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Polyamory vs. Monotony

March 30, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

When I first changed my status on the kinky Facebook social networking site from “in a relationship with …” to “single,” I knew that in my next relationship I would seek an authentic Dom with a lot of experience. Sir M made sure that everyone was aware that I am single and under his protection, though he does not own me. I don’t wear a collar when we go to dungeon parties and he introduces me to any Dom I am interested in.

As it turns out, most of the male hetero “top Doms” are in polyamorous situations, meaning they already have multiple female submissives (or slaves). The females are often bisexual and have relationships with each other as well. So if I wanted to be with one of the more experienced Doms in the scene I would have to join their poly family — as number three or four.

Not surprisingly, I declined. Being number three or lower down the rungs in a poly relationship sounds like a raw deal to me! My impression of poly up to this point was taken from watching Big Love, an HBO series about a polygamous Mormon family. They aren’t kinky or sex-positive but I’m sure there are many parallels in the daily life issues that arise. The women have a schedule of who sleeps with the man each night, and they negotiate and trade if necessary. In the show, the man resorted to taking Viagra for a while in order to satisfy all the women when the stresses of his business overshadowed his home life.

Their version of polygamy is quite rigid, whereas polyamory has a much more fluid way of playing out. I’ve been in an open relationship and enjoyed that freedom, but having casual sex with people in addition to your primary relationship (that’s my idea of an open relationship) is quite different than polyamory — namely having longer term loving relationships with multiple partners.

Polyamory = loving many

I spoke with Cunning Minx who does an excellent podcast called Poly Weekly to get her take on what is meant by “poly” in the kinky community. The Minx is a super smart and smoking hot sassy brunette who makes a compelling argument for the poly way of life.

“Poly is a lifestyle recognizing the possibility of full time, long-term, loving, committed relationships where all people involved have full knowledge and consent,” she told me. “In the kink world, people may have more than one partner and may or may not define themselves as poly.”

The Minx explained that poly is a way of keeping it fresh and exciting, but it may not be a viable option for all couples.

“Being together forever isn’t necessarily the goal,” she said. “But the happiness of you and your partner should be the long-term goal.”

She gave as an example a common situation where a couple may find that one partner is interested in different kinky activities than the other, so they may take on “play partners” in the BDSM sense, which can include sex. Depending on their own orientation, they may or may not consider this as poly.

Pondering poly

With this definition of poly, I realized that I’m in a “quasi-poly” situation. I have a Dom who isn’t my primary — he already has a primary relationship. I’m dating a few other Doms who are my play partners, and perhaps eventually one will become my primary Dom. I also hook up with my former (non-BDSM) lover J. I am a girl who needs a lot of sex and erotic play so being able to play with several men (and possibly women) works well for me. I am transparent with everyone and clear about my intentions. Fortunately, the men I’m involved with are turned on by the idea of me being with other men so this is a positive.

I was fascinated and did a lot of reading on the topic, paying attention to what issues poly people were talking about on the kinky social networking sites, as well as listening to more Poly Weekly podcasts. I found that many of the subjects being discussed were either of logistics or communication skills that could easily translate to monogamous couples.

I asked if poly people get jealous, and how they get around that natural human emotion.

“Jealously and feeling neglected happens in monogamous relationships too,” the Mix explained. “It’s all in how you decide to cope with insecurity and jealousy.”

She reasoned that a wife might also be jealous of a husband working late, bowling with his buddies.

“You have to identify your own emotions and own up to them in a safe space — that’s a skill for both partners,” she told me.

After speaking with Minx for an hour I wondered why anyone would want to be monogamous.

Poly and alternative lifestyles

There is a high acceptance of polyamory in other types of alternative communities. I’ve spent some time in an alternative music, art and lifestyle collective that includes a lot of “burners” (i.e., people who consider Burning Man a lifestyle).

One of my close (vanilla) friends in this community is in a poly relationship as the number two. The guy is 20 years her junior and not someone she’d consider a serious love relationship with, yet they have a loving friendship — with benefits — all with the approval of his primary girlfriend. He has an “emotional contract” with his girlfriend where they stated boundaries and parameters and this has helped guide them through expanding definitions of their triad relationship.

“To me it is all about openness and honesty,” he said.

That’s a great argument for the polyamory lifestyle, if one is up to the task. There are a lot of practical issues to tackle, such as having enough time for all the partners, who pays the mortgage, what happens when you have a child with one partner, who is the primary, etc. But after seeing or hearing of many positive examples of polyamorous relationships I’m on board and pro-poly!

Daisy TraLaLA (@daisytralala) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

I <3 Cock

March 23, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

Days later my body was still humming from an amazing, beautiful and profound experience I had the honor of sharing. As these things usually go, it was of the moment, totally unexpected. I was suspended in time, blissed out and unaware of anything in the world… except the cock in my mouth.

Somehow, one rainy afternoon we were cooped up inside with another plan entirely. I smoked some pot, got more comfortable, and soon was spilling all kinds of sexual confessions. I completely opened up to him about my sexual history — which has been quite extensive. We found we shared some common ground, including hyper-sexual appetites and the desire to explore new realms.

Soon he’d thrown a pillow down on the floor and instructed me to kneel on it so I could be treated to the pleasure of sucking his cock. I’d been rather cock-deprived and teased with sexual stimuli for some time so I threw my all into the task and enjoyed every second of it. His cock was still flaccid when I grabbed it with my left hand. I kissed the head to honor it, tasting a big drop of his pre-cum. The first lick kick-started my raging libido into high gear and soon I was like a wild animal. Sucking, licking, kissing it, rubbing it all over my lips and face and hair; rolling it on my breasts. With my face smashed against his soft groin, I took it deeply and hungrily.

Cock ecstasy

I already know this about myself. I love cock. Truly love it. I could never be a lesbian because I’d miss it so. I’d miss the feeling of the smooth tip of the head touching the back of my throat, I’d miss the smell of it, the taste of it, the changes in mood and personality of each cock I encounter. I can’t imagine life without cock. I love the energy it transmits and the inspiration I draw from it. I love the effect I can have on it and the way I can control a man through sucking on his cock.

On this day, however, he was in the driver’s seat. He exercised extreme self-control to make it difficult for me to get his cock hard. He didn’t want to give it up to me easily. I had to work hard for my “gift” of a nice thick, solid cock. I focused all my thoughts and energy into the organ in my hand, ready for the challenge ahead.

