Weird Call Of The Day:
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, I'm calling because I need to cancel my appointment tomorrow…
Me: Huh…An appointment with me? Tomorrow? What's your name?
Caller: Bob.
Me: Well, Bob, I don't have anyone booked for tomorrow. When did you and I make this appointment? Because I don't have any recollection of talking to you.
Caller: Oh – um, it may not have been with you.
Me: What do you mean?
Caller: I had an appointment with somebody, but I'm not sure if it was with you. It was someone in this section…But I can't make it, so I'm just calling everybody in the paper.
Me: You don't remember who you made an appointment with, so you're just calling everyone in the "fetish" section of the adult ads.
Caller: Yeah.
Me: O-kay. Well, it wasn't me…Better luck elsewhere.
I hung up and thought, I don't know whether he's a twit for forgetting who he made an appointment with, or a polite guy for calling every mistress in town to try to cancel it instead of just blowing it off. Some encounters defy easy categorization.
Saturday, May 08, 2004
Friday, May 07, 2004
The date says Friday but to me it's still Thursday night…
Two excellent clients today, both regulars – the blue-eyed rope bondage lover with the infectious laugh, and a guy from Vermont with a sweet nature and a very tough ass.
I did a partial suspension with Blue Eyes – a hog-tie on the floor, with lines going to a point in the ceiling. There was a lot of tension on his arms and shoulders, but he just laughed happily. So did I. We always have such a good time together.
Vermont is a relatively new client to me – I think this was his third visit. I'm discovering that he's quite delightfully masochistic, with a nice high pain threshold. When I'm with a new person, I'm so used to carefully modulating the level of physical intensity that when I began flogging his ass, it took me a few minutes to trust what I was seeing: that he could really take the heavier blows.
So I traded my soft suede flogger for a heavier, stiffer one. He took a few thumps with that and just smiled and wiggled his butt at me invitingly. Oh, this is going to be fun, I thought.
He took half an hour of pretty steady beating with my nastiest, meanest flogger. It's got thick tails made out of rubber instead of the usual leather, and it bites – hard. It usually falls into the category of "Tired Top Toys". A TTT is a toy you get out when you're the top and you're playing with a bottom who's capacity to absorb intense physical sensation (read: pain) is just flat wearing you out. You're sweating, you're panting, your arm is getting sore - but you don't want to wimp out before the bottom does. Heaven forbid, your reputation as a sadist would be ruined! So you get out the nasty-mean toy - the one that will, after just a few strokes, make them say "Mercy!"
That's all very tongue-in-cheek, of course. I wasn't trying to make Vermont end the scene, I was having far too good a time. I was swinging that whip like Babe Ruth and he just kept smiling and holding his ass out for me.
When I decided his butt had had enough, I laid down on my bondage table and had him take off my high boots, and he kissed and caressed my feet and legs. I could really spend a whole hour just doing that, because having my feet kissed and touched is very high on the list of "Things Mistress Matisse Really, Really Likes". Every foot-kisser has a slightly different style. Vermont did it like a man playing a woodwind instrument – subtle, delicate, with his fingers moving in sensual counterpoints to his mouth.
I love my life.
Two excellent clients today, both regulars – the blue-eyed rope bondage lover with the infectious laugh, and a guy from Vermont with a sweet nature and a very tough ass.
I did a partial suspension with Blue Eyes – a hog-tie on the floor, with lines going to a point in the ceiling. There was a lot of tension on his arms and shoulders, but he just laughed happily. So did I. We always have such a good time together.
Vermont is a relatively new client to me – I think this was his third visit. I'm discovering that he's quite delightfully masochistic, with a nice high pain threshold. When I'm with a new person, I'm so used to carefully modulating the level of physical intensity that when I began flogging his ass, it took me a few minutes to trust what I was seeing: that he could really take the heavier blows.
So I traded my soft suede flogger for a heavier, stiffer one. He took a few thumps with that and just smiled and wiggled his butt at me invitingly. Oh, this is going to be fun, I thought.
He took half an hour of pretty steady beating with my nastiest, meanest flogger. It's got thick tails made out of rubber instead of the usual leather, and it bites – hard. It usually falls into the category of "Tired Top Toys". A TTT is a toy you get out when you're the top and you're playing with a bottom who's capacity to absorb intense physical sensation (read: pain) is just flat wearing you out. You're sweating, you're panting, your arm is getting sore - but you don't want to wimp out before the bottom does. Heaven forbid, your reputation as a sadist would be ruined! So you get out the nasty-mean toy - the one that will, after just a few strokes, make them say "Mercy!"
That's all very tongue-in-cheek, of course. I wasn't trying to make Vermont end the scene, I was having far too good a time. I was swinging that whip like Babe Ruth and he just kept smiling and holding his ass out for me.
When I decided his butt had had enough, I laid down on my bondage table and had him take off my high boots, and he kissed and caressed my feet and legs. I could really spend a whole hour just doing that, because having my feet kissed and touched is very high on the list of "Things Mistress Matisse Really, Really Likes". Every foot-kisser has a slightly different style. Vermont did it like a man playing a woodwind instrument – subtle, delicate, with his fingers moving in sensual counterpoints to his mouth.
I love my life.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
In Stark Contrast To Yesterday's Entry…
I'm thinking today about the nature of sexual attraction. Specifically, sexual attraction and me.
I have a lot of good sexual energy in my life. I have Max, whom I adore, and I have Mike, who is fabulous. But just lately I've sprouted a little tendril of attraction to another guy. A green and slender thing it is, not very sturdy. But there nonetheless.
There seems to be a fairly consistent pattern with my attractions. I become aware it, and then, I just sit with it for a while. This is Attraction: Stage One. It might last three months, six months, sometimes longer. It depends on how quickly I get to know the person – and what I want from them. I'll flirt, lightly, and allow myself to be flirted with. But no goal-directed forwardly progress will be attempted – or permitted. I'm merely observing and absorbing the person.
Then, one day, something in me shifts, and I move into Attraction: Stage Two. Now I get pro-active. Now is when the flirtations become less innocuous, more edged with real possibility. Now is when I ask you out for coffee, if you haven't already asked me, with a certain agenda on my mind.
Of course, it doesn't always work out. There was another guy, lately, with who I'd been in a Stage One level of attraction. After nearly a year, I felt ready to go to the next level, but then - in spite of every indication that he wanted that, too – he backed away. He told me I intimidated him – and he's actually not the first man to tell me that. You'd think it would teach me not to flirt with vanilla guys. C'est la vie.
And then there's my harem – excuse me, I mean my clients. I think doing what I do is one of the reasons it's easy for me to be a slow mover when it comes to my private-life attractions. Max gives me the stable, long-term love/sex/play relationship, Mike is the fun diversion, but my clients give me the type of gratification you only get from being lusted after and adored by relative strangers.
So what would I want from the new guy? Remains to be seen, doesn't it? That's really what Stage One is all about. I can become attracted to someone's smile or the set of their shoulders, their intellect, their humor, the way they talk about their passions, or what they seem to see in me. But those things may be mere islands of charm - pleasant in their way, but unconnected to the qualities I would require in someone if I'm going to go to Stage Two.
What are those qualities? Oh, that's a topic for another day…
I'm thinking today about the nature of sexual attraction. Specifically, sexual attraction and me.
I have a lot of good sexual energy in my life. I have Max, whom I adore, and I have Mike, who is fabulous. But just lately I've sprouted a little tendril of attraction to another guy. A green and slender thing it is, not very sturdy. But there nonetheless.
There seems to be a fairly consistent pattern with my attractions. I become aware it, and then, I just sit with it for a while. This is Attraction: Stage One. It might last three months, six months, sometimes longer. It depends on how quickly I get to know the person – and what I want from them. I'll flirt, lightly, and allow myself to be flirted with. But no goal-directed forwardly progress will be attempted – or permitted. I'm merely observing and absorbing the person.
Then, one day, something in me shifts, and I move into Attraction: Stage Two. Now I get pro-active. Now is when the flirtations become less innocuous, more edged with real possibility. Now is when I ask you out for coffee, if you haven't already asked me, with a certain agenda on my mind.
Of course, it doesn't always work out. There was another guy, lately, with who I'd been in a Stage One level of attraction. After nearly a year, I felt ready to go to the next level, but then - in spite of every indication that he wanted that, too – he backed away. He told me I intimidated him – and he's actually not the first man to tell me that. You'd think it would teach me not to flirt with vanilla guys. C'est la vie.
And then there's my harem – excuse me, I mean my clients. I think doing what I do is one of the reasons it's easy for me to be a slow mover when it comes to my private-life attractions. Max gives me the stable, long-term love/sex/play relationship, Mike is the fun diversion, but my clients give me the type of gratification you only get from being lusted after and adored by relative strangers.
So what would I want from the new guy? Remains to be seen, doesn't it? That's really what Stage One is all about. I can become attracted to someone's smile or the set of their shoulders, their intellect, their humor, the way they talk about their passions, or what they seem to see in me. But those things may be mere islands of charm - pleasant in their way, but unconnected to the qualities I would require in someone if I'm going to go to Stage Two.
What are those qualities? Oh, that's a topic for another day…
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Snippets of a Party
Max and I had a party at our house this past weekend…here are few memorable bits.
(Conversation between me and a woman who's working her way through school as a bachelor-party stripper.)
Her: I did a party for some (insert name of large industrial corporation here) drivers tonight, and they were so nice.
