Deviator's Flight
We all come into this vast world in search of Love. Some will find it without problems, others will kick the bucket without ever knowing it, and still others will search, try, suffer, inventing newer and newer paths and approaches to achieving the desired. And again, two outcomes are possible. But fate is a villainess! And so, whether from satiety with imperfection, or from the unattainability of one's ideals, or from a genetic burden that has entered into antagonism with reality, the Day of Reckoning or Day X arrives, whatever you prefer. And you realize that you cannot not only expect mercy from nature, but also to oppose the nature of your own being is a doomed endeavor. And this is the very time when
you need to straighten your hunched shoulders, direct your gaze into the stretching expanse, and take wing!Enough! I've had it! I'm tired! I'm sick of it!
A new life, the goal of which is to attain inner freedom and harmony of feelings. Take wing! Only forward! The only brake is gravity, but it is no longer in control. It's weak. The Deviator is already unyielding. It exists and must be reckoned with! Everyone must reckon with it, gravity too! We will overcome!
Take wing! Into flight! Freedom rages in the chest. The entire organism is united in the impulse. The heart is excited, but confident in its steady rhythm! The thrill of the madness of fearlessness. No obstacles, no problems! To hell with problems, to the devil with obstacles! Laws are a chimera! Perversions are nonsense! Gloomy commandments are foolishness! Sanctimonious advice is senility! Only into flight towards previously unknown, hidden, but so alluring heights of fantasy.
A run-up, the last touch, and that's it. The Deviator has been accepted into the ocean of airspace! Flight! It's so awesome! Freedom! It's wonderful! The spirit is breathless with the delight of what has been done. Like a revelation! I am free! I dared! Altitude is gained and here it is, the long-awaited! Flight.
The Flight of the Deviator!
"... Most of my 'slaves' are switches, more of the dominant type, who sometimes want to be 'put in their place'. So, like it or not, you need to be able to spot dominants to be on guard with them. And you can play purely on psychology if you sense the signal in time. Besides, I categorically do not wear a robe at home, I always walk around naked. A cuff is a wristband with sharp spikes. Not so much a symbol of power, but something like a talisman that has saved me more than once in extreme situations, especially if swung across the face. Sex for an hour, even if it involves a strap-on, is not an expression from my repertoire. I also do not receive in a bikini, preferring a leather corset with a skirt or a business suit.
As for the strap-on, I either strap-on hard, in the toilet after a golden shower, bending the slave's head over the toilet and holding his hands behind his back in handcuffs, forcing him to wipe and repeat obscenities about himself; or in different positions in different ways, dressed in lingerie and a wig, alternating tenderness with roughness, etc.
I was always surprised why the most dominant slaves never wanted (1 case is an exception, about it later) to make me a slave? Not because it's my desire, I'm just trying to put myself in their place, what would I do? Came to a mistress for a hard session, and then would have gotten even—I would have gotten even for sure, morally or physically. Of course, one could say that a dominant comes to a mistress to shed... I don't know what they want to shed, more likely these are switches, for whom switching roles with a slave is fraught with loss of authority, better 'with a domme on the side'. I was simply surprised that close friends spoke of the danger of playing with such a contingent—they say, they'll set you up for a hardcore session and then chain you up. At first, I took precautions, but then I understood: they accept the rules of the game even more fully than subs, they don't need to get even, they need precisely to be a slave, in order to be a dominant afterwards in their—other life.
There were 3 cases when they wanted to imagine me in the lower role even for a second:
1. This is a person I lived with for several years. A dominant and sadist in the past. Without any paraphernalia, without advertising his inclinations. It was a battle of characters, lasting more than one year. He wanted to 'break' me, I—him. The rules of the game: whoever gives in, loses. I remember, I remember very well that day when I finally gained the upper hand. Then he became a slave, for about a year. Perhaps he was a switch who wanted (but didn't admit it) to be broken against his will, and his sadism and dominance were nothing more than provocation. But he broke and became uninteresting to me.
— Well, you wanted this, didn't you? — I said in my usual voice, I wouldn't have been able to get into the role to that extent. — You wanted to see me as a slave, didn't you? Your conscience is tormenting you because you're a slave? Well, mine isn't. Why not? You have a chance once in your life to try yourself in my place, the only chance. I understood from your behavior that you want this, well, let's see what kind of master you are.
