The Laya Spot Vibrator
By Antonia Crane

My friend Susan says “technology is sexy” and I never agreed until I tried the Laya Spot Vibrator by Fun Factory. Not only is it wireless, ergonomically contoured and quietly powerful but it looks like a hot pink computer mouse. It’s the Hello Kitty woman’s vibrator of the digital age. It’s also the perfect birthday gift for a tech slut, so I brought it to Susan at work so she could pleasure herself between conferences. The Fun Factory toy has 7 speeds and ends with an intense powerful pulse that can be controlled by the pink illuminated buttons. Its subtle angular design can fit in your purse, between you and your partner, or even in your panties while you shop at the grocery store.

I prefer toys that don’t sound like I’m having a cavity filled, so I decided to try the Laya Spot Vibrator in a quiet setting, like a library, but not just any library. A client paid me to dress in a latex pencil skirt and attend a Catholic School Benefit at the Ronald Reagan Library last year as his date. I pretended to be his girlfriend and ate stuffed mushrooms and chicken skewers while he placed bids on Lakers tickets and framed art.

I flirted with soccer moms and shook hands with nuns. My date didn’t know I had my little pink silicone Laya Spot Vibrator in my purse. While he talked about the girls swim team with a colleague, I grew bored and excused myself to the ladies bathroom. My black latex skirt hiked up, I kept the vibrator on the lowest and most quiet speed in the tight silver stall. I heard a woman wash her hands and remove paper towels from the wall. Another woman walked in and the two exchanged conspiratorial small talk:

“You look really beautiful in that dress.”

“Have you lost weight?”

“Did you see Jim? He’s getting tipsy.”

“Is that his new wife? She’s so young.”

I raised the speed on the vibrator, which made it a lot louder. The women continued their gossip. I heard water running. Black pointy shoes shuffled in the stall next to me. As the toilet flushed beside me, I got off, and when I emerged the women were gone. I washed the pink water resistant vibrator, applied bright red lipstick and returned to my seat at the dinner table, with one of my dates at my side, and the other in my purse.

Midori: Mistress of Femme Domme Comes to the Stockroom
By Antonia Crane

The high priestess of femme, Mistress Midori, taught a captivating lecture Sunday March 29th at the Stockroom retail store in Los Angeles called The Art of Feminine Dominance I to a diverse crowd. There were drag queens, queers and trans couples, straight couples, lesbians, and a few stray cuties (who happen to work at the Stockroom). All of us had one common desire: to learn the art of the Femme Domme. Everyone settled down in chairs that surrounded our captivating hostess before the lecture began. One devoted sub knelt on his knees and delivered coffee to a black-haired vixen in a tight leather corset that sat directly in front of me. She gave her sub a slight nod and smile, but did not look him in the eye, of course.

“Consider the word feminine,” Midori began. Midori is not only wickedly articulate; she is generous and kind, sophisticated and accessible. Her restraint is calculated. She is the word Feminine. She is also:

• Strictly Smokin’

• Botanical Garden Lover

• Exotic Tea Connoisseur

• Sexuality Educator

• Femme Top

• Fetish Model

“Who are your archetypes?” Midori asked the crowd. Hands shot up. The answers covered history, comic books, pop culture and personal Icons like: Joan of Arc, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joan Crawford, Cat Woman, RuPaul, Medusa, and Cher. We made lists of the qualities these icons displayed and strived to inhabit those qualities in our scenes as tops; our list of desired qualities in a lover, as bottoms. Speaking of icons, Midori’s demeanor was consistently stern and lovely; an exotic version of Elizabeth Taylor in Butterfield 8, mixed in with some La Femme Nikita and Queen Elizabeth with a dollop of delicious Medusa in a tight fitting dress that she strutted around the room. Midori’s lecture spanned a lot of territory.

“You don’t have to be a bio female to occupy a femme space. You can be a man, a queen, a trans male or female. Feminine space is about the layers of dark qualities balanced with the light,” she said, and wrote some dark qualities on the board like “demanding, brutal, impatient.” Her point was that there is a full spectrum of light that we may not be aware of, like the fickle, bitchy, bossy parts mixed in with the poised, graceful, sweet parts and those qualities can be used as tools in a scene to enhance our characters. Creating a Femme Domme space is about transcending the every day.

Midori touched on the importance of building seduction and using all of ones’ senses: the voice, eyes and hands as tools to create the Femme Domme space. There are idols and objects that can also be used, like shoes or the sound of knives. She asked for audience participation to demonstrate using her tools without ropes or toys, simply with her Femme Domme demeanor.

“I’m going to wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze because I want to,” she said to a butch woman who had said she loved bondage. The woman visibly melted.

The Art of Femme Domme has to do with taking responsibility for your desires and communicating those desires to your partner. What resonated the most in Midori’s workshop was the importance of that communication. She stressed compassion and intuition, which gave her iron-hand lecture a light touch.

At one point, Midori instructed the crowd to be good to their bottoms. “It takes a naked heart and soul to bottom,” she said. The crowd, completely absorbed in Midori’s Femme Domme Space, obediently agreed.

“The Things We Do”
by Antonia Crane

March 2009

A week ago, my dear friend Laurel called me to do a scene for play with her for a client. “I have this sub who is a stuffy downtown lawyer by day (let’s call him Rob). Rob wants me to pretend to be his boss and he has requested another girl to act as his punishing supervisor and have him beg for his job back,” Laurel said to me. “It pays well and only lasts about half an hour.” I was in-between strip clubs. The bikini bar in Pasadena I was a dancer at was recently shut down and my assistant gig was barely covering my bills. Needless to say, I decided to do it. I had done some Domme work prior in San Francisco but never with Laurel.

“I’d love to! I have a whip and a great new paddle” I exclaimed, thinking of the opportunity to use a brand spankin’ new goodie. After sifting through my extensive collection I decided to use Stockroom’s black leather Rug Beater, which is a new twist on an archaic household-cleaning tool. It’s a solid 13” soft, braided leather handle that ends in a 6” tightly braided loop for a powerful, stinging welt. I also pulled out my cute black Impression Paddle that imprints the word “PIG” on the lucky butt cheek that it lands on.

Laurel arrived at 5pm so we could rehearse our routine. I wore a skin tight black dress that showed plenty of cleavage and six inch black stilettos, I felt ready and I looked the part. Laurel was a flawless vision of gorgeous femme fatale with her long dark wavy hair flowing above a sleek pencil skirt.

Our businessman arrived right on time (subs are generally very punctual). Rob was about what I pictured, dressed in a grey suit and thick rimmed glasses. He was the cliché businessman with salt and pepper hair, white shirt and a nervous tick. He said “hello” and his right eye twitched. How endearing!

“We need to talk to you.” Laurel said firmly, stepping into roleplay immediately. “Your job performance has suffered lately. You’re just not hitting the mark.” Our sweet sub took off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair.

“Listen, this case has been killing me. Just give me some time. I can land this plane in the next thirty days.” He looked at my shoes, so I took the cue. “Listen here, Rob. I’ve given you three warnings. Not to mention you keep wearing that damn cologne and you very well know we are a scent-free establishment.”

“You’re fired” Laurel said, while authoritatively reaching for his slacks, unfastening his belt. They fell to his ankles.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do anything you want,” he pleaded, breathing heavily. He was really giving the role his all and was clearly turned on. He leaned over and balanced his arms on the table, dropping his head in defeat.

“There’s nothing you can do. Pack up your office and leave immediately,” I said.

“Please, I’ll do anything to keep my job,” Robert begged. He was perfectly diminished. Laurel laughed and swung the black Leather Rug Beater with an expert swat. The Rug Beater paddle provided an impressive sting with little effort. Next up, my “PIG” impression paddle made a tight cracking noise that sang harmoniously with Rob’s whimpers. I took his shiny burgundy tie off and stuffed it in his mouth while we continued to tag-team his ass with spankings.

“He needs to shine my shoes now,” Laurel said a few minutes later, and took the tie out of his mouth. “On your knees Rob,” she directed. Laurel continued to put her knee-high lace up platform boots on his chest and he wiped them with his tie.

“Thank you Miss Laurel,” he whispered.

“You just bought yourself two more weeks at work, Rob,” Laurel said, obviously satisfied with the foot job on her newly shined shoes.

“You’ve wasted enough of our time,” I said as planned, after a half an hour had passed. Laurel smiled at me for keeping us on track. Robert pulled his pants up and took the money out of the envelope to pay us.

“Isn’t this my severance pay?” Rob teased.

Laurel and I recounted the night’s events (and counted our $400 apiece), and noticed an item hanging on the chair. While Rob has his memories to keep him company, we have his not-so-innocent (and still damp) tie to keep us company.