Posts Tagged ‘domme’

Inside the mind of a submissive man

January 9, 2008

I just came across a slew of new (to me) submissive male/dominant woman blogs, and some of the writing there just blows me away. It’s so raw and real and intense, and having just had a pretty intensely kinky week myself (more on that later), I am grateful when I see others talking about their kinks and what it means to them. This may be my bias or misperception, but sometimes I feel like kink is often so showy; it’s about impressing someone, whether it’s your top or the people in your local scene, or the internet, with how much you can take, or what you look like doing it. And in my opinion, yes, sometimes showing off or being somehow public with your kinkiness can be part of the fetish, but I’m much more interested in the inner transformations people go through, in what they think they’re capable of and what they actually are. I think this blogger, Under the Boot, expresses that push/pull so well – the desire for pain, and the acknowledgement that yes, it’s actually painful. That in the moment, we may long for it to stop, but we really don’t want it to.

Me, I’ve been on both sides of that, and of late have discovered my capacity for cruelty. Well, within a BDSM context. I’m discovering that when I’m with a submissive partner, as I was recently, I want to inflict pain on him, but not just for his sake. There is something so carnal and powerful and exciting, not to mention arousing, about taking someone to that place, about getting off on their pain and squeals, about making them, literally, submit to your will. And I actually believe that both players, or sides, in BDSM, have much in common in terms of the transformative aspects of kink. I went to a wonderful exhibit while I was in London called Seduced at the Barbican and came across this quote from Paul Schmidt about Mapplethorpe’s work:

“We drag ourselves through darkness and hope to come out into light, no longer the same, but OTHER.”

I thought it was quite, quite apt.

From the blog Under the Boot:

I want to be hurt. More than that, I want to be taken to my limits. Hell, I want to find those limits and watch — no, feel — her dance past them a bit. Show me I’m stronger than I think. I want her to hit me and hit me and get me to the point where I want to use the safeword.

I’m simultaneously aroused and ashamed to say I want her to bring tears to my eyes.

I want to be clamped and struck and slapped and have my hair pulled and I want her to hit my cock with a riding crop and bite me. I want her to scratch her name into my back. Over and over again. I want marks and stripes and I’m okay with blood.

She…the last time I was up there, she took these big clips and clamped them on my nipples. And then she started trying to whip them off with the crop and then the flogger. The problem is, I suspect that trick works better with clothespins. So she sat there for five minutes, hitting and hitting and hitting and those fucking clamps never budged, and it hurt, so fucking much, worse than anything she’s ever done to me. I didn’t tell her how bad it hurt because I loved it. I didn’t want her to hold back in the future. My nipples were so sore the rest of the weekend, and so every time she twisted them or bit them or hit them, it fucking hurt so much worse than normal, because of this one session.

But I loved it. I loved it so much, I can’t even express how it felt to have her standing over me with that flogger and just swinging and for my chest to feel like one big glowing sun of pain. I could see her face, normally when she strikes me, when I’m on my hands and knees or on my belly, I can’t see her, and I could watch her as she did it, and she looked so peaceful and angry and thoughtful at the same time.

Dominant woman artwork by Eve Poland

January 3, 2008

This is one of many awesome and sexy pieces of art by Eve Poland, who has an exhibit of her artwork up at London’s wonderful sex toy shop for women, Sh! I went there today and bought an “eco-flogger” (flogger made out of recycled tires) and perused all their kinky offerings. Definitely check out Eve’s other artwork, and stop by Sh! to buy some for yourself (or, even better, for your mistress).

Fierce, indeed!

January 2, 2008

Photo by Nadya Lev from Fierce Couture

Excerpt from dominatrix memoir

January 1, 2008

Here’s an excerpt of an excerpt from Susan Winemaker’s Concertina: An Erotic Memoir of Extravagant Tastes and Extreme Desires, out January 8th in the U.S. from St. Martin’s

It’s 11:25 a.m. and I’m sitting on and suffocating Bernie. I’m wearing a black rubber skirt that looks like a ballerina’s tutu and in my hands are ten pence coins with which I’m rapidly flicking his nipples. In thirty-six seconds, by a matter of inches, I will suddenly lift from my sitting position which releases the seal from my rubber clad crotch, and listen to his fitful gasps for air. Together with Mozart’s piano concerto in E flat, these are the sounds that fill the tiny room. And today I can add the maniacal whine of a remote-controlled toy car and the shouting of boys in an otherwise sleepy suburban street. I can see my reflection in a wall of mirrors. There’s a pair of scissors by my left and a clock with the seconds hand to my right.

The unknown is an instrument of control full of endless possibilities—which is half the reason I blindfold Bernie. Of course he knows what’s coming, but he never knows exactly when it’s coming. There’s no time for him to prepare, to fill his lungs when suddenly I shift from a squat position to my full weight on his mouth and nose. Bernie has never dictated my style, nor has he ever acknowledged its effectiveness. It’s me that imagines the unknown makes suffocation more frightening and exciting.

