Falling From Cloud 9


That seems to be everyone’s favourite line: “you’re so strong.”

“Wow! You’ve got TWO kids, and you left your husband while you were pregnant? You’re so strong!”

“You have a day job, you’re a Domme, and you have a personal life? Gosh, you’re so strong!”

Because that’s what a Dominant is, isn’t it? If nothing else, we’re meant to be the strong ones, the ones who can take the hand of their submissive, and guide them through the ups and downs. We’re the safe rock during a storm. And on loads of days, I feel like the most powerful woman you have ever met. Up with your shit, m’dear, I will not put! I bring men and women to their knees with my personality and will. My hands have power and strength, the sway of my hips can draw the eye… I don’t back down from the gaze of anyone; they back down from me. On loads of days, I feel like that, but not today.

Today, I was on the bus into town, and Katy Perry’s “Wide Awake” came on my phone. It’s a song that never really caught my attention before, other than being a cute little tune. But today, it reminded me of a study I once read, about a man who had short term memory loss. Each day, he would wake up and start his journal off with, “I woke up today…” He couldn’t remember anything before that day, you see, or else it all felt like a dream.

That’s what I’ve felt like since my husband and I started the separation process; it’s like having a bucket of ice thrown on your face, or like crashing into concrete when you thought you could fly. But it’s so much more than that; it’s a betrayal of everything you thought you knew about your life, what you had, and who your partner was. Suddenly, you wake up, and everything you thought your life was, it all turns out to be smoke and mirrors, dreams and wishes. It’s all gone. And some days, I just go about making my new life. MOST days, I do that. But today, “Wide Awake” came on, and I couldn’t breath.

Falling from Cloud 9. I’m crashing from the high. Because that’s all it ever was: clouds and smoke and a drug you were fed to make you think that what you ever had was real.

I was gutted, listening to it.

Thunder rumbling, castles crumbling. I am trying to hold on. God knows that I tried seeing the bright side, I’m not blind anymore.

You can’t grasp all the layers of the song, until someone you thought you loved has taken so much from you, even your illusions about love and marriage. The people who walked by me on the street today may have looked over and seen a woman who walked through the streets with her head up, going about her business. But inside, I felt small. I was a little girl, hands outstretched, trying to save the castles she had built, but knowing that they were all slipping away like sand.

It’s a self-serving post, I admit it. But I’m not as strong as they think I am. I’m maybe not as strong as I should be. Nine years are gone. For nearly nothing. It was supposed to be a lifetime; that’s what I wanted.

I’m maybe not as strong as a good Domme should be, because all I want to do is find someone stronger and ask them to beat me, whip me, make me cry. Take the rage and pain rushing through me where my blood should be, and give them exit ports in my skin. For a few hours, be someone who asks nothing of me other than my body. I can give you that. But please don’t ask me to be strong, today. It’s all I can do to breathe.



It goes through my mind at least once a day: if I were to go to my high school reunion, how would I introduce myself and what I do? Would I keep it vanilla?

“Hey, Jim! Yeah, good to see you, too! Who, me? I’m in business. No, nothing specific. Just, you know, business.”

Or would I be honest and spill everything?

“Hey, Jim! Yeah, good to see you, too! Who, me? Well, by day I work in technology, by night I’m a professional Dominatrix, and when I have a chance to breathe, I’m a single mom to two boys. Yourself?”

Each time, it plays out differently in my head, but there’s always one nagging question at the end of my little mental theatre: what about my boys? If my family found out what I did for a living, there might be a bit of shock or eyebrow raising. Some people might get angry, as if this had anything to do with them… but how do I manage being both Dommy, and Mommy?

The first option of simply not telling them is off the table, to me. Secrets, especially ones that people consider particularly salacious, always get out. I don’t think there is any way for me to keep this a secret from my boys, forever. If we jumped on the pendulum and swung to the other side, however, there’s not much there, either. I don’t want to parade this aspect of my life in front of my boys. Not that I feel there is anything wrong with sex, sexuality, or BDSM, but I just don’t think it’s appropriate for them to know too much about their mother’s sexuality, regardless of what that entails. Eventually, I will place my toys and tools under lock and key. My BDSM books will have to be placed somewhere the boys can’t get to, and I’ll have to be more aware of the things I discuss when they’re around.

All of this, I think, brings us to a possible middle ground. Is there any option, at all, to make my sons aware of who I am and what I do, in an age-appropriate context? Do I damage them by being honest about myself, and slowly revealing aspects of my life in a planned and calculated way? Even if I present myself in a positive light, they’re surrounded by a culture that would rather teach abstinence-only, than say the word “vulva” in front of a class of teenagers.

It keeps me up at night, this question. Can I be who I truly am with the people who matter most, or, in so doing, would I damage them beyond repair? Even if they understood, is it a burden to place on my sons? To know who I am and what I do, and have to maintain discretion in a society that would prefer I simply remain barefoot and pregnant…

No matter how much I mull it over, I still don’t have the answer.

Come To Bed

“The Eef and I still owe you your birthday present.” Special K is texting and trying to distract me from a particularly shitty week. I found out that there is just nothing I can do to save my old house; it’s going into foreclosure, and my soon-to-be-ex husband is more concerned about the religious holidays, than about the fact that the bank is tallying our debts. Special K knows all about everything in my life, and he still wants to be there. I’ve checked, and he doesn’t seem to be suffering from a stroke…

Special K and Eef are two people with whom I play. In an ideal world, I would collar K as my own, but I have trust issues right now, and I don’t feel stable enough with him. Eef is a good friend whom I care deeply for, but was never sexually attracted toward. They’d planned a night of “Pampering Dommy-Mommy.” (We can insert a bit of an eye-roll here, thanks.)

The day started off with K meeting me in town while I ran some errands. While I’m not normally a fan of PDA, when K and I get together, we have a hard time not kissing or even limiting those kisses to chaste little pecks. We grabbed an awful BBQ lunch, and just mostly spent the time chatting and walking.

“I need to pick up a new toy for tonight,” I told him. So we walked to the sex toy shop in town, and I purchased a lovely black prostate toy. We parted ways and I went home to pull mommy duties for the evening. Naturally, on the night when I really needed my oldest to hit the sack good and early, he was wired up until 10:30pm. I texted Eef:

“Maybe I shd cancel…?”

“Even if we spend one hour with you, it’s not time wasted!” she wrote back. “Get here when u can.” I got to K’s place at around 11:15pm. We booted up Guardians of the Galaxy, which I HIGHLY recommend if you haven’t yet seen it. It’s very hard to tie two people up and use them as tables for your sushi dinner all while trying to maintain a serious face, if you’re laughing your ass off at some dude singing into a swamp rat. My Domme-ly composure was lost. Still, I managed to eat sushi off of two willing, naked subs. It was lovely.

After dinner (because DURING dinner would have been unhygienic), I edged them both closer to orgasm, pulling back when they got too close… or just because frustrated moans are funny. Let me take a moment to say that edging can be a double edged sword with play partners who are not clients. My clients would never DARE touch me in a sexual way; there are boundaries, and they are respected. My play partners, however, are a different matter. Edge Special K enough, and when you take the cuffs off, he pounces on you like a rabid dog and will (consensually) rip your clothes off. Eef will creep up toward you, and rub against you like a cat wanting attention.

Her kisses were lovely and soft. His were more aggressive. I let them play with each other, and then told them both that I had to go. I was flat on the floor, just enjoying a happy glow from simply having an adult night out. K stretched himself out along my body, slowly lowering himself on top of me and pressing me into the wood floor. The metal on his cuffs scraped along next to me as he began kissing me. It was all lovely, but I really did have to get home. Kids, and all that…

And then his lips moved to my ear, nibbling and licking. He stopped, and said those three magical words that, apparently, leave me weak in the knees:

“Come to bed.”

Everything was in those three words. Sex with him. With Eef. A change in the dynamic for the three of us. The things he wanted to do to me. The things he wanted me to do to him.

“Come to bed.”

…………..so, I did.

The time I accidentally masturbated my cat

After a while, you get a rapport with some clients, and you can joke and laugh in a scene. Most clients will come to you, though, and think, “BDSM is Serious Business™.” Much like baseball, there is no laughing. But some clients get to know you as a person, and you end up sharing funny stories about who you are when the leather and latex comes off…

Which is how I found myself chatting with a client about the funniest “sex thing” to have ever happened to me. Frankly, there’s probably loads, but one thing popped into my head at that very moment: the time I accidentally masturbated my cat.

I had a lovely, squishy, orange tabby. He’s an excellent nap partner, and just wants to snuggle. One day, while I was in the early stages of pregnancy with my first child, I went down for a nap. I was on my back, and my cat snuggled up to my leg. As happens with some pregnant women, I would have periods of serious arousal. It must have struck when I was napping, because I remember having an extremely erotic dream, and slowly reaching my hand down between my thighs to, err, help the dream along. I was stroking and massaging, and frankly, not feeling very much, until I hear a loud and angry “MEOW!!!” The screech woke me up, and I realised that what I had thought was, uhhh, “me,” was actually my cat’s nose, and he was less than pleased at me massaging his nose in his sleep! When I woke up and realised what had happened, I laughed for probably a good ten minutes as my tabby skittered out of the room.

….I don’t think my client stopped laughing for another five minutes, either. Sometimes, it’s nice to take off the leather and chuckle over some tea and biscuits. It’s nice to remember that not everything is Serious Business™.