The term “classic” is used frequently–perhaps too frequently–in describing a movie, book, car, etc, but what does “classic” really mean? How many things actually deserve the designation “Classic?”
According to the dictionary, something is a classic if it serves as a standard for excellence, or is enduring, authentic and authoritative. I’ve been a professional Domme for 10 years. I’ve conducted approximately 5000 sessions. I keep up on all the latest trends in BDSM. I know all the current hot topics of fetish. I keep my dungeon stocked with all the best and brightest toys for fantasy play. I know my business and my business is bringing men to their knees. There are lots of women out there who claim it is their business, too, but how authoritative can someone be with something as complex and personal as sexuality when they are in their 20’s? How enduring and authentic can someone be when they have just begun to explore BDSM themselves? Sexual submission is safest and most fulfilling when submitting to someone who can teach while they dominate, not with someone who is learning as they go.
I inspire submission. I take joy from receiving the gift of groveling and am adept at giving the gift of orgasm. I set a standard for excellence. I endure. I am authentic. I positively ooze authority.
And what is classic Dom Dominique? When all is said and done–when all the fads are pushed aside and all the technology is shut off–what is the most enduring image left behind? That of a commanding woman with a deliciously dominant streak. Kitten with a whip? More like Goddess with an Attitude.
Behold the possibilities:
Joe is a classic kind of guy. He likes his submission to involve a healthy serving of body worship with a side of discipline and a little slice of anal play for dessert. He likes to keep it simple. He enjoys being on his knees or on his back for most of the session. He loves the feel of leather and flesh–soft, smooth, heavenly flesh–against his tongue. He gets annoyingly aroused by high heels grinding into his balls. A ruler smacking his ass takes him to the border of giddiness. And the agonizingly wonderful burn from a strap-on squeezing into his hole makes him damn near come. Permission from Mistress at just the right time and Joe finishes the party with a big old grin and one last mess to clean up.
Happy Holidays from Isle of Shadows! As ya’ll can see from my previous post our schedule of classes has been put on hold for the month of december. But January is time to gear back up with our classes and lots of new things. We’ll be opening our new art gallery “The Art Forge” for featured Second Life Artists and the grand opening of our Blues Museum “The Blues Factory” For everyone who loves the blues, sponsored by our parent non profit Shadow Ventures, Inc and Radio Free Atlanta. Plus Jovial will be continuing her book readings from great BDSM Lifestyle authors as well as new classes from our other instructors. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been open in SL for 3 years! But it looks like this will be our most interesting one. Isle of Shadows is currently working to qualify for non profit status from Linden Lab as an educational venue for alternative lifestyles. Shadow Ventures, Inc. our parent company has already received non profit certification from the state of GA! So thats just the first step. Now on to the federal government The IRS and qualifying as a 501c3! Wish us luck!
So Ya’ll don’t be a stranger stop by Isle of Shadows and say hi! We’re still in SL and going strong lots of cool changes comming soon and we’ll contiinue to bring you quality education on the lifestyle throughout the year!
And if I post myself outside your door
Until I die, and if I parachute
Into your wedding in my birthday suit
And if I swear to leave you never more:
And if I toss myself across the floor
Like some old ripe and rotting piece of fruit,
And from this moment promise to be mute
Until you ooze with love from every pore:
And if I slice your name into my skin
And skip from here to York so all can see,
And if I do, I think I cannot win
Your love, but even so, remember me,
And think, sometimes, that this abyss I’m in
Was not just my responsibility.
Here is the latest review from Black Fox Bound on our new theatrical Bondage Film Docs:
This film is well put together and bears all the hallmarks of a classic sorority horror film with 3 very sexy girls starring in it! From the moment they entered the property and sexily taunted each other about the buildings history and events that happened there the film was all action. As one by one they are captured and tied up the acting and the bondage is really good. I loved the two girl scenes with the girls tied together and struggling! This film is very intense and has some very strong bondage and action scenes that will keep you glued to the screen right till the final climax!
