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.

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.

Got This Far

Y'know, sometimes after a really intense scene, I'll look around my studio at all the gear and equipment and just marvel that I'm here at all. I mean, I became a ProDomme so I could learn how to use a spreader bar. Seriously.

I'd been playing with this guy, Z, I'd met through a mutual friend. He was in a relationship, as was I, but we both knew we wanted to play. He showed me a website for Den of Iniquity and said that they'd rent a play room to us by the hour. There was a discount for pros, so I called and said I was a private prodomme named "Mistress Troy" and there we were.

Z liked being inspected, spanked, spat on, slapped. So I'd prance around him in my high heels and stick my finger in his mouth or ear, peering in as if he were a prisoner. Or a horse. I'd expectorate sprays of saliva onto his face. Slap him. Smack his ass with a cane or crop.

The whole time my legs would be trembling with fear and excitement. I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn't believe he liked it. That I was doing it "right." That this was what he really wanted.

Over time, Z started sharing more fantasies with me. "Brutally take me with a strapon," he said. As he entered the dungeon, I threw a bag over his head and pushed him up against the wall. "I'm gonna fuck that slutty ass of yours," I hissed in his ear, hoping he was intimidated and surprised enough that he couldn't hear the astonishment in my own voice at my words.

"Suspend me by my wrists, spread my legs with the spreader bar, and singletail me," he said.

Wait. What?!

I queried the girls in the DOI office. "What's a single tail? How do I suspend someone by their wrists? And what the hell is a spreader bar?!?" They responded simply and a little impatiently. I went back to the room and tried the spreader bar. Still wasn't sure I got it.

Z and I kinda got out of the habit of playing together shortly after that. I was impatient with the inspecting and spitting thing and just completely frustrated that I couldn't get any of the girls to sit down and teach me how to do anything more. Plus, I just wasn't comfortable pretending to know what I was doing so I could fulfill Z's fantasies. Someone could get hurt.

So I stopped. For, like, months. Then I saw an ad on Craig's List inviting women who "want to add an interesting chapter to your memoirs" to consider an apprenticeship with an experienced, professional dominatrix at her luxuriously appointed chambers in a private townhouse in Murray Hill.

That was Domina M.

I remember going to the interview and sitting across from her, thinking she looked like Stephanie March, the former Law and Order actress. M made sense to me, too. She explained what she was looking for in her Apprentices: intelligent, upscale, attractive young women with a genuine interest in BDSM. She said that our training would be extensive (unlike the other Houses I'd been exposed to where "training" consisted of sitting in on a couple of sessions by "more experienced" Mistresses).

It was late February, 2004. I had my then-annual, month-long trip to New Orleans planned for early April. "Great, I'll stay for six weeks, figure out what this 'spreader bar' thing is, learn how to flog and some other stuff I'll probably never use again. But, hey, at least I'll know what I'm doing!" I thought to myself. I had a bunch of steady freelance gigs keeping me busy and a pretty Sex and the City life: why on Earth would I want to be a sex worker? I was "Carrie," goddammit!

When it was time to leave for New Orleans, I told M that I wanted to take a break and that it was very possible I wouldn't be back.

Yeah. That didn't happen.

Four and a half years later though, well, I sure can say I know how to use a spreader bar.

What's in a Name?

My name story is on my mind for a few reasons. There's a thread on MaxFisch right now where a scene professional found someone else using her name commercially. I'd weigh in but, well, I ain't the only "Troy" in New York. In fact, I remember meeting my first ProDomme at The Nutcracker Suite-- Mistress Marina Montague, PhD. -- when I went in for an informational interview.

That's how non-scene I was. All my friends were at Columbia Business School. I wanted to know what the chick did, I didn't want to actually DO it. When Marina handed me an application, I looked at her like she had two heads.

"What's your name?" she asked me.

"Uh, Mistress Troy?" I said, having decided on the name the night before during a frenzied IM with the friend who'd arranged this introduction.

