For your entertainment...

The new column in The Stranger...

The other side of yesterday's story.

Legal Note: The conviction of kinkster-gone-too-far Glenn Marcus was upheld. Here's some interesting analysis of it by a kinky lawyer.

Bye!

Ok, I have a busy day, but here's one story from Shibaricon....

It was rather late Sunday night, and I was sort of hanging out in the dungeon, thinking that I should really go upstairs to bed, but not quite wanting to leave the last party.

As I was strolling idly around the room, looking at the various scenes, a gentleman of my acquaintance, whom we shall call L, came up to me and said, “Matisse! You have to come over here and help me.”

What could it be? He led me over to where a lovely young woman was standing tied to a post. Very beautifully tied, in a body harness and lots of tight rope. L explained that she was a reader of mine and that she was terrified of me. So, he said, I should step into the scene for a brief while and do something mean to her.

Now, it’s not something I teach people to do, but it’s actually not at all unheard of for people to do what I call grazing on someone else’s scene. The thing is: You can’t invite yourself, the top has to invite you. And you better be sure the top knows what he/she is doing. And you need to ask some questions about what’s okay to do and what’s not.

Or else…you’d better be like me and think, what the hell, I’ll be able to figure that out as I go along. I am so bad sometimes, I amaze myself. So understand that I am not advocating this kind of thing, but it does happen.

I stepped right up to the pretty girl, who was giggling madly and nervously, and she started sliding, still tied, down the pole, until she was sitting at my feet, butt on the floor and legs out in front of her.

“I hear you’re scared of me,” I said, looking down at her. “But hey, I'm not scary, I’m a pussycat, really…”

I had no toys of any kind with me, so I decided to use one of Monk’s tricks. I placed my booted foot on her tightly bound and charmingly helpless-looking breasts, and started to lean my weight onto them. First a little and then – encouraged by the deep, guttural, good-pain noises she was making – rather a lot. I assume she’s had some kind of warm-up, I thought. Oh well, if she hasn’t, she’s having it now.

Then I sort of rotated my foot a bit. More noises. It looked pretty painful. What fun.

When I took my boot away, there was a nice, boot-shaped red mark on her chest. Then I knelt down and slapped the sides of her breasts a bit, eliciting more nice squeals.

At one point L came up, inserted a piece of banana into her mouth, and informed her that she was not allowed to chew it. She just had to hold it in her mouth while I hurt her.

“Oh, that is so mean,” I said. “See, I would never do anything like that to you. I just do stuff like this.” And I pulled out a trademark of my play with Monk: I got her pectoral muscles between my thumb and forefingers and squeezed, really hard. That got some good loud noises.

Pretty Girl’s husband was standing a few feet away the whole time, grinning and making encouraging gestures. That’s always nice, to have the spousal blessing.

So I did that sort of thing for a few minutes, and then L took back over. I often find it delightful to do little cameo appearances like that. It’s like the tapas of kink.

Shibaricon

I'm checking off my lists: My hair is done and my clothes are packed. Both the house-sitters are in place and fully briefed. I took the battery out of the stun gun so it wouldn't accidentally go off in my luggage and get me put on the no-fly list. (But I bet they still search my suitcase.) I think I'm ready.

So I fly to Chicago today, and I return next Tuesday the 29th, and thus I'll be taking calls again as of Wednesday. Otherwise, my business phone will be turned off most of the time I'm gone. I will try to answer emails if it's a genuinely time-sensitive matter, but don't hang your hat on that.

And to all the people who whom I already owe emails: sorry, sorry, sorry, I have been so busy. When I get back next week, I'll get all caught up, I swear!

Now I'm looking forward to a highly amusing weekend....

I was going to write a long-ish post about this lesbian porn movie premier that Monk and I attended Wednesday night, because it was an interesting experience on several levels: social, political, sexual, professional…

But it’s been a busy few days, and that seems like too much effort right now. So I’ll talk about that next week…

Meanwhile, let’s talk about something simple, like shopping. (The rest of this post is all about fashion stuff, if that bores you, click away now...) I need some summer clothes and lucky me, I have some money put aside for that. Two weeks ago, Armani handed me a very sweet card and said, “I know you’ve been wanting to do some shopping – this is for you, to spend on you.” Inside the card was, well, enough to do a very substantial amount of retail therapy! Thank you, Armani, you do spoil me.

