My First YouTube Video: First Thoughts on Control

I just posted my first YouTube video!

The title is "First Thoughts on Control - Recognizing Abuse and Encouraging Negotiation" and it's aimed at people interested in control play in the bedroom. I do not think I have necessarily original thoughts on BDSM subjects, but I believe that every voice helps when it comes to encouraging safety and sanity, even in the context of for-pay BDSM over the phone.

I have more a generic intro "Hello World" video that I should post first, but upon re-watching it, I need to add one significant thought to it before I post it, and I've already stalled on posting these long enough (I recorded it 10 days ago). So I pulled on my big girl panties and pretended like it's okay to do things out of sequence.

(That screaming you hear? Several of my more particular Inner Voices throwing fits about posting things out of sequence...)

If it gets yanked from YouTube for being adult content, that's fine, I'll upload it elsewhere and re-do the link here, but for now, this embedded player should work (fingers crossed...):



If the embedded player doesn't work, here's the link instead: First Thoughts on Control - Recognizing Abuse and Encouraging Negotiation

Although the video does not reflect me in phone-sex / sexy-time mode, it does reflect me being all reflective and thoughtful, so for those of you who get turned on smart thoughts from smart people, you're welcome!

(many thanks to Domme Kyaa for posting her Philosophy of a Fem Domme series, which was the original inspiration for me to do these - I can't find the original links anymore, but the one linked is representative of her work)

In Celebration of the Male Submissive

from malesubmissionart.com

I have been reading a conversation on the web about male submissives, which almost led to a blog post title of "Heartbreak and the Male Submissive" but I decided, instead, to celebrate, in addition to empathizing.

It started with @maymaym (the guy behind the visual-celebration-of-male-submission site: http://malesubmissionart.com/) posting a link to this incredibly well-written piece discussing how often members of the BDSM scene devalue male submissives, even while valuing female dominants: http://www.labcoatlingerie.com/2011/08/09/the-cost-of-devaluing-male-submission-one-token/ This particular conversation goes back further on the internet, but that's where I joined it.

Then tonight, maymay posted a related link, from KinkInExile, who had responded to Professor Chaos, with something equally well-written, about being a geek female dominant who breaks stereotypes and has a hard time finding a male submissive partner, here: http://kinkinexile.wordpress.com/2011/09/01/what-she-said/

Since I just linked to other posts which may cause track backs here, I need to give a bit of context for who I am, why I am joining this conversation, and why I feel qualified to empathize with and celebrate male submission.

For most of my 30s, I was a polyamorous submissive, and marginally active in the BDSM scene in Austin. Professionally, I was a data analyst who became an IT Manager. So I am a geek, I love geeks, I love managing geeks, and I have fucked many an awesome geek. Also, I'm a leader outside of the bedroom.

Then I came down with a rare neurological vertigo which debilitated me from doing IT work, and I became a phone sex operator to pay the bills. I swear this is relevant, please hang with me for a few more paragraphs.

I started professional phone sex, naturally enough, with a listing as a submissive woman, but kept getting calls from clever submissive men who had discovered via trial-and-error that convincing a submissive woman to top you can sometimes turn out pretty well, because they tend to be empathetic.

As with any supply and demand situation, when the demand (for female domination) outstrips the free supply (and it does), a for-pay market is created. I was stunned to discover how many male submissives felt unable to get their needs met in the flesh for free, despite the best efforts of many of them to join kink groups and form healthy femdom/malesub relationships.

And many of the for-pay options in the web cam and phone sex world involve women who project a message of "I rule, you suck" which (a) perpetuates anti-male-submissive bias and (b) is a giant turnoff for many smart male submissives.

I was heartbroken. I am heartbroken. It pisses me off and makes me sad.

As a natural leader who found tremendous release in sexual submission myself, I have deep empathy for those who seek the delicious miles-away-from-the-rest-of-my-life of subspace. I get why it's awesome fun to float along on the waves of someone else's decisions. Plus, as a sensation slut and a pain slut, I understand those tendencies when they pop up for men, too.

So I put on my learning cap, discovered the phrase "service top" (a dominant whose pleasure comes primarily from enjoying their partner's pleasure), and set out to be the best dominant female I could be.

Guess who now has a full-fledged fetish for hearing men beg? Me.

Guess who has had so many delicious orgasms while dominating men over the phone that now the image of a man's hands with rope around them gets me instantly thumpy? Me, me, me, me, me. Seriously. Yum. I can't help it. I accidentally conditioned myself to be a switch.

And guess who is now considering collaring a service submissive? Me.

(By the way, never break the news to someone that you are considering collaring them in a public blog post. I mean, I never would. Pffff. That's ridiculous. That would leave him to sweat for hours wondering if it was really him I was talking about, even though he would know it was, and let his emotions build up to a fever pitch before he gets to talk to me, and who would want that, right?)

To be fair, I had switchy tendencies back in my slut days, too - I had spanked and flogged men, I had fucked several guys with strap-ons (not necessarily submissive, but often so), I had been the de facto leader in threesomes, and I had taken control of many an erotic activity without asking permission to do so.

Also, I'm pretty damn good at topping from the bottom if I do say so myself. Was that a scene negotiation, or a carefully laid path of stuff I'm dying for you to do to me? Both.

The anonymity of paid phone sex can facilitate confessions on a deeply intimate level. I have heard the struggles of many who swim against the cultural currents of male machismo and the expectations for male domination, and I have felt empathy in my gut, as strongly as I have felt empathy with women who have been molested or raped. I get it. I care.

