Having My Cake

Well two rather nice chocolate cup cakes actually. But this is really a  post about the importance for me of picking and choosing events and not spreading myself too thinly. I chose not yo attend and event I could have gone to in Friday to save myself for a long night last night at Underworld at a femdom event called At My Command. This was worth doing to keep myself mentally and physically fresh.  Because we dommes were busy what with forced exercise, a slave hunt and an interrogation scenario where we had to extract thew code to a safe that contained a bottle of fizz and a box of chocolates. I really enjoyed this and extracted numbers from two slaves,  certainly no pain sluts but who quickly realised that dealing with me in full sadistic flow soon saps the will to be brave. This was my first time at At My Command and it is a brilliant event. The games were well thought out and got everyone involved. And how we enjoyed ourselves! Then there was the cake………

This is one of three femdom events held regularly in the West Midlands. I love Bitchcraft and Devotion too, not least because of the lovely people. Femdom is where I began and, several years on, where I have come back to. It is my home within he often bewildering world of BDSM and I will always make time for these events in the busy life I lead, a lige that means I can’t fit in anywhere near the number of events I would like to go to.

And guess what? They all have nice cakes.

Trans Women, The New Misogynists?

Some time ago I lay on my bed, closed my eyes and tried to imagine being pregnant. I then imagined myself giving birth, holding my newborn child, bonding with it. I fell into a deep, beautiful sleep from which I awoke with a feeling of desperate emptiness. I felt my body, its curves, its contours and felt a sudden disgust at a body that was not fertile, not fruitful, would never know certain core feminine experiences.

I got over this, not least because of my some wonderful sex with both men and women, and I now love my trans body. But bodily self disgust is, I think, something that transgender people are quite prone to.   Many speak of feeling trapped in the wrong body but most know deep down that no hormones and no surgery can ever, quite, give them the right body. All trans women know that there are differences between them and cisgendered women, know too that many key issues for women can never affect them directly. We reflect on these and our reflection colours and patterns our relations with our cisgendered sisters.

I, and many trans women, actively support the struggle for reproductive rights,  the right og women to decide for themselves what to do with their bodies. We have cis women friends, confidants, lovers. Yet, however we engage with cis women, the radical feminists continue to abuse us as “mentally ill gay men” “drag queens” “not real women” and so on.  And, in a new tack, a recent blog posts suggested that we are misogynists,  seeking to erase “real” (that is biologically female) women in order to further our own unjustified claim to be women, that we privilege our struggle over that of cis women,  and that, ultimately, trans rights are fundamentally incompatible with women’s rights. This explains the rad fem furore over Government suggestions that the current intrusive,  medicalised and bureaucratic, process for gender reassignment should be replaced by one of self certification, based possibly on the system that has operated for two years in the Irish Republic.

Much of the claims made are nonsense. For example trans people do not require a Gender Recognition Certificate to use toilets corresponding to their self identified gender and the idea that a man would go to the trouble of putting on a dress and make up just to invade women’s spaces to sexually assault them always seemed farfetched.  As we have seen recently it is far from necessary for a man to do this in order to assault women. These arguments also elide areas where the stuggles overlap. For example, bathroom bans in certain US states have led to the ejection of cisgendered women from the ladies’, allegedly for not looking feminine enough.  The control of trans bodies is actually an aspect of the control of the bodies of all women.

Am I a misogynist? I have a number of close women friends who have supported me in my transition, who have shown me love and been there for me when I needed them. These are women who can relate to me as a woman and want to be part of my life. Do they consider me a misogynist? I cannot recall meeting a woman in recent times who was not wholly comfortable with trans women. The women I know encompass a wide age range, a wide variety of backgrounds and levels of education.  I suggest that they represent a representative cross section of the female population. I suggest too that the radical feminists, as in many other questions, are simply not where the majority of women are.

Do I want to erase women? I do not. The simple fact is I could not live without them.

At Club Pedestal

I have finally been to Pedestal. This was actually my first ever event outside the West Midlands.  I guess I had been a bit reluctant to go to an event in London having heard the stories about how unfriendly people, kinky people too, in the Big Smoke. I needn’t have worried. I met my friend Voodoo Queen at the Beehive pub near The Oval which is a regular pre Pedestal meeting place and we soon got chatting to other out of town kinksters, including a few out of country people. Then there were a couple of familiar faces from Birmingham. WE chatted, drank and soon it was time to head off.

