Tuesday, July 30, 2013

On Becoming Shallow

Today I am 70 pounds lighter than I was a year and a half ago.  Congratulations, right? I should be celebrating.  I'm happy to be healthier, of course, but I can't seem to shed the nagging feeling that I've lost something important along with all the fat. 

When I was a bigger girl (to the tune of 250 lbs), I didn't get my self worth from the appearance of my body.  I was so clearly outside the norms of feminine beauty standards that all I could do--besides staving off regular bouts of "I'm different" induced malaise with pints of Ben and Jerry's Americone Dream--not give a fuck.  Yeah, I knew I was fat, and yeah I didn't wear bikinis ( I still don't), but it wasn't something we talked about.  It wasn't something that mattered.  In a way, my exceedingly generous curves made me feel voluptuous and luscious. 

When I went on dates, I knew that the men who agreed to spend time with me either liked my body as it was, or were interested in my mind and intellect, rather than my temporary packaging.  I could run go places without being notices (sure, I craved attention at times, but preferred my anonymity), and surprise people with my wit rather than my waistline. 

Days when I hated my belly, or the rolls of fat that adorned my frame, I just didn't look in the mirror, wore red, and applied chocolate.  Now, I feel pressure to look good all the time--wherever I go.  Men stare when I'm sweaty and smelly from the gym, or wearing my ugliest clothes so as not to be noticed.  But they still notice.  I MISS BEING INVISIBLE.

And oh the mind of a beautiful fat woman!  I knew I wasn't going to make it in this world based on my looks, so I nourished my mind.  As a highly sexual creature clothed in adipose, I found other ways of making meaning and transferred my eroticism into the world of the intellect.  Rather than losing myself in endless lusts and hookups, I fell in love with poets, ideas, and rousing conversations.  I masturbated with my mind and prided myself on my intellectual fitness, since I could say nothing of my physical fitness.  And knowing that the body in time would fade and grow weak, regardless of it's beauty or lack thereof, I was proud of what a hottie I was on the inside.  Learning to find deep and lasting value within myself that had nothing to do with my dress size was incredible empowering.  I was deep and thick and wide and fucking delicious.

But when an honest lover regaled me with an adoring list of what he loved about my body one evening: "I love your hair, your eyes, your lips, your mind....your arms, fingers, legs, toes...(everything but my midsection)" I tried to accept the compliment.  He loved me, and found me beautiful.  BUT the elephant in the room my was tummy, my overweight, stretch marked, post pregnancy wasteland.  I gazed back into his love filled eyes as my lip quivered and my eyes welled with tears.  All I had heard was..."I love you but I hate your belly."

Struggling through tears, I said "That's what people say to fat girls!  You've got a great personality...Tell me the truth!"  And he did (though I must admit I put him in a terrible position). 

He said, "I'm attracted to you but not to your tummy."  There.  It was said.  I cried.  I cried all night, in fact.  I cried for caring what I looked like, I cried for not looking like all the girls with flat tummies, and I cried to feeling unloved for something as stupid as my belly.  For the first time, I said something aloud that I had never even allowed myself to even think: I was curvy, voluptuous, and sensual, but never fat."  But the truth needed to be said.  "I'm fat."  He looked back at me, grieved at my sadness, and said "What do you want to do about it?  I'm here to support you whatever you want to do, but you don't have to do anything.  I love you as you are and I think you're beautiful."  I could hardly hear him through the pain. 

And that's where it started.  After a year and a half of a no sugar, limited carbohydrates, endless exercise, and no small amount of obsession, I now weigh 170 pounds and have a BMI of 27.  I'm a mere two points away from a healthy BMI for the first time in 13 years.  But I feel so fucking empty.  According to the Tanita scale at the gym, I still have another 30 pounds to lose before I'm at a healthy body weight.  I don't know if I'll ever get there.  My body is practically refusing to let go of anymore weight, dropping a pound to give me two back a few days later.  But you know, all this talk of weight and diet and BMI is exhausting, isn't it?  That's why it's so hard to stay on a diet and exercise regime unless you enjoy it for it's own sake.  It's dehumanizing.  It reduces you to endless obsessions over calorie counts, dress sizes, muscle mass and essentially makes you (or at least it has made me) extremely focused on external things like my appearance. 

When is it enough?  When, if ever, will I be satisfied?  How do I even know what healthy looks like beyond the measurements?  Because despite the fact that my numbers are healthier, frankly, I feel like a hollow, shallow bitch.  I've come to believe that my worth really and truly only lies in what I look like.  And you know what?  Even though I'm 70 lbs lighter, I still have a tummy.  I still have stretch marks and cellulite, and I'm starting to get wrinkles on my forehead from all these years of getting that quizzical look on my face when I'm thinking hard about something (which is pretty much always).  I'm getting wrinkles around my mouth from smiling my gigantic smile and more wrinkles around my eyebrows from raising them snobbishly at some absurdity or another.  So, truth be told, even if I keep losing weight, I'll still be, gasp, human.

You see, when I was 250 pounds, I was fat and unhealthy by just about every physical standard.  But I threw out the scale, stopped looking in the mirror, and ate and dressed how I pleased.  And that left so much time for delicious contemplation, for connection, and for being present.  Do you know how much it fritters one's mind to obsess over calories and food and exercise constantly?  It reduces you to a simpering and shallow nitwit--well, perhaps some of you have fared better than I.  I certainly hope so. 

Now the mirror and the scale have become wicked fixations, and I truly (most days) believe that my value as a person, and more specifically, a woman, is reduced to my weight, my clothes size, and the frequency of my workouts.  I've come to believe that success is rigid self control rather than a blissful acceptances of life's inevitable fluctuations.  And now, on the eve of deciding to try to create another child, I find myself poised between the deep desire to let go and allow my body to blossom with new life, and the paralyzing fear of gaining weight.  In my world these last few years, gaining a pound is a terrifying recognition of failure, so how will I handle gaining 15?  or 20?  or 30?  How do I open myself to the loss of control once again that is pregnancy and motherhood, and truly, what it means to authentically be a woman?

I just want you all to know--the women especially, that no one is immune to this creeping cultural phenomenon of reducing ourselves to something external--whether it be our weight, our grades, our success, our marriage, our ability to give or cause orgasms--but all of this isn't who we really are.  Even I, women's right's activist, feminist, and champion of healthy body image, fall short every damn day.  I struggle to see myself as beautiful, and I've struggled with it my whole life.  Whether it was the time I asked my gynecologist what was wrong with my vagina because I'd never seen another one in my life, or all the times I felt something was wrong with me for my generous hips and breasts (still here after all the weight loss), or felt bad for having a tummy.  It got even harder to feel beautiful after giving birth, when my belly was something closer to Santa Clause's bowl full of jelly than it was to the flat bellies we see advertised everywhere.  And even now as I am beginning to do burlesque, I experience anxiety about exposing my belly--still NOT flat and covered in silvery stretch marks. 

Many days I feel that I am not good enough--I'm no longer plus-sized, but am a bigger than "normal" (whatever that is).  I'm "almost" a size 6/8 but not quite, almost acceptable, almost loveable, but not quite.  My thighs still touch at the top, and the second I take my shirt off you can tell I've had a baby.  Is that something to be ashamed of?  Society would say it is.  But I say that's fucked up.  And it's time we began asking THESE questions rather than "What's wrong with me?"  Why, as women, aren't we shown images (and NOT DOVE images, thank you) of real female bodies of all sizes?  Why aren't we shown galleries of vaginas along with all the horrifying pictures of STD ridden cocks and cunts?  I mean, who wants to spend time looking at the variety of wart covered labia?  Why aren't we exposed to breastfeeding women so we know how it's done?  Why don't we proudly share pictures of our post-natal bodies the way we do our firm, swollen pregnant ones?  Is it because it doesn't turn people on?  Fuck that!  We need to learn to see the beauty in out bodies in all their crazy cool manifestations and stop feeling ashamed when our bodies do what they're supposed to do.  We're supposed to get hips and curves, supposed to gain a some weight when pregnant, and it takes time for our bodies to put our organs back into place after we've given birth. 

Who is perpetuating all these lies?  Culture, obviously, but just shouting that angrily doesn't get us anywhere.  We need to start talking about our bodies, loving them, and sharing them ESPECIALLY when they aren't perfect.  And you know what?  If my body was perfect, I'd look like every other flat and homogenous Victoria's Secret model out there, which is completely boring.  It's my wrinkles, my stretch marks, my curves, dimples, freckles, fat, and birth marks that make me ME and different from every other person on this planet.  So--take a look at what you think are your flaws and begin to see them as trademarks--unique aspects of an original work of art.  I'm not saying this is easy--I struggle with it every day.  But let's talk about it and commit to finding the beauty in our imperfections.

