Mommy Domme, May I?

It took me a long time to come around to the idea of being a Mommy Domme. I confess, it was an abundance of ignorance that made me reticent. The reticence transmuted into insecurity which morphed into denial which then became revulsion. I didn’t understand what the kink was about, made too many assumptions and declared that water cold without so much as putting a finely painted toenail in it. With a metric fuckton of emotional labor and some exploration with a few amazing submissives came the realization that a Mommy Domme is what I have been all along.

In the early days of my training at Hellfire Club in NYC in 1997, it was clear I was a little different. I have often called myself the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer of domination, because I have always been so different from my sex worker peers. Or so I thought. Isn’t that funny how that works with some kinks? We would swear we are so different, the consummate misfit, only to one day discover that we had a peer group all along. At least, that is how it goes for the lucky ones. I wasn’t different from everyone, just everyone I had met up until that point. The internet was still a baby then, and my sample size of fetishists was limited to a few clubs I went to in lower Manhattan.

I often felt like shit about how my Dominance manifested in quiet ways. I could assert control with ease but was nearly silent in sessions. I would feel their energy as I tipped them over the edge, hurtling them into subspace and I reeled as my Flare of Dominance took me. That is how I experience my dominant energy. I don’t walk around like the Queen of fucking Sheba 24/7. A regular garden variety broad, I am quirky, often ridiculous and am usually acting like some flavor of jackass, until I get a whiff of subspace that is. Like a cartoon character floating in the air towards the pie in the windowsill, I feel the first breath of submission and instantly, the snow leopardess that lives somewhere in the vicinity of my solar plexus stirs. When I am being my regular old self, she sleeps, but when she is rousing she wakes up STARVING. My subs are as prey and I track their movements with eyes sharp and darting, heart racing, pulse in my throat, breath coming faster. My subs will tell you this is no lie. I don’t talk; I stalk. I communicate with eyes, hands and implements. Even when the scene is loving and nurturing, I am dialed into my sub with all senses, both predator and puppet master. I have them by both neck and by strings. With deft hands I manipulate their submission according to what triggers them, and I consume them. I drink in their submissive energy and feed on it until they are spent and I am sated, both parties delirious and something akin to happy.

In my early days when I was still learning about creating scenes and navigating negotiations, I knew my methods worked well for some but were hated by those who needed a more aggressive kind of play. I felt awkward and embarrassed when I failed to resonate with someone’s kinks and thought that maybe I was just really bad at what I did. I was often deeply ashamed and questioned my seat at the Table of Dominants. Eventually I found my way and learned that being kinky is an evolution as much as it is an orientation. It amazes me how after nearly three decades I am still hitting new planes of Ascension. This is my term for when I “level up” in my own estimation and unabashedly claim what I have learned was mine all along. It kinda blows my mind that in 2025 people are still feeling shameful about being kinky. I sit at the intersection of two worlds, one where people are out and proud, and the other where people are terrified, conflicted and closeted.

I am sad when others shield themselves so as not to feel the light of the kinky sun on their faces. That said, there I was just six months ago, confused and unsure about a desire of my own. A kinkster who has oscillated for her entire adult life between lifestyle and pro, who has traversed the landscape of internalized whoraphobia as well as external slut-shaming, you would think I would have this shit down pat by now. At this stage in the game when a new desire arises I should just seize it with both hands from inside myself, expose it to both light and air and examine it on all sides. But no, I still do what others I counsel resort to. I deny my kink and suffer knee-jerk embarrassment and shove that fucker down until it necrotizes, the vitriolic fluid of shame accumulating within me. In my times of stress, I do what so many do, I put on porn and masturbate.

It was during one of these Distratcibating sessions where I was searching up the usual videos to get me off, solo male or hand jobs, that I found a video that blew my brain apart. A clothed woman sits on the bed with a man sitting between her legs. She is stroking his cock as he leans against her. She caresses his erection gently and coos, “Such a good boy, you are so good for Mommy.” I was simply stunned. Here it was, in technicolor, the very thing I wanted to do with so many of the men I watched stroke for me, only she was using the “M” word that never failed to freak me the fuck out. I had participated in exactly this scenario hundreds of times in person and virtually, and it would excite and arouse me, but if they called me Mommy, my skin would crawl, and I would simultaneously get turned on and want to throw up. I would inevitably have some powerful orgasms thinking about the session later, but while my body rocked with pleasure, that black fluid within me would also spill into my organs and I would feel so conflicted and disgusted with myself.

This situation repeated itself enough times and got so uncomfortable and painful I reached a point where I had to really sit with my feelings over it. I returned to the Mommy porn that was working for me, and masturbated again, in an effort to locate the nexus of my need and finally embrace it. I found that same video again, and then another, and I picked every single thing that triggered arousal apart. I honed in on what I liked, and what I didn’t and narrowed my search strings. I fantasized and I fucked myself.

In my mind’s eye I saw nebulous figures of every gender feeling safe cuddled against my body. I imagined them feeling safe, loved, desperately horny, wanting to demonstrate their submission and eager to receive the praise I had long wanted to shower them with. Shame gave way to joy, the lightbulb went off, the epiphany came, and so did I. I got it. I understood. This is me, at my purest and finest. I have love to give, and I want you to feel safe and deserving as I give it to you. The revelation makes me want to cry even now. I am not faking my way through my sessions. I am not pantomiming a role. I am Mommy.