I know male submissives who have been abused by selfish, untrustworthy, unsafe women masquerading as Dominas. And I know male submissives who have been enraptured by safe, sane, consensual play, and longstanding loving relationships. The play itself isn't the problem - the problem is when abusive people hide behind a facade of play to perpetrate abuse.

I know male submissives who have been devalued or rejected by BDSM communities. And I know male submissives who have been honored, valued, respected members of BDSM communities. The scene itself isn't the problem - the problem is when insensitive or abusive people hide behind a facade of majority orientation to be insensitive or abusive.

Every voice that speaks out in celebration of male submissives helps the conversation. Tonight, the urge to join the conversation overwhelmed me. I had to join.

I know I'm suspect because I do this for pay. And I get why that makes me suspect. I know I can't lead this conversation because I'm commercial.

But I also know that KinkInExile asks, "Where are the [dominant women] that _like_ sex, and respect their partners?" and I wanted to answer her: I see them. They're out there. I see them growing up, branching out. I see KinkInExile, and I see Professor Chaos, and I see subcommunities on reddit having intelligent conversations about guys who want to bend over for their girlfriends, or be tied up, or experiment with control, or experiment with pain.

I see the women in polyamorous relationships who switch in their primary partners, who then offer caring responsible professional domination services to a few close friends as a part-time day job while the kids are at school. Seriously, I took a workshop from two women in Austin who fit that description.

And I personally know five women who considered themselves sexually submissive before becoming web cam / phone sex operators, who got talked into topping and figured out we fucking *love* it. That's offline, off the phones, talking amongst ourselves, behind the curtain, women who care about our callers, admitting to each other how much we enjoy controlling men sexually. No, we don't necessarily love every kink that comes our way, but we have found some form(s) of control play irresistibly sexy.

I believe we are in an age of unprecendented plurality, where ideas are ever-easier to access. The way to help more women get in touch with their inner loving dominant is for dominant women to continue to talk about their pleasure, in whatever forums you have, with honesty and openness, as best as you can.

Ideas spread. They may spread slowly, but imagine how much greater the chances are now of forming a healthy femdom/malesub relationship than even just 20 years ago. I remember 1991 - I was 21 - and how little information I had available to me. My mind boggles.

KinkInExile also asks, "And yet what does it mean for me in this world that the person I want to play with most, that beautiful strong geeky smart sexually submissive man, comes wounded because the world got to him before I had a chance?"

And I reply, "Thank goodness you're there for him, to help him find healing, when you find him (or them)." Oh, and also, there are metric fuck-tons of them out there, I promise. Have you been to reddit?

In the meantime, the way to help more men accept their submissive tendencies, and for more communities to value male submission more highly, is for submissive men to continue to talk about their pleasure, in whatever forums you have, with honesty and openness, as best as you can.

I'm so so so so so sorry that it's so so so so so fucking hard for you. I really am.

So that's the heartbreak.

Here is the celebration:

I love the way a man's breath catches when my voice slows a bit, and I tell him to put his hands behind his back.

I love male groans of pleasure mixed with pain.

I love looking into a man's eyes and seeing absolute trust that although I may hurt him, I will not harm him; although I may cause him pain, I will not cause him damage, and I would rather cut off my own hand than betray such a trust.

I love feeling the rush of power when a man is begging to be allowed to have an orgasm, and the exquisite suffering when I tell him, "no, darling, not yet."

I love seeing a man deep-throat a dildo, and then glow with pride when I tell him that was well done.

I love hearing the guttural sounds a man makes when he is fucking himself in the ass because I told him to.

I love, love, love, love, love, more than I can express, the sound of relief and gratitude in a man's voice when we have experienced pleasure together at my direction.

And I love, love, love, love, love, more than I can express, how badass it makes me feel to dominate a man to the point where I get to hear that relief and gratitude. Those of you who have let me feel that way, thank you.

Hypno Revolution

I first opened erotic hypnotism listings last fall, but let them lie dormant for a while, because I didn't think they reflected me very accurately. Frankly, they were too bitchy.

So I rewrote them and started turning them on a couple of weeks ago now. If you're interested, check out the new look here: http://www.niteflirt.com/hypno+galiana

Since re-opening, I've had a few awesome successes.

The most dramatic has been with a caller who called me a good deal last fall, but seemed a bit frustrated, as if he wanted me to take him further in some direction that neither of us could exactly put our finger on. Somehow, the combination of the last six months of experience, my relaxing horse tranquilizers, and my reading further on NLP (neuro-linguistic programming) techniques managed to hit the spot. Before, he kept encouraging me to be "more dominating" and this time around, he's encouraging me to "do exactly whatever it was you did last time." Yay!

I've had a few role play calls, not looking for real hypnosis, which used to confuse me, so I would attempt full-length inductions and they would hang up on me. Now I recognize the signs more clearly, so I'm able to jump in and do a fake-mini-induction and then fulfill requests like "can you find out what the trigger word is that my girlfriend is using to get me to want to suck cock so I can stop it?" Suuuuuure. Oh look, if I say that trigger word, you talk about how much you love sucking cock, and the more I say it, the more you want it. What a shock!

