Posts tagged ‘houseboys’

Omnivore update: seven is the magic number

Seven things that have happened since March:

  1. We’re officially quits with Kit. No, really. No hard feelings. Just no… squishy feelings.
  2. I’ve been directing energy to other, more vanilla writing venues.
  3. This summer we went on a couple of dates with the cutest, curviest, most innocent-looking little Midwesterner you ever did meet. And I learned about an interesting difference in dating styles between myself and Bran. I don’t do well with ambiguity. Or teasing. He does. So he’s still chatting with her while I’ve moved on to more promising prospects.
  4. Our innocent little Midwesterner is not really all that innocent. She’ll blush as she tells you all about her explorations and her sideline as a sex toy reviewer. Bran finds the blushing cute. I find the stories exciting, but am less excited about her obvious hesitation to take the leap into the land of actual queerdom. Here’s a fact most straight men don’t consider while watching “lesbian” porn: the same fears and uncertainties that hold men back from adventures in cocksucking happen to women, too. Being fetishized does not make the coming-out process easier. And it’s not even clear if she’s really into girls. I suppose I’d rather not have another “I know we just made out and stuff but I really don’t think I’m gay” conversation. I already did that with a cute, curvy, dark-haired girl — back when people were trying to figure out whether this hypertext thing was just a flash in a pan or the Next Big Thing.
    Our innocent Midwesterner did, however, inspire me to sign up with the Good Vibrations affiliate program. If it goes well, I might consider signing on with Toys in Babeland as well. But — as the dearth of posts in the last few months might indcate — I do actually have other interests besides sex, porn, sex toys, and porn. And kink. What was I saying again?
  5. Fuck Me in the Ass Man found me on FetLife and asked me if I was still accepting applications for houseboys. As far as I can tell, I’m not.
  6. I signed up for a smut writing course that starts in October. Hopefully you guys will benefit. If there are any of you left.
  7. Bran’s mother was killed in a car accident. There is nothing at all sexy about that. This event and other stressors have caused us to put a moratorium on dating or trolling the intartubes for a little while.

September 15, 2010 at 2:25 am Leave a comment

Stupid universe

Universal forces are aligning to suggest that a new houseboy is not in the cards for me right now. Sigh. Looks like I’ll be doing my own scrubbing and vaccuuming. Or figuring out what to cut out of the budget so I can afford my housecleaner again.

Kit has effectively broken up with us. Six weeks without messages, calls, or a date is a pretty clear indicator, n’est-ce pas?

Bran and I are still having pretty amazing sex, so why am I so ho-hum about it? Just spent 10 minutes trying to find reference to a study I remember reading that shows that boners are more intense with new partners. Of course, nobody gets funding to measure girl-boners.

Possibly the problem is that I’m not getting my fill of kink. Meaning bossy, haughty, dominating, demanding, bitchy get-on-your-knees-and-bring-me-your belt kink.

March 7, 2010 at 12:25 am Leave a comment

Email FAIL

I was just about to throw up my hands in despair over the houseboy search when I discovered that the email account I was using to reply to applications wasn’t forwarding to my regular inbox.

How gratifying to log into my “slut” account today to find it filled with desperate responses from men eager to serve!

And how mortifying to discover I’d left them unanswered for weeks!

Time to roll up my sleeves and play catch-up.

February 15, 2010 at 3:34 pm Leave a comment

This was too train-wreck good not to share

Worst response so far to my ad. Names have been changed to protect the ignorant.

Listen! I’m on a mission to find some woman to fuck my ass. If you want housework done I can do it. I’ve seen your posting for a while now…you obviously haven’t found anyone yet. make a decision and let me know if i’m in or not.
— Fuck Me in the Ass Man

I was feeling generous, so instead of deleting the email outright, I tried to school the poor boy a little. It’s not his fault he grew up in a society that taught him women were there to serve his every need, right? Right? Anyone? Bueller?

Dear Fuck Me in the Ass Man:

With an attitude like that I’m not surprised you haven’t been able to
find a woman willing to bend you over. Try Strap-on Jo if that’s what
you’re after (http://straponjo.com/)

If you don’t want to pay, try suffering through the dating scene like
all the rest of the kinky men in the world. Here’s one I’m especially fond of: Unspeakable Axe

Your message suggests I’ve been having trouble finding myself a
houseboy. Far from it, actually. I’m weeding through responses and
interviewing now. I have posted twice in the past two weeks with very
good results. I can afford to be picky, and Craiglist always throws up
a lot of old boots with the fish. If I weren’t amused by your
cluelessness I wouldn’t have bothered responding at all.