Marina dropped her pen and rolled her eyes at me. Clearly I was sporting a second head of my own now.

"You DO realize that only THE most well-known Black Domme in New York is named Mistress Troy, don't you? And there's another blonde Mistress Troy as well," she huffed in her crisp English accent. "You'll have to change your name."

"Oh, it's okay," I assured her. "I just picked the name for today. I'm not going to actually USE it for anything. I'm not really trying to BE a domme."

Uhhh.... sorry, Marina. I meant it at the time. I swear I did.

So the other reason I'm thinking about my name is that yesterday I met up with .... let's call him Bond. He's the guy who introduced me to Marina and he was the one on the other end of that AIM window who, as I flipped through character names in my Pelican Shakespeare and typed, "Helen? No." He replied, "You mean 'of Troy'?" and I said, "Yeah. Actually, I like 'Troy.' That could work." We've managed to keep in touch over the years. He likes to tell people that he named me and that I wouldn't be here were it not for him. I roll my eyes at this but I don't disagree. Bond was the first "scene" guy I ever met. He'd briefly dated a mutual friend who, when I told her I'd decided that now that I'd turned 30 I was only going to wear good lingerie and garters and stockings and stilettos she replied, "Oh! I know a guy who'd do pretty much anything you want if you were wearing garters and stockings!"

Turned out that wasn't true, but Bond was the very first guy I officially played with, if you could call it that. I was housesitting for a friend over the Christmas holidays and, using my best domme voice, I invited him over to teach me some stuff. I remember kneeling as he showed me how to tie a rope body harness and marveling at the way the rope pattern looked on my skin in the candlelight. When he untied me, I tried to put some keychain/vibrator in his ass. I felt so thrilled and yet so fumblingly awkward. I couldn't wait to do it again. But better.

Bond told me stories about all the ProDommes he knew -- well enough to know their real names, too, he was sure to point out -- and I was curious. Other than a couple of strippers, I'd never met any sex workers. What did they DO? How did they start? Did they LIKE it?

He said his friend Marina was a manager of one of the best houses in New York. I was still freelance writing at the time. I started fantasizing about getting inside the world of professional domination and writing some big investigative feature story for the Sunday Times Magazine. Or Esquire. Not that either'd ever published me. But this mightcould be the story that would get me noticed.

And that was part of the truth.

Part of the reason I wanted to meet a prodomme was .... well, I just didn't live a lifestyle where I had occasion to meet a real, live, actual sex worker. I mean, not that would tell me. I wanted to know if ... I dunno. Did sex workers smell different? Could I look at them and see it in them once I knew it was there? Did they all wear Manolos and carry little purses with lipstick, breath mints and ball gags instead of condoms? Did they sit in a dungeon all wearing shiny black clothing and speaking in German accents and idly tapping their whip on the heel of their thigh high stiletto boot? Was there a pimp? Or underage girls? Or wads of cash and coke everywhere?

(Answer: There is as much of that as there is none of that in this business. Just depends on where you're looking.)

So I met Marina and I met some of the Nutcracker girls and part of me was utterly grossed out: Why were all the girls walking around in cheap, sleazy looking lingerie? How they talked to each other! How young they were! What do you mean strange men pay you to lick your feet?

And part of me was titillated, fascinated, and so hungry for more. There was one Mistress who came in while I was still talking with Marina. She was in a fitted wife beater, jacket, and jeans. Her deli lunch was in a bag. She looked like an Ivory girl. Twenty minutes later she was in a modest leather bra, shorts and beautiful black pumps. She looked like a Domme.

"You make sense to me," I thought to myself, eying at her admiringly.

"Hey, I'm Tess, " she said, introducing herself.

I grinned and held out my hand to her. "Hi, my name's Troy."

