The beauty of dominant women
This fairy tale is brought to you by the artist Ludwig Van Bacon. I think he does a great job of translating the various personalities while adding a kinky slant. I particularly like Grumpy, with his butt plug tail. The nipple tape crosses are an interesting if odd touch. Gimp suits, leashes and chastity devices are fine, but nipples must be covered?
You can see and buy more from the artist at his site and twitter feed.
Apologies if you tried and failed to access the site in the last day or so. All the tiny electronic wizards that carry my wise words down to your phones and computers went on strike. I did file a ticket with my hosting company, but I guess that one of their customers sites being totally offline doesn’t rate as an important issue. Presumably I’d need my server to actually explode and burn down their data center to get a timely response on a weekend. I finally managed to get the tiny wizards back into line by rebooting everything, so we’ll see how long that lasts.
Talking of frustrating and annoying situations – it’s tax season in the US. Even a masochist like myself struggles to eroticize that kind of pain. However, I was happy to see this article in the NY Times about Mistress Lori the Tax Domme. She specializes in tax preparation for anyone in the adult industry. While the US government might do everything it can to make life difficult for sex workers, that’s still not going to stop them demanding a share of their earnings. They really should change the motto on the dollar bill from ‘In God We Trust’ to ‘Fuck you. That’s why.’
Oddly enough, while I don’t use Mistress Lori for my tax returns, I do use an accountant recommended to me by a pro-domme. I figured if they could handle her complicated returns, they should have no problem with mine. So far that logic seems to have worked out pretty well. I just wish I could figure out a way to write off my session tributes. Medical expenses maybe? They do feature a lot of needles, sutures, electroshock and prostate exams.
I’ve never actually met my accountants, as everything is handled over email, but this is definitely how I picture them when I send in my paperwork. Given my horrible financial organization, this look of scorn, pity and disappointment would not be unwarranted.
This is from Femme Fatale Films, featuring Mistress Eleise and Mistress Miranda. It’s from a scene called ‘Not Good Enough.‘
Call me Mr. Grouchy, but I really hate Valentine’s day. If you’re in a new relationship it’s a pain to figure out what the right thing to do is. If you’re in an established relationship then it’s a fake event designed to artificially force romance. And if you’re not in a relationship, then it does nothing but make you feel bad about that fact. It’s up there with New Year’s eve as an overly hyped event that nobody enjoys as much as they think they should. Like I said – Mr Grouchy.
This image from Bakerman at least looks like a fun way to celebrate it. I’m not into sploshing or food play, but I’d happily take a cake in the face from a kinky lady over an evening jammed shoulder to shoulder in a restaurant charging twice their usual rates.
This was originally published by Bakerman for Valentine’s day in 2017.
I’ll finish this nostalgic review of my last decade of kink with the story of the strangest thing that happened to me in a session – the time I did someone else’s scene.
I’m not going to reveal who the domme was. I’ll just say that this wasn’t my first session with her and this was some years ago. Our pre-scene negotiation over email had been, as is usual for me, pretty short and simple. I don’t remember my exact words but the gist was that medical play with staples and needles might be fun. What unfolded during the session itself was a little different.
In hindsight, putting all the pieces together, it was fairly obvious what went wrong. Before I arrived the domme had opened her email folder and clicked on someone else’s session request. I obviously never got to read the original email, but based on what transpired, I’m guessing it went something like this:
“I love lots of bondage with straps and rope, particularly if you keep adjusting and tweaking it, as though you can’t quite find the perfect way to hold me. I want a heavy caning and I think it’s really sexy if the domme is very vocal about how excited and aroused she is by the marks she’s leaving. Oh, and I’ve got a thing for hair, so if you could work that in somehow that’d be great. Thanks!”
Given this email slip-up, there was obviously a fairly significance gulf between between what I was expecting and what I was about to receive.
The first thing that struck me as weird as we started the session was that the domme seemed to have developed an OCD issue with bondage. I couldn’t figured out why she kept screwing around with it. She’d mutter about needing to get it exactly right, I’d carefully suggest that it was actually fine, and she’d still keep reworking it. Then there was all the sexy moaning and dirty talk to go along with the canes she was wielding. We’d done corporal play before, and I didn’t remember my ‘hot as fuck’ marks having quite this effect on her. Finally, why did she keep touching her hair onto my back and butt? I mean I like hair, I think it can be very sexy, but it seemed an odd thing to intersperse between cane strikes.
My initial assumption was that this was just an unusual warm-up to our medical scene, but as the time ticked past the halfway mark, it was obvious something had gone awry. Should I stop it? Given we were already over an hour in, it seemed awkward to do so. Plus, I was feeling pretty buzzed from the endorphins and she seemed to in the zone and having fun with it. I figured it was easier to roll with it and I’d only yell stop if things got a little crazy. I wasn’t about to get fisted or vomited on for the sake of avoiding awkwardness. Fortunately it turned out that my unknown scene choreographer hadn’t put in a request for a spectacular finale.
The post-scene discussion – after I mentioned what I thought had happened – was an amusing one. The domme was torn between apologizing for the mistake and expressing incredulity that I hadn’t said anything. My answer of ‘well, you seemed really into it…’ got a laugh and the response that my bruised butt was therefore my own fault.
I did wonder what happened later, when she did the scene again with the original client. Did she tell him? Or did he just get a really awesome version thanks to the dress rehearsal I’d filled in for?
I think this is technically a birching rather than a caning, but this artwork by Jay Em still feels appropriate for the post.
At first glance this seems like a perfectly ordinary photograph. Just an attractive masked lady drinking a can of La Croix in a kitchen while a naked man with strange headgear cooks in the background. I’m sure that counts as any Tuesday in Domina Yuki’s world. However, if you look closely, very closely, at the can in the original fullsized image, there is an subtle hidden message. For anyone whose device doesn’t let them zoom effectively, I’ve done the work for you here. There’s absolutely no danger of ever having a shortage of that particular product.
From this tweet in Domina Yuki’s twitter feed.
That post title sounds like hyperbole, but it really isn’t. Edging did change my life. I don’t think I’ve shared this story here before, but it seems an appropriate time to do so. After all, it is a holiday tale, albeit one with a touch more masturbation than is traditional for that genre. It starts sadly, but in common with most holiday stories and self pleasuring, has a happy ending.
The year was 2009 and I was grumpy. It was the week of Christmas and my friends were all out of town or busy with their families. My dating life had been non-existent all year and I was stuck at home, bored, alone, watching the Seattle rain. My life wasn’t particularly bad, it just felt like I was spinning in place, achieving little.
These days I’d tackle the holiday blues by arranging some hot kinky play. Sadly, back then the idea of actually exploring my kinks with another real life person seemed impossibly scary. I knew dommes existed, I just couldn’t imagine myself interacting with one. So instead I whiled away my vacation hours wandering through some of the stranger areas of the internet. It was there, on some obscure femdom forum, that I found a link to a series of femdom audio hypnosis files.
Hypnosis isn’t my kink, but one of the titles caught my eye: The 12 days of Christmas. It was an edging challenge. 12 hypnosis tracks based around edging at the end of each day, with no orgasms allowed until the last track. The accompanying blurb promised that the final days orgasm would be the most spectacular one of your life. I can’t speak to the truth of that – I only made it to day 10 – but the week or so of edging leading up to that did crazy things to my brain chemistry. I don’t think I was ever hypnotized, but I was so pleasantly frustrated and happily horny it broke down all my natural shyness and fear of reaching out to a domme. With a brain awash in endorphins, I resolved to shake things up and actually do something about my desires. In January 20210 I scheduled a session with a local pro-domme. My kinky self was finally out and has been flying high ever since.
To my eternal shame I don’t remember who produced the audio tracks. I only used them that one time, the disk they were on has long since died and all the similar examples I’ve found online aren’t quite the same thing. The bits of the hypnosis that were supposed to enthrall and dedicate me to their creator clearly didn’t stick. But that singular 10 day edging experience really did trigger a change in my life.
