Little Ruminations on BDSM – Missing Handcuff Keys

What can I say? Passion over took us. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t prepared for, and handcuffs were very definitely involved.

Now it’s important to know that those particular handcuffs weren’t shitty ones bought in a bad sex shop. They were in fact a pair of honest to goodness law enforcement ones. You know, not the ones with the emergency release switches. The ones with the locks which are supposed to actually work well.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, passion had taken over.

And someone was lying on her belly, with her wrists firmly held in the handcuffs. Naughty fun was definitely about to happen. And given that these were two dominant women, one of whom was choosing consciously to submit, there was probably going to be one hell of a fight for supremacy.

You of course noticed the word “probably” in there. Yeah, it didn’t happen that way. Instead someone rang someone. Then someone else realised that the keys to those particular handcuffs were still at the other end of the country.

The moral of this story is as follows;

1: When you decide to have kinky D/s play it’s a really good idea for at least one of you to have it planned out, even a little. Contingency planning is your friend.

2: A little flexibility goes a long way when you’re trapped in a pair of handcuffs

3: Don’t panic, even really, REALLY good handcuffs are stupidly easy to pick with the careful application of a little patience, and an iron nail.

And finally;

4: Before you close those delicious metal, bondage inflicting twin bracelets actually make sure you actually have the keys. Oh and for the love of all that’s unholy, remember to turn off your phones.

A miserable girls thoughts on – the flu.

Yeah I have the flu. I’ve had it since Friday, it’s now 8am on Tuesday, and I still feel like hammered shit. So in the interests of spreading the misery I thought I’d share a few random thoughts which have flitted through my mind with the subtlety of a drunken elephant over the past few days. Enjoy.

10. Why is it that when you blow your nose you’re instantly drawn to look at what just came out? I mean really what do we expect to see staring back at us?

 9. Why do people think that chicken soup is good when you’re sick? I don’t ever want chicken soup. No strike that, I don’t ever want soup. When I have the flu what I want is a caring slavegirl, with a concerned expression on her face, getting me hot drinks, and finding episodes of The Big Bang Theory on telly for my amusement.

 8. No I don’t want fucking oranges either. That’s called locking the barn door, AFTER the horse has bolted.

7. When the room is spinning really quickly around your head, why doesn’t it make a “whooshing” noise? Or that “diddley-diddley-diddley” noise from scene changes in the Adam West Batman series? It kind of seems like it should.

6. Why is it that no-one wants to kiss you when blow snot-bubbles every time you breathe out? (Never mind I think I answered that for myself.)

5. How in the hell can you be so cold that not even a duvet, electric blanket, and hot water bottle can’t warm you up, but still sweat so much that the sheets try to peel off the bed with you as you get up?

4. How come while my sinuses are blocked with runny, sticky, gloopy stuff, as soon as I blow my nose my nostrils are as dry as a camel’s arsehole? So dry that they crack, and bleed a little. And is this what it’s like after you do coke? ‘Cause if so, why the hell does anyone want to?

3. It’s not funny when you blow your nose straight through the tissue, and onto your hands. It really isn’t.

2. It’s also not funny when you sneeze, and your body responds by letting just a little wee leak out. It’s even less funny when that wee is joined by a loud, foul-smelling fart. And infinitely less funny when they’re both joined by a little squirt of diarrhea. So, why does my body sometimes insist on sneezing from every orifice at once?

1. Why can’t I stay awake for more than twenty minutes at a time? Why do I keep falling asle…..plugh.

I miss being a Miss so badly.

I wake crying (yup, it’s emo-Amanda again). Not an uncommon occurence for some people, but this time it’s different. Waking in tears because of physical pain is one thing, a very normal thing for me, just another part of another day. But for once the tears have nothing what-so-ever to do with my body. They are purely to do with my heart.

Right now I have a wonderful Miss. One part of my nature fulfilled by spending my days, and nights trying to make her smile. Though admittedly usually with the result of annoyed grimaces, rather than happy smiles. But it’s the thought that counts surely?

I think I might have a boyfriend. I hope I might have a boyfriend…ummm well anyway, I’m dating a boy. And to my joyful surprise being around him makes me happy. Makes me feel wanted, and attractive.

But it’s not those parts that make we wake with tears soaking my pillow. Those parts fill me with joy, and make my world sparkle. No it’s the part of me that is at the very core of who, and what I am that has the broken heart. And worse a break that can’t be fixed by me.

I miss being a Miss.

I miss it so much that it hurts like a physical pain.

I don’t miss “playing”. BDSM isn’t a game to me.

I don’t miss being able to say “this is my Slavegirl…”. Being a Miss to someone is my deepest personal life, something shared with those I love most in the world, and those rare people who understand what it truly means.

No I miss being needed, wanted as a Dominant.

I miss having someone I adore, who adores me in that unique way that only occurs between Domme and Sub.

