Domina Vontana

The Thanksgiving Blog that was Lost is Now Found

2010-12-01T04:18:00.001-08:00

This ones coming at ya a day late. It's called a holiday and one of only about five days a year I actually manage to relax and take some time off, meaning mental down time. Watched a couple of terrific movies (check my twitter for links) and cooked my first turkey. Did a damn fine job too if I do say so. I love, love being in the kitchen creating with and for dear ones. I don't cook, I feed people is the mantra around here. Thus why I need a smaller place, so less dishes.

Mistress Ava is coming to the studio on Monday to celebrate her birthday. I'm attempting to convince her to let me administer the birthday spankings. Yeah right good luck with that, she's practically a professional negotiator. You know a kid is good when she's doing interrogations with the hostess in the black marble wet room within the first month.

I'm contemplating a compilation: Scenes from a Dungeon, a collection of writings from myself and my professional associates. I'm tired of emotional tramps pimping out my lifestyle at a lucrative, unscrupulous young age. Whores. I'll show you who's in charge around here. We are and it's about time We started using our voices in and out of the dungeon.

Guess who's working on her first column deal? Syndicated in seven US cities. Ooops, the cat is out of the bag and here she is America, Your Ambassador of Kink, America's Top Domme - Mistress Vontana. Now ask me a question: about your personal love/sex/family/social life and I'll do my best to guide you via the internet. I hope. Cross your fingers and say a prayer. Fags are flighty and I'm going to have to get pretty sticky to catch this one and as the ermine with the dirty paws once said “I suppose it was inevitable after all” but why not let history repeat itself? I love old stories. Here's to dirt between our toes once again. Cheers.

And the return of $250 session. Oh yeah. Starting December 1 every Monday, Wednesday and Friday in Rockville. Walk ins welcome. No appointment necessary, just call ahead. 11am-8pm.

For three long years you all have suffered flesh and wallet to help me achieve some of the highest standards possible in such a bizarre trade. I have, from the start, operated 1000% independently. The majority of my training occurred on the hospital floor and inside the classroom walls of community, church and state. My distinct advantage however, is my spiritual nature. I was trained as a priest from the age of 5. I'm given to empathetic catharsis and bouts of astonishing insight. I have a formal and intimate knowledge of human physiology and am capable of acutely adjudicating your naked body when before me. It is the key to the psyche. The body does not lie. The puzzle complete, I begin unlocking your boxes with my skills. Anyone who will heed my advice is often better for doing so, myself included.

I value discipline and want more of it in my life. I'm a social misfit, part time recluse and a stunner who is at home on the stage and in the dungeon. All that for just $250/hr starting again December 1 again. Extended session still available, discounted and preferred. This crazy life, it's getting easier. I'm getting better at handling it all, I'm able and capable of taking on more and so I am including several new monthly events starting with the free Ministry of Kink Rope Salon on Dec 20 and yes the brand spanking new happening 5500 sf space don't hurt neither. Next to metro. Did I mention that? Thanks to all my friends who make it possible.

Open model call all day Monday. I repeat open model call Monday. I'll be in my office down the hall all day. Ladies gents and inbetween are welcome to stop in and sign up on my list for emails, job offers and events. If you wish to participate in the fetish model call on Monday you must register at www.fetishfashiondc.com.

I am now in the habit of receiving several solicitations per day, mostly request for creative direction, modeling and referrals of other fetish models for custom, paid, private photography shoots here at CirqueDC. These assignments are intense, authentic power exchange experiences directed and performed by me that are captured in live action on camera, in detail. Scenes are slow, respectful and genuine submission is expected and desired from the model I'm working with. It's no longer sufficient just to be another pretty face. If you want to set yourself apart from the pack, make something happen. That is what we are interested in first and foremost. It's emotional pornography, in stills. Show us your spirit

Inception

2010-11-30T19:28:00.000-08:00

I really wish I wasn't at home right now writing this, but sometimes I get sucked into this world so deep, I forget to surface, before I remember I'm suppose to breath.

So there it was, open air, modern market place. Maybe a mall. Maybe sub EurAsia.

Shes alone. She's practically skipping across the tiled halls. The women are laughing. The children are smiling. Everyone is shopping.

Then the gun blasts begin. Bullets flying past their faces, destroying cases of glass and finery.