I gave him the crop, and noted to myself that if a woman with a device in her hand looks sexy, a man looks simply stupid.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror in complete shock. I looked too, and we started laughing. He, looking completely idiotic with the crop, and I, on whom this attire is the same as women's clothing on a macho man.
He gave me back the crop and kissed my foot. I don't remember exactly what I did with him that day, but he still remembers it in all details for some reason.
3. A case with a client. He came for wrestling. Role-playing games in the style of 'prison', 'mistress-cop and detainee', 'extracting confessions', etc. He resisted for real, didn't give in, I only had a baton, handcuffs, and a wristband. Once he suggested several game options, one of them (I understood that this was the one he wanted)—'Revenge'. He—the boss, I—the secretary, serve him tea, and he's always dissatisfied. One day the cup overflows and I 'take revenge' on him in full form.
— The game is not bad, — I told him, — really gets you going. But I would like to play from the moment of revenge.
— But that won't be real, — he was seriously upset.
— Why not? I will really get angry at you, believe me, it won't be any trouble for me.
He was silent.
Then I explained to him. That I am a Mistress not only in a sexual context. If I worked as a waitress, I would be fired on the first day. I would spill coffee on someone's head for addressing me insufficiently correctly.
There was another case—I worked as a manager-assistant to the boss. Once he asked me to print and bring papers. I brought them, but decided I wouldn't set foot in the office again. Apparently, this was reflected in my facial expression, because from that day on he printed papers for me himself, poured coffee, and brought lunch, without any 'advances', purely from the heart. It was always like that. I never asked for anything, men always did what pleased me on their own. I explained to him that I can't even imagine in a game that I am serving something, even for double the session fee.
What am I getting at? Even to put a slave in his place, I would not get on my knees and say 'master' to him. If I were a slave, I would not be ashamed of my desires and, manipulating the top, would get pleasure. But that's not the case, and I use other methods.
And in terms of punishment for his... I would choose one thing, but harsh. For example, copro or another humiliation in front of girlfriends or another man. One harsh punishment, in various variations, which I would savor with relish, would be worth a dozen different ones."
"I adore pedicures! You don't practice? But you haven't changed internally! That's the main thing! You are a MISTRESS by nature!
Why you, and not other practicing dommes? Frankly: I don't know!
A man can't always understand why he is drawn to one woman and doesn't notice other beauties. In my opinion, although I may be mistaken, the decisive factor was that in your photo shines an intellectual Femdom. And an intelligent Mistress—that's such a rarity!! As is a real Mistress in general. So many cheap fakes and banal templates. A whip and high heels—that's not yet Femdom."
What is there to regret? What's left down there? It's just laughable! A pitiful sight: debts, taxes, rent, civil lawsuits, divorces, marriages of convenience, inflation, wholesale prices, loans, sham marriages, debts again, privatization, monetization, utilities, double-entry bookkeeping, greed, officials, rudeness, visas, penalties, protocols, insurance, subpoenas, lawyers, debts again, advances, salary until the next payday...
And what do we have? We have—flight.
The Flight of the Deviator!
"I can humiliate with a non-slang word, and it will hurt more. Or by how I behave with her. For example, I say:
— Show me your tits.
Then I caress her, kiss her, nibble; more painfully—and then cause pain, forcing her to look into my face and smile all the time. She squints from pain, the smile leaves her face, and then I slap her across the face with the back of my hand:
— I said smile, bitch.
When I feel that's it, the edge, then I start caressing her again. She relaxes, basks—and then I cause pain to her breast unexpectedly.
— Cruel! — she says, understanding she was caught off guard.
When I strike not physically, but with a word, I do it differently. My bottom touches something in me. Accidentally, provoking—it doesn't matter. Then I, wanting to teach her a lesson, ask her a provocative question or say something that will hurt her, I call it psycho-pressure to myself. She is hurt, defends herself. I ask another question. She defends herself. The essence is: I strike, she defends—and it escalates. Each next question hurts her more. She makes excuses, defends herself, starts to get nervous, fidget, nervously adjust her hair; the pause between answer and question approaches zero. Not giving time to think, I drive her into a corner. And then she explodes and loses her temper—all that's left for me is to torment her to teach her a lesson for obstinacy. Or she is destroyed, pitiful, humiliated, depressed—and tenderness awakens in me, I calm her, caress her, and possess her.