The success that sexually frustrated me the most was the gentleman with the steady, smooth voice, who told me he just wanted to be tranced, and given mind-fuck post-hypnotic triggers, but didn't feel the need to have an orgasm. After 30 minutes of brainwashing and planting parlor-trick mild amnesia triggers, I brought him out and checked. Not only did the triggers work, but he was delighted. And wanted to serve me. In fact, wanted to do anything I wanted him to do, if only I would put him under again...

Ohhhh reeeeeally. Like, for example, what if I wanted to bring you to the edge of orgasm multiple times but not let you climax? Astonishingly, he agreed, and his groaning and pleading cemented the fact that yes, I have, indeed, developed a begging fetish. Holy. Crap.

I was a good hypnotist, though, you should be proud of me. When we approached the amount of time originally agreed upon, before I brought him out that last time, I suggested that he would feel fully satisfied, and he did. But me? Satisfied? No way - I needed a big fat vibrator and fresh batteries. Fuck.

Then tonight, someone called me for only the second time (the first was an introduction conversation), after having bought my hypnosis mp3 (this one here) and listened to it a few times. It is simple simple simple, with triggers for pleasure, and sure, a bit of suggestion that the sound of my voice is awesome, but nothing I'd call heavy duty hypnotic programming.

The sound of a man whimpering is just. so. luscious. Thankfully, he wanted a mix of hypnosis plus phone sex, so I got to get off with him. I might have let my NLP out to play a bit during the teasing portion of the conversation, and maybe he said afterward that he had not been aware that he had been begging to taste me, for me to fuck him, to be allowed to come. But oh, dear, sweet, delicious goodness, he had.

So how is this a "hypno revolution"? Or have I forgotten my blog title?

Don't be silly, I haven't forgotten. The revolution is this: I feel more integrated as a hypnotist now. I see hypnosis as a tool to be used in a much broader variety of settings. I see hypnotic techniques sneaking into my topping sessions. I see domination feeling comfortable in my hypnosis. It's like peanut butter and chocolate, but in a thousand flavors instead of just one.

Okay, ummm, that last sentence? Mmmmmaybe I need a snack after the powerful, rippling orgasm I enjoyed with that last caller, the man who whimpered...

Chastity, Tease, and Ballbusting mp3

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Grand Slam Call

I was going to call it a "Home Run Call" because I identified at least four fetishes, but then I realized how many fetishes I was grouping together into a cuckolding fetish: cuckolding super-fetish = being cuckolded + big black cock + small penis humiliation + forced bisexuality + cream pie.

So then I asked myself: what number would make a Grand Slam Call? Sure, it puts four runs on the board, but there are 10 bases covered in a grand slam by the time all four runners make it home, right (4+3+2+1)?

So I set out to try to limit the fetishes on this call to only 10, if I separated them out properly. Turns out, it was easy.

We're married, and:

1. I have taken a lover "against his will" (cuckolding),
2. because he has a small dick (small penis humiliation),
3. and my lover is a well-hung African-American (big black cock, a.k.a. BBC),
4. and I "force" him to help get my lover hard by sucking him ("forced" bisexuality),
5. and to clean up after my lover comes inside me by licking his cum out of me (cream pie),
6. although not all of the cum was lapped up, because I get knocked up (impregnation),
7. so for nine months, I let him worship my growing tummy (pregnancy),
8. and my growing ass (ass worship),
9. and suck on my breasts as they got ready (lactation),
10. but I never once let him fuck me (tease and denial).

It's going, going, GONE! And that, ladies, and gentlemen, is a bona fide Grand Slam Call! History in the making!

It seems like it would have seemed like a crowded, rushed, scattered call, right? And yet, no, instead, it was kind of... ummm... wow, do I sound too insane if I say it was mostly just sweet?

Memory and Notes and Meds

Don't you trust me?

I wrote about how much I remembered vs how much I wrote in this blog post (Memory and Notes), but when I went on my horse tranquilizers mid-May (2.5 months already?), I wondered what the effect would be on my memory.

The other day I had a delightful call from a gent who has been keeping up with my blog (awwww, thank you!), and left me this feedback - I blame the typos on the ludicrously intense session he had just had with me:

"Im so glad your feeling better and I'm so so glad I got to talk to you. I would beg for you anytime if the day. Thank you again"

(side note: I shamelessly stole the idea to incorporate feedback into blog posts from Kiwi Candy, who I briefly mentored, but who now blows me out of the water and does pretty much everything better than I do. So out of mock petty jealousy over her success, now I'm stealing her good ideas. Good thing she thinks I'm cute, and I've shared at least seven callers with her, or she might get mad.)

I found with him, as I have been finding with callers lately, that my memory of past calls seems unaffected. Sure, I get a helpful boost from a specific in a note if I have one, like "a sensual hand job can beat penetration," which can give me lovely, naughty, teasing, ideas with just a slight twist of my wrist near the top of the stroke... oh wait, where was I? Oh right.

Even if I don't have great notes, or if I'm in a different room than my computer, as long as there was a connection, even if it's been six months or more, I can often remember plenty.

Examples: The guy who started the conversation wanting to be exposed? By his voice, I remembered how big that cock was, the first one he ever sucked, in a car in a parking lot just after the sun had set, even though I'd never written that down. The guy with the thick mob-underling accent who wanted to be told how to masturbate? I remembered to ask him if he had his vibrating egg and nipple clamps, which was in my notes, but my computer was rebooting when he called, so they were inaccessible.

