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Psychological Domination

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You mumble inaudibly as you bite down on the gag, eagerly anticipating my next move. I drop the cane on the floor, the sound startles you more than the impact itself would have. I grab you by your hair and whisper in your ear, “not so tough now, are you?”

Even if there wasn’t a piece of plastic inhibiting your speech you wouldn’t of said a word. I slowly began to loosen the tightly bound rope around your wrists. I knew I had conquered you.

You came in so self-assured, so confident. Tense, defiant, completely over-inflated and under-aware. A self-anointed alfa, I was determined to break you, and I did…. I laughed, as I sent you on your way.

A few weeks had passed since then, and honestly, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Although I was successful in sending you into a surreal subspace I was also exceedingly aware of your preconceived notions. The cultural credence that you are so invested in. The idea that women are somehow inferior to men, (obviously, we have vastly different views on the subject).

Yet, here you are, begging to come see me. Begging to submit. I contemplate a bit before agreeing. I didn’t appreciate the brash way you had approached me upon our first meeting. However, I did find it thrilling to turn the tables so effortlessly…so I agree.

You approach me noticeably more compliant then you had previously been. Not a word exchanged, but your demeanor tells me everything I need to know. I intently locked eyes with you, and with one stern snap of my fingers you are kneeling before me. I’m pleased.

I knew your new-found submission had nothing to do with the physical control I could have exhibited. For you it was mental. The truth is that you could have physically over powered me if you truly desired. You had at least 50 pounds and 6 inches in your favor, but that wasn’t what was diverting you, I had over powered you…just in a much more profound way. It was the psychology of it all that sent you to your knees, and this is where I found satisfaction.

People tend assume that my job revolves around beating people into submission, and although that does happen from time to time, it’s only the tip of the iceberg. A very small percentage of people are into intense physical pain, and as I am an extreme advocate of consensual play, I seldom get to venture.

However, it’s the psychological domination that you truly crave. This is the addictive component that you can’t get enough of. Anyone can use physical restraint to prevail, it’s the mental prowess that will leave you defenseless.

I say it all the time, but the art of domination is only about 10% physical, the other 90% is mental. There is something beautiful about the ability to make someone submit without malicious intent. It’s about manipulating the situation without imprecisely injuring the individual. The satisfaction isn’t in leaving someone psychologically weak and physically deflated. It’s about inspiring them to give into you completely, to get them to submit entirely with every essence of their being.

Regardless of how it may appear from the outside, it isn’t about imprisoning the subservient partner, it’s about freeing them in ways they couldn’t previously conceptualize. It’s not about rescinding previous beliefs it’s about disassembling them, and constructing something new entirely. Psychological domination is an art, and when demonstrated decorously it breaks down barriers, and is absolutely liberating.

Honest Insight

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I fasten a collar around your neck and drag you to your knees, forcing you on all fours. You shake with anticipation as I circle you, like a predator stalking its prey. My fingers glide down the small of your back, sending shivers down your spine.

My eyes lock yours, and in that moment, I know you are mine. Your vulnerability excites me, it’s what I came for. I know I could have you in any way I wanted you. The exchange of power leads to an undeniable intimacy. I could take advantage of you.

The intensity is palpable. I could have you doing things you previously denied. Things you would find electrifying in the moment but would ultimately leave you feeling dejected. As exhilarating as I may find the concept, I would never damage you in that way.

There is an implicit trust that is implied in our play, it’s delicate, and the line is thin. Although we may teeter, we both know, if we were to ever cross it, it would be detrimental. BDSM isn’t about un-complied activities dictated by the domme, or glorified abuse. It’s about conviction and consent. The interactions that evolve from play are often some of the most beneficial.

DS relationships have the potential to heal very deep wounds. They can build trust, enhance confidence, and often tend to create loving, profound, and lasting bonds. They are fun and adventurous, with the ability to produce not only a deeper understanding of your partner, but yourself as well.