But I have not had a free afternoon to actually hit the stores, until now. (Admittedly, I have been scoring some stuff on eBay. Some brand-new David Kahn jeans, really nice, for about a third of what they go at Nordstrom, and a Wolford t-shirt style dress.)

But I want some summer sandals, maybe something like this, and some shorts, and some short sleeved t-shirts.

And okay, a dress. Or two. I like dresses. And I’m really trying to restrain myself from buying this one, because it’s more than I need to spend on one item, and it’s not exactly a dress you could wear all summer long, is it? I mean, without people noticing. But the colors are so pretty…

It’s hard to find dresses to my exact taste. What I really want is something in a sleeveless or tank-style, in clear jewel tones, in a sleek knit, or something sheath-like, with princess seams. I know those big shapeless baby-doll things are in fashion at the moment, but forget it, I am not spending all this time at the gym to just wear a sack. (Some empire-waists work on me, it depends on the cut.)

I’ll also have to go get humid over the David Yurman case in Nordies. Of course, there are some other nice designers there too - Lagos and Judith Ripka do lovely things. But I like the way David does diamonds and white metal. I didn't care very much about jewelry until just recently, but now that I'm wearing it, I like it. (Armani, I think this your fault.)

Since I am going to Shibaricon next week, the evil imp in me is so incredibly tempted to buy – and wear – this dress. But I’m sure that would be rude of me. Really. Plus, someone might take me seriously, and that would just be… bad. I am not a kimono girl!

A link to the new column.

Note: I've already gotten one email - and I expect I'll get more - from someone telling me, "Defibrillators? Oh, no, they're so easy to use, really, you could do it..."

Understand, I do not doubt that I have the simple wit to plug the thing in, read the directions, and then zap someone.

But I am in no way qualified to decide that someone needs their heart jump-started. I firmly decline to take any such responsibility upon myself. Dammit, Jim, I'm a dominatrix, not a doctor. Doctors don't spank people in their offices*, and I don't diagnose heart attacks in mine. That's my position - one firmly supported by my lawyer, I might add - and I'm sticking to it.


(*Yes, yes, I'm expecting a lot of pervy remarks about the evil things doctors do to people in the name of medicine. Knock yourselves out, kids.)

Some pictures from the party: Monk likes to do bondage on the coffee table, and he got a very cute and flexible girl as a model... Stretch, and bend. Pretty!

I’m busy recovering from the party, writing a column, and doing evil things to sweet boys. The post-tax-season slump is definitely over! I’m pretty much booked up until I get back from Chicago on the 29^th. I like looking at my calendar on Monday afternoon and thinking, yes, I know what I’m doing, and when, for this whole week. Make the rest of my life much easier to plan.

Amusing moment of yesterday: I went in to my doctor to have a routine physical. I'm an extremely healthy girl overall, no real issues, but the doc wanted to do some blood work to just check my various levels of things and get a baseline. You know the drill.

So I went into the lab area and sat down to get the draw. The tech was a good-looking young woman, maybe early twenties, and just slightly butch-of-center, who I strongly suspect was a lesbian. She gave me The Look, you see.

What’s The Look? It’s a look that straight women do not give other females. You only get it from women who are sexual with women. It’s usually just for a moment, unless she’s seriously cruising you, but it is, shall we say, an acknowledgement of sexual possibility. Usually it’s just the woman acknowledging it to herself, not to you, but if you watch closely, you’ll see it. The eyes widen for a minute when she looks at you, that’s always a tip-off.

Not seeing The Look doesn’t mean that a woman is heterosexual – she might just be very subtle, or just not in the headspace. But if you do get it, it definitely means the woman giving it to you is not 100% straight.

I got it from the tech. How nice. I don’t think she meant me to see it, I just think she’s just young and hasn’t yet learned how to school her expressions. So I gave it back to her, somewhat less subtly. And that seemed to completely throw her for a loop. Even nicer.

