I’ll Stop Complaining When Men Stop Failing

Remember that post I wrote last year about how I wasn’t going to complain for once? You can refresh your memory here. Yeah…well let me tell you about how it REALLY ended up: THE PERSON IN QUESTION WAS ONE OF THE WORST PEOPLE I’VE EVER MET IN MY ENTIRE CAREER. Yes, all caps was warranted in his description. Why am I waiting almost a year to comment? I just wanted to let the many others who have mimicked his M.O. pile up so that I’d have ample reason to COMPLAIN about them.

The whole reason why I posted that entry last year was due in no small part to Mr. I Want To Be Your Footslave. His initial criticisms of me didn’t really mean much to me as these were said at one of my foot parties and I know that sometimes people say things to establish rapport. They want to make it known that they’ve been following your writings, etc. so they make comments about their impressions. He’s not the only person to have ever mentioned how cranky I can be, so I felt it was time to say something nice. Then the reality of what a total and utter waste of my time set in…

He came on like gang-busters bearing gifts of all sorts. To be honest, that rarely happens and ya know what? I’m HUMAN. I like it when people bring me useful items off of my wishlist. Duh. This all came at a price–which it always does, sadly. He felt like he now had “the right” to tell me how to run my business. Yup. You heard me correctly. He was now suddenly an expert on my marketing, photos, and all manner of Professional Domination. He ASSURED me that IF ONLY he could BE THE ONE who took my photos, I could really BE SOMEBODY. I’m sure you can imagine the face I’m making right now. That really wasn’t what turned me off 100% completely to him though. You’d be surprised at how many men attempt to tell me how to run my business. I’m sure they’d pat me on the head at the same time if they could and say, “little lady.” No, it was when he let me know that he really wasn’t into this whole “professional session” thing. No sirree Bob! It was a “turn off” to him to come to see me at my studio. He was basically implying that he wanted to skip ahead to the front of the line and just move right in with me. You know, sleep next to the bed and all that like a REAL Mistress would have him do. Ya know, because he had already been contacted by a LESBIAN couple who were going to LOCK HIM IN A CAGE and make him STAY THERE UNTIL THEY SUMMONED HIM. Yeah, this guy was a real winner.

Whenever something like this happens, Ms. Proverbial Optimist chalks it up to any number of factors and moves on with her life and career:

“That guy really wasn’t serious.”

“That guy was a waste of my time.”

Mind you, I don’t have any expectations from “one-off” client types. They don’t usually attempt to seem like they are anything other than what they are. They want a session. They show up. I might or might not ever hear from them again. No harm. No foul. So you’re probably confused now. I keep stating that I am seeking truly submissive men who will see me on a regular basis. What was wrong with this guy just attempting to speed up the process? That’s not how it works folks. You don’t meet me on two separate occasions and expect to move in with me.

Thus, it’s the guys proclaiming to want to serve “on a regular basis” who frustrate me to no end. Have I attempted to build in a vetting process to figure out who is real? You betcha! Does it work? Not really. No matter how difficult and challenging I make the process to verify their true intentions, 98% of the time they fail. You’re probably wondering, “WHY DO YOU EVEN TRY?” Here’s why:

I’m not just kinky. I’m not just “into BDSM” like I’m into gardening. This is my Lifestyle. I BELIEVE in Femdom as a way of life. I BELIEVE that I can train men to be better.

This isn’t a seminar.

This isn’t a weekend treatment.

Where you are now you can’t imagine what the bottom will be like. (This is Your Life, Fight Club Soundtrack)

I want to see someone on an ongoing basis and watch his submission flower into something beautiful. I want him to understand the happiness in slavery. I hold out hope each time I receive an email expressing such an interest, and each time I am disappointed.

