Is a dom a dom without a sub? Can one truely exist without the other? Yes, you can control your environment, and those that move around you, but surely only a sub can allow you to be free?

Doms falling in lurve with their subs? Really? You’d think we had more control than that. However love is a fickle mistress, and no one can pretend to understand her workings.

‘He arrived at an inconvenient time, I was hiding in a room in my mind’ – thank you Ms Bush – very apt.

I was in a vulnerable place, and up he popped, so to speak, my perfect sub – the ideal masochist to my sadism. We both fulfilled the need in each other. He encouraged me to bring out my dominance, let it prowl free – not hide away anymore, it was right, it was me.

The advantage was his;  he had always known his place in the world – he was a sub, a maid, a slave and always had been, and I, in turn, encouraged that, never judged him, or thought him any less of a man.

However, one thing came between us –  his other mistress – the Cosa Nostra. That bastard, bitch of an underworld queen, that shit dealing cunt, the gutter slut of Sicily, the one thing I couldn’t control.

Twenty five years, twenty five fucking years; that’s how long he got – for following orders, for following the wishes of his Sicilian papa. For doing someone elses dirty work, and for avenging the rape of his sister. Twenty five fucking years stuck in an Italian jail cell.

I’ve started cutting again – the need to control, the need to hurt, watching the trail down my arm, down my thigh, running steadily, red against white, handprints on tiles, a footprint on the floor.

I watch those around me, moving forward, changing, growing stronger, more confident in their abilities and desires, and I envy them, a life to live.


Now, this really is wanking in a dark, damp room – when my ex left, was it the best thing that could have happened?

Hmmm…. K and I had been together for 23 years, we were friends before that. We had good times and bad, but through it all, had a solid belief that we would be together forever. Cliche, I know, but that’s how it felt.

Being with someone for that long you inevitably alter your behaviour, your beliefs and opinions to work with the other half; most of the time completely subconsciously.

Things became tough after a couple of years, and we had some really shitty financial problems to deal with; he got made redundant from his very well paid job in the City, just after I had bought my horse, our large house on a river, and were taking regular shopping trips to the designer shops in Brighton’s Lanes. It all came at exactly the wrong time.

The problems just carried on and it took many years to dig our way out of the deep dark pit. The stress created fractures that we never really managed to Polyfiller over. We fell into habits of behaviour, patterns of arguing; we silently blamed each other for our problems.

We both covered the hurt by criticising each other. He started gaslighting me and I started almost believing him. It was a vicious circle. But through it all, we did love each other, and still took it for granted that we’d always be together.

The run up to christmas 2013 was difficult. My depression was at an all time low, and for a few months previous, I had been wondering where we were going as a couple, and K seemed to be suffering with an internal trauma, but not entirely sure what it was.

Finally, during a week long powercut that had us cooking our xmas dinner on a disposable bbq in the porch, he told me we were over. He needed something else, he wasn’t sure what, but felt our time together had run it’s course. Cue hysterics and drama of the highest degree from me, once the chill had dissipated.

I am ashamed to admit quite how badly I took it – fear, fear and more fear. I just didn’t understand. There was no one else involved, so I only had an invisible foe to rail against. And rail and fight I did.

Due to finances, we had to keep sharing the same house until July. This was a nightmare and made things so so hard. We wanted to stay friends, 23 years is so much to just throw away like rubbish.

My friends, whom I love dearly, pulled and dragged me through, kicking and screaming. And are still picking me up on the bad days xxx

It’s now October, and over the months I’ve worked out who I am. I am not the weak, confused c.u.n.t. that K used to call me. Since February I started to feel stronger, and hold my head up. Tits to the sky, as my old dressage instructor would say. I realised that I never was the feeble, useless woman that fell into place. Ironically the drip drip drip from K gave me the fight to stand up. I know that probably doesn’t make much sense, but over the years of our partnership, I never really accepted that I was that person that he said I was, fortunately some of the old me was still in there, fighting. So I brought her out into the open once again.

In March, I met my sub – and he, unknowingly, gave me the go ahead to be strong,  confident, and proud. I could show who I was finally, with no shame or embarrassment.

I know it all sounds like a contradiction, and it is to a certain extent, but who cares? Not me – I am who and what I am and up yours, world!

So, was our breakup the best thing? Well, K seems happy with his new life, and that is what I want for him. He is a good friend that I only wish the best for .

And where am I? I have my life, I have my strength, my friends, my gorgeous and very dominated, but happy, sub. Things are good! And will get better!

So, who’s to say where we would be as a couple if we hadn’t split, but we did and I am the product of that, and all that I was before.


Bespoke Chaos Magik

I always knew that the church of my parents was not for me – regimented and hypocritical. Dust and ashes. Magnanimous and faux altruism.

Myself and K joined the Pagan Federation, and rose in rank to run the south east region in all it’s glory, but red tape and hierarchical wranglings tied us in knots, and so we stepped down, handing the reins (and boxes of files) over to our successors.

We meandered for a few years, trying things, working ideas and theories through, reading and studying everything we could get our grubby mitts on, and then, by pure chance we met P and E.