Monday, July 29, 2013

A Penis Under the Negligee

There is a feminine strength that feels like a womb with a penis in it.

(Descent to the Goddess, page 42)


Women are constantly being penetrated--hung upon the peg of the unavoidable physical realities of life, death, blood, sex, pain, and grief. Dildoes, phalluses, crosses, trees, earth and the Erishkigal's peg in the underworld,* all remind us of the primal relationship between emptiness and fullness, life and death, male and female, yin and yang. How am I to view these images and the woman's role in the sexual act--her penetration and her sentence to hang upon her own desire, helpless and dying?

It is her dark truth, as the bearer of life and death, to have her cunt filled with cock, just as her womb is empty and yearning. In fact, it is this fertile emptiness which calls to out to be filled, the fullness of her cunt eventually leading to the fullness of her belly.


Her body exemplifies the cycles of longing and satisfaction, her lust and intimacy waxing with the fullness of the moon and turning inward as it darkens in the deep sky. She sheds blood and layers of self, ever renewing herself, body ever ready for the growth of new life. At times, she is full of man and moon and child, at others she is barren and empty, but ever changing, dynamically moving from emptiness to fullness, desire to satiety.


She is eternally bound to (nailed and penetrated by) the physical rhythms and mysteries of life. This is her shame, her curse, and her power. Her power can (and has been, ever since the Goddess has been relegated to the underworld) be used against her--her cunt raped and violated, her incredible capacity for pleasure and joy thrown carelessly aside--and yet she survives to bring forth new life from the hot semen of hatred and violence. Even the man that cruelly entered her uninvited was born of a mother, and the child of this pain shall too know the blessing of a womb and a breast. Life surges on, despite the atrocities. There is a darkness to the joy. There is death in the bringing of life.

Their sacred sexuality buried between their legs, women feel an innate and natural (biological, even) longing to be filled. This longing is often projected outward onto a lover, or manifests itself in the need for approval and fulfillment from others, particularly men. Who better to fill the emptiness than a man with a cock? Fill me up, desire me, put your cock inside me, put your cum in my pussy!

If it were so simple, we'd all be happy with little more than a quick fuck. While this can satiate immediate sexual need, there are deeper desires for love and intimacy that are deeply enmeshed in the sexual act, infused as it is with the spiritual and emotional longing of the inner self. Sex alone cannot satisfy the depth of a woman's longing, nor should it. Her desire points her deeper, within herself, where she must play out themes wild and deep, with herself alone.

As Ms. Brinton Perera (of The Way of the Goddess) writes

Erishkigal's stake fills the all receptive emptiness of the feminine with the feminine yang strength. It fills the eternally empty womb mouth and gives a woman her own wholeness, so that the woman is not merely dependent upon man or child, but can be unto herself as a full and separate individual. She can stand by her own No and Yes, her own solid stake. Erishkigal's pole impregnates a woman with this new and holy attitude to life (page 40).

Ah, yes, the phallus of the Goddess. Such reflections make me think of the clitoris, the female source of deepest pleasure, erect and full, reminding us that female pleasure does not inherently depend on penetration, but upon her own arousal. Indeed, we have a penis all our own and do not need a man's for fulfillment. While this may at first seem offensive, let me assure you it is not. What is offensive is forcing another to be responsible for our own pleasure and self knowledge. It is far more pleasurable to want penetrative intercourse in order to give and receive pleasure from a place of fullness and self confidence than it is to fuck from a place of need and ignorance.


So it is that we woman can fill ourselves, using fingers and hands to slide inside our cunts and caress the swollen head of the clitoris. We can follow our desire to its ultimate end: crucifixion upon the cross of our own dark selves, and be reborn deeper and fuller, having impregnated ourselves with the deep inner wisdom of the Goddess. And whoever we choose to fuck will be deeper and wiser because of it. We are no longer at the mercy of those who would penetrate us, impregnating us against our will, but have become pregnant with our own new life, and birth children entirely of our own making. Free unto ourselves, we need assurance and approval from no one. A filled cunt is a happy cunt and we are no longer empty.

The feminine phallus is the source of a woman's power and assertiveness, representative of a woman's ability to satisfy herself, the embodiment of the yin-yang duality. Rather than submit to the sadistic paternal animus, we must claim our own equally sadistic, assertive cunt powers.

We must say to ourselves:

I am in charge of my own sexual pleasure.
I am filled with new life that I have chosen and placed inside myself.
I am pregnant with power and wisdom--don't expect me to be a size two!
I am called by the Goddess.
I am the Goddess.
I believe in magic.
I've got balls--watch out!

And...never fear, my penis is not afraid of yours!

There is a penis under the negligee, as the feminine is filled with sexual power from within. The feminine phallus exemplifies the woman who has taken the masculine into herself and embraced her assertive, kick-ass Goddess nature.


*When the Sumerian goddess, Inanna, descends to the underworld to confront her shadow sister, Erishkigal, she is hung on a meat hook and left there to die. This penetration and pegging of her body symbolizes the darker aspects of female sexuality, but here, she is not penetrated by the male phallus, but a darker, feminine one. And it is this penetration and ultimate death that causes the barren Erishkigal (the underworld aspect of Inanna herself) to conceive and give birth.

Here, the woman initiates and completes the sexual cycle of desire, vulnerability, penetration, death (perhaps orgasm), conception and birth/rebirth. Here, the point is that women have the ability to fill themselves independent of the male phallus. Women can meet their own spiritual needs and grow with new life all their own.

Until a woman has made this otherworldly journey, sexual acts of penetration will continue to enthrall and violate her. She will feel a deep and inexplicable need for penetration and an incompleteness upon being filled. She is deeply unsatisfied because she has yet to address her deeper feminine calling to be both her own desire and fulfillment.

I am not saying that such a woman who has learned to please herself will no longer desire intercourse with men. Her sexuality will certainly be changed, for who can enter the underworld and return without gravity and shadow? She will simply no longer be bound to the male phallus as her only salvation, the echo of deeper and darker pleasure. She will be freed to pursue her own pleasure and that of her lover without fear of failure or disappointment. She cannot be dismayed, for she has already known, and will continue to know, great pleasure at her own hands.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Happiness! Excitement! Short Skirts!

Hi everyone!

My life has gotten so full and exciting that it has been a challenge to stay on top of the blogging!  But never you worry I am percolating on some exciting topics for you in the days to come--femdom marriage ceremonies, burlesque sexiness, kinky photo shoots and more.

I am really stepping into my dominance, thanks to my husband and my wonderful submissives, along with a few long distance admirers.  When I began this journey I very much wanted to believe that I could be beautiful, powerful, and in control--no matter my size, fears, and insecurities.  But when I began this journey, I was still very shy, tentative, and self conscious.  And today, right now at this very moment I am happy, confident, proud, excited, and very much in love with the life I am living and the people in it. And today, I am wearing a short skirt out of the house because I look hot and I feel like it!  How fun to tease all those horny and helpless boys at the grocery store! Haha!

Opening up my marriage has been one of the hardest things I've done in a long time and it requires a lot of work and self honesty, but having the freedom to explore my kinks, passions, and sexuality is truly a gift.  And I love my husband all the more for his willingness (and work) to love me as the woman I am--a woman with an insanely high libido, a kinky, dirty mind, a love of connection, and a lot of curiosity about human sexuality.  Without my beautiful and loving husband, I don't know where I'd be.  With his support, I'm in graduate school and working towards my sex educator certification (by the way, when anyone asks what I do, or what I'm studying, I reply perkily with a great big grin--I'm studying sex, isn't that awesome?), practicing and training as a dominatrix, and dancing with a local burlesque group.  For nine months of the year, I'm studying furiously, writing papers and teaching classes, and it has been a huge blessing to spend the summer getting my hands dirty as it were (if you don't know what I mean, read the previous post), and gaining the experience I need to re-enter my studies with new questions to explore.