Sometimes he’d grab me by my hair and face-fuck me forcefully — but not so violently that it would incapacitate my jaw. Smart strategy, because I couldn’t have sucked him for four hours as I did if he’d forced me too hard. In this instance, being face-fucked was an intense turn-on for me and each time I’d feel my juices flowing and pussy getting really wet. I kept hoping he’d notice how wet I was.

Sexual electricity off the grid

My nipples cried for attention as I was increasingly aroused. They craved his lips and his tongue and my pussy craved him even more. But he intentionally withheld his lips and cock from my genitals like an expert tease. And that turned me on further. So I’d suck his cock even more fervently and work myself into a frenzy.

This escalated as we fed off each other’s sex energy. Sometimes I find the sexual tension of being denied sex can be just as titillating as the actual act. It forces that intense sexual electricity to course through my body with no release, so it increases and grows exponentially stronger. Eventually the sexual current raging through me is so tangible that it radiates out through every pore in my body. It is incredibly powerful, feels like I’m on fire, and fuels me on to greater heights. And in this case, to greater cock-sucking.

Trancing out to cock

He’d get really hard and I’d get even more turned on. I had many periods of going deeply into a blissful trance state, where everything else in the universe melted away but the cock. It feels like a nearly religious experience to be in that state. I become a passenger in an incredible journey and the cock guides me to new heights. It’s a beautiful thing for me and for the receiver.

I’m not sure how long or how many times I stayed in this state but I do know from later being told that I was oblivious to everything else going on. I was somewhat aware of his finger working its magic inside me, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of me by massaging my G-spot in just the right way. And of course that inspired me to suck his cock even more passionately.

I like to carry on with cock worship for many hours and eventually my worship transcends the cock and expands to include worship of the entire body, sometimes extending to the mind and spirit. I find that the cock is a portal for the sensual body and the sexual energy, an entry point for the profound energy exchange. After all, as I suck and worship, I am responding to the way he reacts to me, the way he grabs my hair and breast for leverage and forces his cock down my throat, the way he is always fully in control, and the way this makes me happily submit to him.

Squirting and gagging

After several hours of this he prodded me to ejaculate. I gushed so much liquid, it made a wet spot on the bed three feet in diameter. This excited him and hardened his cock again. He pushed further and got me to cum, squirting what seemed like buckets of ejaculate, over and over and over. I amazed myself — didn’t even know I was capable of this.

He’d give me short breaks and then bark “down bitch!” until I got his cock deep into my mouth again. He enjoyed shoving it all the way to the back of my throat to see if I’d gag and break out into goose bumps. That also gets the really thick saliva flowing, and it’s a wonderful lubricant for his cock. Each time he hit the back of my throat, my pussy would clench around his finger. His cock was thick and fleshy and filled up my mouth perfectly. And I continued to have orgasms that spread out through my body and beyond with concentric rings of warmth.

His orgasm was intoxicating

After many frenzied hours of this sex play, he decided it was time for him to cum. Although my eyes were shut I was aware of a beautiful white light of energy beaming from his groin into my mouth and down into my heart. My heart sent that white light of energy back into him. Everything glowed and I felt transported beyond the physical to a place of beautiful calm.

He clamped my head in both hands and went in deep, ejaculating straight back in my throat. I was so connected to his orgasm that I shuddered and screamed, writhing with a full-body orgasm. Time expanded and this continued as he pumped more cum into my throat and I responded accordingly. He tasted delicious. I kept his cock inside my mouth, I didn’t want to let it go and neither did he. I was profoundly grateful to have received his essence and wanted to prolong the experience for as long as possible.

At that moment, I felt unconditional love and respect for his cock and that’s a magnificent feeling. I quivered and twitched as multiple little orgasms continued to radiate out through my body.

And so we went on, unrelenting. It would have been easy to just keep up this frenzy for a few days, abandoning all responsibilities and shutting off phones. But we eventually had to tear ourselves apart.

Daisy TraLaLA (@daisytralala) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Dating for Kinksters

March 16, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

Before I discovered my enthusiasm for BDSM and embarked on my journey as a submissive, I dated and mated as most vanilla people do: dated guys I met through friends, fucked guys I met at bars, married a guy I was set up with by a coworker. Each scenario differed depending on my goals at that moment. After the divorce, my goals drastically changed — I was no longer looking for a husband or life partner, but just wanted to have fun and make up for all the sex that my marriage lacked. This was also the beginning of my sexual awakening.

After a good long ride of lots of sex with lots of hot younger guys (a stripper, a porn star, a surfer, a playboy, etc.) and no intention of settling down, I somehow fell into a relationship with a guy I’d met at a swing party. What was meant to be a three-day fling lasted the better part of four or five years.

Daisy tries online dating

As that ended I was urged by a friend to sign up for an online dating site for “alternative” people. I wrote an upbeat profile that demonstrated my quirkiness and my smarts. I wasn’t an easy fit by any means — most men were intimidated by my accomplishments, worldliness and hyper-sexuality.

And I was over 35, which, in L.A., is toxic.

Eventually I coupled up with a nice guy whose hobbies were building BDSM dungeon furniture and collecting tattoos. Some kinksters were amazed that we’d met through a vanilla dating site, but he was clearly looking for someone outside of the small local BDSM scene.

That relationship ran its course and although he and I didn’t work out, he did a great deed in introducing me to BDSM. I also realized that I wasn’t going to be happy any longer in a vanilla relationship. I needed a Dom-lover-boyfriend to call my own. Someone who would lovingly torture me, care for me and curl up with me at night.

SWF seeks like-minded pervert for LTR

If I was a hard match before, I am an even harder match now because the BDSM requirement limits my opportunities drastically. Online dating is a strange beast, but for a fragmented niche population such as the BDSM community, it totally makes sense.

I signed up for a site I’d call the Match.com of the kinky set. My profile talked a lot about what I’m looking for in a long-term relationship, as well as my BDSM experience, likes and dislikes.

“Seeking physically active, sophisticated Dom for LTR; prefer a funky fun-loving foodie like myself, who will flog me and then fuck me hard.”

Easy, right?