Mommy sees you and cares. I understand why you need what you need, and I am here to celebrate your wins, comfort your losses, and help you course correct through your mistakes. I am unconditional in my love, and I will never, ever turn my back on you. This was always how I saw myself as a sensualist Domme, this is just a subcategory of a facet of that to me.

I struggled for so long with it because I thought Mommy Domme play was solely the milieu of age play and incest, and for some that works, and no kink shaming here it just doesn’t for me. My reasons are complicated, but valid. Cancer stole my fertility and every time I was called Mommy, I would think of the kids I wanted who never came into being. It was a cruel reminder of what I could never truly be. I would also get scared because on some of the platforms I work on, the term is banned and to lean into it would mean potentially losing a valuable income stream, I HAD to shut that shit all the way the fuck down, instantly. Anxiety rose every time I was called that, and the anxiety fed my already conflicted feelings. Some platforms I am on now do allow it, but not for age play and incest as those are always Terms of Service violations. We can be called Mommy as a term of endearment, and the play is sensual, loving and warm. In truth, many of the people who seek it want just exactly that. I am called Mommy because there isn’t even a hint of a concept in existence where there is a figure who will be unconditionally nurturing for men to seize hold of. Sexual desire comes from an inherently vulnerable place, and many need a safe space to be their truest sexual self. In the heteronormative world, men are both protector and provider to their partners. Toxic masculinity ruins the party for everyone, and many seek a release valve in the form of a loving figure who will allow them to put their head in their lap and assure them that everything is going to be ok. Many want to experience respite, relief from the pressures of their lives, and have the orgasm too. I can’t fucking blame them honestly. For my part, it heals a part of me to do this. The maternal energy within me that seeks to heal with my love has an outlet. Within this D/s dynamic, we are both getting what we need.

Day after day I see people in pain, and I want to take it away. I want to smooth their hair and their hurts, hold them to my body, help them take space from the cold, cruel world. My years as a virtual Domme helped me find my words, and now I help others find theirs. I have found what heals me through kink and with everything in me I want to help people find their way, sexually and otherwise.

I want to be safety, sanctuary, and haven. I want to put Band-Aids on the wounds of the psyche, dry tears of frustration that fall, and afford people rest and peace. This isn’t exclusive to men. I yearn to do the same for women too. It is easier for women to ask for comfort, and we rely on each other for emotional support. Women have been given the green light by society to ask our partners or friends and family for a hug. Women have emotional agency where men have sexual agency and ofttimes a man copes with his dick in his hand. Many men think they want an orgasm when being held and told it’s going to be ok is really what they need. Women seek community where men will seek a sex worker.

I am a Mommy of my own making, and I invite all who need me to lay their head in my lap. I loved being a professional cuddler, and if I could be more assured of my safety, I would do it again in a heartbeat. I have spent my life taking care of others one way or another. As a funeral director I cared for the dead and the grieving and learned how to hold space for pain. My experience as a vet tech only furthered my capacity for compassion. Cancer compromised my immune system, and both of those professional doors are now closed to me, due to exposure to the public as well as chemicals and radiation. I pivoted, went back to sex work and counseling and started the business I have today.

All the time I have spent as a Domme, navigating sex and kink, complicated relationships, abuse and trauma, grief and pain have made me uniquely qualified to blend my worlds. While I have four degrees in different areas of psychology and biology, the advice I give is not taken from a book but from lessons learned at the School of Hard Knocks. I have stumbled over rocky terrain and now I turn around on the path seeking to hold aloft my lantern to light the way for those coming after me. Kink has always been a part of Pride because our unique pathways to sexual or emotional gratification are hard wired within us. We can’t change who we are. I will find first myself, and then help you do the same.

Many people are exposed to kink only through porn, and the representation there is as accurate to real life as Game of Thrones is to a Tuesday in Minneapolis, yet assumed to be a reflection of real life. As Gen Z matures, many have been viewing porn at an age where my generation didn’t even know the nudie mags we would get off to even existed yet. Dopamine receptors are burned out and vanilla sex videos quit being of interest before they are even out of high school. I call the diving into porn involving more extreme sex play and kink, “The Escalation”. At some point the videos that get someone off are so far removed from reality and the exposure to it so frequent that by the time an individual reaches an age to authentically have sexual interactions with another person, that stimuli is no longer satisfying. Loneliness abounds and shame accumulates. I am here to be the bridge between fantasy and reality and to help people explore and unpack what fires their sexy little synapses.

A woman of many faces, I become who they need me to be, a Hecate of kink. Dominant Guide, lover and friend, or Mommy, whomever they call upon is who shows up. And show up I do, with joy and gratitude and delight. My occupation is now my vocation. If I had all the money in the world, I would do it for free. What remuneration I do accept keeps my lights on, my fridge full, and allows me to be present and ready for the people who need me, when they need me. When the hurts of the world are too much my heart is as open as my arms, and for those with whom the term resonates, Mommy’s here.

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