And the biggest surprise of the summer--loving my body, just as it is!  I've never had the perfect body, and certainly becoming a mother brought with it changes, some expected and some unexpected.  The great thing about being a female dominant is that when you have a good and true slave, they adore and worship you no matter what.  It's incredibly empowering.  So even though my thighs are not perfect, my belly has stretch marks and I have a tummy that will probably never go away, it is ALL a part of who I am and my submissives worship me in my entirety.  As a dominant, it isn't about the submissives wants and needs.  If I want to dress sexy and show off my body, so be it.  And if not, that's fine too.  I can grab one of my sluts by the hair or the collar and shove his face into my cunt if I so please and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.  And you know what else I've learned?  Confidence and comfort in your own skin is sexy as fuck.  A gorgeous and perfect woman with no confidence, no personality and no fire inside of her is not hot.  A size 10 woman with stretch marks and thigh dimples who loves who she is, knows what she wants and makes it happen--now that gets a cock hard!  So, dear readers, get out there and do what you love inside of the bedroom and out, because that is what will make you feel strong and sexy--no matter your external packaging.

And on that note, here's something hot I wrote about nakedness, vulnerability and stretch marks just a few months after I gave birth.  I think I've come a long way.  Enjoy!

I'm driving myself towards loves and lusts and lives of passionate intensity and yet stopping short as I raise my hand to knock on the door. Heart pounding in my chest, I stand frozen, looking through opaque windows, unable to predict what waits within.

I am not afraid of what I might find within, but how my lover will find me. Rejection is always painful, but to be seen and potentially refused by my living dream threatens every bit of my tenderly woven being. Not wanting to leave, and afraid to enter, I am caught in my own liminal purgatory. Standing there, sweating, wanting to meet the object of my long tended desires, desperate for connection and overexcited at the thought of imagined pleasures, wetness spreads between my thighs and seeps into my jeans. I smell of fear and desire, and I blush hot, knowing that my desire and quivering frame will betray me at first glance.

I walk away, rushing down the sidewalk, cool wind rushing around and through me. I near the safety of my waiting car, and stop again, feet frozen to the pavement. Gathering every last bit of courage, I peel my shoes up from the rubber ground, sticking in the heat, and force my feet back to you. Waging an internal war, both sides losing, each step is a profound effort.

Ascending the stairs a second time, I stand upon the doormat and take a deep breath. Unwilling to wonder for the rest of my life, living but a shadow of desire, I press the little yellow button, hearing bells chime within. Hand holds hot hand, thighs tightly pressed together, nipples insinuate and breasts heave. I'm dying for you to answer the door, and desperately hoping you won't. As I turn to leave, you open the door wide.

You take one look at me, ragged and disheveled with desire, clothes damp and limp, and grab my slick hand, pulling me in. I stumble across the threshold and stare open mouthed as the door swings shut, sealing us inside. Unable to escape, eyes turn to gaze shyly on you, knowing you're unashamedly running your eyes over my dripping form. You ogle me, knowing that I want you to look, want you to see me.

Without a word, still rooted to the floor, I pull my shirt up over my head, dropping it onto the floor, revealing heavy swollen breasts cupped tightly in a black bra. Barely containing me as it is, I reach around and unhook the bra that digs into my tender flesh, leaving red marks on shoulders and back. My bra joins my shirt on the floor, and huge breasts fall free. I want you to see the way they lay on my stomach, nipples dark and eager, belying my shyness.

I let you gaze upon me, showing you my beautiful, imperfect body. I run my hands along my belly, tracing the paths of dark stretch marks, a map left of former fullness. My belly still slightly swollen and newly empty, not entirely realizing that a child has been born. Unbuttoning the top button of my jeans and fumbling with the zipper, I wiggle out of my jeans, sliding them down to my ankles. Bending over, I let you drink in the way my breasts fall forward and the curves of my ass beg for you to grab them. But you don't.

Stepping out of my jeans and leaving them in a crumpled pile upon the floor, I stand up and look back at you, eyes meeting for the first time. Heart beating frantically as I stand there, letting you see all of my vulnerability, my new body, neither mother nor girl. Breasts milky and full, both sexual and practical, I am a complicated mess of a woman.

Curves in new places, marks tattooed on flesh, muscles firm and strong from carrying a baby nine months inside and four months outside. You don't need to do anything. Just watch me.

Hands caress exposed flesh, turning that you can see me from every angle, letting you take in every dimple and fold of supple flesh. Standing before you, my nakedness is barely concealed by a pair of wet, thin panties. I gently stroke the insides of my thighs, reaching between my legs to rub the swollen wet mound within.

Sliding hands down hips and inside fabric, I touch my hot cunt while you watch. Breasts bounce and legs sway as I rub myself harder, excited beneath your curious gaze. In an instant my damp modesty lies abandoned upon the floor. I stand naked and quivering, a human goddess, Inanna* stripped and bound, waiting to be reborn.

I am no longer the woman I was. I am changed, and I am shedding my former skin for wiser, fuller flesh. I want you to witness my transformation, recording the ineffable events upon your heart. There I will grow and thrive, impervious to threats of unbelievers. This is the closest we will come to the divine.

In my vulnerability, stripped of pride and beauty, flesh unbound and skin transparent, I find ecstasy. Fingers finding exposed, erect clitoris, unashamedly taking my pleasure before you. Risks taken and pleasure sought, I press onward, no longer content with a life of mediocrity. Pulsing with life, I come to orgasm right there, knees weakening and mouth uttering screams wild and dark.

Still rubbing my clitoris, not daring to let go, I cum again and again, not caring if you like what you see, forgetting that I am made of mere flesh and blood. Dreams mingle with reality, each moment made of orgasm. We could share a cup of coffee or sit and read the newspaper, and still I'd be unfolding in ecstasy. With each spasm of my tight cunt, I approach my deepest self, and imbued with pleasure, continue upon my crooked path to the Goddess.

It's time for me to pull out my mirror again and take a look at the new cunt resting between my legs. I'm ready to open my knees and let you see what lies within. I'll show you my scars if you're willing to look. I'll get off on your perusal, letting your glance drive me towards divine ecstasy.

So read my words and learn my heart, for I live and breathe in these pages. Here I lie spread open and exposed, an ever changing woman, seeking pleasure in all its forms. I am not a goddess, but merely a woman striving ever towards union with the gyrating world.

*Inanna was the ancient Sumerian goddess of sexual love, fertility, and war. Legend has it that Inanna undertakes a journey to the underworld of spiritual and sexual initiation. In order to descend to the depths of her dark femininity, Inanna must remove each article of her clothing, one by one, until she is completely naked and vulnerable. Only then can she enter the underworld. She removes her crown, stripping herself of her divinity, her earrings and strands of beads around her neck. She unfastens her gold breastplate, engraved with the words "Come man, come," forsaking her sexual charms, abandoning her woven girdle, and finally her royal breechcloth.

Naked and mortal she descends to the realm of her infernal sister, Erishkigal, and there she is crucified by the wrath of the dark feminine. Her flesh is hung on a meat hook, and her corpse rots until her consort Dumuzi and his sister, the self-sacrificing feminine, each undertaking their own journeys to hell, to resurrect the crucified Goddess. Thus the journey to the inner, dark self of the underworld becomes a task of both the masculine and feminine. It is only when both male and female confront their sexual and personal darkness, that they are united with each other and the earth.

While we cannot control the journeys of our lovers, we can endeavor to bare our bodies and souls, knowing that until we do so there is no hope of true ecstasy.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Session Four: It's Time to Take My Cock!

Strap-on fucking is one of my absolute favorite activities.  As a girl who wishes she had a cock, being able to put any cock I like—pick your color and size!—is a huge thrill and turn on.  I love the way I look with the leather harness tightened around my thighs and the colorful silicone dildo jutting out, begging to be worshipped.  I can be a shy girl at times, and even as a new dominatrix, at times I struggle with fully owning my dominance, doling our punishment, and getting into the role.  Not so when I am wearing a cock.  When I slip on the harness and cinch it tightly against my waist, and my thighs, placing the base of the dildo just perfectly so that it will rub against my clit when I’m fucking you, and I can’t help but smile.  Wearing my cock makes me sublimely happy.  Oooh, just thinking about it is making me wet right now!
Anyway, when I began my mistress training, strap on play was at the top of my list of likes, obviously.  It is something I have some experience in, as in the last year or so, if there was going to be penetrative sex in my life, it was only going to happen if I was doing the fucking.  Since getting married last fall, my husband and I played with the idea that despite the appearances of a traditional marriage ceremony, he was the wife and I was the husband.  He would post pictures of brides with cocks hidden under their wedding gowns, brides holding riding crops, and brides leading their husbands to the altar collared and chained.  Needless to say I was quite taken with the idea.  We had a cake topper with the wife carrying the husband—an inversion of traditional gender roles—and I packed a white corset, garter stockings, and my strap on for our honeymoon.  The plan was that I would take his ass virginity on our wedding night.  So as you can see, my ownership of a cock and my husband in the bedroom are nothing new.