New world order

Being the new girl on the site I got a flurry of messages at first. Some were short, crude messages from Doms with intimidating screen names like BrutalDaddy4U, MasterSadist, BigFatDick and FetchTheWhip. I’d check their profiles to learn more, and discard most of them.

“I need a sick and twisted cunt to use for extreme filth and abuse…”


I got a lot of messages of all lengths from Doms who obviously hadn’t read my profile and had nothing in common with me. They often started with unimaginative language like: “I’m seeking a classy submissive lady who can go to wine tastings with me and carry on a conversation…”


Some were gross and absurd: “Hi. Would you like to be abused and humiliated by a 385 lbs Latin Dom?…”


Some Doms tried to lay on the domination thickly in their messages resulting in insincere dirty talk that was hard to take seriously: “You will e-mail me today and tell me your innermost fantasies and how often you masturbate” … “you will gratefully fall to your knees as I skull-fuck you and pull your hair and then cum on your tits…”

Yeah, whatever. Delete!

Don’t top a Dom

In one exchange I was accused of trying to “bottom from the top” when I said I’d prefer that he gave me his phone number rather than giving out my number first.

“I don’t like being told what to do… the man is supposed to call the woman. And you messaged me first! You want too much control.”

The message got nastier from there. Indeed, perhaps I do “bottom from the top” but in the vanilla dating world that was just fine. What’s a sub to do — just sit back and wait for the Dom of her dreams to swoop her up on a white horse and whisk her off to his medieval dungeon to be his slave?

The clueless guy

At first I was eager to meet Doms in person to see if there might be any chemistry. Strike while the iron’s hot! I agreed to meet one the same day we spoke because he offered to come out to a convenient location. He sent a professional headshot of himself, smolderingly handsome and dark haired. He whispered sexy things on the phone and sounded semi-promising.

But in person, he was much mousier than I’d imagined and his creepy whispers made my skin crawl, sounding instead like sleazy uninspired dialogue from bad soft porn movies. I was quickly turned off but stayed to be polite. After 40 minutes or so he said, “I’m sensing from your body language (arms folded) and conversation that you are really closed.”

“Well,” I said, “to be honest I’m just not feeling any chemistry here.”

He changed the subject but still only wanted to harp on his fantasies. We were definitely not connecting on that level. We did have a good talk about BBQs and Japanese food, though.

He: “You will meet me Thursday night after the Laker game.”

Me: “No I don’t think so. I don’t want to be out late.”

He: “I will call you Thursday and we’ll make a plan for Thursday night.”

He called me on my way home and I dodged his next call in the morning. Ugh! I wrote a polite note and explained that I didn’t feel we were a match but I wished him the best of luck. He wrote back, without a hint of irony, “Wow! What a surprise! I didn’t see that coming.”

He still continues to write me even though I’ve asked him to stop.

The Gentle Dom

The next Dom I met was a great conversationalist on the phone at first, since we work in similar professions, but quickly he just wanted to talk about his particular kink. That was to have his submissive fuck a lot of other guys to demonstrate her submission to him. Hmmm… He also talked about rape fantasies and I flatly said I had no interest. He messaged me at length every day after that with more questions about his fantasies:

He: “Well how would you feel if you were asked to do a gang bang for me?”

Me: “I don’t know because that’s never happened in my experience and isn’t something I’ve ever thought about doing.”

This is OK once but it was a repeated theme for him and he continually asked variations of the same question, hoping for a different answer. It wore me down after a while so I thought it best to meet and not waste any more chat time.

In person, he was much older than his photos and fatter than he portrayed himself on his profile. He leered at me and launched into more repeats of his gang bang fantasies. He was too gentle and indirect for my taste. I didn’t feel any natural dominant vibe from him and that’s really what I was seeking. Besides, our kinks were far too mismatched.

A lot of first dates

After that I had a few more first dates in the spirit of being open minded, and they led nowhere. I finally became impatient and lost my initial zeal for finding a Dom-lover-boyfriend. I concluded that I needed to be less open-minded and not bother meeting with anyone who didn’t sound stellar.

Once I had this attitude shift, I started meeting more interesting Doms online, and have met a few that might even warrant a second date! I also realized that dating in the kink world is more about first finding BDSM and sexual compatibility, and then the relationship follows.

Sir M’s permission

As of this writing I have slowed down and am taking my time with dating. Many of the Doms I speak with don’t know how to deal with me because I am training with and under the protection of a Dom (Sir M) and they’d have to ask his permission to play with me. Most of these guys want to be the one and only boss of me.

I’m happy with my current situation training with Sir M and don’t want to end that any time soon. Our relationship is a bit unique because he doesn’t own me and that’s not an option — he is in a primary monogamous relationship and is not available for a romantic relationship with me. This was part of our initial negotiation so I knew this going in, and we both understand that I’d still continue looking for a romantic interest in my life while training with him. 

Eventually I will move on.  I’m ultimately looking for a love soul mate — one who will gaze deeply into my eyes without fear, and to whom I will completely and fearlessly surrender. I’m still in the beginning of this journey and find that what I’m looking for in a man is changing drastically as I evolve.  Dating is a way of trying on new men to see if there’s a fit.

But it will be hard for some new Dom to “steal me away” from Sir M — he’ll really have to jump high hurdles for me. And Sir M has set the bar extraordinarily high.

Daisy TraLaL(@daisytralala) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Under Surveillance

March 9, 2010 Daisy, Diary 1 Comment

Sir M sent an email to me with a subject line that made my heart leap: “New Rule.”

The message explained that I am to keep on my webcam on at all times when I’m at home so he can see if I’m there when he logs onto his computer. This way, he can easily drop in on me when he wants to. I’ve never used my webcam for personal communications, only for business calls, so I set up a new account for his eyes only with great excitement.

Had any other man told he he’d be constantly monitoring me on webcam so he could peek into my private life, I’d have been really angry. But with Sir M, it makes sense in the context of our Dom/sub relationship. The webcam gives him another way to dominate me that extends beyond our sessions together. It’s a subversive thrill to think of him dropping in on me and being ready for him any time. Sir M has earned the gift of my submission and so I gladly offer him access to my home life and my secrets.

On camera

I can’t see him on webcam — he does not have one. I really don’t mind this one-way communication. Being submissive can mean being on unequal footing with him if he chooses. He uses the audio to speak with me and I stare at his frozen avatar on screen. We never actually speak on the phone so this is the best way for him to stay present.

