“I may be bad but I’m perfectly good at it.” When Rihanna sang in “S&M” about how whips and chains excite her, a shockwave went through the pop world. People excited by getting hurt? Oh no, no, that couldn’t be right. And on top of that a Black woman parading around in latex, rope bondage, oh that’s a definite “no.” Proper Black women do not express their sexuality as deviants, that type of sexual abandon is left for white women and not us.
But I have never been a proper person and I doubt I will ever be. I welcome challenge and rebellion. I’ve been that way since I was little and it’s not likely to slow down.
Words by Mistress A.
It’s a bit of my personality quirk to be rebellious. I experimented with punk and other subcultures and always find a little thrill in shocking people of what they think black women ought to do. Somehow their shock always leads to me not being surprised by their narrow-minds and it always leads to them feeling a bit, well, silly.
And most of BDSM apart from the black latex glove impression of sinister activity is actually quite silly.
Now it’s my job to be improper and be a walking fantasy of fetishistic delight.
Why, I’m a dominatrix of course. That’s Mistress to you of course.
The most common question I receive when people find out what they do (and that’s if I tell them) is why go into this work? Do you have sex with the clients?
First off the bat, professional dominatrixes/mistresses/dominas do not sleep with their clients. Most of what goes down in a scene is a bit of exchange. An exchange that works this way: Pay me and I’ll be the fantasy that you dare not speak aloud.
It’s fun. That is the simplest answer I could give you without delving into a personal life story.
I like what I do.
If I had to give myself an origin story I would say it started in Jr. High when I was aware of a certain potency that women could hold over men. The potency was women in power. Women in power so thrilling, so taboo that men were made uneasy by it and that uneasiness was the allure to them. I wanted to know more.
I had to know more.
I spent a lot of time reading books on sadomasochism, fetishism and deviancy but that was not enough for a bookworm like me. I had to get involved.
One of the initial shocks I had from the BDSM communities was that everything and anything could be ample enough to turn into a full-blown fetish.
Race is one of them. We all know that to fetishize someone’s race is pretty much problematic but in BDSM that gets turned on its head. For better or worse, the desire for some (and I say some) to be punished at the hands of a black woman is what sends them into an uncontrollable frenzy.
Part of me wants to sit down with clients and analyze why clients have this certain predisposition for wanting an “Ebony Domme.” They write in search of a towering, powerful Ebony domme. Usually these are white submissive men. Part of the thrill is the old and potent taboo of interracial mixing.
Unlike our white counterparts, Black Dommes or any Domme of color, her being of “color” is her niche. It’s the business aspect of things. Being a niche is interesting, especially considering that clients come to see you as the projection of their one-dimensional fantasies.
While my job is to deal and trade in fantasy, I don’t take the entire burden. Living life as a black woman has it’s own nuances and complexities. In the dungeon, I think of myself as a domme but I do know, with that creeping suspicion of double consciousness that I am a black domme. My individuality takes a third seat in the car of personalities (somewhat like Alanis Morrissette in that ‘Ironic’ video) and I slip into a persona.
Although, I try to keep the persona of being a Black domme in tightly regulated spaces for my own sanity. No endorsing of archaic stereotypes and indulging in dangerous notions that black sexuality is primitive. No. No. No. When you step in my arena, my domination over a client is not through their projected fantasy but domination over how small that projected fantasy can be.
Once a client mid-way through our interview, upon seeing me in my sky-high heels and impossibly sexiest thigh highs, not listening to a word I uttered (tsk tsk) interrupted to complement me. I accepted the compliment with a smile but then he followed up with:
“I just love black girls.”
Well, thank you supporter, glad to know someone does.
Its time like this, when a sharp wit and well-timed comeback will save you the headache and maybe close the deal.
All I could really do was say “thank you.”
Handling it with grace and a demeanor that said if you fuck with me in anyway, I will rip you to shreds, sends the message loud and clear to these men that you are every bit in charge of the role that you are projecting.
I am a dominant woman in every aspect of my life and although I wish I could be more dominant where it really matters (like politics and minority representation) the work of flogging some chap on his back or caning him until his eyes say “enough” are little trinkets of sadistic glee for me.
Fantasies and hang-ups get amplified between the chambers of a dungeon and if you don’t have a level head, it can really skew your attitude towards the rest of mankind.
I advise that those getting into this type of work to specifically love what they are doing or the days will drag. Playing therapist can be fun, if you approach it with the intention that you aren’t really certified to fill that role legitimately.
Dominatrixes are a bit like espionages, well the good ones at least. And every now and then, aren’t people a little intrigued by the spies among us?