I miss having to read the needs of someone who, by their own will I possess physically, and emotionally.

I miss having the duty to use that “read” to help them excel in their lives. The way my Miss helps me.

I miss being their sword and shield. The one they turn to for protection.

I miss being the arms that hold them when they fear, rewards them when through exceptional hard work they succeed beyond all expectations, and punishes them when they deserve it.

I miss being taken care of by someone with soft, submissive  loving eyes when I need to be.

I miss taking care of them, because nothing matters more to me than their well-being.

I’m a Dominant without a heart to possessively hold in my hands. Without a leash that rests lightly in my grip.

In short I’m just a girl with a really weird skill-set. Not a Miss. Not a Domina. Not a Mistress. Just a girl who has only just realised that every night for a year her last thought has been a whispered prayer to her Goddess. Just asking for a little help to find the little one who might mean she can again be called a Miss. Because frankly that’s the most loving, highest calling she can ever imagine living.

A transgirls letters to Satan Claws. 2011.

There came a night when Amanda Harper finally suffered that personality split which had been so long threatened by her rather odd psyche. But rather than all three personalities fighting for control, or walking out onto the street to orchestrate a revolution, leading to her inevitable advancement to the title of Empress of Mankind. They instead decided to each write a letter to Satan Claws. These are the transcripts of those letters, which have been preserved as a terrible warning to the future.

(Satan Claws, for those without a true understand of how our world works, is a six-foot tall anthropomorphic vixen. She took over responsibility from Santa Claus for rewarding the transgirls, futagirls, and kinky people of the world for being very, very naughty about 20 years ago. Frankly Santa needed the help, after the centuries of trying to make sense of what the less vanilla parts of society considered naughty or nice in the end caused him to have a minor nervous breakdown.)

———————————————————

Letter 1: Slavegirl Amanda.

Dear Satan Claws,

I’ve been a very good girl this year. I did all my chores with a minimum of grumbling, and I only told my Mistress that she “hits like a girl!” a few dozen times. I’ve made sure to dress in lots of short skirts, tight tops, and lots of very heavy, skanky eye make-up, just to make my Mistress happy, of course. I’ve done my best to be obedient, polite, charming, and appropriately slutty. And I like to think I’ve made my Mistress proud of me. Apart maybe from when I dressed up in that onesy, and insisted on calling her “Mommy.” But I think the spanking I got from her more than wipes out any naughtiness from that situation.

In short I’ve been a really good slavegirl, and I think I deserve a reward.

So for XXX-Mas I’d like a shiny new steel slave collar, because Vanilla Amanda may have eaten too much chocolate this year, and she’s made my old one just a little snug.  I’d like a pretty new corset to wear for my Mistress, to make her smile. I’d also like a new tattoo somewhere on my body. And if you could have a word with the kinky-stork I’d like my Mistress Carnelian to find a pretty, submissive, obedient, and not completely sex obsessed  slaveboy to make her happier. Though admittedly the last one might be a bit of a stretch in Ireland, even for you.

Thank you in advance,

Slavegirl Amanda.

P.S. I’ll make sure to leave out a snort of that latex flavoured vodka you liked so much last year, and the customary extra strong condoms for you to use with the ponyboys, and ponygirls who pull your sleigh when you’ve finished work.

Letter 2: Miss Amanda.

With respects to, and for the attention of Satan Claws,

Right, I know that snivelling wretch Slavegirl Amanda already sent you a letter, and that since we inhabit the same body we’re only getting one present. So you can just ignore her. Come on we’re both dominas here. We both know how the world works. We get the goodies, and the pets get to play with them if we’re ever done.

Now I’ve been a very naughty lesbian domina this year. I spent the Summer making lots of men walk face first into lampposts by wearing low-cut tops, and the good type of slutty make-up. I purposely replied to only the first message, and then completely ignored hundreds of return online messages from men on dating websites, thus adding immeasurably to the average level of male frustration in the world. I wrote some pretty good extreme BDSM erotica (see attached file). I didn’t pine over every single  submissive woman I met on the street, I only pined after the one of those this year. I made sure I was ravishing, and worshipable whenever I left the house. And most importantly I was a viciously protective force of nature for any and all submissives who needed me to be.

So let’s be clear on this, I was the good type of naughty. I deserve that my demands met. So make sure they are, or it’ll be your furry arse over my knee, and I won’t use any of the gentle stuff on it.

1: I want you to stop Vanilla Amanda from eating all the chocolate on Earth. Seriously, just stop her, I want to have a definable a waistline again.

2: I want a thrice goddess damned little one of my own to possess, and lovingly abuse. This BDSM drought better damn well stop, or there’s gonna be trouble.

3: Leather. Lots, of, leather!