I adapted quickly and found that I really enjoy having the webcam ready for him to eavesdrop on my life. In fact, one day recently he told me his electricity would be off all day and not to bother with the webcam, and I was genuinely disappointed!

I use the webcam on my laptop because I can move it to different rooms with as I putter around my apartment. When I’m cooking I set it on the dining room table and forget about it. He doesn’t care if I’m in unglamorous sweats or in underwear (or less) so I feel perfectly comfortable with keeping the camera on. If I’m not alone and don’t want him dropping in, I simply turn it off.

Sexy time

Once I realized the power I can have using the webcam, it became even more compelling. I found I could excite and tease Sir M remotely by removing my clothing on camera nonchalantly during normal conversation. We can be chatting about my day and my shirt suddenly lifts up to reveal a breast as the camera pans down to the nipple. I can be talking to him on webcam and put the laptop down on the couch so the camera points between my legs, as I happen to be wearing a miniskirt with no panties.

Instant Panty-cam! Or I may be straightening up the house naked in anticipation of his “visit” via webcam. I just love the pause and surprise in his voice when he discovers my naughtiness and encourages more of it.

Once I’m topless I lick my index finger and roll it around my nipple to get his attention. I’ll pull on the hoop piercings in both nipples, making sure he can see. And when things progress he has me “entertain him” — meaning I must masturbate on camera for him. The laptop comes in really handy because I can bring it into the bedroom and really entertain him.

I have gotten completely lost in these sessions playing with myself as he takes firm (remote) control — narrating and pushing me to do outrageous things. When he yells “Cum for me bitch!” it’s as if he is with me in my bedroom. My hands work more furiously because I want to please him and cum hard for him. This also helps train me to be able to have forced orgasms to the sound of his voice.

I’m sure Sir M would love to watch me have sex with J via webcam but I know J wouldn’t like this idea. (J is my on-and-off lover who has seen me through some wild times in my sexual evolution.) I’m an exhibitionist at heart and I’d love to have a sex partner who would be into having Sir M watch us go at it.

(If you think that’s you, send me a tweet!)

Special guest appearances

Lately I’ve gotten more brazen with the webcam. I’ve been leaving the webcam on when friends visit, but not always mentioning it to them. Sir M once dropped in on a visit from one of my close friends, who came over for dinner while I was speaking with him. I was vaguely aware of his monitoring, but it didn’t affect our evening at all. Our conversations sounded like a raunchy episode from Sex and the City — we talked about men, online dating, cock sucking, menopause, shoes, weekend plans and of course gossiped about friends. He listened curiously for a while until we moved the laptop to make room for dinner and the audio was drowned out by music.

I imagined him at home in his office, leaning back in a big leather office chair, possibly smoking a cigar and watching this home-made reality show of my apartment. I like imagining him at home because in real life I’m not allowed to look him in the eye and it’s hard to get a complete vision of him. In my imagination, at the other end of my webcam, I can look straight at him without any consequences. I imagine him with a smirking grin, pleased that I’ve brought him another pretty girl to look at and more secrets to share.

Naked blogging

Even now as I write this on my laptop I know he may drop in and watch me and that’s exciting. Why exciting? It’s funny to me that someone would even be interested in me enough to watch me at home doing nothing. It feels so wrong to willingly give up my privacy to anyone. Of course, being a pervert, I am naturally drawn to and turned on by things that we are told are wrong.

In the future I’ve promised him a naked blogging session on webcam featuring myself and another female blogger. After all my duty is to serve and please him and in doing so, I hope to provide lots of pretty girls for him to look at and meet on webcam. He’s so persuasive he can probably talk some of them into meeting his flogger.

This is definitely not going to turn into a Bravo series The Real Subs of Los Angeles! However I’m enjoying doing this reality show for one.

Daisy TraLaLA (@daisytralala) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Subs’ Night Out

March 2, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

Sir M started our last session by pulling up my dress, taking out a paddle and whacking me harshly several times on my behind. I shrieked from the combo of pain and surprise. Usually he warms up with light spanks before such imparting hard blows but I was being punished.

My punishment

“This is your punishment for running out of the room last week without my permission.”

I had recently lost my nerve after an intense impact play session and ran out of the room to demonstrate my anger.

Sir M continued, “Now, is ‘OUCH THIS HURTS’ a safe word?” No. “Is ‘THAT’S TOO HARD’ a safe word?” No.  “Is ‘STOP, YOU MOTHERFUCKER’ a safeword?” No. “So what’s your safe word?” Yellow. OK, the point was made and I won’t fuck up like that again.

“I could have beaten the hell out of you that night but I chose not to,” Sir M said.

I understood that this punishment was symbolic -– to show that I can’t get away with such behavior — and could have been much worse. After that, I was in good standing again with Sir M and he adjusted his beatings so they didn’t go beyond my pain threshold. As a result, he was able to immediately take me to a much deeper level.

Desiring pain and pleasure

Each encounter with Sir M sends me into another realm of glorious release, but leaves me wildly desiring more of his pain and pleasure. I am addicted to his sweet torture. So I was more than a bit disappointed when he told me I’d be off duty that Saturday night. I could have gone to the dungeon party without him but, as an uncollared female, I wouldn’t have his protection from being badgered by all the single Doms. Here was my opportunity to try something different.

I’d heard of Bar Sinister, a Hollywood club that combines a goth and fetish aesthetic with industrial and 80’s dance music. Sir M gave me permission to go. And who better to accompany me on this curious quest but Sex and the 405 Editrix-in-Chief, AV Flox.

Dressed to thrill

Going to the club was a perfect opportunity to wear my latex dress. I’d worn it to a dungeon party a few weeks prior, and realized how impractical it was for such an event, since it takes a lot of effort to wiggle in and out of that dress. (Practical dungeon wear must be easy to take off, since I’m needed to strip naked and redress throughout the evenings.) For my “subs’ night out” with AV, I put on my hooker heels, lined my mouth with the most intense red lipstick and headed to her hideaway.

When I arrived we gawked at each other, both dressed in short black sleeveless dresses (hers was microscopic) and black heels with bare legs. Sweet! We were headed to the “Fang Banger’s Ball” but neither of us could conjure up a goth or vampire look. AV shunned wearing her Twilight necklace. We were going more for the “whip me, please, and then fuck me” type of look.