It All Began with Popcorn

During my recent trip to the Southern Virginia town I grew up in, I ended up spending the night at the home of myveryfirstboyfriend (and his wife and twin sons). I had a very early flight and he lives close to the airport. We munched on fine North Carolina barbecue and the boys showed me their video games and tick bites. The wife put the kids to bed and excused herself as well, saying she was exhausted after two nights of partying.

So it was just me and Adam, sitting on the porch. He was sipping some vodka concoction, I cradled a cup of chamomile tea.

One of the things I've loved about our relationship is that, well, we still have one. We don't talk every day, but we IM here and there to keep up on the important stuff. We still have a love for each other and even though he did grow up to be a Republican computer geek, we still have lots of stuff in common. Including kink.

Except when we were kids, we didn't call it kinky. We were just teenagers having our first kiss at a screening of "The Breakfast Club" (with my cousin as chaperone). I wanted to eat my popcorn but I didn't want to stop kissing him. So I put the popcorn in my mouth and pushed it into his with my tongue. I asked if he wanted a drink and I whistled my Coke into his mouth, too.

Once we started having sex, I wasn't tying him up. I just couldn't wait until he was completely out of his clothes before jumping on him, his pants pooled around his ankles, his arms caught in his shirt sleeves. He'd come in my mouth and I'd spit it back in his not to humiliate him but so he could taste what I tasted.

"You sucked my big toe one time," he told me on the porch.

"No WAY!" I protested. "Really?" And then I remembered just loving him so much then the way you can only really do when you're a teenager and just wanting to devour every bit of him all the time. Even his toes.

"Yeah, and you used to give me ice cube blow jobs and bite my nipples with ice in your mouth, too."

*****

People ask me all the time if I could have a vanilla relationship and I always say, "Of course." This is why. Because a "vanilla" relationship looks pretty much like a "kink" one to me. I mean, as long as the root of whatever we're doing is love and desire for each other, what's the difference if I'm taking him with a strap-on or wrapping my legs around him in missionary or keeping him in a chastity cage for a week or drenching his back with butterfly kisses? It's all part of the continuum of mature intimacy, no?

If I hadn't become a professional dominant, I probably wouldn't have ever graduated to putting my lover in thousands of dollars worth of bondage gear. Or sticking steel rods down his urethra. Or electrocuting his balls. Instead maybe we'd have one of those "fun drawers" next to the bed with stuff like wrist/ankle restraints, a paddle, a few vibrators/dildos, a blindfold.

But I am a Prodom. Now, I've got the gear, the space, the inclination, and the education. So my sex life's gotten a little more elaborate. Some times.

******

Back on the porch, Adam tells me he's getting more and more into chastity and cuckolding. His wife is slowly coming around to accommodating his desires (her "partying" was a continuation of a recent seduction of a 26 year old guy from the neighborhood that Adam is achingly excited by). I asked him if he thought his cuckold interest was a sublimation of his bisexuality. (Uh, yeah. That was a surprise.) He thought no. "If I want to suck cock, I do," he said.

Turns out, I might be responsible for his cuckolding thing too. My next boyfriend after Adam was, shall we say, a little close to home. (Hey, it was a small town and I was a busy teen. I just grabbed what was handy.)

******

I know a lot of Dommes who like to play the "kinkier than thou" game. "Oh, I've been beating up boys since preschool!" I can look back and find plenty of examples of me being "dominant" or "sexually aggressive" or "freaky" or "kinky" .... but at the time, I wasn't putting labels on my behavior. I mean, I remember playing "Atom Smashers" in Kindergarten. This was a game where I'd order the boys to sit with their legs spread on the floor and then try to mash their penises between colored PlaySkool blocks (the red rectangle and yellow triangle were particularly effective, as I recall). I just never thought of this behavior as anything other than precocious until I became a Domme and was trying to figure out where all this was coming from "out of nowhere" at age 33.