However, abuse is a common misconception. The truth of the matter is that responsible adults in the BDSM community tend to stick to the “safe, sane, and consensual” school of thought. This precept is arguably the most acknowledged motto amongst the community. However, once you begin to venture out of the small circle and reach a broader crowd you realize that the term BDSM becomes synonymous with the “Fifty Shades of Grey” trilogy.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I never read the novels (though I did attempt it). The reason for this is partially due to the abysmal style of writing, and partially due to the erroneous message. My knowledge is limited to the film, which I found equally defective.

This of course is merely my humble opinion. My real issue is not that I found the franchise poorly executed, but rather that the dominant character, Christian Grey is an obvious manipulator and abuser. What is even more disturbing is that this is what is considered a staple and a socially accepted notion of BDSM.

In and out of the community there is a fair amount of acknowledgment regarding the abuse inflicted on the submissive character Anastasia. Christian uses his social prowess in conjunction with methodical methods of financial manipulation to force Anastasia into submission. Although this may appear consensual, it’s anything but.

Contriving the concept of consent doesn’t make it consensual. This blog isn’t intended to be a review of Fifty Shades of Grey, but rather a commentary on the misinformation provided, and an honest glimpse into what it means to be in a DS relationship.

Play shouldn’t be an imprisonment for the submissive, it should be freeing and fulfilling. It should be compassionate, not confining. Play should promote self-love and wellbeing, not self-hate and devastation. It should be mentally, emotionally, and psychologically healing. The only pain that should take play, is the physical kind. It should leave marks on your ass, not your psych…as long as you’re into that sort of thing.

Fuck That

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The truth is not everyone deserves you; most don’t even come close. This really pertains to all women, but Dommes in particular. However, for some reason, many Pro-Dommes end up in romantic relationships, with these awful guys who oddly enough seem to “dominate” them in every viable sense.

I always wondered why such beautiful, strong women would ever allow any man to disrespect them, let alone their partners. These are the same women who make an incredibly good living off of the fact that they are “Goddesses”. They are worshiped and adored by basically every man on the planet except the one they choose to give their heart to.

I could never really quite grasp the concept of this. I’ll be the first to admit that in my personal life I tend to be initially drawn to men that have some kind of alpha in them, but that really is mostly due to the fact that I like a bit of a challenge. If I can’t break them by the end of the first date, they won’t get a second.

However, I also tend to be drawn to intelligent and intuitive men, most of which innately know better than to cross me. Even in the instance I’m dating someone, if it becomes clear that they don’t value me in the way I deserve, or prioritize me accordingly, regardless of my interest in them, I promptly remind myself that men line up to lick the bottom of boots, and then show them the fucking door.

So anyway, today I’m browsing through my news feed when I come across an article about sex workers. Now, personally, I’ve never consider Domination “sex work” since there is no sex, but according to the ignorant man who found it fundamentally imperative to categorize such jobs, it is indeed sex work.

Ok, so back to the article before I get completely side-tracked and go on a 3-page rant about how the art of domination is about 10 percent physical and 90 percent mental…I’ll save that for another blog. Anyway, so the article was actually quite positive considering that the term “sex work” has such a negative condensation.

It was a pretty lengthy text, but the premise of it was that the reason sex work is looked down upon in such a universal way is due to the stigma perpetuated by males that the female workers accept as truth. The article didn’t really touch on Dominatrix’s, it focused more on traditional sex jobs, such as escorts and strippers. Now, it’s pretty obvious that stripping doesn’t entail sex either, but it is also categorized as such, so just to avoid further side-tracking, let’s just go with it for now.

Nonetheless, the article got me thinking about these beautiful, smart, professional Dommes that I know, that engage in such toxic relationships with such worthless men. I started to think about it in less of a personal regard, and more in sociological terms. We are culturally cultivated to look down on women that use their bodies, or any aesthetic attribute in a way that produces revenue. Yet, we are constantly bombarded with images and expectations we should meet; However, when were fortunate enough to have those attributes, and intelligent enough to monoplolize on that, suddenly we’re whores. And we as women accept this, but why? We’ve been beaten down and manipulated to such a staggering degree that we feed into this bullshit…but fuck that!

