War Ship

I recently stumbled across a new fragment of myself. The more I dig at it, and brush away the debris and dirt, the larger the discovery is. It was like pulling on the corner of an errant piece of cloth in a sand dune, and eventually unearthing an entire Spanish war galleon- sail first.

I am Jack’s confusion and curiosity- an amateur archaeologist, delving down through the layers of sand and igneous rock and organic detritus inside of me. Buried beneath the strata of time and misunderstanding, I am coming to realize that the galleon was always there, that it was always a part of me. It may have all started from pulling on the corner of a sail- but now that it’s been disinterred, it simply cannot be ignored.

Since the age of ten or eleven, I’ve used different words to describe myself in my private thoughts and reveries. I’ve always written to rein in and understand my wild mind better. I would often describe myself as “just a hippie”, or someone who “loves to love people”, and that my “heart wants to love everyone”. I had friends tell me consistently that they thought they loved me romantically throughout middle school and into high school. I craved to understand those I even remotely cared about. I would relish when they allowed me into their heads, when they were vulnerable enough to share their traumas and their joys, and I would listen to them and talk to them for hours, doting on them gently. All to then find I was suddenly head over heels for them.

I never acted on what I might have wanted at any given time. I was always strictly monogamous and unerringly faithful in all of my romantic relationships. But there was always a tug on my heart from other directions, even while I was deeply in love with one partner. I felt these deep, passionate stirrings about the friends and classmates I cared most about in my life, and I felt immense, crushing guilt. It didn’t seem normal. I didn’t feel normal. I thought I was broken and wicked and that there was something deeply wrong with me. I just had to suppress and stifle and work through it in silence… right?

When I tried to hesitantly voice these feelings to friends and family, they seemed confused but were quick to reassure me. I was told that I was just young and naive, and that the intense feelings would pass. I was told that I was just extremely hormonal and was experiencing drastic chemical highs and lows that were causing me to form immature attachments. I was told that it was because I was female and that it was just my ‘nuturing, motherly instincts’ kicking in early. I was told that once I became a mother, these ‘instincts’ would be channeled in a healthy way to focus entirely on my future hypothetical spouse and child.

You know what they say about hindsight. I’m a mother now. And if anything, the feelings I have felt on and off since middle school have only intensified.

My heart is Yggdrasil- the world tree of Scandinavian lore. Expansive. Unfathomable in it’s depth and proportions. It’s branches and roots stretch away in either direction- penetrating eternity. And up until this point- caging my heart was like trying to shove Yggdrasil into a wooden crate. Taking care of it was frustrating and claustrophobic and a little humiliating. My heart received just enough meager sunlight and small drips of water to stay alive- but it was never allowed to grow beyond the capacity of the box, so it essentially had to remain half-starved at all times out of survival necessity. It could never be what it was meant to be in such conditions.

And then came the Spanish war ship in the sand dune, crashing into my life- shattering the box, setting me free.

I discovered that I could be polyamorous. My heart has been given room to expand for the first time in seventeen years and I feel like it is rapidly doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size before my very eyes. It’s dizzying to behold. And terrifying.

This realization has spurred a lot of research on polyamory, a lot of soul-searching, a lot of conversations with my husband, and a lot of tears on both sides.

I struggled very deeply with feeling like I was a failure as a Domme, and especially as a wife. My husband is my best friend and my whole world. I love him so deeply and completely. Every single day we’ve known each other, we grow to love and appreciate each other more- even on the days when we want to scream. He is my rock and my number one fan. He is the most raw and sincere and natural father I have ever seen. He is my everything. I would traverse multiple, torturous dimensions in the afterlife just for the chance to find him again if one of us dies first.

And yet.

The more I connect with subs who have approached me, the more I grow to care about them and harbor a fondness for them. There has been an older sub that I had gentle, teasing affection for. I liked to hear about his hobbies and his worries and his work. His insecurities and his life aspirations. He is a darling kinky friend.

There has been another who I adored for his sharp ferocity, his feistiness, his fire. I could tease him and rain affection on him and we would have cerebral talks for hours and hours. Days and days on end. Silly, intricate things that could range from “I find it so fascinating that humanity has chosen this course of action repeatedly over time-” to “Bruh. Fite me!” and gif wars in a matter of seconds. We shared movies and songs and artwork. He is very dear to me. I still adore him and hope he finds happiness.

And there is solnyshko, the sub who has made me have to stop and re-evaluate everything I thought I was so sure of- again. The one who arrived in my life after I was tugging errantly on the sail in the sand dune, thinking that I probably was just aroused and not polyamorous after all- that I was just a fool. He gave everything he was to me so freely- with complete vulnerability and gentleness. His honesty was disarming and utterly charming and he made my heart ache with the sweetness of it all. He makes me want to take risks and explore things I normally never would. There have been a lot of firsts with him- he knows my real name. I don’t trust people very easily, yet I trust him. And he accepts me exactly as I am. I know I’m a big, yggdrasil-hearted fool, but I love him.

All this love and appreciation for those who I have come into contact with on my Domme journey. I began to realize that my affection for these people did not seem to dim or cheapen the love I have inside me for my husband. If anything, loving others has made me love him with a brighter, stronger vibrancy. I can appreciate all the ways he is effortlessly mine. The ways I don’t have to explain myself. The gentle, loving silences that don’t need to be filled with words. The way he knows me from the tips of my fiery hair to the roots of my wild heart. All this time, I thought I had to be a miser that hoarded and protected my heart to keep it small, keep it in the box for just one person at a time. But it is so much more fulfilling to give away love freely to those who are worthy or deserving enough in my life. Every time I reach into the cupboard to dote on those I care about, I am pleasantly surprised. Instead of finding an empty cupboard after all of my giving, I keep finding my stores replenished fully- two, three, four-fold. It was like the more I gave away in a day, the more I had to give away on the morrow.

