A Definition

"It seems to me that S&M is about two things: being brave enough to play with power and realize it's moveable and malleable, and also the deire to be overwhelmed and to be overwhelming. Which is no different than any other kind of sex if it's any good."

-Maggie Gyllenhaal, 2002 as quoted in "Nerve: The First Ten Years"

Wishes

This has been a year full of incredible rewards and intense challenges, both in and out of the "The Scene." More than anything, I want to express my deepest gratitude to those of you who have been part of this crazy year with me, whether you've held my hand, given good counsel, made me smile "that smile," or offered yourself up as inspiration or canvas for my fantasies. That you are even reading this means you've already given me the best gift I could possibly ever wish for.

Nonetheless, a few of you have asked me what I might like for Christmas. While I love the serenity and the opportunity to give thanks at midnight mass on Christmas Eve, I choose not to participate in gift exchange during the holiday season. I do, however, wish you and those you enrich your life a peaceful, loving acknowledgement of what you truly mean to each other and a celebration of another year experienced together.

While Santa may not be visiting this girl who is so very good (at being bad!), I DO, however, eagerly anticipate the celebration of my birthday. (In fact, those close to me know there's a full pass on Christmas, Valentine's, Anniversary -- all that stuff -- if you remember my birthday.)

The big day is January 10. I will be here the week prior (but unavailable Jan 11-13) and strongly encourage indulgence -- especially since I put myself on shopping restriction for my studio for the past several months. Wishlist gifts, it should go without saying, are not required nor expected. Most of you reading this blog have been a part of my life as a dominant for quite some time and I would love to just have a moment to raise a glass to toast and thank you for being part of my very, very wonderful life.

If you are inclined to commemmorate my proud strut into my "late 30s" (I'll be 38!) there's a wishlist over at Amazon that I've recently updated with stuff from the Amazon site as well as other sites thanks to the "universal wishlist" widget. I also made a pretty hot list over at JT's Stockroom. And of course Mr. S has a few things that have made my fingers itch during my kinky shopping chastity...

Nova Light EStim Trip

Ball Gag Muzzle in RUBBER

Electroboard for the cock ***** Leather bondage set, Sz L

(Yes, my HTML coding sucks...)

Anything ordered or mailed, including cards/letters, should be sent to:

Miss Troy Orleans
2753 Broadway #103
New York, NY 10025
(646) 373-2423

Items on a list, of course, are just that, so here are a few comments on each piece on my wishlist so you can get an idea of why it's there.

Mr. S details (above pics/links) :

I've played with a colleague's electroboard recently and have had tremendous fun with it. It's cock bondage AND electrotorment all in one! Given my growing interest in long-term, sensedep bondage, the Nova Light system just seems like a no-brainer (ha! no pun intended!) that I'd love to experiment with. The leather thigh/wrist/waist restraints just look like locking, leather deliciousness to me and I LOVE the comments about how comfortable it is for long term bondage. (I'm thinking those restraints plus my Scott Paul Humiliator Gag System could make for a really fun afternoon....). And the rubber ball gag muzzle is for good gagging and easier cleanup -- plus, who doesn't love a breather/funnel hole!??!

NEW: Just got an email from Mr. S that reads:

From December 31st through Sunday January 11th, we're offering you
15% OFF on the Best gear available! We are ONLY offering this to our valued customers who receive this email - so you MUST enter the Promo Code: NYSALE in order to receive the discount or bring this newsletter into one of our stores.

Some notes on my Amazon list:

The Dungeon Delights spreader bar system has been on my coveted list since I started this blog (see left column, a little down). Metal bondage. Complete rigidity. Ain't a thing wrong with that.
The pillows are for my bed. In my dotage, I'm finding I like the squish and sink of a good down pillow: it'd be like you're sleeping with me! The Mr. S Asylum mask series is SUPER hot to me. I love the coverage without the intimidation of a full hood. My urgentest desire is for the upper half mask (because you know how much I like mouth access), though the full one gives me wood, too. The martini glasses are because ... well, if you've been following me on Twitter, you know how much I've been enjoying my "Bad Decision Martinis" lately and yet I have no martini making gear of my own! (The shaker would be welcome, too.)

JT Stockroom list notes:

While I'm not a full on rubberist -- yet -- I'm really digging rubber hoods lately and love the sense dep and breath control this one offers (in size LARGE, please). Tara Sterling re-awakened my interest in the Spider Gag (with strap, check options), thanks to a photo shoot she did which, of course, now I can't find. Hey. I like open mouths! The wireless remote vibrating egg is there because my other remote vibrating egg is on its last legs and it's a key piece of equipment for me. Hitachi Magic Wand is ... well, because I've never owned "The Cadillac of Vibrators" and I figure it's time. I'm ready. (I think.) The Total Enclosure Hood is there because it's tight, breath restrictive and lockable... and because sometimes I need a hood for smaller heads. (So, size SMALL, please.) The steel fist mitts are to match my steel hood. When I got the hood, I didn't think I was ready for the mitts. Now I am. The Lockable Pump Gag ... does it need explaining? It's an inflatable gag that locks. So juicy. And lastly, the Stockade (don't forget the fucking rod) just is too fucking hot not to want. In MEDIUM please. (I can't say anything else about it here given the sensitive clime ... but use your imagination. Drool.)

Last but not by any means least, if you're the traveling type, I would LOVE LOVE LOVE some frequent flier miles, please. (Especially Delta as well as Jet Blue or American ... but any will work.) If you have miles to spare, please let me know and we can talk about the best way to transfer them to me.

Of course, if you just want to come and play with me for my birthday, I'm always up for that! (Though you'll be taking my birthday spanking!) Really, though, thank you SO much for just being part of my kinky life. I am so grateful, appreciative, and blessed.

Diversification

I'm looking at the tabs on my Firefox browser. Since it made me smile, I thought I'd share.

Gmail. Google Calendar. Serious Bondage.com/Fetters Inversion Rack. Eater. Serious Eats. Facebook. The Hang at Max Fisch. Gawker. Unspeakable Axe. Fleur De Sel. Malcolm Gladwell.

Rope

I spent a recent Saturday with a handful of rope lovers. In my group were mostly rope Tops, but we all took turns getting ourselves hung, bound, and wrapped in rope. I noted the bite of the strands into my hips in an inverted suspension and considered how I might counteract that burn when I'm doing the rigging. Talking, sharing with other riggers made me realize both how much I've learned about rope in the past few years ... as well as how far I still have to go in my journey.

A few days later, I started the process of conditioning a fresh batch of rope for my studio. It takes almost a week to boil, soak, wash, dry, singe, wall knot, and oil.

Most rope players I know find the labor intensiveness of rope conditioning just too much. Me, ever since I got into rope, I've made my own. I love the process of softening the rope, the air steamed with the scent of hemp, loamish and damp. I love pulling the warm rope through my hands and over the gas jet, burning off the twiny splinters and fuzz. Then I lightly dress a cloth with mineral oil (I'm not picky about the oil type myself) and pass the rope through my hands again.

It's such a sensory experience: the steam and smoke scents, the raspy-to-softening texture as handle it in each stage, seeing it transform from its rough, raw spool into the slick, measured coils. There's love in my ropes, my effort and intention. "When I bind you," I tell my partner, "it's like it's actually me embracing you. My energy is what presses against your skin, holding you up, holding you tight."

A few days later, one of my favorite rope bottoms came in to visit. At first, all I wanted to do was dress and bind him in leather: arm sleeves, CBT parachute, a rigid spreader bar. I attached him to the anchor point just high enough that he was forced to his tiptoes. But then that put too much of a stretch on his balls, which were tied to the spreader bar around his ankles. When he'd relax and flatten his feet, I had sharp pricker pads underneath his soles, waiting for him. That was fun.

