The limit.

It occurred to me today while I polished my cane after a lovely session that I am intoxicated by the limits of my own ability.

I enjoy pushing limits with my submissives. If you come to me firm in your mind that I will not somehow coax you to taste your own, shall we say, excitement, or that you will come to love the biting of the crop, time with me will prove you wrong. I do not call myself a Siren for nothing. You will be broken on the peaks of my desire.

I will not pretend that I was born into this. I have carefully sculpted myself over the years, though I always had a sense that I was different. When I first began to play, the high of domination often scared me as much as it intoxicated me. Like the first sip of hard liquor. Oh, I am going to love this, as it rushes through my blood.

I really love top-space. I love when I am connected to my target and my target is humming with endorphins, and I can push the limits.

Perfection!

I am quite satisfied now with the alterations to my website. Step inside, won't you?

You may notice I have altered the description of myself to include Goddess and Siren. (I embody the best three: Goddess, Siren, and Deviant.) I do not think of myself as a Goddess in the obvious sense, but as a woman who has refined her mind and body to a delicious eloquence. I am not merely lovely to look at or to converse with; I am both. The story of the Siren has always intrigued me. Think of me as a postmodern Siren: I will seduce you with a beautiful song and remake you however I desire. Finally, I am always your Deviant. I have a nearly limitless imagination and desire for the kinkier pleasures in life.

This makeover of my site comes as I have been diligently shaping the minds and bodies of Chicago's most worthy submissives for over one year now. As you know, I have played for over fives years personally, and professionally in other geographical locations. This past year has been such an exciting journey for me, and I look forward to the years to come, as I develop relationships and sculpt submissives.

Your patience has been rewarded.

The bare skeleton of my (sort of) new website is up. Please peruse it, but be aware that I still have quite a few kinks to work out. I suppose that the most anticipated part is up and functioning: the gallery with my new pictures. Enjoy!

Sometimes I wish the Internet had a body.

I would cane its ass quite soundly.

A number of you have emailed me in concern that I had taken my blog down. I did not see those emails until this morning, it seems. Some sort of (one-time, I hope!) glitch appears to have affected my blog. It is certainly a blight to how I conduct my affairs.

Rest assured, dear submissives, I am still here, still teasing and training and punishing.

Glimpse of a scene.

Abeline was whispering in his ear while I was fastening his wrists to the spanking bench. I like my playthings bent over, bare bottoms raised, legs spread and immobile. I could only imagine the things Abeline was whispering to him. You pathetic little boy, you silly piece of meat, you filthy slut. After crouching to double check his ankle cuffs, I stood slowly, letting my fingertips trace the line of Abeline's delicous derriere.

"Now, slut," I told him, "I think you are ready for her."

Abeline smiled to me from behind her lustruous red curls and began to tap her fingers on his ready ass. From where I stood akimbo by his bound hands, I could see his body quiver in anticipation. He emitted a little yelp of surprise when her first blow landed on his bare flesh.

"Tell her how much you love it," I commanded.

Again Abeline smacked his ass with her palm. I leaned over so that my hair brushed his shoulder and slid my hands around him so that I could sink my fingernails into his nipples. Then I twisted. He whimpered loudly as Abeline cracked him harder.

"Darling, why don't you get the crop?" I said to her.

She handed me the riding crop, pausing to kiss me softly. I began to punish him soundly with my crop as Abeline grabbed him by the hair to whisper again in his ear. She looked up at me, that wicked glint in her eyes. She had her grand designs for his pathetic, shivering flesh.

Figging

I have been reading recently about the deliciously Victorian torture of figging. The Victorians knew their kink! While food and sensation play are certainly things with which I am accustomed, figging is a delight with which I have had fewer experiences.

What is figging? you wonder, perhaps. You could perform an internet search quite easily, but allow me to explain in Valentine style. You, bound, perhaps face down on the table, or bent over the sling, so that you can squirm just enough for my amusement. The ginger, skillfully carved into plug shape by my hand for insertion. Then, I watch in delight as the ginger tingles, burns, torments, and works its aphrodiasic magic. After twenty, maybe thirty minutes, any touch I deign to give you will be absolutely electric.

I think of this whenever I am at the grocery and see hands of ginger.

New deposit policy

As much as I am chagrin to do this, I am instituting a new policy. Any first time client or client booking a "special session" will be required to provide a nominal and non-refundable deposit, counted toward the tribute of the session. Any special session is a session that is over two hours in length, involves another or multiple dominants, or any other circumstances out of my usual practices. While there are a handful of you whose loyalty and service I appreciate and may exempt from this policy, that is a very, very few. It is such a shame that recent record level of last-minute cancellations is forcing me to do this.

Preview

My wonderful photographer sent over this lovely preview of my new photography set. Enjoy!

Photo shoot

I had a lovely, creative photography shoot yesterday with a very talented photographer. I've worked with her in the past (results of which are not available here) and she takes stunning photographs. Check back frequently for a sneak peak and the redesign of my website. It will be worth the wait, I promise.

