Cream of the Crop

Speaking of what males were willing to do, two totally different men come to mind. One I met in NYC at his apartment, introduced to me by his mistress. We spent a few hours together over the course of about 10 days during which I stayed at his place. The other, a tall, commanding figure of a man who first visited me early in my career and continued to see me regularly over the years as well as chat with me almost daily during that time. They were completely different in stature, color, background and very different in kink, but the unlimited array of activities either of them were willing to tackle was equally impressive.

The first fellow was European, non-white, slight of frame who probably came from money. Other than his unfailing desire to be literally owned by a cruel mistress who stressed his lesser place as a slave in her world, he was a classy gentleman who dressed nicely. The lengths he was willing to go and the abuse he was willing to endure tested the limits of believability. When I saw him crawl around the floor naked and hump the bare floor in honor of his mistress and to relay to her the depth of his loyalty I was both astonished and touched. She, on the other hand, was disgusted. She tried to avoid him. She stayed out all night with friends. She trashed his apartment. Speaking in confidence to me, she called him a “dirty little man who repulsed her”. In the end, she won. He was utterly devoted to her. Once my visit had ended and I returned home, he completely cut off contact with me at her request.

The second fellow was a southern raised boy. He was older, much taller, a more imposing presence with gray hair and dark rimmed glasses. Probably came from a hard-working family and a traditional church background, most likely baptist. He would do anything and everything I asked of him. But his reasons weren't the same as my frail European friend's. This man was brim full of sexual energy, curiosity, playfulness and blessed with an amazingly open mind. He was kind, kinky, fun and at the same time, totally committed to his family and his business. I can say that with confidence since I usually knew when he worked late, came in early, spent time with his family, played babysitter for his grandchildren or was very generous to his wife with regular weekend shopping trips together and dinners out. There was only one other man I played with who had the boundless desire and unquenchable thirst this man did. The difference was this man seemed to genuinely care who and care about who he played with. He was never selfish or impatient. He never complained about the time, the activities or the payment as some were prone to do. I always felt comfortable and connected to him as well as protected. We continued to chat online for a time even after I ended all my sessions. A finer man doesn't exist.

 Seems to me, the ones who were with me at the end, were the ones who came to me early on and stayed. Maybe it was an intellectual thing. I wasn't sexual although I was physical. If a man was looking to get a cheap thrill watching me disrobe, (under the guise of tease and denial), it wasn't happening and he didn't return. If a man was expecting to be forced into something sexual so he could be free from guilt and just enjoy his good fortune, again it wasn't happening with me. If he was willing to explore a different kind of experience where the sexual part was strictly his to play and I was merely the audience with an expectation of a response to please and entertain me, I was totally up for the game. It was his to own the desires, mine to make him show them to me like a puppet on a string. I think I was lucky in that I got the cream of the crop. But then, when you mesh with your adoring fans, you're bound to feel you got the best.

Now the other client I compared to my inexhaustibly passionate friend was also a friend I chatted with online frequently and saw on a number of occasions over the years. The difference here was this time it was an insatiable desire for some form of sexual abuse regardless, really, where it came from. He was a cross-dresser who had a wife, a girlfriend, and engaged in anonymous sex with men in motels. Again, he was a responsible father, hard worker who had no anger issues or warped priorities that I could see. Just an almost uncontrollable desire to be dressed up and used sexually like a woman.

That was a common theme with some of my clients. I provided a safe, even supportive environment for transforming from macho man to slutty whore. They weren't interested in being classy or sexy so much as just pure sexual degradation. It wasn't enough to don garter and stockings and play hooker. It had to be an all out switch from responsible, uptight, politically correct male to whorish, reckless slut with all the trimmings. I kept wigs, makeup, heels, bras, etc enough to make any size tramp a worthy contestant. When he became she, a name was chosen and the degradation and abuse began usually including pictures and occasionally video. Most of these cds wanted something to view later to prove to themselves they actually did it. And so they could admire the decadent woman they had become and the sexual depravity they engaged in. It was fuel for many a masturbation session at home.

