You Do Remember Who I Am... Don't You?

I have received a private comment expressing displeasure over my missing Book Review Thursday last week. This potentially ex-trainee seemed to think they might not be the only one who missed out, and wondered if I would like to ask for a show of hands on the issue. They seriously wanted a poll. They wanted to know if the big, bad dominatrix had disappointed her readers. Think that one through for a moment, folks. I will wait while you try and sort that one out.





You have got to be fucking kidding me. I will not be dictated to by the likes of you, maggot. I am not here for your amusement, and I am not here for your pleasure. Your pleasure, so you claim, is to serve. How dare you question my methods. You are a disgrace to submissives everywhere.

I will bare your flesh and administer forty lashes. I will choose a flogger that is a bit more than you can handle. I will land blows with precision and make damned sure that your ribs, your tender wittle wibs, show the welts of my displeasure tomorrow and in the days to come. I know your weakness, fragile one. I know your fear and I will exploit it. You, regardless of what some crappy dom in college told you, are not in control here. I am in control here. And you will like it.

I will fuck you with the handle of my weapon for that little indiscretion. And next time you have a complaint, you best phrase it in the form of a question, bitch. Remember this, if you remember nothing else: There Is No Talking In My Library.

Working Lunch

Now that you know a little about me, maybe I should give you a taste of what I do. As a matter of fact, one of my favorite trainees got a little more taste of me than he intended at our lunchtime meeting today. You see- some trainees have social and family obligations that keep them from training on my schedule. These people, generally men, have trained with me long enough to have earned a little leeway. Perhaps for this trainee, it wasn't leeway enough.

We have met behind closed doors at his office on several occasions. His secretarial staff think I am just a client and they bill me after our meetings. I bill him right back, and I raise him every time.

On this occasion, I brought him his lunch. He seemed pleased at the notion as he led me into the office and shut the door behind us. I ordered him to sit, and he smiled. First I tied his ankles to the legs of his desk chair and his biceps to the arms of it with my favorite office accoutrement, an extension cord. I wanted his forearms and hands free to move in a prescribed area, so I left them unencumbered. Then I locked the wheels on his chair with him pulled almost up to his desk and slid between him and that large expanse of polished mahogany. It was obvious he had something in mind at this point. When I turned my back to him and pulled up my skirt he knew that his assumption had been wrong.

My trainees know not to protest, but he did mention his reticence in the only way he could. "Ma'am," he almost whimpered, "I can of course do anything you desire." He knew that a good trainee would just lick my ass like a good boy, but he hoped I was only testing him. I wasn't.

The flinching attempts started with a few hesitant little flicks of his tongue on my cheeks and along the crack of my ass, just feeling out the situation. I stood with my knees locked and my hamstrings flexed, bent over the desk. My posture said it all. He slowly worked his way to my asshole. I could pinpoint the moment when he actually became aroused at the idea of licking my ass. That was when he realized his hands were free and used them to pull my cheeks just far enough apart. Suddenly his tongue was inside my asshole and all bets were off. He was enjoying it.

Contrary to popular belief, a dominant does want their sub to be happy, so I let him lick and tongue fuck me quite a while. I kept an eye on his office clock, of course, but I did lose some track of time. Eventually his wet lashes had me so turned on that my thighs were sticky wet and I was chewing the edge of his desk blotter. When I stood upright my obedient boy actually moaned because he didn't want it to be over.

I turned to look at his eyes and gave him a drink of the tea I'd brought for his palate cleanser between courses. After he'd had his fill I leaned in and whispered in his ear. "My pussy is jealous. You've got more work to do."

Book Review Thursday - Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns

This classic by Philip Miller and Molly Devon is a truly "boots on the ground" look at what the subtitle refers to as "the romance and sexual sorcery of sadomasochism." I don't know about sorcery, really, but this book is required reading.

Screw the Roses is a masterful (no pun intended) description of how a BDSM lifestyle relationship can work. The touching tales of how love conquers pain are actually fantastic from the right point of view. An individual hoping to embark on a BDSM journey with a spouse or other loved one simply must read this book. It touches on so many important subjects that can make or break a traditional relationship, and for that it must be worshipped.

However, this is not to be confused with a professional BDSM relationship of any sort. Just as a professional (usually) will not have sex with you, they (usually) won't cuddle after a scene and tell you they love you. I know I won't. You may earn a loving sigh or even a few words of affection, but these things are not rights as they are in other types of relationships. Remember, just as you must do what it takes to earn an engagement ring, you must do what it takes to earn your collar. Don't expect that it will be freely given without something in exchange.

So- as much as I adore this book in a relationship context, please do not read it and expect that your life as a trainee will resemble this in any way. It will not. The dichotomy must stand. For it's intended purpose, though- this book is the best. ISBN-13: 9780964596009 amazon.com

The Look

Not every woman has it. This is sad, and this is avoidable. Even if you or your beloved do not possess the Look, I know you understand the Look I mean. That "do not fuck with me" look, perhaps with one eyebrow raised. It is the glare that stops unruly teenagers in their tracks. It is the steady gaze that tells a man that he will under no circumstances deviate from the woman's plan. When employed by the best, you need not even see it. You can feel it. It creeps up your spine and into your brain stem, squelching any desire for autonomy.

I was born with the Look. My mother had it in spades when she was my age, though her power has diminished over the decades. It is possible that my withering glance showed her defeat as soon as I hit puberty, but I prefer to think that she is just out of practice. The champion could come out of retirement at any time.

The Look is standard equipment for a dominatrix. The Look can lead a trainee to the right head space faster than my favorite flogger. It can do anything. It can mean anything. It can, and will, seduce you into submission. When we feel the Look upon us, we all revert to childhood. Some of us even aim to please. But the Look will never be satisfied. It will never concede an inch. And that is just how it should be.

Word to the Wise

BDSM scenes and activity are not "just foreplay." For many practitioners, they are the main course. The sooner a newcomer learns this, the better.
After my weekend, it seemed like something you should be made aware of.