Who knew that hearts held such secret magics and capabilities all along? It’s an insane fairytale.

I still can’t pretend to know all of the answers. I’m not even close, I’m afraid. But I do know this- I am more likely than not a polyamorous, Domme-leaning switch with heteroflexible or even bisexual tendencies. I still have a million more miles to go before I sleep.

And I feel so empowered getting to meet, know, and finally love myself.

Nice to meet you, Delia.

If you happen to be entertained by my random musings, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading.

Poetry Break

Delia is taking a break from her regularly scheduled, bloggy programming for a much needed poetry break. Spank You Very Much will return shortly with all of the literature, the kink, and the Dominatrix-y BDSM goodness. Thank you for your patience and understanding. ❤


I sup on my grief



with both hands cradling the porcelain sides.

Bitterness swallowed

in imperceptible sips.


But instead of an organ evolved for flight

or hollow bones knit together to compose me-

a Black Hole greedily eats at my center

spinning heavier and Heavier.

I am a centrifuge of emptiness.

my extremities capture the flung off despair

until even my toes, my lips, and my fingertips

Feel impossibly weighty-


I lie beneath the weight-

each breath a laborious effort-

and I ache-

 for the hair-ripping

                muscle-fiber thrumming


                                                throat-shredding screams,

tripping lighter and lighter through the air

climbing the beams of sunlight



I can float away entirely~

If you happen to be entertained by my random musings, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading.

The Bottom of the Well

It’s been a struggle to sit down and write. Funnily enough, the more I know people enjoy these random blog posts, the harder it is for me to find the motivation to create. I don’t know what it is, some twisted form of performance anxiety, maybe?

Maybe I just need the chance to clear my head. There is so much clamor banging around in there right now that it’s hard to fully concentrate.

I never really “plan” what I’m going to sit down and write about. I just start typing and flow with what decides to spill out. Today I can’t stop thinking about what’s swirling in my head.

I have dealt with episodes of depression since early childhood. When I’m in the thick of it, they make me feel like I’m standing at the bottom of a deep well, struggling to see the blurry outlines of stars so impossibly far above me. I can hear the strained echoes of the people I love in my life, and can make out the small moons of their faces as they lean over the edge (so bravely!) into my black abyss. I can faintly hear them as they call down to me, describing all the beauty outside above me, painting blankets with their words so that I can wrap them around me for warmth. But ultimately I am still at the bottom, alone, standing waist deep in icy water. And when I look up, everything still looks like blackness and pinpoints of white. So how does the world outside really matter if I can’t see it, smell it, touch it, taste it? It doesn’t feel real when I’m in my well.

I also am attempting to cope with a sibling I love who has untreated mental disorders. They recently were reported missing. It’s been four weeks. Every day that I hear nothing and the weather continues to get colder I am digging in the bottom of my well, filling it with more icy water.

I want to make it clear that the digging is not voluntary or intentional- those of you unfortunate enough to be in the know understand that that’s not how depression works. I look down and my chapped hands are shoveling out icy buckets of dirt and I’m ankle deep. I throw away the shovel and cry. I look down again and the shovel is back and bigger and suddenly I’m knee deep in the water. I go to therapy and bail out the well with a bucket lowered down by my therapist. After a few more weeks, the bucket is full of holes and I’m digging again, despite all of my hard-won efforts. Getting out of the well permanently is a Sisyphean task, and my work is never done. All I can do is be aware of when I start to dig so that I can seek help.

I write poetry in between tasks at my vanilla job.

I go to therapy. I talk to my incredible spouse and both sets of our loving parents. I get to cuddle with my sweet baby. I get up each day and I continue. But there are days where I am hollow. There are days where I am splintered and fragile. There are days where the wind blows through me and my thoughts rattle like dry leaves on a dead tree.

On those days it’s all I can do to not crawl into bed and stay there for hours on end.

Some of the stars I can make out from the bottom of the well have been subs who have been sweet and kind and attentive- even on the dark days.

  • J.- I’m sure I don’t fit the mold of what you want your Goddess to be- considering how green I am. Some days I am confident that I can be that for you, other days I’m not sure I’m what you need. Until the day comes where you decide you want to submit and trust, I enjoy our conversations as kinky friends.
  • A.- You make me laugh with equal parts delight and mischief. I know you are not in a place to financially serve me currently. In the mean time, interacting with you, trading movie, podcast, and book recommendations, getting to know each other and our kinks, and lifting each other up has brought me unexpected joy. Thank you for the gift of your correspondence.
  • G.- You were polite, sweet, and you were brave enough to reach out to me on Fetlife. Such things do not go unnoticed or unappreciated. I look forward to seeing where our conversations go and how our dynamic develops.

I will continue to read, continue to learn, and continue to grow. My spouse and I discussed arranging babysitting so that I could embark on a trip to a dungeon 2-3 hours away. This is one of the many “lights at the end of my tunnel”, so to speak.

As promised, below are my personal gleanings from my literary Dominatrix journey thus far. I will continue to share as I continue to experience.

