Dominatrix With Slaves

Dominatrix With Slaves
I know you’re all tired of seeing it but…
TFW The heat goes away finally, but not without leaving you with a parting migraine 🥲
Liquid lens mask, double rubber and hours of hypno audio. He was in absolute bliss…
It’s too hot to think…

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If you’ve been directed to this page, or have stumbled across it on your own accord, it’s because you have a deep, undeniable craving for something ‘more’. Every 6 months or so, I’ve auto published a version of this entry to my blog as my search continues. You see, as much as I am a Professional Dominatrix, I am also a 24/7 Lifestyle Mistress. In my off time, my heart tends to lean towards the satisfaction found in true, genuine, service and devotion. I don’t think I’d be nearly as fulfilled as a Woman if I didn’t have such a thriving stable of collared and very well cherished slaves in my orbit…it’s really just something I’ve always *needed*. This time of year always makes me think about those varied proximities a bit more. Perhaps it’s all the impromptu family visits or the time taken to reflect on things we’re thankful for, or maybe its the influx of curious clients and certain long term regulars that begin desiring something a little ‘more’, but I see the world around me as being filled with much more ‘possibility’.
After much thought, I’ve decided that I have the room in both my stable and heart for another full time personal slave. While I am already blessed to have several full time devotees, their external lives outside of me remind me of the fact that my days simply have a little room for diversity. You would think a woman like me would find satisfaction simply in my profession alone, but there’s so much to be said for the depth of connection in an ongoing BDSM dynamic. Real life D/s relationships on the surface often look like, and typically needs to function as; real relationships but with clear boundaries, expectations and a total lack of complacency. This isn’t a role to obtain and settle into. I seek only enthusiastic, engaging, exciting and loyal paramours and only devotion proven over time can get you there. There also has to be compatibility: both emotionally and in the dungeon and there has to be room in your existence for it, but the pure emotional and physical release that comes from all of those things falling into alignment is positively blissful. Of course, in publicly noting my intentions, it’s vital that I also make sure a healthy dose of reality is served along side so that I’m not bombarded by suitors looking for versions of slavery that is different from what *I* personally am seeking. Your in person sessions are a mix of BOTH our needs, but slavery – that leans more towards what I am searching for.
My desire is never to build up possibility and dash anyone’s hopes to fulfill a life long fantasy, so I’ll start by painting a picture of the conditions my other slaves operate under, as I suspect any new member of my clan will fall under similar situations. The very basics… I don’t just collar anyone who asks. I have loads of requests ranging from clients, fans and even random web crawlers. I sort through thousands of such inquiries and often dismiss them. True suitors understand this is a lifetime commitment – I will not be collaring anyone who I haven’t spent significant time with. Like an engagement, I wouldn’t ever marry someone I’d been dating a few weeks. My collar, my full time ownership, takes time. Often years. If this is something you want and need now – you aren’t ready to make that commitment, you simply don’t know me (nor I you) well enough. The lifestyle I offer must be enough for you. I say this, not from a place where I refuse to compromise – but from a point where you don’t have to. I’m a polyamorous Mistress, this will NEVER change. If you are hoping for a one on one connection with emotional monogamy or hold out hope I will marry you; that isn’t what my life is about. Don’t convince yourself otherwise if it doesn’t fit your ultimate hopes and dreams. I’ve been courted by those types before and after tons of time and energy poured into mutually moving towards an S&M relationship; it was discovered that wasn’t going to work. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating and unnecessary. Know yourself and what you’re looking for, be honest with yourself and your needs before deeply considering this.
Now, moving on… My slaves don’t live with me: I know that’s the fantasy; a 24/7 life lived with your Dominatrix, always clad in leather and always holding a riding crop, but I’m a realist – I need space and my home is my own. I also believe my slaves need their space too. While it might sound sexy, no one would hold up to having a demanding Femme Domme breathing down their neck 24/7 and I certainly don’t intend on wearing a corset all hours of the day. My slaves are all employed and all continue to contribute to their Mistress – I say this specifically to dissolve the notion that being a personal slave is a free pass to fulfill your fantasies without contributing back – a common misconception. Depending on preference, I may choose for that to be a monthly standard offering (for local property as impromptu visits are much easier) or my normal hourly tribute for time in my dungeon if they are not local to create a greater balance. The time they spend with me depends more on our personal schedules than anything else with only a moderate correlation. It is my will to add phone calls, emails, chats, time outside of our dates as I see fit, but it is never their expectation. I pour much more energy and emotion into those who wear my collar, and even those courting it will notice my communication increase ‘off the clock’. While it happens often, it would be completely inappropriate to submit to a Pro Domme for personal slavery in an attempt to bypass contributing to her life while satisfying your needs. Not all time I spend with my slaves involves BDSM – In fairness it’s a 50/50 mix. I like enjoying the full width and breadth of life with my supplicants. Sure, I’m going to need plenty of time with them in the dungeon, but I also like going out to dinner, running menial errands, going shopping, going on vacation, catching a movie, a coffee or simply making dinner with them at home. I need a rich dynamic that includes both the sugar and spice of daily living. A mental and physical relationship is just as necessary to me as compatibility in the dungeon.
They all have lives and hobbies outside of me – I’ve never believed that when someone is a slave, their every thought should be on service and submission. Honestly, I’d find that sort of dependency suffocating. I require a sort of personal complexity in any suitor who wants to find themselves in my company. I need things to talk about with you – hobbies to enjoy with you – a life outside of me. They are all incredibly kind, versatile, thoughtful, generous and not the slightest bit jealous of each other – I’m a nurturer at heart, not prone to drama or conflict. I like slaves of a similar frame of mind, those who don’t feel strained to put someone else above themselves, and to not have constant expectations or demands of what their lives should be like. As individuals, I recognize they all have their own unique wants and needs, and as a Top – I strive to strike a balance so everyone is as happy, content and fulfilled as possible. That said, I couldn’t bring anyone into my fold that would disrupt that balance.
It can be a hard thought for some, that I demand monogamy as a Mistress while I am free to have as many partners of any form as I’d like, but there are many of you out there who would agree a Mistress is free to do as she wishes and wouldn’t think any other way. By seeking to be MY slave, I’d expect that to fit your understanding of what *I’m* looking for in a full time ownership situation. I have no desire to change myself in any fashion to fit the needs of someone new. I am content with myself and my life – I may not be a perfect match for just anyone. Now, if all of that speaks to you on a deeper level, beyond a passing fantasy or something you might grow out of once the novelty wears off – I’d encourage you to make that known to me. I am looking for life partners here and I know this will take time and patience. Talking about it doesn’t change our dynamic at all, it simply opens a door of possibility. Logistics being what they are, I tend to choose individuals that I’m already seeing on a professional basis, that’s not exclusive to people I’ve already met, but I wouldn’t encourage anyone to seek me out professionally ONLY because they are hoping that will come to be something *more* in the future. That taints what would otherwise be a fun and organic kink dynamic with unfair expectation. I can’t force, promise or lead anyone on that a relationship is definitely going to happen, it simply has to be genuine and thoroughly natural.