I came across Pleasure Chemical whilst reading up on ‘limerence’ and ‘love addiction’ on the internet. People get addicted to things (drugs, sex, alcohol, love, etc) because their consumption (or consummation) releases pleasure chemicals in their system. Dopamine, vasopressin, oxytocin, serotonin, endogenous opioids – all of which induces what we experience as pleasure.
Maybe I’m looking into BDSM as yet another source I can tap into whenever I need an extra boost of pleasure chemicals in my system. God knows I do. Oh yes, I do believe in God and religion. but I’m not yet decided whether or not God really frowns on me for wanting to explore BDSM or if it is in fact irrelevant to Him/Her/It. I don’t think it matters, as long as I’m not hurting anyone else. And as for hurting myself, well, I think I’ve gone way past it for it to make much difference in my life.
It’s a slow process this exploration, but I’m in no hurry. And I hope my husband will not freak out when he finds out.
“Do you do anal?” is probably one of the most common questions to be asked as a woman (don’t know how many men are asked) on a hook up site, BDSM or otherwise.
There is no real simple answer for this for me. I have tried it – yes. It was okay. It was not my favourite thing in the world, but it was not bad. That being said it involved patient partners, and a lot of lube.
So, to put it crudely, if you are looking for a woman who routinely takes it up the ass like a pro… I’m not it. If anal is at the top of your ‘must have’ list I’m probably not your girl either.
However if it is something you have in your toolbox of tricks, and will take your time to make sure you don’t cause me serious injury. Then yes, you will probably play the back 9 with me.
“Laundry List”
There are a group of men (mostly) whose idea of ‘getting to know me’ involves spewing out a list of sex acts to see if I’ve done them or if I’ve tried them. Generally I don’t like “laundry list” men. There are many things I may try with the right partner, under the right circumstances. There are also many things I have tried that I may not think you are the right partner to repeat them with.
However, if you are dying to know what I will and won’t do, you can look at the Laundry List.
I suffered from depression for almost six years, during the time in my life when I was supposed to be having the time of my life. At 17, I got pregnant with my first child and I was in a pretty rough relationship. It didn’t help that I was an insanely jealous and suspicious girlfriend. Five months into my pregnancy, after telling my doctor that I thought I might be depressed, she immediately prescribed me Prozac, the one drug I always said I never wanted to be on. Two weeks into the treatment, in an awkward haze, I overdosed on the pills and was sentenced (for lack of a better word) to two weeks in the Children’s Mental Unit.
I got out and things seemed to go better for a time, a very short time. Sometime later, the relationship gets broken off, I end up being pregnant again. This kicks that depression right up there and off the charts. In a night, because of a stupid couch, my entire life changed. My baby’s Daddy, Alfie, and I had been broken up for a couple weeks, when he asked me to leave one night so he could “think” (because we stayed living together after we broke up for the sake of finances and the baby). “Thinking” ended up being having sex in our house with a random stranger.
Originally the couch they had slept together was downstairs. Even though Alfie had broken up with me, and then kicked me out of the house, I would still take our kid over there everyday, I would buy him food if he was running low and I would make sure he had smokes. Plus I was paying for all my habits and our year and a half old.
I go into the house one day, knowing he had sex with this girl a couple days beforehand, and I was in a good mood. I had just gotten paid and was buying goodies for everyone, because I’m really bad for doing that. The last thing I remember happening, that everyone else remembers happening too, is eating a piece of pizza. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital with a security guard standing outside my door. Apparently, I had gone psychotic, cut my arms and legs (nothing serious, such as not deep or life-threatening, just superficial), got the cops called on me, and resisted arrest when they said they were putting me in an ambulance. I don’t remember any of this. I was 18 weeks pregnant with my second when this happened. I was certified for 30 days, and ended up getting released early because of legal issues.