I’m not sure this shot of Mistress Madeline is strictly edging, but given the look on Parker London’s face, the build up has been pretty tortuous.
I’ve heard plenty of dommes complain about slaves slobbering all over their feet or shiny boots. The human tongue is rarely an effective mechanism to polish leather or clean a leg. However, I’ve never heard of a domme complaining about a slave ignoring her and licking the grill of the car she arrived in. Are they expecting him to lick the whole thing clean? Or did he take one look at the attractive ladies in fetish gear and decide that a fly splattered BMW grill was more his cup of tea? Also, at least one of the people there in very confused about how handcuffs work.
The image is from the classic British femdom magazine Cruella. This is one of their odder examples, but their magazine and site in the 90’s was very formative for the young paltego.
This cartoon is mining a common vein for jokes, but it’s a nicely done example of the type. I particularly like how happy the dogs are to see their new 2 legged friend. It looks like a fun time for all. Well apart from the domme that is, who sadly has the requisite scowl in place. That’s probably the least realistic thing about this cartoon. Given how much the average domme love animals, there’s no way she’d not be smiling in this situation.
I might be being particularly dumb, but the signature on this cartoon baffles me. Can anyone point me at the artist so I can attribute it appropriately?
Updated: Thanks to a helpful comment from Tom I can attribute this to cartoonist Derek Evernden, who created the series Bogart Creek. You can purchase his book and prints (including of this one) here.
There’s a dedicated site for buying used underwear. This is a thing I did not know. It’s called sofiagray and I found it via this article they published on sweat fetish. I’m not surprised that the market exists. I’ve seen enough dommes selling used clothing via twitter to know it must be a money spinner. I’m just surprised I’ve never seen anyone doing it via this site.
I particularly love this missions statement from their front page.
Now, our objectives have changed. We no longer want a to be a platform for used panties, we want to be THE platform for used panties. Our efforts are solely devoted to hosting the most efficient, friendly, and safe used underwear platform for both buyers and sellers alike.
That’s the kind of line that makes a developers resume stand out. Just below ‘Software Architect’ and above ‘Director of Engineering’, I’d love to have the bullet point ‘Built THE platform for used panties.’ You’d never get a boring interview with that on your resume.
This amusingly captioned image is from Contemplating the Divine, and features my favorite kind of caption – turning points. I’m not sure if this is a product that Amazon actually carries, but I have to admit that I’m too scared to check by searching for it. I don’t want to risk adverts for used panties following me around the internet for the next few weeks.
This post risks making a lot of pro-dommes very mad. I’m going to go out on a limb for my readers here and talk about a very taboo session activity. Something that almost all professionals will say absolutely never happens with any of their clients. Yet I’m here to tell you that just sometimes, if the mood and dynamic is right, if the right level of trust is established, it can happen. The submissive might actually be allowed to pick the playlist for the session music.
I know this to be true because – in the immortal words of the Penthouse readers letters page – I never thought it would happen to me, until a mysterious but very attractive lady propositioned me with it sometime last year. I say mysterious because I’m definitely not going to say who it was. I may be crazy enough to risk the general wrath of pro-dommes with this post, but I’m not going to risk the very specific wrath of someone who I may session with in the future. I’d hate for this to come back and haunt me when I’m naked, bound and she has me quite literally by the balls.
For those readers who have never done a session with a pro-domme, I should make clear that background music is the one true constant of sessions. More so than black dungeon walls, leather cuffs and incomprehensible controls on janky showers. I don’t think I’ve ever done a session without some sort of music. And given that pro-dommes are inevitably younger and hipper than I am, rarely have I any idea what’s being played. Typically it’s a grab bag of electronic, ambient, dance, industrial and obscure indie. Good for drowning out screams, but not exactly my kind of jams.
With the domme in question – who I should make clear is still very much younger and hipper than me – we actually share some musical interests. Which is how I came to get my ass beaten to some choice selections from the early oeuvre of Iron Maiden. Personally I think the energy and tempo changes in Phantom of the Opera make for great session music, but I’m not going to hold my breath for it to catch on more widely.
This image of a puppet pianist comes from the photographer Konrad Bak.