I recommend you study the notion of service before you attempt
approaching another Domme. We’re not here to fulfill your fantasies.
That’s that whole point, you know. It’s about us and what we want. Why
not start with the dictionary definition of the word service? Then
research kink/BDSM etiquette. I’ve got news for you: dominant women
have the upper hand in this arena. You’ve got to learn to behave
yourself in a way most straight men never need to.

There’s probably some woman out there looking for a brat like you to
take in hand. Good luck in your search. Dating’s a rough sport. Be
sure to wear protective gear.

Omnivore

February 6, 2010 at 1:19 am Leave a comment

I guess I’m back in the game

It’s been nigh on a year (maybe more) since I last had a houseboy in service. Bran and I are still a couple, we’re still seeing Kit, and the sex is still good. I’ve been dealing with a boatload of health problems, most of which I blame on job stress. Bran’s been working 70 hour weeks and commuting two hours a day on top of it.

Given all of that, it’s kind of a miracle that we manage to find time to spend together at all, let alone do the horizontal mambo. The nasty. The wild thing. You get the idea.

The good news is that, as I recover some of my energy, I find the idea of finding and training a new houseboy appealing. I’d love a housegirl too, actually — Kit threw a party a while back with lots of hot, kinky people, and one cute little submissive girl in particular got me thinking. But housegirls are even harder to find than good houseboys. Half the fun of kink, after all, comes from reversals and taboos.

So I’m back in the game. I updated my fetlife profile (that site has really exploded since it started a year or so ago!) and got a few interesting messages.

I also decided to cast my bread upon the waters of Craigslist again. This time, I used more standard kink/BDSM wording in my ad. As a result, the ad hasn’t been flagged off, and so far I haven’t gotten one nasty email suggesting that I come over and suck off some guy after doing his dishes.

That’s not to say that the screening process isn’t as fraught with peril as ever. And then, of course, there’s the whole polyamory piece of it. Bran is fine with my pursuit of a houseboy, although I know he doesn’t understand it. For me, it’s a complicated mix of desire for attention, nurture, control, and — yes, I admit it — sadism.

My last post about this process may have overstated that last desire. I definitely took suboy to new depths of subspace — and myself to new depths of sadism — but I don’t think I’m interested in that sort of heavy play right now. The top drop afterward can be way too intense.

A lot of my work these days has been about staying grounded and present. The sort of intense power and energy exchange involved in a serious whipping is not something I think I could deal with right now. Instead, what I’d like to explore is the possibility of accepting love and nurture from a man in the form of service. As the dominant party in a service submission relationship, I feel a sense of control that I don’t in my relationship with Bran. And it’s not the sort of role I want to be stuck in with a life partner (or a right-now partner, or whatever Bran and I are to each other right now). It is, however, something I want in my life, in one form or another.

There was one young man (early 20s) who served with me for a short period of time. He’d just begun to touch his foot to the tip of the iceberg of his submission. One day, I sat at my desk on a conference call while he kneeled at my feet, dressed only in shorts. I laid his head against my thigh, alternately petting him and grabbing his hair. Later, he went back to sorting through my papers. It was delicious. Light and delicious, like flan.

The pull, the delightful frisson of that sort of arrangement — that’s what I’m longing for now.

Plus, it’d be nice to have someone else doing my dishes and my filing.

January 31, 2010 at 2:39 pm Leave a comment

Thar be dragons

There’s been some more hot sexxay between myself and Bran to write about but I haven’t been in the mood.

He took a picture of me from the back with my ass up in the air and my panties pulled down. I wore the black lace ones just for him. Also, rocking the velcro cuffs. I like it because you can’t see my face. But I still don’t think I’m going to post it. I don’t want this to turn into one of those blogs.

Scheduling incompatibilities mean that the new houseboy and I will not be meeting regularly. We had a sort of quasi-goodbye exchange of emails yesterday. I suppose the door is sort of open, but sort of not. In the long run, I think this is for the best. First, because having a servant can actually work as power exchange in reverse: you begin to depend on that other person to do the most basic chores. As a result, the house can get actually more messy in between visits. I’m feeling the need for self-sufficiency in that regard.