In the meantime, might I mention how enjoyable it is for me to privilege a submissive with multiple golden showers in one session? Something about the anticipation while already dripping my liquid.

Quote of the month.

"Yet pain, like any other experiential mode, cannot be reduced to a set of immediate sensory qualities. It is ultimately a manner of being-in-the-world. As such, pain reorganizes our lived space and time, our relations with others and with ourselves. [...] In pleasure there is ordinarily no threat to one's being, no mysterious etiology, no aversiveness to be removed. As such one simply 'enjoys' the pleasure." -Drew Leder

You may ask yourself what this has to do with the subject matter I ordinarily concern myself with here. If you have played with me, you know I am not a strict sadist. Rather, I think this work goes directly to the heart of why comingling pleasure and pain is the joy of play. Don't think of pain and pleasure literally, alternatively. Think of pain as discomfort, submission, in relationship to joy and desire. What good would submission be without desire, and vice versa?

New old photograph.

Particularly stirring photograph of my feminine attributes, no? I discovered this photograph while cleaning off an old laptop.

Your Mistress's birthday is approaching rather quickly. Last year on my birthday, I was traveling through eastern Europe. This will be the first birthday I spend in Chicago. I hope to make it memorable.

Voyuerism and group scenes

My recent escapades into voyeurism have been delightful, I must say. I have been both the observer and the observed. While I try not to give too much critical analysis to what piques my interest, so to speak, I have been considering this.

I suppose I find being observed and group scenes enjoyable partly because I am a performer. I enjoy entertaining those who find my play pleasurable to watch. Perhaps as well I enjoy the added element of power. I have both power over my submissive, and the power to amuse or terrify the observing party.

When I demonstrate on your flesh my skill with my crop, does it amuse or intimidate her (or him)? Or is it both? When you submit to me, fully, intimately, does it inspire mirth or envy even? Or perhaps that added set of eyes and upturned mouth simply confirms your predicament?

I have this wild fantasy I find myself drifting into. Another dominant and I, both with our respective submissives, playing side by side. Maybe sharing, maybe not. Maybe competing for the most amusement of the other. I am competitive by nature. I would strive to inspire complete obedience.

Group play.

I had the pleasure of joining Mistress Victoria Cayne and two other lovely Mistresses while a submissive slut of Victoria's amused us with an exhibition show. He showed himself off while the two Mistresses and I watched Victoria instruct him. I laughed quite a bit, but find myself imagining repeating the session. Only Valentine style. You, on your knees, licking a mixture of spit up chocolate and your own contribution from my toes, for the amusement of several of my dominant friends.

I do love my one on one play time with my submissives, but relish a good group show.

On service.

Long-time readers of my blog may be familiar with my love for food play, golden showers, gender play, and discipline. What you may not be aware, however, my dear submissives, is my affinity for service submission.

I have an eye for detail and a penchant for exacting tasks. You must gently and carefully select the best petals from a rose, place them in a bowl of water heated to my ideal temperature, and soak my feet in it. You would then give my toes a manicure. I reward obedience and punish errors.

What I currently desire most of a submissive is a longer scene involving more demanding service. The table set perfectly, with fresh flowers, and the tableware placed properly. A meal, either prepared by you or brought carry-out. Served perfectly, the perfect bite always taken onto the fork and fed to me. Tea brewed to my desired concentration and served to me. And you, of course, outfitted in your best apron and panties.

Punished!

I should be doing other things, but my mind wanders. My hand on your bare ass, for example. The sound of my palm cracking against your skin. Your tremble, bent over my knee. Between each strike or succession of strikes, I lightly rub your slowly reddening ass. The momentary erasure of my previous strikes deepens the red color, livens all the nerve endings in your body. Back and forth, the sound of my palm on flesh mingled with my occasional murmur or laughter. Be a good body, won't you? Don't be so naughty.

I stand you up, tie you by the wrists and secure your ankles with the spreader. Enough so that you can't escape, but some so that I can watch you squirm. Perhaps I gag you. Perhaps I'd rather here your cries. If I am playful, I blindfold you. I start in with the paddle, a more muffled, less sharp sound. The sensation is less direct, more of a spread-out burning. This round, I do not rub your ass between blows. I start lightly, then move to quicker and quicker blows. Building my tempo. Working your ass. You quiver and squirm, but you must accept this. The endorphins flood your brain.

I grow bored, though, and I try your ass with the crop. Lightly at first, just well-spaced flicks. The sting catches you off guard. Perhaps I laugh at your reactions, or coax you with a soothing word to take more, or mock your predicament. Whatever my words, I begin to hit you harder. I want to hear the crop sing as it slices through the air. I hit you harder and harder, in quicker succession. It has not been unknown that I have bruised my palm this way, taking out my fury on your ass with my crop.

If I feel you deserve extra, perhaps I will use the shaft of my crop. That deep, double pain. The pain of the initial contact, the pain of your flesh rebounding from the blow. Perhaps I leave the crop indenting, delaying that inevitable sting.