My wedding cake...I lift, can you tell?
Last week my teacher and fuckdoll was on his back, legs spread and bound to a table while I expanded his ass with an inflatable butt plug and then used all the anal toys on him that I wanted—stainless steel dildos, anal beads and vibrating toys.  I also had tens units on his cock and balls that I would adjust as I fucked his ass with the toys, making his cock swell and drip sex juices on his belly that ran down his spread thighs and onto the table.  But he was a very naughty sub.  He kept trying to “remind” me to fuck him in the ass with my cock.  Big mistake.  No one gets my cock because they want it.  They get it because I do.  Mistress and I were very disappointed in our disobedient fuck toy and turned up his electricity as punishment, laughing as he screamed.  He didn’t get my cock that week.

I decided before I arrived for my session that I would fuck my slave with my cock if, and only if, he never uttered a word about it.  He would only be impaled on my dick if he managed to behave himself the entire session.  And I had a feeling he would, as Mistress and I were both there to ensure his proper comportment.  I expect my slaves to be eager, willing, helpful, obedient and slutty and do whatever is asked of them without complaint.  Any other behaviors and they will be punished by my rod or denied pleasure.

I wore tight fitting leggings and a loose tank top finished off with a red leather cincher to this week’s training session.  I wanted to be comfortable and be able to move freely as the plan was to practice kink basics such as rope and implements (floggers, whips, canes, paddles, crops, nipple clamps, hornet harnesses, etc) and then IF my slutty submissive had managed to behave, we would end the session with some strap on play.  I learned how to tie a full body harness and practiced an array of cock and ball bondage styles.  Good heavens, doesn’t the cock look so gorgeous with rope bows along its length, balls split, spread, and pushed upward? (Licks lips).  After binding my slave’s cock in several different styles, we hung weights off of the final knot at the base of the penis, to see his cock grow and hear him moan.  I just love to hear my boys moan and cry out like little sluts.  I love to remain in control and craft the absolute perfect way for my sluts to lose control, crying, screaming, and begging like little girls and then spread their legs and fuck them. Mmm.

After an hour or so on the cross being teased with Wartenburg wheels, paintbrushes, hornets and clamps on his nipples, ice and tickling, Mistress and I led our now very compliant slave over to the Bend-over, and well, bent him over, spread his legs, and cuffed him to the furniture.  I loved how wide he had to spread his legs to be securely cuffed. MMM. 

Mistress slipped on her latex gloves and dipped her pretty fingers in lube, then slid them down our fuck toy’s anal slit.  I was getting wet just watching this.  As she began her work on his ass, I walked around, inspecting his spread body, administering smacks to his exposed ass with my hand and various toys from the racks on the wall.  Since our slave had been sooo good, I mentioned to Mistress that I was going to go put dinner in the oven, and that if our toy was still behaving, he MIGHT get my cock in his ass.  She smiled and agreed that was a good idea if little slut could prove himself.  I rummaged in the toy closet for the strap on and stepped into the loops of the harness, sliding them up my thighs.  I sighed audibly as I tightened the leather around my waist and thighs, and adjusted the purple dong so it was in just the right place, thrusting and curving upward from my hips.  I gathered up my tank top and tied it up out of the way so slut’s mess wouldn’t ruin my shirt.  Mistress and I locked eyes and smiled.  I then headed to the kitchen, cock still on, to put dinner in the oven.  It was my night to make dinner, and I have to say, there is nothing better than making dinner wearing a cock and listening to the sounds of spanking and moans coming from the playroom down the hall.  I love my life. 

I placed the almond-topped green beans in the oven and set a timer so I would know when to come back and put in the salmon.  I returned to the playroom to find Mistress working our slut’s ass so that by now he was moaning, groaning and writhing under her attention.

I positioned myself before the slave’s face, thrust my hips forward and began rubbing my cock in his face, talking to him with a teasing voice. 

“Oh hi there. Do you like my cock?  Do you see how hard it is from watching Mistress play with your ass?”

Slave muttered a few incomprehensible words, punctuated by groans.

“What was that?  Try again slut.”  I slapped him with my dick.

“Yes, Mistress.  Your cock is so hard.”

“Then suck it like the slut you are!”

I shoved it in his mouth hard so that his “Yes Mistress” was nothing more than muffled sounds as he choked and gagged on my cock. 

I grabbed a handful of his hair and began moving him up and down along the purple shaft of my cock.

“Do you not know how to suck cock? My goodness.”

He whimpered.

“Get more of it in your mouth and use your tongue for fuck’s sake.  Use your teeth again and you will never feel this cock in your ass!  Spend some time on the head.  Stop being such a disappointment.”

I looked at the timer.  Eight minutes left. 

“Slut, you will suck on this cock for the next eight minutes to my satisfaction  or you may never get the satisfaction of having your ass filled with a real cock.  And we both know how desperately you want that.  So get it together.”

At these words, he applied himself to my dick with renewed vigor, only to be thrust off it and shoved aside at the insistence of the ringing timer.  With a groan he let his face fall against the leather of the chair and submitted himself again to Mistresses’ ministrations on his asshole as she prepared him for my cock.

After placing the salmon in the oven, I returned to find mistress already holding slaves’ head, abandoning her post at his nether regions so I could take over.  I slid myself onto the leather ledge designed for this very act, slipped on some gloves, and anointed his ass, my hands, and my cock with lube.  Wet , excited, and proud that my slave had finally earned my cock, I began to slide the swollen purple head in between his ass cheeks.  I began with gentle strokes, letting him know I was there.

“Do you feel how hard I am??  Are you ready for your Goddess’ cock?”

‘Yes Goddess,’ he moaned in response.

I began to ease into him, a little at first, then more and more until the whole length of me was inside him.  Ahhhh!  I began to slide in and out of him, grabbing his hips to better thrust against his body, talking dirty to him all the while.  Strap on play, a fuck toy, and two mistresses.  It doesn’t get much better than this.

After watching me fuck her fuck toy husband for a while, Mistress moved to the side of the bend-over and reached around to tease and stroke her man’s hard, swollen dripping cock.  Absolutely overcome with the pleasure of my cock in his ass and Mistress’s hand on his hard-on, within minutes he was already begging to cum. 

“No!  You may not cum yet.” Mistress replied.  She was enjoying the feel of his hard cock in her hand and the sight of me fucking her husband.

But it was too late.  The pleasure and the eroticism of taking my cock for the first time overwhelmed him and he came all over the floor, exploding in pleasure, laughter, and relief.

Until next time, my perverted friends,

Goddess Inanna

Monday, July 22, 2013

Poly Mommy

This one isn't written by me, but it is written by another mother raising herself and her child in a polyamorous marriage.  I rarely, if ever, see other writings by women such as myself...sure, there are other poly ladies out there, but poly moms keep things on the DL.  Listen to her story.

And just as a teaser...Tomorrow look for a post about my last training session.  P.S.  It ended with someone taking my cock. ;)

For the original article click here.

I’ve had an inkling for years that I’m not monogamous. Despite having had a few long-term monogamous relationships, I always felt a sense of disappointment that I wasn’t “allowed” to get close to anyone but my significant other. I got married a few years ago, and somehow I thought marriage would put out this flame inside of me and allow me to follow the life script I’d accepted since childhood — marriage to one man, house, babies.

Last year when I read Jenny Block’s book on open marriage, I had my first conversation with my husband about the idea. It didn’t go well. We were on a road trip, riding at night while my son (just a few months old then) slept soundly in the back. We fought — my husband thought I wasn’t attracted to him anymore, and he didn’t see how my idea of having sexual relationships with other people could possibly make things better for us. Over time, we had similar discussions, but they were more rational, less emotional. Finally we came to the extremely difficult decision to give it a try.
The decision was triggered in part by a burgeoning friendship with Cal. I’d known Cal for quite awhile, and despite worlds of flirtation and sexual tension between us over the years, we didn’t admit our mutual attraction until recently. A huge caveat: Cal is uncomfortable around children, and my nearly  2-year-old son is a very big part of my life.

My husband gave us the “go ahead” to pursue our relationship, but it’s at a great cost to the balance in my life. I can only spend time with Cal in public or at his house (a rule my husband suggested, because he’s not really ready to integrate Cal into our family life). I work throughout the week and my husband works weekends, meaning it was difficult already to find time for date nights with him. So now that Cal is in the picture my husband occasionally feels neglected.

There are many things we’ve done right so far: getting tested for STIs, communicating and learning to trust, and attempting to get to the heart of any negative emotions anyone is having.
I’m not worried for a second about my son growing up with a polyamorous mom. I don’t fear it’s going to confuse him or estrange him from his peers. All he has to know is that I love both Daddy and Cal for unique reasons. I’m not going to share with my child details of my sex life any more than I would have if I’d remained monogamous. I don’t know a thing about my monogamous parents’ sex life, except that they love each other deeply. That’s all my son needs to know about me and my relationships.

But regarding my son, what I’m really worried about is time. Because my new relationship is still in that starry-eyed phase, it’s been a challenge going more than a couple of days without seeing Cal. And because my husband has his moments of doubt, I’m spending extra time talking to him about our concerns and fears. My son spends most of the week in daycare, and I take care of him alone on the weekends while my husband works — so that doesn’t leave much in the way of total family time. My son is at such an pivotal phase too, starting to really talk and run around and question things, that I don’t want to miss out on his growth due to all the amazing/stressful/intense stuff going on in my personal life.

Even with our newly created Google Calendar to keep everyone on the same page, hiccups happen. We run out of babysitter money. We realize we didn’t schedule a husband/wife date this week. My husband has to work later than expected, or Cal goes on a weekend trip. Sometimes romantic dates with my husband turn into heavy-handed conversations about polyamory, which is productive, but often far from enjoyable. I want to be able to enjoy my time with him because I love him — otherwise I wouldn’t be trying polyamory. I’d either get a divorce or do what many disgruntled married folks do out of cowardice: cheat.

It’s clear that this is going to be a drawn-out learning process for everyone. I’ll get overwhelmed, feelings will get hurt, everyone’s needs will go unmet from time to time. At the center of it all is my son, who absolutely depends on the adults in his life for care and support. That’s the one part that can’t slip, and I’m working hard to make the most of my time with him. Just last night I sat down with him and asked questions about his day.

“Did you sing any songs?” He nodded and did the hand movements to “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” I lit up — he understood me. We were conversing. He knew this was a big deal, too: he had an awestruck sparkle in his eye as he hung onto my every word.

Just like any parent, I’m trying, I’m amending, I’m adapting. I’ve wondered if I would’ve been happier had I realized I wasn’t monogamous years ago, but I can’t even visualize what that path would have looked like. Here I am instead, working on my ultimate happiness in a communicative, committed relationship with my husband, an exciting new relationship with my boyfriend, and a beautiful, changing relationship with my child.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Lessons From a Dominatrix

1. No means no.
2.  Setting boundaries is crucial.  Expect to have to reiterate them again and again.
3.  Making people wait for what they want isn't a bad thing.
4.  Do what you want not what you think you're supposed to do.
5.  Your power doesn't come from your position, your money, or your whip. It comes from within.
6.  Making them beg is a useful tool in both the bedroom and the boardroom.
7.  Use your assets to your advantage,  whether they be power,  possessions,  or a nice ass.
8.  Stop feeling guilty for being strong, powerful, sexy and assertive. Men don't have to apologize for these things so why should you?
9.  Call people on their bullshit. There's a lot of it going around.
10.  Stop apologizing all the time.
11.  No matter how old you are and no matter your size, there is always someone somewhere who will have sex with you. Remember that.
13.  Use simple commands.
14.  Give punishments and rewards appropriately. 

Finally, and most importantly...

15.  Be yourself. Just because the typical image of dominance often appears mean, bitchy and aggressive doesn't mean that is what works for you.  Find your power, your style, and take it all out.
16.  Have fun.
17.  Own it.

Love ya, and love yourself!  You're worth it!
Goddess Inanna

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Corset Teaser

And for those of you with a corset fetish...okay, who DOESN'T have a corset fetish??  If you don't get out!  Just kidding.

I've fantasized about having a corset for YEARS, and now it has finally happened!  After two hours of trying on corsets, many of which were lovely and sexy I found THE ONE.  Most women say that about their wedding dresses but for me that's what the experience of finding the perfect corset was like.

What do you think? ;)

Hugs, Kisses, and spanks,

Goddess Inanna

Tea, Crumpets, and Orgasms

Hello my sexy kinky pervy friends.  I apologize for the recent lag in blog posts.  Where the writing hasn’t happened, life certainly has.  It’s been a wonderful week, full of g-spot exploration and orgasms, corset fittings and photo shoots, lavender hair dye, burlesque, strap-ons and so much overall happiness.

I attended a lovely kinky ladies tea on Sunday with a fabulous friend of mine and had an amazing time learning all about the texture and nature of the g-spot and how to stimulate it.  A lot of the information I already knew from reading and experience, but I’d never experienced a g-spot orgasm so I was curious to see it happen right before my eyes and get super top-secret tips from gals who had their game on, if you know what I mean.  And truth be told, bisexual though I am, (shhh!  Don’t tell everyone!  *says the girl who is posting this all over the internet for anyone to read*) I’ve never been sexual with another girl, so the prospect of seeing a real life vagina in person, not to mention orgasming in my face, sounded like a pretty good way to pass an afternoon.

Other than the vagina I knew would be there, I had no idea what to expect of the tea, or the group of ladies and I was so orgasmically blown away by the sheer perfection of the tea and tea delicacies at the event.  I mean, seriously, as a recovering foodie/food addict I KNOW good food and presentation when I see it, and I had multiple mouth-gasms over the array of deliciousness provided.  There were tiny little open-faced cucumber sandwiches, little bacon and cheese pastry puffs, blue cheese and pear spread bread thingies, lavender scones with lemon glaze and little lavender bits on top, raspberry cream puffs and sugar cookie cream filled tarts with strawberries on top combined with English Breakfast tea with lemon and honey.  Oh, oh, oh! 

AND THEN THERE WAS A SQUIRTING VAGINA.  I know, right?  Since I’ve never actually had sex with a woman, I’m pretty much on the maturity level of a horny 14 year old boy who masturbates thinking of pussy all the time and whenever he’s around girls can’t think of much else.  Just warning you.  I suppose I’m not much more mature when it comes to penises either.  Somehow, I’m still at that level of “PENIS! VAGINA/PUSSY/CUNT, SEX….YAAAAY!” 

I was curious to see how this g-spot orgasm demo was going to happen.  I mean, was she just going to strip down and make herself cum in the juiciest way possible?  Or was the instructor going to make her cum?  That would be pretty hot. Hmmm.  It was exciting just imagining how it was going to go down. 

After we’d all gorged ourselves on tea dainties and food gasms, we all gathered around a large futon that had been placed lengthwise for the demo to lay down and spread her legs upon (giggle!  I TOLD you).    Luckily, the demo was not in the least self-conscious, so she simply peeled her long cotton dress off and stepped right out of her lacy leopard print panties.  I was impressed she was a leopard-print panty kind of girl.  Not everyone can pull that shit off.  I can’t.  I’m all silk and lace and at my most daring something red or black or thong-like.  But it takes a fierce and confident woman to pull off leopard print like she isn’t even trying.  Also, it was pretty amazing to just watch a woman take off her dress and panties, the way I had imagined that she would if I were every lucky enough to have a woman to take to bed with me. 

All clothing removed except for bra, the demo smiled and blushed charmingly, saying that she was nervous, before promptly setting herself on the provided ottoman and forthwith spreading her lovely, curvy legs.  And…vagina.  The instructor proceeded to review the anatomy of the “pussy”  alternating between her laminated hand-drawn chart and the actual vagina on display.  It was pretty great.  It was also nice to see another vagina besides my own.  For years I felt self-conscious about my cunt because once I reached puberty my inner labia increased in size and began to peek out of my labia majora.  I remember asking the gynecologist bluntly during my first pelvic exam, “Am I normal?  Are you sure I’m not weird—that’s there’s not something wrong with me….down there?”  Haha.  I’ve since learned that vaginas come in all shapes and sizes.  Some women have larger inner lips, some have larger outer ones.  Some women have large clitorises, and others are more buried in the flesh of the mons pubis.  Some women have prominent fleshly clitoral hoods, and others have none at all.  I was pleased to see the demo had a pussy much like mine, with sexy little inner lips peeking out of the swell of her outer labia and a cute button of a clit that began to swell as the afternoon wore on. 

