No one : …
Not a single soul : …
Me : hey, you know what I miss ? sex work.
Let’s talk about it !
As I was saying earlier, before last month I hadn't been e-Domming in roughly two years, something I can see changing in the near future.
A lot has happened, both leading up to and during that time frame, that I’d like to shout in the increasingly dying algorithmic void surrounding us all,
Just to get it off my mind and
In case any curious (and honestly obsessed atp) eyeball is still scouting my profiles in desperate search of a modicum of activity.
Dear domme diary, here’s a little lore entry.
No pretty picture today, just a lenghty stream of thought. Enjoy !
I got into online sex work back when I was an undergraduate, which I usually say was quite the mistake.
Not because 18 y.o is a little too early to embark on such endeavours, which I do believe — after all, one’s brain isn’t done physically forming at that point — but because entering life Sex Working with a neurospicy brain made me fundamentally incompatible with regular 9-to-5s, and I fear forever.
It’s the first job that paid my bills, even if it took a few years before I got to that point.
I didn’t mind the social exclusion.
I didn’t mind the stigma.
In fact the more I grew into it, the more it felt fitting to me — just right — even when I couldn’t really articulate why.
I took me going on this 2yrs hiatus to finally find words to put on that gut feeling.
Let’s walk back the narrative to right before I took the break.
At that point, I’d been a digital dominatrix for roughly five years, maybe six. I’d had quite a few ups and downs battling the innerworkings of the industry, trying to find my footing.
As much as I enjoyed the career, I felt I wasn’t fitting any mold I saw enacted by my peers — so I lowkey winged a lot of it, which only made the imposteur syndrome louder.
That being said, I carved a space for myself in that time frame — built a brand that I like to think as somewhat memorable. Scratch that ; I know it is memorable.
So two years ago, something happened that triggered my hiatus :
I reached my prime financially wise ; first five-figure month.
Little did I know this was about to be the last one before I stepped all the way back.
Which… might seem odd to anyone reading, and I’ll admit it hardly makes sense.
That is unless you understand how my psyche works, and the inner demons I spend my twenties actively dismantling :
I briefly touched on it in a previous entry, but I was raised a good, high performing girl.
As anyone growing up in a family of intellectuals could attest : academic track records were all the rage — they were the main, perhaps even only prism through which my caregivers expressed their pride in little me.
This created rather… gnarly subconscious blocks : I’m painfully perfectionnist, quite harsh on myself and most importantly I’m scared of both failure and success.
Yeah that’s quite the mind knot, I know.
I’m working on it.
That knot partly explains why I completely freaked out hitting that 10K month.
You see, most sensasionalist headlines pertaining to online SW would have you believe that this is nothing crazy ; not in a landscape where you see people having 20, 50, 100K months.
But reader you must understand, and any sensible SWer I’m sure will corroborate this : these 100K/month earners represent something like 1% of the whore population, maybe less.
Now there’s a lot of us, so they may seem numerous — but most Sex Workers’ reality is far, really far removed from these numbers.
It’s like reading about huge influencer deals and thinking every youtube or instagram creator racks in Mr Beast level of dough ; I hope the analogy shows how wildly inaccurate that perception is.
The overwhelming majority of influencers are barely scraping by, billionaire success stories are actually few and far between.
Now granted: there’s a lot liquidity in these industries, it is also true that wealth is technically more accessible there than on ‘normal’ life paths. It doesn’t mean the struggle isn't real though.
So one month, I made the most I ever made — and the next I was gone. Poof. How come ?
I now can explain this, at both conscious and subconscious levels.
Consciously, I’d been working way too hard for too little returns. Before that fated month, I was grinding unhealthily ; trying to force my brain into systems that were not working, ruining my mental health for minimum wage numbers.
Rude. And not even remotely worth it.
Then I met that pet.
The actual financial submissive; not just in mindset, but in wallet as well (that last one’s rarer, iykyk).
The whale you hear about in hoes’ wet dreams, who begs to spend ridiculous amounts in aggressive drains, and actually can follow through with that pace without even breaking a sweat. This was new to me, and very exciting as well.
Unfortunately, they happened to be a rather vulnerable individual. Playing with them, while incredibly thrilling at first, ended up leaving me with a very sour aftertaste.
I take BDSM ethics quite seriously ;
So, by the end of the month I clearly felt like taking their money was exploitative — and not in the sexy way, I fear.
This person was not at peace with their habit, which threw me on a mental loop.
Because it wasn’t a sexy, edgy little game anymore ; even if they had the funds, they were not coming to me with an entertainment, leisure or even a cathartic mindset.
They were doing so to hurt themselves.
Now some of you might think : but Lilim, they were a financial masochist, why didn’t you simply suck up the bad aftertaste and cashed in while you could ? What about the five figures ??
To which I reply, at the risk of reading like a broken record : I take BDSM ethics quite seriously.
After all, Dominatrixes are professionals, and professionals have deontology.