She began sort of fumbling around with syringes, stammering, and left the area – twice - to get various vials and labels and such that she needed. I just sat there smiling at her with one arched eyebrow, like she was a sweet but clumsy submissive.

It did occur to me that deliberately flustering someone who was about to jab me with a needle might not be the best idea. But I've actually been stuck with needles by some extremely mean people, and I handled that, so I figured I could deal with this. Because it was fun.

She dithered around a bit more, and then tied the rubber strap around my upper arm. “Um, is that - is that okay?”

“That’s just fine,” I said, slowly, holding her gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty easy to get blood from.”

“Um, great, okay…” She dropped her eyes. I watched her focus on the vein in the bend of my elbow and stick the needle in. She glanced up at me as she did so. I didn’t flinch. I smiled.

“Sorry,” she said, for no apparent reason. “I mean… it’s no fun getting stuck with a needle.”

I contemplated answers I might make to that, but my conscience spoke up. Matisse, don’t mess with the kid’s head anymore, unless you’re serious. And you’re not.

So I just said pleasantly, “It’s fine.” We both watched my dark red blood fill the three vials.

“You’re right,” she said. “You are easy to get blood from.”

I couldn’t resist. “I'm pretty good at taking it, too.”

She blinked uncertainly and was quiet for a moment. “Um, well, thank you for being so, uh, helpful.”

I think I was probably the opposite of helpful, but I sat silently and let her fuss with taping the cotton ball to my arm. Then I stood up and gave her The Look again, just because I’m bad that way.

“Goodbye,” I said with a meaningful half-smile, and stalked off down the hall.

I wonder what she thought about that whole little incident.

Did I mention busyness? Much, much with the busyness here. But good busyness!

Go read the new column...

Bye!

I noticed a familiar question in the comments yesterday. “Have you ever thought of writing a book?” I get asked that all the time. It’s flattering. And someday I probably will write a book all about my experiences as a sex worker.

Not for a long time, though. Because you see, if you write a tell-all book, you better just write the end on your career in the sex industry, too, because it’ll be all over. Whether you meant to retire or not, your sex work business will tank. I’ve seen it happen before. There are several reasons why.

The primary thing is: it’s going to make clients, both existing and potential, nervous. And justifiably so. Some of my guys have given me permission – even encouragement – to mention details of our sessions in this blog. But most people are concerned about their privacy, and I don’t blame them. Discretion is a big part of what I offer. Even if/when I do write a memoir, I will be extremely careful to fuzz up the details, and the sheer passage of time is a filter all by itself. But publishing a book now would send a message: what happens in Vegas doesn’t necessarily stay in Vegas. That’s not a message one wants to send if one is still in the business.

There are other things as well. The legal problems are less an issue for me than they would be for, say, a full-service escort. But I still exist in a gray area, and to some degree, I am dependent upon the fact that law enforcement simply has bigger fish to fry than lil’ ole me. I’m high-profile enough as it is, with The Stranger column. Publishing a book would only increase the chances that some politician with a moral axe to grind decides to make a fuss about why this perverted harlot is allowed to ply her disgusting trade in our fair city, etc, etc.

There’s also the mystery factor. Once you show people what’s behind the curtain, the wizard isn’t very impressive anymore. Obviously I’ve chosen to reveal certain things, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about my career at all. But I pick and choose, leave many things unsaid, and spin events to best illustrate the points I want to make. This is, after all, just a blog. It is understood to be a casual and limited form of writing.

But a book is different. To write a worthwhile memoir, you can’t be so selective, you can’t leave out crucial facts and events that shaped the experiences you’re writing about. You have to at least acknowledge all the realities, or else you’re lying to your readers, and the book becomes a hollow shell. I personally know of several women who’ve written books about their sex work experiences who chose to leave out significant pieces of information about their lives. It made reading their books a somewhat odd experience for me. When it’s my turn, I don’t want to do that.

This is my career. I plan on doing it for a good long time. So, no memoir for a while. Ask me again in ten years.

I have thought about writing something that draws on what I’ve learned as sex worker without actually detailing exactly what I did, when, with whom. A sex-advice book would be fun, and I could carefully seed it with selected stories of my own. Or a book about poly, or kink in general.