Be a Bitch

Moving my fledgling business home was a scary proposition. It meant having strange men come to my house, knowing where I lived, what I had, where I slept and ate. I had to look at it rationally or I never could have done it. These were submissive men right? Men who wanted ME to take control, hurt THEM; and do it without a single soul EVER finding out. How could any of them want to do anything to bring attention to themselves or do anything to hurt me? Their fantasy involved being submissive, helpless, broken. To be aggressive in the tiniest way would destroy that. Just as scary to me was the thought that I was going to have to ramp up on my dominant personality and be a bitch. Everything inside me had been conditioned from early childhood to be polite, caring, patient, understanding. I couldn't betray myself, but I couldn't just be me. I had to be someone I could live with. Someone I could wear like a second skin. Bitch I was not. Maybe online it was possible, but face to face? I cringed at the thought. Then a hint of a new persona began to emerge – playful, devious, devilish. I could show “hints” of being a bitch, but more caring with the notion that at any time I could turn. I could inflict pain, but only on those who enjoyed it. I could control men, but only when they required it. My whole spiel was that I enjoyed playing with those who genuinely enjoyed me. I could spank, flog, kick and otherwise inflict torture and do it with a smile, knowing that the partner in front of me did not just like it, but craved it. I wasn't taking advantage, I was giving someone a safe place to live out a fantasy. I could live with that. Especially since I enjoyed the mind play, the bondage, the cross-dressers and the role play afforded in many of the sessions. I got to be teacher, sexpot, sadist, spy, teaser or any number of personalities, sometimes all in one week. Not to mention how much I was learning about men and about myself. I think I was more amazed at what feelings and thoughts some of these activities brought about inside myself than what I learned about the other sex. Maybe this foray into alternative sexual fantasy was easier for me due to the fact that I was already never really surprised at what men were willing to do and honestly intrigued by what I was willing to do.

A Very Young Mentor

As things intensified and relationships blossomed online, I knew I had to make a decision. Where was I going from here? Did I want to stay comfortably distant behind the computer screen or physically enter the world of bondage and control and meet some of these men face to face? While I was toying with the idea, having no real plan yet either way, I was contacted by a real professional domme in my city. She had both an online personality and an in person business. What did she want with me? It didn't take long to figure it out. Although she professed to just wanting to help out a sister domme get started, I knew she felt it was either take me under her wing or chance that I would step out on my own and provide extra competition for her locally. She was a smart cookie. We scratched each others' backs. It helped infuse new life into her business and it gave me a safer place to start. I was added to her website. She promoted me with her clients, took some new ones and taught me the very basics on how to present, how to screen and how to play safely. She was 20 years my junior yet with her six years in the business, she was light years ahead of me in this world. I learned much from her. Unfortunately, more about what not to do than what to do.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, she was also a very lonely, unhappy escort who's teen years as a submissive slave to a male dom had made a deep, dark scar on her psyche. There was much history with and about her both at the local level and in the online community. I was fortunate to heed the signs of trouble ahead and move my budding business home before the next storm surrounding her blew in. I felt bad for her. She had amazing potential and natural talent. But the pain inside her colored her world and challenged her ability to make good decisions. I wanted to help her in any way I could, but I couldn't risk getting sucked into the mess she invariably made for herself and those around her. I basically cut ties as soon as I could and hurt her like everyone else did.

Wankers

This tease and denial guy was one of the ones who's kink involved viewing the domme. (There were just as many who's kink centered on being the one viewed.) But if I remember correctly, and there were so many I interacted with there is a slight chance I'm confusing him with someone else, there was at least one time where he requested to be viewed. It was for the express purpose of watching him perform a rather interesting feat. He was a thin, young man with a very large cock who could get on his bed, throw his feet over his head and bend in half far enough to get that cock in his mouth. I'm not sure if he got off on the humiliation of it or if he was bragging in a way or even if he just thought it would turn me on. Whatever the case, he seemed proud of his ability and I applauded him.

The majority of males online were what online dommes called wankers. They would contact you, share a kink or fantasy, pretend to want to pay to play, ask lots of questions, require that they get to see you on cam to make sure you were a real female, keep you interested just long enough to get enough fodder for a future fantasy or actually get off then and there and then disappear. It worked often enough that they continued to do it again and again. Sometimes with different women, sometimes with different online names and stories. The easy money wasn't so easy, but many of the girls (and I say girls because they weren't mature enough to understand what was going on) thought it was and they were somehow getting shafted. They complained loudly about the wankers and even branded many of the genuine bdsm players wankers because they couldn't keep them interested.