My updated kinky reading list:

Books I finished:

Princess Kali’s book was informative, playful, and well-written. It includes anecdotes from both submissives and Dominants, and does not (in my opinion at least) particularly cater to one gender. My mind ran rampant with ideas to try out on my subs while I was devouring this book. I would highly recommend this book to any other Dominants or submissives of all experience levels, whether or not they were considering humiliation play. It was just THAT good.

I will just post my Twitter rant here for ease of not repeating myself.

“This was the first book on my list that I absolutely abhorred. Never mind that it was written from the point of view as if ONLY males could dominate- even ignoring that, so much of it ran counter to every other BDSM resource I have come upon.

It describes “soft limits” as things that submissives are “scared of”, and that your job as a dominant is to show them how “silly” their fear is.

So, so much toxic masculinity and assumed gender stereotypes in here that I don’t even have the time, the energy, or the desire to even TRY to unpack it all. Not my monkeys, not my circus.

It discusses emotionally blackmailing friends to force them to become your BDSM play partner so they will take you “out of the friendzone”. My brain cells were screaming at that point, so I had to stop.

I’m only 18 pages in and I’m not sure I’m willing to force myself to read any further for some misplaced hope of literary redemption. It just hasn’t gotten any better.

In summation, this book is the most fedora-wearing, “nice guy” promoting, incel fantasy toting POS, wrapped up in a neck-beard’s wet dream as if it were a semi-respectable piece of BDSM knowledge.

Please avoid this book at all costs. It does far more damage than anything else and perpetuates unhealthy perceptions and expectations of BDSM relationships. You all deserve more than that. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.”

You can find the original post here.

I enjoyed this book very much. It appeared to be a hard-wrought work of love on the part of the author, and that love certainly shines through in how she handles the historical implications of archaeological finds and evidence of Goddess worship throughout the millenia. There were quite a few grammatical/spelling errors that would occassionally pull me out of the immersion of her work (I’m a grammar nazi- *cringes in shame*), but I would fault the publishing house that was paid to handle the book, and not Anne O Nomis herself. It did not cheapen the overall experience for me whatsoever- and that experience was mainly abject fascination and vast enjoyment. I too, would recommend this book to any fellow nerdy Dommes or even just any woman in general who wants to reclaim her sexuality and understand why women deserve to be worshipped.

Now I am currently working on “The Mistress Manual” by Lorelei Powers. Thus far I have found it to be well-written and well-thought out, and have found it to be a delight to read. I just wish I had more time to devote to reading so that I could finish it already. I’m not used to taking weeks to read a single book. I’m used to finishing one to two books a week! The struggle is real.

If you happen to be entertained by my random musings, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading.

Hitting the Books

There is so much growth to be had in the world of domination and BDSM, and so so much to learn. I am hungry for all of it. My view fits well within these tweets I had sent out a few days prior, on the 9th of November.

Dominants, it is our responsibility to do things that scare us, that make us uncomfortable, that force us to grow as people and as Dom(mes). We must lead by example. If we want our subs to improve themselves, we must work on ourselves twice as hard.

Submissives, it too, is your responsibility to do the things that scare you, that make you uncomfortable, that force you to grow as people and fall deeper into true submission. Your Dom(me) will know the way. Stop the fear. Tribute them. Approach them.

How can I expect the submissives under my care to work on and better themselves if I am not putting in the work to better myself as their Domme?

I have been attempting to find a dungeon that I could apprentice at to learn some of the myriad skills required to become an effective dominatrix. Thus far my small town prospects have proved to be quite bleak- though there is an all male gay bondage club that rents out a communal space and meets once a month in my area. I’ve reached out to them for further information with…limited success, unfortunately. It was difficult to not be discouraged after holding up their meetings in my mind as potential jewels of new BDSM knowledge.

A two to three hour drive may be in the cards for me each time I wish to expand my leather-clad horizons in the future. I suppose it could be an exciting first to be pulled over in full fetish-wear…or at least a good story to tell. At least there’s that to look forward to, haha.

Due to my interactions on the online kink forum Fetlife, I’ve managed to find extensive reading lists to fulfill my nerdy, insatiable lust for all the BDSM-related reading I could possibly want. And…I want a lot. Like “I might have a problem”, a lot.

I just effortlessly dropped over $125 on books from Amazon that were listed as integral BDSM reading, and that wasn’t even a third of my list. It’s a good thing I’m a findomme that knows how to budget her way around household bills and baby necessities, or my kinks would easily land me in some financial trouble.

In case any of you are curious, here’s a sample of my reading list in its expensive glory:

I’ve already begun The History and Arts of the Dominatrix by Anne O Nomis’ (a clever play on just publishing under the pseudonym of ‘Anonymous’). I am thoroughly enjoying the historical, anthropological, (and more broadly) archaeological look at the role that a powerful sexual woman plays in the societies that desperately need to worship her.

There is so much new material now that I’ve amassed for my own delicious learning. I am no better than a literary book dragon, jealously guarding their hoard of treasure. (Is it still a problem if you know it’s a problem?) Either way, I aim to bring my annotations and discourse here as I navigate through this often taboo and fascinating world. I certainly will look forward to the new personal revelations and epiphanies I will uncover about myself as my journey progresses, and they will be shared with all of you.

If you happen to be entertained by my random musings, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading.


I have learned so much already since I have begun this pro dominatrix stint. There are days when I feel confidant, dominant, sexy, and in total control. I know exactly what I want to do and how I want to do it, and everything seems so clear and obvious. There are also the days where I feel ineffective as a domme, like I am an imposter, a failure, and a fool. I feel lost and that I have no direction, and I wonder if I would be happier if I just gave it all up.