And fuck you….to every guy that has ever found it acceptable to mentally or physically demine a woman and blame it on her profession. Fuck you to every “man” that has been intimidated by a powerful woman and in turn made her feel powerless. Fuck you to any man that has ever cut a woman down to size in order to feel bigger. Fuck you the men that are willing to rob a woman of her inner beauty so she can match his own reflection. Fuck you to the insecure men that will break you down in every way possible, so you are forced to become dependent on them. Fuck you to the freeloading losers that will spend his woman’s money while simultaneously slut shaming her. And to all ignorant assholes who are passing judgment, without even having the intellect to comprehend what they are judging.

And fuck you, to anyone that ever makes you feel less then you are…you are nothing short of spectacular. You are beautiful, you are a boss, you are fearless, you are strong, you are a fucking Goddess, and the only thing you should be ashamed about is picking the wrong man, but we all make mistakes. So wipe the mascara from under your eyes, apply that perfect shade of lipstick, put on those boots and strut your sexy ass right on to better things. Keep slaying ladies!

Instinct

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I couldn’t help myself. I knew better, but the desire to have you was almost animalistic. Of course, I didn’t want you in the way that you want to be wanted. My intentions toward you were something different entirely. It wasn’t enough for me to just have you, I wanted to own you…sounds kind of selfish right?

I couldn’t seem to conduct myself in a non-predatory way; despite my best efforts every time I was in your presence, I could only focus on controlling you. The core intent in every action I made was to seduce you. But I didn’t seduce you in the way you wanted to be seduced…I didn’t want to lure you into my bed, I wanted to force you to your knees.

Now of course this wasn’t your forte, not that I’d ever come right out and ask you. That wouldn’t be fun now would it? Normally I have no problem just relaying my rigorous list of demands and expecting my subject to eagerly comply. However, that wasn’t the case this time. You started to become more of a conquest and less of a person.

I felt guilty. As someone that so strongly advocates the consensual side of play I was ashamed of my actions, but just couldn’t help myself. I had to have you, and it had to be in the way that I wanted it. It wasn’t manipulative or malicious, just primitive. I wanted you to want it, and I knew that if I could just get you in the position to taste it you’d develop a craving. The loss of control I felt over myself only propelled the need to control you.

You wanted me, you made that pretty evident from the beginning. You wanted me in the same way that all men want me; perhaps even something more. You’d always look at me in awe with indescribable admiration. I wanted you to admire me; but not in the way that you did. It made me feel bad.

I had no intention of loving you, of course I’d love you to some extent; the practice of BDSM seems to create that bond. I suppose it’s something to do with the implicit trust. I wanted to share that with you, I wanted you to see how beautiful it really is. How freeing it feels to be owned, but I knew that wasn’t the kind of bond you were looking for.

I was afraid I was going to ruin you, you craved a certain normalcy that I could trump entirely. I just wanted to expand your horizons, and offer you experiences you couldn’t obtain in the past. I wanted to give you something you didn’t know you needed, but I knew if I gave it to you, you would start to fiend for it. I wanted you to have it, but I couldn’t be the one to give it to you.

I’m good at reading people, hearing the words that are never spoken. I knew you in ways you probably didn’t even know yourself. I knew your body without ever exploiting it. I knew you’d easily become addicted, and I’d easily become bored. I also knew you’d easily become hurt, and as bad as I wanted you, I decided to back off completely.

It was easier to resist the urge if I cut off contact with you, and so I did. Several months went by before you finally gave up. After a while I forgot about the urge entirely. I didn’t think about you much at all after that, and I could remember the impulse to own you, but couldn’t remember quite how it felt. Then the other day I’m going through my emails. I notice one, and written in the subject line is, “I need to be controlled.” I open the email, and guess what…it was you.