Swedish Model

Swedish Model

Of all the anti prostitution laws on the books, most aimed at making the lives of women seeking to make a living as dangerous as possible. Ireland of course chooses the possibility of criminalising the client, or the law more popularly known as the Swedish Model. Which makes it illegal to purchase sex, but not illegal to sell. The idea being to stop men from purchasing and exploiting women. Ha! The idiots who came up with this did not think this through. I have worked in countries where this law is in affect and it makes no difference.

But I have a feeling it will make a difference in Ireland. But not the one everyone thinks. The difference I think it will make is to possibly instill a slight modicum of manners into the punting population.

You must remember that the Irish punter as a whole is a slightly self entitled, xenophobic creature. But they are scared as shit of their own shadows, their neighbours, their wives, mothers, dicks, sexual urges. You name it. The idea of it being illegal to purchase sex will make them more skittish than ever. But trust me this is a good thing, why?

Because fear is a good thing when dealing with the Irish punter. It is shocking how many don’t know it is legal. And far be it from me to tell them differently. But adding the part that makes it illegal for them to buy will have the added benefit of making them even more fearful. Fear makes them behave, well in as much as they are capable of.

Guilt is another motivating factor. But the Catholic Church took care of that one already.

So the combination of fear, guilt, horniness and disposable income will create the perfect punter. Let’s hope the extra fear improves their ability to listen and follow directions.

Domination by Numbers

Domination by Numbers

There seems to be some confusion. Let me explain. I am a professional Dominatrix, surprise! And as such, I do take gleeful delight in doing the most horrific things to clients for extortionate amounts of money. All with their consent of course. At the end of the day it is a game for them, and free therapy for me. Fuck anger management courses, kicking the holy shit out of some snivelling cretin works wonders for me. I do have to say I delight in inflicting unspeakable punishments on my subs. I have a dark side and I am good with it.

But of late there seems to be some confusion developing; along the lines of which, I have subs expecting to have sex with me! WTF! Am I to understand, I am to whip you, spit on you, pee on you, tie you up and basically trample all over you like a mattress, and then have sex with you? Only in fucking Ireland can you get this maggoty amalgamation of co-joined services.

I mean sweet Jesus, at the best of times, I need to mentally pull of some serious acrobatics to muster up the fake delight I need to get through a normal booking, then to have to switch mind sets mid lash is more mental acrobatics than I am willing to muster. That and the fuckers are all expecting this for the same rate as a GFE! Or my favourite is can they have half hour GFE, and half hour DOM! Do I look stupid the you?

This stupidness is a result of the recession. And the bargain hunting mindset, as in they want as much for the paltry pittance they can just afford. So, people who normally wouldn’t even give a Dom session a though are now wanting the whole singing and dancing light show, to feel they have gotten their money’s worth! Wrong female! What have I done, I have packed away my dom equipment and can’t be asked! Seriously, please! My advice now when some idiot has the nerve to broach the subject is this: Go home and get humiliated for free, I am sure you wife takes equally as much delight as I do in telling you what a useless cunt you are.

Men From Around The World

Men From Around The World

The by-line of my blog may be a little misleading. The one about me being an ex-call girl. I am indeed a call girl, who no longer works in Ireland. After the money stopped flowing, I really couldn’t see the point of continuing to work there. The food is disgusting, the weather is even more so, and the over all attitudes of the citizenry, once while easy to tolerate at a rate of 250 an hour became unbearable at a lesser price. They wanted the same services, were just a filthy as before, if not more so. But now any pretense of humanity was stripped from them, the facade was gone, and you had standing before you an emotionally stunted individual with delusions of some worth not even willing to offer up the basics of human courtesy.

Not that they were ever big on courtesy to begin with. The rudest phone manners of any group of people, I have ever come across. A few sample phone conversation openers: “You open today?”What can I get, for 50 euros?” “Hey I want to fuck ya.” No, ‘hello, good day.’ Nothing. I am not amazed or shocked by them anymore, no more than I would be shocked to see a dog shitting on the street. It is how they are, no manners, no courtesy, no manners-that is for me, a foreign hooker.

Most days I wouldn’t even respond and would hang up, on the better days I would offer up a cheeky response and hang up.

I never took this type of behavior personally, because how can you blame an obviously emotionally stunted and dysfunctional person for their problems? You really can’t. I have worked around the world, and have met different men. As a whole, men who purchase sex aren’t interested in the person, they are interested in the act, now some have enough personal development to be able engage in a conversation say before and after, to even share a small amount of themselves with you. Not so with Irish men, they find it hard to look you in the eye, are embarrassed at their nakedness, and generally ashamed of even being in existence-Original Sin and all that Catholic shit. They would actually like it if the lights were completely off and sometimes I swear if I erected a wall with a hole where they could stick their beloved ‘mickeys’ in, life would pass for me in a haze of random dicks appearing at will in this hole.

