it, just send me an email, or leave a comment. I’ll be happy to let you know.

So, let’s see. There’s always corporal. I’m really quite sadistic, and thus, love caning, paddling, even hand-spanking. I’ve gotten so into it before that my palms were purple-blue and throbbing from the heat of the strikes. It was pretty intense. I’ll definitely hit that point every now and again where I feel as if I’ll just burst into … something … if I don’t do a really, really hard corporal scene. He’s a wonderful sport, too, with how he always takes it for me, even though I know he doesn’t enjoy it. Once I’m out of top-space, I always feel guilty over the knowledge that I really marked him up. He assures me it’s not any big deal, however, and he likes being there for me to whack — often-times, quite literally into submission. That’s love, man. All right, so we can add corporal to the list. It doesn’t at all carry the degree of intimacy as strap-on, or any kind of penetration. And whether or not the recipient of my sadism is clothed is up to me, anyhow.

I’m not sure if I can really get into the whole body worship thing. I receive offers only every other day, and I know it’s low impact, and, truthfully, should be a relaxing sort of thought and activity. Doesn’t require much; just sit, or lie, there, and be adored, massaged, kissed, and caressed. Eh, maybe it’s the intimacy factor once again. I might consider foot worship. That seems acceptable, and is definitely one of the more popular fetishes. (Though, really, I’m not sure if it’s the biggest — as I was recently told by someone. Anyone know if that’s truly the case? It seems that in terms of ‘body part fetish’ that T&A would come before feet — but that’s just my common sense estimation.)

Humiliation and degredation is fine, so long as I know the background of the submissive. If he’s directly drawing from abuse in his life, I’m not going to play ball. This is why I’m also a counselor, and not just a pro-domme. But if it’s a mindful process, and I’m aware of where there may be potential triggers, it can be a cathartic experience — just like the intensity of a corporal or strap-on scene.

Okay, so. As far as I can tell: corporal, humiliation, and degredation. In fact, the latter is big for me when it’s someone with whom I’m less familiar — outside of knowing their background enough to avoid the aforementioned triggers. But I can, again, be quite sadistic, cold, and cruel when I’m in my, I guess, ‘humiliatrix’ (is that really a category these days?) mode.

Good times. I’m sure this list will be expanded over time, but for now … that’s all.

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.

My first time was actually not my idea. My college girlfriend and I were experimenting with BDSM and she found she enjoyed the dominant role. After we graduated from college we ended up moving to different cities. We tried to make it work, but the distance was forcing us apart. She suggested to me that I submit to strap-on play so that she could demonstrate to me to whom I belonged. I agreed to try it. She scheduled a flight to come visit me and I visited the sex toy store to buy the instrument of my eventual defilement.

The two-week period I had to wait for her visit was filled with fear and doubt. I was focused on two main questions: how much would it hurt, and would it make me gay. The night of my deflowering had the tell-tale passion, awkwardness and pain that is associated with most women losing their virginity. She put me on all fours, tied my arms and legs to the bed frame, put on her cock, and moved behind me.

She took me slowly. She pressed the head of her phallus against the tight ring of my asshole, and proceeded to ease it back and forth. She was courteous and sensitive to me, and made sure to keep withdrawing the dildo to apply more lube. It didn’t take me long to find out that being anally-penetrated was an uncomfortable experience, but not altogether painful as she forced the length of her cock into me.

And then… nothing. She moved her hips back and forth and moved the dildo in and out of me, but there was no culminating moment of orgasm as there is for traditional male penetration. She had a lot of anger that she had hoped to exorcise by this act. She had hoped this violation would inflict upon me a bit of what she had herself gone through, and in that moment, I could sense that she was a bit disappointed. She could, of course, have channeled her anger into the act, and more violently taken me, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. We had silently flirted with the idea of her using dildo play to degrade and denigrate me, but the act itself did not accomplish this.

We broke up not too long thereafter, but the experience stayed with me. I kept reflecting back on it over and over again. Perversely, I had wished for a more painful experience. One that could more successfully make me feel degraded and broken. In my fantasies, strap-on scenes became a complete role reversal where the woman would painfully fuck me until she came. I started to try to create just such an experience with the women I dated, but I never found someone who had the same desire to defile as she did.

My life as a submissive man was probably characterized by Shel Silverstein’s children’s book, “The Missing Piece Meets the Big O.” You wander through life just not feeling complete. You do the things you’re supposed to: earn a living, find a girlfriend, stay in shape. But you feel really empty inside. You keep wishing that the significant other would just take charge in the bedroom instead of demanding that you ravish her.