But then came the rope. Single column ties at each wrist and ankle, I stretched each limb to one of the four points of the suspension rig. More rope wrapped around his biceps and connected to his thighs. Another skein bound a vibrating bullet to his cock and stretched his genitals upwards towards the ceiling. A blindfold and gag as well. Of course. Four points (five if you count the cock) stretched and held. Formulated, sprawling, pinned and wriggling on the floor.

Stretched on the floor beside him, I whispered, "I'm going to leave you here to wrestle with my ropes alone."

Then I rose and walked away.

New Religion

80's Baby wrote me:

I certainly enjoy wearing this cage and was incredibly excited when you told me to put it on. All I could think about at work was the cage. After wearing it for this long, it's starting to feel like a part of me, like it's supposed to be there - leading me to fantasize about some serious chastity (weeks and months). It is difficult at times though, especially in the mornings - I'm worried one morning it's just going to snap into a thousand pieces, but the plastic has held up decently well so far.

And I replied:

I am so tempted to tell you that you're not allowed to remove the cage until it snaps off on its own accord like a Kabbalah bracelet.

Untitled

He was waiting for me.

Legs sleeved and bound in the leather sack. Hands wrapped in leather. A padded hood tightened and buckled around his head, eyes and ears blacked out, a grommet to breathe through. His torso, inked but otherwise bare. I watched his stomach undulate with breath and pictured myself licking the edges of his ribcage.

I knew he knew I was there. Waiting, hyper-attentive, he'd felt the vibrations of the door opening, the breeze of my entrance, my hunger surely palpable as I looked at this gift he'd made of himself. For me.

I didn't touch him. I didn't speak.

Instead, I busied myself about the studio, tidying up. I wanted him to feel helplessly abandoned, craving acknowledgment, touch. In the next room, I shed my clothes to shower and wondered if he'd hear the water running through the sensory deprivation hood and imagine me naked and wet. Once clean, I rubbed my skin with oil and slid into a silky black skirt and camisole.

Standing next to the bed, I reached for his hand and his grateful fingers struggled against the mitts to wrap around mine. Straps were added to keep him still. I could see his heart beating madly against its cage of bones, muscle, and skin. I covered his chest with a steaming hot towel, lathered my hands and began shaving him, the hot water trickling like cloudy tears down his sides. Once his chest and stomach were smooth, I stripped off the leg sack, exposing his sex.

Running my fingernail along the underside of his hard cock, I informed him, "Now that you have my attention, I'll tell you what I'm going to do with you. I'm going to fill your ass with the largest electric plug I have, then turn up the juice until you scream. Once you start screaming, I'm going to replace the padded hood with my latex suffocation hood, and then, to keep things interesting, I'll put the Venus on your cock."

I rolled his body onto the backboard and suspended him slightly above the table with a combination of hoists and springs. The large plug slid in easily and I envisioned one day giving him my fist, to feel his heart beat from the inside. I shuddered with the pleasures of his possibilities.

Once he was up to 99 on the ErosTek and barely moaning, I amped up the power input. At HI-60, the screams began. He writhed against the bindings, making the backboard swing and dip. My sadism whetted, I cut a square of expanding sponge and put it in his mouth, drooling copiously onto it to help it grow faster while I covered his mouth with duct tape. Then came the hood: a thin sheath of translucent latex that tightened around the throat but ballooned over the head. Two tiny holes near the nose were the only sources of oxygen. As he groaned and snorted, the hood expanded and collapsed with his panicked exhalations and greedy inhalations, while the plug slammed jolts of electricity deep into his ass.

Good.

I turned on the Venus and positioned the receiver over his cock, letting its slow suction draw it inside. I imagined crawling on top of him and taking him inside me instead, wrapping my hands around his throat for leverage and strangling him at both ends until I was breathless.

Instead the Venus wrapped around his shaft, drawing it in and expelling it. I turned up the juice even higher on the ErosTek and my eyes rolled back ecstatically at his muffled screams. The hood's rise and fall started to lose its rhythm as his breathing got ragged and desperate.

I'll say it. I didn't want it to stop. I wanted to see the hood collapse on his face and be still, all of him still, save his groin muscles spasming involuntarily in response to the senseless plug. I wanted to remove the hood and extract the gag and kiss his mouth to waking with a giant, squealing, willful gasp of air.

Afraid of myself, I turned up the Venus and turned down the ErosTek. He howled as his orgasm exploded almost immediately, racking his entire body with spasms that pressed the binding straps even deeper into his skin.

I removed the hood and looked gratefully into his wide open eyes.

Extreme Constraints

Part of the reason I've loved Extreme Restraints over the years is that I've been able to find good deals on products that seem to cost much more elsewhere. It's one thing, though, to get a deal on some lube or other commercial item and quite another when the low prices are the result of ripping off an artisan's work and having it cheaply mass produced elsewhere.

Seems that's what XR's been doing lately. I do not approve.

Because it's okay to dress like a dominatrix...

...it's just not okay to actually BE one.

Well, actually, it IS okay to be one. Just not to get paid for it.

You know, I have no desire to ever marry. Can't we just pretend I'm collecting my wife credit now?

Sigh. See, it's my compulsive, nitpicky honesty that just undercuts my humor every time.

Fun pics in that link though.

What's Changed

Since my blog's been private, I've received dozens of invitation requests. Most of them were from y'all but I got a few from the "We've never met, but..." crew. Call me a softie but those are the ones that have pained me the most.

It's, like, so much of what this world has been about for me is trust. You trust me with this secret part of yourself. I trust you to respect me in my role as the dominant. You trust me to keep you safe. I trust you to do the same.

And now, that's all kinda gone.

I'd had plans to play with a couple of people before all this crap happened. Instead, I met one for dinner, another for a coffee. I sat with the fellow over dinner, on the verge of tears again as I realized how this was something I was once so comfortable with and so much enjoyed and was always just so damn sure of myself ... and now I had no idea what to think.

Over coffee a week or so later, the other prospective play partner was showing me all his identification papers and travel documents. "See? Do you trust me now?" he asked.

"Nope," I said.

Sucks.

MTO Invitational

I don't have plans to be posting all that much here but I appreciate that y'all wanted to keep abreast (heheh... who doesn't?) of whatever I might have to say.

Truth is, there ain't much. I'm fine. I'm not in trouble. I just realized I didn't need a visible profile any more: it's not worth the risk right now. As one of you said to me: "Prudence is so hot!"

I love play. I love playing with y'all. There's nothing I'd love more than to do that. So let's just say I ain't playing for work. Just fun. I've always had a vanilla gig that keeps me afloat just fine. So anything I talk about here is just about fun. Not work. It's not about the money. Never has been. It's just about love. And fun.

Operation: Field Trips ... UPDATE!!!

My sister just wrote me a thank you note that she asked I pass on to all of you who contributed to "OPERATION: FIELD TRIP." You have no idea how happy it made this big sister to hear her little sister's excited voice talk about her plans for her students. Thanks to all of you who contributed. Those who still wish to donate may do so by sending cash, check, or money order to:

Operation: Field Trip
P.O. Box 93973
Atlanta, GA 30377

If you're writing a check or money order, make it payable to: "CIE" and in the memo put "CC Field Trip Fund." I suggest cash be sent with a delivery confirmation.