They can’t even pretend to be interested. Once the money changes hands, they dissolve into quivering masses of jelly. Oh the odd fool will try to reclaim a tiny shred of his manhood, by attempting to order me to do something, I will look down on them, I am taller than most, stare them in the eyes, and ask them to repeat what they just said. Usually an attack of instant amnesia hits, he mumbles incoherently lays quietly on the bed and takes what he is given. I have to remind them on occasion, just because you are paying me a fee, doesn’t give you the right to attempt to tell me what to do. You can ask, and if I am in the mood, I might do it. If not, take what you get and be bloody happy.

Not your normal punter/hooker interaction. Oh please, I have a naked, pathetic, slightly over weight, balding peon in my room who has just handed over his cash for sex, who has the power in this dynamic? He may think he had a advantage before he paid, but now as he stands before me in all his naked glory, he on some conscious level realizes who is in charge, and it certainly isn’t him. Also my height plays a part in this. I am quite tall and love to wear heels. The higher the better. So, unless a man is well over 5’10” I will tower over him, this establishes things from the moment they walk in the door. Nothing like a height advantage to throw a nervous man off his game.

I remember having had one punter, who was talking loads of shit before he handed over the money. I bit my tongue, until he paid. Then I walked up to him and smacked him hard on the back of the head, and said “So, who is the boss now?” I then went and called my taxi driver, told him to be ready for me in 30 mins, went into his kitchen made a nice cup of tea, sat on his sofa, chatted to him, and just as he was ready to head to the bedroom, I said, “So sorry, I am leaving you now, byyeeeeeeeeeee!” Waltzed out door into my waiting taxi, and left. With his money in pocket. Idiot. I do not normally do this, but this trumped up little turnip had it coming. He kept going on about how much he made, and how much he paid for his house. Fucking spare me. I just kept smiling. I NEVER give away my true financial situation to a punter. They don’t need to know it and it isn’t going to change his pre-conceived opinion of me. If anything, it will really piss them off and could cause them to turn nasty and become jealous, and wish to exact a small bit of vengeance on me, so it is best to keep shut about finances, especially in Ireland! And especially now. In the middle of one of the worst economic recessions/depressions escorts are still able to earn a rather decent living, when compared with the rest of the population.

You can be Donald Trump, if you are in my boudoir, you are a punter and that places you firmly into the persona non grata category as soon as you leave the premises. Again there are exceptions to this rule.

To All The Ladies

To All The Ladies

This goes out to the hardworking independent escorts out there whom through no fault of theirs had the lights scared out of them over the last few days. Apparently there were a series of early morning welfare checks conducted by the garda, with little mention before hand of the impending visits! Which of course left some shaken! Understandbly so. These visits were being conducted, not because of any wrong doing, but more as an excerise to determine the level of trafficked men and women working in Ireland. And if the arrests that were made were are anything to go by, Ruhama will have to do some creative statistical analysis to secure next years funding.

In general 4 or 5 Garda knocking on ones door isn’t, believe it or not, an everyday occurrence in most escorts lives. We aren’t criminals. But as always, the ladies rallied, supported each other and did their best to pass on information as quickly as possible to others, check up on each other and generally tried to keep calm and carry on. A valiant effort on all sides. If I ever had a problem, I know to whom I would turn.

Also to the supportive gents out there, who called and checked in on friends working in the business to make sure all was well, a heartfelt thank you for being decent human beings, and genuine people with compassion and consideration.

And last but not least, to the whining, snivelling, cowardly little fucks who in the mists of hard-working people’s lives being traumatized could only think of the non-existent effect this could maybe, possibly, in all likelihood not have on their lives, also a heartfelt thank you to you too, for showing the rest of us what a bunch of spineless cunts you really are. Well done!

But in the end it is good to know consistency was upheld, I was a bit surprised to see the amount of spineless ones who appeared out of the woodwork to voice their concern. An escort attacked, not a peep, but a mere hint of an idea that maybe by a long shot their phone number might have been saved in a phone could get into the hands of the Garda, and well the the beating of chests, and gnashing of teeth was indeed a cacophony heard from the rooftops.

Thankfully business will return to normal, and the ladies can resume the task of bringing joy to the thousands of men out there, whom for whatever reason use the services of escorts.

It’s Mary’s Fault

It’s Mary’s Fault

Religion never took with me. Something to do with the fact it was contradictory, restrictive, and women caught hell. The justification for this was Original Sin! Original sin? Who the hell was writing this crap, men of course. Men with an agenda, usually control, domination, and justification for any type of inhumane treatment they could think of. White slave masters used the same words in the same book to justify the enslavement, torture, and ownership of their black brothers. Amazing that.

But back to the original sin business. Now I was told that the whole cause for all this, was that Eve, offered a piece of forbidden fruit to Adam. Offered, not rammed down throat, not tied up to the stake, no hot pokers in delicate places, and made him eat it, no simply offered.

Adam the twat, took the apple, and ate it. But it is Eve’s fault, and as punishment for her rather small part in all this, was to have pain during child birth. Right! News flash, it goes in a mustard seed, and comes out a watermelon, there will be pain involved, original sin or no original sin. It is called biology. Nothing mystical about this.