She's moving again, sucked into the store front from which the army of madness is marching forth.

Big men, big guns, even bigger boots. She gauges the value of her life in the current situation and seeks shelter. Peddling her heels as fast as she can, she can't seem to find enough room under the cash register to hide all of herself from the destroyers. Surely he will see her as she can see him running by now and he will look at her feet and without a moments deliberation he will shoot and kill the woman he once knew, who loved him.

Instead...

YANK! at that moment my head is lifted out of the memory, my face removed from the pillow, as if some angel of mercy is pulling pulling puuuuling me by the hair at the back of my head, back up from the malignant darkness to the surface so I can breath again.

Breath. Breath. Gasppantchoke Breath!

That wasn't a dream. That was a nightmare. Her first. That wasn't a dream. It was a memory. Someone else's. His.

The experience was so real she lies awake in the dark transfixed by her own altered state, listening to her own breathing to reestablish normal boundaries, so grateful to not be there anymore, in that place, in that moment, watching those men do those things, hearing the women's screams.

PTSD like symptoms set in immediately and she knows they will pass quickly like the nightmare, and maybe only last til dawn. It's happened before. Sometimes her body just does that, it mimics the mood around here. It's not the first time shes experienced another's memory but it's by far the worst one so far. "No more!" She cries into the darkness "It's over" Thats what you get little bitch for when you say the pen is mightier than the sword.

In the middle of the nightmare memory morning her lover returns. Her lips struggle to submit and she whimpers "Daddy" just before she crushes herself into his embrace. "There there" he says with a reinforced smile. Pat pat on her head. Smile. Tears begin to fall.

He knows it's not her fault. She was born this way. A seer. A seeker. A mind like an antenna. So he knows that she knows it was real. And so it is. And as the tremors die down and the other's memory of a time and place she never experienced until tonight, slowly slips from her subconscious physiology back to the secret bunker were demons of destruction and death are stored, he begins to stroke, stroke, stroke the soft back of her neck whispering sweet words of love.

She produces a tiny purr, and he slips inside her. For the first time, ever, she doesn't come. She doesn't want to. She's not herself tonight. Another borrowed her soul and tried to subdue her spirit. So tonight, just fucking and fucking being alive is enough.

And with each graduated rhythmic thrust, she resist the urge to recoil and reminds herself of the fact that she still believes what she said was true. And she still believes the pen is mightier than the sword and she still believes. She still believes. She still believes. He comes. Rest.

Rules of Engagement - What NOT to do to score the session of your dreams

2010-11-28T13:43:00.000-08:00

I think every Domme has one of these, a rant page, so here is mine. Let’s hope I don’t reveal too much of the submissive’s personal information. I would just hate for him to be exposed for the worthless waste of time he really is.

Now as some of you may know I sure am not in the habit of hating on anyone, in general, except of course in private and in the company of my dearest companions who generally share my opinions.
This matter, however, must be brought to light so that others may learn, other potential submissives and other Dommes who are kind, generous and skilled enough to make their professional services available to those in need.

Confession: I’m most angry at myself, for not seeing this cubby bullshitter for the liar he truly was from the start…ever meet one of those men who always complains about women and then up and pull the same bullshit themselves? Then you stop wondering why there so mistreated and if you’re like me you figure out really quickly that it’s all their fault. No really, when what you bitch about is what you do, you get what you deserve dumbshit.

So his deal is he’s probably secretly ashamed of his desires and so he’s remained single and uses meeting with ProDommes as a way to transfer all his selfagro. He claims not to be submissive, just kinky. I mean all he wants is needles put through his dick and electrodes shoved up his weewee so yaryaryar yeah not submissive at all…freak. Yeah I called him a freak. Not for what he wants, but how he feels about it.

So he promises a 1000 session. Not unusual this time of year. But he needs a special piece of equipment. Something electrical. Well, although I historically do not work on Sundays, it’s his only day available to session so with less than 24 hrs notice I make an exception. I spend my morning off running around town taking to sex shop owners, leveraging my professional relationships and trying to make a deal on behalf of said submissive for the part he claims he needs now.

Well it doesn’t happen. No parts, but said sub claims he wants something regular with a reliable pro who will accurately represent herself and not “rip him off” like all these other ladies who promise something then don’t deliver. So I invite him to meet for brunch and discuss the details.