And the guy above who left me that sweet feedback? I remembered that he liked his sensuality mixed with a splash of domination, so, armed with my new, deeper understanding of tease and long-term denial, I let all kinds of torturous thoughts plague him before he found out whether or not I would ever finish my countdown from 10 to... that magic number he was dying to hear, but not sure he'd get to...

Video: Paralegal Humiliation and Blackmail

You've been a bad boy, haven't you? First, you took credit for my work on the case, then you lied to me about your marital status, and last, but certainly not least, you are working with a seriously under-equipped little partner there in your pants, aren't you?

Tell you what, you just sit back and enjoy this video conference call where I do a strip tease for you on company time, and I'll make sure and save it with no audio so HR and the senior partners can get a good long look at it, if you don't give me what I'm demanding...

I was in quite a mood when I shot this video, thinking of a caller who is a lawyer (and I used to do litigation support, so the jargon is actually legit), who will likely be both horrified and fascinated by it. The humiliation includes legal incompetence as well as small penis humiliation. I think I had some leftover hostility from my old job!

I know there are more images in the gif than usually available for most clips that only run 6:22, but I had a ton of fun shooting it, and couldn't choose only a few looks.

I think I look kind of adorable in this one, if I do say so myself, but what I'm saying definitely shows that I'm not someone you want on your bad side!

It's available for $7 via NiteFlirt:

Punishment

Friday nights at 5, or Sunday nights at 7, he confesses his sins to me, a way to clear out the cobwebs from the week, or to hold on to the weekend for all it's worth. The misdeeds are naughty at worst, with no harmful consequences on their own. Masturbating without permission. Lusting over coworkers. Watching porn.

I punish him: redden his ass with my hand. Or a flogger. Or a paddle. Or a crop. Or a cane. It depends on my mood. But regardless of the instrument, the position is the same: he is draped over my knees, naked, with his hungry cock pressed between the lace tops of my stockings. 

After his punishment, sometimes he services me. Or sometimes I take him with my strap-on, pressing against his freshly spanked ass. Or sometimes he takes me, emboldened by adrenaline from his pain. We linger over the sensations, and savor the rising tension. We never rush. And even when I climax, thrashing against him, calling his name, he remains still, and strong. And, in that space, utterly mine.

After he releases, he thanks me, calmly, for punishing him. For letting him serve me. For taking him. For letting him come. My ragged breath betrays my pleasure as I accept his gratitude.

The other day, he sent me pictures: one of his mid-section from the back, and one from the front. That ass I had reddened a dozen times... it was perfect, exactly the way I had pictured it, slender but rounded, and deliciously, invitingly pale. 

The surprise was his cock: the slight downward curve and the smooth, long head looked like a deep throat training tool -- it would be unbelievably luscious to press all the way into my mouth and hold and savor.

I wrote him back, telling him my delighted responses. And then telling him to look into my eyes, deeply, and answer the question, "Do you think it's appropriate to send pictures like this?"

He responded back, quickly, calmly, simply, "No. It's not appropriate. I'm sorry. Will I be punished?"

... what do you think? 

Outside Perspectives Can Help

I have a caller who has been trying to avoid thinking about a certain type of fetish, and he used to watch a lot of videos about this certain thing, so now when he goes to the YouTube home page, he's inundated with reminders. I recommended not logging in when he goes to YouTube, or making a new account, so it wouldn't remind him.

He followed my suggestion, and realized how much energy he'd been wasting fighting off those images, and felt silly for not having thought of the solution on his own. I told him in an email:

I've noticed that "thinking of doing something different than what you've been doing" isn't a skill humans have in abundance.

I just got off the phone with a caller who had vague fantasy-images in his head of being with a dominant woman, having his hands bound, being stripped, being blindfolded, and getting spanked, and maybe even fucked in the ass by her. But he sounded confused and conflicted about why the idea was erotic to him of being hurt or roughed-up. He described himself as very masculine, and almost always in control.

I pointed out to him that he didn't have to be forced to give up control, and asked him to tell me how it felt to imagine agreeing to be controlled. For example, what if he agreed to be controlled by me, and a girlfriend who had agreed to follow my lead? We started with his hands bound behind his back, running our hands over his clothes, to get him used to the feeling of not being able to guide or stop us. Then we started undressing him and adding our mouths to the sensations.

I heard the light bulb go off in his head. Consensual, sensual domination by two women who were taking their time teasing him, binding him, feeding him flesh and fruit and cheese and wine and more flesh, and slowly building to a climax of him deeply taking a stiff silicone dick while his own cock was surrendering to a soft, wet, expertly skilled mouth. Oh. Yes. Please. He'll have lots of exactly that, thanks ever so much, ohgodyespleaseyespleaseyesplease, if his confession of "I'm about one minute away from falling deeply in love with you" was any indication.

Sometimes it helps to talk about the things that are stuck rattling around in your brain. Sometimes, someone else's perspective can rotate you the one degree you need in order to find the thing you were looking for. And sometimes, if I'm very fortunate, I have the chance to be the one doing the rotation. I'm a lucky girl.

The Funny Things

Funny little things have changed for me since being a phone sex worker.

I was having a slow-motion flirty exchange with someone on a Reddit thread (at the blistering speed of 1-2 messages per day), which moved to private messages, and I found myself unsatisfied with flirting via written words; I wanted to hear his voice. That is completely opposite of my urges since I started flirting on the internet in 2002 - I have said before that I learn all I need to know from email / chat exchanges, so it was startling to me to have dissatisfaction with his writing as a communication medium.

