service submission

"What gift do you think a good servant has that separates them from the others? It's the gift of anticipation. And I'm a good servant. I'm better than good. I'm the best. I'm the perfect servant. I know when they'll be hungry and the food is ready. I know when they'll be tired and the bed is turned down. I know it before they know it themselves." -Gosford Park

I harbor, among my darker secrets, a desire for a ladies valet. Not a maid, really- I see this person in a suit, helping me with my jewelry, organizing my travel plans, assisting with my packing, perhaps assigning jobs to a maid or a cook. Like a personal assistant, but also more intimate. One day I hope to have this person in my household- it's a type of D/s I find very fulfilling and desirable, unlike the 24/7 lifestyle. There's something calm and controlled about service. There's something so beautiful to me when I see a perfectly presented submissive, back arched, hands outstretched. There's incredible energy with service too, and a way for the Dominant to feel taken care of, which has been important to me as someone into some edgy shit. I love the aesthetics- human candelabras and tables, straight backed maids serving tea prettily and daintily, graceful men taking your coat and hat and whisking them away. I love having a bath run for me, or my feet massaged by firm hands. The dynamic just... works for me, in a way that's kind of vanilla and kind of not.

"There's a scene in the movie Exit to Eden where a submissive boy gives Rosie O'Donnell a come-spank-me look and breathes, "Mistress, let me fulfill your fantasy." She snaps back, "Go paint my house." If Rosie had been talking to Renee and Chris, she'd have been getting a new coat of latex before you could say "Benjamin Moore." On the day of the party, these two were at my house, working in the yard, several hours before I got out of bed. After that, they cleaned the house and began the food prep. Once the party started, they answered the door, hung up coats, fetched drinks, and carried hot hors d'oeuvres around on silver trays. When the party ended, they cleaned up glasses, trash, and leftover food. And then they told us they had a great time, and went home. A few days later, Max and I even got a thank-you card from Chris.

Service submissives like this are so refreshing. A lot of people want my attention, and I'm not going to say I don't enjoy that. Having the ability to create other people's fantasies feels good. But doing so takes a lot of energy, and sometimes I feel drained. Renee and Chris conceived and delivered a fantasy for me. I didn't have to do a thing--other than relax, enjoy the service, and take pleasure in knowing that they enjoyed giving it. What a sweetly kinky gift from heaven." -from Control Tower by Mistress Matisse

This is it, exactly. Except I do feel the desire and need to do something in return when I have a service submissive- I know that for them, the scene is enough, but for me want to give them something extra, as a thank you for being so incredible. Sometimes this is a caning, or assignments to help them consider what they need submissively, or petting and physical affection. Otherwise I feel almost like it's cheating in some way. I love to be pampered, totally, but I also worry all the time that I'm taking advantage.

I gained a lot of self-knowledge and self-love through my role as a service submissive. The woman I played with was excellent and understanding as I struggled to find my way through my desires, which were like a minefield of insecurity and uncertainty. I experienced how amazing and meditative it was to serve someone who was calm, controlled, and knew what to ask for. At the time I suspected it was the sort of situation I craved as a submissive- now, I realize it was something I craved to have myself. There's a nigglyness to service that I can appreciate- having everything just so, like in serving tea or setting a table. One day I hope to be lucky enough to inspire a submissive the way she inspired me, to give someone else the comfort and organization of a service position.

Watching Gosford Park really reacquainted me with my desire for such a household. There's something about how it bustles along! One of my favourite Pat Califia stories in "Macho Sluts" also talks about a woman who has a personal assistant and a chauffeur and it's just so, so hot. Sigh! A valet. That's what I want, my own personal queer kinky Jeeves.

On a completely unrelated note (and because watching Gosford Park inspired this whole blog) I want to make a note of this quote-

"I believe in love. Not just getting it, but giving it. I think that if you're able to love someone, even if they don't know it, even if they can't love you back, then it's worth it."

I wanted to make a note of this because this is my attitude. It is worth it. I always err on the side of love and loss. And it hurts- sometimes it rips me apart- but it's worth it because it's beautiful and fierce. I wouldn't want to do it differently.


edinburgh, why do you forsake me

I'm doing as well this trip as I did last time, but I think I've realized a few things about tours to cities- Saturday is not a day to get any work if you're in a traditional city without a bunch of traveling businessmen. Sunday is up for debate. Friday was fairly busy but Saturday was filled with cancellations, much to my disappointment. A day that seemed like it'd shape up for 4 sessions whittled down to basically 1 1/2. I've broken even for the trip, at least, and a little bit more, but not enough to make me eager to return, to be honest.