After two weeks of this journey, the only thing I’m 100% certain of is that I’ll never stop having something new to learn. The culture of BDSM is too fascinating.

Recently, I was lucky enough to be invited into a Twitter group chat with thirty or so other dommes. An experienced submissive was conducting a Q & A session for those who were serious about bettering themselves and their style of domination. He gave out a lot of solid information based off of his personal experiences and what he had seen. He also discussed common misconceptions and offered to see if he was a match for any of the dommes looking for current subs.

Afterwards, all of the dommes then began opening up and posing questions to one another and offered words of encouragement. In the cut-throat Twitter culture of sex workers, it was a really sweet experience to behold. The ladies offered to follow one another and retweet each other’s material if the respective post was something they connected with, so that they could all be successful together and find the right subs.

Since then, many new dommes have reached out within that chat (or to me directly) to ask how they can get subs. I see so many ladies that get discouraged and quit. It upsets me to see them (the ones who are in it for the right reasons) go. But those who are only in it because they think they can earn a quick buck should be leaving. They are just one of the symptoms of the disease affecting the BDSM community- the disease of instant gratification. This disease allows many new dommes to mistakenly believe that there are subs out there who truly want to pay them money for doing absolutely nothing other than being absolutely horrible to men online. And when they’re not instantly successful, they throw a tantrum, or blame others for their lack of success.

But any D/s relationship can’t develop beyond more then a singular “one night stand” sort of session if neither side is willing to show both respect and vulnerability to each other. At least in my experience, that’s what trust can then be built on- the foundations of respect and vulnerability. And then when trust gets built, the sub can fully submit all control to the Domme, and the Domme can take all accountability for the sub. It becomes a truly beautiful feedback mechanism where power is traded back and forth in a healthy way.

My first sub to have approached me also happens to be the one I am the most invested in developing my style with at the moment. He also knows he is under consideration to be owned one day. (I’ll call him Jared, but you know who you are.)

Jared approached in the most endearing way as well, liking and retweeting just about everything on my mistress Twitter page. Then spent the next three hours fretting about it on his main feed. (Honestly, it’s a good thing I followed him back reflexively, or I would have never seen any of the cute fretting.) Jared then sent me tribute via my Cashapp, at $MadommeDelia. I was multitasking when I saw it. I was speechless and didn’t know what to do. I decided to “wait it out” until I could figure out what to do next. I was a mess.

Little did I know, he was tweeting, “Make me do it again”. I didn’t see that tweet until maybe an hour later when he tweeted more hesitantly, “Ask me to do it again?” I found myself smiling at the sincerity, the vulnerability, and the playfulness. It’s at that point that I finally jumped in and messaged him and reached out. With the help of another fellow domme (shoutout to @PantieDrip for your kind, patient, and practical advice while I panicked), I was able to stumble through a first conversation with him. (Thanks for not leaving after that train wreck, Jared).

I’m still working on learning how to establish a negotiation period with subs when they approach properly. (A negotiation period is usually when a domme and sub meet to discuss what they mutually want and are looking for, and also what their respective soft and hard limits are.) This sub and I just sort of jumped right into roleplay, which I blame on my lack of experience.

I had two other subs approach me via KIK (a social media app for video calls and text/photo messaging), begging me respectfully to consider them as potential pets. I gave both of them the run down of what I expected on my end (what I enjoyed, soft limits, hard limits, and the traffic light system for safety words, and the discussion of aftercare). I gave one (let’s name him Kyle) a set of three tasks to complete to be considered. He was begging so politely, after all. However, once those three tasks were sent his way, Kyle disappeared forever.

Bye Kyle.

The second one, let’s name him Shane, agreed to all of our negotiations and gave me a list of what he enjoyed. I asked him if he was ready to start. He said yes, and then very promptly began attempting to “top from the bottom” so to speak. Shane gave me “suggestions” of what he thought I should do and how that would turn him on “so much”. He claimed he liked to be degraded, verbally humiliated, and exposed. When I would verbally humiliate Shane in a text-based play session, he would argue back. When I offered to expose him on my Twitter, he initially seemed really excited and readily agreed.

I figured it would be harmless fun, so why not?

Suddenly Shane began drafting up new posts for me to put on my Twitter and was messaging them to me constantly. “Please, Madomme Delia, if you would only do XYZ for your boy then I will worship you forever” with a bunch of kissy-face emojis and videos of him kneeling to his phone camera and blowing kisses at me. We were more than several hours apart geographically, and yet somehow Shane still managed to be blowing up my phone on a fairly constant basis. It was always pleas and pictures of him in panties and requests for me to post those pictures publicly and all the Twitter posts he had drafted for me to post in my absence. At first I kept acquiescing because, like the fool I am, I thought Shane seemed to really enjoy it. What harm is there in indulging your sub from time to time, right?


I began to realize I was literally getting nothing out of our relationship. Shane was becoming so needy, so greedy of my time, and so bossy in his attempts to “top from the bottom” that I began to be exhausted by his messages instead of excited.

I became a domme in the first place to stop pleasing others before pleasing myself, and here I was, falling into that same trap. Shane was taking away from the attention I was giving to my other first sub, Jared, and even then- nothing I seemed to do was enough for Shane.

I was thinking about how I would put an end to Shane’s shitty behavior and set him straight with a whopping dose of reality. I was ruminating on how I would reaffirm that I was the one with the control in our relationship, not him- when an unexpected development occurred.

I had a family emergency where I had to contemplate calling in a 5150 on someone extremely dear to me. I was very suddenly devastated after an already very long day at my very demanding vanilla job.

