Beauty Is A Demanding Mistress

Oh, there is so much to enjoy here. A clip from Good Morning America, on the beauty benefits of face-slapping (and butt-punching). Absolutely love the end bit.

Experienced spankos know that spanking helps banish cellulite. So it makes sense to apply circulation-boosting percussive massage elsewhere.

In fact, as a child, I watched my Asian mother firmly pat/gently slap her face to help skincare products absorb. The woman still looks fifteen years younger than her age. (Though I'm sure that having good genes, and using La Prairie, helps.)

See? Spanking really is for your own good.

More Moments: Team-Building

His padded leather ankle cuffs jangled as he hobbled forward, the shiny chain leash pulled taut from his neck and wrapped tightly around my fist. I sauntered slowly ahead of him, my legs coltishly long in sleek, thigh-high black leather stiletto boots.

I could see him if I turned my head a little. We were both lipsticked and in lingerie: him in swaths of pink - camisole, bra, panties, and stockings; me in black satin corset and lace tap pants. Blinded as he was with the pink leather blindfold, upper body tightly cocooned in the black spandex straitjacket, he had literally no choice but to be pulled along in my wake.

Trust can be demonstrated in many ways. This instance was very direct: without my guidance, he would have fallen flat on his face, or been marooned in the middle of a huge room.

This delighted me.

"A slave must be willing to trust his Mistress, even though he does not know where she is leading him. He must be willing to suffer, to place her happiness before himself - literally."

With a moan of assent, he relaxed - and was ready.

Keratin Cutting: Fingernail Cutting And Hair Shaving

I may be developing a fingernail-cutting fetish.

I've been growing out my nails: strong, filed to ovals, and long enough to leave clear red pinstripes on a back or an ass. I enjoy having natural, subtle weapons to flick out at will.

But when I clip them down to the base, it feels... good.

The increased exposure of my fingertips feels primal. When I flex my fingers, the strength of my hands is sensual, unencumbered by extending nail.

Nipple torture comes to mind. Gripping a ball sack. Kidskin gloves. Anything that rubs against the naked tips of my fingers.

If you cut slowly enough, you can hear and feel the steel shearing cleanly through the keratin fibers: sshhhhrrrrk.

It's glorious partly because it's rare. It can only happen once every growth cycle, and nothing can hurry that growth.

Shaving is the same principle, but more subtle. The result of interplay between hard steel implement and delicate organic hair is sure, inevitable, definitive. The quiet sound of razor over skin is the sound of harvest. It is the feeling of good work being done.


In my music training, there was no room for personal indulgences of nail length or color. Clear polish was beyond my piano teacher's acceptance. If my nails exhibited even a thin edge of white, nail clippers were handed to me before the lesson was allowed to begin. "There must be nothing that detracts from your performance!" she demanded. Vanity, that paltry substitute for worth, was not allowed in the realm of art.

I now find pleasure in that sound of exactness, that sensation of cleaving a layer of organic fabric. There's a boldness to a woman defying expectation, deliberately cutting off the natural ornaments of nails or hair. One can polish and decorate, sure - airbrushing and bejeweling and so on - but the asceticism, the austerity of bare, healthy, well-trimmed nails with nothing to distract from their function says to me, "ready for action".

This woman is ready to conquer a fistfight... or a fisting.

Text Teasing

Recent text exchange:

Him: "What are your thoughts on abduction and forced regression?"

Me: "I think of a male stripped of adult privacy..."

"Inspections, belittling talk, scoldings for naughtiness. 'How silly to resist. You'll be treated like a child for as long as you act like one. The only way out is to accept your fate and cooperate.'"

Then, the cherry on top -

Me: "One word: thermometer."

Him: "Oh... you are good."

Me: "You know it."

The Right Use Of Resources

My dear friend is finishing her third round of cancer treatment, and plans to celebrate in Las Vegas. She's had a tough road for someone still in her twenties - cancer is a goddamn treacherous thing. 

So: who calls me, in perfect serendipity? My sub boy in Vegas. He's now standing ready to secure a room for her and her mother whenever they decide to go, so they may celebrate their hard-won victory. 

That, my friends, is what I call using influence for good. 

Plotting and Playing

How am I finishing out this week?

Well! A little abduction/forced bi fun with an eager leather slut and a good T-girl friend. The slut: helpless in the face of a commanding woman, especially one in leather boots. The friend: tall, tight-bodied, hung, and a proven play partner. Just how I like to indulge myself when rewarding/terrifying an especially hard-working personal sub.

Then, lots of hard spankings with a few favorite boys. Starring in these vignettes will be my wooden hairbrushes - a boy can feel that impact for days afterward.

Saturday night, my friend Julie Simone will be hosting a play party. She's a modern fetish visionary, and I can't wait to see what she's cooked up for that night.

Hope your weekend is filled with pervy fun!

The Consequences of Education

I've been thinking quite a bit about what we are and do.

Right after DomCon last year, I addressed a human sexuality class at Portland State. After the class, a handful of students remained to talk, thank me, and look at my gear. But then one, during our conversation, challenged me: "Isn't that abuse? A healthy relationship is between equals."