The great Angel Stern once counseled me to NEVER collar a slave again. She warned me that no matter how sincere the man might seem to be, he would panic right before the ritual were to happen and I’d never hear from him again. That it was better to merely extend the “idea” of a collaring to bring someone along, but not scare him away. The sad thing is that I’m not even talking about something as serious as a collaring. Oh no. That option ended years ago for a variety of reasons. Three wear my collar at this point in time. It would basically take the UN meeting with representatives of a foreign galaxy on live television for me to offer that option again. I’m referring to admitting to being submissive, professing exclusivity to me for a period of time, and trusting that my way is superior and right in training.

I’m sure there will be a bevy of responses to this post of the nature: “Oh Mistress, you DESERVE someone as you describe.” “Oh Mistress, I would serve you but I’m SOOO far away.” “Oh Mistress, I would love to serve you but I’m just a poor student living with my parents.” Please save it. Your platitudes mean precisely nothing. It’s all in the showing up.

You guys who live in other states and manage to show up once or twice a year aren’t being looked down upon, but let’s face it. There’s something to be said for “locally sourced submissive men.” That is whom I’m talking about. Someone I don’t have to wait for a business trip to bring around to my doorstep.

I guess I should be so lucky as to count in my service the likes of mucous and slave joe. Those who have been showing up since the early part of this century or before. Those who might not be spouting off their devotion via social media, but who make their presence known with the Gift of Their Flesh. Maybe there are only so many of their ilk to go around and I have had my allotment? I fear that I might have answered my own question regarding the caliber of submissive male applicants. I’ll keep holding out hope that there will be new applicants who will meet my expectations, but I now think it’s not going to happen.


A Gift Worthy of a Blog Post: Fernando Berlin Custom Thigh Highs

Fernando Berlin custom thigh highs

Vinyl Queen in her custom leather thigh high boots from Fernando Berlin.

I am fortunate that my wish list is regularly emptied by my devoted fans. Sometimes a gift is “off list” and is only communicated privately in conversation between me and a slave. Thus, the story of my new boots begins. It all started with a former Pro Domme from San Francisco: Petra Saint.

Petra had a very specific idea about how a Mistress should conduct herself. I remember her telling me that after a Lady had been in business for five years, she shouldn’t have to purchase certain pieces of fetish attire. This was now the responsibility of her slaves and clients. I took this to heart and stubbornly refused to pony up for any new boots or large leather purchases. This technique worked quite well. I have been fortunate to be gifted with everything EXCEPT custom leather ZIP thigh high boots (until now).

A decade ago, another slave and I embarked on trying to find a manufacturer for some lace-up thigh high boots. The situation ended in partial disaster when the pair that arrived were baggy around my ankles. This is such a crucial portion of the boot. I was almost in tears when I tried them on. Yes, I had sent off measurements, but the maker clearly didn’t follow them. Luckily I found a cobbler who was able to modify the boots to fit my ankles, but it felt dirty to do this. It was like they were no longer a pristine pair of footwear. I knew they had been cut and re-sewn due to a foible. There wasn’t another boot maker I could turn to so the search for THE NEXT PAIR was sidelined.

Fast forward to last year and I find myself longing for custom thigh highs again. I have the good fortune of being friends with a Lady in Belgium who is served by a supreme leather fetishist. Who better to ask about leather boot makers in Europe than he? He shared a few names with me and I started researching their reputations.

One of my personal slaves took up the cause of acquiring me the boots. This is a former client who now serves me inside and outside the dungeon. We embarked on getting my measurements accurate, sending off the photos of my legs, and then waiting for the wonderful day when the boots would arrive. The unwrapping happened in late 2014, but I have greedily kept them to myself since then (well sort of). The boots traveled with me to Germany and Belgium in April, as well as DC in May. They have received a thoroughly positive reception. It’s time for me to grace the world with more of a photo than my Easter teaser (see below). Some lucky fetishists were able to taste them as I made my way from Essen to Antwerp and beyond.