After the stay in the hospital, I just kind of pushed through the depression. I’m really good at ignoring things when I’m too exhausted or pissed off to care. In the words of The Beatles, “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life Goes On”. I had tried the anti-depressants and ended up in the hospital. I had gone to counsellors, psychiatrists and none of it was working. I kept ending up in the hospital. I pushed through it, often my only reasoning for going through it, was the fact that I couldn’t think of anyone that I knew who could do a better job at parenting my kids. I’m sure there’s a million people out there who could do a better job than me, but I don’t know any of them.
I stayed in that permanent state of depression for a seriously long time. Too long. Alfie and I got back together, of course. Love is blind. We do stupid things when we’re in love. No, none of that’s right. I couldn’t, didn’t want to let him go. Maybe it was revenge, like “You put me through this hell, and now you will suffer by having to stay with me, muwhahaha!” He was the one who called the ambulance on both suicide attempts. He had saved my life, surely he deserved forgiveness, right? So two years into it, we break it off. Nine months later we’re back together, and we were for about three years.
After three years of pretty much nothing but hell, we finally and officially called it quits. He knew it was serious when I got another boyfriend. Big twist neither of us were expecting. Alfie and The Boyfriend had been friends for 15 years, and the entire time Alfie and I were dating, I never thought of The Boyfriend as anything more than Alfie’s friend. But we had called it quits and The Boyfriend was showing interest and I was interested to not be with Alfie anymore. I knew if I didn’t have a reason not to, I would run back to his arms the second he asked me to. I was very courteous and respectful and asked Alfie before commencing any type of relationship with The Boyfriend, and Alfie gave me the go-ahead. The next day, The Boyfriend and I had sex. Amazing, wildly passionate sex. It was officially, or at least the boyfriend/girlfriend relationship was, over with Alfie. Unfortunately, if love is blind, lust is completely handicapped. For the first four months or so of The Boyfriend and I’s relationship, Alfie and I were still having sex, and it was very complicated for me, and a time of great transition.
I had always been a journal-er. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing journals, and blogging. During my spells with depression, journaling was the only thing that made anything better. I would write 4 or 5 times a day, chronicling the smallest and most irrelevant details of day to day life. When I started cheating, the journaling almost completely stopped. Too much of a chance of getting caught, as I often use journaling as my most informative communication technique. When I want someone to know what I’m thinking, what I’m really thinking, I’ll tell them to read my journals or my poems or my songs. I would journal just so no one would think anything was up. By this point, I was numb to what I was doing to the people around me, the people I loved. Looking back on it, I was just being truly and brutally selfish.
I had never felt such a tremendous amount of guilt as I did on the day that I handed The Boyfriend the dreaded letter telling him the truth about the start of our relationship and my breech of trust from the very get go. And when he finished reading it, he sat silently, and I felt like I was going to puke up my heart. He didn’t look at me, and then he asked “Why?” and I could honestly give him no answer. I searched the deepest recesses of my brain to try to figure it out. Why had I stopped journaling? I became such an immoral idiot when I had no venue to express my thoughts, without speaking out loud.
I’m glad to say that over a year later, The Boyfriend and I are still together and have had a beautiful baby boy together. It has been the best year (and then some) of my life. I probably haven’t smiled as much in all my years on this earth, as I have since being with him. Hate to sound cheesy, but he completes me. He gets me. He’s the yin to my yang, the vertical dissection of my horizontal plane. Through our entire relationship, save for the day of the letter and the sadness I had felt for doing something so wrong, I haven’t suffered with my depression at all. I haven’t felt a need for it. The things that used to prick me like thorns, roll off my back with a tiny shudder. I would like to say I’ve claimed sanity, for the time being.
Last night, I felt that jealous, suspicious nemesis of mine that made me feel the same way I felt the first time I realized maybe I was depressed. I’ve been on high alert for post-partum depression to kick in, since I went through it with all my other kids. I just had a baby a month ago, so all flags are raised for me.
The Boyfriend and I had been teasing each other with thoughts of sex all day. His most famous teasing technique with me seems to be talking about kinky things or giving me love spanks all throughout the day. He’ll talk about things like tying me up or taking pictures of me – sadly it doesn’t happen the way he describes it, but at least he describes it to me. After the kids are all finally in bed, and seemingly quiet, I begin teasing his cock with my tongue and lips. No actual penetrating head, just teasing. It’s one of my favourite ways to tease us both. Kid wakes up, have to deal with that, kid falls asleep, teasing is back on.