That’s the way we submissive men seem to go through life. Doing what we’re told, but paradoxically wishing we were told more to do by our special lady. This lack of fulfillment eventually leads to unhappiness. Life feels empty. You start to feel that you’ll never get what you really want except perhaps by seeking a professional. Of course, this state of “quiet desperation”  is not unique to the submissive men in the world. In fact, it seems part of the human condition. Few people seem to achieve real happiness with their lives.

Fortunately, this has changed since Roulette came into my life. She has the same undercurrent of anger underneath our BDSM that I’ve found I strangely need. What’s more, she loves strap-on play. Absolutely thrives on it. We often argue over who loves strap-on play more. After a lifetime of being with women who simply did not get beyond the bizarreness of such a request, it’s a wonderful feeling to be with someone whose needs compliment my own.

We’ve talked about my strange desire to be denigrated and broken down by the experience. She’s helping me come to understand where it comes from and why I want it like I do. But understanding where it comes from doesn’t change the fact that I want it like I do. I can tell that she wants it, too. Sometimes, when she’s talking dirty to me, she tells me she’s going to cane me until I’m sobbing and then fuck me silly. When the sex haze wears off, she denies that she’d ever want to engage in play that heavy, but I can tell she can. She’s taking me along a predetermined path towards the result she wants.

She started by suggesting larger dildos to me. We began with the basic 6″ dildo and slowly graduated to larger and larger. The one she recently settled on is the largest Vixen Creations makes, the 8 1/2 x 2″ Outlaw. She fucks me so hard with it sometimes it leaves me sore for days. She claims it’s just because the dildo is stimulating her so much, but I think she just likes causing pain.

A couple of nights ago, we had an experience that was the culmination of many of my fantasies. She ordered me over to the bed, and chained my hands to the headboard. She then attached ankle cuffs and a spreader bar to my feet and linked them to the same chain. I was totally helpless and she wandered the room and began preparing herself to violate me. She enjoys the nervous anticipation I have in my bound state as I’m forced to watch her load the dildo in the harness and pull it on. (She’s fallen in love with the Spandex harness from Stormy Leather because it’s a one-piece and she doesn’t have to mess with all the buckles and straps like a traditional harness.) She says it also gives me a lot more control over the dildo.

Her favorite part is lubing me up. She has me right where she wants me. I’m bound up and helpless and she’s looking down at me as she’s stroking lube onto her shaft. She tells me how much I need the fucking that she’s about to give me and assures me that she’ll be gentle. I can see how much she loves the power of that moment reflected in her eyes. Often the anticipation has built up so much that real fear begins to overtake me. I start to shiver and my teeth chatter even though the room isn’t all that cold. Intellectually, I understand what’s about to happen to me, but, on a more primal level, I’m very afraid of it. It’s strange.

At those moments when I’m gripped by real fear, she comes and cradles my head in her hands. She nurtures the frightened little child on display in front of her and tells me everything’s going to be all right. She gets me to calm down. Then she moves back to right where she was and starts lubing up my ass. Sometimes, I beg her to stop. Sometimes, I don’t. Regardless of what I say, she continues her work at an even pace. Soon, she’s placing the head of her massive phallus against my ass and slowly starts pressing it in. This is where the power-play really begins.

The dildo feels so massive I feel like I’m being split apart. I beg her to stop, and she does. She doesn’t take it out, however. She just stops her assault momentarily to allow me to adjust to the massive intruder that’s forcing my ass open. She tells me that it’s going to be all right. If I persist in telling her to stop, she places a finger over my lips to quiet me. Then she proceeds to force the dildo even further into me. It’s a continual process like that: she pushes, it hurts, and she stops to comfort me before pushing it in even farther. It’s similar to deflowering a virgin, except that we do it all the time. I can tell she loves doing it, and that’s why she loves such large dildos. She loves the power that comes with the pain.

And then it’s in. I suddenly feel the sensation of sudden fullness as she forces the head of her monster cock deep into me. Having forced its way past my asshole, there’s nothing left to stop her from ramming the entire length of the dildo deep into my soft flesh. Then she starts to fuck me. She pretty quickly can find a rhythm, and her breathing gets deep fast. I’ve always wanted a woman to fuck me until she comes; two nights ago, I got my wish. Maybe, it was the power of what she was doing, or maybe The Outlaw really does rub her just the right way, but I could see herself building to an orgasm. She just kept fucking me faster and faster as her breathing deepened. Then she came. Witnessing it was the most erotic thing I have ever seen.

Afterward, we just lay in each other’s arms. She played with my hair and told me how proud of me she was. All I know is, it’s the most peaceful and fulfilling feeling I’ve ever had. Suddenly, everything seems right with the world.