The “Ideal” massager, a rather appropriate “fetish buzz”

Today I decided to head to the London Fetish Fair at Shillibeers, North Road in Islington. This is one of two monthly fetish fairs, the other being the London Alternative Market. Now simply going to a fetish fair is not something I would normally write up for a diary entry, given that I am a lifestyle switch-Mistress and regularly attend fetish events in London. But I decided to make a point of creating a little entry, as I am enthused about the flourishing lifestyle fetish scene here in London, and its wide and open embrace to so many different forms of BDSM play, and to so many kinds of self-identification.

Firstly and briefly, for those who wish to venture out into the lifestyle BDSM/fetish events in London, one of the best websites which is created and updated by my friend Bobette, is London Fetish Scene. Bobette also keeps a very useful calendar of events for each month, making life very easy to click on and see what’s going on and where.

Secondly, onto the lifestyle events and nights I would recommend. I don’t attend every single event. The Lady has a life, and other interests beyond fetish. However I do enjoy getting along to some of the events when I’m in the mood for it. And the following are the ones I personally recommend and attend myself:

Club Pedestal – Female Domination night, which is thus mostly attended by female Dommes, and male subs, held at Club Colosseum near Vauxhall. Male slaves open the doors and attend the needs of us Dominas, including feet massages, running for champagne and being bottoms of our whip, as we desire. The space is large with multiple rooms, and it is generally a great night out for all involved. Thus I would recommend it to most.

Club Subversion – Run by my friend Mistress Absolute (you go girl!), and Bobette, and held at Union, 66 Albert Embankment. The last time I went to this event I had a great time. I enjoyed the venue. The equipment was great (that would have been Dave at Playpenz who also made my fabulous birdscage). Room for dancing. Great bar service with fair prices. And most importantly good dungeon play as well. The people there were people truly interested in exploring, playing and socializing. Typically one sees rope bondage and suspensions undertaken, someone taking a good beating over a spanking bench, or being whipped on a cross, perhaps also some medical play going on in a specialized area. They have resident Dommes there, and I am happy to offer my support to this night.

Torture Garden – Arguably the most well-known fetish event. A person’s experience of the event and quality of the night varies wildly with changes in venue, attendees, performances, theme and music, and the vibe on the night. There are those who lament the “good old days” when Torture Garden (or TG as it is fondly abbreviated to) used to be very underground and subversive. These days, a larger and wider group attend the night, and newcomers regularly come along for a look. On the negative, this sometimes translates as coming along for a perve. Or those there who are all about the outfits, voyeurism and exhibitionism, without participating in play or much conversation. On the positive side, the event at its best can be amazing, with excellent International performances, a buzzing energetic crowd, fabulous outfits and the feeling you are on another planet. An exciting planet at that. Tickets typically sell out some time in advance, particularly for special events for their annual birthday party, New Years and so forth, so forward-planning is required.

Other events to mention are:

Decadence – a great night, on less often, good feel to it, quite elegant.

The Gate – run by Master Keith, which I have been meaning to get to and certainly will. More dungeon players and serious BDSM is what I have heard about it. And I shall add to this review once I have myself been. It’s held in Bethnall Green, E2.

Returning again to the subject of the London Fetish Fair, and indeed the London “scene” in general, what is particularly great about the scene is its diversity, open-mindedness and indeed openness. Newbies for the most part are able to ask questions, strike up a conversation, share and exchange. Not everybody is into everything, and it’s a large spectrum of interests which are accommodated more broadly within the “scene”. The fashions of dress, for example, incorporate everything from corsets, rubber/latex, PVC fetish, leather, military uniform, chainmail and armour, medical fetish, X-dressing, vintage and burlesque, cyber-punk, and so forth. There is no “one” look or style, and people can express their individuality, which is welcomed. Then in respect of the play equipment, again there is a large range of areas which are uniquely developed in London – including strongly experimentation with electrics and vintage Violet wand play, medical and needle-play, vibrators / Toshiba wands, bondage and restraint gear, anal plugs and aparatus, corporal punishment paddles and floggers, bondage rope and so forth.