I was honestly a little startled. I offered that, in any relationship, there are many inequalities - disposition, skillset, income, etc. - but good relationships are complementary arrangements. I cook, my partner washes up, I take responsibility for him, he obeys my authority.

What particularly struck me was that this question was lobbed at me from a self-admitted dominant-personality woman. I could see the wheels turning as she quickly conceded my points, yet she clung to "agree to disagree". She seemed conflicted, caught between what she had been taught and what she, perhaps, intuitively understood. Any domme who's worked with m/f couples, training the woman to dominate, has seen this struggle. I wonder what her internal dialogue was like in those next few days...

Show and Tell, College-Level

I gave an interview recently to a PSU grad student for her human sexuality class. Next week, I'll be addressing that class as a guest speaker. I'm told that I can bring some toys if I like (grin).

I wonder what kind of questions I'll get?

Dental Inspiration

During my dental visit a couple of days ago, the hygienist tucked a hard plastic wedge between my upper and lower molars to help me keep my mouth open. I thought, "Hmm, a couple of those could be used for other purposes..."

With a spray bottle of spring water (or, ahem, golden liquid ;) to hydrate the sub's tongue periodically as they are helplessly open-mouth-restrained. Aren't I considerate?

New website update, May/9/2011

My site has gotten a little work: some snappy new writing, and a return to a light text/dark background scheme. Regular readers will notice a more congruous color scheme between site and blog. I'm happy with the reflection of myself carried in this writing; I always aim to capture some of the stark grace of my scenes.

I hope everything reads effortlessly and loads quickly. Feel free to comment/email me if otherwise. 

Presenting At DomCon 2011: Part 2

I have found a lovely demo dolly for my class, and turning my thoughts toward wardrobe and makeup selection is already beginning to excite me.

I get sensory flashes of corset strings taut in my fingers, of creamy lipstick swirled onto a brush, then stroked onto surrendering lips. My mind's eye focuses on the quivering backs of feminized legs that taper, stockinged, to gleaming, precariously high-heeled shoes... and my riding crop, ever ready to correct missteps or awkwardness.

I am planning only a few, incredibly focused days in Los Angeles, the better to curate my experiences to a gem-quality handful.

This is going to be fun.

Presenting At DomCon 2011

Big news, dear readers: I have been selected as a Featured Presenter for DomCon 2011!

My workshop, "Femme Fantasies: Crossdressing, from Sweet to Slutty," will be at 5:45 p.m. on Saturday, May 21st. Check the official site of DomCon L.A. for full location and schedule information. I'm planning to cover some philosophy and techniques for crossdressers and the women who wish to understand/control them.

This will mark my first time presenting at a convention, but I've been working up to this for a long time. I'm excited to finally cross the line from the informal individual/small-group coaching I've done to a more formal, larger-group class structure.

If you're attending DomCon, I welcome you to come to my class! And if you're available on that Saturday, and are brave enough to get primped and turned out in front of a group of likeminded ladies and gurls, volunteer to be my demo bottom (email address on my website, or comment here).

See you at DomCon!

Governess Knows Best

Note: The following is a snippet of a very intense encounter, including a mention of blood. Boundaries were explicitly negotiated, and both players are experienced in handling heavy scenes. Please take care, and play safely. 

He had been summoned because of a quite juvenile infraction: He had been caught peeping at me through the door crack while I dressed. He was clearly a fully-grown man, so as his former governess, I was obligated to correct him for his unseemly breach of boundaries.

Thus was the premise for our role play, and his discipline.

He had to specifically acknowledge why he was there, and express his sincere gratitude for the discipline he was receiving. I explained seriously that it was inappropriate to have ogled me - and worse, to have been caught! Like a common, drooling schoolboy. He had to make up this indignity. Surely I had taught him better, and the only way to truly rectify his mistake was to take his discipline humbly and fully.

I commanded him to fetch each implement, and contemplate its heft and painful potential while I watched closely. I know each tool very well, exactly what it can do, and when to introduce it.

There was the London Tanners strap of double-thickness leather, and the rectangular oak paddle signed to me by Jennifer Brooks. The punishment quirt, braided like a bullwhip but with two thick thongs for tails, and the hard wooden spoon.

He counted aloud each blow with gasping concentration. After some measured, firm strokes, I began to give my arm full, glorious swing.

I paced it slowly, not allowing him the luxury of numbness from sensory overload, and lacing each set with precise scolding (my favorite).

My own skin began to hum, listening to his determined acceptance, and that exquisite symbiosis buoyed me into further cruelties.

I love the cane. I love precision. I absolutely adore getting into small spots with sadistic intent.

My favorite cane is made of clear polycarbonate (the same material as bulletproof windows). Smooth frosted finish and a black rubber grip, luscious weight and flex. Its swing is incredibly sexy... and, it's sterilizable.

Before I was finished, his skin ceased to be a barrier against blood. A few tiny breaks in his hide were hardly going to excuse him from his just deserts - he was decidedly within his tolerance limits. So I wrapped his bottom in a triple layer of plastic food wrap and proceeded with the rest of the discipline.

At the end, he stood slowly and thanked me in a soft, warm voice full of gratitude.