I cannot begin to tell you how (let me take it back 80’s style) “totally awesome” this year is going to be. After putting into place the concept of "Project: Outdoor Classroom," I thought all summer about ways to best put your donations to use. I came up with a socially conscious theme of caring outside of our own understanding. As a class this year we are going to pen pal with students at the International Community School here in our state. This charter school has been established for the past ten years and its mission is to bring together refugee, immigrant, and native-born children to nurture them in an academic setting. The school brings out their gifts and talents and assists in the healing of the deep physical and spiritual wounds of war. This joining of forces will help bridge the gap between two worlds, promote world knowledge, and create life long friendships.

Our other fieldtrip plans for the year include journeys to the CNN Center, The Fernbank Museum of Nature and Science, the Center for Puppetry Arts, and the Fabulous Fox Theater to see The Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre of Harlem. The end of the year trip has me fired up! I have been fortunate enough to see Alvin Ailey every year for the past 23 years. Of my most recent tours, I can remember wishing that my students had the opportunity to see the talented troupe. With tickets, starting at $17.00 per person that hope was unquestionably out of reach. With the state of Georgia on the cusp of canceling all non-athletic related field trips due to budget cuts, the idea of taking my students to see a dance ensemble is not high on the priority list for the school board. With private funding, I am able to expose my students to the arts, the world, and education all while having a blast!

Your donations are benefiting my students in a way that I could never imagine. The county limits each grade level to two field trips per year, this year, and none next year. With your help, I will be able to take my students on a trip every month. As of right now, the final trip will require that the students pay a portion of their ticket price to Fox Theatre. I am incredibly thankful for all of the scholarships you have provided. My students are in for the year of their lives, and I have you to thank. I will make sure to send pictures and journal entries to keep you posted. On behalf of my students, I want to say thanks for the opportunity to see the world through a new lens.

Yours Truly,
The Open Air Classroom

Sidebar Updates Explained!

While I was traveling, I kept having these little observations or ideas that weren't substantive enough for postcards or blog posts but weren't things I wanted to go unacknowledged, either. (e.g. Rome is covered in graffitti. My favorite tag? "ZEU$")

Consequently, I've decided to join Twitter. You should see my "Tweets" over there to the left. I'm not 100% sure about this little application -- from how it works to how much I'll use it -- but I'm going to try it for a while and I encourage you to follow me. For a NYTimesian perspective on Twitter and "ambient awareness" click here. (I was particularly swayed by the line, "Follow [someone's Twitter posts] for a day, though, and it begins to feel like a short story; follow it for a month, and it’s a novel.")

We'll see. Let me know what you think about Twittering, too.

******

I finally got a resy at Ko, thanks to The Headliner's gracious, geeky tenacity. I went with a dear, long time friend who eats and drinks professionally. Our dinner was delicious, though more memorable for the road getting there than for what was served. Or maybe it'd just been too long since I'd seen my friend. While I certainly would go again if given the opportunity or as part of an OE, my free session offer is no longer available.

And, Headliner? I owe you. Big time. Just name it.

******

One of the things my vacation made me realize is that ... well, I needed one! In an effort to manage my schedule better, rather than close the door to all new clients, I've decided to implement some additional qualifiers. First, I am not seeing any novices. You must have some professional BDSM experience in order to receive an appointment. While I do get a distinct pleasure out of molding a newbie, I'll be having my fun redefining what a session is for the veteran players for a while. Secondly, for those who have experience whom I have not seen before, you will need to provide me references before I agree to give you an appointment. If you've seen any of my known associates (anyone I've mentioned or linked here or on my website), just her name will do. Otherwise, I want two verifiable contacts so I can find out for sure if you're as promising as your thoughtful, engaging, and responsive introductory email would lead me to believe.

Rome Antics

While I didn't get up to much kinky while I was away, I did pick up a fair bit of leather, including a gorgeous butterscotch leather jacket, a belted, black vest, and a really cool pair of black leather gloves that fit snugly to the hand and wrist, only to puff all the way to the elbow.

Funny thing, gloves. I love the idea of them and I have several pair, including custom made La Crasias of the thinnest, softest leather that come up nearly to my elbows and have that fetishizable, three button closure at the wrist. I have "past the elbow" gauntlets that sleeve my arm quite sexily. Two or three pairs of lined, wrist length leather gloves for winter. And a gorgeous, cheek-soft, Italian pair I got in Venice last year whose wrists fold back to reveal a red, red leather contrast lining.

I love wearing gloves to keep my hands warm, but wearing leather gloves in session is a little counterintuitive. It's like sense deprivation for me. Touch is such a part of my play that covering up my hands removes, like, 30% of my sensory input. Maybe more. And all the gloves I have are seamed on the inside, so my fingers feel thick and dull when I wear them. If I ever was to offer some sort of paraphilia session, though, I think it'd be for the gloves. Heck, I derailed my own blog post to talk about them!

Where was I? Oh, yes. Rome. Prego.

So I didn't get up to much kinky. Mostly I ate. "When in Rome" and all meant I was doing the multi-course primi piatti e secondi piatti at every meal. I'd gotten recommendations from my food friends and done a lot of Internet research on where to go. At Maccheroni, my first night in Roma, I sat in the "kitchen room" with a prime view of the cooks (I have a chef fetish, of all things. I do.) as well as a glimpse of the tables full of animated Italians on the cobblestoned street outside. My hunky, handsome waiter asks, "Where are you from?" "New York," I tell him. "Oh, I am going to LOVE you!" he promised, his tongue unfurling dramatically over Love.

Tucking into my carbonara and carpaccio, I fantasized about pinning his shoulders under my knees and ...

At the end of the meal, I told him I wanted just a taste of something sweet. He brought a shot glass brimming with lemon sorbetto and a card with his contact info on it. "Lovely Pirate" it said.

Dining alone's not always a bad thing.

Notes from Spain, Rome, etc.

I went back to Spain and Italy, though a new city for me in both countries. First, Madrid. Then Barcelona. And finishing up my travels in Rome and Florence. Some notes.

In Barcelona, I saw a man with a bandaged stump at the end of his arm. It reminded me of a very nice patio drink with a client. As we nibbled on appetizers and sipped our beverages, I casually took his right hand and wrapped it over and over in a self-stick ace bandage. Public bondage. It was fun watching him fumble with his non dominant hand.

Did I mention I love Barcelona?

In Madrid, I was surprised by how little English or other languages I heard on the street. That was not the case in Rome or Barcelona.

Seems the primary purpose of the various piazzas and, most especially the Villa Borghese park, in Rome is to provide a place for teenagers to make out.

I would like Rome more if I liked gelato.

And Miss Victoria X was kind enough to point out that someone has stolen my hat.

I go to Florence tomorrow. It has been a nice vacation. Exhausting in its tourism, but nice. Looking forward to autumn in New York when I return. Miss y'all.

NIN of the Above

Talk about Domme cred. My friend The Headliner invited me to the Nine Inch Nails concert Wednesday night (Aug 27) at the Izod Center (uh, the Meadowlands Arena). Me in my leather tank top, Armani jacket, pencil skirt, and sky high shoes. Early to arrive, we scored a prime spot near the front of the stage, next to the mosh pit.

I love standing among the front row faithfuls, who mouth every word, every chord on their air guitar. Last time I was in this same arena it was for opening night of Springsteen's reunion tour with the E Street Band (1998? 99?) and I was overwhelmed, frightened even, by the torrent of raised white fists pumping Born! in the! US!A! Ten years later and I'm getting hit with the sweat from these these thrashing, snarling, muscle boys, bouncing their bodies off each other like repelling magnets and I'm not a bit afraid. In fact, I'm desperate to crash into them, feel that punch and ache and sweat and hold my own among the big dogs ... then I look down at my open toes.

In these shoes? I don't think so.