I remember one of the most successful online dommes wasn't young, wasn't thin, wasn't even pretty. She just knew how to play the game. I didn't always agree with how she treated her subs, but not everyone would agree with how I treated mine. Like I said before, it was completely individual. One of the things I remember her telling a man to do was cover his balls with peanut butter and let his cat lick it all off. Did he do it? Who knows, but it was shocking enough, brave enough, perverted enough and basically still harmless enough to attract lots of attention. Tons of men were beating a path to serve her.

Pay to Play

There was an interesting young doctor who coaxed me by example. He gently pushed me during conversation in the direction he wanted to go. He would ask to view me, watch me tease him for a bit. Then I shut down the webcam and let him beg to view more. I denied him and laughed. Let him beg more. Next came the demand. I would demand he pay me to view again. This would repeat itself several times while I drained him of whatever amount of money he had stocked just for this particular playtime. He would show up online now and then. There was no set schedule and if I wasn't ready to play, he had others he could and would play the game with. I never knew how long we were going to play or how much money he had to play with. Usually it ran about an hour and $100-200. On one occasion it ran much longer. I'm not sure how long. Could have been two hours, could have been six. I was caught up in what was happening and just lost track of time. It was an overwhelming experience. Someone taught me the game and paid me $800 that day to play. My head was about to explode! He was a nice enough fellow and I always thanked him for his generosity.

It was sad to see him go. What I could gather from other females online, one of the dommes outed him to others and he was being pursued by several who wanted a cut of the easy money. Well, really? It wasn't easy money unless you listened carefully to how to play his game. Young girls don't always get all the nuances, nor do they understand the intricacies of bdsm play. They'd barely scratched the surface before they were running around the web demanding money. One of these lovely ladies got into a conversation with him and demanded money.

The rumor was she gathered enough information about him to turn him in to his family. I can't say for sure if the story was true or what the consequences for him were. What I do know is it broke my heart to hear it. I truly felt bad for him because I felt I knew him. We had a connection. Enjoyed a harmless game together. It hurt to think someone could be so vicious. Could ruin a perfectly good human being over a few dollars. I never did get to play with him again.

It was the first time I felt my protective side kick in. There was a sense of obligation to shield these men from the harm that could be inflicted so easily by uncaring, greedy women. Problem was, I was also, in a way, trying to shield them from themselves. Some of them were so in love with the idea of being used by an evil, nasty bitch they stepped into deep waters without thinking. At least not with their big head.

Acquiring a Devilish Style

During my time learning the “ropes” online, so to speak, many of the mistresses/goddesses had wishlists. I had one too. I received shoes, stockings, toys, latex items, paddles and even a desk. Some clients wanted me to know what they were buying and sending, some preferred to send gifts anonymously. One rather nice, older gentleman living in the midwest would chat with me and send me links to stuff on ebay that he particularly liked. Can't remember exactly how, but he knew I liked the sexy, devilish style of the women of the thirties. I started sending him links to things I felt exemplified that style; a dress, a hat, cigarette holders, etc. Soon I started getting those items in the mail. He even found a large stack of movie magazines one of his elder relatives kept from the 1930s thru 1950s and sent them to me. He also sent bdsm items. Not cheap playthings, mind you. These were top of the line items such as a gorgeous horsetail flogger and hand crafted metal fingernails. For my birthday he bought me a year's membership to receive the most expensive coffee in the world once a month. It was the perfect gift since I was very picky about my coffee and he knew it. It was his way of letting me know he did sincerely care about what I wanted. And when I needed a shed at my place to store stuff I no longer had room for, he paid for that too. Any woman should have been tickled to death to have such a man in her life. He literally ended up spending thousands of dollars on me, always on thoughtful gifts that fit my wants and desires.