I guess my point is that in some ways, I have no idea where this all started or why. It's not like I can point to some seminal moment, such as hiding under a desk and seeing my teacher's shoes and stockings and being excited. But, like, talking to Adam it's clear that my "kink," if that's what you want to call it, has always been with me. Maybe it's nice to have a label for it now. "Oh, okay. I'm 'kinky.'" But, ya know, ironically enough, even saying I'm "outside the norm" just feels kinda limiting.

French Brazillian

There's a thread on Max Fisch right now about people with ethnic fetishes. MVX and I were talking about how there are lots of women at Houses who're advertised as being a particular ethnic flava of the month. Clients will call asking for a particular type and the answer's always, "Sure, we've got that!" Whatever it takes to get him in the door. So, that hot Central Asian Mistress of your dreams? She's actually Central American with artfully made up eyes. The spicy Latina with the generous hips? More like a Black Ivy Leaguer from the Bronx. It reminds me how much "domination" is really all about the fantasy for some people.

When I started at Luxuria, our receptionist, who'd previously answered phones for a prominent outcall escort service, said that callers were asking about my "nationality" and she wondered what she should say.

"Tell them I'm an American," I said, rolling my eyes. I sighed. "I dunno, baby. As long as you don't tell them I'm an 'Ebony Mistress' I don't care. Can't you just say I'm smart and attractive and really kinky. Isn't that enough?"

But that's not how it works ... at least not for typical House clientèle. So we decided I'd be "French-Brazilian" because, as the receptionist pointed out, it positions me as both "classy" and "sexy" according to the stereotypes. (Why is there no eye rolling emoticon in Blogger?) One of the many reasons I'm happy not to be a House Domme anymore.

For the record, I'm not French. Or Brazilian.

But I love French food and French wine. And lately I've noticed in session that I tend to talk to myself, and sometimes my clients, in bits of Spanish, though that's not quite Portuguese, it's sorta close. About as close as I am ethnically to Brazilian.

Real life, I find, is so much more compelling than fantasy.

Eighties Baby

He wasn't a total novice. He'd sessioned three times before coming to me, each time with a different Mistress for no longer than two hours. He lives at least a two hour train ride away. Said he really wanted to explore heavy bondage and abandonment. Asked if he could be considered for the Orleans Experience.

Oh, and he's 23.

I've played with a handful of clients under 30. Youngest guy I ever saw was maybe 21. Blew me away (though he was a professional athlete so that kinda skewed his maturity level (not to mention disposable income).

In my experience, 20-something players are either absolutely amazing or they totally suck. No gray areas with them. When they're great, it's because they are so enthusiastic, open minded, curious, and remarkably unconflicted about their kink (not to mention, they're typically single, out or both so marks are rarely a problem) that playing with them is energizing and a joy. When they suck it's because they're arrogant, conceited, pillow biting, little "do me" babies with no respect for anyone's needs other than their own.

Fortunately this 23 year old belongs in the former category.

Still, when I play with the young ones (though this applies to novices of any age as well), I always feel a little guilty. Like a corrupter.

I had this one strapped down to the bondage table at the start of the scene. Corset collar. Fist mitts. Leather waist cincher. His legs hoisted high. I was fixin' to shave his lush thatch of pubic hair bare. Then I leaned over and caressed his face, looked deeply into his trusting eyes and said, "Oh, honey. I am going to make you kinkier than you ever could imagine."

In his feedback email, the first line reads: "I made a colossal mistake with the chastity cage. I really want it on right now. Without it, I feel like I've left the house without my wallet or watch."

See?

You know, I ... I .... it's like, on the one hand, "My god, what have I done!?! He's 23! He should be drinking beer and passing out atop lush co-eds, not craving the grip of a chastity cage!"

On the other hand (and both feet), I couldn't be more thrilled. Gosh, you shoulda seen my grin when I read his email. While I write this and think about our experience. It's incredibly rewarding for me to know that not only have I given them a great session, but that I've been able to take them down paths they perhaps never even knew existed and have them find the foreign landscape not only beautiful, but a place they want to visit again and again.

And that's so scary -- like, the responsibility of that -- but it's so real, too.