Also, dropping the houseboy is like dropping the last veil, closing the last escape hatch. Set course for the Isle of Monogamy. Thar be dragons.

And hot, kinky sex.

June 24, 2008 at 5:49 pm Leave a comment

Top drop. Forgot about that

My head is still in a daze as I’m writing this. My houseboy came over and did some tidying for me. We really didn’t have enough time — ideally I like a good two to three hours of service and discipline at a time. The fault was all mine. I had a meeting downtown that ran longer than I thought it would and he could only stay until 3:30.

I had a huge long list of chores for him: vaccuuming, mopping, dishes, scrubbing the bathroom, cleaning my closets. Of course he was only able to do a small amount of it. He does a very decent job in a very small amount of time, actually. I’m very pleased with the level of his service. And I’m even more pleased with how much pain he can take.

But I totally wasn’t prepared for how spaced out I would be right now. I’ve still got work to do, AND I’ve got evening plans I can’t cancel. This is why aftercare is so important. And I feel like an awful, awful top for sending him out into the world without giving him proper aftercare.

Or myself.

What does aftercare consist of exactly? And how does one do aftercare with someone one doesn’t want to touch? He was sweating like a pig, and the smell of him was extremely unpleasant. It reminded me, actually, of something that Kristen told me. She told me the worst part of being a professional dominatrix was the smell. The smell of men you’re not attracted to, their sweat. Their stink.

This houseboy is very nice. He’s a good boy. But he does stink. And when your houseboy is doing your housework, he is bound to schvitz. They can’t help it. So they smell.

Smell is such a subtle, important factor in attraction. I love the way Bran smells. Mostly he smells like clean laundry, but of course there’s his own scent which can’t really be described except to say that it smells like Bran. The other day, when we were having dirty, dirty sex during a heat wave, we both worked up such a sweat that it mingled between our bodies and lubricated our flesh as we slid against one another.

Bran’s sweat, his smell, I love. This houseboy’s sweat, his smell, not so much.

And I can’t help but wonder whether it’s selfish of me to keep a houseboy while my relationship with Bran deepens. Not because I’m being greedy now, but because… well, for two reasons. First, because I think there is a part of Bran who doesn’t want to share me, not even my dirty dishes and my cruelty. And second, because keeping a houseboy means maintaining a relationship. I was relieved when Chiquitita and I decided not to pursue a serious relationship because I felt stretched between her and Bran. A houseboy doesn’t require nearly the same kind of care and feeding as a lover, but Bran knows that there is a sexual element to it. He says he’s fine with it, but I wonder if that’s really how he feels. I wonder if that will change. I think, if he asked me to give him up, I would. But that’s what happens when I fall in love. I do things, give up things, that I never would have when I’m not in love. When I’m not in a mild state of insanity.

It’s pleasant state of insanity.

A relationship with a houseboy is not the same as any other kind of relationship. A houseboy is not a friend. He’s definitely not a lover. He is a servant. And servants require an entirely different kind of interaction. It’s important to stay in control, to underline the power exchange part of the agreement. Houseboy is very good at doing this. Mostly I’m good at giving orders and maintaining an aura of cool authority. Oftentimes I feel silly inside but sometimes I get drunk off the power, get into the role, inhabit it. I think that I would have been an excellent Duchess in a former life. Preferably a widowed Duchess. But I digress.

It’s a nice feeling to be served. I really like receiving good service, in all areas of my life. There’s nothing like being able to order someone around, someone who has agreed to give me his power for a short period of time. But I’ll settle for good table service at a restaurant.

What I got drunk off today, though, was not power. It was pain. Giving pain, and the enjoyment of giving pain. Submission and pain, and both in combination, can be incredibly intoxicating.

It’s a very scary feeling, actually. And what I am feeling now is the blowback from a really intense, heavy session of hitting a man. It didn’t feel like hard work, but I certainly did put my arm into it. There was an exchange not only of power, but of energy. Kinetic energy, and psychic energy.

