I Was A TwentySomething Dominatrix

I’m at my mom’s for the night.  Since I purposely give myself Sundays off, I thought I’d cure boredom by going through my magazine collection.  You can imagine the smile on my face when I found this.

I picked this up late…I want to say Fall of ‘04 or even Winter of ‘05.  Funny, when I used to think back on this issue, I keep thinking I picked it up when I was much MUCH younger, but, as the print date reveals, this was published in ‘04…

I don’t remember when or how I came across it, but I know it did go ignored for a while.  There was very little that I knew about professional domination, and when I was 19 and 20, thought that it was something the ‘Beautiful Girls’ got into.  I was actually pretty shy up until I started working in the industry, and well, I didn’t have the sense of style and appearance I have now.

It’s interesting how things work, huh?  I picked this up at time that I was still working through my sexuality and learning about what made me comfortable and what didn’t.  I had no idea- when I first pored over the pages of Mercy- that I’d end up where I am now.  I have met some of the ladies who have contributed to the publication.  I went to the last Black and Blue Ball.  I’ve rented, played and shot a mini-bio at Arena.

Yeah…kind of wild…

I must admit, I am saddened that there is nothing like this in print any longer.  I doubt DDI or the late Dominant Mystique cast as positive, as strong a light on professional domination and sex work as Mercy set out to be.

Anyways…one for the archives, ladies and gentlemen…

I’m One of Those People That Gets Sad Around the Holidays

Specifically for Tori, Christmas.  I did, however, find my way to this: http://ssnysanta.wordpress.com/

…and I’m a little more cheery [or would it be cherry?] at the thought.

Happy Halloween, Everybody!

This is the real version of my costume.  I wore a diet version to a party on Thursday.  It’s my homage to Harmony Korine’s Gummo.  If you recognize the ears, you’ll know exactly where I’m coming from, and you should also message because then you’d have fantastic taste in film.

Yes, the party was kink-related, and no, there will be no details.  It was nice to be accompanied by one of my favorite disappearing/reappearing friends [and I say it with love], and another interesting peek into NYC’s increasingly seedy underbelly.

Hope your day was happy and laden with sweets and fantastic beers!

Picture Windows

Hotel sessions.  Let’s talk about those.

It’s a loaded idea: two strangers meet in a place neither one of them owns or rents. They maintain an air of confidence, casualness.  Of course I’m walking in here, I’m STAYING here, the non-registered guest might think as they pat their implement bag.  If they think it and walk it, they won’t be stopped in the lobby.

I’ve noticed that many professionals will only go to high-end hotels.  I’ve also noticed an emphasis on making their manner of dress very clear.  For hotel sessions, I’ve been reminded to not wear too much makeup, or a revealing outfit.  To keep everything in dark bags with nothing sticking out.

During warmer months, I’ll still wear a business button-down shirt and carry a few bags, making it seem as if I’m coming from a nearby meeting [reasonable in a city like New York].  I don’t play with my cell phone.  I look straight ahead.  I make for damn sure that I don’t hesitate in any of the hallways.  I make an immediate note of the way the floor numbers run, so I don’t make any wrong turns.  After all I should know where I’m going…I’m staying here.

Once the lobby/hallways obstacle course is completed, there’s the room preparation.  Sometimes the TV is turned on for a low padding noise, the bed is turned down and the blinds against the picture windows are drawn.  The strangers are ready to engage.

I may have mentioned that funny thing that happens with sex [or sexy activities, in this case] is that it’s found in the most non sexual of places. I pause every time the blinds are shut- I sort of wish they could stay open…

When I was a child, my parents received the Critic’s Choice Video catalog.  For those of you who may not remember, it was a thick, small catalog that sold mostly older films and odd collections of Britcoms and TV shows like Twin Peaks.  My first rudimentary understanding of sex came from the middle section- about 5-7 pages that made up the adult section.  It would start innocently enough with couple’s instructional videos and erotic dramas, then would venture into outright pornography and foreign speciality videos [one of hairy women has stuck with me over the years].

The covers were small enough, but never explicit.  One of my favorites was the cover for the film, Tokyo Decadence.  A faceless woman presses herself almost forcefully against a picture window, looking out at what I imagined was a section of the Tokyo cityscape.  The letters S and M had no meaning when I first saw it, but I knew there was some kind of distinct tension.  Perhaps she was doing something wrong and trying to get out…but what could have gotten her partially undressed like that?

I still haven’t seen this film, but this image speaks volumes to me.  When I find myself in big buildings for vanilla meetings, or when I used to run errands to offices as an intern, I was always drawn to those large picture windows.  If I knew I was on a high enough floor, and I had the time, I’d take a moment to press my hands against the cold glass and breathe deep.