My people-watching has completely changed for the naughtier. I've always made up stories for strangers to amuse myself, but they used to be primarily stories about jobs, hobbies, or the tenor of their personal relationships. Now I tend to picture the men around me cross-dressed, or the women pegging the men with a strap-on, or the women elaborately bound and gagged and flogged and subjected to forced orgasms with Hitachi wands. I always pictured some people sexually, but now it's pretty much every adult, and the range of things I imagine has dramatically widened and gotten kinkier.

I am very, very careful about my signatures now. Although my family knows what I do, and I've shared a few rated-PG-versions of work stories which I knew would amuse them, I'm fairly sure they don't want their emails signed, "Love, Galiana". I often sign phone-sex emails, "XOXO, G", which is also how I often sign off-phone emails, just with a different initial, so now I'm even more paranoid before hitting "send" than I was when I was a consultant.

(side note: I've long been confused about what to call myself. My family and friends from school know me by my nickname, which is approximately the same level of cute-sie-ness as if I went by "Gallie". When I started tech consulting at age 25 and was billing out at $100 / hour, I thought it was bad enough to have someone show up who looked 17 (I've always looked young), but to also have a cute name seemed uncomfortably unprofessional, so I went by my birth name, starting in 1995. So for 15 years, I have regularly started phone calls with the equivalent of: "Hey, it's Galiana. I mean, Gallie. I mean, I'm sorry, apparently I don't know who I am...")

And last but not least, my brain-to-mouth filter is deeply weakened. I am a little terrified of being around mixed-generation family over the holidays. On the phones, I push myself to the right emotional state, and then to say whatever comes to my mind. Often, with less verbal callers (or when they lose their ability to speak),  I end up in a nice, fluid, uninterrupted stream of naughty descriptions tumbling out of my mouth with slowly increasing speed and intensity. There is no place for filtering; there is only feeling and speaking, and coming.

Dear Santa: For Christmas, All I want is to make it through all my family visits without making anyone spit-take in horror. Love, Galiana

Or Sometimes I Just Go Nuts

I wrote about how carefully I negotiate BDSM / domination scenes here in this blog post, right? Safe and consensual, it's what I'm all about, right?

Then today I get a call on my Fem Dommes listing, and ... ummmm... went to town on the guy. He said he wanted to serve me and sounded all desperate already, which I've heard dozens of times before, but somehow, his particular flavor of longing unleashed me to not give a flying fuck what his preferences or boundaries were.

Next thing I knew, with no negotiation whatsoever, I was seated on a chair, he was kneeling naked between my thighs, my heels were digging into his legs, and I had hold of a rope that led to his nipple clamps, so it hurt him when I twitched, but he knew it would hurt worse later if he didn't make my pussy feel good enough right then.

What. The. Hell. Where did that come from?

Inner Dominatrix: Hello, Galiana.
Galiana / Chooser: You've got to be kidding me.
Inner Dominatrix: (smiles, licks her lips, and patiently straightens the strands of her flogger)
Inner Storyteller: Oooo! Fun! Welcome to our Inner Dialogue cast, Ma'am. (whispering) Love the boots.

Great. It seems there's a new addition to the crew that I have to watch out for. And she's definitely a hijacker. As if it weren't crowded enough in here already...

The Dilemma of a Reluctant Financial Dominatrix

When I began doing phone sex almost 5 months ago, I had never heard of financial domination as a fetish. Heck, when I started, I had no domination listings whatsoever, but I kept getting requests to be dominant, and enjoyed the calls, so I made a listing.

And now I have people calling me who have a financial domination fetish. I'll be honest: I'm struggling to figure out how to provide it.

The core of the fetish is power and control: you feel that your power is in your money, that your control over your money is power for you. You believe that my power is in my (sex appeal / hypno mind control / whatever). You want to trade your power in exchange for the power I have.

It's not inherently different than wanting to be physically restrained. You have the power of motion. I take it from you. The surrender turns you on. As a restraint enthusiast, I completely understand. It's delicious to relax and trust like that.

The complication is that I genuinely want the best for people, and it's impossible for me to know where your line is between "spending hobby money on something I love" and "jeopardizing my financial well-being". I never want anyone to regret decisions they made with me. I never want someone to feel abused by me.

(Side note: Do I want someone to feel used by me? Yep, absolutely. I want scores of happy sore dicks and pussies and asses and mouths and hands with the memory of me wearing them out for my amusement and enjoyment. Bring it.)

It's a razor thin line for me between giving someone the pleasure they crave and feeling like an abuser. Yes, I want to pay my bills. And yes, I want to rebuild our savings (currently back to 1/4 of a month's expenses because we needed new tires - I ain't gittin filthy rich off this gig just yet). And yes, I love getting tributes and Amazon gift cards and items off my wish list.

But when someone tells me they want to be controlled, and used, and they want me to rape their wallet, I haven't figured out yet how to negotiate that the way I have with BDSM. Start with small amounts of tributes right then on the phone? Treat it as if it is as much of a fantasy as cuckolding and just describe slowly taking over their finances, but really expect nothing (my default so far)? Treat them as responsible adults and just take what I can get and quit worrying about it?

