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He Sees Right Through Me

June 1, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

Daisy Tralala Journey of a Submissive

The last time I saw Sir M he asked me how things were going with me. I told him sheepishly that the night before I’d made a mistake. He had put me on abstinence from having any sex or orgasms at all for a week. I’d managed to stick to this for nearly the whole week, but had played with myself the night before, got carried away and had a shuddering orgasm.

He slapped my face because I’d disobeyed him. He was furious.

The few times when I’ve violated a rule when not in his presence, I’ve gone to Sir M immediately with the information. I know the consequence of this action could mean a fierce paddling as punishment, but that doesn’t deter me from being forthcoming. I am under orders to do so. … Continue Reading

Think Before You Kink

May 26, 2010 BDSM, Diary, Drew, Lessons No Comments

Zero Tolerance with Drew Thomas

Session planning can be a controversial topic in the BDSM community. Some kinksters believe that planning is the enemy of spontaneity, and that some of the most magical moments come from identifying and capturing unexpected opportunities. For the most part, they’re not wrong. On the other hand, it’s impossible to achieve any complex long-term goal without some degree of forethought.

As in most cases, the answer is somewhere between the extremes. Do some degree of planning for your scenes simply because that works better, and leave yourself open to whatever enticing paths reveal themselves along the way. On that note, let’s jump into how I might plan a session with a semi-hypothetical sub named Jackie this Saturday. … Continue Reading

Plays Well With Others

May 25, 2010 Daisy, Diary 2 Comments

Daisy Tralala Journey of a Submissive

A few weeks ago Sir M and I finished a scene at the dungeon and stayed in the main room to watch the other scenes in progress. He sat in a Gothic leather armchair while I sat on the floor to his left. My body was completely relaxed and my head rested on his thigh. I wallowed in the afterglow of his sweet torture and gazed up at him beatifically.

“Watch this scene to the left. That’s Orpheus. He’s a well-known performer but he comes here to do his own thing and try out new ideas.”

Orpheus had a female submissive tied up to a wooden frame. Her hands were tied with rope. Her arms were crossed behind her and her body was tied tightly, forcing her to bend over. One leg was hitched up with a rope attached to the frame, leaving her vagina completely exposed. She balanced on the other foot. Her eyes were wide open with a mixture of surprise and terror, her lips pursed and open. … Continue Reading

DomCon Weekend

May 19, 2010 Daisy, Diary, Events 4 Comments

Daisy Tralala Journey of a Submissive

Last weekend I found myself in a room of eager submissives and Doms attending a workshop on pain management. This was part of DomCon LA — a four-day series of events that is the biggest and most well-organized annual BDSM convention in Los Angeles. The overall event is geared to Dominants, both pros and lifestylers. But it’s a feast for submissives like myself, who melt into a puddle of bliss relinquishing power to a Dom. I’m a sucker for the type of man who will slam you down, pin your arms behind you and use you like a piece of meat — and this convention had plenty of them!

DomCon includes educational presentations, demos, hands-on technique training, a couture show, a gay wedding, a fabulous array of BDSM fashion, toys and lifestyle accessories for sale, play parties, a Mistresses’ tea, and the Fetish Ball. The event is produced by legendary male-to-female pro-Domme Mistress Cyan. Mistress Cyan was the 2009 Pantheon of Leather Woman of the Year, she runs a production company and a professional dungeon; and she is a successful bondage and fetish model and actress. Kinksters come from all over to attend DomCon so it’s a huge social event, great for people-watching and a lot of fun. … Continue Reading

Ouch is Not a Safe Word

May 11, 2010 Daisy, Diary 2 Comments

“Oouuuch! Noooo! I can’t take it! My butt’s too sore already! I hate that!”

That’s what I typically yell out in my BDSM sessions with Sir M, as he increases the intensity of his play and pulls out nastier toys like the dreaded cane.

“TOO BAD!” is what he will yell back, as he continues to whack me.

I’m not a masochist but I like some BDSM contact play and that often involves varying sensations and levels of pain. Part of submitting to a master is enduring that pain because the master (who’s usually a sadist) enjoys giving pain. But my low pain tolerance means that bearing the sting of his floggers is a huge challenge for me.