4: A futagirl of my own. That bastard Dimitrys has filled my mind with his characters Peach and Meryl for years now, and now I want one of my own. Come on fair’s fair. I could easily point one out to you. if you need a hint of what I like…

5: I demand that Slavegirl Amanda be moved to a more appropriate body, ie any other body. Her whining worry about Mistress Carnelian is really getting on my tits.

6: Oh, failing that could you just give her Mistress Carnelian that slaveboy. It’d make her smile, and Slavegirl Amanda considerably less annoying.

Thank you in advance,

Miss Amanda.

P.S. I hope you found a good use for the Deep Heat coated cactus I left out for you last year. But of course if you don’t bring me what I want this year, well, I’m sure that you know where you can shove it.

Letter 3: Vanilla Amanda.

My dearest Satan Claws,

I’m not going to try and pretend that I’ve been good or bad naughty this year. I know that there’s no damn use trying to convince you, not with that system of surveillance satellites you have in orbit. Or with the way you have every futagirl’s phone tapped, email hacked, and snail-mail preread. Or for that matter when I know for a fact that you’ve had GPS tracking devices secretly installed somewhere in all of our bodies. No I’ll just say that this year I was me, but good and hard.

I’m not going to ask for physical gifts. I have everything I want. But what I would like to ask for is to not be known as Vanilla Amanda anymore. I’m not frikkin’ vanilla. For frik sake, I’m a male-to-hermaphrodite dominant, who chooses to submit. How goddess damned vanilla could I actually be? Even the most vanilla parts of my personality demand to be clothed in designer leather, and latex.  So could you please, please tell those other two pains that share my mind to stop calling me Vanilla? After all chocolate is far more my flavour.

So that’s all I want, although if you were to…insist on giving a reward to me I’d love that tattoo Slavegirl Amanda mentioned. The futagirl Miss Amanda mentioned would be welcomed with open leg…well anyway, and seriously our Mistress Carnelian could really use an actually good slaveboy.

Your servant,

Amanda, not Vanilla Amanda, just plain ole Amanda.

P.S. I’d watch out for that vodka the Slavegirl’s planning to leave out for you. She has lustful, calculating look on her face the whole time. So I’m pretty sure she’s been slipping roofies into it.

———————————————————

Satan Claws looked up from the trio of letters on her desk and rolled her eyes. “Every damned year!” standing up off of the slaveboy who had been providing the service of being her seat, she grabbed her leather great-coat, and headed for the door. “Oi Claus you fat, bearded bastard. Letters on my desk, you can deal with them this year you git. I’ve had enough of that weirdo, I’m going for a drink.”

BDSM How it could/should be – The Mistress Alone.

Sometimes it happens. No screw that. Usually it happens. The Mistress finds herself unworshipped, and undesired. What in any other sort of life would be simply called, alone. But a Mistress can’t be simply alone. Usually my BDSM articles are kind of generalised advice, based on a lifetimes worth of personal observations. Then towards the end I use a story from my life to put what I’ve been writing about into a nice simple to understand context.  Usually. Not this time.  This article is purely about what I am experiencing right now. About having been someones world, then suddenly not.  About being a Mistress alone, and let me tell you this to begin with, it’s horrific.

Where to begin, when there’s no clear beginning…with a description I guess. I am Amanda Harper. See me there? That’s right I’m the nearly six-foot tall, buxom, busty girl with the facial piercing, the tattoo and the hair that was blue, but is now purple. I’m 33 and all of my adult life I’ve believed two things more strongly than almost anything else. No-one loves more deeply than a good Mistress, except maybe, just maybe a good Slavegirl, or a parent but that’s sort of obvious.

I don’t value money, or things.  They’re just a way of keeping score. And they can be taken away from you. I believe we only truly own two things, our bodies and our feelings. Well bodies start to depreciate pretty much from day one, but feelings, they’re valuable, precious, priceless even. So you won’t be at all surprised to hear that love is the most important thing in the world to me.

I love a woman. An amazing woman. She’s quite a bit older than me, and she saved my life. Literally, saved my life. When we met I had just started to transition. I was malnourished, emotionally shattered, lost, and scared. Surrounded by friends, but still alone. That woman gave me a home, home is where you’re loved without condition. She would one day become my Mistress, some day I hope to be collared by her. Belonging to her gives me the anchor that lets me turn my emotional bow into the currents that would otherwise capsize me, taking me down, probably never to recover. Belonging to her makes me feel what I hope every good Slavegirl feels, lovingly valued.

But my submission to my love is only half of who I am. There’s my other half.

I was loved by a woman. An amazing woman. She wasn’t all that much older than me and I have to believe I saved her life. When we met she needed someone to show her how to live long enough to achieve her life’s dream. She was lost, and scared. She one day became my slavegirl, leashed though never collared. Her belonging to me made me feel what I think every good Mistress truly wishes for, loving fulfillment. Then we ended, our relationship had run its course, her life’s dream had been achieved, and it was now time for her to move on and live her life.