I've read too many stories of people who get themselves into trouble with financial domination. And sure, those stories exist with by-the-minute phone sex as well, but those boundaries are clearer for me. He is choosing to call, and he is choosing when to end the call. I never ask people to add more time unless they tell me they love being asked to reload (well, unless I'm this close to coming and sometimes I say "Oh God no please don't leave me" but I always feel bad about that). But with financial domination, I am asking for, or demanding, the money. It feels different.

An example with a recent hypno caller, and how I've worked it out:

His hypno fetish is not erotically based, it is control-based. He wants to know I have absolutely control over his mind and body, but I can't seem to get an erotic charge out of him when he's tranced (he says it's him, not me, but I still feel bad). His most powerfully fulfilling hypno memories are of being financially dominated, but he does not want to return to the place of having trouble paying bills (zoikes! no kidding).

Our compromise is that I "interrogated" him about his financial limits while he was under hypno, and for every question he answered, he owed me another $1 in tributes after the call (his idea). Now when he calls, we play the interrogation game for somewhere between $20 and $50, so his financial fetish is somewhat satisfied. And I use other methods to demonstrate the control I have over him (like post-hypnotic triggers to tickle him, which are awesomely fun and I love so much).

Another example: I negotiated with a fin dom client that if he has any money left at the end of the month after spending it on me, he had to give 1/2 of it to charity and give me the other half. I made him answer what the maximum amount was in a month, and it was an astonishing figure. So far, I haven't seen any of it except for phone calls. At the end of every month, I'm going to keep telling him to send me his money. But if he doesn't and he calls back, I'll take his calls and not mention it, just like I do with every other fantasy. After all, I don't hold cross-dressing sissies accountable if they've gone to the glory hole like we discussed last time.

I've had fin dom callers say it's a turn-off that I ask so many questions about their safety. I'm learning. I'm getting there. I'm a smart, creative problem solver, I can figure this out.

But still... suggestions are welcome.

Why Not Cam?

I've had requests to get on camera (very flattering, thank you!), but I am not yet ready to do so, so I thought I'd explain the bazillion things I want to have in place before I begin. And while we are paying our bills and accumulating some savings on good weeks, we haven't rebuilt our savings to the point of covering a full month's expenses yet, so I won't spend big money on new toys until that goal has been met. Safety first!

(Donations via tributes or Amazon Gift Cards are happily accepted to start a Cam Fund if it's important to you. Sizable donations would certainly speed the process. But I'm not holding my breath - I haven't attracted "sugar daddy" energy so far, so it seems unlikely a Cam Sugar Daddy will magically appear.)

To start, I need a better camera. HD quality. With remote zoom and panning, and the ability to attach a grip or tripod. The ones recommended (via Consumer Reports, Amazon reviews, and informal feedback from other cam operators) run several hundred dollars. What I have now is just the camera in my laptop, which (1) doesn't offer me a lot of angle choices if I also want to be able to see what's happening (2) gives off a creepy blue glow that reflects in my glasses and makes me look like an alien robot - which if awesome if that's your thing, but it's not for most of you (3) has okay picture quality, but not good.

Then I need a real live land line, instead of Voice Over IP, so my voice calls aren't competing for bandwidth with the camera. I could direct voice calls to my mobile phone, but that can be dicey; it would be better to just get a physical land line. We built this house not expecting to need a land line, so this house has literally never had a land line installed, so it would require extra installation charges. When I started phone sex, I didn't want to invest too much in it in case I didn't like it (obviously unnecessary caution there), and it was easier and cheaper to set up VOIP. 

Then I need to decorate the Fuckatorium. It's stark right now. Decorating is not my forte. At. All. I like feng shui for decorating because it gives me a direction so I don't have to choose from the overwhelming feeling of being able to choose anything in the whole world. When my living and working spaces have been decorated, my mom or sister usually did it, and although my sister would love to help, she hasn't been up in ages, and although Mom is supportive, I just can't ask her to go that far.

Decorating the Fuckatorium also includes finally deciding how I want it functionally arranged. It's not set up completely right for my use yet, and I've rearranged it three times already. I need a lot of stuff close at hand and well organized just for phone calls, much less cam: of course the bone phone (and the recharging backup phone), but also my cell phone in case I get texts or personal calls, my computer to take notes or watch a camera during calls, sex toys, a spot that's not on anything wood for sex toys to air dry if I've recently washed them, a drink, snacks... and ideally all of that would be within reach from a variety of positions so I can ergonomically shift all day. 

Paint and light. Right now the walls are a light beige color, close to the color of my skin, which washes me out to nothing, so I need to repaint the room before decorating. And then after I paint, I need to figure out lighting: how to get good enough light so nothing is hidden in shadow without being blinding or throwing off my ability to fall asleep... I perk up in very bright rooms, so if I did cam late at night in a well-lit room, it might literally shift my sleep patterns by hours. I'm not trying to be difficult, I swear, I'm just trying to be honest about how my body responds to light.

Then, true confession: I do not usually lounge around my home in makeup and lingerie. I do often lounge around completely naked because I'm lazy and I like being naked, or in just 1 or 2 pieces of clothing (like a bra and a long-sleeved button up shirt) that I tossed on when the dogs needed to go out that morning. But getting on cam means I would have to actually think about how I was dressed.

And wearing makeup more often means I'd have to get more disciplined about skin care. I have sensitive skin, but it's not dry. The natural oils keep it looking young, which I like, but the sensitivity means I break out like a teenager unless I give my face careful attention at least twice a day. And if I leave makeup on overnight, like if I casually fall asleep in the Fuckatorium, I'm fighting my face for a week to soothe it back down. I'm 40 for goodness sake, why am I still dealing with this? 