Vamp velvet corset

(Mine is in an amazing teal-blue which brings out my eye colour)

On my day out, I found, tried on, loved and purchased two beautiful corsets, one a Dominatrix leather underbust corset with buckles, and another being a beautiful teal-blue velvet overbust corset, and voluminous black taffeta Vollers skirt at Oh You Pretty Thing. I found an ergonomic “Ideal” massager which is a stylish, mini-version of the Hitachi wand, from One Happy Bean and pictured at the beginning of this post. Oh and a great little ball gag with soft red ball of managable size for a submissive to take in his mouth for a decent period of time, and a nasty little braided flogger (pictured below), from Affordable Leather.

I had the privilege of being able to get an extension class in needles – and in particular on creating ribbon corsets and multiple nipple piercings, use of one-handed work and safety double-gloving, by Edge Play lifestylers Daz and his needle bunny submissive Gracie. I bought some great sensory play devices – one of which was in the shape of a green fan, producing amazing effects, completely thought up and hand-made by Daz (goodness knows how he thought up such a thing, but it’s brilliant and should be immediately patented). It is a kind of steel tube section, as base/hand-piece to the fan of green nylon lengths, run across the body either horizontally (for pleasure) or vertically (for pain). Actually very hard to describe, better to experience! Gold magnetic balls for nipple clamping and other work. These were all just little bits and pieces that took my fancy to add to my already substantial collection of accoutrements. But the lovely thing about these events, is that they are a great place to exchange and share knowledge, to be inspired by new technologies, new inventions and adapted use of current technologies and equipment. There is a communal knowledge in the practical use and experimentation, which helps refine techniques and play, develops ideas, and is so beneficial for a Mistress to stay vitalized and creative.

Now, picture Mistress in post-shopping, post-play, post-socialization and post-champagne bliss. Inspired, delighted, and now resting up at home surrounded by my new toys and wares. All I need is a slave to be kneeling on a cushion rubbing my feet in peppermint oil. Where the hell were you? Damnit! Oh but I do have that new personal massager…. Mmmmm……lol

xx LL

John William Waterhouse “The Siren” (c1900) Oil on canvas

Amongst my passions (beside the “dark arts”) are singing and archaeology. Which have combined this weekend, as I have been asked to perform “Song of the Siren” – a song by Tim Buckley, which most will know from the version performed by “This Mortal Coil” (The Cocteau Twins) : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mUmdR69nbM

In mythology, sirens were beautiful winged maidens who lived in a meadow starred with flowers, on a perilous rocky island. Their beautiful, haunting song lured sailors to their deaths.

The geography is named by Virgil as Sirenum Scopuli, and associated with three rocky islands in the Tyrrhenian Sea. Some have related the description to the archipelago of islands known as the Sireneusas / Li Galli (The Roosters) of which the three main islands are Gallo Lungo, La Castelluccia and La Rotunda. Or the description of the Isle of Anthemoessa (the island of flowers) is associated with the volcanic island of Ischia or the rocky Isle of Capri, in the Bay of Naples.

In Ovid’s version the sirens were the companions of Persephone (daughter of Zeus and Demeter), who was abducted by Hades and taken into the underworld. They were given wings potentially so that they could search the underworld.

The sirens also held powers of prophetic and sibylline knowledge, of “all that comes to pass on the fertile earth” (Homer’s Odyssey).

Their sailors were lured towards the source of the music, and closer to the rocks, entranced by the beauty of the siren and her song and feeling “understood” in her presence, they would be unable to leave, and would inevitably perish. (In some versions the siren’s song lulled them into a deep sleep.)

In the Greek Odyssey by Homer, the hero Odysseus heeds the advice of Circe in relation to the Siren’s song, by having his men plug their ears with beeswax. He has them tie him to the ship’s mast (yes rope bondage, love this story), telling them not to let him down no matter how much he might struggle or order them to do so…so that he may hear the Siren’s song and live to tell the tale.

John William Waterhouse “Odysseus and the  Sirens” (1891)

The mythologies romantically provide account for sailors steering their ships into rocks just off their destination, and hard-living sailors starved of female company and having spent too much time at sea – fantasizing of mermaids or sirens. But the stories also linked to the coastal diversions of “harlots” (a term incorporating promiscuous women, prostitutes and priestesses in one foul swoop) and women at foreign ports along the coastline, with the word “siren” believed to be derived from the Phoenician word for songstress. Naturally their exotic song and beauty exercising a lure on seamen, and the power to lead them off course. Thus men who failed to return to their ship when they were due back on board, were accordingly reported to have been “taken by a siren”.

Winged siren. From Myrina (Mysia), Terracotta (1st Century BC), Louvre Museum.

