Flip Flop Sidewalk Toes

This is a photo I took last summer of three NYC Mistress' sweaty and dirty, nyc street walking feet. Can you guess who they belong to?

Clockwise, starting at 3 o'clock, is ME! Then Nico of Rapture and Cyber.

My Frame of Reference...

I responded to Ardenne's post on Max Fisch entitled I can't even *think* vanilla! with the exact moment that I realized my frame of reference had changed forever. Many years ago I was asked to write a press release for Arena about our Valentine's Day Couples' Rental Special. The idea had been to appeal to a novice or more vanilla crowd via mainstream media (scenesters already knew our playspaces were available for rentals). "No problem!" I thought. But after about five or ten minutes in front of the screen, I said, "um...I really can't remember what vanilla people think happens at a dungeon. Everything I want to write either contains terms they won't get or will sound way too threatening."

Then a few weeks ago, I met a guy that I thought I was interested in. I sent him the links to this blog and my site. I told him that he'd learn more about me than he might even want to know, but I'm really open about who I am and what I do. The questions from his vanilla point of view were suprising to me. At first there were the obvious ones, terminology, what's CBT? (guess he didn't know that I'm in the midst of reading Family Jewels, a guide to male genital play and torment) NT? But then came the q's that illustrated that he really did not understand the BDSM dynamic. Dildo worship & training? Fisting? Did he miss the fact that I am the dominant player? Did he momentarily think I was a peep show girl? Obviously, I cleared up his misconceptions.

Why are my sessions always so thematic? The other day I saw two trample & smother clients. One of the sessions was a double Mistress with Emanuelle. During our consult he told us that while he was a novice, he really enjoyed trampling, "go crazy," he said, "bounce if you want." I'm sure you know that we took that comment and ran with it! I laughed so much while we absolutely crushed him!

You Really Can Buy Anything on eBay

I don't know how I hadn't heard about this previously. It took nearly three weeks and an email from a friend in Chicago. Ace Bar is for sale on eBay. Absolutely insane. I spent a tremendous portion of my adolescence drinking at this spot. Before it was Ace, it was The Mission. Back when I was in highschool and when I'd come home during college, this was my bar of choice. Granted, since I've lived in the neighborhood over the last decade I haven't really frequented it all that much, but I did have my 25th birthday party there (yes it had a theme, I forced everyone to dress as their favorite 80's teen angst movie character). There are no bids listed as of yet, perhaps it is just a publicity stunt, I know it's worked for me, I'll definitely stop in for a drink before I leave for PR.

This Week...

So the good news is that my knee is nearly healed, the great news is that I've finally figured out where I'm lounging on the beach for a week in late December! I'm headed to Puerto Rico. Absolutely alone and it is going to be phenomenal.

I spent time reworking my site this weekend. Why is it that every domme's website is black and red???? I'll let you all know when it is actually ready to be unveiled.

Something happened this week that leaves me utterly bewildered. I trusted someone that perhaps I shouldn't have. I am ashamed of my gullibility, angry at myself and yet saddened deeply by the whole experience.

She's Got Legs, She Knows How To Use Them (even when one isn't quite up to par)

I saw two new foot and leg clients this week. Ironic that the demand for my legs is rising as my knee injury made wearing fetish heels a near impossibility (but thanks to my AMAZING chiropractor, I'm well en route to 100%). I forced the first to go through several hoops to see me as I mistakenly thought he was someone who had previously no-showed me. He was absolutely sincere in his devotion to my feet. I find it amusing how men who enjoy legs and feet are consistently awed by mine. He was quite sweet as he lay on the floor gazing up at me with unabashed adoration that continued even as I crushed his cock with my foot. This guy was young, hard bodied and huge-cocked. I only note his size because it was larger than my foot! The other new client was also endearing after a misunderstanding in a completely different way. He was an older gentleman and so clear in his desires during consult that I had no idea it was his first session ever. He requested physical overpowerment and muscle worship. Throughout the session he made several inappropriate requests, such as asking me to remove my panties and to kiss my lips(!?!?!). I punished him each time, but it wasn't until afterward that I realized he wasn't trying to push my limits, he just didn't know the boundaries of professional bdsm. I asked how he had found me and he told me he had clipped the phone number from a magazine years ago. Why now? I asked and he truly couldn't tell me. But he made the most flattering comment, how decades of fantasy couldn't begin to compare with actually sessioning with me.

edited to add: I just d/l the song referenced in the title and it is horrible! My recollection of it is sooooo much better than the reality

No, I don't read the NY Post

I understand how a client may become addicted to his domme, but did he really think charging her services to his company credit card would just go unnoticed????

