Whore Next Door: Femme Supremacy

We have a sub; his name is Wallet.

Siouxsie Q, left, Mistress Bella Bathory, and Wallet near the end of the night on New Year’s Eve. (Courtesy of Siouxsie Q)

As I’ve mentioned in the past, my girlfriend is a dominatrix.

She is a professional and a lifestyle domme, meaning that while she does do traditional hourly sessions with clients in a dungeon, she also has a small staff of submissives who are in true service to her (as opposed to paying for the experience she gives them). Her Mistress persona is not a show, but rather her authentic sexual identity — and while she’s a lesbian and self-described “femme-supremacist,” she derives genuine pleasure from dominating men and taking their money. Aside from spanking, medical role play, and leather, financial domination is one of her biggest turn-ons.

Although in the 1990s, my girlfriend and I would have been called “lipstick lesbians,” there is not much that’s either soft or sweet about our sex life. We play with high stakes: blood, breath, and brutality top our list of requirements for a romantic evening at home.

Financial domination isn’t so different. What a man has in his pocket defines him far more than what he has in his pants — which is why it’s so arousing and edgy to reach for a man’s billfold instead of his zipper. That’s when he knows you mean business. One of her submissives is only referred to as Wallet, because when he is with us, he’s where the money comes from. His role is to serve, nothing more, nothing less.

Like a household appliance or a piece of furniture, he is there when you need him — and neatly tucks himself away when not required, asking nothing beyond being used for his purpose. Occasionally, my girlfriend will reward him for his service by beating him to a pulp with floggers, paddles, whips, and even an occasional taser. But there is no sex. There is definitely no kissing. He rarely speaks if not spoken to, and he’s always ready to be of service.

On our second date, he cooked us filet mignon and left without eating a bite, glowing from the monstrous beating he’d been given.

During an uncharacteristically hot Folsom Street Fair last year — the weather was hot, that is — she sent him to fetch a giant tent from the depths of the San Francisco Armory, so that the latex in our booth wouldn’t melt. The tent must have weighed 50 pounds, and was more than a little cumbersome to navigate through 10 crowded city blocks of leather-clad fair-goers. But he did it. Without question or complaint, he did what needed to be done so his Mistress’ life would be more comfortable.

During that same Folsom weekend, while he was carrying my bags from my car to the booth, we had a heart-to-heart about how much we adore the beautiful blonde we both serve.

His love is the real thing, and though we are all ultimately selfish in some capacity, he truly derives satisfaction from seeing her happy. That is why, no matter how much I tease, belittle, or berate him, he has earned my unwavering respect.

On New Year’s Eve, he took us on a vintage-shopping spree, topped off by a sushi feast. Later that night, when our feet got tired from a day spent in high heels, he got down on his knees and served as our ottoman.

Now that we’ve spent several holidays together, Wallet and I have developed our own tender relationship. It most closely resembles that of Gracie and Niles the butler on Fran Drescher’s The Nanny. Although I can’t order him around, I take great pleasure in teasing and poking fun at him — especially if it involves getting him into little bits of trouble with the Mistress. He loves being berated and humiliated in public by two beautiful women, and we are always happy to oblige.

It falls in a murky area between intimacy and formality, and there aren’t too many archetypes for this type of relationship outside of Game of Thrones or Downton Abbey. He’s not quite a client, and he’s not quite a friend. He’s not quite an employee, and he’s not quite family. He’s a unique combination of all four, more akin to a squire or a butler than anything else. His time, service, and resources are how he expresses his adoration, and in a world where so many men feel entitled to women’s time and attention, it’s incredibly refreshing to spend time with a man who gives freely and expects almost nothing in return.

Siouxsie Q has been writing “The Whore Next Door” since 2014.

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