(Photo credit: Marie-Lan Nguyen)

In the iconography of a naked woman with wings, there appears also to be a link to the goddess Ishtar/Inanna who is represented in this mode in plaques and other artifacts from Southern Iraq and Turkey, in which the Goddess is depicted in association with her Descent into the Underworld, where she was stripped of garments at each gate.

Ishtar’s journey to the underworld is in turn connected with the star of Venus, as the star makes a similar descent, heading for Kur (the mountains) in the Western horizon, and rising in the East, and so the Goddess was symbolised with the eight-pointed star rosette. The association to the evening star of Venus flowed through to the Roman Goddess Venus, and Greek goddess Aphrodite – who in mythology was born in the waves on the coast of Cyprus near Pathos, or in an alternative version on the island of Cythira/Kythira. Both locations were associated with the sea trade plied by Phoenicians between Greece and the Middle East, where cult sites to the Goddess were established often on hills just above the ports and trading posts.

So for those heading off on exotic holidays to the Greek islands, to Southern Italy, to Turkey and around the Mediterranean, remember you remain in the domain of the Goddess (and her priestesses, sirens, and various incarnations).

In any case, getting back to the Song of the Sirens, I will be performing this song at a burlesque evening coming up, so accordingly have had to get the lyrics sorted out, of which there are several versions for example substituting “were you hare when I was fox”, however I have opted for the flotsam, as naturally I love the idea of leaving  a man flotsam. lol. In the true spirit of the Domina.

Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
‘Till your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving – (in)to your isle.

And you sang, Sail to me.
Sail to me, let me enfold you.

Here I am, Here I am,
Waiting to hold – you.

Did I dream, you dreamed about me?
Were you here when I was – flotsam?
Now my foolish boat is leaning,
Broken lovelorn On your rocks.

For you sing, Touch me not.
Touch me not, Come back tomorrow.

Oh my heart. Oh my heart.
Shies from the sorrow.

I’m as puzzled as the newborn child
I’m as troubled as the tide.
Should I stand, amid the breakers?
Or should I lie with death – my bride?

Hear me sing, swim to me,
Swim to me – let me enfold you.

Here I am. Here I am. Waiting to hold you.

Vintage image courtesy of Nick and Morphia

I am in love with Violet. No – not Mistress Violet of the Dominas Realm, who helped teach me during my training, who I think is fabulous but rather in a catching up for sushi train and gossip way (or if you are a slave, for a sound whipping). No I am speaking of my new love for Violet Wands. You see, once you play with Violet, you’re an an instant devotee. The crackling buzz of electromagnetism. The spooky flickering streams of purple, as if in a science-fiction horror film. And then there’s the charming history that goes along with Violet Wands.

I turn to the voice of authority, curator of the Powerhouse Museum, Erika Dicker, who writes on her “favourite object in the collection” (her words, not mine!):

“Electromassage devices, also called violet ray machines, or violet wands, were used by doctors from the 1880s to treat ‘hysteria’ in women. They were used to massage female patients to orgasm as treatment. General practitioners welcomed the invention as manual massage was fatiguing and slow. Before the invention of electricity, vibrators were run by water and steam. When portable vibrators powered by line electricity became available at the turn of the century they quickly became dominant medical massage technology. But the appearance of vibrators in erotic films in the 1920s eroded the instrument’s social camouflage.”

Source: http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/collection/blog/index.php/2009/04/meet-the-curator-erika-dicker/

In other words, like much of the history of “personal massage machines” (and to this we could add the contemporary Hitachi wand), the dominant use of these Violet Ray machines became sexual stimulation. They gave a painful pleasure, which could be varied with different attachments, intensified or reduced with the flick of a switch. And its eerie violet glow a kind of visual manifestation of the supernatural potential of the erotic.

The violet wands came with a set of different attachments, which were generally labelled with different parts of the body for use, a comb for the hair and back of head and neck, a neck and throad electrode,  an ear electrode, and an anal electrode amongst others.  One of the most popular pieces of the sets was the mushroom electrode, which could be used very generally on almost any part of the body and put to erotic use for pleasure, whereas the pointier pieces tended to push the pain response more strongly including most particularly the nose electrode which is in contemporary sets called the razor attachment.