Proof I haven't been a dominatrix all my life? Years ago I stood next to Trent during a Mardi Gras parade and hollered for beads from the passing floats. Nine Inch Nails. Rockstar god. Uh huh. I know. But also short, pale, thin, and obviously shy. Whatever, dude. Excuse me.

"Hey! Throw me something, mister!!!"

At the concert though, I drank the Smirnoff Ice and became a believer. On stage he was none of those things I saw on that St. Charles Ave. balcony. He's buff, gorgeously lit, and clearly knows his angles. Swoon, I did.

Listening to the verses swirling around me, echoed by the crowd, I fantasized about being the kind of dominant Trent is singing about. Or to. Even the kind of Domme that has a session playlist full of NIN. I imagined myself the cold, strict bitch to whom he'd scream, "I'd rather die than give you control!" and then I'd take it from him anyway, fuck him like an animal. He'd find happiness in slavery to me.

Etc.

But, you know, I'm not that bitch. God knows I wanna be sometimes. Every time a client I adore tells me some fantasy he has about being at the mercy of a cruel, capricious woman, I wanna be that for him. Be that for ME, even. A few of the dominas I admire most are of that classic "dominatrix" style. They've got that steel allure. Mystery. They're calculating and sadistic. Yet their play is still connected and genuine and intense. I admire and envy that.

I can be strict, cold, and harsh: don't get me wrong. But when I am those things, it's not a role. I'm not playing. It means I've been pushed to a bitter, defensive place that just feels ugly to me. It's not what play or dominance means to me at all. When I'm in that punitive space, I am all too aware that my grip on my self-control is slipping. That once I start, I cannot stop myself.

When I first started domming, I struggled with what I thought a dominatrix should be like, how I thought I was expected to behave and the kind of dominant I actually was. I was the one who'd flinch and gasp sympathetically when I wrapped the flogger or caught his scrotal skin in the zipper. I was the kind that found the proud horns and drums of Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" more inspirational in session than the boom and clash of NIN's "Discipline."

Everytime I felt the push from a client or a more popular Domme in my House to be something else, I'd try it on. Soon, I felt pinch in the waist, the tightness in the sleeves of someone else's clothes. After a while, I realized I can't walk in anyone's shoes but my own.

But, uh, yeah, Trent? You like Nina Simone, too, don't you?

Call me.

Great Chastity Device Information

My friend Aarkey has put together a pretty great FAQ on chastity devices. If you're into chastity or curious about it, you really ought to click this link.

Those of you wondering where my "Closer"/NIN post went ... it needed to cook in the oven a little longer. It'll be back as soon as I have room in my head to figure out what I'm really trying to say. Thanks for your patience.

Come Again

He'd been on "at will" chastity for over a week, mostly at his own counsel, though three days before he was due to see me, I emailed him in response and said,

"I love it when I can occupy a man's mind without ever having even met him. Dare I make myself even more present in your thoughts and order you to refrain from masturbating or any orgasm/release until directed otherwise?

Yes. I think I do.

Please consider yourself in chastity to me until we meet. You are honor bound."

When he arrived at Salon d'Orleans, I immediately locked him in a chastity cage. "So that you don't forget," I told him.

Later, he's blindfolded and wrapped in rope on my bondage bed. I'd been using his immobility to inflict all kinds of sensations: fingernails pressed into his nipples, stinging kisses from the violet wand, igniting blue circles of flame on his skin. I smiled seeing his cock grow and shrink with the pain and pleasure of it all in its cage. I pressed a vibrator to the cage to intensify his erection and the feel of the points of intrigue that dug into it. I leaned in close to his ear.

"I'm going to keep you in this cage for as long as I have you. While we play. While you sleep in bondage tonight. In the morning. Perhaps I'll even send you back where you came from, still locked up," I said, the vibrator clacking against the hard plastic of the cage. "Because I control your pleasure. I decide your release. I hold the key. " He groaned ecstatically. I looked at him, feeling intensely powerful. Keyholding goddess. In control.

And then he shuddered and came in his cage.

I yelped in surprise.

This, uh, wasn't the plan. I was so glad he couldn't see my face while I tried to figure out how to respond to all the different emotions. I was bemused: all powerful, keyholding dominant. Ha! I was definitely annoyed: he should have warned me he was close, but he was also a new play partner so he wasn't familiar with my scene communication preferences. I was shocked: I don't think I've ever had anyone orgasm in a chastity cage. Didn't think it could be done! I was also pragmatic: experience has taught me this is a harder disappointment for the bottom and any punishment I might think to give him wouldn't come close to the beating up he was silently giving himself right then.

So what to do?

I untied him methodically and without speaking. When I finally did speak, I was surprised by the "Domme-y" tone to my voice. "Stand up, go to the center of the room and get on your hands and knees," I commanded sternly but quietly. I fitted the humbler over the cage. "This is called a 'humbler,'" I told him. "I think it's appropriate. Now, crawl to the bench." He complied.

Taking my singletail from the rack, I moved towards him, swinging. He winced at the bites and licks on his unwarmed ass. "You realize you're being punished, yes? Do you know why?" Still with The Voice.

"Yes, Mistress. Ugh! I think so. Because I came against your orders. Ow!" A few dozen more strokes and I put down the whip and sat on the bench in front of him. "Rise up and look at me," I ordered. He did. I saw his face: pained, confused, submissive, uncertain. I gave him a slight wink and a half smile that said, This is play.

"Since clearly your desire to come is stronger than my control, that's what you're going to do," I said, removing the cage. I spread a wee pad over the rough, jute rug underneath him and scattered peppercorns on its surface. "Kneel here and bring yourself to orgasm. Now." He gingerly placed himself on the pepper and looked at me while he fisted his cock. Minutes later, he shot again.

I put him back in the cage and we went out for a quick bite to eat. It was late. Once back at the studio, I ordered him to orgasm a third time, this time feeding him his come. As promised, he slept in the chastity cage with the large points of intrigue. "I want you to feel me gripping you all night more than I want you sleeping," I told him.

In the morning, I unlocked him from the sleeping cage and put him back into a very tight rope bondage body harness and tethered him to the bed. An inflatable leather hood compressed his head, covered his eyes and mouth. I took out the Venus.

"Come again."

He did, his body strained agonizingly against the ropes. "That looked like it hurt," I told him. "The thing about a machine, though... it doesn't care. It doesn't care if it hurt. It doesn't care if you came. It's just going to keep sucking, relentlessly. Come again."

He moaned in resistance. I played with the speed of the suck: maddeningly slow to demandingly fast. "I'm going to sit here until you come again. I don't care how sore you are. How exhausted. How overstimulated. We have nothing but time. I will milk you dry."

When he came this time, he screamed. The Venus continued to suck anyway. Machine.

"Mercy," he whimpered. "Please, Mistress. I can't take anymore. Please. No."

Mmmmm. Yes.

Because I'm the Dominant, That's Why!

I often find myself challenging a lot of what's considered "dominant" behavior. I rarely kit up in fetish clothes (ironically, most of that 'trixy gear is so demanding to wear, I end up feeling like I'm submitting to it). I'll sit on the floor at his feet while I tell him all the tortureful things I'm going to do to him. I'll get on my knees while I'm whipping him or, even better, tying up his cock and balls (I l-o-v-e the mindfuck of kneeling in front of a man, my face inches from his cock, as I inflict pain on it. Sometimes I'll even look up at him and open my mouth suggestively, tauntingly just to make it worse.) After I've taken him out of bondage, I'll give him a nice backrub.

See, there's no question in my mind that I'm the dominant. That I'm in control. I know what it may look like, but that ain't what it IS. I revel in that contradiction. There's such space there.