However, at the moment, I’m pursuing other venues for my writing. I’m interested in writing non-kinky fiction, and I have a finished manuscript that I’m in talks with an agent about. I say finished, but of course, no book is ever really finished until it goes to press, and I need to polish mine up here and there.

But sorry, I can’t tell you any more about it here, because when it gets published, it’ll be under another name. Actually, I hardly even talk about the MS with people in real life, because I think the more you talk about a writing project, the less you do it. I’m sort of superstitious that way. So when it sells, I’ll probably mention it, but until then, I’m not inclined to chat about it.

I just have to do it.

I'm a busy girl today, so, for the benefit of the newer readers, here's a list of some oldie-goldie favorites from the archive.
Sadly, most of the original comments were lost when I had to switch to Haloscan. That's a shame, because some good points were made.
But anyway, read and enjoy...

***

If you're not familiar with the ways of kink, here's a good place to start: The Ethics of BDSM

My opinions, experiences, and general musings on life
Human Interest Story
BDSM Word Of The Day
Mr. Defensive
Open Secret
The Sixty Four Thousand Dollar Question
and the follow-up post: Comments On Female Clients
What I'm Not
Word Whores: The "Not My Dog" post
Poly Stars In Alignment
Public Encounter
You Dirty...
French Farce Weekend
Sex Positive? I Don't Think So!
Sex Index
Looking at Women
Demeaning To Women (And Men, Too.)
Gym Guy, Part One
Gym Guy, Part Two

About Monk (aka "Roman")
The Naked Truth
He's Just A...

Playing with my boys:
Flying High Again
My Idea of a Good Time

Conversations about the biz:
Advice on Clients
More Advice
Dinner with Miss K: Furniture Fantasy
Conversation with Miss K: Her Weird Phone Calls
Tips For New Sex Workers
Feminism and Sex Work

And, everyone's favorite category: Strange Communiqués From People: The phone calls, the emails, and the voicemails.

The Thirty Seconds Rule
Near Goddess Experience
Sexual Darwinism
And This Would Be My Problem Why?
Legend In His Own Mind
New Cell Phone - Old Memories
New York State Of Mind
Master and Commander
Weirdass Email Of The Week
Phone Messages
I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up (I know everyone likes Ryker Blackstar, but this guy is actually my personal favorite.)
From The Malebag
More Email Silliness
Freakazoids
By Rights He Should Be Taken Out And Hung
Barbie Reborn
Mentoring
Don't Worry, Be Happy
Sex Machine

Letter From A Reader

Greetings Mistress,

Consider it a newbie question - how do vanilla types who want to role play start? I guess my situation is that I would like to try to add some excitement but my other half of 20+ years doesn't really get the fantasy thing . . .so I thought, I might ask for a few tips on setting the stage...

This is a good example of why communication skills are such a highly valued trait in the BDSM community. I’m perfectly willing to help this person – but I don’t really know what they mean by the terms they are using.

Vanilla types who want to do role-play? Well, ok, role play doesn’t have to involve dominance and submission. I’m sure there are egalitarian role plays. (Don’t ask me to name one, though.)

But even a role-play with no power differential is going involve fantasy – that is the whole point, surely - so if your partner doesn’t get that, how exactly are you going to add it to your erotic life?

And the phrase “setting the stage” – to me, that would refer to objects and surroundings, not the acting out of the role play itself. Is this reader asking me about where to play and what props to use? But I can’t answer that without knowing the nature of the roles.

This is why, when people negotiate with me, I don’t allow them to say things like this. It’s that list thing I was talking about a few days ago. Words such as “spanking” have a very precise meaning. Phrases like “a fantasy role play” are so vague as to be useless.

Let me offer a possible re-write of this letter…It’s just a guess at what the person might, possibly, have meant. I may be completely off base, I don’t know.

Dear Mistress Matisse,

I’d like to do an erotic role-play with my long-term partner that doesn’t involve any intense sensation or BDSM trappings. Are there are any you can suggest? Where should we do this? And what kinds of things might we do?