I never ask to keep the windows open.  It would be ideal and heighten the session, especially if I were bottoming, but I say nothing.  I have a good head on my shoulders for my clients- secrecy, discretion and respect for privacy.  Secrecy, discretion and respect for…

I only broke my own rule once.  It was three years ago- at around this time.  I was meeting my client at one of the high-end hotels in midtown, with a breathtaking view of Times Square.  Truth be told, I didn’t think I looked very good- the humidity puffed up my hair, my skin was too shiny, my makeup felt wrong.  The button-down shirt wasn’t cut correctly and my lycra/spandex pencil skirt wouldn’t keep from rolling into itself.  I felt less than elegant.

After a drink, my client escorted me upstairs to his room.  I was invited to settle my bags into a corner and offered use of his bathroom.  I’ll never forget the green cast of the light in the glass and steel mirror, showing my last futile attempt to keep my puffy hair down.  I muttered a low fuckit and exited out into the room.

It was dark save for the light coming from his laptop on the desk.  The light fell blue on the implements on his desk…I thought I saw a belt, maybe a cane…

To his left, was black glass lit by the buildings of Times Square.  It was floor-to-ceiling…you could even see the cars jetting by…

My heels clicked a little louder than expected on the strip of marble leading to the pane.  His fingers were still ticking over the keyboard…perhaps he didn’t hear…

I slowly slid my arms apart against the glass, until my palms were flat against it.  I pushed my legs apart as quietly as I could letting that stupid skirt roll to its liking.  It made it to just below my bottom, airing out the tops of my stockings.  I pressed my forehead against the cool pane and smiled.

My Tokyo Decadence moment-

- broken only by the sound of my client’s voice.

Tori, roll that skirt up further and come over my lap.  We can discuss the view later.

She’s In Parties

I always seem to drop off when the fall kicks in…have you noticed?  Well, I’m going to do my darnest to keep on a semblance of schedule…in the face of photo jobs, personal adventures and life’s other happenings, I still spank.

My partner and I are going to a spanking party next week.  This usually means me cracking out my beloved suspenders and making sure my hair is just so. We sit and plan out our implements [I think we only end up using a third of what we've packed], and then roll out for the train ride into NYC.

Parties have been many things to me.  My close friends had small parties in their parents’ basements, I drank many a 40 at house parties when I lived in Brooklyn…now my parties find me pulled behind curtains with my pants down.

The parties are this new sexy secret.  That chance to be someone else for a few hours.  Slipping into darker corners of Manhattan to enter into dimly lit rooms.  Spending time with other people who share the same secret.

It blows me away that I’m considered “scene” in the spanking respect.  I’m very much a nobody. I wasn’t one of the cool kids growing up and now I have complete strangers, masters in their respective fetish and craft, interested in talking and playing with me. It feels nice to be accepted for who I am and what I do.  I just do what I like, and it’s nice to be in same-minded company.

My Interview with F/m Spanking World is Up!

A few weeks ago I had a fantastic phone interview with F/m Spanking.  You can read it here.

I had quite a bit of fun sharing things that may or may not have come up in this blog.  So, in addition to my clips on youtube, here’s another way to get to know me better.

One more plug for F/m spanking, you can follow their updates on Twitter. What a fantastic future we live in where we can get our spanking fixes in a mere 140 characters.

Someone Else Sums it Best

Just so you all know – you matter. A lot.

Amen, Mistress Wynter.

Reality…Not Just My Favorite Bowie Record

There’s a certain fantasy that keeps me glued together.  Tori, in practice, is 50% disciplinary mentoring, 25% childhood memories and 25% alternagirl-en-route-to-maturity.  When you take a step back and take in the whole picture, that’s not really a lot.  Sure, I exist, but I’d say about 15% off the top accounts for the lady behind the moniker.

Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do.  You may have seen me at parties with my partner, or perhaps we’ve chatted a bit over Y!IM.  If spanking wasn’t some part of my life, I wouldn’t bother keeping a blog or support spanking events.  My relationship probably wouldn’t last long, either.

There is a mystique about this industry, that I get caught up in every now and again.  The photos do it for me.  Photos of older women in button-down shirts and pencil skirts that look like the ones my mom wore in the 80’s…The stern looks and menacing implements in hand get my brain rolling.

I’m entranced by the idea of professionals who also consider themselves lifestyle players, as my partner and I are not in a domestic discipline or Taken in Hand relationship.  What these women represent and claim to live is so intimate- the dirty details can sometimes be so openly shared- that small threads of familiarity do breed.  It’s my dirty secret and her life- why shouldn’t a connection be made?