I’m simply tickled with their fit and I am already looking to what my next item from Fernando Berlin will be. There are still gaps in my Fetish Bucket List, and I intend to fill them. I highly recommend this manufacturer for their quality, service, and attention to detail.

boots, shoes, and an Easter egg

Vinyl Queen’s favorite boots and shoes in Essen, Germany during the Fetish Weekend.

Yes Ma’am’s San Francisco Visit

In continuing my Slave Stories Series, the last installment of Yes Ma’am’s adventures is chronicled below. While we met on other occasions, I feel that only two instances are necessary to effectively describe the possibilities for a visiting slave, or someone who is seeking my presence in his town. This session took place at my former location below the “shoe store” in San Francisco.

sissy slave in cage wearing maid's uniform

Contemplating his fate…

How do you describe a burning desire that builds and builds until it is an all-consuming need? I had experienced the most physically and mentally intense event in my life and I had to go back for more. If I sound like a heroin addict or a crack head then you’re close to understanding the point I had arrived at when I planned my last trip to San Francisco. I was 2214 miles from where I had to be and I scoured my calendar for any opening that would allow me time to make that trip. The only possibility was a slot from 7:00am on a Saturday to 9:00 the next morning; a 26-hour window to get another desperately needed fix from the Vinyl Queen!

First I checked the airline schedules for the appropriate flights and calculated I could be in San Francisco from noon to midnight. Then with my heart racing and my hands shaking I dialed her number to see if she could fit me into her schedule during that time frame. To say I was ecstatic when she said “Yes” would be a gross understatement. She set some parameters, gave me some special instructions to follow and off I went to finalize my arrangements, so excited I was floating on air!

The Vinyl Queen extended an extreme and rare honor by meeting me at the airport and providing transportation straight to the dungeon! She was a beautiful vision come to life and once again I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She has a really cool classic Camaro that sounds so deep and throaty when she punches it. What a perfect car for her, classic beauty, sleek, and powerful!

She gave me a few minutes after we got there to get some water and settle down a little (yeah, right!). Then she presented me with several outfits, vinyl of course, told me to pick one, change and assume “the” position, which she established during my first visit to San Francisco. That means on my stomach, legs spread wide, hands clasped behind my back and head away from the door. She reminded me that there was no noise issue this time and that we could both make as much racket as we wanted (or needed) to and no one would hear. That was chilling considering I had asked her to push my corporal limits this time.

As I lay there in a vinyl bra and panty, with fishnet stockings and high heels (all black), my mind wondered at the lengths I would go to just to be a student to this intelligent, beautiful instructor. Just a few hours before I was boarding a plane in boring, hot, South Louisiana and now I was nearly naked lying on a cool floor so excited I was trembling. When I heard her coming I recognized the clicking of high heels and got very excited at the prospect of starting with some foot worship, but instead she blindfolded me, buckled a posture collar around my neck, secured my wrists and helped me up. She attached a chain leash to my collar and led me down the hall to the dungeon. I could tell from her tone of voice that she was going to enjoy herself immensely. Once in the dungeon she secured my arms in arm binders and attached them high on a whipping post. She removed my blindfold and I was allowed to feast my eyes on her beauty and the exciting black vinyl dress and boots that she wore. She had also added a black hat that added credence to the idea that this was going to be a very painful event for me.

She began working her way through her whip, paddle, crop and tawse collection as she worked her way up and down my body. When my legs began to give (not used to high heels) she secured my waist to the post and went back to work. Although she was inflicting a lot of pain, she was constantly checking on my welfare and when she sensed I had been in that position long enough she unhooked me and moved me over to her bondage table. She secured me to the table then raised and spread my legs with her suspension system explaining that this gave her entire new areas of my butt to work over.

By the way, if anyone ever asks you, a horsehair whip can be very painful, especially on already red and raw skin! She is such an expert that I still marvel at her skills. Always pushing me a little farther, physically or mentally, always backing off just in time, always keeping me excited and safe. Always talking to me, threatening more and then reassuring me that I could handle it. Scaring me with her words and then encouraging me to face my fears and trust her.

