And now, I present to you a story in three parts:


…I…. what? <<ENHANCE!!>>


Waiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit…….. <<ENHANCE!!>>


Sorry for the self-serving post, but I hulked out on the train ride back, and nearly beat someone to death. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!


The Italian Stallion; aka, I’m apparently a neurotic freak

I’ve learned a few things after joining THAT SITE for meeting new clients, the first is how to spot a time waster. The second, after my date with a new client, was that I am apparently a neurotic freak. So, for your amusement, I present the difference between an American, and an Italian:

Me: So, you’ve seen Professionals in the past?
Him: Err, yes, yes.

Me: Right. That’s great. Any issues or baggage I need to know or work around?

Him: What? No. No baggage. I’m Italian.

Me: …

Him: Italians, we don’t have-a the baggage.

I swear to G-D that’s exactly how this conversation went. Like, who the fuck doesn’t have baggage?! He looked at me like I had swallowed my tongue and might possibly need the Heimlich. Anyway, he further adds to my theory that the bigger they are, the harder the fall into submission. This man is something insane like 6’5, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t want to just grovel at my feet. Like, all night. It’s adorable. Jesus Christ, submissive men are the best.

How To Spot A Time Waster, Online: A story in eleventy billion parts

Deadbeat Dad was supposed to help pay for my oldest’s school fees. €50 per week. He has since stopped, with no sight of him helping out, leaving me with a €700 bill. That’s TREMENDOUS motivation for me to find new clients, so I signed up with That Site for BabyGirls and Sugardaddies, just to see if I could find an untapped source of clients. Most of my clients come through word of mouth, but you gotta keep your hustle hot, I say.

When a client reaches out to you, it’s generally easy to figure out if they’re legit, or if they’re getting off on just contacting you, because OMG PRO DOMMMMMMMMMMMMMME!!!  They ask the right questions, and do so, respectfully. On a site like this, everyone can edit themselves, and everyone can seem earnest. Until you get weirdos like the one we’re about to examine. So, good morning all! I bring you the first of many, “How To Spot a Time Waster.” You could also title this, “I Know Sexuality Isn’t A Choice, Because You Make Me Want to Hit the ‘Lesbian’ Button Super Hard Right Now.” I don’t mean the clit…. but hit that hard, if you like it. No judgments.

Our opening act:

Chocolate 1

Sweetheart, if you’re telling me about your baggage in your opening gambit, YOU ARE NOT OVER IT. And why would I even want to hear about it, anyway? Let me tell you why you’re single and on here…

Chocolate 2.PNG

It’ll never be mine?! But, we haven’t even met and I already know you’re a drama show with a side of chaos, panic, and disorder. Even if you pay me, now, I don’t want to see you. HOW CAN YOU THINK THIS IS AN APPEALING AD, MY DUDE?!

Chocolate 3

*Takes a deep breath* First of all, I’m 36. Not every woman on here is 18 years +1 day like in those movies you watch with the lotion next to your bed. And I never thought you were having a midlife crisis… until you said it. And even if I did, WHY would I care?!

See, the men on here think this is a dating site. They’re looking for love. But that’s what eHarmony is for; this site is for us to have “mutually beneficial relationships.” I’m glad you worked hard for your money (I can’t look at this profile without singing that in my head), but that’s why you’re on here. You’re here to spend it on women, so if you don’t want a “welfare” case to spend it on, then LEAVE. JESUS CHRIST.

Chocolate 4.PNG

This site is at once tremendously empowering, and deeply disturbing. You find some very respectful men who understand the game, and then you meet men like this: entrenched misogynists who don’t even understand why what they’re saying is so horribly wrong.

The “woman” he’s looking for is a naïve girl who would view 37 as “midlife crisis-ready,” who needs this dipshit to educate her in the “ways of the world,” (I can’t type that without rolling my eyes so hard, I can see my own brain), but smart enough to know that she needs money and resourceful enough to come on here? You want Fiction Girl, my friend. You have unrealistic understanding of women, and then you are surprised when your relationships don’t work out. You’re single, not married, probably White, mid-level successful, and a Bro. You wear khakis instead of jeans, and you only wear sneakers to a gym, if you go.