I often feel conflicted between taking care of my own needs and serving Sir M and satisfying his needs. I know that he’s a heavy player and likes to hit hard, much harder than I can endure. Out of submission to him, I tried my best to take his beatings every week. I’d marvel at the bruises later, but during play I’d be miserable and angry. I repressed those feelings until I reached a boiling point and exploded. That nearly drove me to stop playing with him. Since then he has been working with me to build my pain tolerance and help me process pain.

He said part of that would happen naturally — the body builds up tolerance to pain with repeated exposure. However, I had to explore other avenues for handling pain or I’d never get to the point where I could really enjoy playing with Sir M.


Sir M assigned some reading as my homework. He lent me a water-stained and heavily notated book from his library, titled Slavecraft by Guy Baldwin and A Grateful Slave. As part of my assignment I read and re-read an essay called “Using or Processing Pain.”

The writer describes pain as a vehicle to transcend the physical and tap into a psychological shift:

…like a fiber-optic cable through which I can find myself transported into altered states of consciousness.

Subspace is what Baldwin is referring to. It is a pleasurable altered state of consciousness that is triggered by the endorphins released — possibly from fear and arousal. It can be momentary, last 30 minutes, or even into the next day. Sir M told me that subspace is the ideal result of BDSM play for the sub.

I had experienced subspace from some knife play and sex play, but not from corporal play like spanking and paddling. Subspace is a wonderful floaty feeling, sometimes propelling me to another reality entirely. Some subs drift off into subspace almost immediately after being struck, and then don’t notice the subsequent pain from play. I envy them and wish I wasn’t such a wimp with pain!

I set a goal for myself — to learn not just how to endure pain, but to enjoy receiving pain by going into subspace.

The fine balance between pain and pleasure

Baldwin explains that the ways people feel and process pain is very personal and differs widely — so what is intolerable to one might be a nice reminder to another of a hard game of tennis, for example. It’s also situational: if a masochist gets hit by a car, he or she doesn’t enjoy it!

One of my friends in the scene, slave s, is a masochist who likes heavy play. I asked her what it’s like for her.

“The pain helps me relax and access my deep emotions. Even though I have a high tolerance, it’s still pain and it makes me tense up. My way of dealing with it is biting and sucking on myself to let go when I’m getting beaten, especially if it’s stingy and intense. Or I might hold my nose, like a form of breath play.”

I still didn’t exactly understand what she was getting out of it until she explained:

“Pushing myself like that so I can serve a master is what it’s all about. That’s what makes me dripping wet.”

I admired her resolve but wondered if I could ever get to that point.


When I play with Sir M he often reminds me to keep breathing deeply. I tend to hold my breath and scream; if I consciously force myself to breathe when I’m in pain it can turn rapid and shallow quickly. But if I can push through to the deeper breathing it is possible to direct the pain out of the body. I visualize it going out through the top of my head.

Not surprisingly, A Grateful Slave in Slavecraft lists breath as the top tool for managing pain: “Breathe out the pain, breathe in relaxed receptivity.”

That makes sense, but putting it into practice isn’t always easy. I tap into the breathing from my yoga practice to push through the pain and that has helped. Sometimes when being hit I do yogic breathing and imagine myself in an intense yoga pose. I’ll make up a fake Sanskrit name for it like ouchakanasana. That amuses me enough to distract me from the pain briefly.

Slavecraft also suggests some more ephemeral methods for managing pain. Some subs create a whole fantasy and place themselves in a role, such as a Roman slave who gets flogged every day. Others might visualize heat, light or color as a manifestation of pain, so that it can be dispersed and dissipated.

Sir M also suggests I use energy movement for pain management. His method is to send the energy from each swat or sting to a different place in the body or disperse it all over the body to dilute the pain. I try to remember to do that between breaths but it takes some concentration.

Sex as a diversion

I’ve found that sexual stimulation is the greatest diversion from pain. The other night Sir M had a sub lick my pussy while he was flogging me and I hardly noticed the pain at all! It switched to an intense sensation that propelled the sexual pleasure. When at last he allowed me to cum it felt like a volcano erupting from the intensity.

I also find that physical contact with him helps me disperse pain more effectively. I might lean back against him or lean my head against his forearm depending on how I’m restrained and what he’s doing, and I’m able to relax and redirect the pain out of me

Sir M has noticed big improvements in my pain processing over the last few months. These days, if you were to stumble across us doing a scene at the local dungeon you might be surprised to see my expression quickly shift from a wince to a beatific smile as Sir M tweaks my nipple and whacks my ass with a paddle. I have a long journey ahead but now I know I can bear it.

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

Zero Tolerance

May 5, 2010 Diary 2 Comments

If you’ve been a reader of Sex and the 405 for any period of time, you know that on Tuesdays, we run the diaries of Daisy, a woman on a search to discover herself as a submissive in Los Angeles vast BDSM playground. This week, we bring you the view from a different angle — that of a dom in the same space.

It’s a Friday, just after midnight, several years ago. I’m looking down at a head-turning blonde who’s kneeling on my Persian rug, wearing nothing but a black leather collar that’s locked around her neck, connected to a gleaming jeweled chain leash that has fallen to the floor between her perfectly-formed B-cup breasts. As I take in the view, a single thought echoes through my mind: “How did I fuck this up so badly?”

At age 25, having just moved to L.A. and started to explore the local BDSM community, I already had a few years of experience as a dominant in serious relationships, but this was my first time playing with a submissive in a more casual context. Kat and I had already spoken at length about her need for total control and strict discipline, but she was a few years younger, brand new to BDSM, and we had only just met.

The evening began fairly casually with our favorite HBO show, a nice bottle of Malbec, and the best pizza in Hollywood. When it was playtime and I told her to kneel and strip, Kat kept the first date tone going with some jokes and nervous laughter. I decided to let that slide until she felt more comfortable. Ditto for when she kept forgetting to call me “Sir,” which is a fairly standard rule in BDSM play.

I was just as accommodating when she told me to wait while she kept self-consciously fixing her hair, and by the time I had her chained to the front of the couch for some blowjob training, she was rolling her eyes and making ‘whatever’ faces at the instructions.

At this point, the wheels had come off, and I knew it was my fault. But how had I gone so far off track?

Comedy of errors

My plan for the evening was focused more on making sure this sweet and inexperienced 20-year-old didn’t have a bad first experience than on providing her with an amazing one. I wanted to earn her trust by demonstrating I’d always respect her limits and keep her safe, never pushing her further than I knew she could go. Problem was, by letting so many little things slide, I allowed her to dictate the pace and tone of the entire session — exactly the opposite of the power dynamic we both wanted.

While dissecting the smelly corpse of this sorry effort, I remembered an article I had read about something called the Broken Windows Theory. First introduced in the 80s, it asserts that serious felonies like murder, muggings, and illegal drug sales are much more likely to occur in areas with a high prevalence of petty crimes like vandalism and prostitution.

This correlation suggested to many politicians and criminologists, including the then-mayor of New York City Rudy Giuliani, that the perceived tolerance of petty infractions emboldens people to commit more and more serious crimes. This gave Rudy an idea: what if we were to crack down on petty crimes all over the city — arresting hookers and public pissers, painting over graffiti, and fixing those windows as soon as they’re smashed? He directed his chief of police to do just that, and by the mid-90s, this policy of “zero tolerance” contributed to the steepest drop in crime rates ever recorded in a major urban area.

New York City, once widely considered “ungovernable,” soon became the safest metropolis in the world. Like Rudy, I immediately recognized the applications of zero tolerance to another high-crime area: my living room floor.

Round two

When Kat accepted my invitation for a Round 2, I was determined to lay down the law. We started with dinner and drinks at a nearby restaurant. When we got back to my place, I told her to kneel and strip before I even closed the door. I tied her arms snugly in my favorite position, folded behind her back with no way of protecting her girl parts, then I read her the riot act.