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Valerie Baber shares a typical day in the life of a dominatrix.
James Creighton

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valerie baber

12/6/14

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Valerie Baber has been a Playboy model, a call girl and a sex therapist . But there’s one popular career the “sexpert” has never tried — dominatrix. Here, the author of “Notorious VIP: Confessions of An Emperor’s Club Companion” and a forthcoming collection of essays, describes her trip to a Midtown dungeon — discovering that it’s a far cry from the “Fifty Shades of Grey” fantasy.
What exactly does one wear to an office interview to inquire about the position of a vinyl-clad, corporal-punishment officer? Even if I did have a full-body PVC suit, how well would that have gone over on the subway?
I opted for a black pencil skirt and a dark, V-neck burgundy top, vamped up my eye makeup, put on some patent leather high heels and hoped that I wouldn’t look too corporate.
After exiting the subway at Bryant Park, I walked a few blocks and called from my phone when standing at the corner the dungeon had specified in a Craigslist ad. Only then would I be given the exact address of their location.
Though legal, as long as they didn’t offer sex for money, dominatrix clubs like to remain inconspicuous — shielded from prying eyes and wives.
The dungeon was located inside a nondescript office building. After being buzzed into the entrance, I walked up to the second floor. Then, I buzzed again and waited behind another locked door.
A black-haired, dark-eyed woman came to greet me, although it was less of a greeting than a simple permission to enter. Leading me down scarcely decorated hallways painted in a shade of merlot, she finally brought me to an office where I waited in a black leather chair.
The monitor hanging from the wall in front of her had glimpses of rooms, hallways and the street outside on what appeared to be about 15 different split screens. Something was always happening. A girl in a plastic nurse uniform or in leopard-print leggings would take a moment in the hallway before returning to a session. Girls entered the office to vent about their clients.
“. . . They don’t usually ask for the straddle bar that soon.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant or if I wanted to know.
The Asian girl who said it came in with tattoos and a no-nonsense attitude. She explained to the man inside a walk-in closet off the lobby that she needed something serious.
The mysterious closet man looked through the assortment of whips and devices hung on the wall and offered one to her. She declined. It needed to hurt more than that. She agreed on another large, black whipping device, took
what appeared to be a can of beer from a mini-fridge in the closet because her client was “going to need this,” and walked back out.
Finally, some basic questions were asked. What would my mistress name be? Did I have any experience? Could I begin immediately?
I picked “Vivienne” as my nom de guerre and answered honestly about my age, 34. The blonde turned around to look at me with wide eyes. I was probably 10 years older than the average mistress.
I was told that part-time work meant spending three days a week in the studio. There were two shifts available, 10 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. or 6:30 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. The mistresses would earn $80 for each hour they worked and could earn tips, sometimes at 100 percent or more for the session. The house paid their girls every two weeks in cash.
Their list of services was long: puppy training, cross-dressing, feminization, verbal humiliation, human ashtray, corporal punishment and medical play, among others.
My interviewer reminded me that, of course, there would be no prostitution, but it was also alluded to that it would be unwise to say no to a man’s role-play fantasy if you were his chosen one.
Some men actually like novices best, she said. So it could help you make money if you’re not sure what to do. Actually, she said, “We have a regular here right now. He loves new girls.”
Steve would come in for 10 hours at a time and rent a playroom to live out his perversions and fantasies with a number of mistresses simultaneously. He tipped very, very well and he would love me. I was just his type, according to the woman.
She insisted that I meet him just to test the chemistry, so I was taken back to a dimly lit playroom filled in old Victorian décor, dark wood and an embroidered carpet that needed cleaning. Classic piano music played from a small stereo on a side table.