After chatting about our vaginas and squirting experiences (for those that had had them), our lovely demo began to tease her cunt, playing with her inner and outer lips, rubbing her clitoris, and then darting her fingers inside her vagina, first one, then two, and finally three.  She became incredibly wet very quickly, excited and aroused by her audience, I suspect.  I noticed that she alternated between furiously rubbing her clit and vigorously thrusting her fingers inside herself with an upward motion, targeting the bumpy and swelling area of her g-spot.  It was hard not to smile at her enthusiasm, the squishing sounds of her wetness, and the slapping/fucking sound her cupped hand made on her swollen pussy as she thrust her probing fingers inside herself.  Finally, after repeating this  sequence several times to her obvious satisfaction, fucking herself with her fingers until she could stand it no longer, she quickly pulled her fingers out of her cunt and furiously rubbed her erect clitoris.  And she came.  Oh she came, arching her back and curling her toes, uttering moans of pleasure as spurts of female ejaculate rushed out of her body and down between her legs.  Utterly delicious. 

What was even more lovely was that she continued to play with herself and give herself orgasm after glorious g-spot orgasm.  It was a lovely erotic background to the shared advice among women and the excited whispers of endless orgasms.  I could tell we were all eager to get someplace where we could give our own vaginas a similar workout.  I know I was.

What an experience that combined all of the things that I love about being a woman, and made me love them more deeply.  These days with my explorations of female domination and inverted gender roles, as well as embracing masculine aspects of power, assertiveness and sexual dominance, it was refreshing and empowering to rediscover womanhood through a lovely afternoon of tea, vaginas, and wetness.

And I will tell you this.  I spent the entire next day with my legs spread and eager fingers playing my swollen clitoris and stroking my engorged g-spot, just as I had seen done by the demo at the tea party.  After seeing it done, it didn’t take me long to catch on over and over and over again.  I was able to cum about 10 times in half an hour, with little effort, and none of the exhaustion that I feel after a clitoral orgasm.  What a wonderful thing to discover about the female body!

Friday, July 12, 2013

A Different Kind of Domme...*Giggle*

So, as you know, I've been working on my skills as a new Dominatrix.  It's something I've been into for a while; at first casually, and then with increasing fervor and need as being a female dominant become more and more a part of my psyche.  Actually, I think being a powerful, dominant woman is something centered in my core, that was buried under layers of politeness, societal bullshit, and fear.  Unwrapping layer after layer of my power and strengthening my skill and resolve has been quite the journey so far--thank you to all of you who have helped mold me as teachers, mentors, friends, lovers, and sweet, sweet submissives.

Like many nubile female dominants, I had the false perception that being dominant was all about being cruel, strict and mean, and that I had to adopt a leather-clad, vampish persona.  You know what I mean--the type you see in most FemDom porn--the leather, latex clad, thigh wearing, stiletto and ball busting corset clad bitch.  And while I do find a certain appeal to the femme fatale, cruel mistress aspect, and do channel it at times, in many ways, this style of domination hasn't felt very authentic to my true self.

In fact, as a person, I am actually very happy, bubbly, cute, and full of laughter and smiles.  I find a lot of things in the world ironic and amusing and love to laugh (yes, sometimes, okay, OFTEN at others).  I was raised in a conservative environment where I wore skirts and blouses to school and dressed in sundresses, bright colors, and polo shirts on the weekends.  I grew to dislike much of that world for its judgments, it's fakery and closed-mindedness, but I also did love being a pretty preppy girl.  And still, to this day, I prefer to dress in white lace, or pink polka dots rather than long skirts and black corsets.  I like being the girl at the local munch that stands out because of her white lace dress that clings to her curves in just the right places, finished off with a bright smile and soft curls.  Cause underneath that pretty dress and smile is a girl that's just as kinky as the biggest freak in the room, just as eager to bend a man over and kick him while he's down, laughing at his humiliation.

I'm slightly cruel, a bit of a sadist, and I do enjoy teasing and torture, combined with a good laugh.  I love the sexiness of looking like a sweet, pretty little girl on the outside, but who can deliver a hell of a kick in the bedroom, or the kitchen, or the living room floor, or...  So, as you can see, I've been thinking about my dominant persona, and I've decided that I should just be myself, rather than trying to be what I think I'm *supposed* to be.  I'm going to be my hot, preppy self, with naughty lingerie underneath my sundress, the girl who spanks her boys with wooden spoons while cooking, and the girl who teases and laughs at her toy's little cock.  It's perfect!  I'm going to play and laugh and execute my devilish ideas with style, bright colors, polka dots, and all the things I like!  Being feminine and sweet does not mean I am not one hell of a sexy dominant bitch!


So, for my upcoming corset purchases I'm thinking something that will make me stand out!  Not dark and black like every other domme girl, but bright, bold, and playful!  Maybe a bright blue, with a little black ruffle skirt to match.  ;) And I'm going to flirt and seduce unsuspecting boys to the cross, and once I have them cuffed and bound, boy are they going to be in for a surprise!  And everyone knows, it's the good girls who you have to watch out for!

I'm also getting some ideas for my next photo shoot!  Ooooh!

Love, your preppy princess,


Holding the Sacred Space

Oh Goddess
You are strong in me today
Each visit you stay longer
and imbue me with your power,
Discipline and strength

I train myself daily to step inside your mantle
Clothe myself in your armor
casting spells of seduction
weaving charmed circles around
those I honor with my dominance.

Within my boundaries--
Lines drawn in the sand--
They are safe.

Naked, bound, and beaten
They are free to cry and scream
and wail in pain
and pleasure
as I hold the space

Bent over, cowed, and humbled
I bring them over the edge of shame
and into a land of release and tears
Finally freed
As I hold the space

Released from gender roles,
Societal expectations,
and the pressure of control
I take it all onto myself
Allowing them to breathe into the pain
As I hold the space

Lovingly, firmly, I hold them
to a higher standard
Through my strength I show them their own power--
As I hold the space

For truly, what is more powerful than a man who can show weakness,
vulnerability and tears?
What is rarer than a woman who knows what she wants and can bear the weight of her lover?

I strive to emulate you, Goddess, in my love
my work, and my dominance
As I hold the space.

With each caress and blow I carry them past their fears,
limitations and wounds
Freeing them to live unbounded lives
As I hold the space.

Once I release the bounds of rope,
The weight of chain
Rubbing the sore spots
They exhale in pleasure and relief
Able to endure another day in this
weary, beautiful, and trying world
And I hold the space.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013


You know having a cock doesn't make you powerful.  It doesn't make you dominant by right or nature and I will never bend over or spread my legs in submission.  You have no right to do anything at all with that little tiny prick of yours unless I command it.

Your cock doesn't make you strong.  In fact, it is quite the opposite.  You throbbing, pulsing, lusting cock makes you weak, and it makes you mine.  You can't help your desire for me;  can't help the way your eyes follow my every movement, mesmerized by the sway of my hips, transfixed by the seductive shape of my curves.

All I have to do is exist and you want me. You can no more control your insatiable lust for my body, my cunt, and my control than a waterfall can control the rush of its currents over the inevitable, rocky precipice.  I can smell your lust, I can see it in your eyes, and I utter a guttural moan in response.

Biting my lip, I look at you with a hunger in my eyes--my desire to possess and own you feral and frightening.  I smile knowingly, teasing you by running my hands along my body and reaching down to  stroke my wet cunt through my damp panties.  I push the panties aside and shove a finger inside my hot temple, moaning in pleasure as I finger myself before you.  I pull out a hot, dripping finger and bend over so that my scent reaches you, your mouth fallen open and gasping. 

Your hands are tied behind your back and your ankles are bound with leather cuffs--rendering you unable to move from your aching knees.  I tease you with the smell of my pussy, moving my finger just out of the reach of your mouth, and forcefully commanding you to

"Lick!  Lick my pussy juices bitch!" 

You struggle to obey my commands, cock hard and dripping at the smell of my cunt and the thought of tasting me.  I laugh cruelly, as I never intended for you to taste me at all.  You begin to cry out in frustration and I slap you across the cheek.  In one swift movement I untie the silk blindfold and let it fall to the floor, as I slowly slide my pussy-juice covered index finger into my own mouth.  I smile in amusement at the look of shock, loss, and longing on your face at my cruelty, erotically licking off my own juices and rubbing my wet cunt with the other hand. 

"You thought I would let you actually lick my pussy?  Oh, aren't you cute.  But what have you done to deserve such an honor?"

My insults make your breath come in short gasps, and your flawless cheek is now red with my finger marks.  Bound and kneeling, your cock grows harder still with every harsh word and every sting on my fingers, crop, and paddle.  Your little cock is nothing to me, and your obvious expression of desire gives me all the control I need.  I laugh at your helplessness, running my hands over your panting form, shoving your face down to the floor in front of my feet, lifting your hips and ass into the air. 

As I redden your ass cheeks with the sting of my crop, alternating strokes with insults,

"Did you think you could ever please me?"