My answer: I’d try a role-play where the power differential is one that’s at least somewhat familiar and non-threatening. Boss/employee is a good one. You can do it in almost any physical surroundings, it doesn’t require unusual props, and either identity can be the one directing the action. You can be the typical bossy boss with an underperforming employee. Or you can be the boss who’s been caught embezzling or leering at his secretary once too often, and who is thus over a barrel.

While you can do it at home, it’s often easier to step out of your everyday self in non-everyday settings. Consider getting a nice hotel room to add a little spice.

If doing a role-play is your idea, regardless of whether you want to be the top or the bottom, you should have a basic idea of where you want it to go, and you should communicate that to your partner, very clearly. For example: “I've called you into my office and I scold you for not doing the quarterly reports on time and threaten to fire you. You're acting all flirty, and you offer to make it up to me by giving me a blow-job. I pretend to resist for a minute, but then I can’t deny my attraction to you. While you suck me, I confess that I’ve been watching you bend over your desk and lusting after your ass for weeks, so you bend over my desk and pull up your skirt and tell me to kiss it, if I like it so much.”

That's all just off the top of my head. My other advice: Pat Califia wrote an excellent book called Sensuous Magic: A Guide for Adventurous Lovers that had a lot of really good step-by-step instructions for sexy role-plays that aren't about heavy BDSM. Unfortunately, the book has gone out of print, but you can find used copies around. Anyone who's looking to play some sexy games in their relationship would find it useful reading.

The new column. And... happy Friday. Bye!

Dancing Shoes

I bet you think I would never wear a pair of shoes like this.


I'd say it depends where I get to walk with them... You should see me in my little white golf skirt and white top. I need a golf club, though.

Strange, though - even though I've never worn these shoes outside my dungeon, they seem to have some stains on the soles. Huh, how could that have happened? (Don't click if you're squeamish.)

Letter From a Reader

Hi, Matisse!

Edited: some very nice compliments…

I do have a question, if you would be willing to answer it.

In terms of a Professional / client relationship, the boundaries have to be clearly defined and respected by the (sub/bottom) client. As a client, I do have my own individual needs to be addressed and (hopefully) met. At the same time, I am reluctant to go to a BDSM Professional service provider with a "laundry list" of needs and desires, expecting a Pro-Domme to meet them without giving consideration to her needs and desires as well. We are talking about interpersonal dynamics, honest communication, and developing an energy flow that I believe to be crucial to a fulfilling session. The way I see it, if a session does not work for a Pro-domme, then how can I, as a client, expect it to work for me??

For Example: (Edited for privacy: He told me about some of the specific things he likes and doesn’t like.)

…At the same time, I do want to afford a Pro-Domme with the opportunities to experience her pleasures with my mind and body. It seems to me that while the dynamics in a Professional / client relationship involve a client having needs to be met, the consideration between the Professional service provider and the client should be mutual; yet, in wanting to do that, some things, like having my balls squeezed, of feeling a thuddy whip, or cross-dressing, would be a distraction, and detract from the fulfillment that I seek.

Would you be willing to help me gain a clearer perspective, and a better understanding here?

***********

This guy seems very sweet, and I’m sure he’s probably charming in person. So any hint of frustration you hear in my voice here is not directed at him.

But he, and all the other people who’ve expressed similar sentiments to me, have got it wrong. I don’t want or need a script, in the sense of “first do this, and while you’re doing it, say thus-and-so.” That pisses me right off. And I have indeed had people show up with an honest-to-god, multi-page, complete with stage-directions script. Wow, I can see just how highly you respect my talent and experience. Have you thought of just buying a wind-up doll?

But a list? A list is totally different. A list is fabulous. Here’s a perfect example of how to give a hypothetical list of likes and dislikes. “So, I really like spanking and impact on my ass, but please, no crops or canes, okay? And CBT, heavy on the cock, not so much on the balls, please, Mistress. And gags are cool but blindfolds flip me out, and nipple clamps are ok, and I’m curious to try electrical, but I’m sorta nervous about it, too.”

