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In Tatters

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I knelt at His feet in the utter mess I’d made. My struggle to succeed was stark. No one had ever seen me so disheveled…in such embarrassing circumstances. As He cleaned me up for the second time two minutes, I looked up to meet His steady gaze and tried to gauge his reaction. Disgust at another disastrous, completely unimpressive act of service? Frustrated at my inability to get it together? Sadistically amused at another ridiculous unglamorous predicament I’d once again found myself in? I knew he was taking in every fucking minute detail of the wreck before Him and squirreling it away in the vault of His mind, but what did He feel? His stoic expression offered me no hint. Without comment He stood firm in front of me. Fuckin unwavering. He hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t stepped back. I swear He may have even leaned in. As soon as I’d semi-collected myself, I began my third attempt even as I tried in vain to push the remaining proof of my ineptitude out of view, hoping it would simply
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To Write Again...Part of My Evolution.

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It's been a long fucking time since I've written much or written often.  The last year fucked us all up.  My coping tool for it all was to shut down emotions as much as possible and focus on service. Covid in NYC...fuck.  I would have gone mad if I'd let myself dwell in all that fucking turmoil, fear, and pain.  So...service.  Between work and lifestyle efforts I was putting in 12-16 hours a day from March 2020 until about the end of May.  Then I had to let all that angst go. Social Justice...fuck how shocked was I when a good portion of the world finally woke the fuck up at least for a few minutes.  Nope...ya didn't see me post.  Nope...ya didn't see me fight with trolls.  Nope...I didn't sink into my emotions of annoyance, frustration, and pure deep seated anger.  So...service.  For me being an ally is so much more than words, more than useless social media likes/loves, more than a t-shirt slogan or a sign.  It's about fucking WORK.  All in kinda work.  Li
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Confessions of a Monster

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The following piece was written for last night's ONYX Pearls NY-NE's February 2021 Event—Confessions of Love & Lust: Spoken Word & Cigar Social. My first public reading... ") Thank you to my Leather Sisters and Siblings for the chance to share my words and to everyone who attended as well as ALL the love and finger snaps for my piece!!! ~DominaKat Another long winter’s night has consumed the city, and the cold has seeped well into its pores. A glance out the window of my five story walkup proves again that the once never dormant streets of New York are abandoned. No souls dare the bitter walk or the lonely drive at this hour. With a sigh I roll over, and my nude flesh snuggles deeper into my warm nest of dark linen sheets and soft blankets. Only the strange unbroken silence of a pandemic-gripped world and haunting memories of long ago passion attempt to lull me to dreams. Despite exhaustion nagging my soul, sleep refuses to come. Maybe...if I confess...mayb
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2021 | Dream Big

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In the time of Covid, to dream takes on a whole new meaning.  To dream of better days.  To dream of our mask-free past and someday future filled with the warmth of friends close by and laughter in the air.  To dream of carefree travel.  Of love and romance and of course...hope.  Of the sexiness of withering flesh and sweet pain at play parties, joyous leather bar nights with thumping bass, and of warm conferences where we gathered en masse as community. Fortunately, I'm not the type of masochist to dwell on things outside my reach or ability to manifest.  I refuse to torment myself with the thoughts of what cannot be.  I wait.  Someday the world and the advances of medical science will safely re-open all those doors once again to me and the community in some capacity. Until then...with emotional and physical needs like love, play, kinkiness, submission, topping, relationship(s), etc all trapped in the muck of Covid, my wheels have spun for months.  Books teased nuanced new flavors
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A Lioness at the Mouth of Her Liar

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It's been rare that I write from the soul anymore.   Most of 2019, I was flat out too busy.  Hell...I've never been that "socially" busy in my life, and I didn't even have a relationship to service!  LOL Friends.  Work.  Family.  Pledging.  My co-hosted Lifestyle discussion groups—S&M.NYC and NYC slave Meetings.  The Community in general.  I'd spend 12+ hours in Manhattan, coming home to my Borough exhausted yet satisfied I'd made the most of my day and the opportunities in front of me. Then 2020...fuck what a damn mess.  I saw it coming earlier than others, and I started to prepare practically as well as mentally and emotionally.  Yet, the reality of it was nothing I'd imagined.  The endless scream of the sirens until finally...blessedly...someone official must have told them to cut the sound.  No cars, no bikes, no people dared our once energy-pulsing streets.  The coo of pigeons and tentative tweets of birds I don't know the name of filtered
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My FUCK Covid! Post

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FUCK, Covid!  I've been a socially defiant bitch more often than not.  When the world starts going one way, something in my mind always tells me to jump off that bus. Yeah...this fucking sucks.  Everywhere for everyone it sucks.  COVID (either it or the fear/threat of it) is everywhere.  But for fuck sake...does it HAVE to insinuate itself FULLY into Fet?!? If Facebook has turned into a political, socially dividing, fact-checking, misleading propaganda machine, then FetLife has turned into a giant mother fucking emotional therapy support center of tears and sniffles and traumatized blank stares. Look...I get it!  This shit is HARD...physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  I've been sheltering-in-place for 67 days in a NYC apartment with no private backyard, no balcony, no front stoop.  I need and want an escape...but since the hot, fun, and sexy has all but evaporated from my favorite kink site, Fet's only escape option is a list of virtual classes where
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My First Lessons in Service

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Ten years ago when I first found the lifestyle, I'd also moved into my brother's little house at the end of a dead end road on the edge of town.  He'd shifted to a larger place for him and his family, and he pretty much told me...do whatever—as little or as much as—you want.  To put it kindly, he'd handed me enough to keep my busy for years.  Beyond the main backyard were several acres with the property that were EXTREMELY overgrown, and I mean chest-HIGH!  All I could see beyond that edge where lawn met wild were treetops that reached for the Ohio sky. From the first day I woke up to the birds and the breeze at the FOS (The Fortress of Solitude) I worked to make a difference to my surroundings.  Once I'd gotten the house somewhat settled, I started to pull overgrown weeds that bordered the yard.  I had no idea what I'd find once I got into the thick of it all, but the woods called to my soul.   Every day, I'd tug on my leather work gloves and pr
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When I Hate My slaveheart

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(WIP?) I shouldn't be allowed to write in Top drop.  I'll admit things that are better left ignored by my consciousness.  Fuck...my /s-side is no longer sheltered under the thick blanket of community service I use to appease her.  Apparently my Service Top stole her covers and is off snoring in the shadows leaving her to fend for herself.  I'm all out of coping mechanisms.  What the fuck ever...it is what it is. The ache to surrender leaves me breathless and dizzy.  The problem is there's nothing to surrender to except the want I can not fill. ...For the word "Sir" to fall from my lips as acceptance, acquiescence, obedience, agreement, a request, a reverent plea, a deep understanding. ...That clarity of fucking purpose.  To begin and end with Him. ...To underdress Him in reverence.  His sigh of pleasure my greatest reward. ...The comfort and security of Belonging to Him. ...To stand/kneel under a hot shower and bathe His body.  No words.  Simply
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