A Random List of Pleasing Things

Pleasing. Pleasure. Precision. Discipline. Beauty. Manners. Impermanence. Sei Shonagon Kiyohara Nagiko has been working through my thoughts lately, a frequent character in my recent musings, especially her various lists of pleasing, worrying and distasteful things. Reading her Pillow Book, one can easily imagine her, a Mistress strict and demanding, shielded from the prying eyes of curious passers-by with silken screens. Men compelled to do her bidding are summoned to her side, always to be found wanting, later to be memorialized as irritations. Brush and inkstone and paper perpetually at the ready. Riding crop and whip partially hidden from casual view.

Her standards are high, nearly impossibly so. What good Mistress’s aren’t? I feel a kinship, to some degree, with her points of view ranging from the petty to the profound; intriguing how a 13th century Japanese lady-in-waiting informs and influences this 21st century New York City Dominatrix. What I keep rewinding and reviewing are the things and actions that move Me. Things that excite and inflame My senses. Over recent weeks, I have had much opportunity to reflect on those ideas and it seems appropriate to make my own (somewhat random) list of things that are pleasing to me, especially within the realm of service and D/s.

NYC Dominatrix Mistress Martine Phoenix

tightly braided singletail whips freshly unrolled from a mailing package
the feeling that blossoms when removing your silverware and feeding you solely from my plate
tight soft smooth jersey stretching smoothly over a lithe frame
sleekly manufactured colored seamed nylon stockings
the longing in your eyes when I secure the lock on your chastity cage
crudo: thinly sliced fish and sea salt and citrus decorated with the lightest splash of good olive oil
rattan canes made to crack and swish through the air landing on unmarked skin
human packages tied up in deliciously scented oily to the touch hemp rope, tightly
patience
passion
pinstripes
packing
catsuits that hug so tightly move so closely and I forget they are on

NYC Dominatrix Mistress Martine Phoenix

boots. shiny boots. leather boots. platform and high heeled. zip or lace-up. to the knee or above
you worshiping those boots with no expectation of reward.
men wearing lacy panties under a tailored and proper business suit in anticipation of a meeting
spreading pink blushes
invading your space with my presence
invading your body with my needles sounds metal
crisp Sancerre served in beautifully blown glass
forbidding your speech in public
being deferred to
being served

…to be continued…

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Stockings, or , My first fetish

I was in 10th grade when I discovered stockings. Not “pantyhose” (which is what most people think of, completely confusing the descriptors).  Stockings. Fully-fashioned, nylon or silk, toe/heel reinforced, garter belt required stockings. This discovery was almost more earth shattering than having sex for the first time a couple of years later.

Jenny was my inspiration. A senior at the parochial school I attended on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, she was the most sophisticated girl I knew.  My affair with cigarettes began after countless times watching her smoke Benson and Hedges 100s while sucking on cinnamon Life-Savers.

There was something subversive about the way Jenny’s legs looked to my still innocent eyes, so smooth in her nylons, garter belt clipped to the tops stopping mid thigh concealed under our winter uniform of gray wool.  I began to imagine what it would feel like, slippery, silky fabric against my own skin.  Eventually, my thoughts and curiosity brought me to a small lingerie shop not too far away from the high school I attended.

Regardless of what the ladies staffing the shop thought about this wide-eyed girl with knee socks and book bag tentatively drinking in her surroundings, they graciously shared all manner of knowledge about legwear: stay ups or garter fastened? silk or nylon? seamed or plain?  I was completely hooked; the majority of my allowance expended on an ever growing collection of retro glam intimates.

To this day, those early lessons hold firm.  I still drool over a perfectly stitched seam trailing from the point of a French heel.  The lack of availability for good silk stockings is a constant irritation.  3 garters per side on a belt are always better than two.  And, most important, no dress or skirt set is complete without my special secret underneath, decorating my legs.

I adore being a girl.

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