Last, but certainly not least for me, is figuring out how to do phone sex in a way that I still enjoy while on camera. When I've played on web cam with out-of-town lovers, I can get so distracted by watching my own goofy expressions that I sometimes forget to just relax and enjoy myself. I close my eyes a lot during sex, to concentrate on the physical sensations, and let those sweep me into a place where I'm not thinking as much, where I'm just feeling. When I open my eyes, it is easier to get back to a place where I'm too much in my head.

The same is true during phone sex, but even more so because I tend to close my eyes and go to a whole new place. I remember one call where he just said we were in a hotel room, but I could see every detail: the crisp, white sheets, the privacy sheer window coverings under a heavy layer of light-blocking fabric, the urban view out the window as if we were hundreds of stories high, and the raised bed, so it felt as though I was floating on the top of the world with him.

I don't know how to do that and also be aware of what I look like on camera. And I don't know how to have phone sex without doing that. I mean, guided masturbation makes sense, and that would be super fun on camera, sure, but when I try to figure out how to accomplish any kind of fantasy or role play, I get kind of baffled.

So. That's the super-long explanation of "Why I Don't Do Cam... Yet." And hopefully, if you do use the services of women on camera, you will now appreciate their offering more fully!

Corrupting Newbies

I might have just done a bad thing. He said I'm his 3rd phone sex call ever, that the first was probably a man, the second seemed strung out or drunk, but that he likes curvy, shorter, older women... so he "is probably in trouble" with me.

He likes women in nylons.

I asked if he wanted to kneel in front of me, where he could see what kind of panties I may or may not be wearing, and have me rub my hose-clad feet up his thighs, over his belly, onto his chest, and feed my toes into his mouth. His "yes"es sounded sincere, and maybe a little pained.

Or if he's ever had a woman press the soles of her stockinged feet together and slide his cock into the space created by the arches. His orgasm at the very thought was enthusiastic and rewarding.

He might have been playing a fantasy role. It might have been a lie that he is a newcomer to these parts. The fact that he'd called back again after two strikes meant that he was likely to keep trying, with or without me, right?

I don't consider myself a femme fatale, the seductress type who leads men to their ruin. I like to think I'm helping people by providing high-quality services that they were going to indulge in whether or not I joined the profession.

But man... that was kind of fun.

Help Me Help You

Not to be too terribly immodest, but ... I do some parts of my job pretty well. I take decent notes. I'm honest about everything that doesn't invade my privacy. And I think I have a readable, entertaining blog that answers a few common questions, and gives people a way to keep connected even if they can't call me.

However, I am not good at reading minds.

I mean, I'm pretty good with taking hints and pushing past those into the next logical step. But if you tell me you just want to hear me get off, I will not intuitively guess that you like to wear women's silky panties and be fucked with my strap-on. If you tell me you want to masturbate with me in charge, I will not immediately intuit that you want me to take you to a glory hole to kneel on a dirty floor and suck a big black cock.

The possibilities are too endless. It may seem obvious in your head what is enticing and sexually charged, but chances are good that on the day you call, one person wanted to face fuck me and someone else wanted to be teased until they begged to come.

And about ass play: many guys are turned off by the thought of playing with asses - their own, or anyone else's. It is clearly in my best interest not to turn off my callers, so I tend to not bring it up. But if you have butt plugs and buzzy toys and dildos prepped and you're hoping to use them, or dying to rim me, I'm up for that. I'm just unlikely to propose it unless I know that's what you want.

You may wonder if your fantasy is over my limits. It might be. But it is the wrong approach to try to ease into it by suggesting things that inch towards your goal. That's just being manipulative. Instead, tell me what you want, and if I'm not willing to meet you there, I'm absolutely willing to talk openly about what else we may have in common.

(Well, okay, except for the guy who wanted to be forced to smoke crack and super-glue shut the opening of his penis while having diarrhea... That one was too many incompatibilities at once to bother starting up the conversation. Yes, that was an actual request. Thankfully, those types of extremely incompatible requests happen less than 1% of the time. I don't let bad eggs worry me. Oh, and speaking of eggs... no, no, no, never mind, you don't want to know.)

As long as we're talking about the potentially awkward, let's just hit it all, shall we? Budget. Let's not make this difficult. If you only have 10 minutes, tell me, and I can push you harder faster deeper, and enjoy it. If you want to stretch it out and spend the better part of an afternoon coming three times over a couple of hours, by all means, let me know. And if I'm so bold as to ask how long we have, don't be embarrassed to tell me. Honesty only helps both of us.

I unconsciously make dozens of tiny choices on the fly with every conversation: pace, volume, pitch, breathing, level of dirty talk, emotional intensity, my intellectual abilities, and how quickly I climax (a blessing of control for which I am forever grateful). Any of those can be adjusted at any time if something isn't working, as long as I'm aware that a change that needs to be made.

You won't hurt my feelings. You'll just make it more fun.

So please, tell me what you want.

Empathic Metamorph: Then and Now

I only have the urge to write in times of great upheaval in my life. When my first marriage was drawing to a close, I wrote two stories: one that would convince anyone sane that we should be break up immediately, and one that would convince anyone sane that we should be together forever. Both stories were absolutely true. 