Conclusion: You’re a time waster, because this girl does not exist, and you won’t accept anything less. Since you don’t view women as complex people, rather than objects to be acquired or pretty children, you will never understand why you can’t keep things going, and you will simply enrage me with your entire existence.

The Power €xchange

One of the most interesting aspects of what I do, is the way men react to the shift in the power dynamic. Yes, of course they expect to be under my heel, but only literally. Once money becomes involved, the game seems to radically shift. Because money is dirty, and only a whor€ would do this for a fee.

I don’t lie about what I do and what I offer. But I’ll often encounter potential clients who spit lines like, “that sounds like a lot; can you do better on the price?” What they’re really saying is, “your time, your skills, and what you do aren’t worth that much/I’m worth more in what I offer in my submission, because I’m a man. Devalue yourself for me, because the acknowledgement of your self worth is making me uncomfy.” That sounds like a BIG read into a very small statement from a potential client, but it isn’t. These men would never go to a florist and ask for the same bouquet of flowers, but cheaper. They wouldn’t ask a baker for the same cake, but at a lower cost. Or maybe they would…. but I doubt it.

As I progress through my work, this is, without a doubt, one of the most fascinating interactions I have, and it happens fairly regularly. At first, I complied, “oh yes! I know the cost is high; I’ll try to make it easier for you!” (WHY?!) Then, I moved to, “Well, I know it’s a lot, but my costs include X, Y, and Z, and I need to cover them.” (Seriously, why am I justifying myself? This was a hard one to unlearn; I was raised as a people-pleaser, so learning to just say NO has been a tremendous challenge.) Finally, “No. That’s my fee. You can do it or you can’t.” But in reality, the mere fact that I entertain such people even after they’ve shown willingness to devalue my work says that I still have a long way to go. But it’s interesting to me that it wasn’t the punishment aspect that pushes them away; the though of abuse at the gloved hand of a Dominant Woman is what drew them in to begin with. And often, if someone can’t afford me, they apologize for wasting my time (at which point they’ve shown good manners, so I redirect them to a Domme with lower costs), and we call it a day. But these are men who have come to terms with the most graphic, most intense aspects of physical power exchange, and cannot come to terms with the idea of giving the sort of power that can make the most difference in my life; they can’t hand over the cash. They can’t accept that I set a certain price point. ME. I set the price, I have the control, and they submit. Against that restraint, they balk. When that happens, I like to picture them gathering up all their toys like small children, and flouncing out of the room with a, “FINE! YOU DON’T GET TO HAVE MY COOKIES, THEN!” Yes. That’s ok. As my son would say, “you’re a pants-head, nickel face!!” (I don’t know what it means, but when he says it at the park, I usually yell, “I AGREE!!”

It makes me laugh. It’s nice to be in a mentally strong enough place to laugh at stuff like this. I just find it strange that so many men will accept leather placed around their necks, but won’t put their hand in their own pocket to pay for it.

Tight Like A Fish’s Asshole, and That’s Watertight.

My housemate has an expression: “XXX is tight like a fish’s asshole, and that’s watertight!” It’s a fairly good way to express what many of my days are like, now.

7am: Get the oldest up, dressed, fed, watered, lunch made…

8am: …and loaded into the car.

8:30am: School drop off and tearful goodbyes. He’s still working on his “too cool to cry about mom leaving” routine, but I’m sure it’ll be set in a few years.

8:50am: Get into work. By now, I’ve taken four buses, so I’m basically just waking up.

9-5:30: Boring vanilla job where I am never sure how well I’m doing and whether I will be fired. But honestly, a good half of that could just be because I’m Jewish and paranoid. I’m also busy networking (vanilla), and Networking (on kik with clients or setting appointments).

6-8:00pm: Try to get in quality time with my boys, because this will be my only chance for the day. My youngest will be down by 8, latest. My oldest may go until 8:30. But they still need to eat dinner, bathe…. when was the last time I spoke to my boyfriend, again? FUCK!

8:45-10pm: Networking, taking online clients, checking Fetlife. Maybe eat dinner?

At some point, you realise that most people don’t live like this. They come home, put the kids to bed, and watch a film. But as tight as my days can get, if it wasn’t for kink, I think I would lose my mind. Maybe that’s why I ended up with my ex. Maybe a nice, “normal” man would have just been boring for me. Maybe I need SOME bit of drama to keep my life interesting. I don’t know. Maybe someday, I’ll figure out how to go slow. I’ll start a knitting circle and not make jokes about where you can put the needles. I mean, anything is possible, right??

When Their Need Draws Out A Darker Part of You…

In the West, we’ve built up this culture of toxic masculinity, but in so doing we’ve also created this undercurrent of men who long to submit at the hand (or heel) of the Authoritative Woman. I don’t blame the men who want to submit; after a while, it’s nice to hand the ropes over to someone else and let them take the lead. On a cultural level, it makes sense that men who are forced to limit themselves to a specific role would eventually seek out a way, even if only in private, to expand and break out of that rigid structure.

And then sometimes you get a client who wants more than just to be your puppy or your pain slut. Sometimes, you meet a client who needs you to access the darker part of your personality. A client who sees in you an aspect of your personality that you try to keep covered up. Maybe it’s not “pretty,” or you’ve grown up being told that girls don’t get violent or aggressive. We don’t punch or yell, we don’t kick, and we certainly don’t lose our fucking cool. That’s not “pretty.” But this client, that’s what he needs. He craves for you to be “not pretty” with him. He’s drawn to a darkness inside of you, and you wonder how he even knew it was there. That’s where we are right now.

I had a scene with a client. I did EVERYTHING I normally do, and it felt like we both kept missing the mark. He never got into head space, and I was bored for a good bit of it. Until the end. When I took the gag out and the mask off, and he said something to make me laugh… and I punched him. I’m a very physical person, and if I know a man can take it, I’ll punch him square in the chest (with his permission, obviously). It took nothing more than that to land him squarely in his sweet spot. I kept it going, escalating the violence until he called his safe word. But I could have kept going. I would HAPPILY have beat him until he bled for me. And that’s just the start. I would, in my darker moments, take everything out on him that I have ever had pent up. And that’s what scares me. How dark can I go? How dark will we both go? Will this open up a psychological can of worms for me? With all my anger from the divorce and years of emotional abuse, years of dealing with having been fired for being pregnant, and then being objectified by people around me… is this now my therapy? Do you push back on clients who challenge a part of you that you’re not comfortable with, or do you ride it out?

We’ll see, I guess, whether I call time of death or try to let my worms out, slowly, one by leather-clad one.

When it rains…

Recently, I went from pretty much zero clients, to three. In nearly the course of a week. Maybe every small business is like this, but I find that for me, when it rains, it pours. I guess I’m back in business!

I still have to slog through the same pool of assholes who don’t bother to learn the difference between a sex worker and a full service sex worker. So, fuck this clown. If you want a FSSW, then have the balls to go to one. That’s not me; fuck off.



Working the Online Angle.

Much of my influence over a submissive stems from touch and eye contact; you’re easier to control when I can grab your hair and tell you to shut the fuck up. That being said, my recent influx of clients have primarily been online men. Men from my region of the globe who either cannot get to my city, or else they’re from religious countries where sex is generally frowned upon. I don’t mind, your euro is just as good as anyone else’s, and I’m happy to help normalise certain fetishes and kinks.

Still, online work deviates from my previous experiences, which means I have to expand my repertoire and learn how to influence, even from thousands of miles away. It’s not as simple as pretending to like someone; I’m more honest than some catfisher. I need to make you do things that you want to do, but tell yourself that you DON’T really want to do. I can make you lick my hand, but how to make a man put himself in excruciating pain for me, I wonder…

And it’s harder still when some men aren’t acquainted with basic terminology. Then, you shift between teacher and Domme. Maybe I can wear glasses and put my hair in a bun! Just kidding…. except for the glasses part. I’m typing this in the dark while my oldest is asleep next to me in the bed. How many clients will it take for me to be able to afford new glasses, I wonder. Ugh.


The Great Experiment

I’m sitting at the airport with my copies of “Dominatrix,” and “Sunstone” out on the table.

……to be fair, I’m also sitting here in my pyjamas with some half eaten pancakes in front of me.

Will I get a client? Dirty looks? Will people just assume I’m Mostly Harmless? LET’S FIND OUT!!