the Leathermines

Good. Let's start. On your knees. Good Pet.

I call myself a Dom.  Not Domme, as many would prefer if they were showing as female.  I have a bit of a thing about the mispronunciation of Domme, as it is the same as Dom, not Dommy or other mispronunciation.

But that is not why I am in the position I am in.

When I was young, and finding that the various Kinks in BdSm were not just interesting, but what I wanted in my life, I had a very big stumbling block.  I am older than most people really think, and at the time I was exploring what sexuality and Kink were, the media was against what I was.

I am a larger woman.  Have been for most of my life.  When I was starting in the community, I was underage and precocious.  This meant I would just do things to find out what it was like and be thrilled to ‘get away with it’.  BUT!  I also had the background of research so I would read and watch the media available at the time to see what things were ‘supposed’ to be like.  In the late 70’s to early 80’s this was primarily really bad porn, Gay magazines, or popular culture.  I was hardly represented in any of these.

I finally found some magazines that had women of my similar shape.  Doing things that were like what I wanted to explore.  Unfortunately, all the women who were my proxy were the slaves.  And I mean slaves.  Not bottoms. Not subs.  The only way a fat girl could participate, according to the media I was able to find, was to be completely subjugated and used.

I believed it.

And, as it happens far too often, a man who had proclaimed himself as a Dom saw that I was exploring, and took advantage of me.  There were a few discussions, a few sessions, and I thought what he was doing was what I deserved.

There weren’t any negotiations.  Everything that was done skirted every piece of safety I have learned since.  Including the psychological component he used to keep me in my place.

He was an abuser.

The night I changed how I was going to interact with the Kink community was the night I walked away from him.  Physically walked away.  With only a bathrobe around me.

He let me think that being a woman, I could not be in charge.  He made me believe that being fat meant I could not make my own decisions.  He followed thru by subverting the trust I had with him.  That symbol I had around my neck, deniable if someone asked, burned with the oppression of his misguided hand.  I was a toy for him, and he tried to break his toy.

It was a night like some others.  I had been able to get out of the house without anyone noticing.  He picked me up in his vehicle.  We went to a new place.  I was told to go into the bedroom and get ready.  I went down to skin and collar, as his protocol demanded.  I knelt and waited.

This was the night he had brought others.  This was the night he had gone beyond all bounds and told me he was going to ‘share’ me.  There had not been a discussion.  I was told.

I was lucky.  I was able to make a small excuse to stand and go to the other room.  All my stuff was in that bedroom.  There was a bathrobe that I took.  I left the collar.  I walked home.

I was 16.

That night, as I was feeling the loss of something that had not been comfortable, but had been familiar, I changed.   I walked and thought, and cried, and yelled.  I changed how I saw people.  I tried to change how I saw myself.  It has been a battle even before that night, and it will always be a battle.

I am Miss R.  I am a Dom.  I will not let anyone unworthy hold my leash ever again, and I will always strive to be worthy to hold the leashes I am given.