When she sensed it was time for a break she released me from the suspension, cuffed my hands together in front of me, strapped a penis gag in place, replaced the blindfold and had me crawl into the cage below her bondage table. She then locked the door and left me alone with soothing music, my thoughts and a very red behind! So far she had pushed me farther than I had ever been before and we were only half way through our time together!

sissy slave sucks on a dildo while in bondage

Yes Ma’am Subdued

After sufficient time had passed for me to calm down and relax a little I heard heels clicking again and the door opened. The cage door was opened and hands pulled on my legs indicating that I should get out. I was a little surprised that she wasn’t speaking, as the Vinyl Queen knows how much I love her voice and hang on every word. I followed the directions of the hands up onto the table, onto my back, legs spread and raised again by the suspension system. Then I felt her reach into my panties and roughly grab my balls! With one hand she pulled and squeezed and took me from zero to 60 in 1.5 seconds! With the other hand she lifted my blindfold briefly and I was looking into the smiling face of the Vinyl Queen’s beautiful assistant! No wonder things seemed so different. She dropped the blindfold back into place and laughed out loud. For the next half hour or so she taunted me, whipped me, crushed my balls, stretched my penis to painful limits and every once in while would lift up the blindfold and lock eyes with me just so I could see the smile on her face. She was definitely having fun!

The Vinyl Queen rejoined us and the two of them had a lot of fun at my expense. They work together so well I never knew what was coming next. At one point they found it very entertaining to each get a paddle and take turns hitting me, with the requirement that I thank them by name for each hit. If I addressed them wrong I got an even harder lick and of course that was their goal. Before we were through I would be suspended again, worked over with a devious little device called a Wartenberg wheel, shackled to a whipping horse and treated to several beautiful, sexy and sinister outfits. Stunning leather, vinyl, heels, fishnets and even some strategically placed nylon and lace. My time over the horse was the newest, most intense experience of my life. My butt felt like hamburger meat and still they kept attacking it. The difference was the tools they used. Instead of the wider paddles and large tawses, they switched to smaller more precise implements, which stung like Hell! I could tell from their comments that we were coming to the end and I began thinking I was going to make it without safe wording. Then I accidentally addressed My Queen as Mistress, which was backwards. She went ballistic on my ass with her bare hands like nothing I have ever experienced in my life! We’d been at it for five hours and I was lying there, shackled over the horse, thinking, “there is no way she can have this much energy and strength.” Then she switched sides and turned up the intensity even more! I was trying to concentrate on my breathing, tears streaming down my face and making all kinds of unintelligible noises and still she kept going. Here I thought it was over and now I was in so much pain I couldn’t even remember my safe word. I couldn’t have told you my name at that point. Just as I thought I might pass out it was over and she was holding me and telling me how well I had done. She brought me down slowly, telling me how proud she was and to hear those words was shear ecstasy!

sissy slave cleans up the dungeon for his Mistress

Yes Ma’am Cleans Up!

Now it was soft time. When I was able to stand they allowed me to help cleanup around the dungeon. There was wax to get off the mirrors, my drool to clean out of the cage and vacuuming. They watched me carefully to be sure I was adhering to their standards and fortunately I didn’t earn any more punishment.

Then, joy of joys, I was allowed to take them to dinner at a great steak house nearby. This is a rare privilege that the Vinyl Queen only awards to her special slaves, so needless to say, I could hardly believe my good fortune. They found great humor watching me try to find a comfortable way to sit in the booth as we enjoyed steak, seafood, salads and all the trimmings. It was a wonderful time to visit, reflect and plan my next exploration. It gave me the opportunity to express my appreciation for their attentions and try to explain the renewed confidence that experiencing a session like this instills in my personal and professional life. Until next time, Yes Ma’am!