Moronic bit of behavior with severe consequences, followed by PANTIES, PANTIES, PANTIES!

I had a great Thanksgiving weekend. Spent it out in the Hamptons with the family I work for. Saturday morning I took the kids on a two hour bike ride adventure. We found this cool futuristic junglegym and climbed all over it together. The middle child was a bit sugared up so in the interest of burning off some of his excess energy, I had him running the length of a huge field while I kept time by screaming the seconds as they passed. He made great time and I told him that maybe when he was older he would run track. "What's running track?" asks the adorable near seven-year-old. I explain that it is a sport in high school, mostly racing but there are other parts as well and that when I was I high school I ran track. Over the hill I spy the goalposts of a football field, "Hey, let's go check that out, most football fields have tracks around them, I can show you what I'm talking about." Not only is the field encircled by a perfect blacktop, sixlane track, there are hurdles set up! Did it occur to me that I haven't jumped hurdles is 15 years? No. Did it occur to me that I'd never jumped hurdles in cowboy boots? No. I actually cleared both of the hurdles I attempted. Nice. However, I landed poorly on the second and seem to have done something that my left knee finds unacceptable. I'm limping. It can bear weight, isn't swollen, but isn't willing to fully extend either. I'm resting and giving it a few days. Which leads me to hours of web surfing. And obsessive research on unimportant topics.

A few weeks ago, when Sade and I watched Audition, we discussed the whole Japanese panty vending vachines (ie: bura-sera) thing. She put forth how awesome it would be if we could set one up at Purple Passion or at Rapture (could I be a guest panty seller?). So today with nothing but time on my hands I did some investigating. What do panty vending machines look like? Exhibit A:


It's just a converted cigarette machine! We can so do this!!!! My research also led me to this clip. Which is probably a part of why my craigslist panty selling exploits were so successful. I hand-delivered them. I know I posted one note a received, but this is what a most eloquent gentlemen sent after his purchase:

What can I say? Those panties were off the scale of deliciousness ( ... A, AA, AAA, supreme, extra fine) and into a realm where the olfactory becomes tactile. The humidity was unbearable. At home I stripped, showered, lay naked on my bed in the airconditioning, and proceeded to explore.

There was a subtle gradation of tone moving down from the front and intensifying in the very wet region of the cotton gusset, then a quite sudden and pronounced transition to the area moist with sweat from around your asshole, and where I discovered, to my delight, a single dark pubic hair trapped in the lace. Every part was glorious in its own way.

I then pulled the panties right over my face ("Abu Ghraib" style) with the central gusset area over my nostrils, closed my eyes, breathed deeply and rhythmically and quickly brought myself to two intense orgasms in ten minutes.

Wasting Time part 9,835

I'm not usually a web video animation watcher and I'm absolutely not a mass forwarder, but in my web travels today I watched two clips (both with audio)that made me smile. For people who love their gmail accounts as much as I do. Clip A. And for those who've read come to my blog after reading my preface (For clients: only proceed if you can handle the fact that I am not always in a corset and six inch heels, for vanilla friends, that I sometimes am.) Clip B is courtesy of Domina M via maxfisch. And yes it is horrific form to take a cell call during session.

What's Been Going On.

It isn't so much that I haven't had time to write, or that nothing blogworthy has happened, I just haven't been in the mood. Perhaps one day I'll expand on these notes, or you can always ask me for the story in person, I'm told that I tell the tales of my life well.

--Seduced a seminary student. I thought he was attractive before I understood that he would eventually be a priest, but am I an unhinged pervert for wanting him so much more after I found out?

--Had an intense choking session. It has never been an area of particular interest to me, but it seems I'm a natural.

--One of my favorite clients decided that sessioning with me was tantamount to cheating on his wife and that he could no longer continue deceiving her. I talked him away from the edge of confessing to his wife his addiction to me, but lost him as a client. I've always encouraged him to tell her about his fetish, who knows maybe she'd indulge him. But I find it so sad that he will bottle up everything he has discovered with me.

--Upon receiving the coffeemaker/espresso machine I'd placed on my wishlist, I purchased coffee, milk, sugar, chocolate powder, even a bottle of water in case I didn't like the taste of my tap. My lack of domesticity was proven when I realized that I was still missing some key elements for the perfect mocha, namely mugs and spoons. Also once I'd improvised with pint glasses, one must have dishwashing liquid on hand to do it again.

--the art of dating continues to elude me. Received an email from I guy I crushed madly on several months ago to find that meeting me inspired him to book an appointment with a pro-domme. Um, hello? No, it wasn't with me.

--Immigrant women have now scrubbed my floors twice and I do not care how bourgie it makes me, I love having a cleaning lady.

