Am I a victim?

I am a skilled service provider, I am not a servant. There is nothing about my personality that even hints a submissiveness, I can’t even pretend to be submissive. It would come off as if I were a bad actress in a telenovella. Dreadful. I am dominant, pure and simple. Ultimately I make the decision as to what services the client will get. Now, I don’t have a problem servicing some poor sods dick, it isn’t as difficult or as easy as some people think. I don’t just lay there and moan on queue in the appropriate places. I am amazed at the girls who can get away with this. I am thinking about is this guy reacting to what I am doing, is his dick getting hard, or am I sucking on the cold dead flesh of a corpse. Some punters dicks are COLD! And that is a VERY bad sign. If my leg was ice-cold all the time, it would be safe to say I had circulation problems. The same is true with a man whose penis is ice-cold. This fills me with absolute terror. My job will be a bloody up hill battle. I will have to incorporated the suction skill of a Dyson, which means my jaw and throat will ache, not to mention my poor arm will start to suffer from RSI. Not bloody likely. When dealing with the walking dead. I often turn them over and give a massage first, to relax them, then I massage the area around the half dead organ in a vain attempt to infuse some life down that way. I have often found the direct approach to be pointless, this ads to the tension the man is feeling and causes his already constricted blood vessels to constrict even more, thus rendering any attempt on my part to be pointless and frustrating for all parties involved. I am here to provide a service that will make the person feel good upon leaving my boudoir, not want to jump off the nearest bridge.

The hooker/client dynamic, where I am concerned is an interesting one, you can blame all the books I read by Dr. Camille Paglia, when in Uni. She is one feminist who likes hookers and has a different look on the world. I once had a friend remark she was amazed that I got any clients at all, due to how I would speak to them on the phone. At the time, I was rather abrupt to the point of rudeness. She on the other hand was so sweet to them on the phone, honey drips from her every word, can you guess who is busier? No simpering Miss me. I have often said to her, men don’t want nice-they have nice at home, they want and need resistance. Look at a lion in the zoo, having fresh butchered meat thrown in front of them. They sniff it lazily, saunter away and take a nap. Why, they know it will be there later on. Now the lion in the wild, oh they have to hunt for the food, and god help the chosen delicacy of the day when they catch it. The difference being there is resistance and with the other there is none. Even when logically the punter knows he is going to get exactly what he pays for, there is still that need within a man to have a bit of tension. Tension makes things exciting and tension adds to the satisfaction. Anyone, ever have make-up sex? Good stuff.

So, I instill a little bit of that from the first conversation. That tension, that need to conquer, that desire for the hunt.

I am not interested in currying favor with a client who has of yet not crossed my door, or paid me a single penny. I know it seems a strange approach, but if I come across desperate for his business, it will put him psychologically in the superior position, he can then play a nice little game of cat and mouse with me if he so pleases. He can dangle an appointment in front of my nose, and even go so far as to play another girl off me to get the best service and the best price. No with me. I am not interested in this type of client. Please! I am not rude, just, nor am I kowtowing or pandering to his over inflated sense of self either. I will answer a certain amount of questions with good grace, I will briefly tell you what services I provide, and I will give you the general directions where I am located, and I will confirm the price for certain services, outside of that, I don’t even try to engage in a lengthy conversation about nonsense. Not interested, and I will hang up, if the conversation starts to go on longer that 50 seconds. The average phone conversation usually lasts between 38-68 seconds. Any thing longer than this is usually a time waster, trying to get his jollies from engaging me in a free phone sex session.


Domination sir?

Why  I love being a Dominatrix. Therapy! And I am just a little bit sadistic. Plain and bloody simple. Now mind you, I am not sadistic in the sense of needing to inflict pain on those who don’t want it. To much work, not interested in converting someone to liking pain. I like those subs who are just teetering on the edge, just needing a wee push. Those who want me to inflict pain on them but not too sure which kind, ahh this is where I excel. Wicked, little seemingly innocent things, like a kiss from Mistress. OH, how the sub pays for that pleasure.

Allow me to explain, people in general get on my nerves. Always have, in fact I would come close to saying don’t really fancy my fellow-man that much. The singularly stupid shit people do, leaves me with a firm distaste for spending large quantities of my precious time with any one of them for longer than is absolutely necessary. This constant pressure of having to deal with idiotic people, causes stress. So, when I was first introduced to Dom, I was like ICK! Gosh that is gross! Then I was introduced to corporal punishment, oh sweet mother of god, I took to that like a duck to water. I could get paid to flay the hide off of some sniveling, pathetic, corpulent, submissive accountant!? Sweet Jesus, why didn’t someone tell me about this years ago?

Not to mention, I was allowed to anally de-flower the odd one or two. “Oh, ah, that hurts Mistress.” “Really?! Shut Up, breathe and take it like a man, you pathetic little piece of vermin!” Punctuated by a hip thrust. A moment of epiphany when the sub realizes I have just inserted a rather large object up their ass. A well applied slap, and a slow gyrating movement, and they is my little bitch, whimpering for me not to take it out. How much pleasure he is getting. How he will do anything I tell him.  I fucking love my JOB!

I had found a new niche, and I absolutely loved it. It was better than clinical therapy, cheaper than retail therapy, it got the stress I was feeling out and dealt with, I got PAID for the personal growth moment, and the sheer sadistic pleasure of whipping the sweet, white, quivering bottom of some little worm. There should be a law against this much pleasure being derived by one person.

Why I wondered weren’t more people doing Dom? It was easier than having to pretend to worship their sad little cocks just hanging there dribbling pre-cum down their hairy legs. I could with a great deal of honestly tell them how pathetic I though them to be. I could call them names like, worm, dog spittle, shit face, small dicked wonder. I could describe to them in graphic detail just how sad their members were, how useless it was, how pointless it was, and in some cases if the sub was deep into blood play, I could even go so far as to threaten to cut it off, and make tiny little nicks in the penis. I could whip bottoms, I could whip backs, I could stomp on cocks with my heels, I could spit on them, pull hair, and could slap faces! I could bend them over after inflicting some of the worst punishment I could, and after putting on my rather large strap on, I could put them in the most submissive of positions and FUCK THEM up the ass in the name of woman kind!

After slapping them around, spitting on them, fucking them rather none too gently up the nether regions, I would sit on their faces, play with my rather nice vibrating toy, make them lick me, come in their faces, and then pee on them. Get up, send them into the corner where they could finish themselves off if they so chose. I was done with them. My God the power rush was incredible. I would be so suffused with adrenalin after a serious good session. Then the best part  of all of this, is when they upon leaving, kissing my feet in thanks. If only all my appointments were like this.

In Ireland, a great deal of my appointments are Dom, these boys love having their bottoms rogered senseless, and their little pink asses whipped. I can only say ‘thank you’ to the Roman Catholic church; what their mothers didn’t fuck up, the church finished off for them. God bless Ireland.


This should be an open letter to Aid agencies really. I thought it might actually be read here though, as Aid agencies..they don’t seem to listen to much.

Lets take the good things. The good women of these agencies, they work to rescue victims. Victims of prostitution, trafficking, general abuse. I don’t know, but I hope, that these agencies also help those addicted to substances exit prostitution, as of course these women probably need help. I know Ruhama do great work with victims of trafficking, helping them to relocate, find accommodation and employment. For this, Ruhama should be praised and funded.

I understand they rescued at least seven victims of trafficking and helped scores of others with counselling and other network support. I hope Ruhama also provide an outreach van, where they head to the streets daily, hand out clean needles to street workers, also offer an Ugly Mug service to them. You know, the actual stuff they really need to stop them from dying from shared needle use and associated illnesses?Help them avoid being beaten up and killed? Until they get ready to seek help? Maybe check they are ok, fed, not scared? Translate for them? – I hope so, because I really think maybe those women are just as vulnerable.  And of course, we all help fund this help, so its good to see its working. I also hope Ruhama have ex sex workers on their who better to advise? It would be hard, to judge this situation as anything else, wouldn’t it? I really hope you offer that Ruhama. Its got to be of the same value as a polished Ad campaign.

Now lets take the bad stuff. There are at least 800 known sex workers in Ireland working at any given period. You know this, because there are profiles to reflect this. They don’t access your service, but undoubtably, some of them may be victims. however the majority actually are not. I know this, I and lots of my friends, are not, support a bill that will criminalise our clientele? On the basis this will stop trafficking? Are we to assume then that seven hundred and forty people have just not been rescued or arrested yet? Don’t you think stopping trafficking might begin with starting to communicate and work with the escorting community, instead of making them further isolated? Are clients and escorts not the best people to alert others of possible issues? This is a strange idea. Did criminalizing homosexuality stop homosexuality? Men will always seek to buy sex. It’s the oldest profession, up there from the beginning of Christianity. So…Why no compromise? Why not push for a Bill that criminalises Sex with a trafficked Woman, knowingly or unknowingly? Why try to control the morality and future of the majority? Ruhama is supposed to mean new beginnings. Rebirth!  I like this. I fail to see why your new beginnings can only be for the minority. We need to go forward and learn about each other. That will not happen while you make us sinners for wishing to do legally what you wish to criminalize, thus pushing our work further into illicit means and much more vulnerable to assault, abuse, and further lack of care. I won’t go away, Ruhama. I will just be pushed further into the dark. So where is my new beginning?

Text message pests..a lesson in method

There are certain text pests, that I swear have no lives, and too much free text on their hands. There is a particular one that, I have happily ignored for several months now, until today:

TP: call me.

Escort in Evil Mode: No dear that isn’t the way this works, you are supposed to call me.