I came home and cried. My spouse held me.

I fed my family.

I walked my dog.

I got ready to try to face another day of getting up extremely early with no resolution in sight for my family emergency.

I set my alarm.

I went to plug in my phone.

And then I see all the missed messages from Shane talking about how he wanted more polls on his cock size and how he had drafted up additional Twitter posts for me and how he was going to single-handedly “help me grow my social media”.

And I got angry.

I counted to 10, and then wrote Shane a detailed message regarding how I had a family emergency that day, and that I had to take a step back and that I would not be able to come back to continue sessions with him anymore. I thanked him for his time and apologized for having to cut things short.

Shane didn’t even skip a beat before launching back into all the plans he had for me as his domme and how I should reconsider my decision. I turned off the notifications for his messages on KIK.

This only appeared to make him more desperate. He began sending me videos of him in a bathrobe begging me to “please watch my madam, I promise this is very special, very private, just for you”.

Now I consider myself a fairly open person that does not kink shame, so the kneeling and the pleading and the bathrobe videos weren’t what truly bothered me. But his complete lack of ability to see me as an actual human being, his complete disregard for how I might be feeling, or his complete lack of respect over the fact that I just set some boundaries down to protect myself disgusted and angered me. I felt betrayed. I felt used. I felt like I was a fool that allowed this person to treat me like a fetish dispenser, like someone less-than. I sat there with these feeling for a bit and thought again about why I even started this journey.

I thought about how tired I was at that exact second. I thought about throwing away my phone. I thought about giving up.

Instead, I blocked his stupid ass and moved on.

Bye Shane.

On the other hand, when I had messaged Jared after getting the bad news directly after work, I let him know I had a rough day. I then asked him a random question about what he had wanted to be when he was a child, asking him to indulge me. I was looking for something, anything to cheer me up or at least distract me at that point. He immediately said, “I’m sorry you had a rough day”, sent money to my cashapp saying “for it’s yours anyways”, and told me about wanting to be a bus driver and a baseball pitcher.

These silly little things warmed me in unexpected ways. These are the little things other people might scoff or laugh or roll their eyes at, but it meant the world to me at that point in time.

So. I wanted you to know that, Jared. That kindness you showed me went a long way. I won’t forget it later when you’re on your knees and I’m dominating you (again).

Anyways. Very long story made short- I haven’t given up yet. Amazingly, I’m still here. And I’m still in for the long run, despite whatever bends in the road may come.

If you happen to be entertained by my random musings, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading.

Shower Thoughts

The warm water runs down the length of my hair, the sunlight spills in and reflects off of the tile. I find myself ruminating on random memories from my childhood, and smiling ruefully. Memories that reinforce why I am so glad I am on this dominatrix journey, and why I know this is truly meant for me.

I remember sun-dappled trees, a sad excuse for a creek that ran behind our elementary school. I remember the first friend I made that was a boy. He had golden hair and a gap-toothed smile, and he said I could always make him laugh. That had meant a lot to me, as quiet as I usually was. I didn’t share a lot of words, but when I did, I chose them carefully. And he noticed.

I remember him encouraging me to chase him and catch him under those trees, next to that creek. I remember the dust we kicked up. He was fast and tall, and as small and lithe as I was, I was always laughably uncoordinated. I would trip and skin my knees and the heels of my hands…a lot. Eventually he’d let me catch him, and he’d fall down to the ground dramatically and pretend to die. I would climb atop him in the dirt and strike various poses to show off my prowess. Once he said that if I catch him again I should kiss him. What a curious thing that was to me. I had never kissed before.

Eventually he let me catch him again, and I remember mashing my lips against his faithfully. It was a mess, to say the least. He said, “Now I have to try to get away, but don’t let me”. I laughed at this new weird game, but acquiesced. He began to buck and thrash under me while I held down his arms and giggled. “I’m your prisoner so don’t let me get away,” he reminded me breathlessly, when my giggling fit became too much to hold him down properly. I remember the thrill that blossomed into a building warmth in my blood- the thrill of being on top, of holding him down, of watching him smile while he thrashed. I was too young to even understand the sexual implications, but I remember very clearly that I felt three succinct things: I was in control, I loved to watch him squirm, and I could have held him there forever, pinned underneath me.

Then I was in high school, in another state, and I met a goth boy online. We both had AOL and MSN messenger. We had met in real life through a mutual friend, and he said he thought I was beautiful. He was uniquely hilarious and a sparkling conversationalist. We would talk for hours and hours and hours. Just seeing his username or hearing the message alert would make my heart pound with anticipation. We both enjoyed dark humor, H.P. Lovecraft, striped scarves, eyeliner, and combat boots. He loved the dark art that I would draw and paint. I loved the horror stories he would write. We would burn CDs of our favorite songs and mail them back and forth- I still have the Misfits CD he made for me. One of our first dates was sneaking into a rated R horror movie together (I cried, he held me).

He would ask me to hold him down while we kissed. He liked to be spanked and to incorporate food into sex. He asked to suck on my toes and my fingers. He asked to worship me. He wanted me to bite him during sex, and hard. He confessed he enjoyed the fantasy of Vore and that the idea of being consumed turned him on in a way he couldn’t fully articulate. He liked the concept of cutting and blood play.

Everything he brought up was so incredibly exotic to me after my sheltered childhood. I found it all so fascinating. I vowed to never shame him for the things I couldn’t understand, and to experiment with all the things that we could together.

