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There has never been a single moment that I’ve regretted entering the world of FemDom/FinDom. When I am out in vanilla situations, my mind is regularly clouded with kinky thoughts and I’m often caught staring into space as I daydream about different scenarios. I study the male passersby, wondering if they would submit given the opportunity. Sometimes it’s blindingly obvious, and I feel myself sitting up straighter and locking eyes; in that moment, it is possible to see inside the chosen specimen and determine if he is as submissive as I think he is. When I notice nervousness, I can’t help but giggle to myself. It’s not as if I leave the house in fetish-wear, but my attitude towards men is, and has always been, domineering, and it’s quite obvious that I am the one in charge in all scenarios.
I do what I do because I can’t imagine living any other way. To be immersed in this world is to be living comfortably, naturally, and freely. I talk openly about my kinks and fantasies, never caring if I’ll be judged. Taking financial control of a drooling bitch makes my heart flutter, but I play with subs who aren’t into financial play, too. When I want to see someone humiliated, I decide in the moment if I’d like to do a paid session or simply find someone who will entertain me on cam. I fantasize about doing sessions with locals, and it’s certainly not centered around cash. I love nearly EVERYTHING about this lifestyle, and as I grow more powerful, my plans for the future become bigger and brighter. There was a time when I foolishly (or perhaps naïvely) believed that ownership was sacred. That taking such a step meant both Domme and sub wanted to become one, a living, breathing entity that included give and take, black and white, peace and chaos. Something unique, rare, beautiful. I was so hopeful that this could exist.
Those visions became cloudy once I witnessed the ease with which so many of these “relationships” formed. A few simple exchanges would lead to a proclamation—“I’m owned, I offer myself entirely to my Goddess.” Often lasting no more than days, I began to notice this with a regularity that left me both skeptical and perplexed. Each new change of status was no different to me than a drunken exchange of vows in a Las Vegas chapel. Something that had once seemed sentimental now looked cheap and bloated, a depressing mirage in the desert of female domination. Have I changed? Have my standards become too high? Am I blind for believing that a beautiful D/s pairing is possible? I feel like I don’t know anymore, and that makes me sad. You know that sinking feeling in your stomach when you feel disappointed? The sense of dropping that comes with heartbreak? It seems to hit me regularly, making the whole concept of OWNING a submissive feel illusory. I want to believe (cue X-Files theme song), but how? Should I retire the hope I have to find a fulfilling FemDom relationship? Or should I truck on, despite my cynicism? Tell me stories about how you found each other. Give me hope. I want it, but I’m feeling so tired of the disappointment. The financial aspect is secondary in such a relationship, and I want it all. Gimme the gold. |