That kind of list is great. That’s exactly what I want to know, and it’s being presented clearly and without coy little games. That’s a delightful menu of options that I can mix and match however I like, I can be creative in how I deliver them, and I’ll still know that we’re having a good experience together. I love lists. Give me a list and I’ll love you.

Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. But you see, with new people, I hate it when I say, “So, what kinds of activities are you looking for?” And I’m told, “Whatever you like, Mistress.”

No. What the Mistress likes is not having to be a mind-reader. Tell me what works for you. Don’t make me have to do a damn interrogation scene before we ever get to the real scene!

That’s why I have a whole long list myself, on my website, of what I do, and what I don’t do. If what you like is on that list, then we’re golden. It wouldn’t be there if I didn’t like doing it, you see. So it’s unnecessary to fret about considering my needs. One of the benefits of being a dominatrix is you don't have to do anything you don't like.

It's also unnecessary to worry about how you're not taking care of my need for X activity. My kink life does not lack for variety. Whatever it is you're not into, believe me, it's someone else's favorite thing in the world, and he's probably coming to see me next week.

There’s a subtler element of this, though. I have found that most bottoms, at some point in their lives, feel some anxiety about whether their top is getting off (in any sense) on the scene.

(Tops do this too. Hell, vanilla people do it during straight sex. But we’re talking about bottoms today.)

Bottoms make themselves vulnerable, and it would feel yucky if you felt like you were offering that vulnerability to someone who was disinterested or even repelled by it. It’s true that you should both be able to feel that the other person is enjoying what’s happening. However, people do express that in different ways, and with varying degrees of skill. Sometimes two people just don’t connect well on that level, even if they have similar tastes on paper.

But if you aren’t willing to trust that what looks and sounds like yes really means yes, then the scene is sunk anyway. You have to make the leap of faith. I know it seems scary. It is scary. But bottoming isn’t just about trusting the Mistress to put clothespins on your balls, it’s about also trusting her to deal honestly with you and treat your desires with the respect they deserve. You must both give yourself, in that moment, or the magic won’t happen.

I myself am pretty good at broadcasting the woo-I-like-this signal, because I know it’s important. But still, I have done scenes where I had to expend huge amounts of energy reassuring the bottom that yes, I like what we’re doing, yes, you’re a good boy, yes, the Mistress loves X activity, over and over, to the degree where what he obviously feared became reality: I stopped enjoying it. He wouldn’t let go of trying to control our encounter. I was trying to create an experience for him that we could enjoy together, but he was too busy trying to create my experience to let that happen.

But that’s not your job, when you bottom. Think of it like painting: you give me the tubes of paint, and your body is the canvas, and I make art with you. My challenge and my pleasure is to do that no matter what colors or textures of paint you give me. So don’t try to be both the artist and the canvas at the same time.

***

Edited to add: Telling me about a fantasy-roleplay is not like giving me a script. So if you've turned up with a theme you wanted to act out, do not fear that you annoyed me.

Bad Mistress, didn't write a post for today. It's all Monk's fault, he distracted me.

Back to our regularly scheduled shenanigans tomorrow...

Happy Friday, everyone…

The new column…A chat with Betty Dodson

Lisa V of CineKink looks at male dominants in film. It’s fun. But where is Hannibal Lechter? Okay, he’s a bad dominant, but he is definitely topping Clarise Starling. And what about John Malkovich as Valmont in Dangerous Liaisons? I actually picked up a number of my early style points from those two movies.

The second half of my interview with Cunning Minx of Polyamory Weekly. As before, I think I’m sort of rambling, but ya’ll seemed to like first half, so hopefully you’ll like this one too. Minx is great and I’m very pleased to have done it. Perhaps I’ll actually get off my behind and get my own podcasts going soon.

Have a lovely weekend…

Pink Box
God, where is my pink box? I thought. I want to find it. I need it.
Monk came into the bedroom and looked at me curiously. “What are you looking for down there?”
“My pink box,” I replied. “I put that pretty glass dildo in it, and I now I want it, and I can’t find it.”
“Well, that sounds like a problem.”
“It is. Will you help me find it?”
“Sure, darlin’…”

Oh, wait. Are thinking I mean something dirty? Well, as it happens, you’re right. But probably not the way you think.