He did come and see me. Traveling half way across the country, we met, spent time and shared an extraordinary experience. He agreed to let me do a butterfly board for the very first time (with an experienced mentor in attendance, of course). For those who don't know, and I assume a good many fall into that category, a butterfly board is where the domme places a sterile, coated, piece of cardboard behind the family jewels while the subject is lying down and then proceeds to stretch and pin them to the board. We were both butterfly board virgins and the adventure together gave us a bond. Both of us getting through such a scary and taboo event was cause for celebration. Then, due to illness in his family, he wrote me a dear jane email and simply disappeared. My heart ached for his situation with no way to be there for him. I never knew how he fared.

Desperate

There were many men out there. All expressing a desperate desire to serve me in some way. All different. All professing to be sincere. Yes, the mood for them all came off as desperate. Some seemed more so than others. I can't say why they seemed desperate or even what it was that made them come off that way. Maybe it was because it was online, they could be freer about the immediacy of their needs. Maybe they felt the desperate tone would appeal to a dominant woman. Maybe they sensed the huge number of other men vying for the same attention from the same woman. Or maybe it was the kink/desire/fetish/fantasy in their head that they were about to unload on me. The knowledge that it would probably produce a horribly negative response with a very slim chance their wish would be granted. But they felt a need to strike while the iron was hot, jump in blindly and take the risk before they changed their mind, a once in a lifetime opportunity to live out something they couldn't escape in their minds.

There was the business man who struck up a conversation with me by first telling me about a foreign country where men paid to be castrated by women. From what I gathered, it was some secret society where some women had tons of money and power for doing this. He went into some detail about it. Then he asked me if I thought I could do something like that. Of course he would sign a waiver and pay me extremely well. If he had that kind of money, why didn't he just go to that country and have it done, I asked. He replied that the waiting list was a year and a half long. He didn't want to wait. This was amusing. I had absolutely no intention of doing anything of the kind and I never agreed to, but I continued to chat with him because it fascinated me. I couldn't really tell if he was real or serious or even if his story was anywhere near true. And actually, that didn't matter. I was along for the ride. The more I could learn about people (men in particular), the better. So I listened and I asked questions. His ultimate fantasy was to lay at my feet castrated by me and bleeding, have me laugh at his predicament, quickly grab a signed blank check he left on the table and go buy myself a new Mercedes. Where does this come from? I never met the man and I'm not a therapist. What I do know is, that man got exactly what he wanted from me. To play out his fantasy safely.

Getting Around the Next Corner

I can't begin to tell you how many sessions I don't remember. I would put on that second skin and do what needed to be done. Trying to second guess some stranger in front of me who's paid to see me be the domme of his dreams. It's a tall order. Impossible in many cases. If you let it, it can get you down. That and the times I would pass an entire week without a session booked. I would begin to question myself, my ability, my need to continue, my success. As any of the regulars on one discussion board can tell you, it takes about two years to become established in the eyes of the pro domme client community. After that, you're considered “real”; someone worthy of a submissive's time and money. I managed to hang in quite a bit longer than that. And things did even out and become more real and more stable for me after the initial two years. I had quite a few regulars I saw who gave me confidence and support in many ways, emotional, financial, physical. They told me I was special, sexy, beautiful, intelligent and great with rope! They paid for my trips, took me to dinner and gave me gifts. Some even came and helped me with home projects. Best of all, they helped me hone my skills.

What started out as a curiosity ended up a way of life for nearly eight years. Time passed slowly at first, when I was grasping for answers; trying desperately to relate what I was learning to what I already knew. It was chaotic, confusing, exciting, lonely and scary. There were times I was sure I was going to have to step back into the “vanilla” world and leave the dark, kinky stuff alone, not because I was barely making ends meet, but because I was not seeing the value in the investment I was making. Where was it all going? Where would I eventually end up? How did it shape my future? What impact would it have on my life long term? I couldn't answer those questions. I didn't know what the next 24 hours would bring me. Maybe that was part of the allure. I needed to get around the next corner before I made a decision to leave all this craziness behind. I don't think I ever got around that corner. I just met one interesting person after another, all with their own stories, life experiences and kink.

Domme or Fake?

I met many other pro dommes along the way. Some were professional, some not so much. There were a few who were believable as true bdsm players. Amazingly, the men almost never saw through the fakes even when to me, it seemed just too obvious. I didn't burst any bubbles. I just took notes. It seemed there were just as many men who cried fake even in the face of honest to goodness dominant goddesses. It just all depended on an individual's idea of what made a REAL dominant woman. The definition changed from person to person and even from day to day. It was like chasing rainbows. But, it was more a matter of finding the partner who fit your fantasy best, not who actually could be dominant to all. There is no such woman. If she fit your definition in session, she was real.