I drag along my laptop. We spend over 30 minutes online together shopping for equipment and discussing my space, skills, interests and his. Then said sub claims he’s not available at all this month (first I’ve hear that) and that he doesn’t want to buy any equipment (then what exactly did we meet for and why have we been online shopping on my laptop for all this time).

Then he got up and left.

I followed that son of bitch out to his car and said, look here and listen up buddy, what you wanna complain about all those other Dommes doing is exactly what you are doing right now so however people are treating you and whatever your complaints, you are getting exactly what you deserve.

The end.

So for future reference, if you are a potential client of a ProDomme and she shops all over town on her day off for the piece of equipment you need and you claim to want something steady and she ask you to meet to discuss details of the arrangement and you two spend time shopping online and then you get up and leave without making something happen then YOU SUCK MAJOR ASS YOU PIECE OF WANKING SHIT.

And for the record, yeah, I did know the guy. He was not UN known but obviously not know enough, at least not by me. Asshole. And yeah anyone who wants a lead on this puffed up piece of cheap promises, drop me a line. I’ll send you everything I’ve got. The pen is mightier than the sword. Don’t ask for special favors when all you got to offer in return is BOGUS. Especially on Sunday, the day of rest for the Goddess.

I even wanted to give him credit towards the tribute for any equipment we bought and shared.

All I want for Christmas is an Eros Tek.

All of It - P.S. my blogs will never be perfect

2010-11-18T09:36:00.000-08:00

This is me blogging. This is me blogging because I’m a good girl and I’m practicing discipline and I know what it takes for me to be successful and I want to succeed and I believe in leading by example. Yar yar yar. Human example.

Here’s what I think: that I’m barely old enough to remember true desire. A time without cell, phones internet or DVR. We got three channels, that’s right count ‘em three. And one of us three kids had to stand and hold a hand out the wind to adjust the sky high metal antennae if we wanted the last channel to come in clear.
Any image that came to my mind came from either my wild imagination fueled by countless biblical tales, or it came from pictures. Pictures I had to hunt down. Images I had had to earn. If I wanted to see what the Cistine chapel looked like I couldn’t just flip and on switch, throw out a yawn and lean back in my chair and watch it all happen before me on 360 degree virtual tour.

To earn such an image I had to get up, get dressed, walk over to the library, spend minutes, maybe hours, thumbing through the hard copy library file of subject, author and title cards til I found what I wanted. You just had to take your best guess, bug the hell out of the librarian and make sure you always knew where THAT section of the encyclopedias was located.

What you young kids call desire today (there, I said it, you young kids) is really just craving. You also don’t know what dreaming is…the internet and designer drugs have killed that for you too. Instant gratification is your enemy. Pleasure is your alley. Pleasure requires discipline. The older I get the more I approve of military school for minors. Yikeseez!

And it’s funny because all this is exactly how I feel about blogging too…

Why should anyone spend their precious time reading something I might not have given any thought to that took only a moment and a click to globally publish? Because time is precious and reading is a gift from above. Everytime I pick up a book I’m reminded of the magical worlds that I entered repeatidly on the pages when I was young and could spend all my time reading. Someday, I may be rich enough that I can afford to do that again and leave the rest to wage earners and how wonderful would that be?

Instant publishing -that’s good for writers like me who tend to pull it out of their ass all in one big SWOOSH early in the morning (yes writing is very much like taking a big dump) but from the rest of you it results in a lot of mediocrity. There I said it, mediocrity. Like shit. Shit writing. And my inner critic is a seethe. He can’t stand your slop. So much of what is out there, even between the coverbacks at Borders, is often so, er, mindless? How can so many words mean nothing and go no where and not entertain but produce a profit? Oh yikes Lord I’m begging for a renewal of taste and quality. We are treating our minds like were treating everything else – fast food. Ugh.

You people always want to hear from me, well the reason you don’t is because I sit around all day stewing in my mind and thinking about these things. I’m really concerned about Americas youth. I can’t help it. I train for a living. Discipline-good or bad-is my life. And now these young ones come along and want a personal position and they get it because they are not obligated by things like jobs or families just money and school and so I have been realizing a few things as I’ve struggled in the past year or two to do two things at the same time – refine my discipline and attempt to train and discipline the most unruly, immature, selfish, clueless crew of social misfits I have ever dreamt up. Really! Finally one day it came down to this with these kids: YOU DON’T SHARE MY VALUES. But really, how could they? They just weren’t raised the same and now I fear that no one, not even my children, will ever understand or experience the sweet slowness of wandering until you find your elusive dream or the giant satisfaction that comes with finally finding what you always knew was always out there-somewhere. Then you find it!

Yes I am an elitist. Yes I will tell if your stuff stinks. If you ask. And don’t ask unless you want the truth. Yes I’m a critic and a dilettante. My particular expertise lies in secret and always will. On the surface I have only my witness to offer. I have seen and understand much. I have the experience and power to do this because by the Grace of God I am a Goddess, so why should I toil away dedicating my efforts to a single output when instead I could organize legions of crafty, skilled slaves and have them wage creative wars for me all the time fuck fuck fucking your merry little hearts out all along until we’ve created something great?

Or in my case PLAYING the heart out because frankly I’m too conservative to be or handle a slut. There I said it, I’m a conservative and I’m not a fan of the slut lifestyle. Slut is a mindset. I got a big slut-BETWEEN MY EARS. I don’t do orgies. I don’t even like threesome. There I said it I’m bi and I don’t like threesomes. I like it one on one. Mono y mono.

Had a convo with Vassel up at the studio yesterday. These young kids…back to that again…remember the good ole days when a guy could spend weeks waiting to hear back from a Domina and in the meanwhile all he could do was wait? Yeah well I think that is where learning to serve begins. Turns out I don’t really believe anymore that just because these young kids could, that they should SERVE. Not now. Right now they need to be getting educations and getting married just like you did (I’m still working on the marriage part, maybe) so that later down the line they can determine whether or not they need kink badly enough to put it all on the line. PAY YOUR DUES YOU LITTLE BITCHES. Find out what service really means, get your bratty incandescent self out of the way and learn to give until you empty yourself out on to the floor. Sure I could beat you til you do, but where’s the pleasure in that? Anger is not sexy. You should do it because you want to because if you don’t your head may explode followed by your heart. What the fuck kid, who the hell do you think you are?

Yeah that and some other things are exactly what I’ve thought over the past several months and just now can I put any or all of it to paper. More along the lines of my recent ruminations…

Do we have time for one more?

Dominant men. Conscious vs. unconscious. It’s true. I like to play around with dominant men. Who else is going to give me a worthy challenge? And it’s true, you all know what I’m talking about – the difference between one who gets it and one who don’t. Ones who do, they go leather or at least D/s usually. If you’re lucky, all the way they go and with you , whoohoo! But they can still be an asshole. Hopefully they will acknowledge it at least. But dominant men who lead unconscious vanilla lives, they are the penis packing equivalent to the psyco crazy bitch. So men, get your stuff in line because nothing is more disheartening than a puss of a dominant. And it’s a really pussy move not to come out and be conscious.

Went and saw the eye doctor yesterday. She was cute. I’m often made fun of because I wear sunglasses just about everywhere all day long night and day. They are also the classic oversized jackieO style digs so I usually get way noticed. Well as she peered into my eyes with her bright light in the dark little room (did I mention she was Asian, and hot too) she pulled back and said wow, your eyes are light through and through. I said what does that mean. She said It means that not only is the front of your eye light – the part you can see – but so is the back, by the retina. It means you are going to be significantly more light sensitive than your friends with darker eyes, like brown. I smiled knowing I had been right all along to do what I had done. Not to mention that artificial light fucking sucks. And not to mention that apparently, like all my Hebrew lovers already know, I’m Arian through and through. There I said it. Big taboo. Bad girl.

In closing I would like to say Listen up, this is your mother’s milk speaking; I am fond of ritual. One of my rituals is to listen to praise and worship music on the radio on Sunday mornings while I prepare for church services. A few times Ariel from TNG has crashed at my pad on a Saturday night after a party and in the morning when I do my superman twirl and pull out of my back bedroom some clark kent style and hit the door for praise songs and prayers, he always remarks on how incredible it is and calls me “a good little church girl” Someone asked me not to recently why I do what I do on the 7th or the first day of every week, depending on what type of calendar you claim. And I said because every Sunday of my life til the age of 12 this is what I did. I have been trained. This is what preachers’ kids do on Sundays-they get up, get dressed and go to church.