That’s what makes them… well, pros. That’s why customers can come to them with trust.
I can name plenty of colleagues that don’t concern themselves with such frivolities (this is not a jab) ; they’d have have drained the fucker for all their worth before they vanished on them.
Nothing personal, they’d say, just how the cookie crumbles.
They’re an adult, after all, deciding for themselves.
And I see where they're coming from, honestly more money to them.
Now Findom was my job — but BDSM goes beyond my Domme hat.
It's part of my personal philosophy, much like harm reduction.
It's quintessential to how I view and practice sex. As such, I genuinely suffered realizing we weren't playing anymore.
If you’re asking why I didn’t drain the fucker for all they got (which was a lot), I’d say it’s because I couldn’t bring myself to.
Kinksters aren’t kinking to destroy nor traumatize. They’re playing from a place of care and acceptance.
I therefore simply couldn’t, in good faith (and basic BDSM ethics really), partake in this dance with them. I couldn't be the apparatus to their self-harm.
I wanted to help, but their case was far beyond my level of qualifications. So I stepped back.
That’s what happened consciously.
Subconsciously, I think I simply wasn’t ready for these new heights.
I fear failure, but as you know, success as well.
And 10K being the first real mental milestone I’d set for myself, this month felt awfully too close to success.
In case you're wondering what it’s like to fear both ends of the achievement spectrum, the inner subtext goes something like this :
‘I cannot fail because it would make me a worthless human being, but I cannot win either, because then... everyone will realize I’m a fraud.’
It’s quite convoluted, I know.
Then again, no one said subconscious blocks had to make sense.
Welcome my own personal hell. ✨
When that month paid out, the imposteur went MENTAL.
That wasn’t possible.
It was just a fluke, pure luck (not the result of years spent honing my craft lmao chile anyways).
I just got lucky and I didn’t deserve it — after all, I was only winging it.
I didn’t have it in me to do that again, and eventually my suitors would all realize.
I’d be exposed for my raving incompetence, it was only a matter of time before people unmask the fraud.
Mind you, some of the most unethical Dommes I know (that was a jab) never question their abilities — which works wonders for them tbh.
I did question mine. A lot. I still do, in fact ; that voice has just gotten way less powerful, less paralysing.
It’s actually a theme in my life — a physical manifestation of my subconscious blocks : I’m constantly doubting my ability to… well, anything really.
I’m a little anxious. Did you gather ?
All the while knowing I’m doing pretty good actually, or at least okay ; certainly not as badly as the Imposteur likes to shout.
Back then, the mix of these conscious and subconscious elements + a chain of outside events caused me to crash out after my highest earning month.
I backpedaled, fast, and thought :
“Since I’ll never be able to do this again, I should find a reliable vanilla job. Something with consistent earnings, something nice and palatable, something normal.”
I’ve gotta laugh a little, reader.
I knew in the back of my mind the charade wouldn’t last, but at that time, I needed to see something else.
I needed to at least try and live a classic life ; fixed schedules, corporate gossip and cubicles galore — if only to confirm it wasn’t what I wanted.
Well Diary, after two years of trying… I am here to report :
I am so done with this normie shit, yo.
I tried, oh I tried.
Creative fields too.
I just can’t do it lmao.
I miss sex work more and more with each passing day, but it might not be for the reasons you think.
It's not the findom power rush I miss most,
Nor the praise and worship.
Not even the unbridled creativity that came with making my kinky self-propaganda.
It’s the freedom I miss dearly.
The freedom to be, wear, and do whatever I want, whenever I want.
The quiet, deeply satisfying power that comes with
Being the sole master of my time and energy.
Most freelancing gigs give you the ‘master of time’ aspect, yes — but you’re still a contractor working for or with someone.
There’s only a few positions I can think of where you’re paid to be unapologetically you : whore and artist being the first that come to mind.
Which is funny, because to me, the former is indistinguishable from the latter when executed well.
So I miss the freedom, yeah.
And I can’t wait to find my way back to it.
So I’ve been outta hiatus for a little while, a couple of weeks or so.
Came back after a payout was triggered, wondering who amongst my sea of weaklings had missed me the most.
As it turned out… quite a few.
Not only past suitors, but new ones who’d stumbled accross my work during my absence and made a point to let me know how smitten they’d gotten, how sad they were having discovered me at my sleeper state.
The minute I logged in, they flocked to me.
Desperate to let me know how much they’d missed my claws,
they all but rushed to bask in my light again ; to feel my pen melting their minds again, if only for a sweet second.
I’ve been hanging out since. Rekindling old flames, igniting new ones.
Fun times. Thrilling times.
Sexy times. Lucrative times.
And since I peeked back, I noticed something quite… noteworthy. An interesting shift I thought I’d share.
A shift that I believe started internally — only to be reflected back to me with every interaction I entered.
Taking deep, long breaths outside of the full-time fetish provider life really helped put into perspective how I feel about a lot of things, where I stand about a few others.
Without actively working on it, I grew a quiet sense of strength in who I am as a Top.
A seeminlgy unwavering confidence in the uniqueness of my style, its beauty, its effectiveness.
I came back with a new understanding of my tastes and a new appreciation for my skill.
As if my instincts had grown,
as if time passing had sharpened my fangs.
It all feels much more effortless, now.
Like being able to read energies, shift them where I want them to be by pressing
Just the right button at just the right time.
Something that used to take a little friction,
But not anymore.
This must’ve altered my gravitational field, because ever since I peeked back,
There’s been a surprising number of self-described Alphas crumbling before me.
I find this quite interesting.
It’s interesting because I usually label myself a Simp Collector.
I did poke fun at Alphas here and there :
the occasional, lighthearted Dominant Femme’s jab, you know.
But nothing sustained. Nothing targeted.
I never directed that much energy towards addressing them.
So I’d never gotten that many to begin with.
And I haven’t posted new content or new messaging. I did nothing to signal a positioning shift.
I’ve just been showing up, chit-chatting in the DMs.
Still, ever since I’m back…
They’ve been crawling out of the woodworks left and right to confess their psychosexual demise.
And they’re funny, these alphas.
They’ll fall into my web knees first, head bowed, cock painfully throbbing.
And they’ll gladly admit to their awe, too.
They’ll beg for me to ruin them in a way that’s… virtually undistinguishable from how the most pliable simps would.
But their “real life” status is something they never fail to bring up.
As they’re crawling,
As they’re watching themselves desperately fall for Me,
Thirsting for more and more subjugation,
At one point, they always bring up the fact they’re “usually quite Alpha”.
It seems they cannot help it.
Maybe to save face, maybe to entertain.
Maybe they’re just venting.
But the topic always comes up, at least once.
Some even make it a point to mention how they think they’d have a real shot at "seducing" me — read fucking me — should we meet in person.
And these are usually the ones who cannot wait to share pictures of their tall, muscular—nay, stone carved bodies with me.
Slutty little attention whores, these ones.
I find them quite entertaining.
Now—I know they’re not trying to seduce me when they do,
not in a conventional way at least.
They have far too much respect for the way I present myself to even attempt to.
No, I think they’re doing that for themselves, to try and latch on to some remnants of pride.
As a personal reminder, perhaps.
Regardless, the repeated, short span occurrences of this exact pattern of behaviour made me realize something : I’m kind of into it, actually. Like a lot.
It’s one thing watching a shy simp melt and stutter before me.
A delightful satisfaction that, truthfully, will never get old.
But a big, muscular hunk crumbling just as hard, if not harder ?
That is a rush I’m learning to savour.
One that is not about “breaking” Alphas,
because I don’t believe it's what I’m doing.
I’m not breaking them.
They’ll go back to their big masc ways right after we’re done exchanging filthy things.
They’ll go back to their domineering role, quite naturally.
I’m not trying to obliterate that aspect of them,
Nor do I think their crawling undermines anything.
Quite the opposite, in fact
I like the tension.
I revel in it.
I like the fact that people might lower their eyes at them in the outside world, yet
when they’re here with Me,
It’s MY gaze they struggle holding.
With me, they’re nothing but trembling, leaking little messes.
The witch in me cackles as the colossus surrenders, falls to his knees and begs for obliteration.
When he moans, squirms and whimpers while wrapping around my little finger.
What excites me the most about this dynamic is how powerful men so effortlessly relinquish everything when sucked into my orbit.
Truly a testament to my power.
Alpha as they might,
They recognize I’m the bigger deal.
A toy put it best the other day :
I’m the alpha’s Alpha. I like that phrasing.
They don’t even bother trying to resist it—the pull, that is.
They just succumb and indulge,
They let me devour their willpower
the exact way the most smitten of simps happily let me do so.
And then, they’re back on their muscular legs.
Gigantic frames standing tall and mighty.
They go on about their lives, mind endlessly drifting back to that exquisite place,
To those very special pockets in time where they completely broke down for me.
I get unreasonably wet thinking about this tension.
Not because I find them hot per se,
Though I’d be lying if I said they aren’t nice to look at~
But because they’re a mirror.
A surface that reflects the potency of my influence back to me,
Which I find truly exhilarating.
Dear diary,
I think I just found a new favorite game to play.
going pro's actually the nicest thing you can do, ethically speaking.
Some of these hypergamic & dark feminine dating tips are outright psychological warfare, and I doubt most targets are privy to it.
Assuming the majority of these tricks are oblivious to the game played in their face,
And that such game is rigged for one-sided benefit...
then there's far more potential for deep emotional harm than when my preys pay me to employ similar tactics. Don't you think?
I'm not being the morals militia here.
Honestly, be as unethical as you freaking want girlie (chicago said it first) – I'm just saying mastermind girlfriends seem to "exploit" more "weaknesses" than pros when you look at it this way.
