The Tale of The Overqualified Dominatrix

As you know, I am an Internationally Certified Sex Educator.

You also know that I am Certified Hypnotist, specializing in Sexuality.

This week, after waves and waves of “Please blackmail me” emails, I’ve decided to add to my ridiculous list of qualifications, because really, why not?

For some time, my standard go-to in heavy blackmail and financial domination play, has been to use the credit card number you foolishly gave me, to pay for the background check I undoubtedly ran. On occasion, we went a step further, and I used your money to hire a Private Investigator.

My problem is this: Private Investigators are usually disgusting men with some dickless power complex, who ooze unnecessary bravado, and I see them as a forgettable cog in the obscene patriarchal machine that I am forever trying to throw wrenches into. The last one I spoke with told me a bunch of shit about Jesus and being saved and how he would threaten to kill people if I paid him enough. They are, largely, morons. But they are morons with access to strange databases.

So, instead of subjecting myself to having to speak with one of these fucking fools again, (god forbid giving them money and encouraging their repulsive existence,) I’m just going to get licensed.

As of, oh, two days ago, The Psychosexual Dictator, Ms. Yve Desclos, is engaging in a hilariously easy journey, to become a Licensed Private Investigator.

Which, is all to say, do not ask me for blackmail play unless you want to be scared absolutely shitless. I’m going to say there’s no slow build services anymore: I hate holding peoples’ hands while they get comfortable with the idea of their own fetish. I don’t want to waste my time. Come to me because you want your entire life exposed by a P.I., or don’t fucking ask me to blackmail you. This is Big Kid stuff.