We had been talking about hooking the internet up to the PS3 so that we could watch porn off the net on the 42” widescreen. After much teasing, I suggested it to him, and as most men do, he thought it was a great idea. And so we dropped by RedTube and made a hasty search for brunettes. Of course, after having a baby a mere four weeks ago, even though my body still looks almost exactly the same, except for a few extra stretch marks and a couple of extra pounds, you still feel insecure and unsexy, or at least I do, for the most part. Watching porn = Enhanced Insecurity. RedTube produced nothing of real interest, though the search was rather hasty, and so The Boyfriend found his way to another site.
He knew his way around this particular site, and kept saying things like “They often have good stuff on here” or “This is my favourite place to come”, and my raw instinct jumped up and I wanted to say “How often have you been watching porn?” But I restrained myself, wanting to not be the jealous, suspicious monster that once raged throughout me. I bit my lip and we continued, and the sex was outrageously amazing. I amped it up a bit because I wanted him to know that he has the real deal right here, his own personal fuck-toy porn star.
All night, all I could think about is how many times exactly has he looked at porn without me. I say all the time that I don’t care about my boyfriend(s) watching porn without me or my knowledge, but I really do. I feel like if they have to look at porn, I’m not giving them something they want or desire. Either by my appearance, or in the bedroom. That sucks because my one mission sexually is to fulfill my partners desires. To grant his every sexual wish, as long as its not beyond my limits. And then I kept thinking, when the heck does he have time to watch porn without me. When he’s working, he’s at work all night and sleeps through the better part of the day and when he is awake, I’m with him. Right now, while he’s on paternity leave, the only time I’m not with him is when he lets me sleep in. So of course, that made me ponder, does he only let me sleep in so that he can watch porn? And was I really naive enough to believe that he wouldn’t watch porn when I was sleeping in?
You know how I was saying earlier that love is blind. Well, with The Boyfriend and I, I think it’s just a serious case of rose-coloured glasses. You know, the ones that taint everything with the colour of love, and makes time standstill around you. I tend to let alot of things with him slide, things that in the past, in my depressed days, would irritate the heck out of me, things that I would speak up about or bitch about or something. With him I just shrug it off and smile and appreciate that I have him. Last night, made me question how much of our relationship, my happiness, has simply been a case of these rose-coloured glasses.
With Alfie, when I found out he was watching porn without me, I flipped. I yelled, I screamed, I cried, I asked questions for days and days never believing the answers I was given. With The Boyfriend, I just shut the thoughts out, rolled over and let our raging lust continue on. Was he thinking about the porn we had just watched instead of me? Was he thinking he would rather the sweet, soft pussy of the 18 year old schoolgirl, than the self-proclaimed MILF’s used and tired pussy? In the moment of passion, I could care less. The thoughts are still with me, I’m still pondering it. I don’t want that jealousy demon to come back right now, and destroy my happiness. I don’t want to ask questions, because I don’t want to hear the answers. The truth will set you free, but it will beat down the people around you. I’m not prepared to be beat down.
Even if he answered with complete honesty and told me all these wonderful things about me, my suspicious mind wouldn’t believe anything he told me. That would lead to me snooping, which would eventually lead to the deterioration of our relationship. And really, does it matter why or when or how he watches porn? At least he still crawls into bed with me every night and wakes up to me every morning, except when he’s working graveyards. And I’m the one that gets to hear his sweet voice say “I love you”, day after day. So really, what can I bitch about.
So what’s the point of this whole post? I don’t know, maybe I’ll keep wearing these glasses. At least for awhile longer, and see what happens next. Does anyone else in the world hate it as much as I do when your partner watches porn without you or without telling you?
On a less daunting note, I was browsing the internet last night and found this great song that I think we can all appreciate:
