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.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Hit by a Bus
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."
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."
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tax Season is eating up all my subbies
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.
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.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Upcoming Tentative Travel Dates for Spring
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
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
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
What Did You Say? (Literotica by Domina Vontana)
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.
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.
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