— Sadist, — she whispers, already pacified, in bliss.
If I say dirty and obscene words, it's during hard sex or when 'the mood strikes'. Like:
— You know what turns me on about you?
She smiles, expecting to hear a bunch of compliments. I, of course, don't meet her expectations:
— That you're trash, a cheap whore, bitch, slut, shit.
At this time I undress her, continuing to deliver the list, looking straight into her eyes. Although the main thing is not what is said, but how. To hypnotize her, subjugate her to my will with one look. Also—with desire, touch, voice."
"... a complete bust with these dominant switches. Well, I don't understand them! Involuntarily, subconsciously, when writing about a bottom, you always go by your own feelings. This projection onto oneself by the author is inevitable. But here it's clearly something else... maybe he's not a switch with dominant pretensions? Here, of course, everything also depends on the Mistress. I, of course, may be mistaken, but you feel the excitement of personal confrontation, the fury of psychological battle, the thirst of a sexual victress. And of course, such servile henpecked men like me, for example, are not interesting to you in sessions. Alas! Of course, I sometimes play in some pseudo-dominant camouflage, here's a game I love very much., I would call it 'Rise and Fall'. Beginning: I have delusions of grandeur, I'm arrogant, haughty, a boor, in short, great and tactless, even with requests to wield a whip and use it... And how I am smoothly, consistently, and beautifully brought down. Not to the ground. No. Into the sewer! The sensations are like after a space flight!!! Variations—plenty. To clinical death in orgasm! But the effect, mind-shattering! but all the thrill comes precisely when you slide down. The top—for contrast. And how you slide down! I'm waiting—can't wait for the stage of Female Domination! Yes, tell me this Domina—'let's start from the place of revenge'—that's awesome and I don't need the first part, can't stand it.
How laughable everything is down there! Cringing and pitiful. Flea markets, casinos, drunk tanks, prisons, taverns, women's clinics, offices, banks, greasy spoons, dispensaries, sanatoriums, bathhouses, train stations, courts, dens, morgues, notary offices... and here's more: housing and utilities, economic crime police, traffic police, state financial control, district police, youth sports schools... if it's ЖПЧШЦ—then scratch it to your heart's content! Away from here. We're flying!
The Flight of the Deviator!
"Now regarding cunnilingus. The thing is, in lesbianism, cunni is done by the active party, the one who gives pleasure and 'takes'. I found out like this. I invited a girl (with biceps, a security guard, but feminine). We talked, then I pull her by the hair and tell her to lick me out, which she does willingly. And later I find out she's spreading rumors that she was the active one. It turns out, for them it doesn't matter—whether forced, hair pulled, all the same. After that, I only receive cunni from a woman if I really want to. No feeling that it's humiliation, even if you tie her up. Which is very disappointing, since—a woman in cunni can outdo a man.
For cunnilingus, I don't get on all fours—I have other associations with that pose. But if sitting on top, lightly choking with thighs, when she's not diligent enough. And it's not because of the 'mistress' stamp, I just feel that way, nature itself took care of the humiliating meaning of this pose.
Now regarding a slave girl. Whether a coincidence or not, but both my girls are obstinate, with stubborn characters. So initial submission is not for them. To get my first masochist to at least undress, I had to force her for about two hours—which ended with only the top removed and bruises. After a month or two, she no longer resisted much in that regard. Unfortunately, after 8-9 months I broke up with her. Once, deciding to teach her a lesson, I invited a gentleman (this is for a lesbian!). I arranged with him in advance: he only does what I say. Her humiliated face, etc.—everything was incredibly arousing, until I decided to force her to do other things in relation to him, and she gave not quite the reactions, do what you want, I don't care. My thought was: if it's humiliating for her with a gentleman, then it means it arouses her. It turned out, a lesbian by nature is not aroused by this even in the Scene.
A pity, both me and him liked it all."
"Probably every person has their own limit of the possible and unacceptable, just born that way.
Also about 'gays', I can't bring myself to write about them, well, I can't. For me it's an irreversible process like castration, you can't play temporarily. Just in life I always strove for long-term and serious relationships with Dommes and They (maybe I was personally lucky) didn't break me over their knee, 'preserving my face' and human appearance... I think