I told her she’d speak only when spoken to, always addressing me as “Sir.” She’d keep her eyes forward, her legs spread, her pussy fully exposed and accessible for my use. She’d adjust any aspect of her appearance only when instructed. If she had hair in her mouth or trapped in her collar or gag strap, I explained, she’d just have to fucking deal with it.

Then I asked her if she understood. She nodded. Woops — mistake number one.

I immediately grabbed her hair, pushed her face to the floor, held it there with my boot, and started spanking her. Hard. First, she moaned. Then she whimpered. When she started squirming, I told her to hold her ass perfectly still or I’d switch to the paddle. Her ass turned pink, then red. Before long, her whimpers turned to sniffles, and I knew I had her right where I wanted her.

Grabbing the back of her collar, I tugged her trembling body back up to the kneeling position and asked her again if she understood my rules.

“Yes, Sir.”

I nodded my approval, then reached down between her legs for a humidity check. Wow, I thought. Mission accomplished. Kat’s performance improved dramatically over the next few hours. She did need a firm reminder from time to time with one implement or another, and as unpleasant as that was for her, I could tell she was as turned on as I was.

Body of work

Michelangelo once wrote, “In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me… I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to other eyes as mine see it.”

As I’ve known ever since my first kinky experiences in college, the greatest challenge and thrill of BDSM lies in chipping away at the conditioned habits and attitudes of a girl whose body and sensations I fully control, ultimately revealing her inner slut in all its obedient and insatiable splendor. Every girlfriend, submissive, and casual play partner since then has taught me something valuable.

From Kat, I learned that the full realization of a Dom/sub dynamic is the result of a thousand decisions, each involving seemingly frivolous yet critical details, meticulously integrated into a work of art far greater than the sum of its parts. Still, it would be egotistical and incorrect for me to take much credit for the outcome. I didn’t create Kat’s inner slut, it was there all along. All I did was chip away the excess, and both of us enjoyed the process as much as the finished product.

Drew Thomas (@DrewT323) is a dom living in Los Angeles.

Fan Letter to Sir M

May 4, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

Dear Sir M,

I’m writing you a fan letter to tell you how much i admire, respect and enjoy You, Sir. You allow me to be fearless. That has brought out dormant powers in me and inspired other powers i never knew i had, Sir! You are an amazing teacher and i have much yet to learn from You, Sir.

This is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to Sir M after a particularly fun-filled all-nighter at our favorite dungeon. He had inspired me to perform all sorts of naughty acts for his entertainment… and my pleasure.

Don’t break the furniture

It was a quiet night there and Sir M and I were among the only pairs playing in the large dungeon room so we attracted a sizeable audience. He chained me up to a slant board and played with me roughly, teased me, slapped, paddled and flogged me.

He’s been trying to train me to not scream and make so much noise during BDSM play but that’s very hard for me. To keep from screaming I’d rattle the chains and hit the cuffs of the arm restraints against the board to work the pain out of my body. With intense sensations like that, I often stomp, scream, beat my hands on something or curse.

“Don’t break the furniture!” he yelled as I banged the cuffs.

He prodded and scratched me with a sharp, insanely deadly knife, drawing long scratches down my body. This elicits fear and the anticipation of pain, more than actual pain. But it is enough of a mind-fuck to terrify me so my basic survival instincts kick in and adrenaline floods my system.

He turned me around and whipped me with a long leather strap that tapers at the end with a hard cracker that adds a sting after the initial slap.

I screamed out, “I hate you!” Of course we both knew that wasn’t true.

After the scene

After our scene I redressed and sat on the floor with my head nestled in his lap. I purred and he petted my head.

“I don’t hate you.”

“I know,” he answered.

A female switch we knew passed by and said she was going home. A switch is someone who likes to do both roles — top and bottom, or Dominant and submissive. I gave her butt a friendly spank. She arched her back.

“Better to hit my ass on this lower part here.”

She patted her ass to explain.

Then she decided to demonstrate on me — with Sir M’s permission. I stood up, pulled off my clothes again and bent over onto his lap.

“Feel the difference between when I spank you here… and there.”