I'm going to go out for breakfast tomorrow with the Scotsboy, give myself a chance to see the sights I hope. Albeit, probably very briefly. I really need to have 2-3 sessions tomorrow to make up for today. I mean, it's an unofficial goal, to be sure, but if I don't make double the cost it's just not worth all the hassle. I like to travel, and I like on some level having time to myself... but I miss my lovers, and I really hate all the last minute cancellations I've gotten here. I hate waiting all day for a client who then doesn't do me the decency of showing up.



I didn't know how it would make me feel, wrapping his body in cling film.

When I had seen photos on the internet I thought it looked messy, maybe a bit silly- I secretly harbored fantasies about writing on their bodies in sharpies, marking off cuts of meat, but didn't think it'd be something I would be that into in real life. It was quick and easy, but aesthetically I figured it'd not do much for me. I had tried bondage tape, sure, but not cling film.

But when he was there, in front of me, naked and squirming ever so slightly, his flesh pressing against the transparent film... I felt my Beast come out. I wanted to tear into him, tear the plastic from him with my teeth. I saw him as prey, as food, as mine... and I wanted to devour him.

I rubbed my body over his, reveling in the stickiness of it, the way it tightened as he breathed. The way it clung to his nipples, so tightly, made them look like little pink candies, little droplets I wanted to roll between my teeth. I wanted to mark him, to piss on him, to rub my musk on him so others would know that I had claimed him. I loved the way his cock strained against the cling film, begging for attention but flat and out of the way if I wanted to ignore it. I loved how it made it harder for him to breathe. I wanted him under my power, controlled, taken. I wanted to smear my juices all over him and then slide a cold knife under the layers and rip them to shreds so I could get at his skin again.

When he's wrapped like this I have to remind my Beast that he's not a masochist, because part of me wants to pierce and bruise him. I like to think he enjoys the edge in our play, the fear and excitement from the gleam I get in my eyes when he's helpless. I like to think he's not truly scared of me, or just scared enough for it to be sexy. But when my Beast is in my veins, I want him to be terrified. I want to smell his fear and helplessness. I want him, on some level, to wish to run and not be able to.

And when he's unwrapped, and we're snuggling under the blanket, I want him to tell me I'm not a bad person for wanting to break him.

And he does.


back in Edinburgh

I really enjoy being here in Edinburgh. I'm not sure what, specifically, it is, if it's anything specific at all. There are aspects I enjoy greatly- the feeling of being a traveling businesswoman, for a start, especially if I think of it as a jet-setting sex worker! I know it's just within the UK, but still- there's something about the freshness of having a flat to yourself, with a room for play/business and a room with a HUGE bed to sleep and roll around on. While I couldn't afford it every day, there's something luxurious about having all this space to myself for a few days. And luxury of any kind is, to me, sexy.

I'm a pretty hedonistic girl, all things considered. I'll happily shell out money for fancy manicures or hot rock massages, though I also melt under the touch of a naked lover massaging me (and there's that added advantage of being able to fuck them after, which is always a pleasure in itself). I like fancy cars, and first class, and restaurants with more serving utensils than items of food on a plate. I think it's partially why I enjoy fetish so much- all the little fiddly bits, all the little snippets of luxury in the sensuality of soft leather or a singletail made of fur. I like having enough playthings to have favourites, like my metal cane or my pink ball gag.

I'm sitting in my robe, waiting for some sausages to cook to eat with an apple and some wine. I'm watching "se7en" at the moment, having watched "Pi" last night (though I don't think I absorbed enough of it, so I'm going to watch it again). I'm grateful to my thingboy (TB, for want of a better term- I'm crap at cutesy nicknames) for letting me borrow a few movies I hadn't seen yet- all I have are old favourites, really, ones I'm a little too familiar with. And that's a luxury too, new films and thoughts and images to wallow in and absorb.