I think about the countless relationships that came after, and the brief dark period of two and a half years when I tried to date the person that reflected my abusive parent. I’ll never forget how many fires they extinguished inside of me. I can still smell the bitter smell of wet smoke from my passions being snuffed out. I’m still relearning how to rekindle those childhood fires inside me and how to fight back against the ugly words that will occasionally come back to echo in my head when I’m at my lowest.

I think about my current spouse, and how we’ve developed together to be as completely open as possible. How we’ve experimented, and how we’ve learned that nothing is static, nothing is stationary. How we’ve grown something unique and beautiful together despite the struggles and ugliness on the outside. I think about the strap on training kit I’ll be buying for them soon, and how it will be a surprise.

I think about how I always enjoyed learning about the kinks of others, and how I loved to help them reach new heights by pushing their limits within the boundaries we laid out together. I think about how satisfying it is to tie a good knot, to see my sub helpless and prostrate before me. To see their mouth working beneath a blindfold as they try to anticipate what’s coming next. The little yelps of surprise that dissolve into contented sighs.

I think about all of these memories: past, recent, and present. Then I turn off the shower, step out into the rays streaming through the window, and smile.

If you happen to be entertained by my random musings, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading.


I want control. All of it. I find someone surrendering everything to me in a moment of breathless, terrified anticipation incredibly sexy. I want to experience their trembling, their uncertainty, their unease, and let it hang there in glorious suspense before taking the reins once more. I want my subs to feel the way a child feels when they are tossed up in the air- tiny, insignificant, terrified, jubilant, free, and utterly out of control of the situation. I want them to feel that they could come crashing down to the Earth within a split second, catch a glimpse of the ground, feel their heart up in their throats as the ground rushes up to meet them– and then I catch them. They just will never know exactly WHEN I will catch them- which is part of what will make the domination game so delicious for me.

I see a lot of dommes screaming for subs to abuse on their social media sites, and honestly, if that works for them, that’s pretty fucking awesome that they wield that power. That’s just an approach that I haven’t felt any interest in taking, and I had thought it was a flaw within myself. Am I too nice? Too codependent? Too much of a pushover? Is this a sign that I was wrong and I shouldn’t be a professional dominatrix after all? I’d question and question and question myself. I even attempted a few half-hearted messages or posts where I was more abusive or demanding. They didn’t feel sincere. They didn’t feel sexy. They didn’t feel like me.

Now it’s taken some time, but I’m slowly figuring out the type of dominatrix I want to be, and I’m slowly figuring out what I want out of this. And I mean, let’s face it, that’s what this journey is all about anyways, right? What I want.

I’m starting to understand why chasing down subs and sliding into their DMs and approaching them aggressively on social media does not appeal to me. It’s a form of control surrender. It’s “giving in” first. It’s making the first move, throwing the first punch, going 80% and waiting for the 20%. And that can be really brave. But that’s not what I want. Making a request means you are always waiting on a response. Waiting on a response is giving someone else power over you. Why would I want to give anyone power over ME? That’s the antithesis of a dominatrix. (And for me, at least, incredibly un-sexy.)

I felt all these realizations crowding all my other thoughts out of my brain, to the point where the clamor was so loud, I just had to write them down before I went nuts. In a fit of inspiration, I snatched up my phone while in the bath, and wrote this thread on my Twitter (https://twitter.com/MadommeDelia) I’ll share it here for your convenience.

” When I say I am a Financial Dominatrix, I am demanding a genuine D/s relationship that will benefit us both.

I won’t fill your inbox with screams to “$END NOW, BITCH!” because your money without context is meaningless to me. How unsatisfying. How will I know the depths of your devotion? It is not a monetary amount, but a percentage.

I want in your head. I want in your finances. I demand that you surrender ALL OF THEM. I want to know your bills and your debt and your daily expenses. I want your budget laid out before me, face-down and spread. I will direct what goes where and when.

I will stretch you and grow you and shape you and push you to your limits- but I will never ruin you. Ruining people falls flat for me. My commands will shape your life for the better, and you will be more satisfied and be a better sub for it.

After all, what is a D/s relationship without any trust? If you can’t trust me enough to surrender all of your finances to my control, then why are you here? Trust is earned and I am certainly demanding, yes- but I take care of my subs.

I don’t get any pleasure watching subs tumble into non-consensual debt. If that was not part of the negotiated agreement, then that domme has failed her sub, and has forsaken the trust a sub should be able to surrender to their domme completely.

I’m not your closeted gambling addiction for christ’s sake, I’m your fucking goddess. Now bow down.”

I don’t want people’s financial leftovers or allowances that are really more of a pittance. I’m not a spoiled sugarbaby. I want to take full responsibility for someone’s budget and let them feel the full fear and the full surrender of handing over all of their finances to a complete stranger- and then cultivate them as my subs. That’s what being a domme is supposed to be all about anyways- taking full responsibility for the well-being of someone else.

I finally feel like this is my domme awakening. I know what I want and I know that it is only a matter of time before I will get what I want. I’m sure I will still take many steps down this road as I continue to learn more about who I am and what makes me tick and what I derive pleasure from, but this is a wonderful first step. After so much uncertainty, I finally feel certain of something: this is what I want, and I will succeed.

“Immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control affairs.” – Andrew Carnegie

If you happen to be entertained by my random musings, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading.

Here We Go Again

So you decided to keep reading, huh? Wow, honestly, that’s- I mean. I knew you would, obviously. You’re just that addicted to me already. It’s a half-joke, I honestly appreciate you staying. So where were we again?