The club where this is held is in the arches underneath Vauxhall station, and is a much bigger place than you realise when you go in, with several side rooms and a large outdoor area at the back. WE wtached the performances, we danced, we chatted to people (and there, of all places, the “what are you doing here” line seemed particularly bizarre) and I did a bit of trampling in the trample cage.

But Pedestal is not really a place to play. Rather you go to show off your fetish finery, people watch and absorb the atmosphere.  And it was fun, eevn though I didn’t last till 5 am. Actually we were offered a lift back to Birmingham so the 5.27 train from Euston had to manage without us.

An enjoyable evening then, just a shame I didn’t get to catch up with Trample Temptress who was still on te door when we left. Next time I will try and go the distance. Back in Birmingham I went to my local cafe for a full English breakfast and a mug of sweet tea before heading home to bed, just as my neighbours were setting off for work. and, you know, lying in  bed can be a great way to spend a day. Particularly with so many pleasant memories.

A Few Thoughts on Face Sitting

I love sitting on my slave’s face, as much as he loves feeling my bottom press down on him, the softness of my panties, the weight that restricts hos breathing the tantalising closeness of my genitals,  the aromas of my animal sexuality. I love too the helplessness of his position, the easy accessibility of his nipples, his penis, his balls. Facesitting is sensual but, as a sadist, I cannot allow him to enjoy too much sensuality without the spice of a little excruciating pain.

But until last week, I had never sat on his face outside a BDSM context, naked, pantyless, offering him my crack to lick, feeling the delicious rub of his stubble, the tongue working its way round. I leaned forward not to torture him but to take hos delicious cock in my mouth, to lick his balls, to enjoy the groaning not of pain, but of pleasure anticipated, pleasure that could still be denied, if I was to  switch back into domme mode. Or maybe I never leave domme mode, maybe the sexual and the BDSM elements of our relationship have become so deeply intertwined that they can no longer be separated. And this is not always good news for him because  it adds to his uncertainty, knowing that he could be denied what he most craves, that I might ruin his orgasm, just because I can.

But last week I didn’t. As I felt the delicious abrasion, felt his cock harden in my mouth,  I was just so horny. I needed orgasms and quickly and if he had one too, well that’s all part of the fun too. Sometimes good service needs to be rewarded.

Taking Liberties

I have had a few weeks away from the scene for various reasons and this has coincided with a return of my anxiety. It is never far from the surface and can bubble up unexpectedly, a bit like the eczema I also suffer from.I woke up on Sunday feeling detained having hardly slept.  To be honest, I was dreading the day of kink that lay ahead.

Yet I went to bed feeling deeply happy. Maybe time spent with scene friends, old and new, was just what I needed.  And quality time with my slave. I popped into the BBB for an hour or so and caught up with few people before heading off to Leicestershire to what has become one of favourite places for kink events, Liberty Elite.

If you imagine how a 1970s swingers club probably looked like it won’t be a lot different from Libs and I mean that as a compliment. It is well appointed, extremely comfortable and has a decent sized play area where slave’s bottom received some long overdue attention.  There was a lovely buffet and we sat outside to enjoy what little sun there was. And this is the best bit. Libs has a patio and a large grassed area. It is also in the middle of nowhere  which means you can play outdoor 🙂

had taken a pair of boots and walked the grounds looking for some mud to get on them, for licking off purposes. sadly it was too dry although my slave did get to 2 laps of the field in honour of London Marathon day. But I am really hoping the next afternoon event will be after a day or two of heavy rain. Then I will have my fun.

Sitting Around

My first experience of face sitting wasn’t in a BDSM setting. It happened when I was 10 and a jealous older sister of a school friend. She overpowered me and sat on my face, wriggling as she did so, and made no move to get up as I screamed and beat the ground furiously as I struggled for air. She did this more than once and it was part of a pattern of seeking to humiliate me and more. This was the same girl who tied me up and locked me up in a coalscuttle and I have no doubt she really wanted to harm me. She certainly terrified me.

