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.

I Like Being A Woman

I Like Being A Woman

Most days I like being a woman, there is a week I would quite happily not be female, I wouldn’t want to be male either, I would be happy to be asexual until my period was over. Just being neither bothered by my hormones, or cravings. But that is another blog entry.

Why do I like being a woman, because sexually, the roles are pretty well-defined. I am on the receiving end of things. My buttons are located in easy to access places, right where I can see them, getting to them is usually pleasurable for all involved. Not too much muss, mess, or fuss.

Men on the other hand, have a prostate which is only accessible via a trip up the anus! Now for homosexual men, who are more self-aware and tuned in to these things, great. But take your average heterosexual male. To whom the very idea of anything going near his bum except toilet paper makes him gay, try having this conversation. Or worse yet, when the urge hits him and he indicates he wants something up there. The series of covert signals, nudges, winks, and head scratches makes me think I am at an auction. Can we say conflict?

It is amazing how many men want a prostate massage. Some want it and know it, others don’t know they want it, get it and like it, and others pretend it didn’t happen, never mention what happened, but are back in through the doors when you return to town. So, you can imagine how these things are approached. I have learned through a series of coded words and assumed positions what a heterosexual man wants in terms of when he wants something near the nether regions.

God forbid, he says outright what he wants on the phone, so I can be properly prepared. No, I have to bloody guess by virtue of reading the signs. The first sign is he enters, pays, strips, washes and hurriedly lies on the bed face down, with his bum slightly raised. Ah-yes, he wants a “massage”. By massage, I mean a prostate massage, and this in some cases has to be approached by virtue of stealth and subterfuge. A sneak attack, as it were, on his nether regions.

Being well prepared as I am, I always have gloves at the ready, even if he does lay face up. Because even when laying face up, the urge can hit, and the next thing you find is your hand being pushed down none to gently towards that end of things. No words have been spoken. Are you kidding, actually request it? If it isn’t uttered, it didn’t happen.


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.