I Have Moved!

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Thank you.
-MTO

Sponsor a Bondage Dream!

First a few notes about The Pound (that's what I'm calling my new cage). It arrived a few weeks ago. To be honest, when I first knew I was getting it (it was a surprise gift), I was a little skeptical. "What am I going to do with a puppy cage?! And where am I going to put it!?!?" I thought. Then it arrived and ...wow. Those of you who've visited since its arrival have probably been quite surprised at all the uses I've found for it. When my friend Mistress Yin saw the picture on my blog, she talked about what a difference a REAL cage does to the bottom's headspace. "It's a whole different mindfuck when they know they can't get out," she said.

OMG was she right. Talk about taking the starch out of a man. Whether you're locked in as tease. Or punishment. Or storage. Or just because that's where I want ya, dammit. The Pound is irrefutable. And SO HOT. I've stuffed a blindfolded man inside and let him think he'd been left alone. I've had 'em in there totally unfettered to just watch and wait. I've sat on the top bars and let loose a torrent of piss, only to make him soak in it until I was ready to release him.

And that's just when you're inside.

Outside, I've found it's an ideal whipping bench. He's bent over the curved top, hands cuffed and locked into place. So much prime real estate for my whip. Were I into strapon, I could totally see pounding away at him, whether he were face up or face down on that top (another reason for "The Pound").

It's just an awesome piece of gear. So much so that after receiving it, I contacted Metalbound and inquired about having more furniture built for Salon d'Orleans. Replacing my bondage bed/cage topped my wishlist, especially since now that I'd seen what a real cage could do to a man, the wooden sleeping cage I've got now is a joke.

With Corey's help (he's the owner, designer and fabricator at Metalbound), I came up with a slightly lower, aluminum-framed piece that opens from the side so to make it easier to get a fella in and out, particularly when a bodybag is involved. Once finished, the upholstered and Tempurpedic-padded surface will have a back support that can be lifted and lowered, not only for diversity in positions, but to also help the bottom stay in bondage longer. Bondage points along the upper and lower perimeters will make sure that I can employ my whole arsenal of bondage straps, belts, ropes, and other tie-downs to make sure no one's going anywhere.

I also asked Corey to build me a suspendable metal "backboard," much like the kind used to tote fallen skiiers down the slopes. Only 17" wide, this piece will allow me to do super tight, suspended mummifications. I'm so psyched.

The last item on my wish list was a bondage chair. Initially, my instructions were fairly basic and the result was something quite elegant and graceful, but definitely not something that was going to meet my needs. As I started explaining to Corey what I needed this chair to do, I realized that this could be just a valuable a piece of equipment as the bondage bed and The Pound.

The next take nearly got it: Lots of places to tether bondage, a tall back that would facilitate head bondage. Optional rods that would run underneath what would be the upholstered seat with a convenient, removable cutout so that the balls could drop and be tethered, if desired. A few bondage points on the chair bottom to keep the legs still. As soon as I got a good look at it though, I started to see where what was there just wasn't going to be enough. I called Corey again. I told him that I wanted hinged arms that can be locked into place or moved out of the way. And that I wanted MORE tie down points. Everywhere. On the back of the chair, its sides, undersides ... there can just never be too many bondage points. A few colleagues I showed the pictures to also suggested I request a padded backpad to protect the bare spine from the unforgiving rods. Last, I asked for a detachable stockade of sorts to be added to the chair.

I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about these new additions. I'm already fantasizing about the different kinds of scenes I want to do with them It's going to be awesome!!!!

The unfortunate thing is, though, is that the stuff ain't cheap and my kink got a little bigger than my wallet on this occasion. Consequently, if you're as excited about playing with this new stuff as I am and would like to contribute to the Furniture Fund, I'm currently offering an extra hour of play for every donation over $100. If you'd like information on how to donate, please send me an email and I'll be happy to give you the details. If you'd like to send something anonymously, you can do so via postal mail to: Troy Orleans, 2753 Broadway $103, New York, NY 10025. Paypal, checks and money orders are all accepted. With any luck, the furniture will be ready for delivery at the end of this month. Please help me turn this fantasy into an amazing reality! Thanks in advance.

Coming Soon

Thanks to the extraordinarily talented MetalBound.

Sturdy curved top, dozen of bondage points, fully welded steel. Once you're in. You're in.

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.