After that face sitting played no part in my life until two years ago when ATVOD included in their ludicrous list of banned activities in their war on porn or rather their war on sexual activities that women enjoy.  But still I felt no desire to do it.

Now I have a sub who loves having my butt, actually quite a bony in these days with all the running I do, on his face, and as I gain experience I have come to realise it is rather sensual. Maybe there is an element of humiliation for the sub. Maybe it’s the thought that my genitalia are just a tongue length away.  For me it’s the symbolism. As a form of breath play it is a powerful form of control. And the thought of my sub, directly underneath me, utterly helpless, is intoxicating.

I know that Harriet Birch hated me with a passion all those years ago but if I don’t exactly remember her with fondness I don’t feel any bitterness. I wonder whether she was one of the people I have met on my journey who helped plant seeds of kink within me? And I also wonder what she is doing now?

Double Trouble

There is, as they say, a first time for everything and Monday this week saw my first experience of double domming. There really couldn’t have been anything better to do on a day when the rain lashed down and hammered on the roof of the former industrial building where the dungeon was located. We were at the very top of the building so got the full sound effects as we put my slave through his paces. As readers of this blog will know I am still relatively new to domming myself but my partner in crime is even newer and keen to learn. And it was a huge learning experience for me too. I had planned and scripted the session and discussed it with her over lunch the day before. I had to make one or two late changes as I had originally planned a couple of activities she wasn’t yet entirely comfortable with, but from this perspective it went smoothly. I always worry about timing but this is something you can only learn from experience. Essentially, the trick is not to try to fit too much in, and I find that half a dozen activities works best. There were a couple of things I really wanted to do but which I had to defer to next time. I can’t tell you what these were as the slave will probably read this and, well, I would hate to spoil the surprise.

So I had the task of leading the session and guiding my fellow domme but without stopping her showing spontaneity. Also for a good session it was important for the chemistry to work between her and the slave. Feedback I have received suggests this happened. And also, of course, the chemistry between the two dommes.

Most importantly, it has helped to restore my confidence. I went through a real low patch recently and was starting to doubt my own abilities. Did I really want to do this? I even got as far as clicking my way towards the Delete Account on Fetlife? What, I reflected, if I just disappeared as others have before? As I reflected I knew that I couldn’t. I would have hurt too many people. It is not time for me to be gone yet, nowhere near in fact. And I have learnt something else. As a domme you want to appear strong and powerful, in control all the time but sometimes you just can’t. I have learnt that, sometimes, being open and honest about your problems with your sub can teach you a lot about them as people and no, it doesn’t have to impair your dominance over them. I really feel that my bond with my slave has been strengthened by this experience.

And double domming was a great way to get my mojo back, not least because having a third person there reduced the emotional intensity that can occur in one to one sessions and made it fun. Even my slave had a smile on his face…..at least until I took out the nipple clamps!

Better Watch Out for the Skin Deep

I  have been a regular blood donor for a quarter of a century so am used to having needles stuck in my arm. Despite this I still shiver at the thought and, when I give blood, cannot look as the needle is inserted. I turn away, should me eyes and imagine myself on a palm fringed beach.  At times I think I should just give up but, having a rare blood group, I know this wiould be selfish. So I carry on giving and, in truth, it is an excuse to have a full English breakfast before I go.

When I first got involved in BDSM the idea of needle play never really got on my radar. Humiliation yes, CP yes, and one or two more exotic things, but, before my first visit to the after party at The Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar I had never even heard of it, let alone seen it. So I watched. This was a most interesting experience particularly as there are one or two people on the scene in the West Midlands who are both highly skilled and highly creative with needles. As with many BDSM activities, you can stand back from the physical sensations and just admire the aesthetic. This is something I wrote about here.

Even so, this was a purely detached interest. The idea of participating myself, either as top or bottom, left me cold. I simply couldn’t see what enjoyment the participants got. This was until earlier this year when my slave and I went to a kinky house party. He has enjoyed needles for some time and told me a lot about his enjoyment. I felt that, as his domme, I really ought to find out more. I watched closely as he played with a mutual friend who then guided me as I  inserted some needles myself before later removing them, some slowly and sensually, some more quickly and painfully, which, of course, appealed to my sadistic side. But what most impressed me was the deep deep subspace my slave was in after removal of the needle and the gentle washing of his back that formed part of the aftercare.