Bar Sinister is housed in a classic Hollywood building and has several different rooms but still feels intimate. The crowd provided some interesting people-watching, mainly youngish Goths with bad hairdos, clothes from Hot Topic and giant, chunky platform boots. Goth-zombie Go-Go dancers with wan complexions, smudgy raccoon eye makeup and shredded lingerie gyrated to synth pop in the main room. An adjacent room with a smoky fountain in the center had huddled masses of Goths smoking and dancing.

The Playroom

After a quick orientation of the first floor we headed upstairs to the Playroom. There are a few play areas and more people sitting around the perimeter chatting and hoping to watch some light BDSM scenes. I was approached by one of the guys working there, and he asked if I’d been before, wanted to play, etc. I told him that I have a Dom (Sir M) and can’t play with other Doms unless they request permission from him in advance.

“Are you collared?” he asked — the BDSM version of wearing a wedding ring.

“No,” I answered.

We watched as another Dom did a very quick session of spanking and lightly flogging a fully-clothed girl leaning up against a gothic-style cross. Coming from a hardcore dungeon scene, this seemed really tame to me. Last week I was watching young girls get bound and gagged with duct tape over the baby binkies in their mouths, tied to each other with rope and taunted with a very sharp knife by a particularly twisted sadist.

The Dom at Bar Sinister was doing an artful job of two-handed flogging, twirling them like a dancer. AV looked on hungrily — the other Dom recognized this and offered to flog her. For the sake of journalism(!) she accepted readily.

AV gets flogged

Those of you who follow my tweets may have seen my exclamation of amazement when AV ripped her dress off, flung the tiny bit of fabric to me to hold onto, and stepped up to the flogging post. One of the Doms ran over with electrical tape to cover her nipples since nudity isn’t allowed there. That made for a nice visual — AV in a tiny black thong with black crosses on her nipples.

He first spanked her with both hands, palms flexed back for more impact. I couldn’t see her face but she seemed to wilt and I imagined she was floating in space with this experience. He would alternate the spankings with intermissions of caresses, checking in with her and making sure she was responding properly. Spanking in that manner makes a nice muffled smacking sound, very different than the sharp thwack of a single-handed flat palm spanking.

He pulled out a single flogger with soft synthetic strands making up the fall. At first he softly traced the silhouette of her back with the flogger to get her acquainted with it. He started twirling it, the ends barely kissing her back and buttocks. Then he moved in so he could strike with more impact. Every eye in the room was upon them, and some of the crowd in the back yelled at people in front to sit down and not block their view.

The session wasn’t long but was evidently effective. He finished up and carefully led her down from the flogging post. She fell to her knees with legs spread in the appropriate submissive position. He grabbed a bottle of water and tipped her head back. Her lips spread open as he carefully poured water down her throat. Hydration is important after these scenes. She looked blissful, like a grateful pet that’s finally been fed its meal.

Afterward she redressed and we munched heart-shaped cookies. She tweeted and I whisked her back home. This encounter was a tease but it satisfied her cravings, at least temporarily. Overall it was a highly successful subs’ night out!

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Living on the Edge

February 23, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

Sir M likes to play dangerously. He has run fire torches along my body, held perilously sharp blades at my neck and intentionally made me lose consciousness momentarily through asphyxiation. In the BDSM world this is called edgeplay, a category of activities with potentially high risk.

You might wonder why I’d allow this. I know that Sir M is highly experienced and super-knowledgeable in these practices, so I place my trust in him and surrender. I let him play in ways I never imagined possible a few months ago. As my trust deepens, he is able to escalate the potential danger level in his play.

Pass the knife please

The first time he pulled a knife on me, I freaked out, sobbing miserably and shaking. I don’t remember ever feeling fear that tangibly. I tried to keep completely still as he grazed my face and chest with a terrifyingly sharp medieval-looking knife with double blades and a carved fleur-de-lis handle. I doubted my ability to stay still, and was sure I might have a spontaneous spasm and lose muscle control, causing him to cut off my breast. In every other way I’d played with Sir M, I had faith that he was in control. But knife play offered a freak chance that I could screw up. It screwed with my mind and left me petrified.

He continued to acclimate me to knives by showing me another deadly-looking dagger. My stomach twisted into knots and I doubled over, anxiety-ridden. He put the knife away. The next time he asked about knives again, and before I saw any knife, just the thought of a knife was enough to tie my stomach in knots again. After that Sir M backed off knife play for a while.

Playing with fire

For the next frightening thing to tackle, he introduced fire play. I told him I was afraid of fire and he smiled.


I was stripped naked and chained up to the Saint Andrew’s Cross. He made sure I wasn’t wearing any cream or cologne containing alcohol, as that would make my skin more flammable.

“I’m not sure about your pussy hair,” he said, of my trimmed landing strip. “It may burn, and that smells bad. We’ll have to get rid of that in the future.”

Sir M dipped a small torch in alcohol and set it aflame, then quickly drew lines of fire across my breasts, down my stomach and along my thighs. It was scary and beautiful to see my skin blazing. The fire on my skin was sometimes hot but didn’t burn me or hurt me; it just caused some confusion in my brain from the illusion of danger.

“I’m making a river of fire all the way down your stomach,” Sir M beamed as he narrated his moves. “See these little rivulets? They’re beautiful!”

The thin dramatic trails of flames licked my breasts, abdomen and legs. They gave me warmth and were amazing to witness, and that somehow made me feel  more secure. I also could see his thrill in painting with fire, with my body being the canvas. That got me over my fear of fire play.

Make mine a bonfire

The following week he decided to set a bonfire on my belly, swearing it wouldn’t burn me at all. I’d seen a photo of this and it looks like an amazing primitive ritual. I was nervous and terrified but I agreed to it because I knew it would please him. It was not an act of bravery on my part but an act of submission.

Sir M pulled out of his bag a material used by magicians, highly flammable cotton that has to be handled precisely or the user can burn himself. He created a long winding trail for the fire around my chest and abdomen, spiraling from the outer edges to the center like an extended candlewick. The preparation took a while but the bonfire lasts only for moments. He lit one end with a lighter and a shriek peeled out of me from my innermost depths. The whole thing burned rapidly and brilliantly.