When I let you down, you crawl to my feet and kiss my shoes in gratitude. Good boy, good boy, I murmur as I give you something to drink.

I am bored with posturing.

One thing that has struck me in the time that I have been practicing my craft is the number of would-be or trial submissives I've encountered or given the privilege of taking on for training who simply cannot accept what they ask for. It is one matter to write me an email expressing your deep, twisted desires. It is quite another to be bound and gagged with me standing over you, crop in hand. Do not be so surprised when I begin to toy with the perverse, delightful intentions you have expressed to me. If you cannot accept your subordination and the route my dominance will take, do not be so explicit in your communications.

I am not impressed by a submissive who can describe and imagine outlandish scenes of degradation and pain. I am impressed by a submissive who, inch by inch, week by week, crawls closer, stumbling over my heels and biting on the gag, toward the lofty heights of utter submission. I will tease out and craft your fantasy. I will not tolerate your fantasies of selfhood.

I have a submissive who, when I first began to meet with him, laughed in doubt at the equipment of torturous rapture in my space. As time has progressed, I find myself applying the whip to him, digging the sharp point of my heel into him to degrees he'd only imagined, dribbling chocolate and white wine off of my tongue and onto my stocking-clad feet to force into his mouth. He has grown as a kinkster and deviant in such delightful ways. And that, my dear sluts, pleases your mistress.

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is this Saturday. While I find the holiday as it is currently practiced rather tiresome and hopelessly commercial, I find its history quite fascinating.

The original Saint Valentines had little if anything to do with romance. It is thought that Roman Catholic Saint Valentine's Day on February 14th came out of an attempt to Christianize a pagan celebration of fertility.

I have very little in common with Christian saints, save perhaps my affinity for denial and flogging, although not directed at myself. Perhaps I have more in common with literary Valentines, with a nod to Shakespeare and Dumas.

Regardless, if I might insinuate myself into this holiday, as it is Valentine's Day, I would aspire to make it naughty. Why spend a perfectly good evening exchanging chocolates and having a polite, Victorian encounter, when one could instead celebrate like an aesthetic saint? Wreaths of thorns, flagellation, strict denial. Followed, of course, by a round of absolutely Roman-inspired debaucheries. That is a holiday I could appreciate.

Souvenirs.

I do so love bruises. There is a bruise, welling deep purple beneath the translucent skin, between two fingers on my hand. A souvenir of fully-administered blow.

After a summer I spent traveling through Europe, I had a fist-sized bruises running the length of my outer thigh from the suitcase I dragged after me. Souvenirs that slowly mottled and faded.

I want to sink my teeth into flesh and leave the imprint there for days. The ache of it a memento.

Food.

I am a woman who loves food. While I've read books and books on the subject, it still puzzles me that the dainty, abstaining woman entering our societal consciousness as ideal. The bird woman who pecks at her salad. The fainting femininity. I will have none of it. I do not suggest that we should all eat fast food and live out of vending machines. This is not a love of food, either.

I am a woman who appreciates and enjoys a dining experience. I work hard and I play hard. I like to eat well. I love to travel, and part of my love of traveling is to eat the local cuisine.

Those of you who have been fortunate to session with me know I like to incorporate food. Whether you are on your knees at my side feeding me fresh, perfectly cut fruit, or preparing something for me in hopes of winning my favor. Perhaps you must eat yours off of my feet or from the floor, while I watch.

Food is incredibly sensuous. The dribble of juice winding around the fingers, wetting the lips. Spices so intense and overwhelming, like the pleasure/pain of flogging. Delicate, soft skins and textures, easily crushed between the fingers.

It stirs my passions to imagine all the naughty ways food fits into my play.

The body electrified.

I have a guilty pleasure, and that is erotic thrillers. Perhaps my favorite is Crash, the older version based on the book.

What is sexy to me about this moving is the erotic and artful combination of flesh and machinery. I find the intersection of the human body and technology erotic and exhilarating. Flesh, electricity, a curious juxtaposition. Perhaps this is why some of my favorite toys are technology. The Tens, the violet wand. The gentle and then biting electricity. Sounds, tenaculums.

The vibrator was invited in the late nineteenth century in order to allow doctors to pass on the work of the genital massage for the female patient. Lacking real knowledge (or ignoring such) of the role of the clitoris, genital massage was thought good science to release women's neurotic energy. Thus, the vibrator fell from the ranks of good medical science and into the hands of perverts. I use the word pervert lovingly.

The body intersects with the scientific, the inventions. That intersection is erotic.

A note on referrals.

As you may know, I always request a referral from another professional, or other information. If you have had a lesson with me an for whatever reason wish a lesson with another of Chicago's fine professionals, I am always able to provide a referral. I do hope that other Dominants will be professional enough to understand my requirement.

If you are new to this practice or are hesitant to embrace its merits, I just ask you keep in mind the outstanding, sensitive instruction myself and others provide.

I hope you are enjoying the snow. I know I am. Nothing like a city at night with snow falling. Beautiful and brutal, just what I love.