Oh, right. I was talking about this new pro-dominatrix thrill ride thing that I’ve begun against all better judgement. Well I have ADHD, so we’ll change the channel and get back to that in a bit. Don’t worry your pretty little head.

So I watched this movie with my spouse the other night. Bo Burnham’s “Eighth Grade”. Wow, did that bring back a WHOLE slew of unpleasant memories bubbling to the surface from my middle school experience. (I went to three different middle schools and was always the “new kid”). Part of this movie made me feel shame- I felt myself become Kayla (the main protagonist)- addicted to her phone and her social media accounts to the point where she has difficulty anchoring herself in reality. To the point where she was purposefully drowning out the one kind and supportive figure in her lonely life- her father. There were plenty of scenes where she would literally scroll herself to sleep.

Now, I’ve always done my best to be aware of how quickly I get addicted to my phone, and the slightly scary endorphin rushes I get from notifications on social media. For years, I boycotted owning a smart phone just so that I wouldn’t join the hoards of zombies zoning out at screens all day. I caved back in 2015, and have felt guilt and shame over my smart phone ever since. I delete my social media accounts on and off every few years, especially when I feel that they just feed into my depression or my social anxiety. (I have more than enough of that on my own, thanks!)

Since beginning this domme journey though, I have a minimum of 3-4 different social media accounts that I am checking each time I get a notification, and that dreaded endorphin rush has consistently been right there to meet me every time.

This makes me worry. I feel a little the way a junkie might feel while sneaking hits. I look over at my spouse, who is my best friend and lifelong partner, and then I look over at our tiny baby crotch-fruit, and I worry that I’m not doing enough for them. Being present enough for them. Being emotionally available enough for them. Heck, or just being enough PERIOD for them. I don’t want to become Kayla and base my self worth off the opinion of strangers, and I start to second guess all my reasons for why I want to be a dominatrix again.

Then the second part of the movie took ahold. Kayla was being driven home by a friend of a friend who was a senior in highschool. He was the self-proclaimed “quiet, nice guy” of the group. He kept sending sidelong glances at Kayla in the dark backseat through the review mirror. Then he pulled over the car, parked, and I became instantly furious. He climbed into the backseat with her and said, “I can’t talk to you very well when you’re sitting back here”.

My heart beat against my ribs and I clenched my fists.

He began a game of Truth or Dare and continually berated her to take off her shirt. Kayla finally snapped, “No, I’m not comfortable with that!”, and pushed him away.

I finally breathed again.

The whole way back to her house, she apologized to him quietly while he insulted her and claimed he was just trying to help her and she was stupid for not letting him.

Y’all, I was a bundle of rage. I never wanted to punch a child actor so hard in the mouth.

All of my middle school experiences with boys were so eerily similar. I remember being plead with, being insulted, being mocked and laughed at, being cajoled into situations I was not comfortable with, being told that I owed them, that if I wouldn’t do it then another girl would, being told I should just go home then if I wasn’t game enough. So many lies and so much entitlement to my time, my energy, my body. And I was so, so young. How was I supposed to know?

I’ve since been to (and continue to go to) therapy. I have a loving family who are my support network, a darling changeling baby, and a spouse beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve worked through what I could and made peace with the rest.

But -channel change!- this is part of why I feel it’s important for me to not give up on attempting to be a pro domme. There IS a better way to establish and feed relationships. There IS a healthier way to set boundaries. The more I learn about BDSM culture and the concept of SSC (safe, sane, and consensual), the more I wish the rest of our society operated off of these simple but powerful fundamentals. Not only do I honestly feel that I need this moonlight career change for myself, but that I also need it for my darling crotch-fruit.

I want to be able to show them (my crotch-fruit) that if I can demand respect, establish boundaries, hold people accountable, and be a bad ass while doing it- then they can too. I want to shape myself into the relationship role model I wish I had while I was growing up. Becoming a professional dominatrix is just another step in the right direction for me to achieve that ultimate goal.

I just recently found some new resources to continue my nerdy domme research. One that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed is http://www.dommesource.com, which is written by a professional dominatrix and has already been an invaluable resource. Empress Mika has published a glossary of fetishes, articles related to being a better domme or a better sub, and interviews with plenty of different dommes and subs to draw inspiration from. I’m sure this is a resource I will come back to again and again throughout my domination journey.

Secondly, is Master Arcane’s Crow Academy, found at https://crowacademy.com/. This gentleman is an established professional dom that travels with his professional sub and gives informational seminars for the lay person at multiple locations. They also perform BDSM shows together, and run several sites dedicated to informing the general public (as well as new dom(mes) and subs) about BDSM ettiquete and culture. I have enjoyed their six-part video introduction from a Las Vegas seminar, and their blog posts that dispel prevalent BDSM myths. One such myth (that even I heard multiple times in my vanilla life) is that “the sub is the one with all of the power” in a D/s (dom/sub) relationship.

Master Arcane’s style is more formal and he self-describes it as a “romantic” variant of BDSM. As I continue to figure out what style I would like to make mine for my own dominatrix career, I will continue to appreciate all the doms and dommes that publish their expertise as free resources for fiends like me that love to punish subs. You all are amazing and deserve all the monies.

I think that’s all that I have for now. I’ll continue to update as my journey progresses…or as I give up and run away to join the circus instead as a moth tamer. Whichever comes first.

This is the second post on this spankin’ new blog. I’m just getting this going, obviously, so if you happen to be entertained by my crazy rants, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading. ❤

My First Blog Post

Hello…is this thing on?