Me: When I used to dance it seemed like the blue-collar guys always tipped the best.
Her: Yeah, they do, and they're more polite, too. Most of those executive types – pah, they're jerks, it's like they think they're entitled to do whatever they want.
Me: I wonder if it's that working class guys have fewer hang-ups about liking strippers – you know, like the white collar guys are all conflicted and embarrassed about wanting to see tits and ass, so they act that out by being rude to you. And blue collar guys are just more relaxed about the whole thing.
Her: Maybe, but I think it's also about how you earn a living. I think guys who work in blue collar jobs just know more about what it's like to be fucking working for a living. They understand that you're working too, and if you're doing a good job for them, they appreciate that. The executive types think that you should be giving it to them for free – it's like a, "Why should I have to pay you for this, you should just give it to me" attitude.
Other highlights: After a certain amount of negotiation, I convinced a man crouched on the floor next to my chair to bark like a dog for me. And not just any dog, either – a collie, specifically. In return, I kissed him on the cheek. A satisfying exchange of pleasantries.
Across the room, a woman with a remotely-controlled electrode in her pussy yelped and writhed when it was activated by her lover, and she vented her electrically-powered energy by pounding her fists – quite hard - on the ass of another woman draped over the back of the couch next to her. They both laughed a great deal.
One of the three non-kinky people present watched this scene with mild concern. "I know she can get up and walk away if she wants to," she said, indicating the second woman, who was now offering her inner thighs to be pummeled. Then she looked the electrified girl. "But I'm beginning to fear for her reproductive organs." I reassured her that all would be well.
Late in the evening: I walked into my downstairs bathroom to find a beautiful naked woman tied up to the handrails in the shower, with two of my friends in poses of erotic menace next to her. Why, oh, why, I wondered to myself, don't I ever think to have this house wired with cams for these parties?
Max and I had a party at our house this past weekend…here are few memorable bits.
(Conversation between me and a woman who's working her way through school as a bachelor-party stripper.)
Her: I did a party for some (insert name of large industrial corporation here) drivers tonight, and they were so nice.
Me: When I used to dance it seemed like the blue-collar guys always tipped the best.
Her: Yeah, they do, and they're more polite, too. Most of those executive types – pah, they're jerks, it's like they think they're entitled to do whatever they want.
Me: I wonder if it's that working class guys have fewer hang-ups about liking strippers – you know, like the white collar guys are all conflicted and embarrassed about wanting to see tits and ass, so they act that out by being rude to you. And blue collar guys are just more relaxed about the whole thing.
Her: Maybe, but I think it's also about how you earn a living. I think guys who work in blue collar jobs just know more about what it's like to be fucking working for a living. They understand that you're working too, and if you're doing a good job for them, they appreciate that. The executive types think that you should be giving it to them for free – it's like a, "Why should I have to pay you for this, you should just give it to me" attitude.
Other highlights: After a certain amount of negotiation, I convinced a man crouched on the floor next to my chair to bark like a dog for me. And not just any dog, either – a collie, specifically. In return, I kissed him on the cheek. A satisfying exchange of pleasantries.
Across the room, a woman with a remotely-controlled electrode in her pussy yelped and writhed when it was activated by her lover, and she vented her electrically-powered energy by pounding her fists – quite hard - on the ass of another woman draped over the back of the couch next to her. They both laughed a great deal.
One of the three non-kinky people present watched this scene with mild concern. "I know she can get up and walk away if she wants to," she said, indicating the second woman, who was now offering her inner thighs to be pummeled. Then she looked the electrified girl. "But I'm beginning to fear for her reproductive organs." I reassured her that all would be well.
Late in the evening: I walked into my downstairs bathroom to find a beautiful naked woman tied up to the handrails in the shower, with two of my friends in poses of erotic menace next to her. Why, oh, why, I wondered to myself, don't I ever think to have this house wired with cams for these parties?
Monday, May 03, 2004
Because I am trying to get caught up with my life a busy weekend, I'm falling back on a previously-published piece. However, judging by the phone calls I get, it contains information that has not been disseminated widely enough. Enjoy, back to the regularly scheduled program soon.
Meeting The Mistress
You've noticed my ad in the local alternative paper, or you run across my website as you surf the net. The pictures and the words are intriguing, but unfamiliar to you. What does it all mean? How can you learn more, and perhaps get involved?
I'm a professional dominatrix. That means I do SM for a living: my clients and I do pre- negotiated SM scenes involving things like bondage, spanking, and dominant/submissive role-plays. They are the submissive, I am the dominant, and they pay me for my time.
If you don't know much about BDSM, negotiating your first meeting with a pro domme can be a little intimidating - here are some tips.
The Initial Contact
Either via email or by phone (or sometimes snail mail) you should convey the following information:
• Your first name, at least. She may want more information about you, or not.
• Whether or not you have any experience with SM/ bondage/ fetish/ dominance and submission. If you have, was it with a lover or a professional dominatrix?
• Some ideas of what you might like to do in a session.
This last question is where most newcomers clam up and "Uh, I don't know, the usual stuff, I guess…" No, no, no - that's not good enough, gentlemen. This isn't like seeing a call girl or a masseuse - there is no 'default' SM scene. Before you contact the Mistress, do your homework. Read kinky novels, look at fetish-porn websites, rent SM videos, and pay attention to what parts make your dick particularly hard. If you really want to be top of your class, read some non-fiction books about SM or study some of the SM educational websites.
Doing this will enable you to tell her what kinds of things you might like to do in a session. Professional dominatrixes do a very broad range of activities, and a session centering around, say, bondage and foot worship is very different from a session about caning and electrical play. You don't have to give a dissertation. You simply need to be able to say something like "Well, I think I'd like to be tied up. And I fantasize about spanking and having someone put women's underwear one me." Yes, it is odd to tell a stranger such very private things, but rest assured, she has heard it before, and she definitely understands your desires. Understand, I am not saying that these particular things are what you should ask for - but rather that you should be able to offer at least a sentence or two about what kinds of thoughts impelled you to contact a domina.
What Not To Do!
• Don't say you will "do anything you want, Mistress!" Believe me, any Mistress worth the name can think of things that you don't want to do. This type of response smacks of nothing as much as lack of imagination and mental laziness. It's an attempt to get your fantasy fulfilled without having to speak it. No matter how skilled a Mistress is, she isn't psychic. You owe her some communication about your interests and your limits.
• Don't say things like, "I just want to be dominated," or "I want to feel like you're totally in control of me." Those are nice ideas - but everyone who says them has a slightly different picture of how to act them out. You have to give the Mistress some idea of what actual activities might lead you to feel that way, otherwise she may think 'spanking', when what you're thinking is 'golden shower'.
• Don't assure her that you want to be her slave forever. If you feel that you must say this, save it until after the session, when she will feel that you are basing it on her power and ability, and not her sexy photographs on her website.
• Don't ask for a free session based on the fact that you are so very handsome/sexy/truly submissive/poor.
• Don't lie in answer to questions she may ask about your name or phone number. She is going to require a certain amount of information about you in order to feel safe about dealing with you. It may be a little, it may be a lot. If you find you aren't comfortable with what she wants, say so very politely. It may be that the two of you will not be able to see one another. But lying wastes both your time.
The tone of this contact should be adult, courteous and pleasant on both sides. The issue of consent, for both parties, is crucial in good, responsible SM, and simply asking a domina about her services does not, by definition, constitute you both negotiating and consenting to your being submissive to her. Either one of you attempting to act otherwise is presumptuous. I believe that exchanging information as equals is much wiser than attempting to function as Mistress and submissive from first instant of contact.
What's reasonable to expect from her in this contact…
• Expect to be treated with civility and honesty.
• Expect her to be clear about what her fee (donation, offering) is.
• Expect her to be able to tell you when she is available for sessions and how you need to go about making an appointment.
• Expect her to be able to describe her abilities, her equipment and her facilities, if any, including a very general geographic location such as " the downtown area".
• Expect her to able to answer a question about her willingness to do a specific type of scene. (Crossdressing, golden showers, CBT, et cetera.)
• Expect to feel that your stated limits (meaning: what you don't want to do) will be respected when it comes to negotiating a session.
It is my opinion that you should be careful about a domina from whom you don't get these things. If she is reluctant to furnish information it may be that she feels unsafe about you for some reason, but it may also be that she is being evasive because she is not what she advertises herself to be. And if you are treated disrespectfully during the initial contact, it is unlikely to get any better.
The Question of Sex….
Pro dommes are usually quick to let our potential clients that a session with us does not include actual sex. However, it would be false to say that sessions with a pro domme are not ever erotic, that sexual feelings are not allowed, and that sexual energy is never exchanged. Sexual energy and sexual feelings are a driving force behind many sessions. This, to me, is why professional domination falls into the category of sex work.
But how these feelings will be expressed is very much subject to both applicable laws and the personal choice of the domina. You can count on the fact that you are not going to have anything resembling traditional sex with the Mistress. I think the grey area lies, however, in certain activities that are frequently represented in SM videos, photos and books - such as various kinds of anal penetration of the male submissive, or body worship that goes beyond the feet and the legs. These things have their place in a private, non-professional dom/sub relationship, but a professional dominant may or may not be willing to engage in them.
She must first and foremost consider her legal risks if she does so - these things are not traditional sex, but in many areas of the country, if a police officer asks her to do these things and she agrees, she is subject to arrest. The actual act need not take place - her agreement is enough. What this means to you is that if you ask a pro domme to engage in these activities with you, she may refuse to see you.