Afterward, he mentioned that he had never really taken that much pain before, that it wasn’t the sort of play he’d done. See, this is hard for me to hear. I feel like… I can’t help but feel ashamed at how much pleasure I take in the groans when I come down really hard with the belt. But it’s what I like. It’s visceral, almost sexual. It’s…. drunk on power, drunk on pain.

“If it’s too much we don’t have to go that hard,” I said. And given my current state of mind, that’s probably not a bad idea — for myself, if not for him. He didn’t want to stop, though. He told me that he’d come to the edge of this kind of play before, but that the person topping him had backed off. “It wasn’t my choice,” he said.

And then he said something that made me very happy. He said, “I appreciate that you do it in such a safe way.”

It’s something I worry about constantly, actually. It’s what makes topping difficult: the responsibility that comes with power. Paying attention to how your bottom is doing. And I do pay attention.

Sigh. I think I’d better pay attention to myself for a little while, and rest before I go out this evening. Right after I do this one last thing for work…

June 13, 2008 at 9:01 pm Leave a comment

Three things: servants, travel, transformation

So there were a few things I’ve been meaning to write about. I’ve just been a bit despondent lately, since no one has given me any feedback recently. I LURVE it when people comment in response to posts. Perhaps people aren’t responding because I moderate posts, or perhaps they’re just too shy. Regardless, feedback — connection — is one of the things that keeps me writing.

Maybe I just need to get over that.

Three things happened recently, and I don’t know which to tell you about first. I also want to tell you in the most scintillating prose EVAR, prose that will bring tears to your eyes or blood flow to your lower regions. But, of course, when I think about the results of what I say instead of just saying it, I get stuck with brain crack.

So, in chronological order:

  1. Met my newest houseboy Tuesday last. I started a post about this, but it veered off in its own direction. In short, he has the makings of a great servant and pain slut. He’s not in the least attractive to me, which simplifies things a great deal.
  2. Went to NYC this weekend and met Axe in person. In many ways, he was what I expected, and in many ways he was totally different. I love NYC, to visit about once or twice a year. Get my fix of beaux-arts architecture, true diversity, the streets of the Village, and the neighborhoods of Brooklyn. Then I came home to my own city, which looks so much more tiny and deserted by comparison.
  3. I am falling in love with Bran. “Your readers are going to be so bored!” he said, as he put his clothes on last night (what happened before he put his clothes on deserves its very own post). “What, all five of them?” I replied. I don’t care. Love does that. It makes you not care. It’s terrifying. And I’m past caring. Love is more terrifying than anything I know. But as you ease into it, it takes away the terror. I still remember all the pain of falling out of love — it makes me tremble to think about it. But when the heart falls it falls. Love is worse than the harshest Dom. It rips you apart and puts you back together all different. And it makes you want to be ripped apart. It turns that agony into pleasure. It makes you want the agony, crave it. It rips you open, turns you around, transforms you completely. It’s been long enough since the last time I fell in love, long enough for my heart to mend and forget that awful sundering, at least forget the actual sensation of that pain. I’ll be turned inside out. I’ll surrender, again and again, to whatever the Universe, and love, will do to me.

June 9, 2008 at 1:51 pm 3 comments

If you beat the servants but don’t fuck them, is that polyamory?

Bran isn’t crazy about polyamory. I’m not crazy about monogamy. Yes, I’m one of those bad bisexuals who actually DOES want to sleep with people of different genders. I know, I know, bisexuals are absolutely capable of monogamy–about as capable as anyone of any other sexual orientation. I’ve certainly been capable of monogamy for long stretches of time. Hell, I’ve been capable of not cheating on a partner who refused to have sex with me. I have my reasons for wanting a gate in my little picket fence, though. I’ll tell you all about them later.

There’s sex and then there’s sex, though. I know, I know, polyamory is about more than sex. But right now I’m talking about sex. Relationship-wise, I’m really at capacity. Things resolved with Chiquitita nicely in that respect: she balked at the prospect of getting the sexxay on, and I was relieved because I know exactly how much work women are. So does she. So we snuggled all night, slept over (something I have yet to do with Bran in spite of all our @w3$0me sexing), and now we talk about sex with boys. Which is easy and fun and relatively drama-free. I’ve reassured her that the not-calling-after-the-first-date thing is some sort of XY-chromosome-related phenomenon and nothing to do with her.