It happens. It’s life. It fucking sucks.

So I am now simply Amanda Harper, slavegirl.  The Mistress has been packed away until she’s needed again, if she is ever needed again. Maybe it’s better this way. No potential for hassle for my Mistress from my submissive, no disruptions to life. But it still feels very much like some of the colors have been removed from the world.

I’m two people, in everything. I’m Amanda the woman, while also being Amanda the hermaphrodite. I’m Amanda the slavegirl, but I’m also Amanda the dominant, even if that aspect has been folded up and put aside for a time. When I deny part of who I am, the world around me starts to dull, echo, life stops being quite so vibrant. I’ve come to terms with that part of life, after all it’s impossible for life to always be filled with vibrancy and adventure.

I love being a good Slavegirl. That’s what my Mistress deserves and it makes us both happy. But I’m starting to desperately miss the time when my dominant side was loved by someone. Not least because in my BDSM philosophy a Mistress without a submissive is just a girl with some very odd skill-sets. Very, very odd in some cases.

So some of you are wondering why I don’t just go out and grab a new Slavegirl. Well, while submissive people, are frankly, dime a dozen. Good submissives are rare. Slaves are rarer still and good slaves are like chicken teeth. Add in often being house bound due to seemingly unending ill-health and…well you have heart-break, that never seems to end, with no end in sight.

The Mistress alone. The title of this article is a lie. There’s no Mistress alone here. Just a Slavegirl who dreams of again someday being something else, a loving Mistress as well as an adoring Slavegirl. But that’s something I, or any dominant without a submissive, might never get to be again. So instead it’s time for the girding of loins and embracing all the other joys life provides.

Cupcakes anyone?

She had it coming, really she did!

She had it coming, honestly she did.  When I was struggling desperately to finish my first novel, she was there.  Flinging razor tipped spears of pure inspiration, and distraction into my tortured mind. While I sat there struggling with the really tough part of writing.  That being the process of editing for grammar and punctuation.  But I persevered.  I ignored her frenzied attempts to draw me away from the project which, at that point, had already consumed most of the previous three years of my life.

Then with my first novel finished. Squared away, to the best of my ability.  Ready for submission, more or less. That thoughtless shapely wretch decided, with no warning what-so-ever, to go on holiday.  There I was, ready, willing and able to begin my next major project. My word processor open.  The notes I’d written in previous months, standing ready to assist in my renewed efforts at achieving literary immortality.

And where was my Muse of Weird-Ass Romance Writing? On a break, in a far off corner of my mind. Looking smug while she lounged about in a chalet on a chaise longue. Being fed freshly cooked spicy chicken wings, and Long Island Iced Teas by a excrutiatingly hot redheaded slavegirl ,dressed in the most delicious little leather Lolita Goth outfit. I’m not sure to this day which annoyed me more.  The adorable little slavegirl, when her boss can’t find one. Or her using the chalet, a left over from a period where I considered working as a chalet-girl for a season, when I’d left specific instructions that it be demolished, to make way for a pulse rifle shooting range.

But anyway, the wretch hadn’t even bothered to notified the boss, ie. me, that she was going away on a holiday.  At the least she could have arranged a temporary replacement.  But no, she leaves me in the lurch, with only my Muse of Bad-ass Science Fiction Writing for company. And she’s a fat lot of use. Seriously, how can you get any real work done with a muse who starts giggling, blushing, and somewhat covertly touching herself every time she even thinks of blue skinned, alien chicks.  I’d fire her, except she has a real genius where it comes to inventing excuses for my characters to break out the powered armor, the rail-guns, and commence with aggressive pacification of the immediate area.

So now you can see how my Muse of Weird-Ass Romance had it coming. Of course getting to her was another story. It’s not easy hunting down, and firing a muse who’s on sabbatical in a little used recess of your own mind.  But after repeatedly whacking myself over the head with a half-brick, I’d achieved the sort of trance state that usually requires the ingestion of several hundred Euro’s worth of illicit substances.  Well that or a decade of dedicated meditation. But who has the time for that when they’re in a murderous rage right now.

So there I was inside my own mind, pulse rifle in hand, standing outside the chalet.  I decided to be merciful and shouted to give the slavegirl enough warning to clear the building before I opened fire.  Nothing can match the sheer satisfaction of firing an imaginary pulse rifle, loaded with explosive tracer rounds, into a wooden building and watching the splinters fly.  Well, almost nothing.

You see muses being not exactly fully corporeal, or even mortal beings, or even real beings as such, have a certain amount of immunity to even imaginary explosive tracer bullets. But having seen how pissed I was, and how awesome my imaginary powers are, as soon as the first clip ran dry she came out. Her toga flowing in the breeze, her hands in the air.

So I put her into the maw of a large cannon with several dozen pounds of grape-shot, and fired the lot at a ten foot thick wall of solid unobtainium enhanced steel. Of course she’ll be rehired, as soon as she manages to reassemble herself.

But as that will take at least several years, not least because that particular location is currently playing host to an active volcano, I will in the mean time have an Assistant Manager/Muse of Weird-Ass Romance Writing position available.  All applicants should submit their applications in a plain brown A4 envelope, clearly marked with a return address, measurements and containing a picture of them in a skin-tight white leather mini-dress.

The moral of this story is that sometimes as a writer you will receive a monster dose of writers block.  And when you do there’s absolutely no need to take it lying down.  Just fire the appropriate muse, with a cannon, and move on with a different project.

P.S. This is blog comes to you at the suggestion of, and as a welcome to Europe present for the divine Miss Stacy Bias.  Welcome to your new beginning Mamma Dyke.  Love you.

BDSM how it could/should be – The War at Home.

In my previous two posts “The Good Mistress” and “The Good Slavegirl” we’ve covered a lot of ground. But at the most basic level, we have learned that slavegirls are submissive and pretty obviously serve Mistresses, who are dominant and equally obviously, like to be served. But we haven’t really touched on how exactly do they live?

As it always does Hollywood provides an answer. It is patently obvious that the Mistress spends her entire day, dressed from head to toe in sexy leather or latex outfits. Existing to be waited on hand and foot by an equally provocatively though usually, far more minimally dressed slavegirl. The slavegirl of course, lives totally at the whim of the Mistress, who she worships and adores above all others. Oh and of course they are openly living this leather clad life for all and sundry to see. After all, to hell with what the neighbours think.

Bloody Hollywood. Somehow they always manage to mix dramatically unequal measures of accuracy with U.S. military intelligence grade inaccuracy. From our previous explorations of this lifestyle by now one thing should be quite obvious. That being, yes of course the average slavegirl and especially the really good ones do live to serve their Mistress and make her happiness their central concern. But that is about as close to the Hollywood image as reality usually approaches.

The reality of Dominant/submissive (D/s) couples, is that the ones that work really well are usually almost invisible to the rest of the world. There I’ve said it, letting slip the greatest secret of the BDSM lifestyle. It’s not always about shock and awe, it’s actually far more often about subtlety.

Take a walk down any street in your capital city, indeed any city. Guess what? In all likelihood you will have from time to time, walked straight past a D/s couple and never known it. Real life D/s couples keep the leather, latex, whips, chains and leashes for their private life. After all aside from anything else, in reality most people do care what the neighbours think.

So on the street our D/s couple will usually look just like any other couple. There probably are a few tells, little signs to let you know that they are in fact in a power exchange relationship. If you know what to look for that is. A subtle piece of jewellery around the submissives neck, perhaps with a lock integrated into it. Or an anklet that can only be removed by a key or in extremis by amputation. Perhaps a well designed and drawn tattoo, that in its own totally unsubtle but subtle way announces one of the pair to be a Mistress or a slavegirl. Maybe the slavegirl permanently walks a half step behind her Mistress, thus declaring to those who can read the signs, that the woman before her is She who rules her universe.

That’s the thing about D/s couples who take their path seriously. They value subtlety for a simple reason. Anyone trying to maintain the hardcore 24/7 dominance and submission of Hollywood’s fevered, testosterone poisoned imagination will quickly burn out and drift apart.

Of course that describes how our D/s couple might act in public. Walking down the street, on their way to do those mundane things every couple has to do. Shop for groceries, return a DVD, buy an extra tub of strawberry flavoured lube. How they live at home, when they’re safely behind closed doors can be a very different story.

At home never doubt that the Mistress will rule to roost in the most definitive way. The slavegirl may get to make minor decisions but it’s the Mistress who will decide if there’s redecorating to do. If a new car is needed. If the playroom, with its dark red walls and all the lovely leather toys for hitting people in deliciously naughty ways needs to be cleaned, from floor to ceiling with a toothbrush. At home all that careful subtlety often slips away for hours at a time.

But that does not mean that their life at home will be disproportionately hard for the slavegirl. Most D/s couples, contrary to the popular image, will share the day-to-day housework. After all everyone has an area where they excel and some people, even the very best of slavegirls will have things they physically can’t do. Never think, that just because a slavegirl has given away control of the major areas of her life to someone she adores, that she has been transformed by an act dark sexual magic, into some kind of mere drudge. Useful for nothing more than housework and sex.

What does the Mistress bring to the table? She provides her slavegirl with emotional and physical security, making it possible for the slavegirl to be the person she dreams of being. The Mistress also provides the sure and certain knowledge that someone in the world values her slavegirl above rubies or gold. She gives the slavegirl the benefit of her experience of the world. She gives the slavegirl unending encouragement to achieve anything she dreams of. Though the last two are in the healthiest of D/s relationships, very much a two-way thing.

As a couple they probably do play with pretty leather toys. Yes and the slavegirl probably ends up bound, gagged, bruised and strap-oned a couple of times each week. But equally they will definitely curl up on the couch and watch telly together. Listen to music together. Go to the cinema, their favourite bars and clubs together. They are kinky lovers, but most of all they are each of them a partner to one another.

The thing about D/s couples that work well together is that they are almost always Dominant and submissive equals. Neither the lesser to the other.

I will illustrate with a little information from my own life (this won’t be a constant theme in these posts. But where I can best explain through my own experience I will). I am a Mistress, I think that’s pretty clear by now to everyone who reads my blog. However, most might not realise that I am also a slavegirl. My Mistress is a wonderful older woman, who I simply cannot imagine not submitting to. We are a D/s couple. However we are also extremely good partners. Dominant and submissive equals.

We share the housework. We share caring for our doggy. We look after one another when we feel bad in any way and we always listen to what the other has to say. So what makes us different from vanilla couples? Simply that I have chosen to take my Mistresses direction when it pertains to anything vitally important in our lives.

To give a very relevant example, I am an easily encouraged but very ethical slut. I love women and fall for them, with the same subtle grace as an elephant tumbling off a cliff. Of course this means that I sometimes make really, truly awful errors of judgement. At least where hot, pierced and tattooed bisexual girls are concerned. So long ago my Mistress and I agreed that she would have a veto over my…extra-curricular activities. Not because she is jealous, after all she dates men whenever she wants to and undoubtedly, will have other slaves both male and female again before too long. But this rule came into being because she hates it when my heart is broken.

That makes two of us.

So at the end of this what have we learned? Simply that the D/s partnerships that will last the tests of time, are the ones that are on a slow boil. After all in reality once you’ve experienced it who really wants to spend all day everyday wrapped in latex, that stuff can give you a real killer wedgie and talk about body odour. Yuck.

BDSM how it could/should be – The Good Slavegirl

In the first post in this series of blogs I spoke about some of the aspects that go into turning a dominant woman into a good Mistress. In this issue it’s time to turn the table right around and speak about what it takes and what it means to be a good slave. As before the terms I use in these articles are not hardened definitions and should be used more as a guide to your own experience. The simple fact being that every person who enters the world of kink always reinvent it to some degree to suit themselves.

The image most people have of a Slavegirl probably starts and ends with a beautiful young woman, she’s wearing anything from a flawlessly pressed skirt suit (very short skirt with stockings and no panties of course) to a skin-tight latex catsuit. Can’t you see her now? Kneeling at her Mistresses side. The Mistress holding a leash that connects to the Slavegirl’s collar. You can add to this image that the Slavegirl has a rapacious sexual appetite, wants to be displayed publicly in the most humiliating ways and wants nothing more from life than to be serving at her Mistresses whims.

In reality for many real life Slavegirls being in that position is their idea of Heaven on Earth and is often precisely where they aspire to be. And strangely the public image of what being a slavegirl actually contains some elements of the truth. Though in reality Slavegirls come in every age group and every body type imaginable. They usually find the reality of waiting on their Mistresses every whim 24/7 in the Hollywood fashion boring as hell. Oh and the really good ones are rarely all that young.

One of the symbols of submission a handmade slavegirl's leash, complete with the heart string she tugs on.

But regardless the image above does almost nothing to fill in the blanks of  what goes into the making of a Slavegirl. Or more to the point what makes a Slavegirl into a truly good example of the breed.

Being a Slavegirl rather obviously starts from a mentality of submissiveness. The concept of submissiveness gets a an awful lot of bad press. It’s seen as being weak, bendable, pliable, easily led. Being submissive is usually seen as somehow lesser than being dominant. And yes sometimes for some people being submissive in nature is a bad, even dangerous thing. Just think of any victim of abuse who finds themselves accepting it all as simply their lot in life. This is unfortunately a very realistic example of the dangerous side of being a submissive individual.

However in the BDSM context the stronger member of any Dominant/submissive (D/s) pairing will usually be the submissive, the Slave.

Strength is very much at the heart of what makes a good Slavegirl. It takes immense strength of character and even greater strength of will to freely accept the orders of another. To do her Mistresses bidding even when what she may want could well be the very last thing the Slavegirl wants. It takes strength of will to accept and endure a punishment when it is deserved. More still to accept that when the punishment is over that the issue which led to it is now in the past and dead. But it also takes strength for the Slavegirl to stay with her Mistress even when life for one reason or another isn’t so much fun knowing full well that she can leave whenever she wishes.

A Slavegirl has to be brave. Courageous almost to a fault in some ways. If as a Slavegirl you are lucky enough to have met a good Mistress she is going to spend a great deal of time training you. While often that training will be composed of simpler things like learning her perception of proper table manners, it will also sometimes involve doing things that are physically difficult, even painful. Sometimes that training will involve skirting the very edges of a Slavegirls phobias with the intent of helping her to find a safe way past the fears which limit her as a person. Even mundane acts (in a BDSM sense) such as being flogged or caned can take immense courage. A lot the first time but even more so later when the Slavegirl knows precisely what is to come.

A good Slavegirl contrary to what most people might think, including unfortunately a great many Dominants, needs to be a bit mouthy. The little mouse of a girl who sits in silence when she is challenged will seldom be a good Slavegirl. Though in time with caring guidance she may well grow into one. When she has accepted a collar from her Mistress she then becomes her Mistresses greatest partisan. She really should be expected to stand up for her Mistress when needed even when doing so scares her.

From all of this what can we work out? The Slavegirl is of course submissive but she is a person with a strong core, she should be brave and be loud enough to speak up when it’s needed. As her Mistresses property she should, indeed must keep her Mistresses wishes foremost in her mind during her day to day living. As her Mistresses partisan she should be the first to defend her Mistresses reputation and honour.

But these merely describe a common garden variety Slavegirl, what is it that turns the common into the exceptional?

A short story will perhaps illustrate what is needed. A Mistress and Slavegirl with whom I was once acquainted moved to Canada to get married and settle down. Shortly after they decided to adopt an at the time unborn baby. This baby was still snug in the womb of a woman who in addition to having no immediate family of her own was also in the late stages of a terminal illness.

The day arrived when the baby was to come home and the Slavegirl, due to the Mistresses work schedule had to go alone to the hospital to take their new child home. When she arrived the babies biological mother was saying a very tearful final goodbye to her baby girl.

Well to cut a long story short the Slavegirl rang her Mistress and after lambasting her for ten minutes she took both the baby and her mother home.

That Slavegirl and that story is a wonderful example of what makes the difference. Of what makes a Slavegirl a truly good Slavegirl.

From it you can see that while a Slavegirl thinks of her Mistress and her BDSM family (her Mistress and  slave-sisters/brothers where applicable) a good Slavegirl’s thoughts go beyond that. She has the moral strength to do what’s right even if it means going toe to toe with her Mistress when she knows she has to. She has the personal strength to stand by her decisions and is honourable in her dealings with those she can lend aid to.

To me being the Good Slavegirl is much like being a Good Mistress. It’s a way of viewing the world and your place in it. Yes a Good Slavegirl, indeed any Slavegirl will be part lover, part confidant, part handmaid and often enough a living breathing sex toy to boot. But the Good Slavegirl, the one every domina worth her salt dreams of owning is also an honourable, ethical creature. The submissive woman whom you could willingly entrust the fate of a world to, because you know in the end she will act in the best interests of all and make you only prouder to be the possessor of her submissive soul.

BDSM How it could/should be – The Good Mistress

*this was originally printed in BOLT magazine and is reposted and somewhat rewritten here with the consent of BOLT’s Editor in Chief.

The paddle, beautiful, functional and it saves a Mistress from getting a really sore hand.

BDSM always seems to get a lot of bad press, literally.  Usually when it’s seen in the news it’s because someone was horribly abused by someone they trusted with their lives or even because someone has died in weird, very kinky, sexually fueled circumstances.  And there’s no denying that abuse does happen in BDSM relationships.  People do get hurt in ways that run counter to what they have given consent for.  But then again that is far too often also the sad reality of completely vanilla relationships.  The sad fact is that all walks of life are filled with abusive assholes no matter how kinky or not you and your lifestyle may be.

But I believe, no more than that I know that BDSM can be a force for immense good in a person’s life.  It can be the source of incredible strength and the catalyst that triggers vast personal growth.  Aspects of it can give some people a reason to live when suicide seems all too attractive to them.  It can be a framework for deeply intense, loving and above all mutually respectful relationships.

In other words it can be something worthy of respect and praise.  Every bit as much as the traditional vanilla monogamous relationship.

So that said it’s time I started to explore the world of BDSM that I see and share with the world a vision I hold dear in the hope that it will entertain all, educate some and help at the very least a few.

But before continuing please note that the definitions and terms I use in any BDSM blog are not by any means meant to be definitive in their nature.  The meaning of  words such as slavegirl, Mistress and even kinkiness are ephemeral at best. The way I use them in these articles reflects my own personal experience within the lifestyle so I hope you have safe, sane and above all consensual fun finding your own definitions

So now if everyone is sitting comfortably we’ll begin with a simple question.  What is a Mistress?

Hollywood would have us believe that a Mistress is a cold, dark, seductive temptress.  Who in a huskily sexy voice hand out stern commands which must be obeyed or else you, the poor powerless submissive, will suffer an uncertain future of punishment and humiliation.