Secondly, she must consider how she feels about such things personally. Even if she lives in an area with more flexible laws, a domme may not wish to commit to including such intimate acts in a session with someone she hasn't even met yet. So she may be vague, or she may just refuse to see you.
It's best to approach such things subtly. It's fine to mention, for example, that you've always thought it would be exciting to have a woman use a strap-on dildo on you. That’s simply sharing a fantasy with the Mistress. Now she has that information, and if she wants to make use of it, she can.
Final note: I am fond of many of my clients and enjoy my sessions with them. But it is a professional relationship, and attempting to take it past those limits is inappropriate. My favorite clients are people who give themselves utterly in the session, thank me warmly afterwards - and leave, without trying to make the relationship something it isn't. Take this for your model.
Meeting The Mistress
You've noticed my ad in the local alternative paper, or you run across my website as you surf the net. The pictures and the words are intriguing, but unfamiliar to you. What does it all mean? How can you learn more, and perhaps get involved?
I'm a professional dominatrix. That means I do SM for a living: my clients and I do pre- negotiated SM scenes involving things like bondage, spanking, and dominant/submissive role-plays. They are the submissive, I am the dominant, and they pay me for my time.
If you don't know much about BDSM, negotiating your first meeting with a pro domme can be a little intimidating - here are some tips.
The Initial Contact
Either via email or by phone (or sometimes snail mail) you should convey the following information:
• Your first name, at least. She may want more information about you, or not.
• Whether or not you have any experience with SM/ bondage/ fetish/ dominance and submission. If you have, was it with a lover or a professional dominatrix?
• Some ideas of what you might like to do in a session.
This last question is where most newcomers clam up and "Uh, I don't know, the usual stuff, I guess…" No, no, no - that's not good enough, gentlemen. This isn't like seeing a call girl or a masseuse - there is no 'default' SM scene. Before you contact the Mistress, do your homework. Read kinky novels, look at fetish-porn websites, rent SM videos, and pay attention to what parts make your dick particularly hard. If you really want to be top of your class, read some non-fiction books about SM or study some of the SM educational websites.
Doing this will enable you to tell her what kinds of things you might like to do in a session. Professional dominatrixes do a very broad range of activities, and a session centering around, say, bondage and foot worship is very different from a session about caning and electrical play. You don't have to give a dissertation. You simply need to be able to say something like "Well, I think I'd like to be tied up. And I fantasize about spanking and having someone put women's underwear one me." Yes, it is odd to tell a stranger such very private things, but rest assured, she has heard it before, and she definitely understands your desires. Understand, I am not saying that these particular things are what you should ask for - but rather that you should be able to offer at least a sentence or two about what kinds of thoughts impelled you to contact a domina.
What Not To Do!
• Don't say you will "do anything you want, Mistress!" Believe me, any Mistress worth the name can think of things that you don't want to do. This type of response smacks of nothing as much as lack of imagination and mental laziness. It's an attempt to get your fantasy fulfilled without having to speak it. No matter how skilled a Mistress is, she isn't psychic. You owe her some communication about your interests and your limits.
• Don't say things like, "I just want to be dominated," or "I want to feel like you're totally in control of me." Those are nice ideas - but everyone who says them has a slightly different picture of how to act them out. You have to give the Mistress some idea of what actual activities might lead you to feel that way, otherwise she may think 'spanking', when what you're thinking is 'golden shower'.
• Don't assure her that you want to be her slave forever. If you feel that you must say this, save it until after the session, when she will feel that you are basing it on her power and ability, and not her sexy photographs on her website.
• Don't ask for a free session based on the fact that you are so very handsome/sexy/truly submissive/poor.
• Don't lie in answer to questions she may ask about your name or phone number. She is going to require a certain amount of information about you in order to feel safe about dealing with you. It may be a little, it may be a lot. If you find you aren't comfortable with what she wants, say so very politely. It may be that the two of you will not be able to see one another. But lying wastes both your time.
The tone of this contact should be adult, courteous and pleasant on both sides. The issue of consent, for both parties, is crucial in good, responsible SM, and simply asking a domina about her services does not, by definition, constitute you both negotiating and consenting to your being submissive to her. Either one of you attempting to act otherwise is presumptuous. I believe that exchanging information as equals is much wiser than attempting to function as Mistress and submissive from first instant of contact.
What's reasonable to expect from her in this contact…
• Expect to be treated with civility and honesty.
• Expect her to be clear about what her fee (donation, offering) is.
• Expect her to be able to tell you when she is available for sessions and how you need to go about making an appointment.
• Expect her to be able to describe her abilities, her equipment and her facilities, if any, including a very general geographic location such as " the downtown area".
• Expect her to able to answer a question about her willingness to do a specific type of scene. (Crossdressing, golden showers, CBT, et cetera.)
• Expect to feel that your stated limits (meaning: what you don't want to do) will be respected when it comes to negotiating a session.
It is my opinion that you should be careful about a domina from whom you don't get these things. If she is reluctant to furnish information it may be that she feels unsafe about you for some reason, but it may also be that she is being evasive because she is not what she advertises herself to be. And if you are treated disrespectfully during the initial contact, it is unlikely to get any better.
The Question of Sex….
Pro dommes are usually quick to let our potential clients that a session with us does not include actual sex. However, it would be false to say that sessions with a pro domme are not ever erotic, that sexual feelings are not allowed, and that sexual energy is never exchanged. Sexual energy and sexual feelings are a driving force behind many sessions. This, to me, is why professional domination falls into the category of sex work.
But how these feelings will be expressed is very much subject to both applicable laws and the personal choice of the domina. You can count on the fact that you are not going to have anything resembling traditional sex with the Mistress. I think the grey area lies, however, in certain activities that are frequently represented in SM videos, photos and books - such as various kinds of anal penetration of the male submissive, or body worship that goes beyond the feet and the legs. These things have their place in a private, non-professional dom/sub relationship, but a professional dominant may or may not be willing to engage in them.
She must first and foremost consider her legal risks if she does so - these things are not traditional sex, but in many areas of the country, if a police officer asks her to do these things and she agrees, she is subject to arrest. The actual act need not take place - her agreement is enough. What this means to you is that if you ask a pro domme to engage in these activities with you, she may refuse to see you.
Secondly, she must consider how she feels about such things personally. Even if she lives in an area with more flexible laws, a domme may not wish to commit to including such intimate acts in a session with someone she hasn't even met yet. So she may be vague, or she may just refuse to see you.
It's best to approach such things subtly. It's fine to mention, for example, that you've always thought it would be exciting to have a woman use a strap-on dildo on you. That’s simply sharing a fantasy with the Mistress. Now she has that information, and if she wants to make use of it, she can.
Final note: I am fond of many of my clients and enjoy my sessions with them. But it is a professional relationship, and attempting to take it past those limits is inappropriate. My favorite clients are people who give themselves utterly in the session, thank me warmly afterwards - and leave, without trying to make the relationship something it isn't. Take this for your model.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Friday, April 30, 2004
My Least Favorite Phone Call
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: (very irate-sounding female voice) Who is this?
Oh shit. I really, really hate it when this happens.
Me: Who's calling, please?
Caller: No, tell me who this is, right now!
Me: (in my very haughtiest tone) I think you must have the wrong number. Goodbye.
Click.
She'll call back, though. Ten seconds later -
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Look, I found this phone number on my boyfriend's cell phone and I want to know who this is!
Me: I have no idea who you are or what you're talking about –
Caller: (interrupts) His name is Joe Blow – do you know him? Is he seeing you?
I don't recognize the name, or the number she's calling from, thank god. I'm glad it's not one of my regular boys. It's probably some poor guy who's curious enough to call me, but who got nervous and hung up when I answered. I get a lot of that. But my number got saved in his outgoing-calls log, and she's checking up on him.
Me: (slowly) I don't know who you are, I don't know your boyfriend, and I want you to stop calling me.
Caller: Why is your number on his phone! I want to know who this is!
Jesus Christ, she's positively shrieking into the phone. I hold it away from my head to keep my eardrums from being shattered. According to Caller ID, this call is coming from an area code in another state. That's a good thing: if this woman was local she'd probably start stalking me or something, the way she's going on.
I know other sex workers also get these type of phone calls. Several of them have techniques they swear by for dealing with it. One of them claims to be an insurance agent, another one pretends to work for a car dealership. If this was a call about a client I knew, I'd be more apt to start spinning some kind of folksy, non-threatening yarn, based on trivia I'd picked up about the guy. "Oh, a girlfriend of mine works with Joe down at the real estate office, and she gave me his number. My husband and I are thinking about buying a timeshare in Mexico, and she said ya'll had one. We just wanted to ask – have ya'll had any problems drinking the water down there? Because those salesmen, they won't tell you about stuff like that, and we don't want to be – you know – having a problem, especially with the kids and all…I'd left Joe a message and he must have tried to call me back."
But with nothing to build on, trying to concoct a plausible story seems like a real long shot. Besides, I hate lying. The minute you lie to someone, you become emotionally involved with them, and I don't want to get involved with either one of these people.
She continues to harangue me without seeming to draw breath, bouncing back and for the between demands for my identity and telling me what a low-life piece of scum her beloved boyfriend is. After about sixty seconds she notices that I've stopped speaking.
Caller: Hello? Hello?
I say nothing.
Caller: I know you're there! Tell me who this is!