Their list of services was long: puppy training, cross-dressing, feminization, verbal humiliation, human ashtray, corporal punishment and medical play, among others.
Steve stood up to reveal the full glory of his Desert Storm uniform, looked at me through his slightly tinted sunglasses and smiled a hello.
There were four women in the room including me, and Soldier Steve attempted to make us feel comfortable by offering us plastic cups of sugary champagne that he topped with small strawberries.
Several boxed champagne bottles sat atop tall dressers. He took six and put then in a burlap sack with a hook at the end. We could see from the shape of his tighty-whities that he was enjoying our company. Attaching the filled sack to his (still covered) erection, he took away his hands while managing to keep the weight from touching the ground.
In an emotion between discomfort and delight, we exchanged laughs and words of encouragement over his curious display. That would have been somewhere around 20 pounds lifted by one average penis. Impressive.
This went straight to my Top 5 most memorable icebreaker moments.
Steve then described the fantasy that he would have us act out — all of us. It was an elaborate one.
His main mistress for the day, a demure one in the cocktail dress, would pretend to be a well-to-do fashion model with a swanky Manhattan apartment. Her apartment would house her, her three female sex slaves and her one male slave (him). She would have to run out for a moment to do some glamorous errands or to have drinks with her beautiful friends — whatever it is wealthy supermodels do.
However, upon returning, she would catch us in the act of forced coitus.
She would go into a fury and, despite our protests, decide that the best thing to do would be to punish all the women.
Once our cheeks were nice and red, it would occur to her that she actually had cameras in all her rooms. Much to Steve’s dismay, her findings would have her return in another fury. The female slaves would be proven innocent, and it would be everyone’s turn to seek revenge for this horrible wrongdoing by punishing Steve.
Three white camisoles hung from knobs on a wooden dresser. They were there for us to wear, Steve explained. Manhattan sex slaves wear white tops in his fantasy. He reached out to me with a chemise in his hand. I paused, then took it.
He gave his permission to skip the rape part. We all agreed that would be too complex to act out and were happy to go straight to the part of the argument about who did what. On that decision, the scene began.
“You’ve defiled my slave,” Head Mistress said while trying not to laugh.
I had thought that in a “role play” studio, these girls might actually be aspiring screen and stage starlets, but if anyone had any acting chops, they were spared.
Even Steve didn’t bother making his part too realistic. He grinned the entire way through. I attempted to understand what it was about this that was so appealing to him.
I also questioned myself. If I weren’t in a dungeon, and a man told me he had a group rape fantasy, would I remain so willing to stay in an enclosed room with him? What exactly was he getting out of being dressed like a Gulf War soldier in a room adorned in faux antiques?
My time was limited, but the rest of the girls had all day, so I was the one to be punished first. The Head Mistress, dressed now only in an intricate lingerie set, sat on a bench and instructed me to bend over her knees.
I had dropped my black business skirt by this time; the mistress spanked me and told me that I must thank her for my punishment.
She accused me of being defiant. Another spank.
“Oww.” It only stung mildly, and more pleasantly than painfully, but I had to say something.
“OK. I’m sorry. I might have done it.”
When she decided my half-confession was good enough, she released me. I pulled up my bottoms, bent over in the floor-length mirror to glance at the pink spot that appeared on my left cheek.
All the female slaves had been properly spanked when the Head Mistress suddenly remembered, as instructed, that she had video that she could refer to in order to verify our deceit.
As I had limited playtime, and since Steve would want to see what sort of prowess the new girl brought to the table, I went first, again.
I opted for a golf glove. Steve, half grinning the entire time, bent over my closed lap.
I began with swats more delicate than not, first on one cheek, then on the other, taking care to put some pressure on each cheek after the hit. I thought I was doing a good job, but Steve was a cheeky soldier and pretended to fall asleep and snore during his discipline session. We were clearly going to have to take a
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