This is what I was looking for: my pink box! (It was under the bed.)

I keep a lot of my toys at my dungeon space, but there’s a certain amount of my stuff kicking around the house where I live, too. Some of it lives in this pink box. I often refer to it as the pink box for pink bits because a lot of what’s in it is small stuff I use for genital torment.

Want to see? I'll give you the tour.

The top layer: Needles. (Not just for genitals, but yes, I do put ‘em there sometimes.) Lots of chopsticks and the corresponding elastic bands, held together by a spring clamp that can serve many functions. I rarely get to actually put that puppy on someone, but often just brandishing it will instill an appropriate level of fear in a bratty bottom.

A cock ring. It's the male equivalent of a push-up bra. Holds everything nicely together and out there.

A toothbrush. Toothbrushes made great abrasion-play toys. You may think, oh, a toothbrush, that doesn’t hurt. Hah. Take that thing and start scrubbing your clit, or the corona of your cock. Keep going. No, don’t stop. Oh, starting to get uncomfortable now, are we, smarty-pants? Too bad. We’re not stopping. Scrub, scrub, scrub. You know, you’d pay big money to get this done to you at a fancy spa, you should be thankful to me. Look how red and sensitive you’re getting! Have I convinced you to fear the toothbrush? Good.

What else do we have? Hall’s Mentholated cough drops. I put one of those in Jae’s pussy once and it was like I put ants in her pants. Big fun. Altoids also work well. (Yes, yes, I know you could get a yeast infection. Get some cream and use it afterwards, if you’re that worried about it, but you’re actually not going to die from a yeast infection.)

That black thing is called a bite blocker and I stole two of them from a dentist’s office. It holds one’s mouth open, and sometimes that’s a terribly intimate way to scare someone.

On the second level: A wartenberg wheel, bamboo skewers - so nice and pointy and disposable - various sizes and shapes of clothespins, a small tube of toothpaste - which tingles nicely on your bits, try it – and those Listerine breath patches, which also tingle really nicely. If you like intense tingles.

And some eighteen gauge needles, I have no idea why those are there, I don’t think anyone of my acquaintance is crazy enough to let me punch railroad spikes through their bits. But if I’m wrong, do let me know.

But where the heck is my glass dildo? Hmmn, maybe I should look in this drawer...

Bingo. There it is. The one with the big knobby end - I saw it when I was doing the podcast for the Blowfish people down in SF and had to have it!

Oh, and there’s that pretty metal butt-plug Monk bought me, and some rope, and another vibrator. (That purple one – it’s lavender-scented. I mean, really, really lavender-scented. Why the hell would someone make a sex-toy that smells like bath salts?) And that blue thing is some skin-care gizmo that’s supposed to suck blackheads out of your pores. It does suck, all right. I don't know what it does for blackheads. But did you know it’s possible to give someone little tiny round hickeys on their labia?

These would be my irrelevant streams of consciousness, because I’m not feeling profound today...

Wow, am I suddenly swamped with things I have to write. It’s crazy. Someone wants to do an interview with me, and a non-kink writing project is heating up, too. I suppose it’s fortunate that we’re still in the annual post-tax-season-slump, appointment-wise, because I’d never get it all done.

But I’m mildly frustrated because I so want to go shopping, and I just gave all my disposable income to the federal government. (And some income that I wasn’t even planning on disposing of in quite that manner, ouch.) Yes, yes, I know I should pay quarterly. I didn’t, okay?

I always want to go shopping when the weather turns. But I have to wait, and it’s killing me. I want to go buy one of every Sledge USA t-shirts they have at Nordstrom. (The long-sleeved ones.) Those shirts fit me so nicely. I have a couple already, but I want more, because I am a greedy American.

I know someone who needs this cut-out girdle…

This site has interesting and unusual jewelry. Not as classic as David Yurman, and I tend to prefer white metals to yellow gold - but this bracelet is quite striking.

I also want these books…

When the Dancing Stopped: The Real Story of the Morro Castle Disaster and Its Deadly Wake, by Brian Hicks
The Lives and Loves of Daisy and Violet Hilton: A True Story of Conjoined Twins, by Dean Jensen

The first one is about a mysterious fire that broke out on a luxury ocean liner in 1934, killing half the passengers. The second is about a set of conjoined twins born in 1908. I am so the popular history fan.

Look Both Ways: Bisexual Politics, by Jennifer Baumgardner
I don’t angst a lot about being bisexual – at least not anymore – and I don't worry a lot about whether fucking women is a political act or not. But I’ll be interested to read what Ms. Baumgardner, who calls herself a “3^rd wave feminist”, thinks about it.

The Anti 9-to-5 Guide: Practical Career Advice for Women Who Think Outside the Cube, by Michelle Goodman.
I read these career books, and they sort of fascinate me, because the only cube I’ve ever been near in my life is a Rubik’s one. It's like reading about another country.

Danse Macabre, by Laurell K. Hamilton
I have read all of the Anita Blake books, even though they started being not-so-great at about Book Seven and proceeded south to terrible by Book Ten. However, I cannot resist seeing if perhaps Ms. Hamilton has pulled up out of her literary nose-dive.

All right, time to go write some more. Somewhere else.

Edited to add: if you haven't already seen them, Monk has placed a bunch of short videos of basic rope bondage instruction on YouTube. They're great introductory clips - beautifully produced and easy to follow. Go watch them!

I'm a busy girl today. But you can go look at more pictures from the party on Puck's blog....

And if you're wanting time with me this week, there is some left. But it's getting nibbled away, so call me soon...

My, what a charming weekend I had.

Friday night I went to The Frontier Room with a cool pal and ate way, way too much. That place is dangerous.

And Saturday I took Jae to a party. Yes, this is the party I thought was all-boys, and boys did make up a noticeable number of the guests, but they seemed happy to have us non-boy (and non-gay) people there, too. Like the one sweet gay boy who has, just so far, let me stick needles in him - the first time anyone has ever done that, yay for cherry-popping - and zap his bits with electricity. And it's pretty early in our acquaintance. We talked about how kink itself can be a sexual orientation that occasionally supercedes the usual gender-based orientation.

Our illustrious host has, among many other things in his playroom, a cage/cell sort of thing built into one corner. It's about six by eight feet, and it's made of heavy wire mesh, rather than bars. But if you're in there, you ain't getting out unless someone lets you out. Sometimes I miss the cell at my previous dungeon, even though I rarely used it. Perhaps I'll have one put in the new place sometime.

But I got Jae in there and locked the door behind us and showed her the new toy I'd brought with me: A stun gun. You may recall I borrowed one of these for my scene with Jae at Kinkfest, and that went very well. So well that Jae bought me one of my own, sweet twisted girl that she is.

And she's not the only one. A kind and thoughtful young man- not a client, just a social pal that I know through Puck - decided he'd buy me one as well. So now I have two. Heh heh heh...

I rolled Jae around on the floor, smacking her, prodding her, and zapping her with the stun gun. It was great fun. It wasn't a lengthy scene, just enough to get us both pleasantly endorphin-stoned. I try not to bruise Jae all up unless she's planned for that to happen. See, I am so considerate of my bottoms.

But Jae is never one to quit while she's ahead.



She wound up back in the cage with Candy, who is an accomplished trampler. I think there's something about having legs that long that makes you just need to walk on people. And look how happy it makes her. Jae was happy, too. Really! And I was taking pictures of it, so that made me happy.

Afterwards, the four of us went home and made pancakes. As I said, a charming weekend.

Addendum: As an experiment, I took some video clips at the party. They are both very low-light, so the results aren't great. But, if you want to see them, here's one of me zapping Jae's inner thigh with the stun gun. (Photobucket link.) This wasn't in the cage, it was later. At first, she's holding the camera, and then after she starts thrashing around I take it away from her, so it's a little confusing. Plus I'm holding the camera wrong because I always think I should be able to shoot video in portrait mode. Whoops.
The second one is Candy stepping on Jae, which I was shooting through the mesh. There's some background noise, and it's pretty dark, but still kinda fun.
They're both about thirty seconds long, and they have sound.