How can my heart not swell with pleasure?

Who Are You... And Who Do You Wish To Be?

On what do we base our recognition of ourselves?

Gender and appearance: If I take you from hulking everyguy to restrainedly feminine, how does that change what personality traits and thoughts pop forth?

Social roles: What happens when I take those from you, not allowing you control or responsibility? When you don't have to account for, or explain, those dissonant urges that crash against the walls of your upright citizenship?

To one imminent subject: "You look up, into the mirror, and the sight of this... creature... completely disorients you. You raise a hand (it can't possibly be yours - is it?) to touch the face. The hours you have spent being stripped, encased, arranged, reduced, seem but a memory: Who are you now?"

Well?

Utah Rox Is International Mr. Olympus Leather

Congratulations to the new titleholder! I met this tall drink of leather at DomCon a couple of years ago, and enjoyed his wit and wickedness through that weekend. Of course, being impeccably uniformed in leather and issue police shirts, Sam Browne belt, leather pants, and motorcycle-cop boots (*pant pant*) does help to cement an impression - that's like an arrow of fetish candy straight to my brain.

Guess what Mr. Rox used to do for a living? 

Achilles, I've Got Your Heel

So I had this tall, muscular, fit, ex-military guy cuffed and stretched out on the bondage bed. I'd been whipping his back for about an hour and a half, and the heat rising from his skin warmed my arm from four inches away. Every lash was rewarded with a yell, then a deep, hungry groan as he stretched toward me, offering me his firm, meaty shoulders and back in a wordless plea for more.

It was when I was roping his thighs apart that it occurred to me: "Are you ticklish?" I asked him. He immediately responded that he was, but added, "I hate being tickled!" As soon as he heard my laughter, he realized what he'd just armed me with, and scrambled to recant. But it was too late - I had already begun to lightly scratch with my gloved fingertips on his soles, ankles, and the backs of his knees. Nervous expectation, but no involuntary tension, meant no ticklishness there.

Then I moved up, to his waist. A slight exhale; I was on the right track. A little higher, and forward, to the ribs. He started to crack: stifled giggles, reflexive tension in the abs. Now up to the armpits. Dynamite! He exploded in helpless laughter and as much writhing as the bonds would allow (not much).  Within five seconds he wailed such a heartfelt, "Oh! MERCY, MISTRESS!" that I had to cease my torment because I was laughing so hard.

Which, I suppose, is a goal. Delicious distress frequently makes me laugh, and when I am amused, I am pleased with my pet. So there you go - suffer entertainingly, and you will be sure to be invited back.

Behind Closed Doors

About Behind Closed Doors: I've had so many incredible moments during play that I now want to share. First, to savor them, and to give you a sense of what I love about what I do; and second, because fetish films often do not, cannot, convey that intimacy and sheer chemistry. May my recollections bring you a taste of those pleasures. 

They chatted amiably as Mozart shimmered in the background. She tilted her head, the light flashing off her rosy lips and sharp dark eyes as she spoke. At this close distance, the minutest reaction would not escape her notice.

Her leather-gloved fingers clamped around his nipples, slowly released, pulled, twisted... Every now and then he stiffened and gasped silently, eyes wide and helpless, when her nails dug in, or when she ground his swollen nips almost flat between her cruelly strong fingers. When the steely hold softened and withdrew, he collapsed against the bondage bed, a grin of wonder spreading his mute lips.

He told her over and over how special, how wonderful she was. She smiled, laughed, thanked him - then gave his nipples an extra wrench just to hear him stop in mid-sentence. She loved granting and taking away the power of speech, and he was in no position to object.

He could only offer himself, and hope that she would find him worth her amusement...

July 3rd Hollywood Bondage Ball

My colleague Julie Simone, the busty, Amazonian, award-winning bondage legend, will be performing at the L.A. Bondage Ball tonight! [Bondage Ball link plays music when opened.]

Mistress Simone has a very special 21st birthday planned for her toy, RubberNecro, involving latex and suspension (I hear there will be some sort of cake, too). If you're in Los Angeles, go check out the performances, sexy music, dungeon play stations, and other temptations.

It's (Becoming) Official: Kink is NOT a Diagnosis!

From the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom:

"In the new proposals for the DSM-V, alternative sexual behavior has been depathologized. The American Psychiatric Association's Paraphilias Subworkgroup's DSM revisions acknowledge that you can be a fetishist, transvestite, sexual sadist or sexual masochist without having a mental disorder. NCSF has worked very hard with its DSM Revision Project to make sure these changes take place, and will continue to strongly advocate for clear language of what exactly constitutes a mental disorder."

Read the rest of the story, with links to the publicly viewable proposed changes, on the NCSF site.

Goodnight, David Aaron Clark

David Aaron Clark passed away of a pulmonary embolism at around 4 p.m. yesterday afternoon. He was 49.

From AVN:

Clark's untimely demise came just three days after he received multiple nominations in the 2010 AVN Awards race for his latest epic, Pure, which also happened to be his very first project for Evil Angel.

I only met David on a few occasions, but some of my friends were quite close to him. His loss is being felt throughout the adult industry.

Goodnight, David.