Along with those new images are new ideas, thanks to a night out at a fetish club out here and also to an old friend/lover who introduced me long distance to some people. I got to practice some fast and easy rope bondage techniques, so I'll be a little more comfy beginning to play with it. That's very exciting, as rope has always been very pretty to me but very out of reach, and I've always felt too impatient for it- the girlfriend wriggles too much and TB wants total immobilization, really, which worries me with something like rope that presses against nerves and such. But now with some accessible knowledge I think I could try it again...

It's also very chilled out here. I went to a play party, right, yet I don't feel overwhelmed and stressed because it was in the basement of a pub, not some huge space. And people were friendly, super friendly. It felt like a place I could practice and not be scared of someone judging me. I liked that.

So far I've had two clients, and they were both pretty cool in their own ways. I'm hoping this weekend fills up with work- if I have two clients a day or so, I'll be very pleased. I want to spend some of Sunday exploring though, as last time I didn't get to do much of that at all, or taking photos. And while I was doing the sessions, I was thinking "do I really like this work?" and I realized... yes, yes I do. I see what I do as providing a service.

I got to introduce a guy to anal play and thuddy pain for the first time, and he loved it. That's what it's all about. God knows my Top side is still reeling with ideas and plots for TB, and my upcoming performance with my girlfriend, and those are sacred and special (I even refused to do some play with a client because I liked doing it with TB too much to cheapen the thrill), but at the same time I have a lot to offer my clients. And it was precisely because of my work that I crossed paths with TB at all, and I'm grateful for that for sure!

I miss my lovers, actually. I miss snuggles. And I miss orgasms, orgasms that are about *me*, one after another, and the desire to flood them with orgasms back. But I think forward to the new adventures, like Paris Decompression or exploring London further, or Santacon, or...or...or! And I get excited all over again. I'm in love, with my lovers, with Edinburgh, with the world, with life. It's been a good day. And the wine is kicking in.


O my Goth to Steampunk

You definitely have some gothicness going
on, but you're far from being a stereotypical goth.

You enjoy certain elements of goth culture, but you're not going to be into something simply because it's goth.

It's likely that you're the type of person who totally defies labels. Good for you!

If you are into

something, it's because you sincerely love it. Not because it projects a certain image.

So, only 52% anymore. I doubt I'll ever go below that- Goth will always be at least a little special to me.
It was the first place I felt like I belonged, back when I was 15 or so. I had generally played with the aesthetic, and I had always loved men who played with gender- early Marilyn Manson had lovely fashion, just didn't go for his music. Or whiteface- that interest came later. ::laughs::
I sort of came into Goth through two routes- music, via my parents, and in a quest for clothes that fit. I tried being preppy, but GAP and Old Navy didn't make clothes that fit (I remember begging my parents for those adidas pants that button down the sides... yeah, can you imagine it?)
Goth clothes were interesting and fit, and I began to play with fabrics and creativity in my clothes. I got a bit into fetish clothes, but always things that covered my whole body- dresses to my ankles, pants that covered me. Baggy pants. Tee shirts.
I played with graver stuff as well, as you can see from this photo. I'm 18, very uncomfortable with my body, in an apartment that would lead me to feel more and more isolated. But I was beginning to realize how much kink meant to me- being Goth had put me in contact with a lot of geeks and a lot of fetishy people, contacts and context that is now far closer to me than Goth. In this photo, even, I'm wearing a Death shirt from the Sandman series. :)
I really embraced being Goth. I worked at melancholy the way other people work at crafts- sometimes I think I went into crazy relationships just so I had something to write melodramatic poetry about. There's a painting behind me of a tree, all crimson and grey, with a skull in the tree and a bloody looking sky. Goth enough for you? I even had a fish named Angst.
It took a long time for me to become comfortable with my body, and even longer to be comfortable with what got me hot. Even now it sometimes scares me, what I masturbate to, what makes me pussy swell. Goth gave me some sort of community, people who weren't scared and were fascinated by the things that squicked others- blood, fear, knives, pain, blasphemy. And I liked the juxtaposition of the sharps and the blood with the velvet and lace.
Eventually though I was no longer depressed or interested in wearing black every day for every occasion. I began to wear denims, brown, golds, instead of black, red, and silver. What is a girl who loves fashion and corsets and combining things that don't necessarily go to do?
Enter steampunk-

Your result for The Steampunk Style Test...