TP: your loss idiot.

Escort  rolls eyes: Ignores

TP:You are probably a fat cow anyway

Escort in teaching lesson mode: If I were fat I could lose weight and become thin. But as in your case, this type if frustration only comes from either having a small dick of having been buggered by your father. There really is no help, so you resort to pestering escorts for non existent appointments, because your wallet like your dick is also non existent. Now FUCK OFF, you waste of space.

Amazing how he hasn’t responded. 

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Whore. I absolutely love this word; it is one of the few words that get its point across in no uncertain terms. Immediately, the listener, the speaker, the audience knows just what you are, and what you do. As far as job descriptions goes it is pretty concise and exact. Unlike some of the other words used to describe what I do, escort, call girl, floozy, slut, dollymop, tramp, coquette, flirt, siren, temptress, wench and trollop. Whore is in my opinion the quintessential essence of female power. It breaks all the rules. It sets its own agenda and marches to the beat of its own drummer. It is very liberating.

Why am I a whore? Because it pays damn good! Sorry to burst the bubble on the stereotypical view most of you have about us, you know the one in which the media, aid organizations and most literature portrays us as street walking crack-heads, selling our pussies to the lowest bidder for a quick hit of the pipe? Or, the trafficked non-English speaking foreign woman brought over to work as a sex slave in some sleazy back alley brothel, kept drugged up, used and abused?

Nope, that isn’t me not in the slightest. I am an educated, intelligent independent woman who after much research decided to try this as an alternative to working in the local grocery store. See, at the time I didn’t need to work, I had a nice BF that was supporting me and the then little ones just fine. It was more an issue of not always wanting to rely on him for money, I liked having my own. The ladies sitting behind the counter of the local super market look miserable, brain-dead, unmotivated, unenthusiastic, and bored. The thought of having to face those types of colleagues was not an entertaining one

I could have done something else, such as worked at the school or local shops, but I just felt I would be wasting my time; and to tell the truth I am, if I were to be completely honest, lazy. Not lazy in the sense of not wanting to work at all, more a unmotivation to work the basic boring 9-5 drudge type job. I don’t want to work 40 hours a week for pittance, sorry but that in my opinion isn’t a life, it is slavery, and that was supposedly abolished at least in this part of the world, some time ago. So, I choose to be a whore. Because when I weighed the costs to benefit ratio I realized I could make about the same as someone working in an everyday ordinary job, have free time and not need a man around to support me, which was the main aim of the exercise. I liked calling the shots, I hated compromising and I hated being told what to do by some man who because he is endowed with external genital thinks it is his god given right to tell me what I must and mustn’t do. Not bloody likely.

So for me working is about asserting my own power over my life and making my own choices.

Economic migration

What do I think of trafficking? I think it is abhorrent. The most disgusting thing we can do to another, the slave trade of our century. The idea that a girl could be forced to do what I do, fills me with sadness and horror. The idea that men I see, men I talk to daily, could contribute to that type of pain and misery truly makes me sick. However, I don’t think many men would knowingly see a trafficked person. I think the waters have been muddied. Some people definitely don’t want to be here and do not want to work as prostitutes. However – an awful lot do.

Many ladies are here for economic reasons, and they come from a wide range of countries. Some work for agencies here in Ireland, agencies that remain hidden, and some work for agencies who send them here. All of them will charge these ladies a fee for their ‘assistance”. So yes, they are pimps. For some ladies, that’s the only way they could ever afford to travel.

What about the ladies who work for literally a few euro in their countries? Same job there, but for a pittance? What about those ladies, who actually want to be here? The ones who see this as their chance to improve not only their lives, but the lives of their children and extended families too? We need clarity of these situations. We need to be aware, not only of the true horrors that are out there, but the half stories, the ones we are never told. The ones that don’t quite fit. There are so many shades of grey.

Why do the clients do it?

I try to be so careful of the choices I make. I have read certain blogs recently and they have made me reflect…

I probably fall into the category of client the blogger describes as the sad and lonely fecker and I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to admit it. While I may be single and choose to see escorts now and again, it is not something I am proud of, nor is it something I ever saw myself doing. Growing up I never had much self-confidence and was very self-conscious. I never had much luck with the ladies. Up until 3 years ago the thought of visiting an escort never even crossed my mind. Then by chance I read about how rampant escorting is in Ireland, the whole focus of the article being on a well known escort site, how the escorts advertise and the review system. Eventually after a while just browsing I plucked up the courage and made an appointment.
DCG talks about her disgust at the review system, and I can see why depending on how they are written. Personally I have used the review system to help me make more informed choices, to help me choose ladies who I believe are genuinely independent and doing this of their own free choice and are happy to do it. And to the best of my knowledge it has worked. In return I write a review mainly to show my appreciation to the lady and as a thank you, and I try to write them as respectfully as I can. Continue reading