There was much medical quackery attached to the use of Violet ray machines. They were marketed as a cure or aid to such medical conditions as Neuritis, skin conditions, rheumatism, “correcting female complaints” (with a specific vaginal electrode was marketed in some brands of machines), prostatic trouble, asthma, boils, brain fog, gonnorhea, gout, hayfever, impotence, to name but a few. (For those seriously interested in the historic claims for the device, there is an internet site with an an historic Violet Rays machine manual here.)

Ironically, there may be some genuine medical substance to the use of Violet wands on the scalp to stimulate the cells.

However in a BDSM context, the Violet wand is useful on several levels in relation to the psychological and physical play of Domination and pain. Firstly, the purity of fear that a Mistress (or Master) can generate from a crackling, purple-glowing antique electrical device, particularly when slave is completely restrained such as to a bondage platform. And then there is the apparent potential of pleasure and pain, to be experimented on with this device, and the different sensations of various applications, and their use on different parts of the body, to agony or ecstasy.

For all these reasons, as a collector and a Mistress, I simply had to add one of these machines to my collection. So to that end, I have happily found a lovely little kit housed in a small black suitcase, which closely resembles my clarinet case! (Ironically, without even going into “what happened at band camp” jokes). Thus the machine is suitably portable and discreet for my travels, but has all the vital and most-used attachments. And best of all, its class. An art deco 1930s German Radiostat violet ray in original condition, with its purple and blue felt lining referencing the hues of the electrodes in use, all of which are intact. I even love the font, and as all my close friends and slaves know, I am very font-fussy! It has two controls, for both buzz and power. Of course it has also been all checked-over and had its capacitor and cables replaced, and its interior re-insulated, by Nick and Morphia, to make it as safe as possible for use. (I may be a little sadistic, but I’m not crazy!)

So now I am in bliss, and will definitely be spending all of my week playing with Violet. If you want to play dear slave, she’s coming too.

Lady Louella’s beautiful art deco German violet wand. Sigh!

]]> http://www.ladylouella.com/playing-with-violet/feed/ 0 http://www.ladylouella.com/the-interrogation-of-mr-g/ http://www.ladylouella.com/the-interrogation-of-mr-g/#comments Thu, 01 Apr 2010 16:34:56 +0000 ladylouella http://www.ladylouella.com/?p=854

The CEO of a blue chip company contacted me, to tell me of his concern that one of his employees Mr G had stolen confidential and valuable company information. I was hired to get to the bottom of the matter, interrogate Mr G, using whatever means necessary to find out for whom he was working, and the wherabouts of the stolen information.

Mr G was told I was a prospective client, and sent to my offices in W1 in London. He was offered a cup of tea and dutifully shown downstairs to my “office” by my staff.

Instead he was “frisked”, and much to his horror, forced to strip down. Despite his distress and protestations he was forced into the shower with a scouring brush and soap, to clean himself before a full examination. In fact a microchip was found on his body concealed below his testicles, which he then attempted to hide within the bathroom. Luckily this plan was foiled by myself. Strapped to a medical chair, he was then put to a humiliating cavity search, and I had him gagged to shut him up. On completion of that exam he was handcuffed and blindfolded, and led into the dungeon interrogation room.

To get him in the right psychological state for interrogation, I strapped him down to a chair, and hooked up a hypnosis machine, with headphones communicating low sound waves at 60 hertz level, combined with a light eye visor with pulsing hallucinogenic patterns in red-blue-green light patterns. This had the desired effect of lowering his heart rate and brain-waves into a pre-hypnotic state. Using a mircophone earpiece and subliminal messaging, I spoke into a microphone attached to my body, entering suggestions to feed into his brain.

Once Iwas satisfied with his vital readings, I had only limited time with which to find out the full information as to who he was working for, and the true nature of his corporate espionage. Enclosing his head in a full leather gimp hood to darken his sense of objecthood and submission, I began putting My questions to the subject.

His answers were forthcoming, but slow, and not fully disclosive. An edge of arrogance and denial remained in tact, and I had to show him just how serious I was. Seizing him by his hood, I dragged him roughly onto a Whipping St Andrew’s Cross, mounted to a wall. Attaching him to it by handcuffs, I began to spank him and let him feel the humiliating sting of a superior woman’s dominance across his naked bottom. Locating a whip, I proceeded to whip him hard across his buttocks and upper back, (but being careful as to not damage the subject permanently and avoiding his fragile spine area). Gradually he was being broken down. 