The coffee flowed, then wine, then whiskey; we talked for hours. So much to say, so much to bond over. And bond we did. For days, weeks, months. We explored norse, sumerian, nephilim, enochian, wiccan, druidry, shamanisn, high magik, egyptian – every path and bridge we could find. I learned to channel, to cast, to travel, to protect and to meditate – in fact everything that I’d worked so frigging hard on before. It all came easily and naturally.

And then, suddenly, like a candle burning down to a stub, we drifted. Our time had passed, as a foursome we had taken all we could from each other.

From then on, I knew my place in the ‘magikal’ world; I knew what didn’t feel right or work for me, and I had learned what did.

I am not wiccan, or norse, nor am I a shaman; I follow my own path through the spheres. I stand proudly with my goddess, and then we sit amongst the leaves and mulch and drink wine together, chatting like old mates – or at least that’s how it feels.

I will never do the airy fairy, fluffy bunny stuff – give me dirt, blood, sand and storms. Give the the moon on a dark night, give me the power of the feral flame. I long for the desert, the all encompassing, all embracing furnace that is her.

Hecate, Kali, Cybele, Ishtar and Isis – my call, my chant, my sisters.

This is the chaos that I follow; it burns within. My workings are base – no rituals, no ceremony, just what feels right. Carried out on the spot, spur of the moment. Immediate and intense.

And now this:–paganism-Schools-told-witchcraft-druids-RE-syllabus.html

I was abused as a child. Okay not the horrific abuse that far too many children suffer with, but a form of abuse, none the less.

It’s taken me many years, and lots of heart felt chats with my older sister to reach this conclusion; she remembers a lot more than I do.  Just because it wasn’t physical in any way doesn’t make it easier to deal with. And in fact, the realisation that it was abusive and not ‘normal’ came as a weird shock, and almost a relief – not an excuse, but a reason for the voices, the need to control and cut, the chaotic energy fluxes, the fear of the box, the importance of an internal portcullis, and all those other issues that I live with on a daily basis.

As an adult, so many years later, these issues have remained and have shaped who I am, but rather than submitting to them, I fight. I accept, but I fight. I’m not sure if they’ve made me stronger, or if it’s an act. I try to be honest within myself, open myself up for self analysis, but sometimes that honesty is hard to locate.

My sister found a form of acceptance within self help books, but I couldn’t work with that crystal,  lovey dovey crap (okay, okay, just my opinion). But then someone mentioned Tolle:

And that was that – it made perfect sense, spoke to me in a way I could follow, peaceful, quiet, stillness suddenly. Relief. I guess there’s a path for all of us, whatever the terrain.

So, has my past made me an ‘effective’ domme? What is an effective domme anyway?

Whatever has culminated in the present me, whether it be a result of abuse, or past abusive relationships (oh yes, I had those too!, I am working on becoming whole.

I listen to my sub, I work with him, I understand him, and him me. I would call that effective. We are both fulfilled, and as a result, are better people, more complete, and thus, more internally honest.

So many within the kink community have suffered abuse, and it’s created what we are, or what we lean towards. What determines whether the abused turns towards a submissive path, or like me,  the need to dominate?

Was that nature within us anyway? Did the abuser sense that and either need to subdue the fight within us, or misuse the subordinate? Nature vs nurture?

In many cases, the abused feels that the ‘punishment’ we, as doms, inflict is deserved; for example, a male sub who suffered at the hands of his father, may feel the need to be feminised (and we must be so careful not to overstep their boundaries – push, but never too far), especially if he was mocked for showing fear or pain. So, in this example, is a sissy born or created?

Again, just wanking in the dark.

So where to start?

Do subs hold the power?

This seems to be a long standing dispute in dom/sub circles – with the ‘switch’ word being bandied about for any transgressors from the norm.

Subs, needing to be needed, can get a mild fix from friends, and family – the apology, the cleaning, the downward glance and a dip of the head. Obviously for maso’s it’s a bit harder (oh yes, mark me before breakfast, daddy-o (although that steps into a whole different ballgame)).

Doms, on the other hand, cannot, in polite society anyway, step out of our front door and immediately whip out our finest cat, cane, cuffs or whatever. A blade will get you strange, and worried looks in a supermarket. Best not go down that route!

We cannot launch forth with a tirade of fucking whore, slut, bitch, cunt. We must smile while drinking our coffee and reading the paper in the refined little cafe down the road, while secretly dreaming of our next playtime.

We can subtley manipulate, and push, but that’s about it, unless we step into the role of egotistical bully – and that really is a bad path for a dom to head down, in my opinion.

Are the doms that claim they have all the power in their relationships disassociating themselves from their human/e side? Is this out of deep subconscious guilt? We are all human and cannot escape that fact, no matter which end of the whip we stand.

As a last thought for now – blogs? Are they just wanking in the dark – sad, lonely, and a bit sordid, without an audience? A dom without a sub? A kink without a kinkee?

Paradoxical –  self-contradictory, byzantine, confusing and messed up.

Musings – reflective thoughts

Chaos – individualistic magical working, or as I see it, using whatever comes to hand/mind.

Domme – female dominant, me (although obviously taking into account the ‘messed upness’ that is the honest part of me).