Paying My Due

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If you are a bitch you have to pay bitch-tax. Or should you? There is an idea that if you rip something to shreds you should propose something to put in its place. Well maybe. There are, I feel, some things that could happily be shredded and then the place where they stood just left barren as a monument to the insanity that was the thing that what they were. Like, for example.

But you, my dear loyal readership, know what I carp on about more than anything else. And the truth is, I can’t just expect domming men for money to end forever.

And if it did, let’s face it, they’re be a lot of confused submissive men wandering around all bereft and stuff. And, greedy as I am, I, personally, probably couldn’t manage more than, say, seven of them.

And there are reasons I want this service to exist. For example there was something me and Blue Sky talked about once about him going to a pro just so he could send me pictures of what she’d done to him. I wanted marks on his body. For me. She would be pretty much a facilitator – just doing what I am too far away to do and really, really want to. The whole thing would be for me. I would pay. We never did it. But we still might. Maybe. And the idea is very hot.

Mind you I don’t want prodom women to exist as much as I want prosub men to be available on every street corner – but that’s another story.

Also, we still need something to sexify men and their money. ‘Cause it is just hot. Financial rape – ZOMG. And I have this sort of fantasy findom idea where he is begging her not to take it all. On his knees. In his fucking suit. Fuck! Maybe she gives him a little back. Not enough. And he’s picking it up off the floor with his mouth. I can’t really do this stuff – I can’t keep the money – but goddam this obsession with findom is getting, well, obsessive.

But that fantasy gave me an idea. Him begging for some of the money back. So I was thinking about prodom and findom and how I find one makes me antsy and one makes me strangely excited (see frothing above). And I was in the queue at the co-op waiting to pay for some bananas and thinking about a way to make prodom more properly sexificated.

But I didn’t know how. And then I did. And then I knew I was a genius.

Prodom should work like this.

All the sessions should cost, say, three times as much as they do now. If it’s £150 an hour it should be £650 an hour. And he should pay that. In cash. Upfront. And the cash needs to be somewhere visible in the room. In a clear box, say. He needs to be able to see that money the whole time. It needs to be more than he can afford to pay.

Then, he earns it back.

Want to know how? Or have you just lapped me?

He has, what, an hour. Do these things last an hour? I have no idea. Do they last ten hours? But let’s get the rough idea down first. Someone else can iron out the kinks later (ha ha – funny lady!)

So he has an hour to earn as much of the money back as he can. By taking pain. By debasing himself. He is paying *and* getting paid to submit! He earns the session fee back (not all of it – naturally) by doing all manner of hot dirty little things that could all be laid out in a contract. He can take the cane for £2 per stroke. He can fetch it in his mouth for a bonus. He can earn money if he take enough pain he starts to cry. (I have no problem with theatrics – none at all.)

And, fuck, I love contracts. I have had relationships with ‘contracts’ where the contract was way hotter than anything that then transpired in the actual relationship.

It could all be up on the fucking wall like a menu of painful humiliations.

God I’m clever. I fucking win. This is flawless.

Will someone please start doing this right now. And start a fucking blog about it. I am going to the pub now – please have blog running when I get back. With live streaming.

You don’t have to thank me. You don’t have to pay me. You could name your first born after me. Bitchy’s good name for a boy or a girl.

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