Do bear with me, this is my first post here. It's a rant I wrote for my blog, but I thought this would be an acceptable place to share it. Please do let me know if it's not though.

You want me, but you can’t have me. You’re not worthy,’ says the latex-clad dominatrix stereotype. Her power stems in the fact she is an object of visual attraction. She is perfectly unattainable and therefore all the more desirable – a goddess on a pedestal to be worshipped and appeased.

She is, more often than not, passive up on that pedestal, like all statues. She generally commands lust, not necessarily respect.

To be clear, this isn’t a criticism of porn. I am very much aware that performance is difficult, and I have ample respect for pros and actresses of all calibres. It is, after all, not the fault of pornography that some sad people confuse it for reality.

Nonetheless, it is a narrative which has steeped its way into the very concept of what female domination ought to look like.

That narrative commonly shows up around a few of the kinks associated with femdom – for instance, chastity, cuckolding, and a variety of ‘worship’ kinks. Scroll through any feed labelled ‘femdom’ and chances are, you will find swathes of generically provocative images of women, coyly dangling keys over their ample cleavage, with captions detailing impracticably nefarious chastity blackmail plots.

Don’t get me wrong – there is nothing inherently wrong with any of that. I'm sure plenty of women enjoy that kind of dynamic and power to them.

It just so happens I am not one of them.

Unfortunately, when I first started exploring D/s as a teenager, I thought I had to be. It was an uncomfortable fit.

I found the idea that my power was based on someone’s sexual attraction to me difficult to reconcile with what might be termed my ‘inner domme’ – the set of feelings and instincts which are a natural part of me, but which are enhanced and fully brought to the fore by space.

By her understanding, I am a force. A predator. I am to be feared and respected for who and what I am. I am not a latex-covered carrot to entice someone into obedience.

This dissonance was exacerbated by the fact most fetish wear is restrictive and uncomfortable. While that is a price I am happy to pay where I want to dress that I way, it was the idea that this was necessary I just couldn’t stomach.

Of course, it turned out I didn’t have to - I realised that the kind of submissives who would offer me a fulfilling dynamic had no issue submitting to me as a person. I could wear a dressing gown and be just as effective.

Where I wanted to elicit a particular reaction, I could play to their individual tastes. It was the realisation I was under no obligation to which was quite a relief.

I thought that I had exhausted all controversy around (and interest in) the subject, until I met B.

I had never really experienced visual attraction quite so viscerally.

As our dynamic developed, this aesthetic appeal turned into something more possessive.

An immense sense of satisfaction, pleasure even, flowing from the half-thought, half-felt fact that I own him - he is mine, mine to do with as I please. He is my toy, my property, my possession.

The desire to run my hands over him, touch him, grab him was something which slowly flared over time. Nowadays, I frequently and regularly exercise my right to grope him at any time, invade his mouth with my fingers or tongue. In fact, it's become a part of our daily life.

But that took time.

And not because he would have been reticent to make himself available to me that way – I have yet to see him so much as flinch when I grope him, let alone move away, no matter what his mood or state of mind.

It’s that it has rather been something I’ve grown into.

It was a slow dawning realisation, which finally hit me in force about a year into our dynamic. I had one hand running over the outline of his latex shorts, the other pinning his hands when it occurred to me – it’s not just that I didn’t enjoy being the object of desire.

It's that I enjoy making someone else the object of desire. Him, to be specific.

The restrictive nature of fetish wear suddenly had a new appeal. It was something to inflict on him for my own gratification.

Pretty to look at, restricted, and uncomfortable? Perfect.

The day I outfit him in a full latex catsuit is imminent. The chances of me donning one ever again are somewhere between the likelihood of hell freezing over and the probability that the UK will have competent political leadership in the foreseeable future.

My tastes have developed, hurray for me. So, what’s my point?

Quite simply, that we should divorce the idea of who should be the object of desire from gender, as well as dominance and submission.

Some women enjoy being the object of desire; some dommes enjoy weaponising that. Equally, some dommes like me would rather enjoy having a sub who they can objectify to their hearts content. I think quite a few men out there, submissive or not, would enjoy being the object of desire too and that’s something we’re missing out on as a society.

Male lingerie shouldn’t be limited to feminisation. Let’s give boys the right to be groped.

And I would sincerely like it if female dominance could stop being reduced to the superficial.

For the dommes who choose to weaponise it, appearance is but one tool in their arsenal. For dommes who feel like me, it has nothing to do with why our subs submit to us.