She spanked me very sensually, rubbing the insides of the butt cheeks and groin area. Sometimes her finger darted inside me, manipulated the soft tissue and then brought the wetness back out to lubricate my clit.

“Mmmm, your pussy is similar to mine — hot and tight, with a big clit and lots of spongy area inside.”

Sir M spurred her on.

“Spank her harder!”

She slapped the lower part of my butt cheeks and thighs with her hands straight in front to make it sting more. I grabbed Sir M’s thighs more tightly through his leather trousers and tried to breathe deeply.

“Are you ready to cum, bitch?” he whispered to me. I nodded weakly.

She slapped my ass one last time and then set to work to make me cum. She fingered my G-spot emphatically. Sir M leaned forward to play with one of my breasts. She leaned into me and played with the nipple piercing of the other breast with her free hand.

Sir M bellowed “CUM FOR ME….NOW!”

Much to the amazement of the female switch, I started gushing ejaculate. It rolled down my leg as she continued to finger me. Sir M has trained me to cum on command and I’m getting better at it — responding to the sound of his voice and his orders. The tone of his voice when he gives this order is so urgent and persuasive it makes me focus and try my hardest.

Afterward I cleaned up and dressed and assumed my position sitting on the floor at Sir M’s left. A female sub had been hovering and finally got up the nerve to speak to him. She asked if he might be able to train her. I looked up and stole a rare glance of his face. He was grinning, eyes sparkling.

She sat on the floor to his right and we both rested our heads on his thighs. He subtly guided our heads toward each other. Moments later she and I were making out in his lap. I caressed her thick blonde locks and she played with my hair and breasts. Sir M gazed down with a benevolent smile.

He ordered us to undress. She was a Rubenesque beauty, soft and curvy with a beautiful shape and smooth pale skin.

“Position 6!”

That was my order to lie on the floor with legs bent and pulled up to my sides. It is the position for pussy inspection.

“Lick her pussy!”

She obeyed and licked me skillfully, making me quiver and groan. Sir M hovered over us to get a closer look. He spanked her ass and held her down on me. She made cute little moans as she sucked my clit.

She and I traded shy grins, both enjoying this moment. I felt that gushy feeling of being on ecstasy and loving the world.

We wrestled and snuggled on the floor, right there in the main room. Some men had pulled up chairs for a better view. I could see she was getting a little overwhelmed so I kissed her and we redressed. She went outside for a post-coital smoke.

I rested my head on Sir M’s left thigh and beamed at him, thinking how lucky I am to have such a cool and powerful Dominant. Thinking about how much naughty fun we get into together. I realized that I want to be owned by him.

Advanced training

I’ve been in training with Sir M for close to four months. He has completed the physical portion of the training, and is now on to the psychological and intellectual portion of the training. We are now at the point of considering what my intentions are, and next steps.

In this time I’ve come to understand that Sir M is an extraordinary Dom and I still have much to learn from him. He has protected me and guided me away from the pitfalls that often confront newbies to the BDSM scene. I want to make a longer commitment and graduate from trainee to being his personal submissive.

Sir M is an old school Dom and follows rather high protocols for subs and slaves. So even though I’ve communicated my interest for a more permanent association, I will have to petition to become his sub.

The petition is the plea a submissive makes, outlining why they wish to be in service to that Dom. The intended outcome — I can proudly wear Sir M’s collar – signifying that I am his possession.

There will be further education, as I need to determine what kind of arrangement will suit me best. I will be researching and writing, hopefully in a convincing manner so that he will accept. Check my diary entries each Tuesday to see where this leads!

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


May 3, 2010 Diary, Nikki 1 Comment

I know how this works. I know how indecision pushes him to dilute his implications. I know all this shit very well. I like to say “let’s play it by ear.” He likes to say “let’s go with the flow.”

It’s my fault. I’m too easily drawn into fantasy and expectation these days. I want to find meaning in a look. I manipulate because I want the reaction, and then when I get it I can’t handle it. The problem is he turned out to be really cool and smart and could match me word for word. And fucking hot. I wanted him to be dumb and hot. I just wanted to fuck. I wanted it to be easy and cool. I didn’t want to know him. I didn’t want complications. I don’t want to feel jealous or insecure.

I really am a nice girl. I am sweet and everyone loves me. I inspire some kind of protective instinct in my friends. I try to be dirty and flirtatious and guys like it but I’m never brave enough to follow through.

But I want to fuck him. I want to be his good girl turned bad. I want him to pull my head back by my hair and I want his mouth on my neck, hard. I want his hands and mouth on my tits. I want his hand against my face when his cock is in my mouth. I want to gag when he pushes my head down and then I want to taste him when he comes, hot against my tongue, salty. I want to swallow, and swallow. I want him inside me hard, pushing up, deeper, slowly then faster.

I want to be sore the next day, and the next. I want to be fucked like a whore, like he’s paying for it. I want to feel him dripping out of me later, down the inside of my leg. I want to smell it in the shower. I want to be punished like I deserve it. I want to be marked.

So it’s a problem, and I don’t know if I want to risk it. And he’s ambivalent anyway. I’m used to getting what I want without very much effort. But it’s not working for me right now, and I’m frustrated and impatient and unsure.

I showed this to him and he said, “this could be an ongoing story.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “let’s play it by ear.”

Nikki Thomas was born and raised in Los Angeles. She was a straight A student who couldn’t follow the rules and spent as much time in the principal’s office as in the library. At university she opted not to join a sorority and instead filled her free time cruising Hollywood bars and parties, hooking up and getting down. Nikki is a bad girl with a heart of gold. These are her stories — consider it our Monday treat for you.

Shall we discuss Giant Tits?

May 2, 2010 Diary, Raymond 1 Comment

Shall we discuss Giant Tits? Yes, Let’s.

We know the truth: it’s biological. Yet we leer and lean and stare. What are we staring at? Is it food? Is it fat? No, it’s biology.

It’s biology and biology is something you can’t control.

We can’t help it. We stare. We lean. We leer. We just… have to. Can’t help it.

It starts with the look. What we want is to touch, but we start with the look. Why do we want to touch them so so so much? Biology. Can’t help it.

So we look. If we’re smart we’re not caught looking by the one we’re with.

But let’s say we’re with no one.

Now we want to get caught just a little. We look. When they’re not looking at us, we gaze. If we’re smart, right when they start to feel that gaze, we look away. And now they’re looking at us.

They know that we looked, they always know that we looked. They get tired sometimes from all the looks. But we can’t help it. Which is why it’s best not to get caught looking.

But they know. Biology tells them so. The Giant Tits were being stared at once again, coveted once again.

We don’t think about it: the back pain, the weight carried around that makes it impossible to catch a basketball, the lines that carve into their skin from the bra lines.

We don’t think about the harassment, the intimidation, the fear of the young girl who grew before her time.

We don’t think about these things. It’s biology. All we think about are the Giant Tits.

So we stare. We lean. We leer.

And we hope to hold them in our hands… we hope to see them let loose so that they sway in front of our eyes… we hope to fuck them. It’s biology.

Can’t help it.

Raymond Burns is an esoteric indie film professional living in Los Angeles. Raymond is a social animal who loves every inch of the female form. He comprehensively appreciates the quiet aftermath of a woman’s orgasm. He hangs a bit to the left.

Digging the Scene

April 27, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

We deviated from our usual Saturday night private dungeon club party to check out the opening night festivities at the new BDSM club Eye Candy. Billed as a swingers club with BDSM play areas, the invitation promised an upscale club experience in Hollywood. Guests were encouraged to dress accordingly — leather, lace, lingerie or less.

I adore any excuse to dress up, particularly in fetish wear. I’ve always loved the fashion aspect of BDSM and that may be what initially caused me to flirt with bondage play in the first place. As a teenage punk rocker, I wore leather studded cock rings from the Pleasure Chest as bracelets, a slave collar, biker boots and leather jacket. These were all appropriated from gay leather culture without an understanding of what these items symbolized. I had more of an emotional connection with the aggressively sexy demeanor of black leather and bondage-influenced clothing because it was like my suit of armor – it made me feel cool and invincible.

Rock ’n roll and bondage

Rock ’n roll fashion has appropriated the rebellious bondage aesthetic for decades — think Sex Pistols in Vivienne Westwood’s bondage pants, Lou Reed in his tough leather jacket, Madonna in Jean Paul Gaultier’s fetishized 1950’s underwear as outerwear, Lady Gaga in PVC and dozens of other pop icons who have popularized versions of bondage or fetish wear.

This influence has been seen in the fashions of couture designers including Tom Ford, Helmut Lang, John Galliano and Alexander McQueen to name a few. These days it’s been diluted and fashion’s flirtation with the bondage look doesn’t have the same shocking impact. Some of these elements trickle down to the masses and end up as details in garments by H&M or Forever 21. I can’t afford a Herve Leger bandage dress but can fantasize about it!

Now that I’ve adopted BDSM as a lifestyle I take advantage of the opportunities to wear bondage-tinged fashion whenever possible — the kinkier the better. Crazy fun fashion is one of the benefits of this alternative way of life. I shop alongside strippers and rave bunnies, trolling Hollywood Boulevard or Haight Street in San Francisco for fetish clothing.

Seduced by latex

One thing that makes me feel so seductive in fetish clothing is that it objectifies the wearer, transforming her mindset, as she becomes a slave to the clothes. Objectification in the BDSM world ties in with submission — the submissive becomes a sexual object, existing only for the pleasure of another. It’s everything my feminist upbringing rallied against. For a modern woman like myself, objectification is taboo… and so naturally, it is a turn on for me.

Fetish clothing may restrict movement (such as with corsetry), dictate how we move (as with high stiletto heels) and what we do when wearing the clothing. I will totter along in tight narrow skirts combined with 6” platform heels that force me to take small, careful steps, while dragging Sir M’s heavy suitcase full of knives, chains and BDSM toys. Impractical but it looks so good.

Choosing an outfit for a kink event can be a challenge. Some of the best looks are time intensive to put on and take off, and demand advance preparation. Getting laced into a corset can take an hour and require someone else helping lace it up. Fishnet stockings with garters are difficult to put on without any twist in the garters, particularly when re-dressing in the dark as I often do at dungeon parties. Donning latex means carefully washing and hanging the garment earlier that day, then rubbing silicon-based lube on the body to help the skin-tight rubber glide over the body and into place. It is a process.

Undressing in public is an art

Part of the criteria in choosing my party wear is balancing the ease (or difficulty) of getting dressed and undressed, with the hotness factor of the outfit. I dress to please Sir M and must shine as a proud sub when I’m in his service. It is crucial that I wear something sexy but not completely impractical. For example, on a rainy winter night I was told to dress “sexy warm,” so I wouldn’t get sick strutting around in the cold. I’m of no use to him if I’m sick.

It is also essential that the outfit not be too difficult to take on or off, so that when Sir M is ready to do a scene I can transition quickly. By the same token, I can’t redress in a complicated outfit if I’m all spaced out after a scene, which is often the case. I am obsessed with waist cinchers and the silhouette they give me, yet they are not easy to put on or wear, so I save them for special occasions.

Peeling off a tight latex garment can be a struggle especially if the wearer has sweat after putting it on. And it’s hard not to sweat in a rubber dress! I ran into this problem a few weeks ago and got the latex dress rolled up and stuck around my chest when I was trying to disrobe for a scene with Sir M. He had to help me pull it off. Talk about embarrassing!

The scene-makers and the looky-loos

For the club opening I chose to wear a fishnet top with no bra, waist cincher and Herve Leger-knock-off mini skirt with fishnets and garters. The crowd was super well-dressed — pin-up-inspired beauties in perfect latex dresses and fetish heels, brilliantined black and blue hair, men wearing their best leathers (including Sir M in a soft black lambskin jacket and slacks.) There was a man in a heavy Batman costume getting tied up for a suspension on the stage in the main room. Upstairs, the dimly lit swingers loft was occupied with a few humping couples on mattresses strewn about the floor.

Sir M chose to restrain me on a large, beautiful St. Andrew’s cross that had been custom-made for the club. I carefully undressed, aware that he was leering at me and a crowd was staring in at us through the glass wall. He pulled me up against him so I could feel the leather trousers against my naked skin. He whispered gruffly in my ear,

“You like getting naked for me, don’t you, slut?”

I nodded and started to shake with nerves. He stroked my abdomen for a moment, then got a grip on my breasts and whirled me around against the cross to receive my punishment.

His stiff leather paddle (shaped like a ping pong paddle) stung as it whacked my butt. I shrieked but it didn’t matter — it just attracted a bigger crowd. I was still shaking and sobbing, cold and anxious.

Sir M blindfolded me for the rest of our scene. He was able to calm me down by dragging the point of his sharp knife all along my body. He has trained me to enter a euphoric state when confronted with his knives.

The deep scratches from his knifeplay tingled and sang to me as I redressed to join the party. That is something you probably won’t see in any fashion show; a special reminder that Sir M has been there.

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.


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Gamers Won’t Be Seduced, Will Stare At Random Cleav Instead

That Steam allows the objectification and sexualization of female characters in a variety of its games but refuses to accept a game about actually engaging with women in a more interactive fashion is astonishingly backward.

FetLife Is Not Safe for Users

That the site doesn’t take measures to protect user content and has shown incompetence or negligence in regard to user privacy, all the while prohibiting victims from warning others about predatory behavior creates an environment where it is nearly impossible for members of the community to take care of themselves and one another. By enabling FetLife to continue espousing a code of silence, allowing the spinning self-created security issues as “attacks,” and not pointing out how disingenuous FetLife statements about safety are, we are allowing our community to become a breeding ground for exploitation.

Why You Should Vote No On Prop 35

Should people who benefit (parents, siblings, children, roommates!) from the earnings of “commercial sex acts” (any sexual conduct connected to the giving or receiving of something of value) be charged with human trafficking? Should someone who creates obscene material that is deemed “deviant” be charged as with human trafficking? Should someone who profits from obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should people transporting obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should a person who engages in sex with someone claiming to be above the age of consent or furnishing a fake ID to this effect be charged with human trafficking? What if I told you the sentences for that kind of conviction were eight, 14 or 20 years in prison, a fine not to exceed $500,000, and life as a registered sex offender?

Pretty and Calls Herself a Geek? Attention Whore!

If you are a woman, you might be given a chance to prove yourself in this community. Since there is no standard definition of what a “geek” is and it will vary from one judge to the next anyway, chances of failing are high (cake and grief counseling will be available after the conclusion of the test!). If you somehow manage to succeed, you’ll be tested again and again by anyone who encounters you until you manage to establish yourself like, say, Felicia Day. But even then, you’ll be questioned. As a woman, your whole existence within the geek community will be nothing but a series of tests — if you’re lucky. If you aren’t lucky, you’ll be harassed and threatened and those within the culture will tacitly agree that you deserve it.

Cuddle Chemical? Moral Molecule? Not So Fast

Zak’s original field, it turns out, is economics, a far cry from the hearts and teddy bears we imagine when we consider his nickname. But after performing experiments on generosity, Zak stumbled on the importance of trust in interactions, which led him, rather inevitably, to research about oxytocin. Oxytocin, you might remember, is a hormone that has been linked previously to bonding — between mothers and children primarily, but also between partners. What Zak has done is take the research a step further, arguing in his recent book, The Moral Molecule, that oxytocin plays a role in determining whether we are good or evil.

How to Avoid Pissing off a Stripper

Let’s talk about the strippers. Whether they like to be half-naked or not, whether they enjoy turning you on or not, there’s one thing they all have in common: they’re working. Whether you think that taking one’s clothes off for money is a great choice of career is really beside the point (is it a possibility for you to make $500 per hour at your job without a law degree? Just asking). These women are providing fantasy, yes, but that is their job. And as a patron of the establishment where they work, you need to treat them like you would anyone else who provides a service to you.


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