Preface to "The Vanilla Dominatrix" Second Edition

I've finally completed the full update of my first femdom how-to guide, "The Vanilla Dominatrix Or
Getting your wife or girlfriend to sexually dominate you." The title says it all; if you follow this blog, you'll know where I'm coming from. It's available as an epub right now. Kindle to follow shortly.

Anyhow, here's the teaser at the start, plus a nice picture from yesteryear.

About Last Night

Last night, we ate out then splashed home through the rain. My wife—my lover, my partner of many years—seemed happy but tired. Her work is demanding, and her hours long. We simply weren’t going to make love before sleep.

Luckily, I had other things to offer.

As we watched TV, I asked, “How about a massage with extras?” (That’s our code for “Let me be your slave tonight.” Sometimes she asks. Sometimes I suggest.)

“Oh, OK,” she said. “I’ll be through once I’ve found out who the murderer is.”

I left her in front of her American crime drama and hurried off to shower, shave and put on my chastity belt. I dropped the key in the bushes outside the front door—there was no way I’d want neighbors to see me blundering in the wet and dark looking for the illusive key so the chastity belt was a fixture until the morning. I hoped she wasn’t going to change her mind, which happens from time to time.

As I waited in the bed listening to the wind hammering the rain into the window, I relaxed and let go. Anything could happen in the next hour or so, but nothing I would have any say in, and nothing involving my genitals.

As her slave, I’ve experienced wild nights with whips and chains. Affectionate nights of passionate love making to which my penis was uninvited. Deliciously bleak nights where I served in silence and earned no more attention than a vibrator needing a battery change.

"She.. used... me!"

So what happened last night?

Her evening was cosy and relaxed. Sara MacLachlan on the CD player, erotica on her Kindle, a willing slave licking between her legs. Later she told me to clean up. She read something with vampires in it, then went to sleep as if nothing had happened.

My evening as as bleak and dark as the wild weather outside our home. I served her—worshiped her!—without acknowledgment, other than the click of the counter she uses to stack up demerits for a beating at some later date. She left me chaste and denied, to spend the night drifting through frustrated dreams.

Yes.

She… used… me.

Think about that for a moment.

My wife wasn’t feeling kinky, or dommish. She just wanted the vanilla benefits my slave could offer, and she enjoyed them with no consequences (except slightly sleepy husband in the morning).

Me? I got to be objectified. I got to perform oral service. I got to be denied. I got to be chaste.

I got to be a real slave.

Better yet, it was No Big Thing.

Yes, when there’s more time and energy, things are crazier, more recognizably BDSM. Sometimes there are stockings, sometimes the flogger comes out, or the dungeon iron collar.

Yes, yesterday evening could have been more dramatic, more erotic.

However, yesterday evening was merely our baseline... and what a baseline!

* * *

It wasn’t easy to get to this point. I learned some hard lessons on the way—and that’s what this book is about; sharing what I’ve learned so you don’t have to test the patience of your wife or girlfriend.

In the end, we both shaped the part-time Femdom relationship that we now enjoy. However, it would have been quicker and more satisfying if just one of us had taken charge. My other self-help book, “How to be a Roman Dominatrix” describes how she can do just that. This book, my friend, is for you, the male partner. To be honest, I’m more comfortable with that; your fantasy, you do the work!

So, if you go about it respectfully, honestly and with caution, there’s a good chance you can have what we have—not our particular Femdom relationship, but the Femdom relationship that suits you as a couple. My wife likes to be pampered, perhaps your girlfriend likes to flirt or treat you like a pet? We’re all different, there’s no off-the-shelf-solution.

Read on…