Never fear, dear readers. Your friendly neighborhood domme has not hung up her paddle. I am still dominating businessmen with excessive disposable income. No, my story this week is set in the BDSM scene, a comedy of errors in which I walked haphazardly and blindly into a minefield of social mores.
Let’s start with last Thursday night. The pheromone levels must have been at an all-time high for the month. I was juggling 3 people who were interested in dating or playing1 (in the BDSM world, kink activities), plus added more to the list by the time I got home. First on the itinerary was an erotica reading2 event with the lifestyle couple and a vanilla3 guy. Afterwards, Mr. Vanilla suggested dinner at China 1 since he knew the owner.4 I seconded the choice because I knew, unbeknownst to my three friends, that China 1 also hosts fetish parties.
Without meaning to, I had the serendipity to meet the cutest blonde pin-up girl who happened to being going to a fetish party that same night. All I did was compliment Pin-Up Barbie on her vinyl waist-cincher and I got an invitation to the party downstairs (as well as major vibes, mrowr). The rest was a chain reaction: I made more “new friends” and dropped my dungeon’s name.
Skipping past initial snafus in entering the party, the next thing I know is the organizer himself was pulling me by the hand to the party. Saying I was a “pro” (domme) paid off, as well as proving it with my boss’s name. He asked me to teach Pin-up Barbie how to flog and I was more than happy to oblige. My ability to bullshit kicks in at the right times so no one could tell that was my first time flogging an ass.
After that initiation, the rest was easy. Potty Princess5 and several other male subs asked for the honor of my spanking hand without success. I made friends with Barbie and her crew, including a TES-TNG6 (The Next Generation) group leader, the guy I just flogged, and dude with a T-shirt that said Vagina Patrol or something like it.
Sir Magnum, the six-foot timidating organizer, made it no secret that he wanted me for play or otherwise. Let me backtrack: Sir Magnum, the big, black, scary motherfucker who first told my male companions to drop their pants in order to comply with the dress code, gave me a kiss on the cheek and let me know that he would pursue me somehow. I handled it like I handled Potty Princess asking me to watch his mistress finger him at the play station — I shrugged and smiled.
The complication happened later when I locked eyes with the rope artist. I watched Master Damian wrap a loud-mouthed redhead in silk bindings and then suspend her with rope upside down and all around. Sure, it was artistry. It didn’t hurt that Damian was shirtless with a smoking hot chest and skills to turn me on. I am a talent whore, I’ll confess; his talent was sucking me in.
Before I left, I introduced myself to him.7 He invited me to spank Pippi Loudmouth who was hanging at chest level as if on an invisible hammock, hands and extremities bound but unfortunately not gagged.
“She hasn’t done anything to earn the privilege of my hand,” I said. Oh, that gave him a hard-on.
Then Pippi asked for a kiss. I told her firmly that I was going to kiss her while fondling her breasts. I wasn’t asking. I told her to get in position so I could kiss her upside down while cupping her modest breasts under her bra. Damian got in on the action by cupping my ass. Pretty much a clothed threesome for half a minute. I told Damian my FetLife screenname and said goodbye with a hug. Something made me jump on him, and he picked me up with ease, whispering, “Oh my God, don’t leave!”
Here’s where things get complicated. Forget about all the others pursuing me that night since. I became the ping-pong ball between Sir Magnum and Damian because I didn’t know all the social politics and relationship etiquette that makes the BDSM scene in NYC what it is. I kept up a sexy exchange of texts with Damian up through the weekend, trying to find times to meet. Sometime after first texting Damian, I messaged Sir Magnum that I was interested in taking up his offer to teach me how to be a better domme. My boss Lucy vouched for his reputation and skills as a knowledgeable but harsh master. Ma Cherie, meet Clusterfuck.
After some messages, I changed my FetLife status on Sir Magnum’s request to indicate I was under his protection and training. Damian texts me to congratulate me and say that he wished me well. I found out that protection and training still connote exclusivity or some degree of ownership. In a way, I got myself BDSM-hitched without knowing it and I was now hands-off to Damian. Another couple who was online messaging me also noticed the status and asked for permission from Sir Magnum to proceed with our threesome arrangements. My Peter Pan syndrome was kicking in and I needed to lie the fuck down.8
For someone who couldn’t be exclusive to a well-meaning, devoted boy9 in July, why would I give exclusivity to someone I knew little more than 72 hours? This was enough to make me bury my vagina in sand like an ostrich. I thought it was enough that Sir didn’t need me to call him my Master, which he said meant he owned me. Great, but a collar of a different name is still a collar.
Protection, training, mentoring, consideration — all were terms of describing one’s service to another. Knowledge of relationships in the scene required more than a Google search. Even my long-distance friend Mr. Cheeks couldn’t pull me out of this jam because every kinkster has their own definition of relationships and exclusivity. One could play with multiple partners but not have sex; another could have several trainers, but no slaves. The terms need to be negotiated at length with any prospective partner.
If life were easy, I’d have a guidebook similar to the Knights Code of Chivalric Love. Since life loves to torture me on the rack of love, I have to fumble my way through on my own. I talked to Sir after sweating bullets for two days about needing to revise our relationship. Damian wanted me to choose.
In the end, ambition kicked libido to the curb. Who knows what’s going to happen after a couple of sexy nights with Damian? Is his cock worth social seppuku, which is what would happen I publicly dumped Sir on Fetlife? It’s a rhetorical question, geniuses. I kept my FetLife status as it was. Sir Magnum agreed that he would train me without exclusivity since I showed promise as a domme who was committed to developing her professional skills. I am keeping Damian around for possible sex and kinky play (not to mention rope lessons). Ma Cherie is a free agent at this point of the story. Let’s hope I stay that way for now.10
For the uninitiated and readers too lazy to Google, here are some notes:
1. In the BDSM world, “play” refers to kinky activities. A play partner is akin to a sex partner.
2. Check out In The Flesh, a monthly reading series at Happy Ending Lounge.
3. Vanilla: adj. Non-lifestyle, a.k.a. totally square. Kidding. No, not really.
4. Didn’t make a difference because our bill wasn’t discounted and our wine wasn’t comped.
5. 50-something year old in a baby costume carrying a diaper bag. Infantilism is fairly popular.
6. TES (The Eulenspiegel Society) is the oldest (c. 1971) and largest BDSM Support and Education Group in U.S. TNG is their 35 and under group. Even in the scene, I’m running across young professionals’ groups.
7. If you were wondering what happened to Mr. Vanilla, Kinky Couple kept him busy while I schmoozed and made my big social splash.
8. Not to lengthen this story any further but I’m leaving out one detail. Pippi was Sir Magnum’s slave and Damian finger-fucked her at said party without her telling him her status. I became yet another object of mutual infatuation between them. Damian didn’t want to look like he was cockblocking his friend twice.
9. Twitter followers know him as Ex-Virgin. My friend refers to him as the poor boy whose virgin blood I drank. She watches True Blood.
10. Or until I fall in love with the right guy who loves me back.
Ma Cherie (@CherieDAmour) is in the market for a boy/girlfriend, kinky sex partner, willing slave, and sugar daddy, though not necessarily in that order. When not working as a dominatrix, Ma Cherie is cruising online dating sites, hitting up fetish parties, and regularly pleasuring herself. Unironically, her favorite song is “Kiss With A Fist.”