The fire did not burn directly on my skin but it was a total mind fuck — the brain sees the body on fire and an incredible burst of adrenaline jolts the body into another realm. And then it’s over, and the after-effect is stunning. A huge sense of relief combines with the panicked realization of what just happened, plus the intoxicating sensations of playing on the edge. The experience was definitely a break though for me in tackling fears head on.

Sharper image

The following week Sir M introduced knife play again at our private session. He pulled out a small but seriously sharp and menacing pocketknife and ran the dull edge along my skin to get me comfortable with it. With the tip he poked my breasts, my abdomen, and other vulnerable spots hard enough to alarm me. Adrenaline began pumping thru me. He took the sharp blade and held it against my neck threateningly. I knew that if I moved forward he could slice open my carotid artery and I’d bleed to death in 60 seconds. I concentrated on staying still and did intentional yogic breathing. That calmed me down although all of my nerve endings were on full alert.

Then a transformation happened for me. Rather than panicking I settled into a calm trance-like state and became more attuned to what he was doing. Sir M carefully ran the blade and point across my skin to carve scratches into me, but not deep enough to draw blood. He made a sunray design on my breasts radiating from my nipples. He put some scratches over my side ribs, my back. And all the while I felt like I was hurtling thru the solar system weightlessly, liberated from my body but aware of it at the same time. I was exhilarated for hours afterwards.

Sir M’s experiments with edge play force me to confront my fears and inhibitions in ways I haven’t had to before. And I’ve become more fearless in my daily life as a result. So I will try extra hot chilies with my dinner!

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Losing My Nerve

February 16, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

One recent late night at the dungeon party I’d been flogged pretty hard. The blows started pleasurably as delicious thuds, reminding me with each stroke who I am in service to. But as Sir M got more enthusiastic, his lashes increased in intensity so my pain level reached a treacherously biting sting.

Photo by Smudgerphoto for submissivemolly.com

I’m not able to absorb that much pain and I screamed and cursed and sobbed, hoping he’d stop. I yelled at Sir M to not hit me so hard but he ridiculed me and went harder. Something in me snapped. It put me over the edge — and in an unhappy place.

Afterward, as I recovered, I tried to compose myself but just couldn’t. I finally decided that I’d had enough, so I defiantly bolted out of the room without requesting permission from Sir M.

I knew this act was tantamount to going on strike. If I stuck around with Sir M after this I might be punished severely but at that moment I was demonstrating that I was fed up and DONE with this training. I darted into the restroom, bolted the door and sat down to gather my thoughts.

Losing it

What kind of submissive am I? What are my goals with this training? I’m not a masochist. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy pain that’s at my threshold of tolerance so why try to go there all the time? What am I doing here?! I quit!

Sir M is renown as a particularly cruel sadist and he hits hard. He’s used to playing with partners who can handle much more pain than I can. But he’s also a benevolent and reasonable Dom and takes a paternal approach for the “after-care” that follows such a torture session.

When I returned to the room Sir M sensed that my attitude had shifted. I was upset and freaked out and seriously considering reverting back to my old vanilla lifestyle.

He hugged me and stroked my hair and helped calm me down so I could describe my conflicted feelings.

“Your pleas of ‘STOP!’ or ‘NO!’ or ‘TOO MUCH’ mean nothing in this context, nor does crying,” he explained. “Anyway, crying can be cathartic — you feel really good afterward.”

That is true, although crying in public feels to me even more humiliating than public nudity.

Sir M pointed out that I hadn’t followed the protocols he gave me — I’d never used the safe word “yellow” when the pain got to be unreasonable. I realized that in my attempts to submit to him and please him, I was letting him go too hard on me because I didn’t want to disappoint him. I was building up anger and resentment that could have been avoided.

Sex heals all

I was relieved but Sir M could see I needed a little more TLC.  He knew intrinsically how to fix me. He strolled over to the next room where another Dom was just packing up a scene and his submissive was cleaning all the toys he’d used. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but soon they came over to me. “Position 6!” commanded Sir M. I lay on my back with knees pressed against my body almost under my armpits and my hands sandwiched inside my folded legs – the position for Pussy Inspection. The other submissive, a petite brunette dressed in a schoolgirl micro-mini skirt, knelt down in front of me and pushed up the bottom of my very short leather skirt.

She delicately started flicking her tongue around my clit and the outer lips of my pussy. She stuck one, then two fingers inside me, then pulled them out abruptly. That left me wanting more and I begged her to put them back in. She sucked on my clit and pushed her bent fingers back into my wet pussy while both Doms looked on.

Sir M called out to me in his commanding voice, “show us what a cum slut you are!”

The sound of his voice and this luxurious sex play lulled me back into proper submissive form and soon I was riding waves of bliss, smiling and panting. The girl got more enthusiastic when she saw how responsive I was, and she thrust three, then four fingers in and out of me with a twisting motion. A handful of people were now sitting in chairs watching — girl on girl action can always draw a crowd!

Her hand plunged into me again and quickly worked me up to a moaning, heated crescendo. As I was on the verge of cumming Sir M said “not yet!” — reminding me that I’m not allowed to cum until he gives permission.

The girl slowed down but continued rubbing the Gspot area, then leaned forward to suck my left nipple. She tugged on the piercing a bit with her teeth so the jewelry would clank against her teeth, then she’d roll her tongue around the nipple. She picked up the pace with the finger banging and I rolled my hips around, beaming a big smile.

Sir M said “OK, cum for me bitch!” and she picked up the pace. My non-stop moan grew louder and higher in pitch until I was shaking and writhing. I came hard and wet. She continued to play with that and coax more orgasms and juices out of me. At last I was dazed and exhilarated. I wobbled up and went home happy.

After care

The next day Sir M asked me to write down my impressions in a private journal that only he has access to. He checked in with me later via webcam to make sure I was OK with everything and said he would cut back on the amount of pain he is giving me. I told him, “I’m glad I didn’t quit.”

He responded, “you are responsible for bringing this to my attention at the time. Now I can choose to ignore it and keep going if I feel that’s what you need, but at least I have the information to make that decision.”

This is the delicate balance of power and control that is part of the BDSM equation.

Sir M left me with a beautiful quote he’d stumbled across many years ago in some forgotten chat group that seemed particularly applicable:

Why is it that a naughty girl resists the refuge a Dom’s paddle offers, and chooses instead to hold the hurt inside? Tears are the gift of a submissive’s spirit… she should offer them freely to the one who tends to her soul.