Why, I wondered, does it have this effect and why has needle play found its sway into the world of BDSM? I think it shares with other activities the self-abandonment and freely entered vulnerability of the sub or bottom, and the trust he or she has in the top.  It is an activity of incredible intimacy and must create deep bonds between those who play regularly with each other. It is also, I think, a parody of a power relationship. Think needles and think medicine, the patient doctor dynamic, and, at the extreme, the death chambers of many US states. Inserting a needle is to exercise real power and dominance, even to be master of life and death. BDSM subverts this power dynamic by turning pain into pleasure.

I discussed needle play a few months ago, over breakfast actually, with sex writer Remittance Girl. She argued that needle play can be seen as even more transgressive than other BDSM activities because it involves an essential violation of the bodily integrity of the bottom, the penetration of the skin that forms the container of the things that make up his or her physical existence. Other things, even the harder CP essentially don’t do this.  Transgression is, surely, what we seek, it is the locus of our deepest pleasure.

Whilst I will never, I think, be a particularly hardcore player, it is something I want to explore further. It is not just metaphorically that I like to get under people’s skin.

Tightly Bound

I showed my new leather over bust corset to my vanilla friend Jane.

“I’m surprised you got one” she said, “I remember you saying that that sort of thing was more for submissive women.”

And it is true that most of the corset wearing women I know on the scene identify as femsubs. Corsets are associated with restriction and restraint, the modelling of the female body to a template designed to please a dominant, privileged male. Maybe, I had thought, my slave’s eagerness to buy me a corset was a kind of sartorial topping from the bottom?

But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea and even if being tied in by my slave seemed a bit unusual, I have always liked the look of a corset and the smell of new leather awakens my deepest and earliest fetishistic responses. So we bought the corset at the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar  last month.

Bound tightly in it I could see how it feminised my body, gave me the hourglass figure I had craved. I teamed it with a latex pencil skirt, another form of restrictive but arousing clothing and….. if a woman I think is fucking hot describes me in the same words I know it has to be right.

My slave looked at me longingly and I looked at him, at the corset wrapped tightly around me, at the skirt that I could do no more than hobble in. As I did so I felt a powerful wave of sadistic desire surge through me. My slave will be richly rewarded for his generosity…….in pain and humiliation.


Taking to Task

I love setting tasks. They are a means of extending my control over my sub to the times when he is not physically present to serve me. They are also a another way to inflict various humiliations on him and this is something I love even more than a good caning. It is also a challenge to me to come up with ideas for new tasks and I like to be creative. .

And yet my slave has long had difficulty with pointless and demeaning tasks which served no purpose except to humiliate him. So I have extended the range of tasks to include things of practical benefit to him, and above all, to me. As a Mistress I really shouldn’t have to do menial but necessary tasks myself should I?

So I now set a variety of tasks which fall into four categories:

There are tasks of benefit to him, such as being ordered to inspect himself for lumps etc on a regular basis. This is an aspect of me caring for his well being.

Secondly, there are tasks of benefit to me, such as having my shoes and boots polished, my latex brought to a shine etc. I know my slave genuinely loves these tasks, because although menial, he can see a practical point to them. .

Thirdly there are punishment tasks, which are very often boring pieces of written work, lines, essays and so on. He hates these and that is the point. They are punishment and definitely not to be enjoyed.

Finally, there are the pointless and unpredictable tasks I set for my twisted amusement. Often demeaning and humiliating, these are always set with a smile on my face, if not met with a smile in return. These he has sometimes struggled with. Yet I will persist with these frequently irksome and demeaning tasks. They serve no practical purpose but challenge the sub to the core of his submissiveness. He is forced to overcome his reluctance and distaste in order to please his Mistress. He is forced to win a battle with himself and this is the way to deeper submission and, through suffering, to deep joy.

If you liked this please check out the other posts on this subject at Kink of the Week by clicking on the lips