I still say nothing. It seems like the best solution. If I hang up, she'll just call back. I could let it go to voicemail, but that'll give her more information than I want her to have – like my name, for starters.
This woman sounds rather young - not as savvy as other suspicious lovers who've called me. I remember one woman who called and asked, "Do you do incall or outcall?"
Her flat, hard tone of voice tipped me off. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
She wasn't fooled. "I know what you are. If I find your phone number on my phone bill again, I'll call the police and report you."
Report me for what? I thought. Being attractive to your partner? Lady, if you think the police don't know about me, you're crazy. They know about everybody. We have ads in the paper, for god's sake.
It's not that I can't feel some sympathy for a woman who, underneath the bluster, is scared. I do. But I don't break up couples. None of my clients who have wives/girlfriends has ever left their partner for me, and none ever will, because I wouldn't allow any of them to become emotionally involved with me to the extent where that would seem like a reasonable idea. I am not the problem in someone else's relationship, and I'm not willing to take the blame for someone else's fears, be they based on reality or imagination. If you're angry with your lover, yell at him, not me.
Are they cheating? Is it infidelity even if one doesn't have sex? I don't know. I know these boys are keeping their time with me a secret. They tell me their partners don't share their interest in BDSM, but they feel it's better to stay in the relationship, and satisfy their desire for kink elsewhere. I'm polyamorous, so I understand that while their partners don't fulfill this particular need, that doesn't mean they don't love them and want to be with them. I wish they felt they could be honest, but I have to respect their choices regardless. Who am I to judge? I haven't been hitched to someone for twenty-plus years, with kids and a mortgage and 401K and a shitload of shared history, both good and bad. I have no idea what I'd do in their circumstances. I'll leave the slick superficial snap-judgments to Dr. Phil.
This caller, though, is sounding more like a candidate for Jerry Springer. I lay the phone down on my desk and listen as her voice, rendered tolerable by distance, clicks and hisses on. Gradually it stops. The display switches from "End" to "Menu", indicating she's hung up. I wait to see if she'll call back.
She doesn't. Thank god. I pick up the phone and save the number into my phone book as: IRATEGF.
But the phone beeps admonishingly at me.
"IRATEGF" ALREADY EXISTS. REPLACE?
Christ. Okay, let's try IRATEGF2.
SAVED.
If only it were just that easy.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: (very irate-sounding female voice) Who is this?
Oh shit. I really, really hate it when this happens.
Me: Who's calling, please?
Caller: No, tell me who this is, right now!
Me: (in my very haughtiest tone) I think you must have the wrong number. Goodbye.
Click.
She'll call back, though. Ten seconds later -
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Look, I found this phone number on my boyfriend's cell phone and I want to know who this is!
Me: I have no idea who you are or what you're talking about –
Caller: (interrupts) His name is Joe Blow – do you know him? Is he seeing you?
I don't recognize the name, or the number she's calling from, thank god. I'm glad it's not one of my regular boys. It's probably some poor guy who's curious enough to call me, but who got nervous and hung up when I answered. I get a lot of that. But my number got saved in his outgoing-calls log, and she's checking up on him.
Me: (slowly) I don't know who you are, I don't know your boyfriend, and I want you to stop calling me.
Caller: Why is your number on his phone! I want to know who this is!
Jesus Christ, she's positively shrieking into the phone. I hold it away from my head to keep my eardrums from being shattered. According to Caller ID, this call is coming from an area code in another state. That's a good thing: if this woman was local she'd probably start stalking me or something, the way she's going on.
I know other sex workers also get these type of phone calls. Several of them have techniques they swear by for dealing with it. One of them claims to be an insurance agent, another one pretends to work for a car dealership. If this was a call about a client I knew, I'd be more apt to start spinning some kind of folksy, non-threatening yarn, based on trivia I'd picked up about the guy. "Oh, a girlfriend of mine works with Joe down at the real estate office, and she gave me his number. My husband and I are thinking about buying a timeshare in Mexico, and she said ya'll had one. We just wanted to ask – have ya'll had any problems drinking the water down there? Because those salesmen, they won't tell you about stuff like that, and we don't want to be – you know – having a problem, especially with the kids and all…I'd left Joe a message and he must have tried to call me back."
But with nothing to build on, trying to concoct a plausible story seems like a real long shot. Besides, I hate lying. The minute you lie to someone, you become emotionally involved with them, and I don't want to get involved with either one of these people.
She continues to harangue me without seeming to draw breath, bouncing back and for the between demands for my identity and telling me what a low-life piece of scum her beloved boyfriend is. After about sixty seconds she notices that I've stopped speaking.
Caller: Hello? Hello?
I say nothing.
Caller: I know you're there! Tell me who this is!
I still say nothing. It seems like the best solution. If I hang up, she'll just call back. I could let it go to voicemail, but that'll give her more information than I want her to have – like my name, for starters.
This woman sounds rather young - not as savvy as other suspicious lovers who've called me. I remember one woman who called and asked, "Do you do incall or outcall?"
Her flat, hard tone of voice tipped me off. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
She wasn't fooled. "I know what you are. If I find your phone number on my phone bill again, I'll call the police and report you."
Report me for what? I thought. Being attractive to your partner? Lady, if you think the police don't know about me, you're crazy. They know about everybody. We have ads in the paper, for god's sake.
It's not that I can't feel some sympathy for a woman who, underneath the bluster, is scared. I do. But I don't break up couples. None of my clients who have wives/girlfriends has ever left their partner for me, and none ever will, because I wouldn't allow any of them to become emotionally involved with me to the extent where that would seem like a reasonable idea. I am not the problem in someone else's relationship, and I'm not willing to take the blame for someone else's fears, be they based on reality or imagination. If you're angry with your lover, yell at him, not me.
Are they cheating? Is it infidelity even if one doesn't have sex? I don't know. I know these boys are keeping their time with me a secret. They tell me their partners don't share their interest in BDSM, but they feel it's better to stay in the relationship, and satisfy their desire for kink elsewhere. I'm polyamorous, so I understand that while their partners don't fulfill this particular need, that doesn't mean they don't love them and want to be with them. I wish they felt they could be honest, but I have to respect their choices regardless. Who am I to judge? I haven't been hitched to someone for twenty-plus years, with kids and a mortgage and 401K and a shitload of shared history, both good and bad. I have no idea what I'd do in their circumstances. I'll leave the slick superficial snap-judgments to Dr. Phil.
This caller, though, is sounding more like a candidate for Jerry Springer. I lay the phone down on my desk and listen as her voice, rendered tolerable by distance, clicks and hisses on. Gradually it stops. The display switches from "End" to "Menu", indicating she's hung up. I wait to see if she'll call back.
She doesn't. Thank god. I pick up the phone and save the number into my phone book as: IRATEGF.
But the phone beeps admonishingly at me.
"IRATEGF" ALREADY EXISTS. REPLACE?
Christ. Okay, let's try IRATEGF2.
SAVED.
If only it were just that easy.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
A Near Goddess Experience
You know you're a seasoned professional when conversations like this don't throw you.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Namaste, Beautiful Goddess.
I am deeply suspicious. I've taken yoga classes, so I know what "nah-mah-stay" means. But you see, gentlemen, when a potential new client calls me and we talk, what I'm doing is assessing him to see if he's going to fit smoothly into my system. So when I pick up the phone, and I expect the person on the other end to say hello, and instead they give me a Hindu greeting...Well, it makes me wonder in what other ways this person might not be what I expect – or want. The lesson is: do not strive to be unusual in your initial approach to professional ladies like myself. At this stage of the game, your manner should indicate to us that you will be a reassuringly familiar experience. Wait until later to start being unique.
Me: Namaste. Can I help you?
Caller: I have been reading your column and mediating about you for some time, Oh Goddess, and I wish to come to you so that our souls can be one.
Hmmnn, I don't recall "soul uniting" being on my published list of kinky specialties. I don't think this one's going to be a keeper. However, we'll keep an open mind about this for a little while longer. One would hate to throw out the pervert with the bathwater over what might be a purely semantic issue.
Me: Well, I'm not entirely sure what you mean by that. My name is Mistress Matisse. I'm a dominatrix. Is that what you're looking for?
Caller: You are the earthly embodiment of The Supreme Goddess. I wish to serve you.
Me: O-kay…So, if I saw you, exactly how is it that you would serve me?
Caller: I would anoint your feet and kiss them clean, Oh Goddess.
Me: That sounds nice. What else?
Caller: I wish to enter into a sacred space with you, Oh Goddess, and be purified by your whip. And then, when I have proved myself worthy, I beseech you to allow our souls to join together in ecstasy.
I consider what he's said. This "Goddess" thing he's into is not my usual style, but I might be able to work with it. There's that bit about souls joining together in ecstasy, though – that's worth clarifying.
Me: You do realize I am not a full-service escort, don't you?
Caller: Yes, Oh Goddess, you who are the source of all power, I know that I am but an unworthy slave who must never raise his eyes above your divine feet.
Well, he's going to have to raise his eyes above my feet at some point, or he may fall down my stairs.
Me: What's your name?
Caller: Clifford, Oh Goddess.
I have to hold the phone away for a moment because I'm giggling. Clifford? I mean, it's a perfectly nice name, I just would have expected something like – Ayodhya. Or Jafar. Something a bit more in keeping with this half-Eastern-spirituality, half-Goddess-worship kink he's got going on. But no matter.
Me: So, Clifford, you do know that my fee is $250 dollars for a one-hour session?