In closing at this moment I would like to say that it is early on a Sunday morning and the early winter sun rays are warming the East and south facing sides of the buildings and I am nestled in the oversize, down filled cushions of this couch and I have determined it is time to open back up again. Because in the four years that I have been recovering from the first round of blows, some of y’all have stepped up and showed me what COULD happen, if I don’t get back in the ring and honey: jaded is NOT sexy frozen is NOT sexy DRY is not sexy. So here goes. Turns out my first bi-queen performance ever (look it up) was to the tune “Dirty” by Christina Aguilera. There’s a fighter. I think I choose that one because I got to wear leathers and carry a motorcycle helmet on stage while hundreds of women screamed my name at Apex nightclub in DC.
I always write the last paragraph first.

Ministry of Kink Podcast Coming Soon!

2010-09-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

I get asked a lot what I'm up to - well now you know. I've been busy since mid-July putting together a plan with some of my dearest, kinkiest friends for a podcast show including British Lucky Paul, Professor Oni, Sasha Shame and my favorite slave Shiv2serve. Actually - multiple shows! All coming to you from our headquarters here in Washington DC at Sly Horse Studios. I am your hostess and producer, Domina Vontana, a professional Dominatrix and lifestyle Mistress based in the Nation's capital who is dedicated to truth, freedom and good times. I hope you will stay tuned and contribute your ideas, energy and listening ears as we begin to explore thoughts, feelings and ideas related to kink and how it relates to the larger world.

Click Here to Download the Audio Clip

I Got My Smile Back

2010-08-24T12:59:00.000-07:00

I've always known, items show up in the strangest places. Like the bag of panties under the hotel room, the bag I left behind. I suppose now I would suppose he took them, and wore them, without my consent. Violator.

Next I'm asleep on the couch, a decade later. He's cleaning his guns and watching a reality television show about survival. I'm in service mode, tired, and numb. The slide of the clip wakes me from a dead sleep and he
grins his evil knowing grin. I slink to the floor and push my head against his leg. He pets me, and then it happens, three minutes later.

I find my smile again. Where did you go? There you are? Welling up from deep inside and all is well anymore. Again. And suddenly whatever evidence of others I encountered in my cleaning, because you always do, doesn't matter as much to me like it did a moment before.

Fast forward a few and the new candidate is the youngest one yet. What the fuck? So I take a turn on Uncle Pauls lap, as I'm apt to do several times a year, and then there it is again. After BLP shows the young man how to hold me in his arms against his chest, grasping my hip first, then stroking my hair, then pushing my head all the way down beneath his chin. Then the breathing exercises that help circumvent my anxiety and then there it is again. I got my smile back.

My favorite time is always the second time around, because if you can get it again, then you know you can get it for good.

Thanks to my friends, now I know where to go when I loose my smile to find it again. Turns out a little petting is all this kitten needs to make her purr again.

Today Madam returns from travel, Adam arrives from Montana, I get to see my two puppies for the first time in 8 months, Abe turns 20, Shiv is working overtime on the temple, and I'm about to make a chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting. You know it's good when there's time to blog and bake.

Movin' on up....

2010-06-04T11:02:00.000-07:00

New vow: from now on I will curse only on the page, never in person. So
suck it.

Tell me what you want to hear. I mean it. I'm tired of making this shit
up. The experimenting process is a phase I'd just rather skip at this
stage of the game. Themes include adulthood, exposure and mortgages.
Wtf. When did I grow up? Just yesterday I was a kid with a head full of
dreams. Somehow, mostly by the grace of Goddess, I found my way into the job of my dreams – a world were I could create constantly, touch people
deeply and have a ball doing it.

Then the reality of being a sex worker hit. No I'm not a prostitute. I
do not offer any direct extras, sexual contact, oral, hand, machine. You
name it, I don't do it. Doesn't make a damn difference to the psychos.
And there's a lot of you out there. You all call me Mistress and treat
me like a whore. Stop. You're missing it. Misogynist.