The happy romantic story was, essentially, my sexual history. I've started drafting this blog entry three times now, but can't describe the Empathic Metamorph more clearly than I did for that story, so I'm going to excerpt it instead. The narrative voice is purposefully a little disorganized and flighty and young-sounding. Here it is: 

The Empathic Metamorph was a single-episode Star Trek: The Next Generation character ("The Perfect Mate"), born once every seven generations to this alien race. She was highly desired as a mate because she adapted completely and perfectly to the desires of every male she came in contact with, as if she had an internal radio tuned to their desire alone. If he was a Klingon and craved danger, she sensed it and growled at him. If he was the Captain who craved a smart woman, she discussed the finer points of philosophy and literature while calmly playing her lute. 

So there I was watching TV in my living room my senior year of college, surrounded by my best friends, my current lover and a couple of exes. And I realized that I was the freaking Empathic Metamorph. And that nobody in that living room had any idea that we were all watching me, because I was so damn good at looking like I enjoyed playing the lute. It depressed the hell out of me.

Later, I described for my therapist how, even when I barely knew my lovers or didn't like them much, I could still feel them -- their desires, their needs, but I could never feel myself. Maybe my blood rushed to the right places, and maybe my juices rose at the right times, but I was so focused on what they wanted, on what they felt, that I just didn't notice my body enough to tell whether or not it gave me pleasure.

The story goes on to describe how I finally learned to get in touch with what I enjoy enough to masturbate, and then have a deeply sexually satisfying wedding night, both of which are true.


I used to be depressed that I resembled the Empathic Metamorph, but now it seems like a source of power. The difference is control. I used to feel assaulted by the desires of others, bandied about on waves of lust I could feel rolling in to me. Since I didn't know what I wanted, I didn't know how to use that energy to feed any pleasure of mine.

Oh, the difference a couple of decades makes. Thank goodness.

Now that I know what I like (my "lust landscape", as I like to call it), I can use my empathic metamorph tendencies to identify where the desires of a lover intersect my desires, and then lose myself for a while, fully inhabiting the playground built on the overlapping lands.

The clearest, happiest example was with "Well Traveled", who explained that he liked to take smart girls and, in his words, "Barbie-ify" them so they become mindless fuck bunnies for his pleasure alone. My initial impulse was amusement at the term Barbie-ify, of course, but also confusion: how could I get to that place? We discussed the concept of the playground built at the intersection of lust landscapes, and he agreed it was the right idea.

So he suggested a hypno role play where I walked down stairs to shed years of world-weary concerns, then walked back up a different staircase to add worry-free years back on. He created a lust playground indeed with his words: rolling meadows and babbling streams, an idyllic, worry-free, frolic-aholic's dream. By the time we arrived there, my voice was higher and bouncier, my heart was lighter, my breath was shallower, my eyes were wider, and I felt awesome. The resulting play was a relaxing delight to both of us.

I'm not a bimbo. I'm not a Barbie. I'm not a ditz. But apparently, given a stream of focused desire at just the right dingbat frequency, I can get there. Or, as it turns out, I can get to dozens of other places upon request as well.

The difference 20 years makes? Now, I enjoy the transformations. I understand them. I choose to participate in them. I don't feel powerless or out of control; in fact, I feel the exact opposite. Now I feel like a bit like a goddess, creating and moving between worlds and characters and dreamscapes, gathering energy and gaining strength as I go. Far from feeling depleted or assaulted, now I feel celebrated and exalted instead.

P.S.: And now and forever, I would absolutely do anything that Famke Janssen ever wanted of me. Perfect Mate indeed!

Orgasms: Power and Control

Long ago, I read a non-Western philosophy of sex, couched as an older male instructing a younger male in the ways of lovemaking, that said that the female orgasm was a blessing to the man who causes it.

I love the idea, but I have to expand on it:

• An orgasm is always a blessing, regardless of the gender of the person having it
• An orgasm is always a blessing, regardless of the gender of the person "causing" it
• Causality for orgasms is a joint effort - both the person having the orgasm and the person(s) helping are at least partially responsible, and therefore, both are blessed 

In my own power-play explorations, I am fascinated by the power and control of an orgasm. 

For example, if I'm being submissive (let's say for the sake of visual effect: on my knees in front of a nice hard cock with my hands tied behind my back), the theoretical power dynamic is that I am serving him, and that he has all the power. And yet, in the moment when he tumbles over the brink into ecstasy, I can sense him losing control for a moment, and I always feel a surge of power, as if I have won something. My grin afterwards always has a bit of victorious gloating in it. Lovers have laughed at me, as in, "Well, you're pleased with yourself, aren't you?" Why yes, yes, I am. 

And when I climax at the hands (or lips or cock) of someone theoretically serving me, I feel that same transfer of power and control. I lose my sense of my self, my ability to choose, my ability to rationally decide, just for a moment. The French refer to an orgasm as "la petite mort", translated as "the little death" (explained well on wikipedia), as a recognition of the expenditure of one's life force in those moments. 

And when I have enough of them strung together in the right way, with enough breathers between them to avoid burnout, I can enter a "sub space" where I no longer want to be in control, where I no longer wish to decide anything at all. It can feel like I'm drifting on a current of air, or sometimes of water, or like I've expanded out into space as if I were universal. Physiologically, I understand that I've simply overloaded my frontal cortex, but emotionally, it can feel blissful. 

I love the endless loop... you serve me to cause me to surrender control to you who uses your power to get me to serve you to cause you to surrender control to me...  delicious.