The reality is that I don’t know much about the women whose photos I peruse.  I only know what they choose to offer, and that’s about it.

In the professional realm, there is the reality of what is offered and the reality that exists behind the curtain.  The discipline I offer is real, my beliefs in atonement and being a better person is 100% real. Anything more doesn’t contribute to my time with the person I’m sessioning with.

I value my privacy greatly, and any peeks into my personal life are rare and carefully chosen.  However awesome or dull the Tori behind the curtain is, she makes very few appearances at work and play.

..and I expect that she be asked to stay there.

A Note on Corporal

I find extremes erotic.  A lot of it is buildup and idealizations, and to be honest, once the extreme act is completed, I get a sense of complacency.  There is, however, a lot to be said about enjoying the process.

I’m picky about whom I bottom to, especially in the private respect.  I’m not exactly someone who needs a very staged scene, or a script to follow, but the scenes I get the most kick out of have the most buildup.

With something as frightening as having my skin cut open by an implement, or knowing I’ll be positioned in a manner in which I couldn’t hold after impact, I have to mentally shift prior to even entering the room.  I have to be freshly showered, I have to be well-dressed, my eyebrows have to be perfect.  I set a playlist on my iPod and try to relax on the subway ride/cab ride/train ride down.

There’s an elegant distance to a corporal session.  Domestic scenes are very intimate, there’s a lot of raw emotion and it gets to be let out in a safe, comfortable environment.  No matter how difficult the scene will be, there will likely be a pair of arms to be embraced by, or at least an approving smile.

Corporal has a sexy coldness to it.  There is a silent understanding, an unspoken set of rules to be followed, and no questions and no begging for it to end.  It’s my opportunity to man up.  I want to play with the big boys- this is it…

I remember- years ago- having my first elegant corporal session.  There was no dinner beforehand, no pre-session-getting-to-know-you drink, this was standard communication and terms agreement.  It was getting off to the right start.

I still remember the color temperature of the light bulbs in the hotel hallway.  My photo background couldn’t help me in naming the exact Kelvin [5600?  No, that's sunlight...] and the lead butterflies in my stomach threatened to buckle my knees.  The perfectly wrapped canes jutted out of my bag [pre-signature Met bag.  A light cloth hobo bag I picked up in Tokyo], my ragged purse under my arm.  I felt small long before he even opened the door.

And the session was everything I expected it to be.  The immediate, severe belting, after I was told to completely undress. The anxiety of being on all fours, with my chest pressed down, leaving my thighs completely exposed.  The sheen of sweat that formed on the pillows as I heard the first of two canes being sliced through the air behind me.

The best part of it, was working within those unspoken restrictions.  Keeping silent though my natural reaction was to cry out. That delicious stretch of my arms between cane strokes and my breath catching in my throat when it made its landing.  Never during that time was there any comforting touch, nor any sympathy.  It was almost selfish…at points I couldn’t wrap my head around his enjoyment of the act…there was just me and that push to painful perfection.

I hope it looked as good as it felt.

Tori Takes Inventory

My 25th came and went.  Along with it my ability to say that i’m in my early twenties…rats…darn…stars…more rats…

The day itself was very quiet, but the days leading up to it were secretly fun and loaded with adventure.  Old friends popped up in the most interesting of ways.  And I still had room for an adventure or two.  I hope I get more adventures…

Anyways, inventory!  Most certainly not of my life, but…my toybag! [or drawer, in my case].

Well, there’s my Ralph Lauren belt [I'm not all that fashion-conscious...I love this belt for all the wrong reasons...;) ]

Then there’s my paddles from Daniel at Spankinc.

And brushes and wood things I’ve broken over the years:

I’m having trouble digging up photos of my thicker Hollywood Hair wave brush, my thicker canes, my well-worn belt from childhood, my soft leather belts… and I haven’t pulled out my black acrylic cane yet…

As you know, it’s never enough.  So, here’s what I’ve had my eye on:

The Arkansas Prison Strap, from London Tanners.  If this is the same one from memory, I used it on a gentleman in serious need of correction and fell in love with this strap.

The CP Ruler.  My rule for shopping is always, one for work, and one for my partner.  My partner and I settled on this beauty.  I forever kid about his vast collection of wood implements.  I keep telling him to spice it up with a little leather.

If I could I’d buy up the whole site.  I would, hands down.  I haven’t been on a good shopping spree in quite a while.

Speaking of leather, I love this ad: