Origins of a Domme


I get asked a lot about how I became a Domme and my go-to answer is…

Evolution, baby!


The details, of course, are always long and in-depth, something I don’t have the time to express over and over again to subs who ask. Though, I do like to oblige because in this crazy world we all want to know who we are talking to and history gives a clue. So, instead of feeling like a broken record, I’m just going to leave this here for the next sub who asks.

In my youth I learnt a great deal about the desires of males and their need for emotional freedom. Being a tomboy, playing the field rather than cheering on the sidelines, I got a unique look into the male psyche. I witnessed the pressures my male friends endured of becoming a “man”. I seemed to be the one they escaped to, to be themselves. I was a girl they didn’t have to pretend for. My bedroom window was always open, and I spent many nights sitting up with them talking, mostly…

Twenty years before I knew what feminisation was, I had a talent for dressing up my boyfriends in my lingerie and dance clothes. It often became a ritual, a way of getting them into a place of vulnerability (I dated footballers). It turned me on having them tied up and helpless in front of me not knowing what I was going to do to them – pleasure or pain… For some strange reason I never found myself without a boyfriend.

When I was 19 I found myself working for a prestigious ballroom dance studio for the elite and affluent of the city. (Yes, the same studio chain as the character Johnny Castle worked for in the movie Dirty Dancing…. but this was the 80s.) Being a high-priced dance instructor was very luxurious, on the outside… I was taught the Arts of Persuasion and Seduction to make the sale, and more… My work attire was ballroom gowns and evening wear, and the shoes, diamonds and perfume clients bought me. I changed my outfits depending on which client I had for the hour. Finding out what a man needed was crucial – a mommy, a mistress, a girlfriend, a baby girl… they all wanted something from me. Being so young, servicing dominant and powerful men twice my age, I had to learn very quickly how to handle myself to make sure things went my way. I was often booked out to be a dance escort, accompanying clients to exclusive events and balls, and it was very easy to slip in and out of the girlfriend experience. My dance life was a mixture between Pretty Woman and Moulin Rogue.

But there was one man that finally taught me the power of a woman. He wasn’t a gentleman, nor wealthy… he was a convict just let out of prison. Even at 21, only two years my senior, he was a man to be feared – muscles built by incarceration, gang tattoos colouring his arms and neck, but his boyish face and the charm that matched captured my attention. He was one of my father’s friends, staying with us until he got on his feet, and therefore I was supposed to be off limits. However… I found that no matter how much command he had over other men, he was a puppy to me.

Late one night I came home from dance and he was sitting in the darkness of the living room. I thought this was it, that this was going to be the night he makes me his – I was scared of the things I knew about him, but more so of the things I didn’t – but he just sat there and said nothing. I was taught by my male friends never to show fear, to face it, so I walked to him still in my street heels, feet aching from a hard day of dance. Slipping onto the other end of the sofa, I rested my feet on his knees and said, “My feet are sore.” He took off my shoes immediately and started massaging my feet without a word. I was astounded by his obedience.

When my feet were nice and supple again I had to think of something to make the moment last. I raised my foot and gently brushed his lip with my toe, giggling at my own insolence. Suddenly he snapped up to his feet, giving me a fright. He stood over me and I gripped onto the sofa. Then, he dropped to his knees in front of me and reached up into my skirt. This was it, he was going to make me his, but his fingers only pulled back my pantyhose all the way down and off my legs. He sat on his knees, waiting. Again I raised my foot to his mouth. He opened it and began to suck on my toes. How his mouth moved over my feet, watching him worshiping them, was divine. I was thoroughly mesmerised – this burly man was so eager and ready to do my bidding. Nothing more happened… I didn’t become his that night… he became mine.


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