What You Oughtta Do Today

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Here's How I Spent My Saturday

With a little help from my friend.

Thanks to Mistress Amanda and my li'l pet for making me a very happy Domina today.

FUNNNNNNNNN!

I talk a lot about energy exchange but one of the many, MANY neat things I've taken away from spending time with Mistress Amanda is the the idea of self-generated energy. She's got this thing where in a middle of a scene, at random moments, she'll just holler, "FUNNNN!" with this really reverb-y kind of hum. And, you know, you can actually feel the room spark with a little more fun.

Where is my "I *heart* Amanda Wildefyre" T-shirt? Or maybe a "Girl Gone Wildefyre" boybeater? FUNNNNNN!

Southern Man

He'd stopped by on his way to the office so that I could lock him into his chastity cage until our session the next day, roughly 24 hours later. For the past two days he'd been on voluntary chastity. No masturbation. No touching. No orgasms.

"One of these days I'd like to wear this longer," he said. "Maybe we could spend a few days at my beach house down south."

"I wonder what it'd be like to work down there?"

"I think there'd be a lot of business for you. Southern men are probably pretty kinky. I mean, you've read Faulkner, right? "

****

Later he emailed me: "I've never worn this with the points of intrigue before. Nasty."

I love my life.

Just So You Know

Fetters is having a sale. They're offering 15% off most of their items. If you ask nice, perhaps Mr. Fetters'll add on the Orleans 10% discount to your order for even more savings. (Not saying you have to order stuff for me.)

Among what's given me acquisitive fever:
The mailsack
Spiked inflatable zipper jock
Inflatable flat palm mitts (I'm really getting into layered bondage lately)
Whipping bench with head recess
Bondage stool
Bondage chair
Ball pouch
Weighted ball sack
Heavy Clejuso cuffs Metal bondage. Mmmm!
Studiogum rubber funnel hood
Inflatable leather hood
Three prong speculum Heard about someone getting opened up and pissed in. Want!
Sleepsack suspension bar

I've got a little Fetters personal kitty I've been contributing to for a while now. If you'd like to add to it, send me an email and I can give you PayPal info.

A Useful Font

Thanks to Orange Sauce for sending me this link.

Never was much of a clothespin enthusiast. This might change my mind.

Sticks in Stones

Some of you may remember the mangina pics from a while ago. Well, I decided to do it again. (Ah, see this is why I shouldn't be discussing play on my blog ... just revealing myself for the repetitive Domme I am. *sigh*)

Actually, this time was a little different. No manginas. I did a butterfly piercing, but instead of using a board, I simply stretched out the scrotal skin and attached it to his groin with surgical staples. Corseted needles on the sac, deep tissue puncture piercings on the thighs and more corset lacing. Pretty, no?

Perhaps You've Heard This One Before ....

Philber's comment on my "This is the Life Style" post reminded me of one of my favorite anecdotes of last year:

While traveling last summer I met a 50-something Italian who was living in Central America. He'd offered to take me to a beautiful, remote beach -- one I'd never find without a local's help -- and I immediately said "Yes!" The next morning we were in his truck riding through a jungle crawling with howler monkeys on the way to the Pacific coast.

"Trrrroy," he said, all pensive and Italian, "How old are you?"

"Treinta y seis," I replied. (Cuando en Roma...)

"Twenty-six?" (Clearly my Spanish pronunciation could use some buffing...)

"No. Treinta. Thirty-six."

"Oh. Good. Because, you know, when you are 26 you don't know what you say 'yes' to."

I nodded. "Yeah, it wasn't until I turned 30 that I felt like I could finally say, 'Fuck you' and actually mean it."

This is the beach, btw. One of the few white sand beaches in that country. What you don't see -- and not because my camera's mostly facing the wrong way -- is that there are NO buildings, people ... nothing on that beach but sea-drift. Totally worth the trip.

This is the Life Style, in Two Parts

A young woman in Virginia who's training to be a dominatrix blind-emailed me the other day asking for my advice on acquiring certain skill sets. She said she wanted to cultivate her "Bitch Goddess persona" and I replied that "personas" aren't really a part of my play dynamic. "My focus is on bondage, corporal, and edge play in a vanilla/kink integrated environment," I explained.

It was a reactive response but it's kinda sticking with me a little bit as I contemplate its truth.

I did an overnight session recently. I wired and plugged him with a combination of remote controlled devices and then escorted him to dinner (at Craft, home of my favorite gnocchi, plus a yummy 2000 Carema Riserva which I can't seem to find retail. Sorry. Food makes me digress. Where was I?)

Oh. Yes. Man. Devices. Dinner.

I'm dominating at the dinner table. I know what I like, what I want. I know how to work a menu, know enough about wine to make informed choices. It's a comfortable milieu for me and I just naturally take charge, so much so the waiter stops addressing him entirely. Add a few well timed flicks of the remote and ... it's a scene in itself.

After dinner we returned to the studio and played for a few hours before I slid his cock into the CB-3000 with points of intrigue, slipped him into the sleep sack, and locked him in the cage for the night. In the morning, I repeated myself yet again (I'm just loving the chair/plug combo. What can I say?) this time putting him in my Fetters straitjacket before plugging and strapping him to the wide chair. I made breakfast: eggs over easy for him, scrambled for me, artisanal BMOC bacon, cider muffins from Craft, coffee, OJ. Then I fed him.

I loved the perversion of the classic 'morning after' scenario kinked waaaaaay out. It's a recurring theme in my scenes. It's what drives my Orleans Experience: the idea that "everything seems so natural, so normal ... until you find yourself bound with your knees in your ears." There's no artifice. No roleplay. No struggling to suspend disbelief.

It's just life, styled with kink.

*****
Part II
*****
A scene acquaintance and former client sent me an email that said, in part, "I get the impression that it's moving more into lifestyle with ___? If so, congratulations!"

In my reply, I bristled, "Why would moving to a 'lifestyle' scenario merit applause? Is there a hierarchy where 'lifestyle' relationships are somehow more valuable than professional ones?" I've witnessed more dysfunction and disillusionment -- on both sides of the whip -- come from "lifestyle" relationships (particularly between lifestyle ProDommes and clients-turned-'personal slaves') than I ever have between professional Dominas and their clients. While I can get behind the argument that in a lifestyle relationship, the rewards are well worth the pain, my experience is that a professional relationship can not only be healthier but also just as meaningful and fulfilling.

Most of the women that I choose to associate closely with professionally manage their practice in a way that transcends the commercial professional session. We don't call it lifestyle, per se. More like a "lifestyle experience."We don't hide behind scene personas or maintain some impenetrable wall between ourselves and our clients. We share meals with them. Attend events (opera, ballet, movies). I've ridden bikes with my clients, had picnics, gone to concerts and plays as part of our (professional) relationship.

What I love about experiences like these is that it adds a level of dimension to our play that strengthens our trust and our connection. I don't leave my personality, my essential self, including my imperfections, behind so that I can be a fantasy provider. If a man wants to be my client, I ask him to bring me his whole self. Why should he not expect the same from me?

It's a pretty remarkable, 'congratulations'-meriting thing to have a fulfilling, meaningful professional relationship that works, in my opinion. Just because these activities happen in the context of a professional session doesn't make them any less valid or personal. A lot of it is about intention. When a client gives me Tribute, he should not ever feel he's paying me to spend time with him. You can't buy that from me. His Tribute, as I see it, is simply why it's possible for me to choose who I spend my time with, what I decide to do with him, and where and how.

Do I play personally/non-professionally/"lifestyle"? Of course I do. But I don't think of those relationships as any better, purer, or more authentic than what I do with my clients. At the same time, my clients relish having a multi-dimensional relationship with me that transcends the typical professional session yet respects their boundaries, needs, and expectations.

To us, I say a heartfelt "Congratulations!"

Repeating Myself

Hey, y'all. I'm back.

So you know I've got a bit of ass on the brain (some might argue it's because I've had my head up my own ass lately... sorry for neglecting you).

In the past week or so I've had two sessions with a similar theme element. Ass-related, of course. (Mostly cause I had so much fun with it the first time, I did it again with a different client.)

The first time, after he'd expelled the dry enema, I invited him to sit down. Except there was a large butt plug planted vertically on the seat. Really large. It was kinda like predicament play because as he squatted over the plug, it put pressure on his hamstrings/quads/... legs. So the temptation is to sit down. But the plug is huge. It hurts to sit down. It hurts not to sit down. And he wanted so badly to be there with me. So he kept trying. Struggling. But I didn't push him down. I just stood there and watched him try SO HARD. And I loved that he was trying for me. I loved feeling that energy of him wanting it, wanting to sit on that plug with every iota of his being. I literally bounced and stomped my feet and screamed and hooted and cackled.

It was electric.

The second time ... much smaller, more manageable plug. Sit down, I ordered. He did. Got it in. I grabbed several hanks of my hemp rope and tied him tightly to the chair. Chest. Arms. Legs. Hands. Utterly bound, immobilized. Then I ate my dinner -- Pad Thai and spicy beef noodle soup, feeding him bits from my plate with my chopsticks. Sips of water with a straw.

I forget what we talked about.

I remember chuckling though.

It's My Birthday and I'll ...

uh, FLY if I want to?

Actually, not quite. I'm going for a little R&R for the next 37 (heh heh) hours or so. Which means I won't be home, or at the studio, or checking my mailbox, and I'll have limited access to email.

But I will be having a great birthday.

See ya when I get back!

Ruined Orgasms

Someone had a thread on MF about these recently. I find them unbearably cruel. There've been a few times, believe it or not, that I've been on the receiving end of one of those during sex and ... gah. Talk about frustrating.

Reading the thread reminded me of a series of scenes I did with a client a while ago. We'd been doing a lot of chastity training and I'd decided that any orgasm he had must be either a ruined one or at the very least dreadfully uncomfortable. Once I put paper cuts and scalpel cuts all over his cock and gave him a dollop of lemon juice and lube to masturbate. Another time I slathered his cock with Icy Hot, slid a condom over it, and then had him fuck one of those fake pussy thingees. Or, just as he'd start to come and then I'd slide a large gauge needle through his nipple or turn up the juice on the ErosTek.

It's all about MY pleasure, you see.

Needless to say I was inspired.

So when FCB turned up the other day, I knew he hadn't had an orgasm since a week before Christmas. I figured I'd work on some heavy T&D while I figured out if I wanted to really mess him up by forcing an RO on him. First I put him in the Venus and let it suck on him while I prepared him for our shaving ritual. Once he was hooded, gagged, and I had the razor and hot water, I stroked his cock with the shaving cream, pushing and pulling it every which way so I could make sure every. single. hair. was removed from his cock, balls, and groin. He'd grunt as he neared orgasm and I'd distract my hands elsewhere until he settled down, only to bring him back up again.

Once the shaving was done, I put the straitjacket on him and moved him over to the sling, suspending him about a foot off the ground. Face down. It was a challenging position (I may need to get a different sling since I really liked the concept) made even moreso when I put the 2 lbs. stainless steel ball stretcher on his sac and pushed it and his cock through one of the slats in the sling. The NJOY plug stuffed his back end. Then I got the violet wand, attached the body contact point to me, and slid my electrified fingers lightly up and down his shaft while I teased the head with a vibrator.

He groaned some more.

I took off his hood and got the Venus again. I slid underneath the sling, facing him, put the receiver between my knees and raised it until his cock slid inside. Then I turned on the machine, letting it suck. I loved watching his face while this was going on.

The position proved to be a little too strenuous for him after a while, so I took him down, turned him over and removed the SJ. I pulled out several of the nylon snap straps (a recent fave) and tightened them around his entire body, striping him with the black bands until he was utterly immobilized. Out came the vibrator one more time. I brought him to the brink once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. By the fifth he was begging, blubbering. A right mess. I just didn't have the heart to stick him with an RO so I kept the vibe on him as he shot, catching the three weeks' worth of jizz in my gloved hand.

As his shuddering subsided, I fed it to him.

