“Ethically, I consider scene confidentiality equivalent to
doctor/patient.” And that is the
biggest, steaming pile of crap I ever handed anyone—and myself. New York in the Naughty Aughtys was
rife with wagging tongues. It was almost as if I was in each sessions.
I was as guilty as the next domme at times, but in no way
they worst and certainly not in the worst ways—demoralizing other dommes,
giving away sensitive information.
Conversely, times arose when staying above the fray bit me in the butt.
Typically when a new slave entered my lair I asked them
certain questions including their experiences—including negative
experiences. A lot of times slaves
would immediately mention names.
“I don’t need to know their names.
I’m just getting a psychological profile of you to better understand you
before we play.” Early on, I spent
a considerable amount of time deliberately trying to suppress names with the
experiences, but I found that a new sub, trying to do his best, would become
frustrated thinking he was already disappointing me. I let that go after a while. It wasn’t just that, however. The lowest common denominator in bonding is mutual disdain
for someone else. It wasn’t long
before I knew wayyyyyy more about my colleagues than I ever would have
wanted.
There was a lot of sycophantic, “You’re soooooo much better
than her,” kind of thing going on.
Wait? I'm not? |
Of course this wasn’t relegated to just the “slaves” trying
to curry favor. In NYC there were
a lot of guys who saw a bunch of dommes at any given times. Sluts? Sure, but such is the nature of
the beast. Then, there would be a lot of, “Hey, you know who I just saw? I bet
you can’t guess what she did?” Smarmy? Perhaps. On the other hand, if you have a funny story about a
dominatrix you saw, who else are you going to tell except the other dominatrix
you see? Are you going to pop into
work after lunch and tell your co-workers about how you were in panties, tied
up, covered in piss, and this rockin’ hot domme totally cut a big fart in the
middle of the session?