 Although when questioned as to his background and true country of origin, I was still not getting full and prompt responsiveness. I advised the subject that as he was in England, I would teach him a thing or two about the English system of discipline, and the way young men were disciplined in the country and shown how to respect authority. He was belted, and then lashed with the cane, to the point of whimpering and consenting fully to provide disclosure to my questions.

Seizing the advantage won, I led Mr G then to the stretching rack, where he was laid out on his back, secured by his wrists and by his feet and additional straps around his middle. His cock was pulled up towards his head, while his testicles were separated by my cordage and pulled in opposite directions diagonally out and downwards towards his left and right foot separately. Utterly vulnerable and at my mercy, a terrified Mr G, could only but mumble his pleads of co-operation.

Going through his personal effects which had been arranged in a metal bowl as exhibits, I opened his wallet and found foreign currency from countries in the Emirates and Egypt, as well as a contact card for a private submarine hire of vessels in Africa and the Emirates. A little black book further documented in tiny French script various decipherable and undecipherable messages.

I put to Mr G this and other evidence of his meetings with a pretty blonde Russian girl in a London cafe, which had been the subject of surveillance, and he was forced to give up her name. He hesitated on other questions, sensing the valuable nature of the information he was holding, and the risk to his own position if he were to tell me.

At this point in the interrogation, I took out the most severe Japanese clover nipple clamps, and warned Mr G that these would be afixed to him 30 seconds, and the chain pulled on to cause extreme pain. He protested and to begin building a sense of empathy and rapport I offered to provide kind distraction for him to get him through the pain.

Hoisting myself up onto the torture bench, I threaded a second pair of nipple clamps through the chain, and to my own nipples, pulling down my corset to expose them. Mr G gasped in fear and arousal. With the two pairs of nipple clamps having their chains interwoven, and clamped to Mr G’s nipples and my own, I was able to pull back and cause him pain at the same time as myself. This enabled Mr G to be quite thoroughly distracted despite the high level of pain being inflicted to his nipples. His pain was my pain, and my pain – his.

This point was appreciated, and as the clamps were removed, I reminded Mr G of my dominance and position of power over him, by replacing the metal clamps with my teeth, tugging on each in turn. I outlined the educational privilege that Mr G had growing up, to have benefitted from speaking so many languages and to have worked his way up to such a senior position within the company. I communicated what a shame it was that he was prepared to reduce himself and his ethics to corporate espionage. I also posited my opinion that his downfall I regarded as being closely related to the lure of this pretty Russian woman. Ultimately I considered that it was his wayward and responsive masculine body parts that were to blame for his being led astray, to sell himself out in such a manner. And I expressed what a waste it would be to have such a man of his talent and potential use, to be rotting in prison.

Instead, I proposed, our own institution could offer him potentially an alternative arrangement, whereby he could avoid jail time to instead work on the good side, providing us with information and intercepting money and arms before they fell into the wrong hands.

In order to avoid being lured astray again by a honey-trap, Mr G would need regular therapy treatments. Further, he could at the same time put to use by our female staff who had little time for a private life and would benefit from the presence and availability of a man on staff. This would be a mutually agreeable situation for all, as it would ensure Mr G was fraternising with ladies on the right side of the law, and thus less vulnerable to the charms of the Russians. And it would ensure our staff could have their personal needs met while in the work environment, without the need to go out socialising and looking for a man, thus spending more time on the job.

Mr G agreed to the terms laid out, and was finally released to his new role working for our team. He woud identify the prospective parties interested in purchasing the information, track the flow of money and arms across countries and the major players involved, and would report back regularly for therapy and for each new mission and training.

Indeed having been able to break him myself in the interrogation, with which I was most pleased, I could see he would need further training to ensure that the enemy could not do the same with him.He would need to be trained to take much more pain, and to be immune to seduction by female foreign agents, and thus I began work drafting up a training manual for Mr G…

I am very much enjoying my experience of being a  Maîtresse (or dominatrice) in Paris. I am somewhat different in being one of the only English-style Mistresses in France,  and also one of the only switch Mistresses in the country. As such, I receive a number of slaves who have lived in the UK (or commute from London) and have a fondness for traditional corporal punishment.

I have also attracted a large number of French clients who were looking for an intelligent and well-trained Mistress, and it has come as quite a suprise to me that so many of the French Mistresses are without professional training or specialist knowledge. From anecdotal account, many of the dominatrices in France seem to split up into two categories, those who just woke up one day and decided to become a Mistress (presumably for the perception they could make quick, easy money), and have little idea what they are doing in relation to how to use implements or equipment or indeed the nuances of psychological domination. The second category is that of well-trained Mistresses who have a defined  style of traditional femdom domination which is quite severe and cold. This works well on many slaves, and the Mistresses amongst this category are well-trained and reputable, and I regard them well, but I also understand that their colder style does not suit everyone. 