“Writing the Whip” – Diary of a Dominatrix

December 27, 2007

There’s an ongoing Diary of a Dominatrix over at SMITH Magazine called “Writing the Whip” that’s very interesting reading. Here’s part of a piece about kidnapping sessions:

Hunt and capture. Both of these cases were consensual. The former session, though, comprised of planned details, a stun gun, and a sturdy sense of humor. I had prepped the studio with equipment ready at the door to lock X into heavy metal. I kept X in chains or in the cage for the entire time. I bound Arjen in rope and duct tape after we had shed our clothes. Even while I whipped his chest with a short rubber cat, I seduced with my body language and eyes. I still kept him safe. I kept him captive by simply telling him that he was not allowed to leave the room. In the morning, I stepped out to retrieve coffee and have breakfast with my friends. Arjen was hogtied by the bed, the “Do Not Disturb” sign was on the door handle. If he had asked to leave, given an excuse of a job or fear, I would have let him go. X could have broken into tears, screamed, shouted bloody murder and I wouldn’t have him go unless I heard the word, “Mercy.” I knew him too well.

I love kidnapping. As a break from my daily routine and duties as a Domina, it’s a great scene to plan, as well as a great spontaneous night adventure. In my own seduction scenarios, my sadistic sensual-sexual needs are satiated. In my professional sessions, I make sure the captive feels they are completely used. At the same time, my sadistic psychosexual needs are satiated. For X’s case, he gets his money’s worth because it is a fantasy he wants to happen, a fantasy unlikely to happen if he leaves it to chance. After all, odds are unlikely you’ll visit a bar and have a capable, trustworthy Domina choose you to kidnap for the eve.

Domme Nina Hartley

December 27, 2007

She’s so amazing…check her out at Nina.com

Domme vs. Santa

December 23, 2007

Love this! From Flickr user Jean-Luc Diabolique

And may I remind you that She’s on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission makes a perfect holiday gift for that special submissive man or loving domme in your life?

And guess what I’m doing this weekend? Proofreading Yes, Ma’am so it can be sent off to the printers!

Here’s a little snippet of Chris Cooper’s story “Exhibit A” from Yes, Ma’am for you:

I snap back to the present as a waiter clad in only a pair of Speedo-tight pants comes by with flutes of champagne. I, of course, don’t even think of taking one, but the hostess does, her long, red nails clinking against the skinny glass. She’s the belle of the kinky ball, dressed in a stunning silver latex gown that hugs every gorgeous curve of her tall, generous body. Once again, I see my mistress across the room, also elegant in a black silk dress loosely draped against her, blood-red shoes raising her several inches off the ground. Save for that brief ocular warning, she seems to be studiously ignoring me while I stand shackled here, unable even to lightly stroke my dick. The torment is both agony and fantasy fulfillment at once. The hostess peers around the room, surveying her shining sea of dommes, smiling slightly to herself as she takes a small sip of champagne. My cock is going wild as I slyly steal glances at her. Her home is everything mine isn’t, not only separated by a borough—hers on Central Park West, mine deep in the bowels of Brooklyn—but by class, taste, comfort. Hers is elegance personified and I wonder what her husband (because there’s got to be one behind this whole setup) knows or thinks about her little soiree.

My staring must have subtly alerted her attention because she turns around and beams her all-seeing eyes into me. She penetrates me with her gaze until I look down, properly reverential. Mistress Karen has told me to do what any woman here asks of me; my orders from her are to treat these women, every last one, as my dommes for the day. My cock is theirs, no questions asked. She told me this earlier while fucking my face with a huge black dildo, her melodic voice drifting down to my ears as I dutifully swallowed the massive toy, feeling my dick jerk each time its head scraped the back of my tongue, so I may have missed some of the subtleties of what she was imparting.

I swallow hard, vowing to be everything she wants me to be, to live up to her standards and impress her friends. I’m not sure if they are all serious players like us, or professionals, or women who just want to capture a little of the power their husbands wield with the snap of their fingers. These are women who trade in fur coats, fancy lunches, and fast fucks in high-end hotels, who travel in a world of luxury I can only vaguely imagine. The thought of being Mistress Karen’s full-time slave has passed through my mind before, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that, or if she is. I spend most of my free time with her when she’ll have me, but sometimes I need to retreat to my crash pad, my old futon and comforter slapped against the corner of a stark room, my meager belongings putting me back into the world I’ve always known.

The next thing I know, the hostess is standing before me, her gaze landing at my chin. She’s in shiny black heels and sheer black stockings in addition to the dazzling dress, the first things I see from my view with my head down. I’m grateful Mistress Karen has secured my arms over my head, because they’re already getting tired. Hostess steps closer so the latex of her dress is almost touching the extended hairs on my legs. “You make a nice piece of artwork on my wall, kind of a living sculpture,” she mused, trailing a long red nail from my hip up my flat stomach toward one erect nipple. She rakes her pointy talon over my bud, causing an exhalation of breath. “It’s too bad you look so lonely over here,” she says, now pinching my nipple between two fingers, tugging on it. I glance upward enough to see her lips curving into a smile that gets bigger the harder she pulls on my nipple. I don’t wince, even though my body quivers where she’s touching me.

“I enjoy it, Ma’am. I want to be accessible to all the women here, just like Mistress Karen told me to be.”

“Forget about Mistress Karen,” she says, twisting my nipple even more fiercely. Before I even sneak a peek toward the rest of the room, I know they’re all watching us curiously. Their chatter has quieted down from its previous din as they wait to see what she’ll do to me.

Is she a sub or a domme?

December 13, 2007

At first, when I saw this photo on Flickr, I was just drawn to her ass. I thought she was a sub. But the crip, and the URL, and maybe the tattoos, show that she is a domme, perhaps just waiting to be worshipped.


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