I see so many Mistresses get so hemmed in by the dominatrix conventions, they think wearing pink is a subversive act. That was one of the reasons I initially swooned over Bitchy Jones: she was one of the few women I saw who intelligently asked "Why?" about a lot of these behavioral codes. (One might argue BJ's finding her position a tighter corset than she anticipated at this point, but that's another post.)

Really. Why does wearing fake patent leather six inch platform shoes make a woman dominant? If a man's fantasy is to be led around on a leash and he pays a woman to do that, why is that power exchange? Why does groveling, mewly voiced will-lessness equal submission? Why does sneering, stentorian edict throwing equal dominance?

Well, I know why. It's because that's what the porn tells us. But porn is caricature. It's fantasy. It's not real. It's like, back when I was writing professionally, my life occasionally resembled Carrie's from Sex and the City even though it wasn't until I became a professional Domme that I actually could afford a pair of Manolos. What we see isn't really what we get. Maybe there's some benefit to looking at what's actually in front of you and figuring out what about it genuinely works for you and what ultimately doesn't matter.

*****

One of my readers asked me privately recently if I noticed that I'd been getting fewer comments on my blog lately and why that might be. His theory was that perhaps folks were turned off my by my "Whence Kinky?" post and comments. He suggested that perhaps I was "too honest" and that I may have bruised a couple of imaginations with my ruminations on the provenance of my kink.

I replied that not just this blog, but my practice as a professional dominant itself is about my own pathfinding in dominance and BDSM. "I'm pretty honest about who I am and why I'm here and what I want out of this. In a way, I'm as demanding as a client," I said. "So I kinda have a 'fuck you' attitude to whomever's gonna be such a bitchy li'l prima donna about their kink identity as to get sniffy that I'm exploring mine. "

I then reminded him that is IS August. Who's around to read this stuff anyway?

Whatcha Want?

It's not at all unusual for me to ask a client, "So, what are you in the mood for today?"It's also not unusual for the client to respond, "Uh, I dunno. Whatever you'd like to do, Mistress." While I appreciate the verbal carte blanche, the thing is ... well, if there was something I was of a particular mind to do, I'd do it. I ain't askin' ya just to be polite.

Fact of the matter is, I've got a lot of stuff. There are innumerable things I am capable of doing with the gear I've got. If I may be so immodest, it's a bit of an embarrassment of riches and it's not always easy for me to just pick one. Or five. I also have a fairly active practice, so if I'm keen for a particular scene, the likelihood I have a client on my schedule who would *love* for me to do that with him is pretty high, too.

Part of why I bring this up is because I had a conversation recently with a craftsman that I'd been talking to about making something for me. I'd described for him what I was interested in and asked if he would enjoy making something like that. He said, "Troy, I have a lot of customers who commission me for all sorts of projects. If there's something I want to do, it seems the person who wants it always finds me at the right time. So I just want you to have what *you* want. If I can make the thing that will make you happy, I will be happy."

It was a revelatory moment for me, because he was able to articulate what I'd been feeling about the "whatever you want, Mistress" clients in my practice. I don't think of my asking you what you want as being "service Domme-y" or indecisive: quite the contrary, actually. I'm giving you a say, which to me means that it's mine to determine in the first place. And, mind you, just because you say, "Oh, I was really hoping you'd ____ and then stick ___ in my ____ and then ___ like ____ and then tie my ____ down and grab your ____ and ____" that I'm going to follow your script. Really, it's more that you just point me in a direction and I drive the car til we get where we're gonna go.

Does it feel like you're "in control" (snicker) when a Mistress -- or I -- ask what you'd like to do? Do you have particular cravings for certain kinds of play or is it simply the escape/surrender/submissive feeling you seek? Is it more a pleasure to take that Nestea Plunge and see what happens? Tell me.

Some Serious Bondage!

I've referenced the JGLeather's Bubbler Bondage scene on Serious Bondage a few times on this blog and elsewhere. Tonight, I finally got to recreate it for myself.

The big dilemma was whether to use a leather or latex straitjacket. My client has a fetish for both. I, however, have a fetish for bondage, so I chose leather because I wanted to be sure I could strap him down to the chair nice and tight without worrying about damaging the rubber. Next came the medium electric plug from Mr. S, as well as a corona cap, and a blue band to round out the electrics. Once in the Fetters leather SJ, he sat down in the chair where I hitched the pinion straps through the wood of the chair back. I added extra leather restraining belts at the biceps, thighs and calves to points on the chair to keep him in his seat. I further secured him with HumaneRestraint's locking leg braces.

I didn't want him going anywhere.

Finally the Studiogum MultiFunction rubber hood was put on. We were nearly there. As anticipated (thanks to some well-timed water drinking), I really had to pee, so I filled up the bubbler bottle with my piss, and attached the funnel hose to the gas mask. The bubble is much like a bong: when you inhale, air is passed through the fluid in the bottle before it gets to your lungs.

I love the idea that every breath he takes goes through "me" first: he smells me, breathes me. For this brief time, he literally can't live without me.

When we're done, this is how it looks. Click here for the video.


As the Top in a scene like this, it's really all about the rigging (well, I admit I did get a little giddy hearing that gurgle of his breath through the bubbler and seeing just how little he could move). A little later in the scene, I sat on the floor between his legs and held the Venus receiver on his cock. I loved watching him try to fuck the sleeve and just being completely frustrated in his movements.

When I took the hood off his head, sweat poured off him. His eyes were glazed and slow to focus. "THAT was intense," was all he could say at first.

No kidding. I can't wait to do it again.

The Best of Me

He's from Southern California. A dozen or so Dommes have notched his belt before me. This is our first visit.

I tie him to a chair and rest my bare feet in his crotch while we chat.

"Tonight, you'll get the best of me," I whisper in his ear. I sheath his cock in leather, spread his legs rigidly, sleeve his arms in leather and bind them before his chest, tighten the leather hood on his head then affix him at the anchor point for a flogging and a taste of my Strain whip.

I lock him into the cock and ball pillory to wait for me while I set the springs. My bare legs and arms flex as I move about the suspension rig. I'm dancing a little, to the music, to my thoughts of what's to come.

The leather strap cage. The sumptuous leather sleep sack that makes me swoon with the pleasure of its luxury every time I unfurl it. He slides in. Zips. Lacing. Belts. Straps. Clips. Springs. Hoists. Just before lift off, I tighten blue electro bands around his cock and turn on the ErosTek.

Suspension. The pulses in his jutting cock cause his body to flex. He bounces on the springs. This pleases me. I can tell.

I take him down, out, and down further still to the floor. Rope his ankles together and pull this way. Rope his wrists together and pull that way. He is stretched underneath me, abs extended, his breath the only thing that moves him. I dance my feet over his body. A sensual hopscotch.

When I'm done with him -- the ropes off, the hood removed, his skin wet -- he finally speaks. "I will miss you."

Mostly Dead and Read

Lifted and reprinted with my notations from Roxi Fox's blog.

FWIW I have no idea who or what "The Big Read" is but I'm appalled there's no Toni Morrison on here. Or DeLillo. Or Walker Percy. Or "The Sheltering Sky." Or "The Corrections." Or "Their Eyes Were Watching God." I thought Jonathan Safran Foer's "Everything is Illuminated" was a wonder. Ditto "The Hours." And if you're going to include kids' lit, where's "A Wrinkle in Time" or "Bridge to Terabithia"?!? There are easily a dozen more books/authors that I could name right now that really ought to be on this list instead of "The Secret History" (which is one of those weird books, like "Geek Love" that I seem to see on everyone's bookshelf). I'm a little more in favor of Time Magazine's list, personally (it was the first to come in when I Googled "100 best books of all time"). Not sure what my notations below say about me. Probably mostly that I stopped reading books regularly around 1998 and that I clearly have something against the Russians.