There's a pause. Oh, see, here it comes, I thought.
Caller: My Goddess, I wish to offer you tribute, but I am very poor.
Figures the religious type would be broke, doesn't it? This guy's problem is that he doesn't have his own television show. He's not the first one to call me and plead poverty in the hopes of a discount. However, these kinds of charitable donations are not tax-deductible.
Me: (in a pleasant but unencouraging tone) Oh, that's too bad.
Caller: Oh my Goddess? Your slave would ask you a question.
Me: Go ahead.
Caller: Does the Goddess permit her slaves to make their tribute by credit card?
I toy with telling him he could offer me cattle and casks of wine, just to see what he'd say, but he shows every sign of being dead serious about this Goddess thing, so I skip it. The last thing I need is some guy showing up on my doorstep with a heifer and a couple of cases of chardonnay.
Me: No, the Goddess requires cash.
Caller: Oh Gracious Goddess, would you be willing so allow your slave to visit you for a lessor tribute?
Part of me is strongly tempted to blast him with some Goddess-y indignation. "Offer ME lessor tribute, will you, puny mortal! For that, you shall be chained to a rock so that crows can pluck out your liver! Mwah ha ha ha haaa!"
Jesus, this schtick of his is infectious. Stay focused, Matisse.
Me: No, Clifford, I can't do that, I'm afraid.
Caller: (makes sound of distress) Oh Beautiful Goddess, I am forced to delay my visit to pay you homage.
Me: That's a shame. Well, Clifford, call me back when you're ready
Caller: Oh Goddess, may I meditate about you in the meantime?
Meditate, huh? I've never heard it called that before.
You know you're a seasoned professional when conversations like this don't throw you.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Namaste, Beautiful Goddess.
I am deeply suspicious. I've taken yoga classes, so I know what "nah-mah-stay" means. But you see, gentlemen, when a potential new client calls me and we talk, what I'm doing is assessing him to see if he's going to fit smoothly into my system. So when I pick up the phone, and I expect the person on the other end to say hello, and instead they give me a Hindu greeting...Well, it makes me wonder in what other ways this person might not be what I expect – or want. The lesson is: do not strive to be unusual in your initial approach to professional ladies like myself. At this stage of the game, your manner should indicate to us that you will be a reassuringly familiar experience. Wait until later to start being unique.
Me: Namaste. Can I help you?
Caller: I have been reading your column and mediating about you for some time, Oh Goddess, and I wish to come to you so that our souls can be one.
Hmmnn, I don't recall "soul uniting" being on my published list of kinky specialties. I don't think this one's going to be a keeper. However, we'll keep an open mind about this for a little while longer. One would hate to throw out the pervert with the bathwater over what might be a purely semantic issue.
Me: Well, I'm not entirely sure what you mean by that. My name is Mistress Matisse. I'm a dominatrix. Is that what you're looking for?
Caller: You are the earthly embodiment of The Supreme Goddess. I wish to serve you.
Me: O-kay…So, if I saw you, exactly how is it that you would serve me?
Caller: I would anoint your feet and kiss them clean, Oh Goddess.
Me: That sounds nice. What else?
Caller: I wish to enter into a sacred space with you, Oh Goddess, and be purified by your whip. And then, when I have proved myself worthy, I beseech you to allow our souls to join together in ecstasy.
I consider what he's said. This "Goddess" thing he's into is not my usual style, but I might be able to work with it. There's that bit about souls joining together in ecstasy, though – that's worth clarifying.
Me: You do realize I am not a full-service escort, don't you?
Caller: Yes, Oh Goddess, you who are the source of all power, I know that I am but an unworthy slave who must never raise his eyes above your divine feet.
Well, he's going to have to raise his eyes above my feet at some point, or he may fall down my stairs.
Me: What's your name?
Caller: Clifford, Oh Goddess.
I have to hold the phone away for a moment because I'm giggling. Clifford? I mean, it's a perfectly nice name, I just would have expected something like – Ayodhya. Or Jafar. Something a bit more in keeping with this half-Eastern-spirituality, half-Goddess-worship kink he's got going on. But no matter.
Me: So, Clifford, you do know that my fee is $250 dollars for a one-hour session?
There's a pause. Oh, see, here it comes, I thought.
Caller: My Goddess, I wish to offer you tribute, but I am very poor.
Figures the religious type would be broke, doesn't it? This guy's problem is that he doesn't have his own television show. He's not the first one to call me and plead poverty in the hopes of a discount. However, these kinds of charitable donations are not tax-deductible.
Me: (in a pleasant but unencouraging tone) Oh, that's too bad.
Caller: Oh my Goddess? Your slave would ask you a question.
Me: Go ahead.
Caller: Does the Goddess permit her slaves to make their tribute by credit card?
I toy with telling him he could offer me cattle and casks of wine, just to see what he'd say, but he shows every sign of being dead serious about this Goddess thing, so I skip it. The last thing I need is some guy showing up on my doorstep with a heifer and a couple of cases of chardonnay.
Me: No, the Goddess requires cash.
Caller: Oh Gracious Goddess, would you be willing so allow your slave to visit you for a lessor tribute?
Part of me is strongly tempted to blast him with some Goddess-y indignation. "Offer ME lessor tribute, will you, puny mortal! For that, you shall be chained to a rock so that crows can pluck out your liver! Mwah ha ha ha haaa!"
Jesus, this schtick of his is infectious. Stay focused, Matisse.
Me: No, Clifford, I can't do that, I'm afraid.
Caller: (makes sound of distress) Oh Beautiful Goddess, I am forced to delay my visit to pay you homage.
Me: That's a shame. Well, Clifford, call me back when you're ready
Caller: Oh Goddess, may I meditate about you in the meantime?
Meditate, huh? I've never heard it called that before.
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Not that it'll have any impact on US obscenity trials, but still, it's nice to see that someone's being reasonable about such things.
Canadian BDSM videomaker Steve Sweet is off the obscenity hook…
Hmmmnn, maybe I should be marketing my video more heavily in Canada.
Canadian BDSM videomaker Steve Sweet is off the obscenity hook…
Hmmmnn, maybe I should be marketing my video more heavily in Canada.
Monday, April 26, 2004
(Note: In this essay, I am absolutely not talking about any of my very dear personal friends and acquaintances.)
News Flash: I'm Not A Guy
Now, don't get me wrong. I like women. (Why, I'm one myself.) But there's a certain breed of woman who really gets on my nerves, and it's because she treats me like a guy. By that I mean, she flirts with me like she would a guy, and she expects me to respond to her like a man would.
I remember one encounter I had with such a woman. She was a stranger to me, but it was obvious she was a sex bomb among the Y-chromosome crowd. We were having a casual chat at a party when she confided in me about her newfound interest in BDSM – specifically, BDSM with women. Hmmnn, I wonder why you're telling me this? Whoops, strike that. I know why you're telling me this.
It would have been difficult not to know. She was doing the whole routine: staring into my face and batting her eyes, trailing her finger around the (low) neckline of her blouse, running her hands up and down the sides of her body, and of course, the hair toss. When she talked, she spoke in husky tones and larded her remarks with double-entendres, and when I talked, she hung on my words and laughed immoderately at the faintest suggestion of wit in my remarks. She was damn good at it, I have to give her that. It was a picture-perfect example of a heterosexual mating call.
Only one problem: I'm not a heterosexual. More specifically, I'm not a heterosexual man. But clearly Ms. Sex Bomb expected me to respond like one, i.e., to jump at the chance to have intimate access to admittedly pretty body. I'm sure she was frustrated and confused when I excused myself and went to talk to someone else, but it seemed unkind to let her go with her come-hither poses and gestures when they left me cold.
(When I think about it, it doesn't seem very flattering for a man to be treated like a Pavlovian dog who'll drool at the first tinkle of a pretty woman's bell. It's certainly not a universal male response. But a lot of them do seem to fall right into it, as anyone who's ever been in a strip club can testify to. The power of testosterone, I suppose.)
I admit to a brief flash of temptation with Ms. Sex Bomb – but I doubt it would have been the kind of scene she was thinking about.
You see, I did a scene when I was quite young, and rather raw, that made a lasting impression on me. It was between me and two extremely hot lesbian women – one butch, and one femme. It was our first scene together - they would go on to become my Master and Mistress. (Oh yes, I've been there.)
I was quite attracted to them and I had been doing my damnedest to flatter and beguile them since we'd met. They were both very appealing – but the femme was an absolute knockout, with big green eyes, thick red hair and a finely boned face. On the night of our date, I remember looking at her and thinking, This is the first time I've ever been with a woman who, may, actually, be more beautiful than I am.
And she must have read my mind, because she leaned forward to where I was on my knees in front of her, grabbed a handful of my hair at the nape of the neck and held my face close to hers. "Now listen to me," she said. "Let's get one thing straight. I know that you're used to getting your way with butches and with boys just because you're a hot babe. But those games don't work with me, so don't go shaking your ass or pouting your lips or batting your big brown eyes at me. I know all the tricks – I do them myself. I know exactly what they mean, and they don't mean shit. So don't go there."
And I thought, "Holy shit, she's on to me. Oh, fuck, am I in trouble." Looking back, I'm sure I was exactly as unsubtle in my flirtations with them as Ms. Sex Bomb was with me. It wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist to see that I was very accustomed to manipulating people with my looks and charm. I learned a lesson that night: don't kid a kidder. And don't vamp a vamp.