I've come out several times in my life now. First as queer, then as
kinky, then as a Pro Domme. Now I'm coming out again, this time about
being a person who has experienced sexual and physical assault,
stalking, verbal and emotional humiliation at the hands of lovers and
family. I've never once been stranger raped or beat by someone I didn't
say “I love you” to on a regular basis too. I've always said, if you can
make it through the first chapter of the story, you deserve the happy
ending.

Who I am and what I have experienced doesn't make me a Domme or any more or less special than the rest of the planet. Destiny is what makes me a
Domme. I'm the one who chose the rough patches. I was taught the high
road is difficult but it's the only road. Then I went and occasionally
mistook turmoil for rough terrain. There's a difference between a storm
outside your window, and the nightmare in your bed. Now I try to choose
the storm. I like to reside in the eye and sleep peacefully at night.

I don't know what it's like for the rest of the world, but when I look
around it's difficult to find anyone at all who hasn't experienced some
kind of abuse. So stop blaming what you do or don't fucking do on what
did or did not happen. I hate winers. I'm an emotionally domineering
strict refined particular old guard D/s Mistress who has had it with the
bullshit in this business. I'm doing what every specialized sought after
professional does during a economic crisis – I'm raising my standards
and my rates. Announcing the new space. Details to follow.

So what I as a professional seek at this time is a subject who will set
aside some time, save some money and make it special. In the meantime
you should know better than to use sexual, explicit, personal or D/s
language outside of a scene. Unless you're 24/7 lifestyle and wear my
collar, just call me Miss Vee. Calling me anything else is a privilege
that can only be earned, not bought. Otherwise during the spontaneous
script that is O/ur scene you will have the chance to say whatever you
need to say and I will say whatever I like, most likely whatever will
get you to obey the fastest.

I'm not your girlfriend. Any time you spend with me will require a
deposit. I'm not here to be friends with the World, I'm here to build
the best stable that has ever been and I'm only interested in men of
that level of service and devotion. Otherwise, I have something better
and easier to go do. Training human beings is hard fucking work. And I
love it.

Hit by a Bus

2010-04-11T15:56:00.000-07:00

Let the bus theme roll on...why not?

So I'm five. Yes five. And my father, Goddess bless his wild soul, bought me my first motorcycle when I was four. It was a bright yellow, 50cc three wheeler. Yep the kind of vehicle later outlawed due to how dangerous it was - always tipping over.

Well for me that was the joy of it all. I would lash on my matching yellow helmet with the smurfette sticker stuck on the front and got whizzing around the trailer park raising hell and causing terror. My favorite game was to chase down the gang of roving bicycle boys, all twice my age and size, and pop a wheelie, catch their back tie, and then ride piggy-back all the way around the drive. Them howling in despair because they couldn't out pedal me. Me devilishly grinning while I took control of a boy and his toy twice my age. Hmmm...leaves little to wonder about the here and now huh? Seriously that look of abject fear in their eyes as they cast furtive glances back over their shoulder while I drove them faster down the lane with my engine, their buddies falling behind due to laughter and windedness...it made sense to me. I could so I did and no one got hurt. Well at least not me anyways.

The first time we took it out to the dirt hills behind the trailer park, Pop drew a line in the sand and said "Start here." My brother, 17 months my junior, did as told. Me? I took that thing and flung it back to the furthest edge of the sand lot then let her rip - flying past the starting line already at full speed. When I hit the mound I was airborne and fell. It wasn't the fist time. Tree branches and horsebacks are good for flying too and I grew up on or in both. Little cowgirl. Little monkey. Where I grew up, it was nothing unusual, it was the norm. But yeah I was probably the only four year old motorized blond bumble bee terrorizing the local boys club. But someone had to...

Later on at that same place, I would kiss my first girl, have my first orgasm (age 4 auto erotic stimulation), watch my first stampede saunter by cows head swinging low, mewing. I would witness my 5 year old male friend tied to a chair and his mouth covered with duct tape because his mother was gone and his older brother said he talked too much. Later I watched that same friend walk down the blacktop, outside our park fence. I called to him. He said "I'm running away" I called my mom. When we go the double wide I asked her how they separated the two pieces and she said with a knife. All i knew were steak knives. I couldn't imagine such a tedious task, even at that age. I made dandelion tea and counted teh cracks on the sidewalk, making sure to never step on one, lest I crack my mother's back. And other days jumping right on the line.
I saw my first porn. In a shed, we were led, her and I by the older boys, teenage boys. the big brothers of the boys I bothered. Nothing happened that day. Later one of them tried. He threatened me with an imaginary snake. I didn't go for it. He left. I've never liked the stuff. Porn that is. or Snakes.