If I had let all the bashing and questioning and creepiness of some of the requests get to me, I'd have given up long before I finished the first box of condoms. But, there was something so compelling about opening this Pandora's box. It took a lot of pushing forward and seeing literally hundreds of clients before I felt comfortable going into a session. I was terribly grateful for the regulars I saw. They were a chance to explore deeper with a trusted partner. Months and months passed with ups and downs in scheduling. I averaged about three sessions a week. I turned down many. I spent a lot of time alone or online in chats and on discussion boards for business. I didn't see a reason to increase the number of sessions. I could get by on what I was doing just fine and besides, increasing meant more strangers, more risk both in terms of bodily harm and legal ramifications. Not to mention increasing the number of times I dressed, planned the session, prepped the “dungeon” and waited for a no show. Everyone hated no shows. It's understandable when a guy doesn't show up. He probably says to himself, “What the hell am I doing?” But it was the ultimate sin to a pro domme. The mental preparedness you need to just walk into a session is huge, absolutely huge. Then there's the dressing (no easy feat), planning what you're going to do and having the play space ready with everything you think you might possibly need for someone you've probably never met.

A High Price to Pay

A beautiful, tall, young man with the largest, beautiful cock I have ever seen once said to me, “If my girlfriend would wrap her hand around my cock once in a while and lead me, I would go anywhere, do anything for her and be very happy.” He loved wearing corsets, stockings, and heels. He cleaned house for me when he visited, and he was all man. Flying across the country to visit me, he dressed as a maid and served the dommes at my party because it made him happy to do so. But it also made him happy to have a deep, emotional and intense sexual connection to a woman. This was a man who was gorgeous inside and out, successful at a good job, a nice dresser, kind to animals (he loved his cat and dog), owned his own home, and a loving son to his parents. Yet, his fetish defined him more than anything else when it came to finding a mate to spend his life with. So, he sometimes considered himself a failure because the happiness he wanted with a soul mate eluded him due to his “affliction”. It branded him undesirable for the majority of available females.

Few men can resist the charms of a sexy woman. That's no surprise. But what constitutes sexy can be quite a surprise even if you consider yourself sexually open. I had a regular client for seven years who paid to spend time with me as often as he could. As long as I wore stockings and high heel shoes, he really didn't care what I looked like or what else I did or didn't wear. He was in love with my legs and my bondage skills. He had found a partner who shared the desires his wife could not abide. It completed him. But not without a high price emotionally because he loved his wife, his family and his religion too.

Introduction and Purpose

There is no point to this story. There is no happy ending, no moral, no plot. One thing there is, is honesty. From my point of view, a human story from the inside of something most people will never experience but in all likelihood have been a part of at some point in their lives. It's blunt, gritty, shocking, uncovering layers of facade and sometimes adding a few. Of course the names are not the same, but the events are true. Nothing has been embellished, exaggerated or changed in any way. There are many different worlds out there just the other side of an imaginary line from you. This is one of them.

This is not a tell-all book. Understandably there is a great deal of concern in the BDSM community (mainly the male clients, of course) about being “outed.” If you think men's public behavior leaves something to be desired, you obviously have no idea how hard they work at hiding what they REALLY want to say and do. I may tell what they do and say but never who.

Starting in my forties, I worked as a professional dominatrix for eight years.  It was not a decision made lightly or under duress or with haste.  The gradual process from first stumbling into a BDSM chat room to full fledged professional was both deliberate and intentional at each step, from that very first encounter with a strange and interesting community online.

The intent of this blog is to share my experiences with those individuals interested in the BDSM community out of a desire to learn, connect, understand or share.  It is NOT to judge, degrade or otherwise disparage ANYONE.  I will openly and honestly answer questions and welcome comments, stories and experiences as long as they are without malice.

My entries in this blog will be snippets from my writings on this subject from a truly personal perspective where my main motivation to become a pro domme was understanding human nature, sexuality, men and myself.  (And based on responses to my posts.)

Let the games begin!