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Becoming a Rope Slut

February 9, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

“I think I’ll have you tied up and suspended tonight,” Sir M told me when I greeted him at a recent dungeon party. This was to be another chapter in my training and I was grateful for the de-emphasis on pain and the focus, instead, on altered states.

Rope bondage is an area of BDSM that attracts many admirers with the beauty and creativity of the craft, combined with the image of seeing a submissive completely helpless. A good rope practitioner knows how to lay the rope in an artful way to accentuate the body and personality of the one being bound. Rope bondage for suspension requires great patience and skill so Sir M asked a rope aficionado called Sir P, to do this for him.

I peeled off my dress and prepared to be bound

Sir P is an elegant older gentleman with the air of a doctor or professor. He is renown for his extraordinary rope skills and his speed so I was flattered to have my first session with the best. Assisting him was his faithful slave, looking like a sexy librarian. She sat off to the side, poised to serve. I noticed that she was pure protocol – she deflected any attention from herself and if she needed to ask a question or leave, she formally asked his permission. She never spoke unless spoken to, and when she did, it was in a raspy whisper.

Sir M gave me a direct order: “take off your clothes and your shoes.”

I pouted for a moment because I thought the suspension could be accomplished clothed. Also, I’d worn a latex mini-dress and it takes some time to take it off because the clingy rubber fabric is literally skin-tight. But I peeled off my dress and 6-inch stilettos as Sir P set up.

He arranged ten bundles of black ropes in slightly varying thicknesses and lengths on a bench. The first was wrapped around my hips. Sir P explained that this would hold the bulk of my weight, followed by wraps around my chest and legs. He was good about communicating what he was doing to me, each step of the way. Another rope was wrapped in a pattern around my chest and back so that my breasts popped out between the ropes.

He then wrapped a whole network of different ropes around me to make a harness with a bold pattern. The ropes were all threaded through a hoop ring hanging inside a big wood frame. When he was satisfied he pulled the main ropes tight and hoisted up my feet so I was horizontal. He added support for my neck and then I was comfortably flying.

The absolute freedom of bondage

I loved the feeling of weightlessness and of being a suspended object. I was aware that I was on display and several people had gathered to watch this “scene.” I couldn’t really see everyone but many complimented me on it afterward. Sir M was viewing from an armchair a short distance away and chatting with another dom. Although out of my line of vision, Sir M was still clearly in charge of me. Sir P checked on me frequently to make sure I was OK, feeling for cold extremities or numbness.

Soon I’d settled into the suspension and was mewing like a happy kitten. I felt secure tied up like that and not a shred embarrassed by my nudity. The ropes enveloped me and made me feel safe in spite of my vulnerable position. This confinement allowed me to surrender completely. It was a surreal, womb-like experience hanging in that dungeon room, with echoes of loud slaps and girls screaming off in the background.

In one corner a large girl wearing pigtails was bent over a spanking bed while a man used all his might to whack her behind with the seat of a stool. I was thankful that Sir M left me there to just soak it in and enjoy the experience and didn’t torture me with spankings. That would happen later.

Sir M had explained that some people can enter “sub-space” through suspensions — a trance-like state that’s very desirable in BDSM. I felt I gained a certain calm happiness that may have been the first step to subspace. But on this day, after 20 or 30 minutes the ropes started digging into me in an uncomfortable way and Sir P decided it was time to let me down. That took a while as well — he had to unwrap things in reverse order, taking care not to let any rope ends snap and hit me.

I felt oddly intimate with Sir P, as if the ropes were an extension of his arms hugging me.

Back on the ground, ecstasy awaits the rope slut

Once back on the ground, Sir P explained that I’d be very cold and should sit still for a while. He ordered his slave to wrap me in a Snuggie blanket (black, of course!) and sat me on a chair. I bundled up and started quivering and sighing deeply and feeling orgasmic waves of pleasure spasmodically shooting through my body.

Sir M came over to take care of me. He stood behind me and absorbed my energy spasms so he could feel my excitement and bliss too. Sir M hugged me and made me feel comfortable and safe to vocalize the swirl of emotions I was experiencing. I amused the two Sirs as I continued through periodic waves of ecstasy and amazement.

“It’s the endorphins and adrenaline pumping through you,” explained Sir P.

“Enjoy it!” Sir M piped in, “Now you’re a rope slut.”

It’s true, I can’t wait to be suspended again for a longer time. I crave the sensation of being immobilized by rope. It’s such a sensuous medium in the right hands. It makes me feel safe and cared for, and this frees me from the worries of daily life. The suspension by rope felt like a rite of passage, a path to awareness.

The prospect of losing myself through the physical transformations and altered states possible in BDSM play make this exquisite torture all the more appealing.

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Private Lessons

February 2, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

A proper submissive needs to be trained and disciplined with more than just paddles and whips.

My training by Sir M has focused on protocol for a submissive -– and his sweet torture is a bonus. I committed to meeting him each Saturday night at the dungeon party but he wanted more time with me so I agreed to meet him during the week.

The question was where to meet, since his house is full and my apartment has paper-thin walls.

On a recent weekday I drove out to a far-flung location following his precise directions. We rendezvoused in a Walgreen’s parking lot, and then I followed him over to our destination. Our session was in the small living room of a suburban apartment lent to him by a friend.

It felt like we were trespassing on someone’s life — plastic bracelets were strewn on the coffee table, and a stuffed Hello Kitty doll perched on a tablecloth of fake lace.

I still had large, colorful bruises from our last play session

I stripped naked and he checked my aura — clean! He put a cute, red spiked collar on me.

“This is your play collar,” he explained.

He didn’t have me wear a collar at the dungeon party because I’m single, and unowned. The collar signifies ownership in public.

“I’ll try to not add any extra bruising this time,” he assured me, since the five-day-old bruises on my butt from the previous weekend’s dungeon party were still a vibrant purple and the size of navel oranges.

The first day’s private training was teaching me to distinguish the various types of floggers and the different effects he can get with each one. He left the blindfold off for the first part of the session so I could see each one. As he introduced them one by one, they graduated from smooth soft calfskin to rough to menacing.

Sir M lightly ran the strands of each along my face, my shoulder, my breasts, had me smell each and get familiar with it. He demonstrated the lightest touch, where the tails barely kiss my skin. Gradually he’d increase the impact to a brushing, thwacking, thudding and stinging sensation depending on which flogger he used and how he used it.