So within a very short time, word seems to have got around of my particular style of compassionate Mistressing , whereby I mould my session to the submissive’s needs and can combine stern treatment and harsh words, with encouragement and compassion, and I am very busy. I am reluctant to commit myself to more than one session in a day, in order to maintain my enthusiasm and energy as a dominatrix, and also to allow time for my writing which is my first priority above all. I recommend other Mistresses as appropriate to submissives who want a different kind of session from that which I offer, or requiring equipment I do not have, or with content that I don’t specialise in or enjoy. So I hope this is helping generate good will amongst my Parisian counterparts.

Paris is a great place to live and explore, and it has a varied BDSM scene, incorporating two specialist BDSM clubs. These are Cris et Chuchotements (which roughly translates as “Cries and Screams” and also references a 1972 film realised by Ingmar Bergman), and l’Orchidée Noire (which translates as the Black Orchid) which is a private club run in a basement set-up by and for lifestylers which I attended in my first week in Paris. There are also regular fetish events, including Nuit Elastique which caters for fetishists of latex, PVC and leather, and the annual event Nuit Demonia which is attended by close to 2000 people. This year, I performed in Nuit Demonia 2009 at La Loco, near the Moulin Rouge, alongside Mistress Absolute and Charlotte from the UK. We were one of 20 International Acts on the main stage, and modelled Ainsley-T fetish shoes from Milan on the catwalk.

I found Nuit Demonia to be a great night, and in general all the people I have met in the lifestyle scene are friendly, intelligent and open to newcomers.  There is more of a fetish materiality prevalence throughout the scene, with many slaves attached and aroused by foot fetish and high heel stilettos, and also an insistence of wearing rubber and leather. Most events enforce a strict dresscode which restricts the choice of material in fetish attire. This is quite different from in Australia where fetish is seen as a broader construct and far more unique rather than restricted to such a limited range of materiality. Fetish may be miliatary style attire, or opulent historically-based corsetry, and individuals often make their own creations and put much time into putting together their unique ensembles.

The basis behind the strict codes of fetishware at events appear to be to avoid having people who are not true fetishists and perhaps just there for a perve, turning up in “normal clothes”, or for example in biker jackets rather than true fetishware. The logic is that those attending the events are more likely to be comfortable and not judged if they feel that they are amongst like-minded and like-dressed people. I can understand and empathise with such a code, although I consider that it could be widened to a more expansive view of fetish with careful thought applied to the topic.

One of the consequences of the law in France is that Mistresses are not easily able to work together, or share a dungeon space, so lifestyle events are often the only place one may come into contact with other dominatrices. It is a shame that the law is constructed as it is, as it in fact compromises the safety of dominatrices by not being able to have a colleague work alongside them, particularly with a more difficult client, or an advanced style of session involving complicated suspension. It also means that Mistresses have no real sense of fellowship, and see themselves as competing with each other individually, with a reluctance to pass on a client on recommendation who may be seeking exploration in an area they have no knowledge or training  to adequately handle. By contrast, the lifestyle scene is small but flourishes  with a communal sharing of knowledge, and workshops are offered on areas such as shibari and other forms of  BDSM play.

I was amused also to attend the Paris Munch and see how well the format (which is replicated around the world) suited the French culture. Of course it is a very French passion to enjoy food, wine, intelligent conversation, and philosophy, and on the particular night I attended there was an intellectually rich discussion held on the subject of foot fetish which lasted for hours. It was also filmed for a documentary covering alternative fetish cultures around the world.

Paris Munch has a well-organised and constantly updated website featuring a programme of all the different fetish and BDSM events that are on across the city, and so the website is a great first-stop for any lifestyler over in Paris and wanting to participate in the scene. (Website address: http://www.paris-m.com/ )

“If you want to be a good Mistress, learn first how to be a good submissive”, is what many say. 

At dungeons such as Salon Kittys in Sydney, it is a virtual requirement to first be a submissive. In this role, you learn the feeling of different implements, the psychological burn that an insult can inflict, and the intimate language of responsiveness in submission.

When this experience, is paired with an innate strong-willed and feminine power, then all the ingredients are there for a good Mistress.

In my opinion, a Mistress should not merely be a cold practitioner of technical expertise. She should be able to read a submissive’s most inner thoughts and desires and fears, and to weave her session and style around him. She should be sensitive and tuned-in to her slave, and inflict pain and fear only in knowledge of a slave’s psychology and nuances. A good Mistress should be imaginative and inventive, always evolving. She should build each session on previous sessions and on the trust built up over time, to extend a slave, and to expand his training into new realms. 

I have evolved myself, very much, over time. From a straight submissive to a switch Mistress in the true sense. And after all my training thus far in the arts of the dominas, there is still  much to learn. The technical skills can take a good lifetime to Master. And each slave brings to me their own individual psychology and fetishes and special spots to activate. So my slaves teach me as much as my Mistress’s training, and my sessions with Masters as a submissive.

But it is very recently, in my trip to London, that I have begun to feel like I have come into my own as a Mistress. With snowballing knowledge, confidence, and an intuitive understanding of the mind of my slave.

I do not need the same physical and psychological distance that some Mistresses insist on. Instead I relish using my power and sensual presence. To make my slave quiver in his blindfold as I run my nails unexpectedly on his back. To brush past him as I weave my shibari around his body.

To push him to his limits and beyond with a mix of imperative orders and stern words, encouragement, faith in ability to apply his will to meet the task and satisfy me, and reward and reprieve when he reaches beyond the point he was capable of.

I have evolved into a compassionate Mistress,  aware and conscious of what I do with my slave’s energy and force-field during the session. There are times he needs psychological release from his stress and a relatively high level of pain to let go in submission. There are other times he needs a more aeshetic and sensory session, of being enclosed within a cocoon of bondage and containment, and the reassurance of my voice and weight of my body in proxmity. Where inside his entrapment, his slavery, he simultaneously finds a glorious freedom. And in this journey of his, I am alongside him – the facilitator and Mistress of knowledge, in the true, mystical sense of the word.

One might think it easy to be submissive, that you merely take what is dished out to you. And it is true that hypothetically everyone is capable of submission. Indeed people submit every day of their lives – to their job and to their boss, to their role as a good wife/husband or mother/father, to the laws of the land, and to social conventions.
And in much submission there is also suppression. That is – suppression of one’s own true desires and yearnings. And so the most delicious submission is that which intersects one’s own desires. To take a seat at a dinner party, and allow the chef to serve up a fabulous feast, while you yourself relax and enjoy and indulge. To have your partner see you are stressed out from your day, and force you into a warm and fragrant bubble bath.

These notions of accepting submission I’m sure that most people can identify with. But the BDSM idea of submission many find much harder to understand, the one that involves submission to the will of another to give them the ability to inflict pain and marks on one’s body. It is easy to accept and submit to pleasant things, but harder to accept pain.

Firstly, it takes trust. Trust that the person will respect and indeed be sensitive enough to gauge the submissive’s limits. Trust that they will not cause serious or permanent harm. Trust in their psychology, and indeed of your own evaluation of them.

Secondly, it takes an understanding of the benefits of pain, so as to truly accept pain. Pain works in natural contrast with pleasure, intensifying the experience and our memory of it. And it teaches us something about the transitory nature of things – for the intense pain of the cane decreases and fades, eventually passing. Indeed painful moments journey and pass on. Even thngs of intense emotional pain such as loss of a loved one, journeys from the overwhelming and all-encompassing sense of pain and loss, into something that we find we can eventually push on from and endure, and continue our everyday life again, even while we get punctuations of the pain and loss reminded to us at times which bring a new tear to our eye. And this teaches us to appreciate the transitory nature of any experience we go through in life to be endured.  Psychologically, pain provides a sense of processing and release, the venting of deeper things buried within ourselves. It may in these ways act as a vehicle to better understanding ourselves, and the stuff we are made of.

Pain aids deep submission. If  you can accept pain from another, trust in another, there is a beautiful intimacy which can be forged from it. For the person who exerts the pain follows and observes the journey of the other. He/she invests in inflicting the pain, to accomplish a physical and psychological response. For a moment of time there is only the inflictor of pain and submissive together in that space, their own world of two. Nothing else exists for a moment, only the moment.

Of course pain can equally be used for angry abuse and unjustified suffering, and such things I abhor and denounce, such as the ill treatment of animals and children and spousal abuse. But I wanted to write at this moment of pain put to the purpose of sublime and intimate submission, between two consenting and sane adults. And oh, how there is a joy and journey in that.

Sometimes life feels within one’s control, as if you are at the helm, steering life’s direction, while at other times it is as if  life’s current is pulling you to its will. The Dominas Realm was the rock I was being pulled towards, and Mistress Cleo - the strong-willed siren. 

First, there  was a friend of mine who knew of my “tendencies”, and also my desire to write a novel about a dominatrix, and suggested half-jokingly, that I should seek an evening position in a dungeon, to quench my thirst for knowledge. Soon after, I was at a birthday party in Fitzroy and the party was dotted by dominatrixes within the crowd, there to honour the lovely Mistress Amara Dolce. Interestingly enough the Mistresses were identifiable by their feminine power, their beauty, their intelligence, their humour and strength, even before I was officially introduced. Several “dirty French martinis” later, and I was in engaging conversation with one of them, sharing stories and laughs. “You should come to our dungeon and we could put you to good use”, she remarked. And then a third night, I was in Polly Bar in Fitzroy bar, sitting across from one of their most illustrious kind, Mistress Electra, who was meeting with a client, and exerting her power to have him kiss her shoe in clear sight in the middle of the public arena.

I agonised back and forth before sending off an approach to the head Mistress Cleo, whom I had never met. As one friend in the scene advised me well, “it’s not a good look to waste a Mistress’s time. You have to be sure of what you want.” And was I sure? Yes, I was sure of what I wanted. What I wasn’t sure about is whether I had the courage to go through with the course.

I finally sent off an application to Mistress Cleo, of the Dominas Realm. But then heard nothing for several weeks. Unsure of whether my message had been received or not – I phoned to check. And I was invited to the dungeon the next day, into the lair of the dominatrices.

There I met with Mistress Cleo, a  captivating woman – petite in frame, and grand in power. Her exotic features were of mixed ancestry, and her eyelids drawn out by black kohl, somewhat Indian, somewhat Egyptian, hard to place down. Stroppy and strong, and takes no prisoners. Well actually that’s not true, she does of course take prisoners. Indeed one was locked up in a cage in the hallway, collared and entrapped as if an animal of the house.

She laid out the framework and reality of the training. One year, of watching and helping, absorbing the scenes swirling around and soaking it all in like a sea sponge. There would be little or no payment, but rather the privilege of being taught by some of the best dominatrices in Australia. And for me the knowledge and insight on offer was greater than that offered at any university, the subversive secrets of people’s deepest desires and needs. So began my new course… of training and caning at the Dominas Realm.

HISTORICAL DIARY ENTRY, FEBRUARY 2008:

Perhaps it should have been more obvious to me. I mean how does one get to her late 20s and so seemingly self-aware, and yet be so ignorant of her own true desires?

Looking back, it began with entrapped princesses, for whom I was not fearful for but rather jealous of. Rapunzel in the castle with her long golden hair, Princess Leia bound as slavegirl in her brass lingerie in Star Wars… In literature and film I would read and watch over and again scenes of capture and physical entrapment. The Story of O, the rape scene in Belle de Jour, the red skirt and bondage scene of Catherine Breillat’s “Romance”.

But it was when I had a fleeting affair with a well-educated and engaging man, that I got it. Or rather – it got me.

The intoxicating rush of the adrenaline, endorphin and hormone cocktail, brought upon by being spanked and taken. Taken – physically and emotionally, with words of wisdom and slavedom whispered into the ear, as my hair was brushed away. The painful, peaceful and pleasurable abandon, in which inhibitions drift away in absolute submission to the will and desire of another. The body bound, as the spirit floats, hovering above in bliss.

The tendency which had absorbed me since being a little girl was so obvious and yet had gone unrecongised for most of my life.

And now I dare look in the mirror, and see that want, and the wanton, peering back in my eyes.

It is a challenge, this pursuit, for one who is sensitive and intelligent. To step into this new arena – so fraught with risks, to the self, to social expectations of what a woman should be. I have long known it is easier to live in a place of honesty with oneself, than one of repression and lies.

In the new games, one draws closer to danger, and a confronting sense of the corporeal and mortal. But in doing so I find myself bound more tightly to the natural pairing of opposites – to the safety, spirit and to the immortal self.

I feel it, that stirring, of the sublime and divine. A new view of the world, and a mirror on the self. And so it begins…