I promise I'll write substantively about kink again soon. Got a couple of posts in the works, in fact. :-)



The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they’ve printed.

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you started but did not finish.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own blog so we can try and track down these people who’ve read less than 6 and force books upon them.

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh -
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73.The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

What Goes Around Comes Around

One of the things I love about my BDSM practice is how it's always evolving and changing. Scenes or activities that may have been mainstays at one point may fade out and be replaced by another "favorite thing" which then cycles out for the next activity, which may be new or may be a revisit of a previous focus.

Right now, I'm rediscovering my love for flogging, which was one of the first implement-driven corporal scenes I learned. I was taught by Domina M, an admirable flogger. I was mesmerized by the way the tails swirled in her hands as she Florentine flogged (that's double flogging with a whip in each hand. There's a crappy demo here.) As I learned other corporal techniques, however, flogging just became one of those things I did as a warm up for other implements. "It's like shiatsu," I'd shrug when describing it to someone.

While at Shibaricon this past May, however, I took a side trip to the International Mr. Leather conference going on in downtown Chicago. Heartwood was vending there and I picked up a gorgeous, thuddy double elk flogger that just felt like home as soon as it was in my hand. Compared to my other floggers ... well, it just doesn't compare. I love throwing it. It feels amazing.

So that was the tinder for my renewed interest. Several weeks later I had a conversation with MVX (who bought several Heartwood floggers on that trip herself) about flogging and she started describing the pleasure she gets out of a flogging scene:

I like it a lot. I like the physicality of it, the rhythm of it. I like how it affects breathing. I like how it can be done for a long time. I like how it can dial up or down in intensity. It's very accessible. I like how it has a kind of trancey quality to it. In my experience, upper back flogging makes people cry more than anything else.

I started thinking about ritualistic flogging like Victoria was describing and it was really appealing. But because I'd been using flogging so much as just an appetizer for the main course (usually singletail), I just couldn't see how the bottom wouldn't be bored getting flogged, "Yeah, yeah. I'm warmed up. C'mon! Bring the heat!"

Then a friend of mine was talking with me about corporal and commented that since he's a switch but mostly bottoms in his personal relationship, he doesn't get a chance to corporal Top much. "I really love to throw but now think I'm getting rusty cause I never get to do it," he said.

Thinking about my new flogger and how I like to bottom to all my corporal toys just so I know how each instrument feels when I'm dishing it out ... and still wondering about what it's like to be on the receiving end of a long flogging, I suggested he practice on me for a bit.

He skillfully took me through my entire flogger collection (clearly, flogging's like riding a bicycle...) and not only was I not bored, I just didn't want it to end. It IS like shiatsu ... and, you know, shiatsu feels GOOD! Though I have to admit some of my floggers felt better than others. I really want to get more Heartwood floggers (I hope they're vending at Floating World next weekend!) because the quality is just exceptional.

And that, my dears, is why you shouldn't be surprised if I pull out the floggers on your next visit.

Good Times, Good Times...

Those last few weeks of July kept me hoppin' in the studio. Realizing this past week was going to be fairly light, I decided to take the week off. Besides, my neck, shoulders, and back have both been addled by some kinks lately that definitely feel far more intrinsic than artistic so I figured a bit of relaxation would help.

Tuesday night I met up with MVX and we dropped in at the bar at Scarpetta, a recent fave, for dinner (great timing, great choice: the next day Scarpetta earned three stars from the NYTimes. Bruni is totally right about the tomato, btw...). After fritto misto, beet salad, and polenta with truffled mushrooms, we met up with a vanilla friend of mine at Union Square and we all went over to my studio to play Boggle.

I mentioned I was going to Barcelona again in September.

"But I won't be going to bars, alone-a," I giggled. I'd had a lot of wine.
"As long as you're not wearing anything Gaudi."
"Jamon! Who do you think I am?!"
"Serrano!"
"After Spain, I might go visit my friend in Brussels ... but I'm waffling."
"I'm a-Frites of what might happen..."
"Just don't leave any Bruges, Troy."
"Can't say I give a good Van Damme if I do."
"Well, have fun a-Ramblas through Europe!"

And, yes, I won the Boggle game.

Swamp Yankee

One of my readers was kind enough to point out recently that "Swamp Yankee," a phrase I jokingly use to refer to my "cultural background" does not actually mean what I say it does.

Harrumph! And I have such a strong appreciation (one might even call it a fetish) for linguistic precision.

I ain't changin' it though. Nyah!

Teamwork

I was having drinks with a man at a rooftop bar recently. Next to us was a group of business folks, though the man immediately next to us seemed quite left out of his group's conversation and apparently quite interested in mine.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt, but what did you just say?" he asked me.

I glanced at my companion, just to make sure he was up for engagement. He was.

Crossing my bare legs and letting the sandal dangle from my foot, I turned back to the fellow and repeated myself, "I said that I'm undateable."

Nosy looked baffled, "I find that hard to believe. Why....why... what do you mean?" He looked at my companion. "I'm sorry. I really don't mean to get into your conversation. But I'm just very curious. Do you mind?"

"Sure, feel free to talk to her," he said. "I should warn you - sometimes you walk into something thinking that you're the cowboy in a cowboy movie. Turns out you are the cowboy, only you're in a vampire movie. And you're lunch."

Grinning, I turned to Nosy. "Hi, cowboy. "

Training Days: Some Background

Because I'm loathe to join Sugasm just to heighten my post count and I really do want to give y'all more stuff to read and respond to (I *LOVE* my commenters!!!!), I've decided to start reposting some of my more defining contributions to The Hang at Max Fisch for further reflection and discussion (esp. since there are quite a few of you who never set foot in the place ... not that I blame you). If you're familiar with my writing over there and there's a particular post of mine that stands out for you, please send me a link so I can consider republishing it here.

******

Someone on Max had asked about why there didn't seem to be many independent Dommes training newer Dommes these days. Initially I replied that that was exactly how I came up in the Pro scene, thanks to the time, generosity, and effort of several of the country's well-respected and established professional Dominas. I continue to be influenced by many of them in my practice and still will still seek out their feedback and advice. While the OP seemed to believe that sort of thing no longer goes on, I'm pleased to say that I know several young Dommes who have found mentors and educators from senior members of our professional community. Some folks simply don't need to advertise the fact.

A few posters took issue with the idea that up and coming Dommes needed to be trained by Indies in order to learn anything, that the larger BDSM community was more than capable of teaching them the necessary skills via various public workshops, retreats, and conferences.

This was my reply.

While I have attended a few lifestyle events (Black Rose, Shibaricon (2x)) and workshops (various DSF/TES programs, seminars at Purple Passion, Midori's rope dojo) and I've also done some private consultations with scene pros such as Delano, Scott Smith, Max of Seattle, and others, what I learned there was practically a different universe than what I gained from my apprenticeship and mentoring relationships with active, independent NYC Dommes.

When Domina M started Luxuria, one of the smartest things she did, in my opinion, was to bring in some of the city's most successful and reputable professional female Dominas with proven skills and experience to teach her apprentices. This did a couple of things:

First, we got to see how this stuff really worked in a pro scene, often practicing on active clients (not video hos or houseboys but men who actually pay for sessions with professional Mistresses on a regular basis.). Because I trained mostly on clients, I learned how to play with clients. Men who can't take marks. Who don't have 'leather ass.' Who aren't young or bendy or just willing to endure anything cause they're just so damn happy to have pretty women paying attention to them. I learned how to talk with, negotiate, and understand men who have professional relationships with ProDommes (as opposed to, say, house slaves and personals who have a very different connection to Mistresses). I learned to respect these men who seek our services: what their needs are, what's important to them, what makes them come back. It was market research as much as it was skill development. I can't thank those men enough for their invaluable feedback.