Bran has, however, said on more than one occasion, “you need a houseboy.” Which is promising and true. Especially since Bran clearly doesn’t enjoy the domestic stuff. In fact, he’s diagnosed my houseboyless state precisely on occasions when I’ve asked him to do domestic things for me. Like, say, lint-brush the cat hair off my black cardigan.

I do need a houseboy. And not just because I’d rather spend my money on something besides professional housecleaners. I can train a houseboy to clean AND tidy exactly the way I want. I can teach them how to fold and hang up the clothes that pile up in my bedroom — and know that they get a kick out of doing it because it’s such an intimate act. And I can do other stuff with a houseboy I’d never dream of doing with a professional housecleaner. Like, say, tell him to strip naked, throw his belt across the room, and make him crawl across the floor to me with it in his teeth. So I can beat him with it.

I’d pretty much given up on finding a new one, though. The last few prospects petered out — my so-promising young curious one just freaked out one day on his way over here and stood me up. The other prospect I’d been emailing with canceled on me at the last minute and then got snippy with me when I told him he wasn’t serious about meeting. Dynamics are important. I don’t need a brat. I need a good boy who knows how to clean. I recently got a message from someone on Fetlife who sounds very promising. But they all sound promising via email. The proof is in the pudding. Or the cleaning and the beating.

And it does have to be a boy. I’m sorry, but I like genderfuck. I like making a man do women’s work. Maybe it’s my way of getting back at my slovenly family of origin (I’d say it was my slovenly brother but really, Mom was just as bad). Maybe it’s my way of getting back at men in general. Fuckers with their baseball talk and their 30%-on-average higher salaries. Whatever it is, it’s my kink and I’m not apologizing for it. I mean, aside from apologizing for it at the beginning of this paragraph.

The problem, of course, is that my relationship with my houseboys is sexual. Even if I always keep my clothes on, it’s sexual. Once, I acted against my better instincts and let a married man come over and vacuum my floors in the early mornings. Married in the traditional sense. Vacuuming my floors was a sexual act for him. And for me. I felt horrible, because I knew there was a woman whom I’d never met whom I was helping to harm. Even if she never knew, I was harming her. And him. And, most importantly, myself. I had to stop. It was bad. I still feel bad. I’d never even mention this if you knew my name. It was the one thing I said I’d never do. I never had intercourse with him, but it was still sexual.

Part of my journey of accepting my kink has been acknowledging the sexual nature of domestic servitude. Honesty, dignity and respect. These are my baselines. I’m not comfortable with myself if I’m not honest with myself and others. This really sucks sometimes, because denial and lies are very convenient. But once I’ve acknowledged something I can’t lie about it.

Which may, in the long run, lead to some problems between myself and Bran. Or perhaps not. Perhaps we’ll be able to figure out a way to help him feel special and valued. It would certainly relieve him (and me) of expectations for him to fulfill a role he’s not cut out for. Bran is not a houseboy, a true sub, or a pain slut. Submissive men are awesome. I love so many things about them. But in terms of the person who walks beside me, I need a different sort of power dynamic.

I want both. I need a lot of love, a lot of caretaking. I’m a big woman with big appetites. And I’m tired of apologizing for it.

May 17, 2008 at 9:38 pm Leave a comment

How to find a submissive houseboy on teh Intarwebs (in 12 easy steps or less)

