My Life as an Online Lesbian Dominatrix

An illustration of a queer dominatrix.
“I am paid to be aroused and to be myself, and it brings me so much joy.” -Mistress DreamX

Content Warning: This article contains strong language and depictions of consensual sexual acts.

By Mistress DreamX

“Mistress may I please cum for you?” he begs.

“Not yet. I want to sit on your face first. When I am satisfied, then you may,” I reply with a smirk.

“Ok, now you may cum for me. Let me see it and then clean up your mess, slut.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” he moans as he releases.

All of this is done over web camera—the physical and legal protection of which I am grateful. On camera, there are no STDs, no vice squad, and a far lower risk of being followed home by fans. Online, my clients and I explore our common kinks and sexual tastes while preserving the delicate balance of our vanilla off-camera lives. For numerous reasons, many of my clients need to keep their desires to be dominated and sexually-controlled private. They have jobs and families that may not understand. And in all honesty, so do I.

Something had always been missing from my sex life. My first sexual experiences with men left me feeling empty. When I discovered my sexual attraction to women and came out as a lesbian, I felt as though I had found the answer. But still, I didn’t feel full. It was like eating a delicious meal that has a missing ingredient—it’s satisfying and delightful, but you can’t quite put your finger on what needs to be added to make it perfect.

Most of the women I’ve dated have been very femme, shy, and submissive. I loved that combination—loved taking control and guiding them into deeper physical pleasure than they’d ever experienced before. They wept with ecstasy after intense prolonged orgasms, and I reveled in providing that service. A few of these girlfriends jokingly suggested I should be a lesbian call girl. I said that sounded like heaven.

I did miss men on occasion—not physically, but their mental worship and hunger for me. While I felt admired and loved by women, men cast off an energy of desperation, the need for release, and the desire for my power. With women, I was a lover and friend. With men, I was a sexual succubus. I missed that untamed desire and sought to find a balance where I could enjoy both.

As a result, I ended up dating a guy for a few months. It wasn’t until he tearfully admitted that he wanted to be dominated and penetrated that something inside of me clicked. I calmed his fears, assuring him that his desires weren’t wrong. But more importantly, I realized that I had found my missing piece. I am a Domme.

Out of curiosity, I talked with my exes (of both genders) for their take on my newfound identity. Each one confessed missed opportunities and secret desires of wishing that I had dominated them in bed. As I further researched the Fem Domme (feminine dominatrix) role and its history, I found myself in a constant state of arousal. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and I knew I had to explore more.

When I found out I could get paid to do what turns me on, I was ecstatic. I started my journey to becoming a professional Domme by exploring FetLife, a social networking site for the BDSM, fetish and kink community, as well as reviewing other Domme’s pages. I then researched local dungeons, contacted lawyers in my state for regulations, and paid for consultations with well-established Pro-Dommes. Through these experiences, I learned the pros and cons of different forms of sex work, the history of professional dominatrixes (dating back to ancient Greece), and how to maintain my autonomy and privacy in the field. Soon after, I began advertising for submissive clients on FetLife, as well as created an account with a phone sex company.

Now, I’m a part-time sex worker. Being an online dominatrix allows me to do what I love and make ends meet—with complete legal and physical safety—from the comfort of my own computer screen. I am paid to be aroused and to be myself, and it brings me so much joy. I love buying groceries and announcing to my household that my vagina bought us this bounty. I refuse to be shamed for being queer, for being a woman, and now, for being a sex worker. Instead, I move forward with my head held high—boots and whip in hand—dismantling the hetero/patriarchal/puritanical machine in the most creative way I know how.

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