TES and Shibaricon are great and I've learned a lot in those workshops, but I also get super frustrated trying to translate how to do that tie or re-rig that predicament to work for a male bottom because easily 70% of the lifestyle event presenters are male Tops and/or like their demo subs with boobies, limber bodies, long hair and who can also take marks.

Those aren't the people that support my business.

Having those experienced women train us also meant that they had somewhat of an interest in our success. I hope that it makes those women as proud for me to say that they mentored me as it makes me proud to be able to thank them for their support and everything they taught me.

On the other hand, I've taken at least three classes from Midori, including her weekend Dojo intensive: I don't think she'll be posting on any message boards or blogs, "Yeah, Troy *rocks*! Huzzah!" Midori's also not ever going to make as much money for me as I've made for her raving about the Dojo. On the other hand, I share clients with pretty much all of the women who mentored me because we all refer our clients to each other. Domme referrals are a significant part of my business.

I am very happy to do what I can to support and mentor the women in this community who show a sincere interest in developing their business and their skills as a professional Mistress -- just as the women who helped me did so generously and graciously. This is our community, our union even. We work really hard at an incredibly challenging and demanding job. The more we help each other, the more we ALL benefit.

I think the people who think of it as Dommes "training their competition" kinda miss the point. The competitive atmosphere that exists both within the Domme community and as imposed on it by clients is ... well, useless, really. "She the best _____ in the scene today!" Really? What does that mean? For whom?

The "best" Domme is simply the one that's best FOR YOU. Period. She might not be able to tie a shoelace, but if she makes your little sub heart go potato-potato and all your kinky fantasies come true, then she is gonna be The Best Domme as far as you're concerned. As long as I'm managing my business correctly, I should never have to worry about "competition." If my client finds someone else who fulfills his needs better: Mazel Tov! The clients who are right for me will find me when they're the right client for me. When they stop being the right client for me, I'll refer them to my colleagues who I think might be right for them.

Having been mentored by my fellow professional Dominas also means I learned a lot about the ins and outs of the business. Lifestyle players can teach me how to play lifestyle, scene educators can teach me about lots of different aspects of play, from how to negotiate a scene to skill sets to aftercare, but the best advice on how to be a ProDomme is going to come from other ProDommes in my market who are serving my client pool. They're gonna teach me about when to watch a clock and when not to. When to negotiate my Tribute, how, and with whom. How to balance my income and expenses and asset management. How to take care of my taxes and savings. How to assess the cost of a scene, both emotionally/psychologically as well as financially. Some of them are even going to, by example, show me what NOT to do.

Fact is, I've got a pretty great business. I've 4 1/2 years as a ProDomme, 3 1/2 as an Independent. I have my own space, a mess o' gear and high quality equipment, my finances are in order, I'm growing my savings, and I have zero debt. I may not be The. Best. Domme. Anywhere. Ever. but I'm here and I'm doin' alright for myself. And that's because not only did I have the desire to learn and succeed, but I had the support of many incredible, generous, talented professional Independent Dominas, including:

Domina M, Mistress Wynter, HarleQuinn, Mistress Yin, Suzanne SxySadist, Mistress Avalon, Mistress Ariana Chevalier, Cassandra DeVille, Mistress Morgana, Simone Kross, and Amanda Wildefyre.

Ladies, I thank you.

Leather

I was strolling from the chiropractor's near the Museum of Natural History, down to Magnolia Bakery's UWS outpost and stopped by Housing Works just to see what kind of stuff they had. A few weeks ago, I'd browsed the wares at the Chelsea store and marveled at how many leather skirts were on sale there. The UWS version was cluttered not only with leather skirts, but an actual bullwhip!

***

My friend was at my studio the other day and found herself face deep in my Fetters whipping bench. She later wrote me: " I <3 your spanking bench -- it is soooo soft." It is. John of Fetters picked out the leather specifically for me. It's an incredible lot. Plus, when your face goes in the cradle you're just engulfed in the smell of leather. So sensual.

***

I've been wearing leather a lot lately. Those few of you who turned up at the most recent Cat O' Nine might have seen me in my leather tank top and ... hot pants!

But not just for fetish parties!

My favorite ensemble of late is a leather miniskirt with a center front zip and corset lacing in the back and either a leather top or one of my signature boy beater Tees. I've also been wearing my leather dresses and corsets (though that's really more medical than anything). Quite fun.

How I Spent My Week

If you've been wondering why you haven't gotten a reply to your email, well, I've been kinda busy.

Eighties Baby was back for a Basic Lockdown Overnight. We did a few setups, beginning with a straitjacket/leg sack sling spring suspension (that I forgot to get my camera out for). I stored him for the night in my MaxCITA suspendable, canvas Psycho Sleepsack. The straps were pulled tight, an external catheter was applied with the tubing fed through his CB-3000 with large points of intrigue. Ratchet straps kept him from squirming.



He was keen to try out my sensory deprivation hood, so in the morning, I let him spend some time in it while I sipped my morning tea.



The Collector came in for a round of masochism and leather bondage. First the bondage. His own custom ordered "SciFi Hood" and leather arm sleeves, plus a Stormy Leather corset. I tethered him to the suspension rig and did a lovely round of floggers and single tails on his back and ass.



Then it was over to the bondage bed for a shocking time below the waist and a stinging time above. The whip I'm using is my favorite of the Collector's: a short handled cat with several waxed string tails, each knotted in several places. It's vicious. As you can see here. (It's hard holding a camera and trying to aim, I tell ya!)

Next up was a client from the Midwest in town for the All-Star Game. If he were a masochist, I'd make a joke about being the lead off hitter. But he wanted bondage.


On Tuesday, one of my clients returned after spending five days in at-will chastity. This was a bit of an experiment for me as I've been considering taking chastity play off my menu as a scene offering after a recent experience. Fortunately, this client was able to remind me of why extended chastity play is fun.

Next was a new client, a bondage Houdini who found escape from my back binder combined with my Scott Paul spreader bar and cuffs hogtie combo an impossible dream. It didn't help? hurt? that I added the cruel condom to the mix. (Oh, I guess that would hurt.)

MB popped in for what I like to call a "drive by." Normally, we tend to do only OEs or overnights when we play, but this time we had only a couple of hours. So I strapped him down, shaved his genitals, and then commenced with the metal penetrations.




My next client arrived for his ONE (OverNight Experience)wearing a rakish cap and a charming smile. Eventually, he ended up quite helpless.



My next OE was a new client who'd told me he'd been feeling jaded about his pro sessions recently. I was game to refresh those feelings with lots of rope, an ass hook, and, later, a remote controlled vibrator under my control during dinner. I don't think he's all that jaded anymore.



And you know what's really great?! There's more to come!

Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

In my last post, I talked about how clients are often concerned that I play too heavy/hard for them. That I will give them more pain than they can handle. That I'm too sadistic.

That's not what you need to worry about.

What you need to prepare yourself for is that I will definitely get inside your head and quite possibly a vital organ slightly further south, if you're not careful. It's super intense. It's super challenging. And as long as you keep your wits about you -- as I do -- it can be a really amazing, rewarding experience.

(Un)Necessary Roughness: Too Hard or Too Soft?

(I meant to continue yesterday's post with some thoughts about my clients and heavy play but I couldn't quite seem to make the transitions work. Still can't. So. Uh. Zoom Zoom.)