Seven Letter Shuffle

I realized today, having recently received the Scrabble Onyx Edition, that I now own five Scrabble boards yet I've only played once (thanks to MVX) in the past six months. This must be corrected. Preferably by someone who knows what a "bingo" is and plays with OSPD3 or 4.

Anyone? Anyone?

Sometimes, I Like It Rough

I dragged him by the hair and pushed him to the floor. Hooded him. Cuffed his hands to the base of the A-frame. A spreader bar kept his ankles apart. Rope to make his legs stay put. I raked a Whartenberg wheel all over his body. His left nipple drooled blood. With my single tail, I lashed at his chest, legs, balls while he whimpered and squirmed. Then I took the cane to him. Inner thighs. Soles. Nipples. The tip of the cane colored with blood. I smiled.

"Now you're really fucked," I said.

He went over the horse. Strapped and padlocked down. I put on my harness and violated his long-neglected ass. His chastity cage made sure his cock stayed soft. I put on the latex suffocation hood and harnessed in an even bigger dildo.

Told ya.

Thank Yous...

There've been a few of you who've taken it upon yourselves to "do as Mistress does" or something and hide your identity when sending me gifts, thus denying me the pleasure of thanking you personally.

So I guess I'll do it here...

Thank you for the Heroes, the Nano-nano, and the good books. Merci for the CD; I also ooh-la-la'ed over the demi vins and the blueberry buzz-buzz-buzz (as did the airport security lady... heheh).

Mostly just thanks to all of you for all of your support, good energy, and surrender. You're why I'm here and I'm so happy for it.

Birthday

Given that I don't participate in Christmas, quite a few of you have inquired as to what I might like for my birthday, which I definitely celebrate. I've updated my Amazon wishlist: I really want the iPod nano and the docking speakers with an FM tuner. Consequently, the other thing that's really high on my wishlist right now are iTunes giftcards. If you have an iTunes account already, you can purchase emailable ones at the Apple iTunes online store. It'd be such a treat to start out my year with lots of new music.

Other things I'd appreciate: French language discs (or just a weekend trip to Paris during truffle season); flowers; gift certificate to Barney's; a mixed case of red wine.

Gear-wise, the only things I'm really jonesing for (besides more Fetters bondage gear) are a pair of Joe Wheeler, 4ft, 24-plait signal whips in whiskey kangaroo or calfskin AND anything from RigidCuffs.

Oh, and in case you didn't realize it, my birthday is January 10. Of course, you're not obligated to get me anything: my clients, my friends, my family all make my life so wonderful, it pretty much feels like my birthday every day.

Housecleaning

I've barely had time to read, much less write these last couple of weeks. If you've been waiting for a reply to a previously sent email, please resend it with a little nudge.

So just what have I been doing? Well, here was my view on Christmas Day.
So that was nice.

I came back in time for New Year's Eve. Randomly enough, it turned out one of my Mistress friends had the same dinner reservation as I. We had a nice chuckle over that. I couldn't help but wonder if her date was wearing a chastity cage. Not that mine was. But in the same way I've been thinking about ass play (and, yeah, that's still on my mind), I've also been fantasizing about going out to some proper event but with a mess of kink underneath the evening clothes.

I DO, however, know where this thought came from. Just before Christmas, I went stag to an evening performance of Handel's Messiah by the NYPhilharmonic at Lincoln Center. There was a couple sitting next to me: cuddly like the recently wed, brilliant, stunning ring on her finger (and I'm not a ring watcher typically). She watched the performance with her hand resting lightly on his upper thigh. They whispered. Giggled conspiratorially. Watching them roused a desire in me. I had such a strong craving to be at the opera or the ballet with a lover, though instead of my hand brushing lightly across his crotch, he'd be wearing my cage. I'd have him plugged as well. If there was room, I'd add some electrics. Or maybe a remote controlled egg instead of a plug. During intermission, I'd sneak him a glass of "champagne." We'd buy the CD of the performance afterwards and go back to Salon d'Orleans and use it as our soundtrack for a beautiful whipping.

Does this mean I'm kinky?

Happy New Year!

Hey, everyone. I'm back. Tan. Rested. Happy. More soon.