I've given her speech a few times myself since then, to pretty, flirty women I was holding by the scruff of the neck. They all gave me back a wide-eyed stare of alarm – which is exactly what I wanted. And for the women I've chosen to be with, that warning was enough. They dropped the schtick.
But when I considered doing a scene with Ms. Sex Bomb, I thought: Even calling her on the act wouldn't be enough – she's a hard case. I'd have to go further. I could wash off her makeup, scrap back her hair, and make her wear a baggy, ugly smock – that might snap her out of that "sexy-babe" attitude. And who knows, maybe once I stripped away all those calculated poses and sexy lines, I might actually get to someone more real, someone who could truly interest me.
Or maybe not. I walked away.
News Flash: I'm Not A Guy
Now, don't get me wrong. I like women. (Why, I'm one myself.) But there's a certain breed of woman who really gets on my nerves, and it's because she treats me like a guy. By that I mean, she flirts with me like she would a guy, and she expects me to respond to her like a man would.
I remember one encounter I had with such a woman. She was a stranger to me, but it was obvious she was a sex bomb among the Y-chromosome crowd. We were having a casual chat at a party when she confided in me about her newfound interest in BDSM – specifically, BDSM with women. Hmmnn, I wonder why you're telling me this? Whoops, strike that. I know why you're telling me this.
It would have been difficult not to know. She was doing the whole routine: staring into my face and batting her eyes, trailing her finger around the (low) neckline of her blouse, running her hands up and down the sides of her body, and of course, the hair toss. When she talked, she spoke in husky tones and larded her remarks with double-entendres, and when I talked, she hung on my words and laughed immoderately at the faintest suggestion of wit in my remarks. She was damn good at it, I have to give her that. It was a picture-perfect example of a heterosexual mating call.
Only one problem: I'm not a heterosexual. More specifically, I'm not a heterosexual man. But clearly Ms. Sex Bomb expected me to respond like one, i.e., to jump at the chance to have intimate access to admittedly pretty body. I'm sure she was frustrated and confused when I excused myself and went to talk to someone else, but it seemed unkind to let her go with her come-hither poses and gestures when they left me cold.
(When I think about it, it doesn't seem very flattering for a man to be treated like a Pavlovian dog who'll drool at the first tinkle of a pretty woman's bell. It's certainly not a universal male response. But a lot of them do seem to fall right into it, as anyone who's ever been in a strip club can testify to. The power of testosterone, I suppose.)
I admit to a brief flash of temptation with Ms. Sex Bomb – but I doubt it would have been the kind of scene she was thinking about.
You see, I did a scene when I was quite young, and rather raw, that made a lasting impression on me. It was between me and two extremely hot lesbian women – one butch, and one femme. It was our first scene together - they would go on to become my Master and Mistress. (Oh yes, I've been there.)
I was quite attracted to them and I had been doing my damnedest to flatter and beguile them since we'd met. They were both very appealing – but the femme was an absolute knockout, with big green eyes, thick red hair and a finely boned face. On the night of our date, I remember looking at her and thinking, This is the first time I've ever been with a woman who, may, actually, be more beautiful than I am.
And she must have read my mind, because she leaned forward to where I was on my knees in front of her, grabbed a handful of my hair at the nape of the neck and held my face close to hers. "Now listen to me," she said. "Let's get one thing straight. I know that you're used to getting your way with butches and with boys just because you're a hot babe. But those games don't work with me, so don't go shaking your ass or pouting your lips or batting your big brown eyes at me. I know all the tricks – I do them myself. I know exactly what they mean, and they don't mean shit. So don't go there."
And I thought, "Holy shit, she's on to me. Oh, fuck, am I in trouble." Looking back, I'm sure I was exactly as unsubtle in my flirtations with them as Ms. Sex Bomb was with me. It wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist to see that I was very accustomed to manipulating people with my looks and charm. I learned a lesson that night: don't kid a kidder. And don't vamp a vamp.
I've given her speech a few times myself since then, to pretty, flirty women I was holding by the scruff of the neck. They all gave me back a wide-eyed stare of alarm – which is exactly what I wanted. And for the women I've chosen to be with, that warning was enough. They dropped the schtick.
But when I considered doing a scene with Ms. Sex Bomb, I thought: Even calling her on the act wouldn't be enough – she's a hard case. I'd have to go further. I could wash off her makeup, scrap back her hair, and make her wear a baggy, ugly smock – that might snap her out of that "sexy-babe" attitude. And who knows, maybe once I stripped away all those calculated poses and sexy lines, I might actually get to someone more real, someone who could truly interest me.
Or maybe not. I walked away.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
I keep looking at various pictures of this charming contraption and thinking, "I've got to get one of those made." I tried one out once at a leather conference a couple of years ago, and it's quite the experience. The even, constant pressure all over your body - it's like being underwater. And you really can't move, either. It's trippy.
So one of my projects over the next few months is to talk to a local latex clothes designer and see if she can get me the rubber required. Then it's just a matter of getting her and my carpenter together to fit it to a frame. A specialty toy, to be sure, but I have to surprise my boys on a regular basis or they'll get complacent.
So one of my projects over the next few months is to talk to a local latex clothes designer and see if she can get me the rubber required. Then it's just a matter of getting her and my carpenter together to fit it to a frame. A specialty toy, to be sure, but I have to surprise my boys on a regular basis or they'll get complacent.
Friday, April 23, 2004
I got an email from some unknown guy today, with a URL in it. The sender wrote, (sic)
will U please treet me lik this?
Now, I hate one-line emails anyway. If you're going to email me – and you want an answer - do it in a proper letter form and for god's sake, sign a name to it. It doesn't have to be your real name, but give me something to address you by.
So there's no way I'm going to bother with someone who has managed to cram that many mistakes into just seven simple words. But I was mildly curious about the link, so I went and looked at the page.
It's an ad for a Mistress who does phone dominance. And to say that her style is rather…different from mine - well, it's like saying that rapper Lil' Kim has a rather different musical style than, say, Norah Jones.
This is a clip from the page…
"Prepare to be brainwashed and conditioned to the point that your every move and every decision requires MY APPROVAL. Once I get in your head, there is no escape from the evil that is Mistress (name removed). Without Me, you are nothing! At least giving Me every dollar you have will give your life SOME meaning. you're a worthless LOSER, a sick perverted PIG and I plan to exploit your weaknesses to get what I WANT. If you have to work as a fry boy at a burger joint for a second job then you WILL if that's what I command. I CARE ABOUT GETTING ALL YOUR MONEY, I DO NOT CARE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU OR YOUR FAMILY!"
This certainly isn't the first time I've seen this kind of ad copy for dominatrixes. There must be a market for this attitude, or else they wouldn't be doing it. (The sender of this particular email does not seem to me like a client with the potential to be terribly lucrative, but hey, maybe I'm being a snob.)
And doing phone stuff is obviously different than in-person sessions. I can see where you'd have to amp up the attitude a bit.
But….Eeuuw. When I read that, I feel like I image vanilla people feel when they look at any BDSM text or imagery. It just seems so profoundly negative to me. I could not do a scene where I was really throwing that kind of energy at someone. I'm not that good an actress, and if there was ever someone I really felt that way about, I would not see him as a client. To me, if I truly had the attitude towards my clients that's portrayed in the ad copy above, I wouldn't feel any better about myself than I did about them. How could I?
I've done scenes - at the client's request - where I pretended to be angry, although I suspect I wouldn't always win an Oscar for my performance. What works best for me is if my client and I structure the role-play around something I can tap into some genuine personal anger about. One of my favorites: The strict Human Resources Director dealing with a male employee who's been sexually harassing his female co-workers. Even though I know it's a game, the concept of sexual harassment pisses me off, and I can focus that generalized outrage onto this nasty boy in front of me who's been groping his unwilling cubicle-mate.
By that logic, if you really wanted me to get pissed, I suppose wearing a John Ashcroft mask during the scene would be the way to go.
So, the "righteous indignation" style of anger? Mmm, yeah, I can get there, if someone asks. But sheer vitriolic acid? Nope.
Verbal humiliation play certainly has its place in BDSM…How many times have I called some bent-over boy a "dirty little slut" and watched him wriggle in mingled embarrassment and excitement? But just as there are physical lines you don't cross in BDSM, I think there are mental and emotional lines that shouldn't be crossed, too.
will U please treet me lik this?
Now, I hate one-line emails anyway. If you're going to email me – and you want an answer - do it in a proper letter form and for god's sake, sign a name to it. It doesn't have to be your real name, but give me something to address you by.
So there's no way I'm going to bother with someone who has managed to cram that many mistakes into just seven simple words. But I was mildly curious about the link, so I went and looked at the page.
It's an ad for a Mistress who does phone dominance. And to say that her style is rather…different from mine - well, it's like saying that rapper Lil' Kim has a rather different musical style than, say, Norah Jones.
This is a clip from the page…
"Prepare to be brainwashed and conditioned to the point that your every move and every decision requires MY APPROVAL. Once I get in your head, there is no escape from the evil that is Mistress (name removed). Without Me, you are nothing! At least giving Me every dollar you have will give your life SOME meaning. you're a worthless LOSER, a sick perverted PIG and I plan to exploit your weaknesses to get what I WANT. If you have to work as a fry boy at a burger joint for a second job then you WILL if that's what I command. I CARE ABOUT GETTING ALL YOUR MONEY, I DO NOT CARE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU OR YOUR FAMILY!"