Sometimes I get prospective clients who contact me fretting that, based on my MF Reviews or scene descriptions they've read on my blog, that I might play too heavy for them or might not enjoy playing with them because they can't take pain or marks or something.

Part of me, the less generous part, thinks this is just penis talk. "Ohh, you're so fierce, Mistress! I don't know if I can handle it! Wh-wh-what are you going to DO to me?!" Because, really, my Reviews rarely cover details and I would think any reasonable person would realize that the scenes I write about here are chosen for their intensity, creativity, and newsworthiness.

The other part of me gets it. No matter how experienced you are (and in some cases the more experienced you are the harder it is cause, well, you know what's out there), contacting a Mistress for the first time is scary. It's such a vulnerable introduction. And while I've never really been on the client end of the business, there've been a couple of occasions when I've had to make a blind introduction to a Mistress I admire and ... whew. Intimidating! There's this fear that you're not going to be good enough, or bothersome, or whatever. And I know I don't make it easy for you guys either cause I write all the time about how the bar's set pretty high as far as my expectations of the clients I choose to play with.

What's really interesting to me, though, are the guys who want to see me because they think I'm such a heavy player and then they get in my studio and suddenly it all seems too easy. I hope some of this is just a matter of intention: I think there are things that I do that, by another Domme would be far beyond what you could handle but because I try to create such an atmosphere of surrender what you thought was impossible is not only possible but in fact happening and it's pretty great.

Truth is, I'm kind of a softie. Forcing just isn't my style. I can take a beatdown, and I'm pretty strong, too, but I'm not going to physically overpower most men without their consent. And when it comes to corporal, the brutal sadism thing doesn't really work for me either. I can satisfy a masochist, for sure, but like, one guy said of me in a MF Review:

While I've been whipped harder (I'm sure she could do hard as well), but the mental state she got me into while whipping my ass and back was as close to a state of transcendental meditation as I had ever experienced. It's one of the few times I know I was deep into sub space.

Some of my clients will tell me, "Oh, I wish I could take more for you, be marked, so that you wouldn't have to hold back." Thing is, I like holding back. I love the self-restraint, the self-discipline. I especially love being able to get you to that place you wanna go and not leaving a mark on ya. Gawd, that's just so hot to me. It takes such skill to do that. Brutality? Feh. I'm a ballerina.

Necessary Roughness

Clients often ask me if I switch or bottom. It's weird to me how much of a stigma that carries in the realm of prodomination. So many men say they seek submission/surrender because they are so alpha/dominant/in control in their non-scene life, they seek a Dominant for balance. Why aren't ProDominas afforded the same concession? Truth is, I don't sub. I'm not good at it at all. I don't think there's submissive bone in my body. Even when I bottom for stuff -- primarily implement-driven corporal -- I'm really awful. "No, you can't tie me down." "You're putting too much attention on my right shoulder." "Vary the strokes a bit more." "Can you switch to the single tail now?" "No! Stop. Let me breathe for a minute."

I would hate topping me. (SS, SM, and MB: thank you for braving it.)

Lately, my preferred way to bottom has been for "hit by a Mack truck" drive-by beatdowns. I've done this twice: once at Black Rose, most recently at Shibaricon. In both cases I found the biggest, burliest guy I could find to initiate a surprise attack. Size is important: I gotta be able to fight back as hard as I can without worrying if I'll hurt the guy (I'm not trained in rough play so I don't really know how to attack safely.) I was flipped up, turned over, lifted by my elbow, thrown to the ground, bit, stomped on, tortured with pressure points, twisted, tossed, and once choked out to brief unconsciousness. Like a kinky rollercoaster ride. Evidently terrified some of the folks around me with all my screamin' and hollerin' but for me it was FUNNNN!

I don't get a sexual thrill, per se, from this rough play. It's more just a feeling of freefall and complete lack of control for that five or ten minutes. I love the challenge of seeing how much I can take. I love how strong I feel when it's over. Such adrenaline. RAWRRRR!

Ephemera

• At Restoration Hardware they're selling electric bug paddles for under $15. I almost bought a bouquet of them to pass out to all my Domme friends but then realized I'd have a helluva time transporting it on my bike.
• He stopped by to pick up a bag he'd inadvertently left after a party. My friend Mistress Crimson was with me at the studio. I sat him down and tied him, still dressed, to the chair and continued my conversation with Crimson while I singletailed his chest with my Coyote whip. Just 'cause I knew I could. That he would take it. He did.
• After my post on Max Fisch about mentoring by independent Dominas, I'm thinking about finally offering a public class on the business of professional domination. I've collected some really valuable advice over the years on how to manage my business. Kinda seems like information that's more useful in the long run than another class on how to throw a singletail. Any other suggestions on classes that I might want to think about teaching based on your knowledge of me?
• I'd dropped by L'Oeil Cache yesterday and spent some time chatting with my Domme friends there as they got ready for their sessions. It's been a long time since I've been in that environment. I didn't realize how much I missed it. And not just for the casual eddy of women in various states of deshabille, though that was a pleasure too.
• Will someone please get Miss Victoria X to post on her blog? I miss that li'l vixen's clawed wit.
• I love my bicycle.
  
• Why is it that at the Horses exhibit at the Museum of Natural History last Sunday, I was only interested in the whips, crops, and hardware? I even made a note to look up the "Buzkashi Riding Whip" and see if I could find one on Ebay.
  
• Been at a loss lately w/r/t blog post ideas. I'm taking requests. Muse, anyone?
  

I Wish This Were My Ad

This ad was found on Craig's List, of all places. I've been contemplating placing an ad on CL recently. Were I not such a pragmatist, this would be my ad.

My, how I love a man with a flair for the romantidramatic.

I've been trying to think of ways to spice up my life. I'm 35 years old, happily married with two kids and I have a good job in insurance. But somethings missing. I feel like I'm old before my time. I need to inject some excitement into my daily routine through my arm before its too late. I need a challenge, something to get the adrenaline pumping again. An addiction would be nice, but, in short, I need a nemesis. I'm willing to pay $350 up front for you services as an arch enemy over the next six months. Nothing crazy. Steal my parking space, knock my coffee over, trip me when Im running to catch the BART and occasionaly whisper in my ear, "Ahha, we meet again". That kind of thing. Just keep me on my toes. Complacency will be the death of me. You need to have an evil streak and be blessed with innate guile and cunning. You should also be adept at inconsicuous pursuit. Evil laugh preferred. Send me a photo and a brief explanation why you would be a good nemesis.

British accent preferred.

Mwahahahahaha. WANT!!!

Fireworks

He was strapped down firmly to the bondage table. Ratchet straps tight across his chest, abdomen, thighs and calves; a leather ring gag stretching his mouth in an open O. Above him, a naked woman suspended in rope, rigged to the tracking beam, her body parallel to his. Standing beside them, I slid the violet wand conductor into the bands along her thigh and handed her five short metal talons to put on her fingertips.

Slowly she used her claws, cat-like, and tracked herself up and down the length of his body, pressing her steel nails into his nipples, groin, legs, and feet. Sparks danced blue as the electricity sizzled between them. As he moaned, I tilted my head over his and let my saliva stream steadily into his mouth. Then I touched her -- hand, arm, breast, hip, chin -- and leaned forward to tease his lips with my shocking tongue. Rubbed my nose stingingly to his. Put my teeth to his nipple. Zzzzt.

I struck her reddened cheeks with the flogger, paddle, and cane. "Let him feel your pain," I told her. She smiled and reached for his nipples with her nails, alternating with a barest contact to focus the electric intensity and then digging her nails into his nipples. Her eyes sparkled. So did mine.

Whence "Kinky"?

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