Baby steps for a baby domme learning her new profession

The first time I was in a pornographic movie I was just 19 years old.  It was in Italy.  I didn’t undress.  I had a speaking part.  It was a slightly off-colour, offshoot of my life as a model.  I got paid enough to buy a pizza.  Thankfully they didn’t cut my hair.  You’ve seen it.  You know why.  I would’ve let them.  I guess I was already submissive then.  Umm.  I know I was.

I am trying to settle into this idea that I am deeply submissive but also not.  It is a bit confusing.  Just a bit.  But I am feeling both sensations in my body in separate but equal measure.

If I put a bow around it, it is quite simple.  With men, a man, I will only ever be dominant.  The idea of submitting to a man is abhorrent to me.  And yet, I find myself craving male validation.  They are the worst mis-pronouners, mis-genderers, so I suppose that is natural.

I found myself wanting men to beg to smell my pussy.  I’m quite flexible, I know how good it smells.  I can just imagine an erudite conversation on the topic.

“Wow, you’re pussy smells divine,” he observes.

“Drink it up baby,” I purr, “she’s gold-plated.”

“Why does it smell so good?  I want to eat it.”

“Diet.  Spiritual and corporeal.  But you can’t eat it.  You’ll just have to think of it as manna from heaven.”

Too right.

Making porn as a woman is also bizarrely validating.  A submissive man begging to suck my toes is pretty flipping fun.  Plus it feels good.

I was never a foot fetishist, but in the past week I had a handful of men in various states of undress, on their knees, worshipping my feet.  The irony is not lost on me that the day after I went to a femdom play party and ate my way through a roomful of submissive men (many of whom worshipped my feet at some point during the proceedings) I was in turn on my hands and knees licking and sucking on the dirty, smelly feet of someone I am rather fond of.

It was a watershed moment for me.  For the first time I was able to not be in my head.  I was able to just be.  And I was.

I had rented a studio space from a domme, as a domme, but found myself with my only domme, in that space, in my favourite place, in the bubble that she inflates for me.  A virtual, spiritual, mental, emotional space for me to crawl into.  In ways that I had never been present with her before, I was, and we traversed a very fresh landscape in our dynamic.

What happened?  She blew my gaskets.  That’s what happened.  I cried like a baby.  And she caught me.  She had asked me about my mental state, “where are you?” before she arrived.  I had told her I was scared.

There was something about dominating man after man after man in a room of hundreds of men, that had also stripped me bare.  It was like coming home to mommy.  I had been a big girl, and now I didn’t have to be.  It was beautiful.

The floodgates opened.

There is a massive settling process taking place in my psyche.  I was submissive because it was the only way to live as a sexual male.  I had no way to love a woman without being sorry for that.  And for a male reader that finds that hard to understand, or ridiculous, or pathetic, it isn’t about you.  I was so sorry, felt so sorry, not for what I had done, but for what my “tribe” had done.  So profoundly sorry for what has been and continues to be done to women.

As a woman, I don’t have to feel that way anymore.  It is profoundly liberating.  But the submissive feelings have not really gone away.  They have simply clarified.  They are no longer linked with shame.  They are no longer linked with a need to apologize.  They are “clean”, clear, and fundamental. I am growing in comfort that in my psyche I am a slave. Even if I never find an owner. It governs the essence of me.

There is a really famous NY dominatrix, perhaps the most famous, and she is so clarifying for me.  She represents everything I wouldn’t want in a domme, or to be.  Her public persona.  I have no idea what she is like in session or in private, but I have no desire to find out. I had been curious about her the first time I encountered her material, but over time, as I have seen more of her, I can see that she would not just be a disaster for me, but is a genuinely toxic human. That sounds scary. It is. And I do understand that there are some scary people in this field. Just like in any. Buyer beware. Always.

One Mistress I know excoriated the person I refer to above, and told me about some horrible things she has done to her subs. Deeply cruel psychological things.  It is possible to do a lot of damage in that liminal sexual-erotic space, made more intense by D/s.  A lot.  No matter what I think about how wonderful dommes are, some are quite toxic it seems.  That’s not the space I would wish to grow into.

I made a new domme friend at a party the other day, and it turned out that we have many friends in common.  We worked over a number of subs together, and it was wonderful to learn from her.  She introduced me to a gifted whip mistress, and watching her work over two men at once with a cane was quite something. I have not yet learned how to wield or to take the cane.  

She positively tortured them.  I’m not sure I would be inclined to do that. But I would be inclined to take the cane, as I find that this way I can dish out the cane.

If you can’t take it, then don’t dish it.

Spending time figuring out what I am inclined to do, and why, is one of the things I am focussing on right now.  What kind of clients do I want?  What kinks do I want to indulge in?  Who do I want to work with?

One sub commented on how I wasn’t as cruel as his Mistress.  I’m not.  Another commented on how sensual I was when I beat him.  How I alternated stinging blows with soft and electrifying caresses.  It is an erotic experience.  Pain isn’t everything.  Or at least, it serves a very different purpose when coupled with something softer. The space you crawl into lives in the contrast.

What movies do you cry at most?  The ones that make you laugh too.

My new domme friend and I talked about that.  A lifestyle domme who was with two subs next to us as we worked over a man observed that I was like the student of this domme.  Never mind that I had brought the client, had done most of the whipping, had started the whole thing off.  But the truth is worn on our shirt sleeves.  Literally and figuratively. And yes, I was her student.

My domme friend was blasé, and I was attentive.  Will I become blasé?  Lose my desire to do a “good job”?

She remarked, “when I first started, one of my subs said how nice I was, and I thought ‘I’m not having that, I want to be known as the cruel one.  So I became a sadistic bitch.” Will that be me? Nope. I think I will want to hold and cuddle my clients…of course, only after a good thrashing.

“I don’t know how I feel yet,” I said, “I just want to work with clients who want to let go of shame.  I don’t want some guy who comes to me to get off.  I want progress, growth, visible forward movement.”

“That sounds fabulous.  You’ll find them.”

I love being a dominatrix.  It feels natural.  Right.  Most of all I cherish the relationships with women.

A big part of it is acceptance.  The kind that matters.  Women in the trade, or women who are in the scene are some of the most embracing people I have yet met.  And the wicked sense of play and riotous laughter that comes with being a domme, is so soul-enriching.

“How did I do?” I asked a domme friend after we had filmed my very first kinky shoot.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed so much at work ever,” she said.

And its true.  When I look at the clips, I see two women laughing and a slave moaning about us laughing at him.  The humiliation was acute.  He loved every minute of it.

So, here I am, later in life, feeling gentle and utterly dominant at the same time.  With these clients, I will have my way.  The thing is, I do love hurting them.  Taking them to the edge of physical sensation, arousal, and then keeping them on this side of climax.  What they do on their own is another matter, but with me, the edge is the only place.

What can we do together once they are there?  Everything becomes possible.

And after I have played and played and played, and have that peculiar tired of a child coming home to mommy, I will be ready in turn for my own whipping before being tucked in for bed. Ain’t life grand?

I am sorry my dear readers if you have loved reading about my submissive self.  She is still very much here, but this new version of me is emerging and I feel that her voice shall be dominant for a while.  How apt.