This certainly isn't the first time I've seen this kind of ad copy for dominatrixes. There must be a market for this attitude, or else they wouldn't be doing it. (The sender of this particular email does not seem to me like a client with the potential to be terribly lucrative, but hey, maybe I'm being a snob.)
And doing phone stuff is obviously different than in-person sessions. I can see where you'd have to amp up the attitude a bit.
But….Eeuuw. When I read that, I feel like I image vanilla people feel when they look at any BDSM text or imagery. It just seems so profoundly negative to me. I could not do a scene where I was really throwing that kind of energy at someone. I'm not that good an actress, and if there was ever someone I really felt that way about, I would not see him as a client. To me, if I truly had the attitude towards my clients that's portrayed in the ad copy above, I wouldn't feel any better about myself than I did about them. How could I?
I've done scenes - at the client's request - where I pretended to be angry, although I suspect I wouldn't always win an Oscar for my performance. What works best for me is if my client and I structure the role-play around something I can tap into some genuine personal anger about. One of my favorites: The strict Human Resources Director dealing with a male employee who's been sexually harassing his female co-workers. Even though I know it's a game, the concept of sexual harassment pisses me off, and I can focus that generalized outrage onto this nasty boy in front of me who's been groping his unwilling cubicle-mate.
By that logic, if you really wanted me to get pissed, I suppose wearing a John Ashcroft mask during the scene would be the way to go.
So, the "righteous indignation" style of anger? Mmm, yeah, I can get there, if someone asks. But sheer vitriolic acid? Nope.
Verbal humiliation play certainly has its place in BDSM…How many times have I called some bent-over boy a "dirty little slut" and watched him wriggle in mingled embarrassment and excitement? But just as there are physical lines you don't cross in BDSM, I think there are mental and emotional lines that shouldn't be crossed, too.
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Nostalgia Tripping on ITunes…
I am such a nerd when it comes to music – I just don't keep up very well with the hot new stuff. Like Blanche Dubois, I must rely upon the kindness of stranger (and friends, too) for good recommendations.
Unless, of course, you roll back the years to the '80's...Because as mildly embarrassing as it is, I know '80's music. (Not that my taste in 80's music is so exalted, either. But at least I know the bands.)
See, I have this theory that the music that's popular when a person is an adolescent is permanently engraved into their consciousness. It will be the standard by which they judge all future music, and the sound of it will always have the power to evoke memories of the past – you know: Young Love! Carefree Days! What the fuck was I thinking with that haircut? Why did I go to Prom with that loser? The kinds of things that are probably much better to look back at than they were to actually experience. But isn't that what nostalgia is all about?
So I'm listening to memories today...
Twilight Zone, By Golden Earring
Games Without Frontiers, by Peter Gabriel
Eye In The Sky, by the Alan Parsons Project
Modern Love, by David Bowie
Poison Arrow, by ABC
Rock The Casbah, by The Clash
Relax, by Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Fantasy, by Aldo Nova
Addicted To Love, by Robert Palmer
1999, by Prince
Smooth Operator, by Sade
And She Was, by the Talking Heads
Cars, by Gary Numan
Suddenly Last Summer, by The Motels
I am such a nerd when it comes to music – I just don't keep up very well with the hot new stuff. Like Blanche Dubois, I must rely upon the kindness of stranger (and friends, too) for good recommendations.
Unless, of course, you roll back the years to the '80's...Because as mildly embarrassing as it is, I know '80's music. (Not that my taste in 80's music is so exalted, either. But at least I know the bands.)
See, I have this theory that the music that's popular when a person is an adolescent is permanently engraved into their consciousness. It will be the standard by which they judge all future music, and the sound of it will always have the power to evoke memories of the past – you know: Young Love! Carefree Days! What the fuck was I thinking with that haircut? Why did I go to Prom with that loser? The kinds of things that are probably much better to look back at than they were to actually experience. But isn't that what nostalgia is all about?
So I'm listening to memories today...
Twilight Zone, By Golden Earring
Games Without Frontiers, by Peter Gabriel
Eye In The Sky, by the Alan Parsons Project
Modern Love, by David Bowie
Poison Arrow, by ABC
Rock The Casbah, by The Clash
Relax, by Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Fantasy, by Aldo Nova
Addicted To Love, by Robert Palmer
1999, by Prince
Smooth Operator, by Sade
And She Was, by the Talking Heads
Cars, by Gary Numan
Suddenly Last Summer, by The Motels
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Tiresome Phone Calls - Variety # 129-B
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, do you do phone sessions?
Me: No, sorry, I don't.
Now, what he should have said was, "Okay, goodbye." But you already know it's not gonna be that easy, don't you?
Caller: Why not?
Me: (A pause, to indicate that I find this question somewhat less than polite.) Because I don't want to.
Caller: I'll pay you.
Me: No, I don't do phone sessions.
Caller: But I can't get to Seattle, so I really, really want to do a phone session with you.
Now, I have a very complex and highly scientific theory about people who, when confronted with a limit, respond by saying, "But, I really, really want you to." My theory is: they're buttheads.
Me: (very slowly) No, I don't do phone sessions. Goodbye.
I hang up.
Ten minutes pass.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, I just called you a few minutes ago?
I am deeply suspicious.
Me: Yeeeees?
Caller: So, you only do in-person sessions?
Me: Yes, that's right.
Caller: So, if I came to Seattle we could do a session together?
I already think this guy is a twit, and I can't believe I'd be willing to book a session with him. But I generously give him another thirty seconds, to see if he'll be the one to disprove my theory.
Me: Well, we'd have to discuss that a bit. I'd have to make sure you and I were…compatible in our interests, as far as a session goes. What kinds of play are you looking for?
Caller: Yeah, yeah, right – we'd have talk about it. So, like, how about if we do it like this – how about if you sort of talk me through all the stuff you'd do to me in a session, and I'll sort of respond like I would if we were doing the session. Just so we can, y'know, see if we're compatible.
Me: Let me get this straight: you want me to describe, step-by-step, exactly what I'd do to you in a session, and you'll respond as if it were really happening?
Caller: Yeah, yeah.
Oh, this is nice - we've gone from his offering to pay me to his feeble attempt at tricking me into doing it for free. Charming. My theory is confirmed, once again.
Me: (gritting my teeth) No, that is a phone session, and I told you I didn't do phone sessions. Goodbye and don't call me again.
I hang up.
Five minutes pass.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, so I know you told me not to call you again, but I was wondering if you knew any other Mistresses who do phone sessions?
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, do you do phone sessions?
Me: No, sorry, I don't.
Now, what he should have said was, "Okay, goodbye." But you already know it's not gonna be that easy, don't you?
Caller: Why not?
Me: (A pause, to indicate that I find this question somewhat less than polite.) Because I don't want to.
Caller: I'll pay you.
Me: No, I don't do phone sessions.
Caller: But I can't get to Seattle, so I really, really want to do a phone session with you.
Now, I have a very complex and highly scientific theory about people who, when confronted with a limit, respond by saying, "But, I really, really want you to." My theory is: they're buttheads.
Me: (very slowly) No, I don't do phone sessions. Goodbye.
I hang up.
Ten minutes pass.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, I just called you a few minutes ago?
I am deeply suspicious.
Me: Yeeeees?
Caller: So, you only do in-person sessions?
Me: Yes, that's right.
Caller: So, if I came to Seattle we could do a session together?
I already think this guy is a twit, and I can't believe I'd be willing to book a session with him. But I generously give him another thirty seconds, to see if he'll be the one to disprove my theory.
Me: Well, we'd have to discuss that a bit. I'd have to make sure you and I were…compatible in our interests, as far as a session goes. What kinds of play are you looking for?
Caller: Yeah, yeah, right – we'd have talk about it. So, like, how about if we do it like this – how about if you sort of talk me through all the stuff you'd do to me in a session, and I'll sort of respond like I would if we were doing the session. Just so we can, y'know, see if we're compatible.
Me: Let me get this straight: you want me to describe, step-by-step, exactly what I'd do to you in a session, and you'll respond as if it were really happening?
Caller: Yeah, yeah.
Oh, this is nice - we've gone from his offering to pay me to his feeble attempt at tricking me into doing it for free. Charming. My theory is confirmed, once again.
Me: (gritting my teeth) No, that is a phone session, and I told you I didn't do phone sessions. Goodbye and don't call me again.
I hang up.
Five minutes pass.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Um, so I know you told me not to call you again, but I was wondering if you knew any other Mistresses who do phone sessions?
Monday, April 19, 2004
The Perils of Popularity
I was at a suspension-bondage class yesterday, but I was feeling lazy, though. So I went and sat at the back of the room and ate Tootsie Rolls out of the candy jar. And Monk of Twisted Monk came and sat down with me and we had a nice chat for a while.
I've only seen him play once or twice, but he seems pretty good with his ropes. And he's also becoming more known in the community because makes his living by selling hemp rope for use in bondage.
It's funny, there are definite trends in BDSM play, at least among the community of kinky people that attend BDSM events. Seven years ago, I had never seen anyone doing Japanese-inspired rope bondage. Five years ago, I had seen it a few times, mostly being done by Max. (This was before we became involved.) Three years ago, I personally knew half a dozen "rope guys" – about three of whom lived in Seattle - and knew of another half dozen or so nationwide. Now, it's the hip way to play. Nothing against those who flog, pierce, whip, spank, whatever – but rope bondage is in vogue at the moment, and lots of people are doing it or want to do it. Rope bondage is in.
