DomCon LA: Thursday

Thirty-three Pro Dommes and nine of their submissives (male and female) attended The Mistress Dinner held in a private area of Hilton LAX's The Cafe restaurant.
Mistress Nicolette was at My table, along with Mistress Veronique, Bitch Goddess, Mistress O and Mistress Asia.
I'd first met Mistress Nicolette at The OWK.
(Her technique using two floggers at the same time, one in each hand, was amazing.)
She doesn't stand for male insubordination.
For instance, the waiter forgot to serve Me a salad. Instead he served it to a slave at the table behind us.
In a tone that cut like a whip, Mistress Nicolette immediately admonished him.
"This is not how it's done!"
Meekly, the waiter retrieved the salad he'd served to the slave and tip-toed to our table, delivering My salad to Me.
All of the Ladies at Our table started clapping, punctuated by collective bursts of triumphant laughter.
Women over men!
After the dinner, I attended the Meet and Greet, hosted by Domina Irene Boss.
The Meet and Greet cocktail party is DomCon's official kickoff.
There was a milling crowd of Pro Dommes, Lifestyle Doms, submissives and leather people, both male and Female, all in their trendiest fetish finery.
At one point, a figure of indeterminate gender dressed in a nun's habit sat down at My table.
It wore a name tag that said "Margaret Snatcher."
Given My British educational background, I immediately said: "Margaret Thatcher, Milk Snatcher," recalling the old refrain about the former British prime minister.
It responded, "That's not where it's from. I always wanted a snatch. Now I'm a post-op TS and I've got one."
That set the tone for the rest of the evening.
Ultimately, again, the beautiful, blonde Mistress Nicolette stole the show, absolutely dazzling in Her black vinyl outfit with the plunging neckline.
Tonight I'm looking forward to the DomCon Play Party, the largest Play Party of the year in Los Angeles at one of L.A.'s most prestigious Dungeons, the 7000 square foot Passive Arts Studios.
I'll post a full report tomorrow.

DomCon LA: Wednesday

DomCon LA opened with a day of intimate "Industry Only" workshops.
Mistress Cyan of Mistress Cyan's Sanctuary of Female Domination led an informative discussion about "Surviving A Bad Economy."
Then Domina Irene Boss followed with a pair of illuminating discussions: "Marketing Yourself and Your Business" and "Managing Your Business."
Finaily, Mistress Precious presented part 1 of "The Business Practices of Professional Domination," an enlightening review of time management and record keeping techniques.
About 15 Pro Dommes participated in each session.
They were impressed with the free exchange of ideas and how willing these three top Mistresses were to share info with them in order to help them improve their businesses.
This afternoon I'm looking forward to The Mistress Dinner.
Afterwards, there's DomCon LA's official kick off: the annual Meet and Greet.
It's a huge cocktail party where members of the BDSM, Leather, Fetish and Professional Communities turn out in full regalia to celebrate another (hopefully) wild and wonderous DomCon weekend.

DomConLA: I'm (Almost) On My Way

On Monday, May 4, I fly to Los Angeles for an event I’ve eagerly awaited.
My first visit to DomCon, the U.S.’s premier professional and lifestyle Domination Convention.
Held twice a year (in L.A. and later Atlanta), DomCon brings together the world's top Pro Dommes, switches, submissives, bondage & fetish models, fetish photographers, performing artists, BDSM educators and lifestyle practitioners.
This year, again, DomCon will be held at the Hilton Los Angeles Airport (Hilton LAX) hotel.
I’ve splurged for an elegant Tower Suite.
I’ll sleep in the king-size bed in the private bedroom while slave-hubby bob gets to curl up on the couch (or the floor, if I so dictate) in the separate living area.
Next week I plan on posting frequent insider updates describing My DomCon experience.
I’ve instructed hubby bob to bring his digital camera. Perhaps (if bob can keep his thumb from covering the lens this time) I’ll be able to post some pictures along with the text.
The scheduled events start on Wednesday.
I decided to fly in two days earlier so I could do some heavy-duty shopping.
L.A. boasts some of the trendiest fetish-wear boutiques in the country.
subby-hubby bob will tag along as My beast-of-burden, lugging My bags of fetish goodies back to the hotel.
Wednesday kicks off with a day-long series of “Industry Only” seminars: intimate round-table discussions focusing on the business of professional domination, and moderated by some of the industry’s biggest names. Attendance is limited to professional Dommes, switches and submissives.
On Thursday, there are more “Industry Only” seminars, followed by The Mistresses Dinner."
Mistresses are allowed to bring their submissives to the dinner, but I’ve decided to leave old bob locked up in our no-smoking suite. I don’t want his constant whining (“I need a cigarette, Mistress, please, pretty please?”) to spoil My fun.
But I may permit him to accompany Me that night to the dress-to-impress “Meet and Greet”: the huge fetish cocktail party that serves as DomCon’s annual Official Opening. (bob is useful for fetching drinks from the bar.)
Other highlights I’m looking forward to include Friday night’s “Play Party” at L.A.’s Passive Arts Studio (at 7,000 square feet, the largest dungeon on the West Coast).
On Saturday afternoon there’s the Pro Domme Social, followed at night by the Fetish Ball/Play Party at the Passive Arts Studio dungeon.
It will be a wild extravaganza of music, dancing, fashion shows and BDSM torment.
Unfortunately, My tender-assed hubby is pretty useless at play parties.
He’s not exactly a pain slut.
But I’m packing My whips and paddles anyway.
Hopefully, I'll find an experienced sub eager to bend over and bare his bottom for punishment.
If you fit this description, and are planning to attend DomCon, look Me up. I'll be around for the entire week.

Training My New Puppy

Dogs are nice but I never thought I’d want to own one.
Pooches can be playful and loving and protective.
But they shed and they shit, usually at the most inappropriate moment. For instance, if you live (like I do) in a major city, your pet will do its daily squat just as a bus full of camera-toting foreign tourists cruises by.
Within a week, images of you pooper-scooping the aromatic droppings will be a highlight of hilarity on YouTube France.
(The French, especially Parisians, regard cleaning up after their dogs as a complete waste of time. Instead, they rely on the soles of unwary pedestrians’ shoes to rid their streets of pet poop.)
The truth is, I don’t dislike dogs, My quarrel is with some dog owners.
Particularly owners who coo to their canines in baby talk (“Does iddy bitty baby want wee-wee now?”) or parade them in restaurants.
I was dining at a so-so roadside restaurant recently when the pup at the next table wandered over and (showing promise as a food critic) brazenly peed on the leg of My friend’s chair.
The cretins who owned the creature thought the incident was funny.
The bad news (according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control) is that dog attacks cause 4.5 million injuries annually, 800,000 of which require medical attention.
The good news is that dogs almost always bite their owners.
So why am I now the proud owner of a mischievous mongrel?
It's My subby-hubby bob’s fault.
For months he’d been whining that he wanted a dog. A shaggy, shambling sheep dog, no less.
The mention of it filled My head with visions of matted hair strewn over My pristine carpets, clinging to My clothes, couches and armchairs.
Tired of bob’s pestering, I decided to create a new crossbreed: a cur whose mixed ancestry combined the most desirable traits of My subby-hubby robert and his alter ego sissy-maid roberta.
Purely for My amusement, I would transform My husband into a human mutt.
bob was hairless and properly paper-trained.
he already had a dog collar.
I went to a local pet shop and purchased a leash, plus two dog dishes, one for his food, the other for water.
Now whenever I feel the urge My faithful Fido passes the day naked on all fours, collared and leashed.
I’ve taught him to fetch and to beg.
I mount him and ride him like a miniature pony.
At meal times, persuaded by My riding crop, My pet human animal dines from his doggy dish.
Occasionally doggy-bob is disobedient, baring his teeth and snarling in defiance. When that happens I straddle him and punish his ass with My substitute for a rolled up newspaper: a wicked cat-o’-nine-tails.
A couple of days ago I warned bob that if he continues to disobey I’m going to buy him an electric-shock dog collar.
And if that doesn’t work?
I’ve read that neutering a dog can make it more submissive.

2009 Travel Plans

So much to do.
So little time.
For starters, strictly for My amusement I’m training My collared-and-leashed slave-husband bob to be an obedient human animal.
And when I’m not issuing orders (“Fetch!”, “Heel!”, “Beg!”, “Roll Over!”), I’m firming up My travel schedule for 2009.
So far I’ve committed to two major events.
I’ll be at DomCon LA in Los Angeles from May 6 through May 10.
I’ll arrive in LA a few days earlier so I can refurbish My fetish wardrobe. LA boasts some of the trendiest fetish-wear boutiques in the U.S..
I’ll have My tender-assed subby-hubby in tow.
Maybe I can book him on the airplane as excess baggage.
bob is useless at fetish events except as My sissy servant or shopping-bag pack mule.
The problem is his near-zero tolerance of pain.
My geriatric slave hubby’s role at play parties is to observe his Mistress Wife (Me) having FemDom fun with more suitable male subs.
Fortunately, lots of solo submissive male creatures attend DomCon LA.
Throughout the week I’ll be on the prowl for a playmate or two to punish, particularly at the Friday night Play Party at Passive Arts Studios, LA’s most prestigious dungeon.
Only authentic pain-sluts need apply!
At the end of October, I’ll be off to Jamaica for that week-long fetish frenzy called Kink In The Caribbean, at the Hedonism III resort in Runaway Bay.
Later I’ll add other events to My calendar, if I can fit them in between occasional sessions with regular clients and work on My web site, Mistress Leesas FemDom Links.
If you haven’t visited My web site, do so.
On Saturdays I post a fresh gallery of “Free Pics,” featuring 20 hi-quality FemDom photos.
Every Tuesday I add ten new free pics to My “Family Album”: exclusive photos from My disciplinary sessions with subby-hubby robert (and his alter ego, sissy-maid roberta).

OWK Q&A

Senator (now President Elect) Barack Obama had an energy plan for America.
So did Sen. John McCain.
Both plans, in varying degrees, called for a heavy infusion of capital into new energy technologies, including solar, wind power and biofuels.
Decades ago The Other World Kingdom (the FemDom fiefdom in The Czech Republic) rediscovered a cheaper solution to the fossil-fuel crisis.
In the courtyard of Queen Patricia’s palace, near the outdoor pillory, there’s a wooden human-powered generator. A whip-wielding member of the Queen’s palace guard chains a pair of volunteer male slaves to the turnstile’s arms and gives the “go” order.
The slaves trudge ‘round and ‘round, producing enough electricity to heat the water in Queen Patricia’s private palace bath.
There are a lot of other cool facts about The OWK that most people don’t know.
In fact, as a Sublime Lady Citizen of The OWK, I regularly get questions (in person and by email) from male slaves and Mistresses curious about this mysterious refuge from male dominance.
The OWK, on its web site, offers a comprehensive Q&A explaining its origin, mission and activities.
But there are subtleties that slip through the cracks.
In this post I hope to remedy that, answering the trio of questions I’m most-often asked.
Q: “Is The OWK hype or a true FemDom Valhalla?”
A: It’s the real deal. Women over men.
No male creature enters without a dog collar.
Paved paths throughout the property are reserved for Females; males plod meekly beside their Mistresses on dusty (sometimes muddy) dirt trails.
If you harbor any doubts about The OWK’s authenticity, they vanish the moment you enter the Great Hall of The Long House, where most visitors lodge.
At any time of day or night there’ll likely be Mistresses publicly humiliating their male slaves in steel cages scattered around the room. (Most guest rooms also are equipped with private slave cages and St. John’s Crosses.)
You’ll see other slaves tethered to spanking benches or suspended from medieval machinery for torment; the hapless male creatures grunt and groan as their Mistresses crack whips across their reddening-to-raw asses.
Meanwhile, several Mistresses may be playing pool or lounging on the leather couches in front of the massive fireplace. They sit there sipping champagne, oblivious to the background Muzak of male moans and whimpers.
Hungry?
Stroll down the hall to U Chomouta, the pub.
Mistresses sit on chairs; male creatures crouch uncomfortably below them on tiny three-legged wooden stools.
It’s not uncommon to see a nearly-naked slave “dining” on all fours from a dog dish, slurping soupy leftover slops collected from the kitchen. (Staffed, of course, by State slaves.)
The rule is that male creatures may speak to a Mistress only when spoken to. Impertinence isn’t tolerated. For example, say I’m dining with My German Mistress friend, and subby-hubby bob speaks out of turn. She’ll ask Me, “May I?”. Then She leans over, removes bob’s eye glasses and slaps him hard across the face.
Upstairs, there’s Club Wanda, the night club where Mistresses and their slaves gather each evening for entertainment, competitions and conversation. Amid the hubbub, a Mistress may be whipping a slave manacled to a Catherine Wheel while another Lady mummifies Her male sub in plastic wrap.
The ordinary sights and sounds of The OWK: women laughing and chattering; male creatures pleading and howling, saying, “Thank you, Mistress,” after every stroke.
Q: “When is the best time to visit The OWK?”
A: The OWK offers several FemDom Weekends throughout the year. But the premier events are the three-day annual June Anniversary Celebrations and the Special Weeklong Vacation in August.
I’ve attended both events. Although their scheduled activities are similar, they vary in ambience, pace and excitement.
The majority of Mistresses who visit The OWK during the August Weeklong Vacation are amateurs. (By “amateur” I simply mean non-professionals; often these Mistresses’ expertise at corporal punishment equals the skill of a top Pro Domina).
In August I’ve met Mistresses who are judges, doctors, lawyers, business executives and scientists, as well as housewives. Most come with their lifestyle partners, either a husband or boyfriend.
I’m generalizing, of course, but I sense that these Mistresses enjoy the leisurely, unpressurized pace, in the company of similar-minded couples. At least for a week, they don’t have to conceal their FemDom relationships from friends and family.
If You’re a Mistress who fits that profile, the August Vacation may be a perfect fit.
In contrast, the June Anniversary Celebrations are more suitable for Pro Dommes.
Plenty of purely lifestyle Mistresses attend.
But the majority of Ladies are prominent Pro Dominas. Wealthy clients (who’ve paid all expenses, plus hefty fees for their Mistresses’ services) often accompany them. Other Pro Dommes visit alone. They want to meet old friends and make new ones.
It’s three days of wild FemDom partying, with hardly any sleep for anyone, amid a dozen or so events (pony-boy races, the slave egg-hunt, the slave auction, the best-whipped-male-ass contest, etc.) all squeezed into 72 hours.
At night the Women gather in Club Wanda for drinks, networking and “shop talk.” What’s the latest buzz about the Dutch government’s crackdown on S&M clubs and domination facilities? Are phoney “hookers with whips” in Germany driving real Pro Dominas out of business?
The Women’s corsets are dazzling; their day clothes on the cutting edge of Fetish fashion.
The energy level is electric.
Of course, the catalyst of much of this potent chemistry is the presence of Her Majesty, Queen Patricia 1, who reigns from Her Castle throughout the Anniversary Celebrations.
One evening, at Her Castle, Queen Patricia presides over the slave auction in Her Palace's glittering Throne Hall. Another evening, Queen Patricia invites the Mistresses to the Castle for a banquet. After a sumptuous feast, Her Royal Highness awards the title of Sublime Lady Citizen of The OWK to applicants whom She’s deemed worthy.
It’s an honor to be chosen and a nice accolade to have on a Pro Domme’s resume.
The Annual Celebrations are tailor-made for Pro Dommes.
Q: “I’m a submissive male who would like to visit The OWK but I don’t have a Mistress to go with. How can I solve this problem?"
A: Find a Pro Domme who’ll permit you to accompany Her or apply to serve as an OWK slave.
If you don’t know any Woman truly into the FemDom lifestyle, or have never visited a Pro Domme, you’re probably a pseudo sub indulging in fantasies. Save your money, stay home and wank off in your living room.
However, if you’re a sincere submissive, with some experience, try contacting a Pro Domina on the internet. A good place to start is The OWK’s own Dominity Forum.
But be forewarned.
A Mistress will expect you to pay all Her expenses (airfare, lodging at The OWK, etc.) plus your own. There’ll also be a sizeable fee for Her time and services.
The option is to apply for a position as a State, working or specialized slave. (See The OWK web site for descriptions and details.) You’ll be charged for the privilege, of course.
Working slaves sleep in spartan conditions in the loft above the human stables, where human-pony carts and wagons are stored.
Their day begins with a beating.
Slaves line up in a row in the Palace Courtyard, bend over and get their bare bottoms whipped by a member of the Queens Guard.
Then they perform their assigned menial tasks around the property.
On a volunteer basis (no one at The OWK is coerced), slaves participate in many of the special events.
For instance, at the slave auction I always interview the volunteer slaves in search of a pain-slut. If I find one, I’ll outbid the other Mistresses. Then I’ll enter My new slave (in place of My tender-assed subby hubby) in the-best-whipped-male-ass contest, bruising his butt into brutal patterns of black and blue.
Not up to being a suffering slave?
There's only one alternative left.
If you're really desperate to get to The OWK, maybe you can buy it.
Details are shrouded in the usual OWK fog, but there is evidence on the web that The OWK property is for sale.
So break open your piggy bank.
The asking price is a paltry $11,000,000.

A Second Full-Time Live-In Slave?

Every week I receive several petitions from submissive male creatures around the world begging to become My full-time live-in slave.
In response I offer My standard boilerplate:
“Hi (fill in the name):
At present, I have a live-in full-time slave so I am not accepting new applications. However, My situation may change, If it does, I’ll post My requirements for a new live-in slave on this blog. So be sure you continue reading.
Mistress Leesa”
Translated into common parlance: Thanks, but no thanks!
Training My subby-hubby bob has been trying enough.
Allowing another male creature into My domain would be as welcome as an unwanted gift pet.
But unlike a wormy drag-ass dog that never stops howling or a clawing cat determined to unravel the fabric of My universe, dropping off My new slave at an animal shelter or the local ASPCA wouldn’t be an option.
Another live-in slave?
Forget it.
At least that’s how I felt until, in a teasing mood, I broached the subject with subby-hubby bob.
“You wouldn’t mind if I took on another live-in slave, would you, bob?” I said sweetly.
“Are you crazy?,” he exploded, face flashing red then blue then red again, like a humanoid ornament atop a Christmas tree.
I punished him for his disrespectful outburst, of course, but didn’t raise the topic again.
Silently, though, I started weighing the pro’s and con’s of a second live-in slave.
Pro’s:
*subby-hubby bob hates the idea; that’s all the incentive I need to consider it.
*bob can be witty and charming; I enjoy his company and wouldn't replace him. But bob is ancient, nearly ready for the glue-factory.
A younger additional slave could inject energy and fresh surprises into our tired domestic arrangement.
Occasionally, I might have My new pet play the role of loving husband, permitting him, say, to suckle My breasts.
Meanwhile, bob seethes in his sissy-maid suit, serving us cocktails and canapés.
*bob is a certified submissive, a born female-ass kisser. But he’s a wimp when it comes to pain.
Whipping men’s asses with all the force I can muster whips Me into an orgiastic frenzy.
A second slave who’s an insatiable pain-slut would solve My problem.
*Adding a second live-in slave might offer exciting scenarios for rewards and punishments.
For instance: I fantasize placing both slaves naked on their knees in front of Me, each with his cock in his hand.
At My command they masturbate furiously. The one who orgasms first is the winner and is privileged to suck his Mistress’s painted toes,
The loser licks the cum off his rival’s cock.
*Which raises the issue of feet fetish.
A second live-in slave would definitely have to be a foot worshipper. That’s My particular turn on.
I revel in having a male-creature supine before Me, polishing My leather boots with his tongue. Then, slowly removing My boots, he massages My feet feverishly using his fingers and mouth.
Unfortunately, bob doesn’t share this fetish; nothing below the female pelvis stiffens his droopy little penis.
*I’d make sure the successful candidate for live-in slave No. 2 was hung like a horse.
bob’s clit-sized pee-pee is laughable. I have to search for it with a magnifying glass.
Now for the con’s:
*If I post My requirements for a live-in slave, a significant percentage of respondents will be foreigners. I have no bias against foreigners, but My prospective new slave must understand English.
I don’t intend to carry a whip in one hand and, say, an English-Russian dictionary in the other.
Speaking English is less important.
All any slave needs to know is “Yes, Mistress.”
*For starters, I’d have to devise a list of nonnegotiable demands, beginning with perfect personal hygiene (no dirty fingernails, rusty skid-marked underpants or tobacco-stained teeth).
I’m particularly fussy about a slave’s anus. It’s no fun whipping a male creature’s butt when I’m staring at dirty bits of toilet paper stuck to his asshole.
Prior to each punishment session slave-hubby bob must bend over and present his joy hole for My inspection. If I detect one hint of filth, I order him straight to the shower.
Happily, bob finds this ritual deeply humiliating.
*Furthermore, the new creature must understand that he is committing to a lifetime of solo masturbation, on days and at times that I decree.
I’ll usually require him to spew his sticky spunk into a condom; I detest messy male orgasms.
Would a candidate for second slave be willing to tolerate My hygienic and sexual tyranny?
*Then there’s the financial issue.
When I married hubby bob I gained complete control over both his ass and his assets.
Mistress Leesa is not a charity.
Rather, I resemble one of those doomsday cults where you surrender your worldly goods to your Goddess of Pleasure Through Pain.
No dough? You go. Your application lands in My round file,
*Next comes the administrative/legal mumbo jumbo: personal references, a thorough background check (including employment history and academic credentials) plus a physical exam.
An applicant who passes these preliminary tests must then (at his own expense) travel for a personal interview during which his compatibility, character and (especially) his ass will be tested.
The applicant would have to sign a detailed contract drawn up by My lawyers, listing his financial assets (which I'd generously agree to manage), the terms of his personal servitude to Me and My right to send his sorry ass packing, without prior notice, the moment I decide he’s unworthy.
*And finally this:
At the end of the day, despite My careful vetting, I might end up wallowing in a sea of squabbles, having to referee My slaves’ endless petty tantrums over who’s getting too little attention from Me, who has the prettier French Maid outfit, who travels with Me on trips, whose turn it is to clean the toilets with his tongue. . .
The moping, the bawling, the whining . . .
Why, I wonder, should I subject Myself to all this bother?
But then I recall the benefits.
I’m still undecided.
Anyone out there with a suggestion?
Post your comments.
I welcome them.