“Now put on the blindfold,” he commanded. It was time to play.

He flicked his wrist and delivered a sudden hard thud to my back with a black and silver leather flogger. I screamed loudly and snapped out of my fatigue. That worked better than a triple shot of espresso. He continued to flog my upper back, my thighs, around my ribs. The intensity worked up to a crescendo and then down again. Then he’d switch to another flogger for more of the same pace.

After the introduction to floggers, I was allowed to take off the blindfold and I make myself a cup of tea. He explained the six positions he likes submissives and slaves to use, and asked me to demonstrate each. The first is the classic surrender position but with a wider stance, appropriated from the military. Second is the same position, arms up behind head with fingers touching, but down on the knees with legs spread.

Pussy inspection

I was blindfolded once again and he ordered me to get down on the floor and assume position six, for pussy inspection. He was pleased to find my pussy wet and hungry.

“Mmm good! Very healthy!” Sir M’s expert fingers massaged my g-spot hard and coaxed me to squirt again and again. He cooed, “Good girl! Good girl!” He pulled his fingers out to the entrance of the vagina and lingered, swirled around my clit with my juices, then fingers plunged back inside for more. A warm wave of bliss spread over me. I felt invincible.

After this inspection, I was ready for more pain. Sir M stepped in very close to me and I could smell his soap or cologne, mingled with the smell of pussy juice. That turned me on and my nipples popped erect again. He showed me another of his knives, from a fraternal BDSM society he belongs to. It was wickedly sharp, curved and archaic-looking.

My gut clenched up and I quickly got a stomachache –- an adverse reaction to seeing the knife. He put the knives away and continued to use some of his floggers on me. The last looked like a cat-o’-nine tails and I was really thankful that he didn’t use it.

“Oh I could slice you open with that one. But I won’t,” he said reassuringly.

That special glow

Our training session lasted nearly four hours but the time passed quickly. I was high on the experience and the adrenaline. That euphoria lasted through the rest of the day. That night several people told me how great I looked and guessed that I must have done something special that day.

The truth is, I’m empowered by testing my own limits and taking that leap of bravery into unknown and terrifying places. And that makes my inner beauty shine.

A few days later I was craving the thud of his floggers more than anything. So when I got his e-mail instructing me to meet at the same place on Monday for more training, I was thrilled. I went into the bedroom and played with my throbbing cunt for a while, then went to sleep with a smile. I knew that my lover, who I’ll call J, would be back in a few hours and crawl into bed with me.

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Sir M’s School of Discipline

January 26, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

On a recent Saturday night I found myself blindfolded, nearly naked and chained up in the “play room” of a dungeon party. This was my first BDSM play session with Sir M and I was afraid, yet thrilled to be trained by such a highly experienced and respected Dominant. My adrenaline surged with the first smack on my behind.

“I’m going to introduce you to a lot of my different tools so you can learn the different sensations,”  he whispered as he locked me in a wrestler’s hold from behind with his left arm and slipped on my blindfold. His right hand then teased my erect nipples. “I’d like to string you up by these nipple rings but we’ll have to wait until they’re completely healed. What a shame!”

He tortured me with a series of implements – barehanded spankings, leather paddle spanking, three or four different floggers, a riding crop, and a lucite cane. With each one, he’d tell me what is was, stroke it softly along my face and body to teach me the feeling and the smell. Some floggers felt smooth and heavy, others has more of a tooth to the fabric like suede, and one seemed to have more texture.

Sir M’s Torture was delicious and painful

Sir M took his time and let each blow be absorbed before giving me the next. It was delicious and painful. I screamed a lot and swore uncontrollably, trying to dodge when the blows got harder.

“Don’t dance!” he’d yell if I squirmed around.

He was careful to test my limits — this session was going to be the base for many more to come.

Sir M paced our session so the pain intensity would warm up and swell and peak, then have cool down periods. There would be intermissions of pain and he’d check in with me to make sure I was doing OK. He’d check my chakras, caress me for a while, console me, then say “OK, slut, ready for more?”

A few times he cupped his hand around my throat just under the jaw for what seemed like several minutes. It felt strange and frightening, like I might be strangled, but I could still breathe just fine.

“Sir, may I ask a question? What are you doing?”

He chuckled. “You may ask that but I’m not going to answer. I’m checking something.”

I noticed that Sir M always stayed attuned to my breathing, sometimes synchronizing his own breath. When he gave the most intense pain he’d remind me to keep breathing deeply.

Divine surrender

At some point in the session I felt transformed. Lightheaded but clear. Exhilarated. Still feeling the pain acutely but able to spread it through my body with my breath and transcend it. I later realized we’d spent two hours but the time had flown.

When he was finished, Sir M had me wrap my arms around him and give him a bear hug. This helped ground me and prepare me for the outside world. He settled back down in the leather armchair and watched me get dressed, with his permission. He instructed me to clean off all the toys he used with alcohol and taught me to only clean the “fall” of the floggers, the part that touches the body.


We joined the groups socializing outside the playrooms, gathered by the fire pit. A slave called Cinnamon with glowing eyes and flushed cheeks rushed through the crowd holding a snifter of cognac. It was balanced on the palms of her hands as if she were a human tray. I could see she was rushing over to serve her master and it wasn’t a good time to chit chat.

I was pretty dazed. I stood there with Sir M’s heavy bag of whips and chains. Several people I’d never seen before complimented me on our scene, on my tattoo. I realized we must have drawn a crowd with my loud cries and screams. And we got their seal of approval.

I knew that once I stepped outside the club doors I’d return to being my assertive, independent self. That fact makes my choice of submission even more meaningful. I can attain freedom through surrender!

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. She’s currently unowned and uncollared. The image used in this post is from Daisy TralaLA.


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Sex and the 405 is what your newspaper would look like if it had a sex section.

Here you’ll find news about the latest research being conducted to figure out what drives desire, passion, and other sex habits; reviews of sex toys, porn and other sexy things; coverage of the latest sex-related news that have our mainstream media's panties up in a bunch; human interest pieces about sex and desire; interviews with people who love sex, or hate sex, or work in sex, or work to enable you to have better sex; opinion pieces that relate to sex and society; and the sex-related side of celebrity gossip. More...