We took that motorcycle with us when we moved. It was much different riding in town. I naturally had to break most of the rules just to have a good time on the back of my bike like I was used to. We lived walking distance from the elementary school. I went to half day kindergarten in the morning and love my teacher Ms. Rusk. In the afternoon I rode my motorcycle. One afternoon I pulled out of our driveway like I wasn't suppose to right into the path of an oncoming bus full of day students. Teh grill nearly capsized my yellow 50cc three wheeler, but a melting patch of Wyoming spring time ice lubed my wheels and saved the day. We all skidded to the ground and slowed down together, the elderly bus driver nearly fainting on the spot and me and my bumblebee stuck to the grill like a dying insect. My father was dispatched by my mother from inside. Outside laying on my side, I'd began to cry. Pop picked me up, set my bike right then put me on the ground, pointed at the bike and said, "Get back on and ride."

Tax Season is eating up all my subbies

2010-04-07T10:42:00.000-07:00

okay so losing sleep it taking it's toll on my vanity

running a lot and loosing weight and getting summer time fit is fun

working a lot because I'm so excited about my current projects is
rewarding as well. This weather right now in Washington is pardon my
french fucking gorgeous. July temperature and April breezes along the
Mount Vernon trail.

But staying up all night and then running all morning and then working
all day is beginning to give me bags under both my eyes. And I need new
glasses. Don't we all?

Time for a trip to bluemercury. A gift card in any amount and I meet you
for lunch later this we because I need eye cream and we all need a break
from this cycle. Special preference for a newbie. It is spring time
after all. Evil cackle.

Upcoming Tentative Travel Dates for Spring

2010-04-02T15:45:00.000-07:00

Austin, Texas- April 22-26
Columbus, Ohio- End of June

If you wish to be considered to be my sub for play when I'm in town, e-mail me at dominavontana@gmail.com or visit my website at www.dominavontana.com and send an application for submission on my contact form. I need to know well in advance because I already have a tight schedule. In the meantime, you may stay in touch with me through the blog. xxooDV

What Did You Say? (Literotica by Domina Vontana)

2010-03-31T18:58:00.000-07:00

Two years too long. War is a long way away. Life moves on, like a bus. W/e were there on the bus with the Mistress, a tall lean blonde Goddess with piercing green eyes and a laughter that could fill the room. There were a few dozen of us in service on that trip, enough to fill most of the seats, when they boarded our bus and when he came for her at last.

He was well over six feet tall, with black steely pupils and a smile that never surfaced. No one knew who he was...no one but she...so they came for her one day and with a typical nonchalant toss of her hair and shake of her shoulder she said with a smile, "I'll be right back." She said it to him, she said it to us, she said it to herself.

According to the man's accusations Mistress had posted something online that was unacceptable. Something the black eyed man didn't appreciate. We helped Mistress search for the offensive material, but nothing was visible.

We waited, in the dark, on the bus, in downtown DC along the river while he took her by the wrist and led her off the bus and into the bushes. The other slaves sang songs and made jokes with one another to pass the time. I wrote in my journal and gazed out the window in the direction she had disappeared.

What seemed like only a moment later Mistress returned. Her knees were dirty, he skirt was torn. Her tail was swinging a little and her smile was unmistakable. It was the same smile she had after playing with a slave or two. But what was the dirt on her knees? Who tore that skirt...did she tell him that's what she wanted? It was in fact her duplicity that kept us all mesmerized of her mastery.

She followed the man to the back of the bus and sat down backwards in the seat infront of him and began chatting with his traveling companions in a very nonchalant manner. She was a tremendous flirt and a charmer. She turned to the tall mystery man, made one final comment we couldn't hear, and then returned to join us, her stable, at the front of the bus. Mistress was giggling and touching our heads. At some point later she turned to gaze at the man again, but he was gone. He had gotten off at one of the many stops the bus had already made, this time without saying goodbye, again.