The Aristocrat

57% Elegant, 45% Technological, 40% Historical, 48% Adventurous and 23% Playful!

You are the Aristocrat, the embodiment of steampunk elegance and poise. For you, dressing steampunk is first and foremost about simply looking good, with accessories and details to follow. However, this does not mean that you ignore the demands of creating a “steampunk look.” Your outfits weave together a balance between technology and style, and between period accuracy and beautiful anachronism. While your fashion inspiration may come from anywhere across the Victorian social spectrum, you always find a way to make your outfit beautiful. You will probably be found in the clothes of the steam age elite simply because of the greater elegance available to them. Chances are you dress this way because you like it, and you would still dress in this manner even if steampunk was not a popular interest.

With steampunk I've been able to straddle the line between past and future in a way that's fun and intriguing. I've found myself inspired all over again. Sadly I don't have enough space to build up a wardrobe to support my habit! Instead I think I'm pressuring the switchboy to fulfill my fantasies by dressing up like a steampunk dandy. It looks good though. And while a lot of people dress Goth at a fetish club, dressing all steampunk-y is more rare and much more interesting. In a room of black, browns and blues will stand out for sure.
Thinking about this and browsing the clothing sites has led me back to my desire to have a valet, all dressed impeccably to help me dress and plan my day.
I wish I was staying here more than ever.


Night of the Senses

Wow. All I can say, really, is wow. 

I'm still recovering from Night of the Senses, which apparently used to be called the Sex Maniacs Ball. I went with my girlfriend and my client-cum-thingboy, and had an amazing time. You know when you do something and you didn't realize how much you needed it til afterwards? That was my experience in so many ways. My libido is back, I feel glowy and cuddly and sexy and happy, and I confessed to the thingboy that I have a crush... and he felt the same way! Whee!
I also did a couple of things I haven't done in a while as a bottom- like anal play- and other things I've never tried, like having my whole body and head mummified. It was intense but giggly good fun, and I can't wait to play with that more. 
Threesomes are usually fun, and this one was no exception. My gf and I ended up talking some about how things went, and if we do it again I think we'll have some different agreements, but even so it was fun and sexy and awesome. 
I half want to tell all because I want to share my joy, and half don't because I'm sort of selfish and want to keep it to myself. I'm sure that's the more sensible approach.
So, I'll close with-

""hope she gets hiv too...that would be hilarious"

My partner sent me an article about a grad student auctioning off her virginity.

I'm frustrated at how many people feel that because she's made this choice, she should get HIV, or die, or become pregnant, or feel terrible about herself. Like it's ok to wish horrible things on whores, because they're less than women.

I would say more, but I don't know if I have the energy. I need to get ready for tonight.

I commented on the blog, you can see what I said there if you're curious.



"Kitty Stryker" is my work name, but it's also the name I go by in the day-to-day- most people call me by it, and while it's not my legal name, it feels like the name I've settled into.

But today, I was thinking a lot about who goes out every day. Is it my female self or my femme self?

I always present as feminine. Consciously or not, no one ever doubts I'm feminine. Whether I'm in jeans or fancy dress, makeup or not, I've never been asked my gender identity. I doubt I'll ever get asked what pronoun I'd like used. This is a privilege in a lot of ways. It's also a trap. I'll never pass as butch, much less as a man, and that's generally ok with me. But when I reflect on gender, I don't know if I identify as feminine.

Femme, as a gender, seemed like it might well fit the bill. There's a movie I've wanted to see about this: "Female to Femme", and I think that it might bring up some ideas that would help me in my reflection. The filmmaker Elizabeth Stark, identifies part of femme as such:

Femmes know how to make love to other women, to butches, to transmen. In my opinion, this is an art and should not be overlooked. Femmes know how to fail and succeed at femininity at the same time. We use our flaws, our fat, our hairiness, our loud mouths, our oversized brains and our excessive accessorizing to celebrate ourselves and those we love…and to foment revolution.”

I read this, and other books on femme, and think to myself, "yes- when I put on lipstick, nail polish, mascara, this is my war paint- my corsets and boots are my armor." These are things I put on when I'm going to face the world, as Kitty Stryker, as femme. Sure, some women put these things on for men, or to feel attractive. I don't. I do it because when I do it it turns this body into me. As my favorite person ever RuPaul said, "we're born naked, all the rest is drag".