“Be yourself; Everyone else is already bacon.”

— Oscar Wilde, probably.

Hello ladies and gents. I have NO idea what I’m doing. Like, at all. So. This ought to be fun. I decided to create this blog to document the start of my journey to becoming a professional dominatrix.

Professional dominatrix, you say? Well…yes. I’ve never been one to adhere to societal norms. After all, I already have a full back piece tattooed (I’m working on saving up for a chest piece as well), I have a septum piercing, I have apprenticed at a tattoo parlor, I have studied law, I draw/burn original artwork into wood for fun, I have interpreted languages at the collegiate level, and I am a lady boss at my vanilla day job. So, why not give this pro domme BDSM thing a go too, huh? (Not to mention that my loving spouse of 8 years is also incredibly supportive.)

It all started a week ago, while I was perusing my social media feed in one of the groups I am a part of. A woman was discussing her job as a dominatrix and how she provides for her family by dominating other people and catering to their kinks in a safe and supportive environment. I was immediately enthralled. I mean, this was a job I had only heard stories about, and here was a real, living, breathing super woman not only DOING it, but killing it to the point where she was in escrow on a new house with spouse and baby in tow. I suddenly HAD to know all there was to know on the subject. Being the nerd I am, I began googling all night long. Like, to the point where I didn’t get any sleep and went to work like a zombie. I had butterflies in my stomach and thoughts zipping across my closed eyelids like shooting stars. I was hooked.

Since then, I’ve set up a profile on findoms.com (https://findoms.com/index.php/Madomme_Delia/), a Twitter account (https://twitter.com/MadommeDelia ), and a HePays account (https://www.hepays.com/MadommeDelia). HePays is a dating site that has been cited by several pro dommes as a great place for entrepreneurial women to meet with wealthy men who enjoy financial domination (AKA “pay pigs”). HePays is also helpful for women looking for “sugar daddies”. I myself find it particularly useful in that they literally pay you for the exposure your profile brings to the site itself. The amount they pay is nothing crazy to start, but being able to track how people view my profile based off of where I share the link has been very helpful for how I track the way I market myself. I can see why so many dommes appreciate this tool in their self-promotion.

I’ve had subs begin to message me, already addressing me as “goddess” or “mistress” on multiple platforms. I felt warm tingles to my core while reading their messages- even though a few were obviously spam bots (but NICE spam bots). I took my time experimenting with responses- running the gambit from warm and polite to domineering and demanding…and managed to scare them all away- POOF!

Haha, good job, me. *sigh*

Maybe I should become a career magician instead.

Anyways, I’m currently alternating between wavering in my decision and wondering if I’m not some crazy imposter that should just give it up already, or getting excited all over again and ready to dive back in, head first (complete with concussion from not looking before I lept). I know that being a dominatrix could be very right for me. I keep trying to remind the insecure Delia in my brain that it is really just a matter of learning the ropes (bondage pun intended). I just need more confidence. More practice. More subs who can be patient with a wimpy domme. More empowerment of the self.

Truly, that’s a huge part of why this lifestyle appeals to me so much. I grew up in a household with an emotionally and verbally abusive father, and endured the subsequent token abusive romances as a result of my own emotional immaturity and codependency. I was a door mat for so very long that I still find myself getting ready to lay down at people’s feet to be walked on. Then I catch myself falling into those old thought patterns and behaviors and go, “Wait a minute. No no no no no no. What the fuck am I doing?! FUCK this shit and FUCK the person(s) that made me feel like I need to do this.” Then I stand up, brush off that shame dirt, and kick the fucker’s knees in. You know, metaphorically.

I tend to subconsciously surrender power in so much of my every day life that just the thought of becoming a dominatrix has helped me to become more aware of the power I should have been retaining all along. I walk with my shoulders back now, I make eye contact and smile only when I feel like it. I stopped saying “I’m sorry” reflexively and instead say what I really wanted to say all along: “Thank you for waiting on me even though I was late”, or “Pardon, I didn’t hear that”, or etc. I stopped saying “No, thank YOU”, and have started saying, “You’re welcome”, or “Of course”. I’ve started to notice the people around me who would be potential subs in their own private lives. I started to notice and appreciate the things about myself that I used to downplay or even berate myself for. I have naturally lovely red hair. My green eyes make grown men stutter when I train them on them. I have a sexy walk when I sway my hips. My hour glass figure is something to enjoy and not hide beneath bulky clothes. This body is lovely not DESPITE having intensive surgery and giving birth, but BECAUSE of it. I’ve survived emotional and physical pain that most people shy away just at the thought of- and that deserves some fucking validation. Delia, you’re fucking bomb, dude.

And regaining this power, this confidence, this knowledge that I am perfect- this is what I can bring to any subs who would want to begin a D/s relationship with me. I want to break them down (within their kinks and within the parameters that we set together) so that I can build them up. I want to provide support and aftercare and genuine sparkling conversation. I want to connect on the deeper level of two humans actually understanding each other with no inhibitions or judgement to get in the way. I want to feel the thrum of energy between us. I want to make the world a brighter place by allowing people who may feel ostracized by their differences or oddities normally know that they are not alone and they are worthy of care and support.

But first I have to stop scaring away all those subs.

Anyways, this is the first post on this spankin’ new blog. I’m just getting this going, obviously, so if you happen to be entertained by my crazy rants, stay tuned for more. Get another cup of coffee or tea or cocoa. Read on to my newer posts, and subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

Thank you for reading. ❤