Your face flushes in shame.

"Did you really think you and your pathetic cock could ever satisfy a woman like me?" 

I begin to laugh in pleasure as you begin to cry out and whimper from the lashes and the bruises to your carefully built masculine ego.  I bend down for a moment to grab you firmly by the chin and lift your face to look at mine.  You try to look away and hide the tears that are beginning to fill your eyes, but I hold you firmly and force you to look at me.  You flinch beneath my gaze, and still, your cock juts out of your body at a hard angle and drools strings of precum into a little pool beneath your quivering body.

"Whose body is this?" I ask, swatting your tender ass once more with my crop. 

"Yours, Goddess.  My body is yours!"  you burst out in between waves of pain.

"Whose ass is this?"

"Your ass, Goddess, my ass belongs to you!"

"That's right, slut.  I own you now.  You belong to me.  My cock, my balls..." 

I smile as I run my crop along your spine, smacking your ass and pulling you back up to a kneeling position by your chin, pushing you back to rest on your heels.  I lean down, my thick curls falling to frame our faces as I kiss you--violently, as an owner claims a slave, marking her property.  Then, I kneel to face you, at first caressing your cock and balls with my crop, but then my strokes turn to small bites, taps, and blows.  You arch your back in pain, struggling to escape my discipline, but there is nowhere for you to go.  I pinch your nipples in response, giving you a heated glance, reminding you that you are to lean in to the gifts of my punishment, never to pull away from your Goddess.

"Remember your place, cheap little slut.  Your place is on your knees, cock and balls exposed for my pleasure.  Your place is on all fours, bent over like a rutting animal, waiting to be used and shaped by the discipline of my hands, my fingers, and my glorious cock.  Your place is on the floor, legs spread like a common whore, cock bound and beaten, dressed in a short tight skirt and slutty pink panties, moaning like the bitch in heat that you are.  Legs spread and with nothing to protect you but those thin, revealing panties, all you can do is to beg me to fuck your tight little pussy."

With these words I reach around to undo your ankle restraints, and loosen the ties around your wrists.  I rub your wrists and ankles for a moment before raising you to your unsteady feet only to slip a collar and leash around your neck.  Grabbing ahold of the leash I lower you to the floor and roughly shove you onto your back.  I stand over you, pulling the leash and pressing my feet into your flesh, causing you to cry out in pain and pleasure from the sight of the mound between my thighs, clearly visible beneath my short skirt.

I climb onto you, still pulling on your leash, and bind your cock and balls, wrapping the rope around the base of the shaft and balls, then in between your exposed testicles, separating them before I finally tie off my handiwork.  I slip on a pair of black gloves and drip lube between your exposed ass cheeks, reaching down to smack your thighs.  As I settle in and begin to tease your asshole, I slide my hips up your body, gyrating my hips and ass closer and closer to your face. 

"Do you remember what I do to desperate, horny little sluts like you?  I FUCK THEM.  Hard, often, and with pleasure."

I can hear you moan and feel your breath seize up in pleasure and anticipation, the smell of my aroused cunt making your bound cock stiffen instantly.  I shove my hot pussy onto your face and wrap my feet around your head just as I slide my curling fingers into your asshole.  Oh, what a desperate, eager slut you are--so in need of a Dominant Goddess to use and possess you!  Quickly, your body expanded to accept first one, then two and three fingers, and you began to thrust downward onto my fingers as you greedily lapped my pussy like a man starving. 

Eventually, I climb off you and nestle my body in between your spread legs, enjoying the sound of your begging, quieted only by moans of pleasure and relief--finally having your greedy ass pussy filled by a powerful woman.  The look of ecstasy on your face gives me such a rush of intoxicating pleasure!  THIS is why I am so tough on you, and why I expect and demand the best from my little slaves.  Because you must be worthy of the gifts of my dominance, of my transforming your needs and lusts into something better and making you stronger than you ever realized.  To own you, tease you, discipline and fill you is something we both crave, but only you can make yourself worthy of a Goddess every day.

So, slut, what do you think is next?  Maybe the next time I see you, I'll have a surprise for you.  Maybe you'll find more than just my powerhouse of a pussy between my legs.  Maybe you'll find a pair of lacy panties in my bag that aren't meant for me.  Will you be man enough to wear them for me?  To bend over and take my cock?

When and if you finally meet my cock--whether or not you are truly worthy has yet to be determined--remember your place....On your knees, servicing my far superior dick, on your back like a whore, or on all fours waiting and begging to be used like a bitch in heat.

Your Divine Goddess,


Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Me, Interviewed on What it Means to be Gender-Bendy

Laura: Hi, thanks so much for agreeing to be my first-ever interview here! So, you recently came out as genderqueer on facebook. What made you decide to do that?

Inanna: Hi there.  Great question!  There are several reasons that I decided to share my personal story as a transgendered person on Facebook, the first being that I had recently posted an article on trans issues within feminism and received a very pointed question about FTM people from a friend that I wanted to address.  It struck me that there are a LOT of misconceptions about trans folk, and I wanted to show people that gender and gender-bendiness isn’t always obvious or weird, and certainly is very personal.  That’s why I chose to share my personal story.  I feel it is harder to hold on to stereotypes when someone is opening their heart and sharing their personal story.  I also believe deeply in feminist, gender, and sexual advocacy, both in the personal and political spheres, and I want to use my writing for that purpose.

Laura: Can you tell me what being genderqueer means to you?

Inanna: Genderqueer, by definition is an umbrella term for any gender identity that exists out of the gender binary (i.e. male, or female).  This can refer to anything from a woman who, perhaps, like you, exhibits what are considered traditionally male attributes, such as drive and determination, but identifies as a female person. (I would argue that we should refrain from gendering such behaviors, but there has been a tendency to associate passivity, meekness, and submission with femaleness, and aggression, dominance, and bravery with maleness.  If that is how we are defining gender, then I am most certainly a man!)  Some other terms that I like are” genderfluid”—moving between genders, or openly expressing different gendered aspects at different times, and “gender-bendy,” which refers to someone who expresses gender differently—someone who might be male and who enjoys exhibiting feminine traits, or a female bodied person who identifies as male.
Interestingly, many trans and genderqueer people refer to their gender identity as a “third gender” and prefer to use gender-neutral pronouns such as one, ze, sie, hir, co, ey, or “they,”their” and “them.”

Laura: What’s the difference between being genderqueer and transgender? Is there a difference?

Inanna: According to GLAAD,  “’Transgender’ is an umbrella term often used to refer to people whose gender identity differs from their assigned sex at birth. However, people whose gender identity differs from their assigned sex at birth may not self-identify as transgender; some may identify as transsexual, trans, genderqueer, a person of transgender experience, etc.  Transgender people may or may not use a different name or pronoun than the one they were assigned at birth, and they may or may not pursue hormone therapy or surgery.  When in doubt, always defer to the way a person self-identifies.”  So, both transgender and genderqueer ar terms that someone might choose who defines their gender in ways that defy the gender binary.  I chose “genderqueer” because my current experience of my gender is somewhat fluid and malleable—it changes in response to my life experiences and hormonal fluctuations.  For example, if I do end up having to undergo estrogen treatments to be able to conceive my second child (this is the ONLY instance at this point that I would consider taking hormones), I both fear and expect that my gender identity and experience will undergo changes due to an influx of estrogen.  I also don’t full identify as a transgender pre-op FTM because at this point, I do not desire gender reassignment.  Though the tensions between my internal male-ness and external femaleness cause me a good deal of conflict, I very clearly identify as BOTH.  I value both my masculine and feminine qualities, and would not want to sacrifice one of them to be more fully the other.

Laura: You are a crusader for women’s rights. Do you feel any conflict between being pro-woman and being pro-trans-rights?

Inanna: Not at all.  In fact, I feel that feminism has an obligation to ally with and champion groups that are marginalized in society.  In fact, I was for a long time, a member of a women’s group for gay, bi, and straight women and have not been able to return since I discovered that the group leader refused to allow trans women into the group.  That is discrimination, pure and simple.  Furthermore, the idea that a person with a penis cannot be a woman, cannot be a feminist, and is somehow fundamentally anti-women and women’s issues is just absurd.  I feel that a person with a penis who identifies as female should be allowed in women’s groups.  Discrimination on the basis of what’s between our legs is the same as discrimination against someone for the color of their skin, and it is EXACTLY what the women’s movement was about!  Women didn’t want to be judged or forced into certain roles based on their vaginas.  Having a vagina doesn’t make a person anything other than a person with a vagina.  Whatever else they decide to be should be up to them and them alone.  In fact, my version of feminism is more like humanism—I believe in advocacy for human rights, male female and third gendered.