  1. Spend at least half an hour writing a witty but firm advertisement for the appropriate section of the free online personals website of your choice. Briefly describe yourself without any overtly identifying characteristics. Specify that you are NOT a prodom. Explain that you are looking for a submissive man to come clean your house and then kneel naked on the floor while you beat his ass to a whimpering pulp. Specify that the lucky recipient of this honor should actually get off on it, as you will be getting off on (a) him cleaning your house for free and (b) beating him. A lot. With a riding crop. And his own belt. And your hands. And various other implements.
  2. Specify that you are not interested in meeting anyone who isn’t single or didn’t get the go-ahead from their girlfriend/wife/boyfriend/german shepherd/it’s-complicated. Make sure to mention other qualities that would disqualify him for service. Such disqualifying attributes might include illiteracy, slovenliness, desire to be used as a toilet, enclosure of a photograph of manjunk, or possession of a mullet.
  3. Prepare yourself for one or more of the following kinds of responses:
    • One-word responses with blurry headshots, “headless horseman” shots, or photos of manjunk attached.
    • Bilious diatribes about what a manipulative, perverted, sick bitch you must be.
    • A counteroffer: “why don’t you come over to my apartment instead, wash my dishes, and suck my dick?” Attached photograph of manjunk is optional.
    • “Why don’t you just hire a service the way I do?” (Is there a service that offers brawny men who clean your whole place, then strip on command and crawl across the room with their own belt in their mouths? Where’s the website? I wonder if I can afford it!)
    • One, two, or possibly (possibly) more serious inquiries.
    • A notice that your ad has been flagged off for violation of the website’s Terms of Service (you’ve read them and are clearly NOT in violation. Not unless all those sick perverts mandoms looking for girls to spank are, too, and yet their ads seems to stay on for months at a time)
  4. Ensure that you are using an anonymous (aka “slut”) email account to respond to the handful of serious inquiries you’ll receive. As comfort level increases, exchange given names, then photographs, discuss expectations and desires about the arrangements. I recommend limiting the email exchange portion of the screening to no more than one to two weeks (about 5-10 exchanges. And 10 is pushing it.) This helps you avoid the “face for radio” phenomenon. It also helps you screen out people who aren’t serious about meeting in person.
  5. When in possession of the applicant’s first and last name, run a superficial background check via Google, Zabasearch, and the National Sex Offender Registry. Encourage the applicant to do the same with you. If any unexpected results come up, discuss with the applicant. Bear in mind that sex offender registries sometimes include the names of people convicted of questionable “offenses” like 18-year-olds making love with their 17-year-old sweethearts.
  6. Pay attention to your gut. Pay attention to the wording of the applicant’s email. Read between the lines. Bear in mind that he doesn’t necessarily have to be a suave and well-written correspondent to get the job. But pay attention and trust that little inner voice. It doesn’t lie.
  7. Arrange to meet your potential new houseboy in a public place, preferably for lunch on a Saturday. Why lunch? Who knows whether broad daylight makes things any safer, but it puts me at ease. It also removes the “date” energy and makes it more like a job interview. Why Saturday? Because if, after lunch, you decide this is a good fit, you can take him directly home for a trial task. I usually have him do the dishes or vaccuum a single room. This will give you a sense of whether he’s actually any good at housework — and of how quickly he works.
  8. Make sure you get his mobile number beforehand, in case you need to call to let him know you’re running late. You might be running late, but he should be on time.Be prepared for the possibility of being stood up. Poor submissive men–especially the sincerely submissive ones you want for this type of work and not the ones who still think it’s all about them — are bound to have mixed feelings about their sexuality. He may chicken out. If he does, don’t bother trying to make contact again. If he calls or emails, ignore it. He broke something that never be unbroken when he broke your date and there’s no way to salvage the dynamic.
  9. If all goes well at lunch, invite him back for a tryout (see above). If you like him, offer him a little treat at the end. Like, say, having him get down on his hands and knees, putting your feet up on him, and lecturing him. Or make him kneel upright, grab him by the hair, and stand over him scolding him. You know, do what you do. That dom thing, which is why you’re reading this to begin with right? If you don’t know how to do this part, I’m surprised you made it past Step 1. Especially at the beginning, less is more.
  10. Make sure to treat your houseboy with respect, like a valuable new toy. Do all that stuff that good kinksters are supposed to do, like establishing consensus, using safewords, and making time for aftercare. Frame your time together appropriately, and you should be able to hold onto a good houseboy for quite some time. But bear in mind that this is a difficult kind of relationship to maintain over the long run unless he already has a primary partner elsewhere. I don’t recommend fucking the servants, but your houseboy is likely to have needs not directly related to service, submission, and titillation.
  11. Be prepared for the possibility that some stingy, demanding bitch will get her claws into him he will meet another dominant woman who wants to Own him. Try to keep the lines of communication open so that you can find yourself another one before he leaves your service.
  12. Repeat ad nauseum. Or until you get disgusted with the process. Bitch about how hard it is to find good help these days to your friends, or to the Internet. Laugh at yourself a lot when you do this. When you get tired of houseboys, call your maid service or consider *gasp* actually cleaning the house and sorting through your papers yourself.

May 5, 2008 at 10:19 pm 3 comments

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