Art, literature, poetry, essays, thoughts and tidbits about bondage, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism, fetish, safety, kink, gender and love.
Treats for the Strange
Welcome to Treats for the Strange. I update erratically, whenever I feel the need to share something in my very pansexual collection.
Treats for the Strange is for anyone with a love of sexuality, art and kink.
Doms don't cry
Mainstream femdom plays into the notion that female dominants are invulnerable to emotion, with images of cold ice-queens who endlessly berate their submissives, referring to them as worthless or pathetic. I will never understand this. Why bother owning something worthless? If he’s so pathetic, why are you playing with him?
And then, of course, there’s withholding sex as a punishment. This, too, I do not understand. Why withhold sex? I wouldn’t want to withhold sex. I love sex. Not that I don’t enjoy chastity play, but I prefer to think of it as putting my favorite toy away when I’m not using it. Perhaps most femdoms are, in fact, ice-queens with no sex drive but who have an endless drive for inflicting cruelty and degradation. But I suspect not. I suspect more of them are like me.
I am a dominant woman. I am not invulnerable to desire. On the contrary, I am super-susceptible to desire. My desire controls me. My desire incites me to control others. The key is not about not having power–but about taking that power away. Not giving up control, but the loss of control caused by another. I don’t want someone who is always submissive, without any input from another–I want my dominance to be the key that unlocks the feeling of surrender inside of them. I don’t want someone who is worthless. I don’t want someone pathetic. I want someone valuable. I refuse to devalue submission, or the people that submit to me. It’s not that I’m better than they are or that my desires are worth more. It’s just that my desires are…more important.
I am a dominant woman. I’m not perfect. I don’t think of myself as perfect. I don’t think I am better than anyone else. I don’t have super high self-esteem. I do have healthy self-esteem, most of the time. But above all, I hold myself in high esteem.
I’ve seen the term “slaveheart”–the idea that a slave is someone who has a heart that longs to be owned by another. Slavehearts are often depicted as fragile and vulnerable. But there is no counterpart for dominants, as though our feelings don’t matter, as if our hearts can’t get broken. So I am proposing a corollary term for a dominant: a dominant spirit. A spirit that yearns to possess and overthrow. A spirit that is passionate and loving and fierce and tender.
As I walk this path, as I make this journey (although at times I loathe the trite comparison between BDSM exploration and a journey) I see the insecurities in my heart like cracks on the sidewalk. Thus far, I have a much better idea of who I am and what I want than I did a few years ago. For that, I am grateful. But sometimes it makes me feel hopeless because what I want seems so unattainable. The further I walk on this path, the more cracks I see in the pavement.
I am a dominant woman. I am not invulnerable to desire. I am not invulnerable to loneliness. Or heartbreak.