One could speculate on why this is so. It may just be that every fetish has its day, but I think there are other reasons as well. For example, rope bondage is a form of BDSM play that has a lot of flexibility. It can be mild, moderate or severe. Done well, it's esthetically pleasing. And suspension bondage – the flashiest, the most dangerous, and thus the sexiest form of rope bondage, can make both top and bottom feel a bit like glamorous circus performers.
This all being the case, I gave Monk a little unsolicited advice. "Since you are becoming known in the community as a rope top who does suspension," I said, "you will need to practice a certain skill, and that is - the art of the polite refusal."
Monk is, after all, the same guy who once said to me, "It's all about the rope. Chicks dig the rope." I believe him.
I continued. "I think women get more of a chance than men to practice tactfully declining…shall we say, intimate invitations? And I've seen tops get caught off guard, just because he's not so used to women he's just met making a real serious play for his attention. But it'll happen. You're going to get all kinds of women – and men, too – asking you to hang them up. And some of them – well, they just aren't going to be your type. So you should brush up on how to say 'no thank you' gracefully."
I was relating this story later to friends over dinner. One of them, who also a rope top, acknowledged the point, saying, "Yeah, and I'm not always so tactful about it." Now, I've never seen this guy be rude, but I pointed out the difference in the two situations. "You're not selling a product," I said. "Monk is. And the very people who are likely to want to buy his rope are also the people who are likely to want him to tie them up in it. He's a pleasant, friendly guy and that's going to help him in his business. But it also means that people are going to see him as accessible and so he's going to have to walk that line or risk offending some of his customers."
Can you tell that I relate to Monk's situation? While I'm not selling a tangible product like he is, I do want people to read my columns, and come to my workshops, and for those who are so inclined, I want them to be clients of mine. But I have to politely say 'no, thank you' to a lot of people who want more from me than that. Refusing someone's offer of something that's as personal and intimate as BDSM play takes delicacy, if one is not going offend. And offending people without considering the repercussions is a luxury you give up when you make your personal pleasure into your livelihood.
I was at a suspension-bondage class yesterday, but I was feeling lazy, though. So I went and sat at the back of the room and ate Tootsie Rolls out of the candy jar. And Monk of Twisted Monk came and sat down with me and we had a nice chat for a while.
I've only seen him play once or twice, but he seems pretty good with his ropes. And he's also becoming more known in the community because makes his living by selling hemp rope for use in bondage.
It's funny, there are definite trends in BDSM play, at least among the community of kinky people that attend BDSM events. Seven years ago, I had never seen anyone doing Japanese-inspired rope bondage. Five years ago, I had seen it a few times, mostly being done by Max. (This was before we became involved.) Three years ago, I personally knew half a dozen "rope guys" – about three of whom lived in Seattle - and knew of another half dozen or so nationwide. Now, it's the hip way to play. Nothing against those who flog, pierce, whip, spank, whatever – but rope bondage is in vogue at the moment, and lots of people are doing it or want to do it. Rope bondage is in.
One could speculate on why this is so. It may just be that every fetish has its day, but I think there are other reasons as well. For example, rope bondage is a form of BDSM play that has a lot of flexibility. It can be mild, moderate or severe. Done well, it's esthetically pleasing. And suspension bondage – the flashiest, the most dangerous, and thus the sexiest form of rope bondage, can make both top and bottom feel a bit like glamorous circus performers.
This all being the case, I gave Monk a little unsolicited advice. "Since you are becoming known in the community as a rope top who does suspension," I said, "you will need to practice a certain skill, and that is - the art of the polite refusal."
Monk is, after all, the same guy who once said to me, "It's all about the rope. Chicks dig the rope." I believe him.
I continued. "I think women get more of a chance than men to practice tactfully declining…shall we say, intimate invitations? And I've seen tops get caught off guard, just because he's not so used to women he's just met making a real serious play for his attention. But it'll happen. You're going to get all kinds of women – and men, too – asking you to hang them up. And some of them – well, they just aren't going to be your type. So you should brush up on how to say 'no thank you' gracefully."
I was relating this story later to friends over dinner. One of them, who also a rope top, acknowledged the point, saying, "Yeah, and I'm not always so tactful about it." Now, I've never seen this guy be rude, but I pointed out the difference in the two situations. "You're not selling a product," I said. "Monk is. And the very people who are likely to want to buy his rope are also the people who are likely to want him to tie them up in it. He's a pleasant, friendly guy and that's going to help him in his business. But it also means that people are going to see him as accessible and so he's going to have to walk that line or risk offending some of his customers."
Can you tell that I relate to Monk's situation? While I'm not selling a tangible product like he is, I do want people to read my columns, and come to my workshops, and for those who are so inclined, I want them to be clients of mine. But I have to politely say 'no, thank you' to a lot of people who want more from me than that. Refusing someone's offer of something that's as personal and intimate as BDSM play takes delicacy, if one is not going offend. And offending people without considering the repercussions is a luxury you give up when you make your personal pleasure into your livelihood.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
This is an article by a woman who's a dominatrix in one of New York City's pro dom houses. I've never worked in such a place, but it's an interesting piece and I like her tone of voice.
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Amusing Client Remarks From The Past Week…
I know, I know, other people tell cute stories about their kids - I tell cute stories about my clients. That's just how it is.
Featured Client #1 and I were sitting on the couch after the session, looking at digital pictures I'd just taken of him in some rather advanced states of stress and exposure. He studied one intently and then announced, "I think I may use this for my Christmas cards!"
Featured Client #2 is a faithful reader of my Stranger column and apparently found inspiration – or something - in this week's piece.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Client: Hello, this is the Silver Stud calling….
Luckily for him I have a sense of humor.
I know, I know, other people tell cute stories about their kids - I tell cute stories about my clients. That's just how it is.
Featured Client #1 and I were sitting on the couch after the session, looking at digital pictures I'd just taken of him in some rather advanced states of stress and exposure. He studied one intently and then announced, "I think I may use this for my Christmas cards!"
Featured Client #2 is a faithful reader of my Stranger column and apparently found inspiration – or something - in this week's piece.
Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Client: Hello, this is the Silver Stud calling….
Luckily for him I have a sense of humor.
Friday, April 16, 2004
I was going to post something last night…but a pleasant languor came over me, and writing seemed like too much exertion. I had spent several hours with one of my favorite clients, who we'll call Milo. (Not his real name.) I like playing with Milo for all the reasons that I generally like playing with anyone - he trusts me, he's open to new things, and he's got a high tolerance for pain. He's also a physically big guy, and I enjoy that about him. I'm five foot five and I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds, and there's something deeply satisfying about making someone who's at least nine inches taller and ninety pounds heavier than me roar like a lion singing an opera.
But there's more to it than that. Milo is one of a handful of clients with whom I have a certain…connection. You see, in my sessions, one of two things can happen. The way it most often goes is that I create an experience for someone that sends them on a physical, emotional and psychological journey. Picture someone para-sailing – with me driving the boat. It's both an erotic and an artistic exercise for me, and I enjoy doing it.
But sometimes it's different. I'm still creating the experience – but something happens along the way – and the wind catches me and whoosh, I'm up in the sky, too.
Last night I hooked my electrical box up to Milo's most sensitive places and stretched out on top of him like he was my own private chaise lounge. And then I turned up the dial until he bellowed.
It's such an amazingly intimate thing, to hold someone close to you while they're writhing and hissing in pain – pain that you are creating. I rubbed my cheek against his as his body shook with the stress of the electricity, and I looked in his eyes and told him how beautiful he was to me. I could have dialed down the intensity. I didn't. Each time the wave of electricity crested over him, his eyes opened wide and his muscles went hard underneath me. I put my face kiss-close to his and sucked the breath from his mouth like it was nitrous oxide.
In other conversations, Milo has told me that he admires my self-discipline. I wonder if he realizes that this is the school in which I learned it. Sadistic pleasure is an intoxicant, and I have taught myself to only take carefully calibrated sips. So before I really want to, I turn the dial back down again. But as soon as he can speak, Milo whispers, "Let's do it again, Mistress."
How could I refuse?
But there's more to it than that. Milo is one of a handful of clients with whom I have a certain…connection. You see, in my sessions, one of two things can happen. The way it most often goes is that I create an experience for someone that sends them on a physical, emotional and psychological journey. Picture someone para-sailing – with me driving the boat. It's both an erotic and an artistic exercise for me, and I enjoy doing it.
But sometimes it's different. I'm still creating the experience – but something happens along the way – and the wind catches me and whoosh, I'm up in the sky, too.
Last night I hooked my electrical box up to Milo's most sensitive places and stretched out on top of him like he was my own private chaise lounge. And then I turned up the dial until he bellowed.
It's such an amazingly intimate thing, to hold someone close to you while they're writhing and hissing in pain – pain that you are creating. I rubbed my cheek against his as his body shook with the stress of the electricity, and I looked in his eyes and told him how beautiful he was to me. I could have dialed down the intensity. I didn't. Each time the wave of electricity crested over him, his eyes opened wide and his muscles went hard underneath me. I put my face kiss-close to his and sucked the breath from his mouth like it was nitrous oxide.
In other conversations, Milo has told me that he admires my self-discipline. I wonder if he realizes that this is the school in which I learned it. Sadistic pleasure is an intoxicant, and I have taught myself to only take carefully calibrated sips. So before I really want to, I turn the dial back down again. But as soon as he can speak, Milo whispers, "Let's do it again, Mistress."
How could I refuse?
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