Laura: How do you feel that the feminist movement has addressed the transgendered community? What have we done right? Where have we failed?

Inanna: I don’t feel that the feminist movement has addressed the trans community.  I think that trans folk within the feminist movement are trying desperately to speak up and have their voices heard, but let me tell you…in a world where lesbians and straight folk have struggled to accept bisexuality as a valid experience, try explaining the complexity of opposition between body and gender identity!  More than anything, the majority of folks don’t even understand the concept, much less the experience of being trans or genderqueer.  Furthermore, due to the extreme violence, discrimination, and stigmatization of genderbendy folks, most of us are in deep, deep hiding.  Some, like myself, were so deeply indoctrinated in societal gender expectations that we didn’t even realize until late in life who we actually are, and why we always felt such deep inner turmoil at being the wrong person, or a person who doesn’t fit.  More and more articles are beginning to pop up on the desperately needed union between women’s rights and trans rights, but I think it is going to be a long road.  What grieves me on this count is that I believe that trans people are in a powerful place between genders and can act as intermediaries between male and female experience, and can stand outside of prejudice in a way that traditionally or cis-gendered folks cannot do as a result of their inherent privilege of being gender normative.  And yet, because we don’t understand trans folk, we marginalize them and pretend as though trans folk don’t exist.  The first step is to begin educating ourselves about what transgender actually is, and creating safe spaces for people of all genders, and those who are between genders.  Then, slowly and powerfully, we can begin to build relationships and activist movements between groups.  There are already a large number of transgendered activist groups—but often, it is trans people acting in isolation.  I’d like to see the trans and feminist activist groups begin to merge into one big badass movement.

Laura: There is a lot of (sometimes confusing to me) vocabulary involved here: gender, identity,  sexuality, attraction, etc. In regards to self-identification, what do you see as the most important piece of the puzzle?

 Inanna: I don’t think any one piece of the puzzle is more important than any other.  We are complex human beings with bodies, sex organs, sexualities, minds, souls, and complex experiences of being in the world and being in relationship with others.  I think we should be careful to boil gender identity and sexuality down to the issue of what type of genitals a person has.  Yes, genitals are a part (and only a part, mind you) of gender identity, sexual identity, and sexual desire, but they are a part of a much larger whole.  Furthermore, the existence of intersex people (people born with dual genitals—with characteristics of a penis and a vagina) and asexual people—folks who are not particularly sexual, illustrates that even the proposition of attempting to understand gender or sexuality based on genitalia is inherently flawed.  And when I say that the majority of sex is actually in the mind, and that the brain is the largest sex organ, I DO hope you know what I mean! ;)   I’d also like to take a moment here to say that, for those of you who do not know, intersex “correction” (oh god, I shudder at the term) surgeries are still being performed in the United States.  They are unlawful in Canada, but happen every day here in the U.S.  How horrific!  Why can’t we just leave a person’s genitals alone and let them develop as they may?  I think having a penis and a vagina, or perhaps a vagina with an extra-large clitoris would be amazing!  Besides, how big does a clitoris have to be in order to be considered a penis?  How small does a penis have to be in order to be considered a clitoris?  Human sex organs are all formed out of the same material.  Clits and penises are the same thing; just different sizes, the vulva and scrotum are made of the same material, as are the testicles and ovaries.  Makes sense, right?  Who cares what ultimate formation they take?

Laura: What does total equality look like to you, in any form:

Inanna: What a loaded question!  First of all, I have to be honest and say that I have no idea what total equality looks like.  I’m not even sure if it’s entirely possible or entirely desirable.  I have no desire to be the same as anyone else, I simply want the freedom to be who I am, whatever that looks like, provided, of course, that I am not doing harm to anyone else in the process.  But let me clarify— “doing harm” IS NOT pissing people off because they disagree with me, or challenging assumptions or pushing the limits of what is societally acceptable.  These things may be painful—paradigm shifts always are, but just because I am outside your limits and it causes you some discomfort does not mean I am doing anything wrong and ought to stop.  Setting aside the terrifying totality of the concept of “total equality, “ I would just say that I would like to see people on the fringes of anything and everything working together and seeing each other as fellow travelers on a similar path.  GLBT folk, polyamorists, polygamists, and many others who do not fit into society’s norms are all fighting for similar things.  Nothing saddens me more than seeing one of these groups discriminating against another.  Talk about not practicing what we preach!

Laura: What is the thing you want most for cis-gendered people to know about  you?

Inanna: Actually, what I want them to know has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with them.  I would want traditionally gendered boys and girls to know that just because they have penises or vaginas doesn’t mean that is who they are.  Sex is great and bodies are good, but who you are and who you want to become are entirely up to you.  Take what you want and what empowers you from all genders and create a fabulous smorgasbord of traits that is uniquely you—and in this way you are challenging the gender binary.  None of us is “traditionally gendered.”  We are all born with the sex organ we are born with, some of us are born intersex, and some of us chose to change our equipment, but we all get to choose who we are and who we become.  And that is the important part. Be wary of deterministic gender roles.  Don’t ever do something just because it is the lady-like or gentlemanly thing to do.  Do it because you like being kind, or because you enjoy wearing lace or frills and not simply because it is feminine or because your mother or society told you to do it.
Try cross dressing, just once.  This goes for both men and women and everyone in between.  Intentionally take on a different role.  Try it on at home, in the mirror, or in a play.  What does it feel like?  What does the role evoke for you?  What are the positives?  The negatives?  What emotions do you feel?  Women…what does it feel like to NOT be the bearer of children?  To be the breadwinner?  To be responsible for your family’s entire financial well-being?  Is it really so great to be a man?  Try hitting on a woman while dressed as a man.  Not so easy is it?  By stepping out of your chosen gender role for a night, you will learn things that never occurred to you about the other side.  You will learn things that you like better, and things that fucking suck that you never ever thought of.  And when you take off the mantle of the other gender, try and incorporate the things you liked about the other gender into your life, and be compassionate toward other gendered people who may have struggles of which you are completely unaware.

Laura: If you could wave a magic wand and change one thing (about anything), what would it be?

Inanna: If I could wave a magic wand, I’d want to make it so that we were all born without gender.  I’d love to live in a world where we could choose our sex organs and our gender at will, and move in between them freely and as we pleased.  I mean, c’mon, if you could switch genders without consequence and knew you could go right back when you wanted, wouldn’t you want to know what it was like to be a hetero man, or a lesbian woman, or anything at all?  And wouldn’t this go a looooong way towards helping us understand each other’s experiences?  Talk about cool, ACTUALLY being able to walk a mile in another person’s shoes, all Atticus Finch style.  For now, though, reading about other’s experiences, asking them about it, having an open mind, and yes, cross dressing, are the best suggestions I have for simulating this experience.

 Check out these resources:

  • Check out Jennifer Finney Boylan’s work.  She is a FAB writer and an inspirational human!
Stuck in the Middle (2013) by Jennifer Finney Boylan (my favorite)
She’s Not There: A Life in Two Genders (2003) by Jennifer Finney Boylan
  • My Princess Boy
  • Olivia and the Pink Princesses
  • True Selves, by Mildred Brown (A
therapist’s perspective)
  • Trans Forming Families, Mary Boenke,
editor (Family members tell their own
stories about transgender loved ones)
  • How Sex Changed: A History of
  • Transsexuality in the United States, by
Joanne Meyerowitz (Indiana State Univ.
history professor’s introduction to how ideas
about sex and gender have evolved)
  • Becoming a Visible Man, by Jamison Green
(Green relates his insights into what it
means to change from female to male)
  • TransGeneration – Eight-episode
documentary focused on a year in the lives
of four transitioning college students.
  • Ma Vie En Rose (My Life in Pink) – the
story a little girl born in a little boy’s body.
  • Normal – the story of a husband’s transition
to female after 25 years of marriage (with
Jessica Lange and Tom Wilkinson)
  • Transamerica – an MTF (Felicity Huffman)
awaiting sex reassignment surgery learns
she has a wayward teenage son whom she
bails out of jail. Together they take a road
trip across the country.
  • Southern Comfort – documentary of the
final year in the life of a 52-year-old FTM in
Georgia dying of ovarian cancer that doctors
refused to treat.
Search “Jazz” and “Trans” and you will come up with a plethora of amazing videos about a little boy that began living as a girl early on and her amazing family.  Great stuff!  There’s also tons of stuff on YouTube and the internet with various testimonials by trans folk to watch.  Just start digging!