So I'm fairly comfortable with that aspect, that femme is something I put on most of the time, or at least attempt to. And I'm pretty comfortable with my methods of attaining femme- I try to be ethical in my choices. So lets set those issues aside for the sake of this post.

One thing I struggle with as an aspiring femme is femme as carer and cared for. Whenever I read about butch/femme, there's this dynamic of care, each caring for the other in their way. A lot of erotica and memoirs about femmes discuss how they inspired people to cherish them, not because they weren't powerful but in a recognition of their power and subsequent desire to relinquish some of their load. I appreciate that quite a bit. But I find, as an aspiring femme, that my general ability to keep the household in order, people on the ball, and cats herded means that other people prefer to step back and let me do it.

In a way, knowing that others believe me to be capable should be empowering- no one looks at me as a weak woman who can't take care of herself. But at the same time, it's exhausting and draining to be the caregiver, the organizer, She Who Must Be Obeyed- sometimes I want to let go and be taken care of myself for a while, without that being an expression of weakness or of submission.

And it's particularly telling that the time I take out of all that to take care of myself is usually conveniently timed for when I have an appointment- and then, is it really for me, or is it for my clients..?

Which brings me to the other weird side of femme for me. I would self-identify, on a good, not-thinking-too-hard-into-it day, as a femme queer sex worker. I dress nicely, sure, but no different than I would for a job interview or a date. I'm considering the following- when I dress in this way, am I dressing femme, claiming femme, or am I just, on some level, catering to mens ideas of femininity? If I'm wearing lipstick, can it ever really just be because I like it?

It still feels sometimes like I'm in Mum's closet, wearing her clothes and pretending to be something I'm not. Probably because I don't have a lot of friends who self identify as femme, people around me I can point to and say, "yes, that's femme, and that, and that". Those who are feminine here either wouldn't identify as femme or don't sit and think about this stuff at all, not the self-claiming of femme I'm looking for. Butches don't tend to come on to me (possibly because London is more a place where butches play with butches and femmes with femmes). Even the men who tend to like me like me being in control- there isn't that push/pull dynamic, where the butch pulls out my chair and pays for dinner, and I dress up for my butch and cook her dessert. And maybe I'm looking at butch/femme itself totally wrong. I have no idea.

I guess after this whole entire post, that's my conclusion. The more I think about it, the more confused and conflicted I feel. I'll end with Elizabeth Stark again-

“My sexuality and desires, my sensibility and my gender expression are all going against the grain of the expected female. In fact, becoming a femme in a world that insists on a certain femininity … without taking on that enforced femininity is a delicate, powerful move; a transition indeed, that is under-investigated and overlooked. FtF begins to break that silence. And, like all silence-breakers, we’re already getting in some trouble for it.”


ok, let me be clear, here

Do NOT call me "darling", "sweetie", "luv", "cutie", or any other name like that until we've met. And even then, proceed with caution. I really hate those sorts of pet names, particularly from men I don't know.

If you aren't paying me, you aren't paying me enough to patronize me.

Oh, wait, this is why I do sex work- because NO JOB will pay me enough to patronize me. It would be a whole lot. In fact, I don't know if there's a price high enough.

It probably depends on my mood.


"just do what you want..."

I was joking with a friend about this- the client who says "just do what you want".

What I want would go in this order-

-you pay me and I leave, nothing else happens
-you pay me and then clean my house and then leave
-you pay me and I tie you up, leave you in a corner while I read, and then untie you and leave
-you pay me and I hit you with things til I'm bored/satisfied then I leave

Oh, and I don't dress up for any of the above. I'm in my comfy robe, or jeans and a tee shirt.

Maybe if you get me on a horny day I'll want you pierce you and tie bits of your body to other bits. Or maybe I'd want to get you to suck my strap on while I slap your face with it.

Or you'd get me on the first crampy day of my period and I'd want to kick you in the balls and watch you crumple.

This is why "just do what you want" is a terrible thing to say. I'm doing this professionally, which means if you want to be satisfied with the product you have to know what you want. And if I feel unforgiving about that sort of laziness, you'll likely end up tied up in a corner covered with menses and glitter, clamps tight on your nipples and cane welts on your ass as you suck cock- and I, btw, will no longer be there. Is that what you want?