When women don’t confirm to the prescribed roles of wife-read(drudge, sex slave, kitchen slave, punching bag, property), or mother, she is a whore, to be despised, abused, sold, and discarded. Wait a minute here, wasn’t the wife of Jesus a fallen woman?

Mary Magdeline, here forth known as MM. Yes, I am convinced she was his wife, why? Because no woman is going to sit at the gravesite of a man for several days in inclement weather, unless he was hitting those skins, and doing a damn good job of it too. She has been held up as the whore in this little drama. Personally the girl had style. Perfume and feet come to mind.

Now let’s us flash to the other Mary, poor thing. Statutory rape of a minor, married off to a man old enough to be her grandfather, and basically forced to have the child of that particular violation. Ok the end result is she was assumed into heaven, I suppose a small compensation for having to tolerate such shitty treatment. So because she was tortured, raped, trafficked, enslaved, used to give birth to various offspring from the May-September union, and apparently didn’t murmur a word of complaint, she is held up as the gold standard for women to aspire to be like! Aww no thanks! I will take my chances with the stone wielding crowd, thank you very much.

In the bible, we are either martyrs for the cause, sex-slaves, chattel, or disobedient miscreants who get our just desserts in some of the most unpleasant ways. Even when we are obedient in the bible, it doesn’t end well. Women catch hell. This gem says it all:
1 corinthians 14:34-The women should keep silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be in submission. It makes my bloody blood boil. And there are idiots who still behave like this towards women.

If we are not catching hell, we are stuck looking after idiot men, washing their clothes, looking after bratty offspring from other women, or their old parents. And all this for a reward in the afterlife. I would have gone out of my way to be stoned if forced to live in biblical times.


The Bitch Is Born

Why I love being a Dominatrix. Therapy! And I am just a little bit sadistic. Plain and bloody simple. Now mind you, I am not sadistic in the sense of needing to inflict pain on those who don’t want it. To much work, not interested in converting someone to liking pain. I like those subs who are just teetering on the edge, just needing a wee push. Those who want me to inflict pain on them but not too sure which kind, ahh this is where I excel. Wicked, little seeming innocent things, like a kiss from Mistress. OH, how the sub pays for that pleasure.

Allow me to explain, people in general get on my nerves. Always have, in fact I would come close to saying don’t really fancy my fellow-man that much. The singularly stupid shit people do, leaves me with a firm distaste for spending large quantities of my precious time with anyone of them for longer than is absolutely necessary. This constant stress of having to deal with idiotic people, causes stress. So, when I was first introduced to Dom, I was like ICK! Gosh that is gross! Then I was introduced to corporal punishment, oh sweet mother of god, I took to that like a duck to water. I could get paid to flay the hide off of some sniveling, pathetic, corpulent, submissive accountant!? Sweet Jesus, why didn’t someone tell me about this years ago?

Not to mention, I was allowed to anally de-flower the odd one or two. “Oh, ah, that hurts Mistress.” “Really?! Shut Up, breathe and take it like a man, you pathetic little piece of vermin!” Punctuated by a hip thrust. A moment of epiphany when the sub realizes I have just inserted a rather large object up their ass. A well applied slap, and a slow gyrating movement, and they is my little bitch, whimpering for me not to take it out. How much pleasure he is getting. How he will do anything I tell him. I fucking love my JOB!

I had found a new niche, and I absolutely loved it. It was better than clinical therapy, cheaper than retail therapy, it got the stress I was feeling out and dealt with, I got PAID for the personal growth moment, and the sheer sadistic pleasure of whipping the sweet, white, quivering bottom of some little worm. There should be a law against this much pleasure being derived by one person.

Why I wondered weren’t more people doing Dom? It was easier than having to pretend to worship their sad little cocks just hanging there dribbling pre-cum down their hairy legs. I could with a great deal of honestly tell them how pathetic I though them to be. I could call them names like, worm, dog spittle, shit face, small dicked wonder. I could describe to them in graphic detail just how sad their members were, how useless it was, how pointless it was, and in some cases if the sub was deep into blood play, I could even go so far as to threaten to cut it off, and make tiny little nicks in the penis. I could whip bottoms, I could whip backs, I could stomp on cocks with my heels, I could spit on them, pull hair, and could slap faces! I could bend them over after inflicting some of the worst punishment I could, and after putting on my rather large strap on, I could put them in the most submissive of positions and FUCK THEM up the ass in the name of woman kind!

After slapping them around, spitting on them, fucking them rather none too gently up the nether regions, I would sit on their faces, play with my rather nice vibrating toy, make them lick me, come in their faces, and then pee on them. Get up, send them into the corner where they could finish themselves off if they so chose. I was done with them. My God the power rush was incredible. I would be so suffused with adrenalin after a serious good session. Then the best part of all of this, is when they upon leaving, kiss me feet in thanks. If only all my appointments were like this.

In Ireland, a great deal of my appointments are Dom, these boys love having their bottoms rogered senseless, and their little pink asses whipped. I can only say ‘thank you’ to the Roman Catholic church; what their mothers didn’t fuck up, the church finished off for them. God bless Ireland.