Divine Femme

A movement. A flicker of flesh. A star-glint of light off her shiny high heel shoe. Here on the inside, there is solace and there is fear. The world outside; unable to encroach. But her very next command could mean your death. That is the nature of the pact. Here, you wager your very life on her whim, and you do so gladly. You come to worship, to sacrifice, to give yourself in uncompromising totality to her. You are hopeful only that she will find it in her heart to use you as she sees fit. You are prepared to die. It is the thought of dismissal that is unbearable.

Being capable of mercy, she allows you to lie beneath her table and beg contritely for scraps, but she never gives you any. Your gratitude is infinite for the privilege of making those few slight sounds in her presence. It is so much more than you deserve. Cleaning for her, polishing, scrubbing, any form of labor that she requires; you’re on the job. You are especially fond of cleaning out her bathtub with your tongue when she has finished bathing. But you must never let her know, for if she discovers you find pleasure in it, she will forbid you to do it ever again. She has a marvelous collection of vibrators and dildos, most of them bright, candy-colored neon phalluses with a wide variety of ‘technical capabilities.’ After she has chosen one, she is in the habit of making you watch while she brings herself to a delirious climax before yanking your head between her legs and cumming all over your stupid, pathetic face. She is then actually so benevolent as to order you to slurp it all down, insisting that you swallow every last drop. Such unwarranted grace and compassion!

She often commands you to crawl behind her in the house, observing the extraordinary movements of her body as she walks in her high heels, attending to the few affairs she likes to do herself, things that you are not allowed to do. Usually, she will have you lick the floor where her footsteps have fallen, worshiping the ground she walks on. On rare occasions, if you have been especially well behaved, she allows you to crawl on the floor behind her when she is wearing her lingerie. At those times you actually witness the shimmering of her body, the mind-fucking little tremors in the pudgy flesh of her glorious legs and ass as she moves…these precious moments are what you live for and you can never repay her for her kindness in allowing you to share in such unprecedented events.

The last time she allowed this, however, you became too aroused and your cock grew massive and hard as a California Redwood. This was in violation of your house pet agreement which states that you are not allowed an erection when you are naked as it can lead to dribbling which might, in turn, soil her carpet. She was not amused by your willful disregard of her strict policy, and yet, in her infinite capacity for forgiveness, your Divine Goddess troubled herself to devise a training plan through which you would be able to develop significantly increased levels of self-control. Of course, as punishment for your thoughtless transgression, there was still the hellacious beating to endure, which she executed in brutal fashion, and which you sorely deserved.

Every night for a week thereafter, she forces you to sit, naked, at attention while she enacts all manner of various enticing movements before you, decked out divinely in skimpy lingerie and towering high heels. You are not allowed to look away from her under any circumstances. She has no agenda beyond the testing of your will, and so, she begins to move; walking slowly one way, walking swiftly the other way, sitting down in her favorite chair and watching TV while she tortures you with an intensely hot leg show. While you worship her shoes, her feet, her legs, her divine presence, she makes you bark; first like a big dog, then like a Chihuahua. Cat noises, bird noises. She turns you into a barnyard impersonator. Chickens, ducks, turkeys…then back to dogs again. She laughs at you so cruelly. Then she rises to her beautiful feet and struts back and forth directly in front of you so that you notice in detail each subtle nuance of her movements; the bouncing of her breasts, the jiggle of her delicious ass and chubby thighs, the incomprehensible way that all the parts move together as one. All the while, you must repeat your animal impressions. She wants them louder. Then, she wants zoo animals; chimps, monkeys, baboons, gorillas, toucans, parrots, elephants…the list keeps expanding as she names them off. The whole time back and forth, laughing. So close, so imperious, so demanding, so dangerous. It is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of the living god, The Divine Femme.

7 days and 7 nights of this spiritual training. During the day, you clean her shoes with your tongue; you do all her housework, which must be perfect beyond comprehension in order to receive her approval. If you finish all that, you alternate between yard work one day, and sitting (O Glory of Glories) on her bedroom floor sniffing pairs of her worn panties the next. She tells you that continued exposure to her divine scents will keep you in a heightened state of religious awareness and more intently focused on your obligations, which comprise nothing less than dedicating your entire being to the accomplishment of her will.

By week’s end, you are learning the discouraging lesson that training in spiritual discipline is a most difficult task. Despite your passionate zeal for pleasing god, you find that you have failed miserably. Throughout each of the 7 lessons this week, you have been utterly unable to suppress your erections, and have in fact been guilty of ‘dribbling,’ the very offense that is at the root of Divine Femme’s house law prohibiting naked erections. You cannot fully express your gratitude for the infinite patience she has shown with you all week. She has administered only light beatings upon you at the end of each unsuccessful training session, often nothing more than twenty to thirty minutes of crushing your puny skull between her powerful, rapturous thighs, but at the end of the week, you expect your punishment to be more in line with the epic proportion of your failure. Your only wish is that she would allow you to apologize, despite the fact that you deserve no forgiveness on her part.

She reserves the entire eighth day for the administration of her reprisal. You have never been more nervous in your entire miserable life. You expect that she will impose a ‘no contact’ period during which you will not be allowed the privilege of looking upon her, and perhaps even some measure of banishment. You have heard the frightening tales of banishments that match the length of the failed training periods. This would mean exile from her presence for an unbearable 7 days, and you try with all your power to tell yourself that your loving god is not capable of that kind of cruelty. You do not even allow dismissal to enter your mind.

When she appears before you in a mind-numbing black lingerie set with stockings and garter straps, teetering in her 5-inch black heels, you fall to your knees and raise your hands in fervent but silent praise. How could your inexcusable failures be punishable only by corporeal means? Could she possibly be extending to you a journey into heaven, the fruit of delicious violence enacted on her part and at your expense? You dare not dream it just yet. It becomes a day of the most joyous hardship. You have never experienced such a state of transcendence. You have imagined such things, but never expected to know them first-hand. On this extraordinary day she punches you with hard, devastating fists, slaps you continually with her open palm—all the while snarling the most vicious verbal abuses, which penetrate your psyche as only the word of the living god can. Kicking, smothering, crushing, her gorgeous legs punish you in every conceivable way, both physically and spiritually. In between thrashings, you are made to do chores. She stands directly before you as you polish her hardwood floor with your tongue, nothing but her imperious high heels visible in your line off sight.
–That floor better shine like the fucking full moon, she admonishes you.
She has a specially designed cat o’ nine tails, of which you’ve been aware, but which she has never actually used upon you. It has a multitude of hard steel goat heads threaded along the sharp leather strands. A formidable instrument, to be sure. Divine Femme flogs you across your naked back, reminding you always that you are receiving much less punishment than you deserve.
–Yes, I know, you cry. Thank you for your infinite mercy.
–Silence, Pig!
Another crack of the whip. The goat heads pierce your flesh with ease, and owing to their shape and sharpness, they rip small, bloody chunks of flesh from your back with each sadistic lash, lashes that The Divine executes with joyous, devilish laughter…over and over again.

She is not through with you. When she needs a restroom break, you become her toilet. When she has filled your mouth and made you swallow, you must wipe her glorious cunt with your tongue; it is you who must lick her ass spotlessly clean after swallowing down her morning shit. You continue to revel in your undeserved good fortune at being privileged to serve god in the execution of these delightful and necessary functions. More beatings, more humiliation. She notices a pile of shit in her back yard, left there by some stray dog.
–Go clean that up! She barks.
She makes you go out and eat it, straight off the ground. To wash it down? Dirty water from a standing puddle. You lap it up on all fours, naked; doggie-style.

The day goes so quickly. You are the luckiest man alive. She has shown you infinite mercy in allowing you to receive her abuse and to serve her as house-slave. She has even changed lingerie three times during the day and now stands before you topless, in sheer black panties with the words ‘Bad Ass’ scripted in pink embroidery across her divine ass, bare-legged, displaying the full glory of her unfathomable thighs, and of course, a pair of skyscraper black heels, this time with delicious, wrap-around ankle straps. If only she would allow you to speak. Such praise you would offer up to her!

–You have proven to be the most incorrigible of heathens, she says. No matter what I do, you refuse to learn. No matter how merciful and patient I am with you, you show your gratitude with nothing but contempt and insolence. At some point, a decision must be made to ‘cut ones losses.’ That decision came today, knowing finally, and with certainty, that you are constitutionally incapable of spiritual growth and of living the religious life. Your place is out there, in the world, with all the other ignorant, willful, un-evolved pigs. You are dismissed.

She turns and walks away for the last time. That incredible, divine body bounding like a force of nature toward her bedroom. Her divine scent fading away. Those words! Those horrible, devastating words! You are dismissed! Your heart is broken, your soul shattered, inconsolable. You cannot imagine what will become of you. She can administer no punishment now that is more devastating to you than this, so you muster your last shred of boldness and ask if you may have your clothes before leaving.
–No.
Her voice rings, disinterested, from the bedroom. You close the door behind you. The sun is going down and you squint as the last shard of daylight slips past the neighboring rooftop.  All that remains…is death.

Feeding Time

The rusted hinges squeal like nails across a blackboard as the tattered wooden door is opened. The summer sunlight nearly blinds the creature within, forcing his eyes shut tight as they await acclimation. There is a grotesque, fetid stench of shit and urine wafting heavily from the box as a powerful hand jerks the creature by his hair towards the light.
-How dare you close your eyes in my presence, an imperious, angry voice says. Look at me, you fucking slug!
Then a raging slap across the face, followed by the returning backhand opens his eyes, wide and alert. The harsh sun burns his retinas. He stares, blurry-eyed, straight ahead into the most incomparable pair of thighs; fat, golden, shapely, and powerful. So very powerful. As they begin to come into focus, the creature trembles as he comprehends the totality of the vision, the way Vixen has chosen to exhibit her glorious legs, adorned in the divine regalia of absolute perfection. Delicate, sheer stockings caress the exquisite flesh of her legs up to the middle of her thighs at which point an array of mind-bending black garters come to the rescue from her tight corset, holding them firmly in place. Through the constraints created by the stockings and garter straps the plump flesh of her thighs explodes, bulging deliciously over stocking-tops and between the garter straps, seeking to exert its dominance and shatter its delightfully exotic bonds. Between her thighs, a lovely lace g-string, in a floral pattern that matches the upper section of her corset, cloaks her warm goddess’s cunt from the view of the unworthy.

The creature whimpers involuntarily. For this insubordination he receives two more devastating slaps to the face.-You haven’t been fed for a few days, she says. I brought you something, thinking you might be appreciative enough to behave properly in my presence. But it looks like I was wrong. Perhaps a few more days of starvation will straighten out your attitude. Is that what you want?
The creature shook its head.
-Alright, then. One more fuck-up, and that’s it. You read me, you disgusting shit?
The creature nodded.
She spit in his face contemptuously.
-You better hope you can fly right, then, maggot.
From a large canteen, Vixen poured him a fresh bowl of water.
-Drink up, fuck-stick, she said.
Then she set another bowl on top of the box where he was kept. It was a weathered old wooden box turned on its side so that the top functioned as a door. It was just large enough to contain the creature when he was curled up into the tightest crouch possible. Time had stopped for him. He no longer had any idea how long she’d kept him here. All he seemed to realize now was how ungodly hot it was, and how he figured it would all be over sooner than later.
-You fucking stink! she said. But I guess that’s only natural for a fucking pig. She stood over him as he guzzled his water, flaunting the most exquisite body in the universe. In addition to her formidable lower body, her breasts were also beyond belief. Huge, perfectly round implants made her boobs look like two twin planets orbiting her upper body. The delicious floral top section of her corset could scarcely contain them as they bulged indescribably outward and upward.

Alright, slug, that’s enough.
She filled his water dish with enough water to last a few days if he was thrifty.
-Now for your exercise, she said. Follow me, close to my ass.
He crawled as quickly as his hands and knees would carry him, following behind her incredible ass as it swayed incomprehensibly in front of him. She led him around in circles a few times, and then back to the box, ordering him to ‘sit.’ The creature obeyed and beheld his mistress contritely.
-OK, mongrel, she said, all that stands between you and your meal is one brief moment of obedience. Are you going to be a good dog?
He nodded.
-Good. Now get up. On your feet.
It got harder and harder for him to stand as his interminable period of
confinement dragged on. This time he managed better than expected and now stood straight before his goddess.
-All you have to do, she said, is to worship my breasts for a count of thirty. You know the drill. Not one sound, and no trace of a fucking erection. Right?
He nodded.
-Here we go. Start counting.
He stared into the canyon of her enormous cleavage, watching those mountainous breasts heave intensely with her every breath. At the same time she used her face to intimidate him, lifting his chin up with her index finger and forcing eye contact with him. Her expression was raw power incarnate. He was already at twenty. She lowered his chin with that same index finger, back to her cleavage. She pushed him closer. Somehow he reached thirty without falling apart. Vixen could hardly believe he had done it.
-Hmmm. Very impressive. Only thirty more seconds to go. Back down on your knees, maggot.
The creature dropped down, petrified of what was sure to come. Vixen directed his gaze at her golden thighs.
-Thirty seconds, bitch. Look at my thighs intently as you smell their glorious fragrance. Not a fucking peep, and no erection. Here we go.

Her scent alone was enough to ruin him. She pulled him closer, within an inch or two.
-Don’t you touch me, you fucking piece of shit!
He didn’t even contemplate it. Now the power of her fragrant flesh, the sweet bouquet of her cunt, it all blended into a sexual potpourri the likes of which he’d never imagined. Somehow he held on. He passed ten. Eleven. Then she gently pushed his face back maybe an inch or two, directing his line of sight to her upper thigh. He bristled. That plump, powerful thigh was going to be too much. He felt the blood coursing into his cock. Working now with everything in him to hold back the moaning. Sixteen, Seventeen. Just then, she shifted her body weight ever so slightly, causing that fat thigh to quiver deliciously, jiggling like hell’s own Jell-O, an earthquake of flesh felling the very soul of the now helpless creature. He burst into tears, sobbing loudly, uncontrollably despite the fact that she instantly began slapping him viciously, ordering him to shut his cakehole. His cock was solid wood, spurting pre-cum in huge globs onto the ground between his legs.
-You fucking slimy maggot! She barked. Well, you just signed your own starvation papers, you goddamn slug! Back into your box! Go on!

She kicked him hard with her sharp high heels, goading him swiftly back into the swelter of his days-old shit and piss. And the heat. He might not survive it without nourishment.
-I want you to see what you passed up, she said, what your fucking foolish insolence costs you when you disobey me. This is what you would have eaten today!
She bent over in front of the box, holding the dog bowl down for him to see. In it was a savory mix of her own shit and piss from that morning, mixed with his favorite treat of all, her vomit.
-You see what I try to do for you, you pig?! After shitting and pissing for you, I
even took the trouble to stick my finger down my throat and puke up my breakfast for you. Then, I spend my valuable time bringing it all the way out here for you. But do you care? Of course not. Because you’re nothing but an inconsiderate, stupid fucking bitch of a maggot-infested mongrel-PIG, that’s why!
She slapped him again.
-Now back up, go ahead. Back your ass into your fucking box! And you can just stay there and meditate on your insipid behavior for a few more days. Then we’ll see if you’re deserving of being fed. And just to remind you of what you missed, I’m leaving the bowl right here in front of your box so you can smell it and consider your goddamned inexcusable actions here today!
She slid his water dish into the box and locked it with her padlock. Then she set the food bowl down angrily, just inches from the door. The creature could smell the glorious odor from these delightful fruits of the goddess’s body. He cried and whimpered endlessly until the ingredients in the bowl finally hardened the next morning. He shifted as much as he could in his tiny, dark wooden box, eventually passing out in puddles of his own excrement.

Island Madness

A woman in full possession of her powers can even do it with her arms. It is a specific test she uses to assess the reaches and limits of her strength. Those full, chubby arms, when displayed openly with confidence, are every bit as engaging as her legs and ass, bespeaking the ample implacability, the formidable solidity of her beautiful, powerful body, and the control inherent in its miraculous presence. The island provides the perfect showcase for a comprehensive demonstration of Vixen’s complete package of power. All around her, men are unraveling. Many are in conflict with girlfriends or wives over becoming entranced, mesmerized by her dark, hypnotic brown eyes, The Devil’s eyes, eyes that possess souls. She wields deep stares and casual glances alike, with the virtuosity of a warrior princess wielding her broadsword. Hers is the face that has launched a thousand divorces.

Hidden in equatorial dreams, among forests of coded signposts is a longing that no man can suppress. It is the longing for transcendence, and it is Vixen’s province. Her movements cause atmospheric disturbance, changing the very nature of her surroundings at the quantum level. Esoteric forces become activated, highly charged, and spring into action with dynamic, nuclear intensity. The tropical paradise is no longer simply dominated by her presence. She creates it. Her desires are expressed in reality and by reality all around her, brought to life through her very incarnation, the perfection of her powerful flesh, and her indomitable will. Her chubby ass wreaks havoc, bringing tears, sorrow, insanity, and even death to the scores of men who stumble upon its grandeur unaware. Her plump, powerful legs, bedecked in mango thong and adorned with rainbows of flowers and green grass skirt also spell the demise of an entire army of women. Insecure and wifely, their lives are destroyed, their minds crippled by Vixen’s sublime, fat thighs, thighs with infinite potential for prolonged, crushing, merciless death; the death of their men, the death of their dreams, the death of their own ideas about control and power. A death, it must be noted, that constitutes a man’s only true life.

Vixen is a ravishing, glorious monster, accomplishing her rampant destruction with an ease and flourish that is almost comical. Her will is unchallenged. A man may plant his nose deep between her ass cheeks. The frightening caress of divine flesh from each side, and the scent of her royal egesta results in collapse, the fatal cracking and breakage of a fragile mind. Ruled now only by Vixen’s whim, his individual being vanishes from existence. But in so vanishing, he is translated into hyper-dimensions where Absolute Being and ultimate purpose are revealed to him. Thus christened with truth for the first time, he brushes nose, lips, and cheeks against the upper expanse of golden thigh-flesh, which Vixen forces him to worship in myriad fashion; a sniff, a sweeping touch with tip of nose, a lick, rub of cheek, a deeper sniff, a savory bite, a longer, deeper sniff, all culminating in the snap-shut, Venus Fly Trap, loaded and locked crush of Vixen’s legs, head devoured in her plush, torturous, power-press of death.

The tropical sunset sheds its radiant orange glow down upon a tranquil indigo bay. Memories dance mournfully among the wreckage of spirits on the barren beach, ethereal tears feebly masking the heady aroma of death that permeates these ruins; ghostly remnants of a vanquished paradise. Along the undulating, amnesic coastline an eerie silence washes the echoes of broken love eternally out to sea on receding waves of Vixen’s laughter.

Part V: Vixen: The Ascent To Violence

Having now placed both Vixen and her subject in terms of their respective developments, it is now time to turn our attention to the true focus of our study, which is Vixen in action. With this section we begin our analysis of the most fascinating subject within the entire spectrum of Sexuality. This is Domination, an extraordinary realm of unconscious impulses and desires, of forbidden thoughts brought to life, of the most extreme reversals in conventional attitudes, actions, relationships and roles. It is the realm of fear, of rank and protocol, of altered states of reality, of the most fervent and existentially real forms of Religion and Worship, of dungeons and chains, and of a sizzling, stocking-adorned leg flashed furtively and to grand effect on a crowded subway. It is the realm of ultimate command and obedience, mistress and slave, oppressor and oppressed. In the end, it is the realm of violence. Vixen’s capacity for the inflicting of physical and emotional pain and suffering is unsurpassed. It is this aspect of her power that we will investigate in today’s post.

So how is it that a lovely young girl turns to violence? What has gotten into her that makes her crave the intoxicating empowerment of beating a man into utter submission? How is it that she happened onto that laugh, so reminiscent of an Evil Sorceress? And why does it comes forth in such lovely, lilting waves when the lowly man has been rendered tearful and helpless at the mere sight of her powerhouse legs? She has adopted, in many ways, the attitude of a cold-blooded killer, and she revels in the role. Assuming, of course, that we are now dealing with the woman that has undergone the transformations described in our previous posts, we begin, then, from the standpoint of a woman who is already quite accustomed to having her way. She controls men with consummate ease and even what we would describe as artistry. But the shift to availing herself of abject violence in the execution of her will is yet another phase that must be investigated.

Vixen’s propensity toward violence happens quite naturally in the course of her development, and there is no set stage during which she adds it to her repertoire of domination. Some are already experimenting in the Awakening stages, for others it begins during Discovery. It all depends on the personality. But regardless of age, it usually happens that she simply gets carried away in the heat of the sexual moment and follows an instinct that comes upon her, the impulse to strike. With that first slap, punch, or kick, and in fully grasping the import of her subject’s terrified reaction to it, she senses her power surging to even greater heights, and experiences herself as implacable tyrant, now possessing carte blanche to do with her puny, pathetic pig-boy anything she pleases. She no longer simply dominates him. After learning that she can beat him at will, she owns him. That first blow is routinely followed by all manner of corporeal experimentation in which Vixen discovers her preferred methods of breaking his body and demonstrating in no uncertain terms her unconditional authority. This continuous growth in Vixen’s power and authority has a dramatic effect on her own journey of sexual transcendence. The more power she exerts over her subject, and conversely, the more powerless he proves to be in her presence, the closer she comes to arrival at the desired state of sexual ecstasy in which she will experience her own ascent into translation.

Meanwhile, her subject is experiencing the reciprocal movement toward Kenosis (self-emptying). As he is progressively stripped of his power, his bodily control, and eventually his very will itself, he too is moving very near the state of transcendence or translation. So, what is this close connection between sensuality and violence? How can we explain the apparently incongruous fact that more suffering, and more infliction of suffering, produce in the principals the state of sexual ecstasy? Unfortunately, we learn very little from nature with regard to our question. While there is indeed significant violence in the sexual behavior of animals, as far as we can tell, none of it is premeditated for the purpose of achieving enlightenment. (Then again, who knows, Hmmm?) But with us, the natural element of sexual violence is not reserved for the act of consummation itself, but rather, it is introduced as an element of Ritual. It is a religious form of violence, the purpose of which is that of achieving a higher state of consciousness. As mentioned above, it is the infliction of violence that works toward Vixen’s translation, and the reception of violence that works toward the same in the case of the subject.

You will notice that I have used the term ‘translation’ in describing the alterations in consciousness through which Vixen and subject ascend to elevated states of being. Translation is contrasted to Transcendence by virtue of its describing the state of motion as such between planes, or from one to another. And so, as the sexual experience becomes progressively more heated and ecstatic, the moment comes when Vixen and/or the subject become ‘translated’ to the superior plane. Transcendence is reserved for indicating the actual state of being within the planes of higher consciousness. It is accurate, then, to speak of being translated into states of transcendence.

So, what exactly is happening during the infliction of violence? How is it so closely tied to sexual ecstasy? For the most part, we are conditioned to think of sexuality in terms of love, in terms of relationship, in terms of monogamy, marriage, etc., in short, as an expression of care and/or exclusivity between two people. A one-night stand may lack the deeper emotions associated with the relationship as such, but it is generally thought of as an expression of affection nonetheless. True Domination, inclusive of the potential for X-Treme violence, operates outside the limits of such a dynamic. Through the violence of Domination, Vixen is seeking her own orgasmic luxury through the manifold psychic highs that are the concrete effects of her mastery. There are endless variations to the qualities present in these highs, but they will tend to fall under the umbrella of the following basic forms. These forms include, Intoxication with her own strength, sexual arousal at witnessing the disorientation of her subject, the sense of ‘play’ that characterizes the encounter, the experience of translation, and finally orgasm itself. Orgasm may or may not signal the achievement of Transcendence for Vixen. Often, she will have already achieved it from the ecstatic flow of the encounter and from the fullness of spirit she receives from the depth of subjugation inflicted upon her subject. In such cases, orgasm usually follows closely after. It will be instructive, then, to look at these psychic highs individually.

1. Intoxication with her own strength. With self-intoxication, we enter into the marvelous realm of Vixen’s confidence and arrogance, the two qualities that, after consideration of the outright allure of her beauty, are the most indicative of her power and best account for the particular level of dominance she has achieved. In playing with her subject as predator to prey, each vicious slap, each powerful punch, each devastating knee bash or leg lift, each act of smothering or face-sitting, each element of the brutal damage she will accomplish, makes her hungry for more as she becomes intoxicated with her own power to reduce a man to a useless, pathetic, and irrelevant lump of flesh. This self-intoxication makes her more dangerous as the encounter progresses because of the escalating level of arousal she is experiencing as she punishes him. This syndrome is not unlike that of the Great White Shark in the act of feeding. It is not only a show of devastating power, it is also a natural result of the violence itself. The more bloodletting that occurs, the more frenzied the shark will become. In the same way, the thrill of stalking, catching, and overpowering brings Vixen to a state of inner frenzy in which her excitement is manifest in even more accelerated violence. The knowledge that she can control another with such ease and impunity feeds upon itself causing her to access even higher levels of strength and power with each hard blow she administers upon her battered subject.

2. Sexual arousal vis-à-vis the disorientation of her subject. This follows closely, and is indeed connected to #1. Here we see a most disturbing and cruel side of Vixen, the actual arousal at the heavily compromised state of her subject, which typically will include X-Treme mental disorientation and even severe physical injuries by this point in the encounter. Let us be clear that this is a separate source of arousal from that of her self-intoxication. Self-intoxication, again, is the arousal that comes from within herself, a kind of high-level pride-in-self that comes from knowledge of her capabilities. It is inner-directed toward her own ego. This second state of arousal comes at the actual enjoyment of seeing her subject in a helpless condition, from a dark form of erotic satisfaction at seeing him in agony. Watching him grovel, beg, cry, writhe in pain, and make every effort to fight through the damage she has inflicted upon him in order to please her is a powerful source of erotic stimulation for her. We will speak more on the direct psychology associated with this particular psychic effect in a coming post, but we should note at this point that this fiendish sensual charge she gets from seeing her subject fallen into a devastating state of delusion and psychosis at her hands, is difficult to trace back to any particular psychological source. It is found as often in Power-Dommes who have never had issues with men as it is with those who use their dominance as a way of getting even with men for some earlier injustice in their lives. It appears that there are simply a certain number of women out there who love to batter men. They will tell you almost routinely that it was something that just ‘felt great’ right from the start with no qualifications needed nor expected. This state is outer-directed at the subject. It should be noted here that this near-obsession on her part with her subject’s helplessness and trauma often leads to more severe violence on her part. As she watches him struggle, she is usually prompted to ‘ratchet up’ the punishment and it is at this point in the encounter that she most often beats and humiliates the subject with such force that he will achieve translation. Her awareness that he has ‘left himself’ (kenosis) is often the trigger for her own translation as well. Obviously, each encounter is different and there are certainly no hard, fast rules as far as order and timing are concerned, but this description is certainly an accurate guideline for charting the different levels of violence that Vixen will enact due to the compromised condition of her subject.

3. The sense of ‘Play.’ The third psychic high experienced by Vixen through her mastery, though of course also related to the first two, involves a very different aspect of her interior make-up that is connected to her sense of innate creativity. It is a feeling that is invoked due to the role-playing character of the encounter and can also be compared to the feeling we might imagine to be present in a cat playing its game of death with a mouse. Contrasted to the the arousal at her own strength of point #1, and the arousal at the compromised state of her victim in #2, we are describing here the arousal that she feels in anticipation of ‘what happens next?’ It is the open-ended character of the event that stimulates her here. This state is both outer and inner-directed as it depends on the subject’s reactions to her abuse, and in turn, to her reactions to his reactions. I generally prefer to call this the ‘cat & mouse’ syndrome, but the correct psychological designation is that of ‘Play.’ Play involves freedom to act in random ways, unstructured, and without any necessary qualifying objective. It can refer to meaningless activity, enjoyable activity, experimental activity, sensory activity, almost any kind of activity that is performed strictly for its own sake. With this sensation of openness to the moment infusing her spirit, Vixen’s sense of creativity comes to the fore as she decides what the next development in the encounter is to be. She is the boss here, and nothing happens unless she wills it or approves it. Well, if you guessed that this concept inspires even more violence on her part, you’d be right. Abandoning herself to this quality during the encounter, she will most often experiment with the most unusual forms of violence and humiliation she can think of. This period can go very badly for the subject as the realization that no one can stop her from doing literally anything she wants to him takes hold of her.

4. Translation, Orgasm, and Transcendence. With regard to these final phases of encounter, we will have more to say when we discuss the Religious elements of FemDom. Their relationships to violence are generally indirect, which is to say that while violence certainly plays a significant role in getting Vixen to these levels, once translation is achieved, we have effectively left its province behind and must begin to avail ourselves of other concepts that are more suitable for the analysis of these psychical and physical states. At this point it suffices to note that Translation, Orgasm, and Transcendence do not necessarily follow any particular order and may occur independently or in such rapid succession as to be experienced as one progressive state, with a nearly infinite combination of variations possible between the two extremes.

Regardless, then, of the forms Vixen’s violence takes on, the simple answer to our topical question is that she employs violence because it gives her pleasure to do so. It is also clear that she is a most greedy task-mistress when it comes to violence, which, as we noticed in our study, tends to beget itself over and over within her as she continues to employ it. We must try to come to grips with this aspect of human nature, because that will-to-violence is part of us. It is within us, and it is alive. Vixen’s manner of manifesting it on the physical plane just happens to be the most delightful and fascinating form of it known to us at present. Does it surprise you that I use the adjective ‘delightful’ in describing the brutal violence at which Vixen is so consummately adept? If so, you must remember the maxim, so apropos of the subject of Female Domination, that Pain is a Pleasure. This is, after all, a study of Obsession by one who is Obsessed. So, yes, I’ll stick to my guns and shout from the rooftops that Vixen’s use of violence is delightful, delightful indeed! Long may she reign.

Birthday Girl

I knew she was annoyed with me. The only question was ‘how annoyed?’ I tried to put it out of my mind, but it’s not so easy. Such questions always cause massive lesions in the flow of my functionality. But then, so does everything else where she is concerned. All it takes is one look at those exquisite, massive legs of hers and I can actually become dumbstruck, unable to focus properly on attending to her needs of the moment; Just the sort of thing that makes her annoyed. Her size and power are enough of a worry, but her violent temper is what really strikes the fear into me. When you plant an intense desire to punish and maim into the soul of a woman that stands 5’3” and weighs over 300 lbs., let me tell you, you’ve got yourself one hell of a killing machine. Oh yeah, and mix that all in with the fact that she’s easily the sexiest woman you’ve ever seen, and you can well imagine that your troubles are pretty much of an on-going variety. To fall in love with such an exquisite and rare creature has been my dubious fate.

Anyway, as I was saying, she was definitely annoyed with me, and there was no doubt in my mind that a severe reprimand was coming my way when we got home. I had taken her to a concert to see John Mayer and Melissa Ethridge, her two favorite performers of all time. If it seems a bit of a lucky coincidence that her two favorites would appear on the same bill, well, it is. I’m the one who arranged and promoted the concert. I’m Kip Lansford, and I’m a big-shot. I’m president of Cameo Productions in Los Angeles, and we just happen to be the hottest concert promoters in the biz. But this isn’t the point. The point is that I put this concert together just for her. Her name is Asal, and I did it as a present for her on her 24rd birthday. Young and fine; the impossible combination. I attended to every detail of her special night personally, to be sure that nothing was left to chance. The most expensive luxury box in the concert hall, complete with the finest champagne and caviar, 5-star dining, complete security clearance to go backstage or wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. The entire concert hall was at her disposal for the duration of the show.

The performances were exceptional. Asal seemed thrilled with everything. Everything but me, that is. She spent the better part of the evening wandering the concert hall, flirting with boys, talking to her home girls that she had invited. She would reconnect with me off and on for a drink, or an introduction or two to people she wanted to meet, but the whole time she was ice-cold where I was concerned. She knew that attitude caused me to feel unsettled and acutely anxious and she did it just to make sure I was uncomfortable. That was normal for her. It was simply the way she expressed her dominance over me, like she was constantly angry with me. Although I certainly hated the feeling, I had at least begun to get used to it on some level. But as we rode home in the limo, I knew there was something more on her mind. I tried to talk to her about it, but she refused.
-Shut up, she snapped. We’ll discuss this when we get home.

My stomach was in knots as I opened the front door for her. She walked ahead of me, so cocky and so hot; her huge, glorious body exploding from her skin-tight mini-dress, teetering in her elegant 5-inch heels.
-Honey, I hope your—“
-I told you to shut up! she said as she turned on me, slapping me violently across the face. This goddamned insolence of yours is really starting to get on my nerves! Now make me a fucking drink and meet me in the bedroom. And hurry your bitch-ass up.

Now I know you’re probably wondering why someone as wealthy as I am, only 35 years old and with my considerable influence in the entertainment business, with this beautiful home in the Hollywood Hills, with all I’ve got going for me, why would I take this kind of shit from a fat, young nobody of a girl? I can already hear you saying it. ‘Just tell her to hit the bricks, dude! You can have anybody you want.’
Well, that’s exactly the point. I want Asal. Honestly, and I’m not bragging, just telling the truth, I’ve had my share of girls. Hot girls. But no one has ever made me feel like Asal. She’s too much. Her big, beautiful legs and incomprehensible ass drive me to madness. Just to touch her flesh, omigod. She lets me sometimes. She has let me kiss her thighs. She has smothered me, sitting on my face with all 300-plus lbs. of her forced down on that spectacular ass and onto my helpless face. When I see her, I tremble with excitement. When I think of her, I shiver with waves of ecstasy. No, no. I could never leave her. Never. The greatest fear in my life is that she will leave me, and I am simply not prepared for it. For the chance to be crushed just one more time between those ungodly, delicious thighs of hers, I am prepared to give my very life.

I moved like a man possessed, making her drink and getting to that bedroom. She was down to her bra and panties, still shod in those amazing high-heels. I handed her her drink, ever so contritely, and waited for her to speak. She strutted back and forth a couple of times, her giant body swaying and swirling in such luscious, indescribable motions that she seemed to be defying the laws of physics. I choked down a sip of my drink, trying to steady my nerves. The sight of her body like this, and its mind-fucking movements had me dizzy. I felt as if I might throw up from the tension. The whole time she’s looking me over, up and down, her expression and demeanor letting me know in no uncertain terms that I’m less than a dog turd to her right now. At length, she told me to sit down. She straddled a corner of the bed and sat down also, staring a hole through me, and flashing those surreal thighs at me. For a moment she just sat there, taking a couple of sips of her drink and glaring at me with the most severe, intimidating expression. Finally, she spoke.

-Here’s the thing, she said. It’s getting to a point where I just don’t know if there’s any hope for you. I don’t know if you’ve got some kind of constitutional attitude problem, or if maybe you just enjoy pissing me off for some reason, or if maybe you’re just actually that fucking stupid that you actually don’t understand me when I tell you what to do. My real concern is that that’s it, that you’re just a big, fucking stupid dumbass who’s incapable of doing what I say. And I know you’ll agree with me, that a girl as hot as I am deserves a hell of a lot better than a fucking stupid dumbass, do I not?
-Of course—
-Shut up! You see, there you go, being a fucking dumbass! Just nod, idiot! I’ll tell you when you can speak.
I shuddered in terror, nodding agitatedly to meet with her approval.
-I hardly know where to begin. I’ve tried to think if there were any more ways you could have fucked up this evening for me, and if there were, I can’t think of them offhand. But let’s just start with this.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a dinner napkin. She handed it to me so that I immediately noticed a stain on it. It was black, like dirt or thick dust.
-Can you tell me anything about this? She asked.
I had no idea what to think. Asal had always been a clean-freak, so I knew it had something to do with something that wasn’t clean, but I had no clue as to the details. The look in my eyes told her that I knew better than to speak without permission.
-If you know something, you may speak.
I didn’t, so I just shook my head silently.
-That’s what I thought, she said. Suppose I were to tell you that this disgusting smudge rubbed off on my napkin from under the dinner table where I was sitting. Can you wrap your fucking pea-brain around that as a way of showing your love and respect for me? To place me at a table, where they’re serving my food, ON MY BIRTHDAY, NO LESS, with this kind of filth under the edge of it?
I was horrified. Of course, I hadn’t thought to have the table cleaned underneath. Shit. No wonder she was pissed. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just looked at her, petrified.
-Well, anything you can tell me about this, dumbass? Go on, speak up.
-No darling, I-I can’t believe it. I was VERY specific with the maitre d’ that every inch of the place had to be spotless for you. I can’t imagine how they would let this happen.
-I see, she said. So it’s the maitre d’s fault?
-I-I think so, yes.
-Mmmm-hmmm. So you’re saying that making me happy is the maitre d’s job, is that right?
-Well, I—
-Be careful on this one!
-I, well, it seems like, in this case, he certainly should have—
Slaaaap!! She slapped me so hard she almost took my head off.
-Fuck you! She growled. This is what I’m talking about! You and your fucking bullshit! Now you want to lie to me on top of everything else!
-I’m not ly—
-Craaaack!! She slapped the shit out of me again.
-Bullshit!! Just answer the question, you goddamn pig! WHO is responsible for my happiness? Who? Some idiot maitre d’ I never heard of, or you?
I felt tears beginning to come, but held them back. I realized there was no escaping her logic. She slapped me again, so hard.
-Well?!!
-I am, my darling. I am.
-That’s right. So, when I sit down at some filthy fucking table for my birthday dinner which YOU have arranged, and get filth like this on my napkin, WHOSE FAULT IS IT?
-It’s mine, I cried, it’s all my fault.

-Now, think about this, bitch-ass, and see if your feeble brain can follow along. If I hadn’t placed that napkin on my lap, WHERE would this filthy, disgusting smudge of dirt gone?
I almost choked as I tried to swallow.
-On your dress, I whimpered.
She became enraged. She stood up, flashed her massive thigh in front of me, then reared back and slammed it hard right into my face. The force of the blow knocked me over in my chair and sent me sprawling onto the floor. There had to be more power in those legs of hers than a 16-wheeler.
-No, goddammit, no! she screamed. Think! For one second in your stupid, worthless fucking life, THINK! What was I wearing? God, I’m so sick of your infinite stupidity!
That powerhouse kick had almost knocked me cold, but since it didn’t, my head was throbbing so hard I couldn’t pick myself up. Still, I began to realize the point. She had been wearing that ultra-short, skin-tight mini-cocktail dress, so the dirt wouldn’t have gotten on her dress. It would have gotten on her leg.
-Leg, I whimpered. I’m sorry. It would have gotten on your leg.
-Beautiful, Einstein! You see, this is what I don’t understand. You seem capable of thinking when you want to. So WHY is it you refuse to think where I’m concerned? And what other conclusion can I come to other than that you saw no problem in taking me out for a so-called ‘elegant’ birthday dinner, and then seating me at a table so filthy and disgusting that this greasy fucking smudge would have ended up on my gorgeous legs. Do I have it about right? This is the consideration you show me on my fucking birthday?!
-I’m sorry, I blubbered
-You’re sorry?! Fuck you!

She stood over me now, the predator inspecting her prey. My god, those giant legs! So exquisitely shaped, and so terrifyingly powerful. I started to cry as her slightest movements caused that leg-flesh to jiggle and quiver directly in front of me.
-Well, she continued, I’m sorry too, then. Let’s see how you like it.
With that she bent down and stuffed the smudged napkin into my mouth.
-Here you go, pig! YOU eat it, Motherfucker!
She continued to force more and more of it into my mouth until I started to gag.
-What? She railed, What’s wrong? Oh, you don’t like the taste of this filthy fucking napkin? Come on, you bitch! I want every last inch of this fucker in that big, fat, stupid mouth of yours!
She continued to shove it in above my muffled moaning.
-I don’t get it, she went on, it was OK on my leg, but not good enough for you to eat? Fuck you, Pig!
Finally, I managed to take the whole napkin into my mouth. I couldn’t breath.
-There, she said, you can just meditate on that for a little while.
She pulled my face into her crotch area, knowing how it drove me wild being so close to her legs. As I struggled to keep from suffocating, the electrical allure of her powerful body added even more juice to my gyrations. Asal laughed at my complete helplessness, and then slammed that massive, battering ram of a thigh hard into my face again. The pain was indescribable. Though I instantly felt sure the blow had broken my nose, my bigger concern was that this must be what a concussion felt like. Everything went dark, and I had the distinct sensation that my skull had cracked and that my brain had just been scrambled like so much Hamburger Helper. I lay on the floor, writhing in pain, instinctively trying to pull the napkin out of my mouth. Asal reached down and callously ripped it out herself.
-I should let you choke on that shit, but guess what? This wasn’t everything. Now that your brain’s beginning to work, I’ve got something else to show you. It looks like you just need some fucking sense knocked into you before you can fucking comprehend anything.

She strutted back to her purse, driving me to utter insanity with each gargantuan step of her enormous body. This time she pulled out a fork and brought it over to me for inspection. I had painfully reached a sitting position on the floor by this time.
-Take a look at this, she said, and tell me what you see.
I was still seeing stars from the brutal force of that massive thigh to the face, so it was hard to focus. Thankfully, my vision had cleared just enough to notice that the fork had spots on it from the dishwasher. Oh God, I thought. How could I have let this happen?
-Well?
I started sobbing harder now, knowing I was in serious trouble.
-It-It’s…
-It’s WHAT?
-It’s…DIRTY.
-Dirty?
-Yes.
-Is that it?
-It’s got spots.
-IT’S FILTHY!! She screamed. It’s fucking disgusting! And you didn’t give a rat’s fucking ass if I ATE WITH IT, did you?
-Oh, god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know.
-You didn’t know? You’re sorry? Bub, you’ve been SORRY from the get-go. But what do you mean, you didn’t know? How were you going to know when you didn’t attend to these fucking details personally? You’re such a fucking idiot! Always carrying on with people about how good you are, how organized you are. What a bunch of fucking bullshit! You’re lucky I don’t shove this up your fucking ass right now! But you know what, you pig-ass bitch-boy? There’s still more!

With that, she again pulled my face up near her crotch, just inches from those killer thighs. Her scent was maddening. Her skin smelled so perfect, like lilacs in the spring, and along with that I could detect just a hint of the divine bouquet of her cunt.
-Please, I cried. I didn’t even know what I meant by it.
Then came another big thigh, flush and powerful into my throbbing head that sent me tumbling across the room, slumping to rest in the corner. She followed immediately, killing me with the incomprehensible movements of her body.
-Now answer me this, moron! Did you notice anything unusual about our waiter tonight?
I tried to think. I remembered him well, but I couldn’t think of anything wrong or unusual.
-Well?
I didn’t answer, but just broke into deeper sobbing.
Asal reached down and slapped me again with the full weight of her body behind it. I clutched at the wall, yelping in pain.
-You didn’t notice that he SMELLED A LITTLE FUNNY? She asked.
I couldn’t place what she meant.
-God, you’re such a dip-shit. I have to spell out everything for you. And why? Because, like I keep saying, you’re nothing but a stupid fucking moron. Hell-O? He was wearing fucking Drakkar Noir! How could you miss that? It’s a man’s fucking cologne! You’re supposed to be a man! Am I missing something here? You know I HATE FUCKING DRAKKAR NOIR!! And you let him wait on me? For my BIRTHDAY!?! God, you make me sick!

I couldn’t believe it. She was absolutely right. I couldn’t say I was automatic when it came to colognes, but I certainly should have recognized the damned Drakkar Noir. Should have seen to it her waiter wore something she liked. I slumped in that corner, pretty much fetal, and mumbled a continuous mantra of ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…’
-Yeah, yeah, she scoffed. Well, mister, you’re going to pay for this bullshit. I suppose you thought I was going to allow you some mind-altering sex tonight, too, eh? Show my appreciation to you for such a ‘wonderful’ evening? Well, three guesses whether that’s going to happen. I’ve never been so fucking humiliated in all my life. So it seems to me that your punishment should fit the crime. And you know what I feeling like doing to finish off my birthday? I feel like cooking.

The Devil alone knew that this might mean. Cooking? It was after midnight. Whatever she was up to, I had a bad feeling about it.
-Let’s go, she said. You’re going to watch.
Groggy from all the blows to the head, I managed to stumble behind her out to the kitchen area. She made me sit at the kitchen table and watch her as she moved about, so impossibly sexy in her skimpy thong bottom and lacy bra. Every move she made in those awesome high heels made my cock harder and harder. Within a few minutes I was practically panting. Asal strutted around haughtily, obviously taking great delight in driving me out of my skin with raging desire. She was making breakfast; eggs, bacon, sausage, mixing it all together in a large skillet. Fighting the onset of insanity caused by my lust for her, I tried to focus on what she might be up to. I couldn’t get a handle on what might be ‘cooking’ in that devious mind of hers. I just kept remembering the line about the ‘punishment fitting the crime.’

-Keep your eyes on my legs and ass, she said as she undulated to and from the table, bringing over condiments, silverware, glasses, etc. Watching her ass sway like a wrecking ball and the maddening shakes and quivers of those huge legs with every delicious movement of her glorious, fat body was taking its toll. I was so fucking horny I thought I might explode. She purposely exaggerated each movement as well, so as to have maximum effect on my withering soul. At last she made her final approach, holding the skillet with a potholder in one hand and what appeared to be a rolled up paper towel in the other.
-Here we are, she said. Let’s share a nice late night birthday breakfast together.
I didn’t know how to respond, the whole thing was so strange. Plus, my entire focus was still on her monster thighs as she stood right in front of me.
-I thought that after treating me to such a lovely evening, I might return the favor. So, how about a little something to eat, fuck-stick?!

Without warning, she proceeded to fling the entire contents of the skillet in my face and onto my chest. Turned out she had practically filled the pan with cooking oil before putting the food in and now that scalding hot grease might as well have been a beaker full of acid as it proceeded to eat into my flesh. I screamed in pain and flipped out of the chair and onto the floor, pawing helplessly at my face.
-Oh, what’s the matter? She taunted. Oh, did you get something disgusting on your clothes? On your face? Oh my! I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought to see if that grease was hot before I threw it in your face. What COULD I have been thinking?
Asal stood over me like a vulture, watching me gyrate like a top on the kitchen floor.
-You see, bitch, she snapped, two can play this ‘Oh, I forgot’ game. Well, now let’s see how you like it!

Next she unrolled the paper towel she brought to the table and took a fork out of it. She had soaked it with cleaning fluid and dishwashing detergent and then coated it with Comet. She speared one of the sausages with it and bent back over me.
-Here, she said, eat this.
The pain was so intense that I couldn’t stop my flip-flop routine on the floor. The molten grease had already singed away sections of my face and riddled my head and chest with severe burns.
-Sit still, pig, she yelled, and open your fucking mouth.
She grabbed my hair and held my head steady as she shoved the fork into my mouth.
-Chew it up, god damn you! Right now!
She forced me to chew, and right away I could taste the Comet, though I wasn’t totally sure what the rest of the toxic mixture might be.
-Go ahead, mister big shot. Eat! It’s only a little silver cleaner and some detergent. Oh, and of course, a nice healthy portion of Comet.
I really started to buck now. She laughed and held me firmly in place.
-Oh, no, she said, it’s OK. This stuff’s good for you. What? You don’t care for it? Oh, well, you know it’s the damnedest thing. I didn’t THINK to see if that fork was clean. Aww, and now you’ve swallowed some kind of poison. I’m really sorry. I’ll try to do better next time. You don’t mind, do you?

I was freaking out, now. The chemicals began to burn the living shit out of my mouth, throat, and lungs. I struggled to breath. I felt like the flesh from my whole face had now been eaten away. It became harder to scream as the noxious toxins stormed my esophagus. All of this seemed to amuse Asal immensely. She laughed and continued to stand over me, taunting me and still showing off those devastating legs, which wasn’t helping.
-Is any of this perhaps making an impression on you, asshole? she railed. Am I getting through to your stupid ass, or has my approach been a little too subtle for that pea-fucking-brain of yours? Well, maybe I can summon the waitress over here to help you. Hmmm. I hope she doesn’t smell too bad, though.
She jerked me by the hair right up to her ass and proceeded to cut loose with a huge fart, right in my face.
-Smell that, pussy-ass, she said. And don’t you DARE touch me with that et-up face of yours. I did my best to inhale through the nose, but my system was just about on complete tilt. She fired away with another big, smelly fart. I would normally have reveled in such humiliation, but combined with the very real injuries and damage she had wrought upon me, I couldn’t really enjoy it at that moment, though the sight of her exquisite ass in my face did still have me swinging nothing but wood. She laughed as she looked back at me in my agony. Then she cut a third one, the smell flowing directly into my brain.
-Oh, jeez, my bad, she giggled. I think maybe your waitress smells a little funky tonight, don’t you? Gee, too bad I didn’t think to check and see if she felt like farting in your worthless fucking face tonight. It must have slipped my mind. Oh well, these things happen you know.

Then she turned on me again, and slammed another knee lift into my face. I felt sure now I was going to die. My throat and lungs were entirely constricted, my burns were throbbing beyond description, and now another concussion-style blast to the head. She followed me as I flipped again half way across the kitchen. She could plainly see I couldn’t breathe.
-Happy Birthday to ME, she said, and Happy 911 call to you, moron.
With that, she held me in place by the hair and fired that big thigh right into my solar plexus with everything she had. The air rushed out of me like it had been shot from a cannon and I slumped to the floor like a bag of dirt, gasping helplessly for the breath that wouldn’t come. I could hear Asal still cussing me out as she stalked away, those divine high heels clacking imperiously on the hardwood floor. Somehow, I did manage to get to my cell phone and call 911. It was close. The doctors said I was lucky. I made up some ludicrous story about someone breaking in while I was cooking and doing this to me for reasons completely unknown to me. I don’t think they believed me, but the whole thing blew over without an investigation.

Well, this was about a month ago, and my face is permanently scarred. I’m going back to the surgeon next week for another skin graft. They think I can look relatively normal again if we work hard enough at it. My esophagus, lungs, and stomach suffered damage from the chemicals, but I’m taking some meds that should help them recover with time. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to make amends with Asal, hoping she’ll eventually forgive me for being such an idiot. She pays very little attention to me, except to reprimand or punish me for my wrongdoing. Nothing as severe as her birthday night, of course. But I’ve always got to be on my toes so it doesn’t happen again. She’s a sharp cookie, and very demanding.

Part IV: Vixen’s Subject: A Brief Overview Of Obsession.

In our last segment, we traced the development of the Dominant Female from the phase of teen-age awakening, through her late teens, and into early adulthood. Rest assured, there is much more to be said about Vixen, as we now refer to her, now that she has come of age. But before that part of our study can be fully expanded upon, we must also gain a rudimentary understanding of the second partner in this ‘two-to-tango’ phenomenon, and that is the submissive male. While we will see clearly that empowered Woman is easily able to dominate even the strongest male persona, the more common formula for Domination/Submission involves the male that has grown his spiritual wings early on, and is preconditioned to worship his goddess in fear and trembling. We shall meet him in today’s segment, which provides an overview of his first encounters with Vixen, and will be of significant help to us a bit later in our coming analysis of her subsequent possession of his soul.

She bends over to check her tire and flashes her regal and extraordinary ass. A group of four young boys standing nearby all view the revelation. For each of them, this is a moment of peak experience. One is enamored of what he sees. He has a moment of little boy titillation followed by a return to his concerns with whether or not the group should proceed to the mall or go to Johnny’s house to watch TV. The next boy is also enamored and admits to having seen her before in her short skirt getting in the car for work. He makes a crack about her being sleazy. That’s what his dad said, anyway. The third is not so enamored. He doesn’t see what everyone is so up in arms about. He has been brought up to believe that such displays are shameful and wrong, that they shouldn’t be encouraged. He actually seems noticeably embarrassed by his unwitting participation in the event. The fourth boy alone receives the input rightly as a life-directive. It is not his first serendipitous glance at the glory of gorgeous legs and a phenomenal ass, but rather serves as a further confirmation of what he already knows from his limited but profound earlier encounters. Having received this vision from her, he no longer has any interest in whether they’re going to the mall or to Johnny’s house. He already knows that whether she’s ‘sleazy’ or not couldn’t possibly be more irrelevant. Above all, he knows that the brief and marvelous gift she has bestowed upon him today is neither shameful nor wrong. It is the revelation of divine spirit. He will think of nothing else the rest of the day, working the interior magic of memory to keep the vision alive in his mind. He is the blessed one, the one who will live life in the miraculous grip of Obsession.

So, wherein lies the stark difference in outlook between the four lads in our example? Can we write it off as a difference in environmental conditioning? This is certainly the traditional response to such a question. But it takes very little reflection to realize that such an answer must be rejected virtually out of hand. For surely, especially in our still unfathomably repressed American culture, all four boys would have received the clear and oft-repeated message that sex is something intrinsically evil and to be strictly avoided. Granted, each of the four will likely have had differing levels of exposure to beautiful women in states of undress. In one household the ‘no cable TV’ rule is firmly enforced, in another, maybe not so firmly, in yet another perhaps the rule is a little lax. Let’s assume the same holds true with Internet usage. More here, less there. Regardless of how much or little exposure the boys have had, the point is that they have all been taught, with equal conviction, that nudity and sexuality is WRONG. That it is NOT FOR THEM. Not at their age, at any rate. In the interest of keeping my already long blog posts at somewhat manageable lengths, I will refrain from investigating our question thoroughly from the perspectives of all 4 boys. Instead, I will simply use the problem of the differing perspectives as a backdrop to our analysis of the servant, for it is here that we gain entrance into one of the great mysteries of FemDom, which treats of the psychic and metaphysical aspects of the phenomenon.

The first thing to understand with regard to the differing reactions of the boys in our example–who have been indoctrinated with basically identical ‘moral’ teachings–is that the theory of the ‘Tabula Rasa,’ that each human being is born a ‘clean slate,’ not essentially different from any other newborn child, is a failed theory. Indeed, it is almost universally accepted today that the most meaningful and unique aspects of an individual’s personality are those he was born with, those that belong to him innately. Though environmental factors may indeed have similar effects on young children, there are nonetheless dramatic differences in their core personalities and sensibilities that cannot be accounted for in the environmental model.

Having thus put this notion aside, the path to clear understanding is opened to us and we are able to see the servant’s recognition of the true import inherent in the dazzling ‘upskirt’ scenario for what it really is. Man is the only species to have evolved to the level of self-consciousness. All higher animals are capable of knowing, but only Man knows that he knows. In Man, consciousness has turned in upon itself. It is this quality that makes us unique as human beings. It is also this quality that bestows upon us the capacity for spiritual insight and contemplation. Through this singular faculty of ascendence to a plane of higher consciousness Man is able to understand himself as transcendent Being. And so it is that the boy’s interpretation of this woman’s gift is the reflection of an innate capacity which belongs to him quite precociously, i.e., the ability to perceive sexual energy as nature intends it, not as basic biology in the mere service of the reproductive faculty, but in its uniquely human function as the supreme medium of divine communication. In other words, he is already, as a young child, able to understand sexual communication as being inherently transcendental, and he knows intuitively that there is an element of ultimate purpose that belongs to that same communication and transcendence. As to reasons ‘why’ he has possessed this understanding from his first encounter with feminine sexuality, all we may offer by way of explanation is that it falls into the category of a gift or talent. It is not unlike an early talent for music, painting, etc. The other three boys know of no such underlying realities. They have interpreted the same event in three distinctly different ways, but in no case has it acquired any sort of permanence. For them it was simply another event (albeit perhaps a more provocative one) among all the others of the day, a moment easily disposed of and left behind without consequence. For the servant, these precious moments are stored in as much detail as possible in a special place deep within his subconscious mind. While the term ‘subconscious’ or ‘unconscious’ accurately describes the location of this storage of memory, it is also true that the servant has an exaggerated ability to draw upon these memories and hence we may propose a sort of middle ground in his consciousness wherein such memories remain below the surface, but at the same time are often accessible to him.

We are making a case, then, for the servant, the Obsessed, as an individual uniquely gifted by nature herself, and with a propensity for the apprehension of the true nature of exchanges in sexual energy, which is that of absolute transcendence. This concept is vital to our understanding of Female Domination as will be seen in the upcoming posts where we will treat of Vixen’s transcendent power and her proclivity towards violence. Understanding that her subject is more or less genetically predisposed to see her and her objectives in the proper light will be key to the eventual explication of her divine nature. What we are going to learn is that Female Domination is an astonishing manifestation of transcendental energy, extra-dimensional energy, which Vixen communicates through powerful psychic vibrations controlled by the artful use of her body and her will. It is the most powerful and enlightening journey upon which we, The Obsessed, may embark.

As the photos accompanying this post might suggest, from early childhood on, the servant will be in constant pursuit of sexual experience. He will leave almost any endeavor behind in order to catch his requisite glimpses of upskirts, lovely legs extending from short skirts, beautiful faces, lips, eyes, hair, breasts, and in particular the movements of the female body. He becomes a devout student of Woman. He also becomes the consummate voyeur. Whenever he should stumble upon any feminine display of power, any of her myriad ways of flaunting her sexuality with that coy, knowing confidence; wherever he discovers Woman wielding her divine beauty and strength to manipulate the hapless male to her desired advantage, at the slightest hint of the imposition of her indomitable will in the service of his nullification; in the presence of any and all of these, the servant rejoices at his good fortune in being granted the vision, and confirms himself ever more deeply as one of the blessed, The Obsessed. He is one of the elite, one of the very few who will experience absolute transcendence through perfect submission to his beloved Vixen.

Having now laid the necessary groundwork for our study of Female Domination, we are ready to move to the heart of the subject. Join me for the next post:
Part V: Vixen: The Ascent to Violence.

Part III: The Birth of Her Power

In Part II we were introduced to Vixen as the archetype Female Dominant. We learned that she is a rare breed of woman in that she deals exclusively in the realm of Obsession and that her limitless Power constitutes a sublime mystery owing to the bizarre and, as far as we know, unique appearance of an anomaly in nature with respect to the display and wielding of that Power in and around events and especially where her encounter with Male is concerned. With the appearance of the anomaly, her weakness is transformed into strength, her beauty into destructive force, and her softness into pure potentiality for the consummate execution of extreme brutality; brutality which she administers with impunity. To grasp all that lies at the root of this marvelous reversal of roles requires more than a casual perusal of surface appearances. As stated in our introduction, the detailed study of Female Domination, by its very complexity and fascination, must be a rather lengthy one. But I am convinced that we will discover it to be well worth the effort if we persevere with intelligence and enthusiasm. Who knows? With a little good fortune along the way we may even be able to shed some entirely new light on the miraculous existence of Vixen and the enigmatic phenomenon of her extraordinary power.

Having now learned something about who Vixen is, we must now back up a bit and investigate Vixen’s beginnings. How does it start? Where and when does the awareness of her true identity become known to her? Surely this revelation must be among the most exciting and compelling developments of self-actualization in the life of any human being. And for us, The Obsessed, it is thought of as a moment of sheer magic. Let us move forward, then, and take a look at Vixen’s beginnings with ‘The Birth of Her Power.’

The Awakening.
This phase constitutes the birth of the dominatrix. Dominant women acquire their tastes for power at different times and in different ways. But regardless of the particulars, there is always a pattern of emerging awareness with regard to certain capabilities that become available to them based on the display of their bodies. A teen-age girl stands before the mirror in her bedroom, admiring her naked body. Her hot, nubile rack is a fairly new development, but that ass and those legs have been evolving toward this state of perfection for some time. She looks at herself from every angle, smiling proudly. Something new is happening within her, something exciting. She may not define it at this point, she may, in fact be quite unsure as to where it is leading. But she knows that whatever it is, it is good. Suddenly her body is ‘there.’ It’s hot and she knows it’s hot. She takes mental notes as to how she compares to Monica, Susie, Charis, and Jenny Li. They too have all been called ‘hot,’ but she knows now that she burns them all down. Seems like it just happened, right now, this morning, like she wasn’t this perfect yesterday morning. But she’s got it now, and that’s all that matters.

The Awakening phase is also signaled by a radical change in wardrobe. Our neophyte Vixen immediately begins to require far less bodily coverage than she had in the past. Tops get skimpier and thinner. She perfects the appearance of her developing bust line by rigorous experimentation with bras until she achieves the look she wants. Shorts get shorter, heels get higher, make-up gets trashier, parents become enraged. She will usually become more outgoing during this time, happy to flaunt her new found confidence. Those around her notice that she is becoming more demanding. She has the feeling she deserves the fulfillment of her desires. At this point, it seems as if all she wants to do is to scandalize with her delicious new body and attitude.

Discovery and Development
This is an exciting period. Everything is new, and a girl begins to see the effect, the impact she is making on the world around her. She begins to sense the potential that she has for controlling events with her body and her attitude. The results are almost immediate. She moves into an entirely new world; from anonymity to ‘force to be reckoned with.’ For most dominant girls this phase is accomplished in no more than one school term, usually far less, in as little as two or three months.

During this period, the young dominatrix is receiving valuable input from all quarters. From peer interaction she is learning general consensus as to what is ‘hot.’ She becomes aware of all vital sources of media, such as TV shows, music, videos, movies, everything a girl must be familiar with in order to be cool. But most importantly, she is learning to assimilate all this information in the service of her supreme power. She will quickly ascertain which dresses, which footwear, which poses, which body parts, which smiles, which phrases, and which attitudes best serve her purposes, not only with the boys, but with the world at large. As this period of discovery continues, at some point our newborn Vixen will have a kind of epiphany, that moment when it all ‘locks in.’ She may be as young as 14 or 15 in some cases, but usually it will occur around the age of 17 or 18. But regardless of age, from that moment forward, she is in charge. She knows she can have whatever she wants, whenever she wants. As long as there are men in the world, she will be fully satiated.

The Engagement
The transitional, or Engagement phase is that period of maturation that bridges adolescence and adulthood. I use the term ‘Engagement’ to denote that time when Vixen reaches full clarity. She sees the world for exactly what it is and she ‘engages’ it with all the tools she has developed and all the power she has accumulated during the periods of Discovery and Development. She knows who she is and makes the existential choice that it is that woman who shall be known to the world. With The Engagement, Vixen has arrived. This phase is typically accompanied by other signs of adulthood and maturity. A woman finds her body softening ever so slightly, now having the tendency to retain body fat a bit more easily than when she was a teen. This is in no way a bad thing. In fact, Vixen will find men even more susceptible to the lure of her flesh than they had been in the past. She also learns how to use this, like everything else, to her best advantage. She learns that the slight jiggling of her arms, the quivering bounce of her ass and thigh flesh, all these effects of getting older have in fact made her all that much more desirable, and as a result, all the more powerful. As with everything else, she uses it to her advantage. At this point in her development she will begin to feel her first real sense of omnipotence. The idea that she is a goddess is not simply metaphorical any more. It is the blossoming of true identity within her. Her physical flesh as absolute divinity incarnate becomes her central mode of self-perception. She knows herself to be divine. In the eyes of the world, she is only a young woman, but behind the sociological veil, she is already perfect. At this point also, her mastery over men is so complete it becomes laughable. With a simple look, a shift of the body, the slight flicker of tempting fat of her upper thigh, she can command a man to lay down his own life. Her power continues to grow ever stronger as she uses it to create the world in her own image.

Join me for Part IV: Vixen’s Subject: A Brief Overview of Obsession.

Part II: Vixen Revealed

PART II
The Dominant Femme: Vixen revealed. Now we come to the focus of our inquiry, The Dominant Female in-the-flesh. We have reviewed the concept of power itself in some detail and determined that power, when it has accomplished its objectives, becomes rooted far more deeply in the mentality or mind-set, in the attitude of the individual possessing it, than it does in the actual utility of its function, which is chiefly that of acquisition. But the fact that Female, not Male, is capable of harnessing power on levels that far exceed her stereotypically ‘stronger’ counterpart remains a mystery that somehow continues to be ignored by serious thinkers in the relevant fields of Psychology, Sociology, and Philosophy. Of course, it is easy enough to see that female beauty, when wielded by a woman who ‘knows what she’s got’ can have instant and profound effects on a man’s decision-making processes, but this commonplace slice-of-life, delicious as it may be, requires little in the way of in-depth analysis. It is a dynamic that is at work in every area of interaction between men and women, and is to be understood only on the most basic level of simple sexual stimulation. Men are obviously much more susceptible to sexual manipulation than are women. But this kind of everyday sexual child’s play is not what we refer to when we speak of a woman’s possessing power. The object of our investigation has to do with something far more remarkable. It is not concerned with activity that may be considered ‘cute,’ ‘funny,’ or ‘innocuous.’ It has nothing to do with the trite exchanges of gossip between girlfriends as to how they coaxed their boyfriends to do such and such or this and that, simply by ‘being hot.’ It is concerned with Real Power, the ability—possessed only by rare women—to dominate men in such extreme fashion as to literally possess them; body and soul. This is the realm of Female Domination, FemDom, to the inner circle. It is the province of the Libertine, the incurably obsessed. This is the world as it is owned by Woman. Her name is Vixen.

We Obsessed are, and always have been, obsessed with her. We have seen her in her various guises, but her identity is never hidden from us. She comes, as from out of a dream, her unspeakably powerful body, so gorgeous, so plush, so compelling, and so irresistible, shredding the souls of the initiates. How many have seen her only yesterday, undulating with glorious precision down the aisles of the supermarket? Flaunting her invincibility as she strolls the local mall? Lording it over the boys at her favorite nightclub? Crushing some unfortunate male ego as she clarifies his role with regal, forceful arrogance over dinner at an elegant restaurant? There is no mistaking Vixen when we happen into her divine presence.

But how does it happen? How does she accomplish such absolute domination? How does she spread obsession like an epidemic? We seem to remain ever at a loss to explain her appropriation of such limitless power. We would all certainly agree that Vixen, except in rare instances, lacks the brute physical strength of the male, and yet she may challenge him to his choice of strength contests and humiliate him with her abject superiority. Her mere presence dominates so drastically that his physical strength is nullified to the point of utter irrelevance. Male is generally agreed to be the ruler of the world, leader of nations, the only true force to be reckoned with. And yet, Vixen can make him eat her vomit out of a dog dish merely by speaking the command. Male may give it everything he has, determined not to be ruled by her, but it is folly, a nebulous dream he dreamt long ago. In truth, he is powerless. What is at work here is a transcendental shift in the dynamic structure of space-time that Vixen accomplishes through the awareness of her totality, of her Being. And so, her ability to create this sort of ‘cosmic shift,’ this separate reality, is more than simply a case of mind over matter, it is actually a case of Being over mind AND matter. It is total subjugation, and it is within her to accomplish it. Vixen’s power emanates from the divinity of her Being and is cast into the event through her body. So, while her body is indeed the conduit for her power, that power operates nonetheless on a level superior to the physical plane. But HOW does she wield this phenomenal and irresistible power? How does her beauty and confidence translate into Power, and how does she become aware of all this? To say that she EXUDES it may correctly describe it, but it does not explain it. Her invincibility flows from the totality of her, it is in her movements, in her gestures, in her shapes, in that look in her eyes, from a gentle quiver of her lip, from her scent, from the goddess-speak of her voice, from her divine body, again, simply from her Being. And it is precisely the ‘How’ in which Power emanates from her in these multifarious forms that we are going to discover in our study.

WHAT IS WEAK BECOMES STRONG.
It is obvious by now that Vixen has learned a powerful secret. It is every bit as magical as any spell cast by any witch or warlock in the grand history of Fantasy. It is beyond the esoteric wisdom of the Druids. It cannot be comprehended by those in the so-called women’s movements, those who preach empowerment through retreat into homeliness and abstinence from the male. They imagine that they will eventually become real women by becoming anti-women. They will take this thought with them to their graves. Vixen is the only real woman. Vixen’s secret is mental, it is physical, and above all, it is spiritual; it takes ALL of her. And yet she does it naturally, with ease and finesse. This is because, on one level—the more ‘surface’ level—she is merely perfecting the basic notion of taking what is uniquely feminine in her and using it as her power source. She learns to acknowledge the incomprehensible miracle of being born a woman, and of being able to use sex as a deadly weapon. And once she has done this, what is weak intuitively understands that it may become strength. This simple conscious acceptance of her vast sexual superiority is the beginning of the transcendental shift that turns weakness into strength, softness into raw power, flowers into nightshade. But this first step is merely the awakening for the woman who will become a true dominant. For her, it is the self-actualized realization that there is much more awaiting her along t that there IS a metaphysical secret to be unlocked, and that she has discovered the hidden passageway to the source. For the woman of power, life will never be the same again.

To summarize, then, we have discovered that the phenomenon of the powerful woman, the dominant femme, is something unique in nature, something that strikes us as utterly counter-intuitive to standard formulizations. We find that in this case, the weak, the delicate, the soft, and the beautiful has, by some process of self-inversion, become the strong, the powerful, the authoritative, the ruler. We have understood that such an anomaly imposes upon us, by

its very nature, the need for further explanation and explication. Our task is nothing less than that of discovering what this extraordinary process of self-inversion actually is, physically, and metaphysically. We have proposed a two-pronged course of investigation in this regard, the first of which understands the phenomenon of FemDom as something emerging from a metaphysical transformation or ‘transcendental shift’ in the fabric of reality and that it is at the disposal of the dominant femme (the woman of power) to initiate and in fact, to effect this shift at her discretion. The second understands FemDom’s beginnings as something more commonplace and organic, that is, that the majority of beautiful women become aware at some point, and on some level that their beauty does indeed empower them in many ways, both subtle and obvious. Although this second ‘prong’ of our investigation occurs first chronologically, and appears to constitute the efficient cause of the subject of the second prong, it remains of secondary importance owing to its transitory nature. For it is a fact that the majority of beautiful women, even those who have learned to use their beauty well to their advantage, do not go on to take that final leap to the exalted status of ‘Dominant Femme.’ It is also the part of our study that is disposed of rather quickly, whereas the study of the true dominant’s mastery will be much more involved.

In my next post we will take a detailed look at the rise of power-awareness in the beautiful woman, and her journey to full realization. Join me for:
Part III The Birth of Her Power.

Part I: The Phenomenon of Power

I. The Phenomenon of Power. The subject of Female Domination will take us on a most extraordinary journey, through a wide-ranging array of surreptitious real-world encounters to the most profound speculations and insights of modern theological analysis. It encompasses the most esoteric theories as to our true sexual identities from the vantage points of cultural influence and intuition alike. It ushers us into the bizarre and fascinating realm of contemporary physics with its grand cosmological theories, multiple dimensions, parallel universes, and far beyond even this, into the most uncharted regions of the Unconscious. Power is the end-all dynamic, the metaphysical absolute through which each of us arrives at his or her appointed existential destiny. The goal of our Power-Study will be to think as clearly as possible about the various facets of Female Domination in order that we may arrive at a few points of basic comprehension about a universal phenomenon that remains shrouded in mystery and about which only the most outlandish and nonsensical attempts at explanation have thus far been proffered.

What is Power? What sorts of entities are we referring to when we speak of it? Is it simply the expression of control? Who craves Power? Men who want to rule the world? Women who want to rule men? The word certainly has a fair range of applications. But common to them all are three basic attributes; Ability, Authority, and Physical Strength. Ability is typically thought of as the facility for achieving results, for having the talent or wisdom for the accomplishment of specified ends. This facet of power has to do with expertise and technique. It is often thought of synonymously as ‘finesse.’ Ability implies knowledge, skill, and awareness on levels that are well above average. Another constant in any definition of power is the concept of Authority. Many who wield power are able to do so on the basis of who they are. He or she who is ‘boss’ has the authority to wield power. Authority has to do with the status of the person in possession of power. Typically, one in possession of such authority is able to enforce his or her will regardless of ability or strength through the power of marshal command. Such an individual would usually have some form of power apparatus in place, acting as an agent of enforcement in the exercise of his decrees. The next constant is that of Physical Prowess, i.e. the ability to physically dominate on the basis of one’s exceptional strength in bringing force and pressure to bear in a given situation. This is, of course, the easiest of all constants to grasp; ‘I’m bigger and stronger than you are, therefore, I shall have what I want from you.’ As stated before, these three constants appear in the vast majority of definitions used to elucidate the concept of Power.

But does it end here? Is there not a much more subtle constant at work in certain manifestations of power as we encounter them in the real world? Indeed there is, and it is of the greatest interest and significance to our inquiry. It may loosely be categorized as ‘Psychological Intimidation.’ Isn’t it strange that this constant is entirely missing from the classic definitions of ‘Power?’ And yet surely it has the greatest bearing on and application to the real subject of our investigation, namely, Female Domination. In spite of the undeniable fact that a powerful woman will likely possess one, two, or all three of the defining constants in our definitions above, there is no doubt that the most efficacious and powerful of them all is the psychological one. She who rules by this form of psychic intimidation, rules unconditionally. We shall return to this 4th constant in more depth when we begin to discuss the specifics of power as they relate exclusively to FemDom. For the moment, we make note of it solely due to the conspicuousness of its absence from standard definitions of ‘Power.’

The Dynamic of Power: Its Appeal.
The lust for power is a universal imperative. Every conscious entity seeks to harness it, and as far as we can tell, even life forms typically thought to be void of consciousness appear to evolve toward its acquisition as well. Surely there are scores of individuals who will object, claiming that power is their enemy, and that freedom FROM power is the object of their considerations. But does not the very notion of FREEDOM necessitate the acquisition of power? For surely, with respect to life on Planet Earth at any rate, one must possess the requisite power to claim and safeguard his freedom. Without such a form of power, his freedom is up for grabs, a sitting duck for the next aggressor with sufficient power to deprive him of this freedom. And so, even where the pacifist is concerned, power is something to be coveted aggressively and consistently. With power, then, being something courted, as best we can ascertain, on some level, by every living being, it seems only reasonable that in attempting to understand the mechanics of Female Domination in an intelligible, systematic fashion, it is well for us to understand power itself on its own terms.

First, it must be noted that Power does not exist in a vacuum, but rather is only manifested between two or more entities. The essence of Power resides in the capacity for control which one entity exerts over the other(s). The extent to which the one exercises control over the other is commensurate with the degree of power accorded to it in relation to its subject. And so, power is always power OVER SOMETHING. It is the threshold, or position, of advantage held by one entity over another. Now, since the scope of our inquiry is concerned with power as it applies to human beings, and since the aspects of power which pertain to lower life forms such as plant life, animal life not yet evolved to self-consciousness, etc, and since all aspects of power present in these forms are already subsumed in the subject as it relates to humankind, it will simplify our discourse greatly to ‘humanize’ the discussion and to subsequently refer to these entities as ‘he’ or ‘she.’ We are, after all, concerned with power as it concerns men and women. And so, from this it follows that power is bound up in social dynamics, that we shall be able to catch a glimpse of it, to see it at work in the interactions between real people as they go about the business of their real lives.

Power appears on the short list of desirable qualities for the simple reason that it promises us the fulfillment of all our needs in life. It takes no exceptional intellect to realize that we can get what we need, what we want, and even what we dream, if only we can harness sufficient power to acquire it. This constitutes the most basic notion of power as ‘facilitator,’ as the mechanism by which we fulfill our needs and fancies in life. In this sense, power is simply the basic quality sought by all of us in the quest to provide for our physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. It is manifested, however, over an extreme range of degrees, from the very poor, to whom power may consist of simply giving birth to a new child and thereby qualifying for an increase in welfare supplements, to the very rich, to whom power may consist of the ability to execute a hostile corporate takeover which nets the party wielding the power a profit of multiplied millions of dollars. The positions of such individuals or companies in the real world could not be more disparate. The mechanisms that contributed to improvements in their lots are identical. Power is Power. It achieves its objectives with ruthless precision, no matter what the actual stakes. The degree to which it produces results is a more or less meaningless game of numbers. The FACT that it always accomplishes its will is what is of interest to our inquiry.

We see from these preliminary remarks that power is connected to the idea of accomplishment, or achievement. Where power is properly applied, results are obtained. Children are taught this principle from their earliest years, that accomplishment and achievement are hallmarks of the successful human enterprise. This notion of power applies ‘across the board,’ as a principle essential to the quality of life. But power is also harnessed in far greater quantity and quality by a much more elite group of individuals, those who grasp the extraordinary human potential for living extraordinary lives. These rare individuals are not content with the ordinary, the average, the run-of-the-mill, or the status quo. And they know that their success depends upon the acquisition of power on a far grander scale than that of the average person in society.

Such an individual lives in a separate world from that of the masses. It is the world in which accomplishment and achievement have become the actual objective of ones daily efforts and activities. These are the rich, the famous, the unusually successful, and perhaps on a lesser scale, professionals in everyday life whose standard of living is considerably higher than average. Such people are always associated with power. Their influence will have far wider reach than that of the ordinary person. Their ability to control their environment, to have their wants materialize quickly, to arrange the world according to their fancy is prodigious. It is at this point that a curious thing seems to happen, almost routinely. Such individuals begin to cherish the feeling and the act of wielding their power more than they cherish the actual accomplishments and achievements that are manifested thereby. This point seems a curious fact to those living in the everyday world, but it leads us to understand something of great importance in the study of power; i.e. that it is actually a FEELING, an interior state of being, a shift in consciousness that most accounts for and explains the motivation behind the desire for power.

We discover this attitude in all areas of competitive interaction. We find it in the boxer who has just demonstrated his or her superiority by knocking out the opponent. The knockout is a vastly different kind of victory than a decision. The knockout is more than a victory; it is a display of power. It is the same in other sporting competitions, business conquests, any endeavor in which two or more entities vie for an advantage over the others. A DOMINANT win is accompanied by a sense of superiority that is profoundly different than a contest that could ‘go either way.’ And with such a victory comes an inner surge, the feeling of power, the awareness of ones greatness. What rises within the dominant figure is a fundamental change in world-view, a new confidence in ones ability to manipulate the world to ones liking, a feeling of invincibility. This feeling, if it continues to be nourished, becomes the most liberating, exhilarating, and desirable mind-state a person has ever known. Those who know it well will compare it to the effects of a drug, a rush, a tidal wave of adrenaline, a sexual kind of inner peace at once charged with excitement and utterly void of anxiety. Such a feeling can obviously become quite addicting.

Power as it appears in the realm of Female Domination. It is really this inner knowledge of superiority, the awareness of ones power and the ability of one to manifest it that is to be the central focus of our study. The entire spectrum of Female Domination has this awareness of power at its root. Extraordinary things happen when a woman discovers the depth and breadth of her power, and the obsessed among you have undoubtedly already understood and experienced her greatness in some measure. Now, having dispatched with the necessary introductory background, we turn our attention to the study itself, the philosophical inquiry into the fabulous, the divine, the utterly mystical world of the dominant femme. Henceforth, I will glorify her by using the name ‘Vixen’ in speaking of her. We all know her. She is every woman who has ever made us quiver in our boots on sight, and she is especially every woman who has brought her power to bear in our lives through radical encounter. In my next post, we begin our study in earnest with “The Dominant Femme: Vixen Revealed.” Be sure and join me. Part II: Vixen Revealed

Introduction: The Grand Obsession

THIS is Girls In Control, the most comprehensive discussion ever attempted on the phenomenon of Female Domination in particular and the obsession with beautiful, powerful women in general. It must be stated from the outset that this is not your typical porn blog. Here, you will find very little in the way of site referrals, porn picks, etc. I do, however, believe firmly in supplementing your reading with lots of eye candy, so you will never be at a loss for sizzling photos. But, in the main, this is a site for those with an intellectual curiosity about all that lies at the root of their infatuation with powerful women. It will also be of great interest to those who may not consider themselves truly masochistic in orientation, but who do consider themselves generally submissive in their attitude toward the gorgeous sex, and are able to recognize the fact that beautiful women are indeed the driving forces in their lives. In a word, it is about obsession.

All of us who live the life of obsession come to a point along the journey at which we realize that the issue of who we are has been settled, but that the underlying dynamics of the life we choose and love remain shrouded in mystery, confusion, and controversy. It is here that we may begin to move from a simple but usually secret enjoyment of our passion to a more active interest, which includes deeper investigation and research. We discover, however, to our great disappointment, that Cultural discourse on the subject inevitably treats not only our attitudes on women and sex, but our consequent attitudes about the larger view of life itself as something aberrant, shameful, and in the end, inimical to any normal sense of development and even to the very pursuit of happiness. Obsessions such as ours, it will say, are the province of incorrigible libertines, those without any sense of morality, who, in the words of Paul the Apostle, ‘have given themselves over to a reprobate mind.’ It appears that the social spectrum of those who would condemn our grand obsession is wide indeed! From the far right conservative Christian base, all the way to the far left where we may be considered relatively harmless but in need of therapy nonetheless, it is glaringly apparent that mainstream opinion of serious Female Domination, and sexual obsession in general, has completely failed to make any serious efforts toward understanding the phenomena it so ardently renounces. And it is precisely because we still live in a world that is so un-evolved that mainstream opinion remains the barometer for all that is ‘normal,’ that a true philosophy of FemDom is such a timely necessity.

Here you will find a completely unique study, the kind of study that seeks openness to real growth; growth not only for those of us who already understand in part and seek to understand more, but for those without a clue as to the true nature of sexual obsession, which is nothing more or less than the true nature of sexuality itself. Our inquiry will demonstrate the fact that the life of obsession IS the grand vision of life on Planet Earth, the only philosophy that clears a pathway through the dense thicket of ignorance, prejudice, and resistance to change that are the defining features of our culture, enabling us, finally, to achieve the highest levels of self-actualization and to realize our deeper purpose as divine citizens of an extraordinary and ultimately benevolent universe. Of necessity, we have become the keepers of the eternal flame.

Next Post: Part I. The Phenomenon of Power