Hollywood as is usual gets it mostly wrong.

Some Mistresses are dark and seductive, some of them even have the sort of husky voice that can melt a spinal column at fifty paces.   But most aren’t, most are just incredibly normal women who happen to be domineering as hell and joyfully embrace that dominant nature.

The key to beginning to define what a Mistress is starts with the word dominant.  Mistresses are all to a greater or lesser extent what the rest of the world would call, bossy bitches.  They love to be in control, more often than not, of almost everything in their lives.  Now that doesn’t mean that they’re necessarily kinky.  Most Mistresses are kinky and do in fact have a toy bag somewhere in their house filled with pretty leather things designed to make a bold submissive’s bottom hurt.  But there are some who are content to just control day-to-day life in their own homes with a razor wire tongue and a vicious, flesh rending wit.

Where Hollywood does get it mostly right is that if you don’t obey your Mistress your future will more than likely be filled with interesting punishments.  Anyone  for picking up a kilo of rice, one grain at a time with a tweezers?

So Mistresses are dominant.  Good start and for an awful lot of women that’s all there is to being a Mistress, being dominant.  I am dominant therefore I am a Mistress.  Aha, right, does that come with a secret decoder ring?

Would you guess that I am not one of those women?

Being dominant is to my mind, and to the minds of the better Mistresses I have known in my life, simply one aspect of the mind which can sometimes lead a woman onto the path of becoming a Mistress.

The title of this article is “The Good Mistress” for a reason.  I don’t intend to flood the pages of my blog with horror stories, though I have far too many I could share.  I do intend to paint a picture of what the BDSM lifestyle can be and what I believe it should be.  Yes there are bad Mistresses, just as there are bad doctors, bad drivers and bad politicians. But there are also amazing Mistresses who walk through this world as wonderful examples of how you can be a Dominatrix and a beautiful, loving, weirdly gentle person.

What is a good Mistress?  A good Mistress is complicated and if she is truly good cursed.

She is of course dominant.  But that dominance instead of making her little more than a bully  makes her the sort of person who wants, even needs to lead.  She is the one who when she looks at her slavegirl asks the most important question that any Mistress can ask.

“How can I guide her in becoming a better person than she already is?”

The good Mistress is the one who when she sees a talent that is unused by her slavegirl makes sure that talent gets exercised.  She is the Mistress who takes the time to very carefully compose a code for her slavegirl to live by.  A basic set of rules that will help mould the girl in to what she might become with a firm but gentle hand guiding her.  The good Mistress is as much a surrogate big sister to her slavegirl as she is a kink fuelled lover.  Though thankfully without the risk of jail time that would be the cost of a truly incestuous relationship.

For the better Mistresses their lifestyle is more often a journey of personal growth than a way of getting some housework done by someone who will also be a source of hot loving on demand.  This means that being a Mistress should most of the time be not so much about giving difficult tasks and expecting them to be done or punishment will ensue.  Rather it is usually about giving lots of small relatively easy commands that gently guide the submissive on to what the Mistress, and often the submissive also, perceives to be a better path for them.

I haven’t mentioned latex, leather, whips, chains, shibari, strap-ons or even gags.  They’re nothing more than props.  Quite frankly having a great toy-bag doesn’t make you anything more than a collector of kinky sex toys.  What makes any Mistress good or bad is what resides inside her head and especially inside her heart.

And unfortunately for any Mistress who even aspires to be good at what she does that is where the cursed part comes in.  This is something which in the last few weeks has been very painfully brought home to me personally.  Just like so many other Mistresses I had a wonderful slavegirl who loved me and I loved her.  When we met she was a broken thing, her heart scarred by the sort of abuses the world seems to take so much joy in inflicting on those who are to any great degree submissive.

For two long years I protected her as best I could while we laboured together to make her stronger.  Her life was given a greater degree of structure to make sure she had time to do everything she needed done.  Her best efforts were always rewarded with little gifts, my arms wrapped tight around her and of course by being loved.  The aim was always to help her realise she could be a better person then she ever thought possible.  A person who could if it was needed stand alone, a person she could be proud to live her life as.  We succeeded and no longer needed for her to be safe or happy and though it has shattered my heart to do so I had to set her free.

The curse of the Good Mistress is that so very often all her effort and love ends with her no longer having a slavegirl.  But instead with the world having another strong woman in it proud of her past but looking to a future she now feels able to mold herself.  Meanwhile the Mistress who to be any good at all can never truly be cold nurses a joyful but broken heart.

So after all this what is a Mistress?  She is dominant yes but she is also warm, caring.  She takes broken birds under her wing to heal and while they heal she teaches them.  She is sometimes a lover, often a surrogate big sister, always a fierce guardian.  But especially, she loves strongly enough to willingly let her slaves go when it is time for them to live free.