--After watching the entire first season of Carnivale in two sittings, I realize that the only shows to come on TV that have interested me at all in the last decade have been on HBO or Showtime. Too bad I still haven't hooked up cable. But then it is probably a good thing, as I might never leave my apt again.

--Placing all of my books onto my bookshelves gave me a pleasure that I think can only be described as perverse

--The thousand dollar black leather couch that I scored off of craigslist for two hundred bucks also gives me joy that is probably unhealthy.

--Visiting the chiropractor daily for a week after inexplicably blowing out my lower back, the tech comments, "I can't turn the [electro-stim] machine any higher, you've maxed it out." When the doctor has his elbow dug deep into my lower back, "You really have an incredibly high tolerance for pain." Did I miss my calling? Should I have become a pro-masochist instead? Don't even entertain the thought. I have yet to meet the man I would submit to.

--I adore sharing films that I love with people. I showed a hopeless romantic Say Anything and Audition to another sadist. I don't think that the sheer artistry of the torture in that film can be appreciated by someone who has never been in that headspace. What a precise sliver of my psyche is now up for grabs.

--Attended two seminars given by Flagg. As prepared as I was to dislike him (for no rational reason), I was pleasantly surprised. Knowledgeable man.

--visited a friend in the psych ward after a botched suicide attempt. I arrived with Boo Boo Kisses for her wrists. Thankfully she laughed.

Brain Bleed is Three years Old Today!

Clearing Craig's stuff out of my life the same week that I cleared out my mother's home has had a significant effect. Any vague packratting or hoarding tendencies that I may have had are entirely gone. I am the Mistress of the Purge. Since removing his stuff from my home, I have already filled 8 garbage bags with stuff that I no longer want or need. I am no longer sentimental in reference to things. I want people in my life that I care about, not scraps of paper that represent them. Ok, I'm not a complete minimalist...yet. My bookshelves are still utterly overcrowded and I'm fine with that. I also kept the toy raygun that lights up and makes noise that Snee gave me for a night of debauchery. But that might not make it through the next round. Having never purchased a mattress in my life, I had no idea how expensive beds are! The ones I like are upwards of $1500! I know, I know, The Mistress cleaning her closets and doing domestic shopping isn't all that sexy. Let's see, what has happened that could be considered sexy in the last 24 hours...not much unfortunately. I posted the following image all over myspace:

Kicking Balls and Kicking his Stuff OUT!

The last two weeks have been overwhelmingly busy. I've done soooo many incredibly fun sessions! There was the return of JimmyBob complete with some very thoughtful props and inspired by my play earlier in the day: BALL KICKING!!! I had been a touch nervous about the appointment I had booked for that morning. My client was clear in his introductory email as well as subsequent appointment phone call that he was a ball busting fetishist. While I have done some over the years, I don't recall ever having been asked for a full hour of slamming my feet into anyone's scrotum. Me being me, I researched it. I read over reviews on Max Fisch, did some general web searching and called a few other Mistresses for tips. I was, of course, an absolute natural! Have you forgotten that I've been kickboxing for nearly a year? My favorite kick was basically a modified front kick, knee up and instead of striking with the ball of my foot, I'd slap with my instep. SO MUCH FUN!!!! I also really enjoyed sitting on the table and basically speed bagging his balls with alternating feet.

I'm normally available most of the time. I'm so lucky that my day job hours are utterly flexible. But I had to turn down three sessions yesterday. I spent the day moving my ex's belongings into storage. My apartment is mine again! This was not a box of photos and a few sweaters situation. I filled a 14 ft truck to move it all to a 10x15 storage space. My apt is practically empty! I feel like I just moved in. I'll be using a combination of professionals and cleaning slaves to get it inhabitable again. While I don't subscribe to the "Mistress as Divine Being" mindset, I assure you that you will never see me scrubbing the floor. Cleaning just isn't one of my skill sets. We had a cleaning lady during my formative years. I wonder if my mother even knew how to clean?

Also on the menu is renovation. Anyone know how to install pergo floors?

a draft post from last week that I never finished....

I played quite a bit this week. I had two really intense and special sessions that I'll go into further detail on when I have more time. Last night I attended two showings at cinekink "the really alternative film festival." The Writer of O and Xaviera Hollander. Both are documentaries on women who wrote books of a sexual nature that both caused tremendous scandal at their release and altered public thought on marginalized sexuality. I thoroughly enjoyed both (though I could have lived without the dramatic recreations from The Story of O). Tonight I had dinner at wd-50 and experienced the most amazing dessert I have ever encountered. While I do not consider myself a "foodie" this may have been a life changing experience.