Maitresse Nuit aka Nuit d'Or's articles on the psychology of BDSM & kink, relationship dynamics between Dominant & submissive, adventures in BDSM, evocative, erotic and very transgressive memoirs of past sessions. Here you can dive in the “BDSM Chronicles” which you can listen to on Patreon.
INTIMACY, GENDER REVERSAL, THE FEMALE COCK: musing on a photo set by Natasha Gornik
“The photo centres on a woman looking directly at the camera in a man’s attire, holding a bundle of rope, seated with her legs wide open. Her necktie is undone, seemingly at the ready to be used as a blindfold, gag or bondage. The shirt is unbuttoned to the sternum. The opened collar draws an arrow of near cinnamon skin which emphasises the intent of the woman’s gaze and then leads the eyes to the geometrically lit hand and the rope in a continuous loop.”
Looking at “Gender reversal” new photo set, I am reminded of the intimacy between photographer and the subject which parallels the intimacy created by the power dynamics of a D/s scene.
First act: The photo: Mistress in male dress, a bundle of rope in hand.
The refracted light from a small jewel lamp hits the crescent of a low table and shapes the scene. The iridescent diamond rays chisel the polished amber wood, the upholstered cushion of a cream sofa and the hand holding lightly the knotted ends of a rope. The rays fan out seemingly absorbed by the seams of the curved backrest which prolongate the effect, opening the stage of what is to come.
The photo centres on a woman looking directly at the camera in a man’s attire, holding a bundle of rope, seated with her legs wide open. Her necktie is undone, seemingly at the ready to be used as a blindfold, gag or bondage. The shirt is unbuttoned to the sternum. The opened collar draws an arrow of near cinnamon skin which emphasises the intent of the woman’s gaze and then leads the eyes to the geometrically lit hand and the rope in a continuous loop.
Diamond light, fingers, rope, white shirt, neck, oval of the face, long nose, black eyes, slicked-back hair, the soft curve of the sofa, eyes, oval, v of the neck, white shirt and undone tie, rope, fingers, diamond light… This little dance of the submissive eyes lowered, then peeking higher up to get a glance at the Dominant is interrupted by the magical composition which compels to go further, into a wider loop and the sketched unknown.
The gaze is pulled to the left of the sitter, in the space which opens past the woman and into the bejewelled lit darkness, punctuated by two little lamps, upholstered cream low chairs and pouffes, and to the right at the very back of the room, where, in a pool of blurred gold, sits a table and a glass cabinet reflecting yet another of the precious lamps.
The eyes are brought back to the woman via a column of disrupted incandescence. And the little dance of the eyes starts again, unsuspectingly entrapped by the diffracted beams which, with each new loop cocoons and binds the viewer in this, the prologue of a scene.
This photograph is one of a new set we created, Natasha Gornik “Gender reversal”.
Interlude: a meeting of minds, a glamours setting, a bundle of rope and a concealed cock.
Ever since I came back to London for 18 months looking after my mother in Switzerland, I knew I was due a new series of photos. Two ideas - a gender reversal series and a Goddess shoot inspired by the iconic film Metropolis from master director Fritz Lang - had been promenading my mind for the past several years. I had not yet materialised them.
So, when my friend and fellow kinkster, the visual artist & photographer Natasha Gornik decided to visit, it was time to play and go to work. Ruby, the owner of the elegant bar Fontaine’s in Dalston opened her beautiful space for us on a sunny Sunday and we jammed on the reversal of roles, the Female cock, played with images that sprang from my childhood befuddlement at the concepts of genre.
Flash back to first intimations of gender and pan sexuality. The paintings and Ink drawings of Leonor Fini open the doors to a universe of shadows illuminated by ambivalent, transgressive actors immersed in erotic explorations.
As a little girl, I was forever vexed at my short hair and the diktat of modernist sobriety imposed by my very aesthetically conscious parents. All I wanted was long locks, ballet shoes, tutus and frills… I was fascinated by my beautiful Venus of a mother and would experiment with her make-up, try on her laced bras, and stockings and totter in her high heels as soon as she was out of the house. In her cupboard, effluvia of Mitsouko, her perfume, lingered and each item of lingerie was stamped with the mysterious fragrance composed in 1919 by Jacques Guerlain. The delicate and complex scent, fruity yet spicy transported me to an alternative world where I was one of the gorgeous sphinxes of Leonor Fini. In a whirl of black gauzes and lace, my face half-revealed by a beautiful feathered mask, I observed a party perched on a rock before descending and joining the dancers.
Leonor Fini art is one of my first childhood aesthetic revelations. Together with Degas and Jean Cocteau. they articulated at different levels my nascent passion for “the Theatre of Life”, the power of performance, and the intimate connection with self that is asked by the Muses. They each exposed a sensuality transcended in their medium. Unbeknownst to me, Cocteau and Fini also revealed a sexual ambivalence that attracted me from the first time I set my eyes on their work.
“A painting is something like a spectacle, a theatre piece in which each figure lives out her part.” Leonor Fini
Second act: Eros transcends gender and leads to transformation.
Back to the first photo set: I wanted to play with male stereotypes and clichés of the sexual stance that can deliciously turn on the submissive in a series of subversive little choreographies of the eyes.
For once, I dropped leather and corset and donned pinned stripes, a white shirt and a tie. I kept diaphanous nylons and black patent stilettos though. And my cock.
Reminiscent of old French torch songs when young women are seduced by beautiful, sulphurous men who open the door to pleasures unknown, this set is also inspired by Anais Nin’s expressive sensual writings.
Sex has no gender for me. It is an infinite stage of experimentation and if I prefer the constraining, hierarchical and ritualistic language of BDSM, it is because I find that limitations offer an unimaginable scope for the imagination and for pushing the boundaries of our mundane minds and bodies and transcend our realities.
When we play with genres, exploring feminity and masculinity, we discover the Pan nature of lust that knows no boundaries, but only pleasure and connection. When we explore pain, restriction, Dominance and submission, we extend the repertoire of sensations and connections. When we engage in humiliation and transgression consensually, we open the doors to unspoken, concealed arousal and connection. Erotic connection accesses our emotions as well as our sensuality and our lusts, we transcend ourselves and delve into the Sacred.
Third act: The dance of intimacy
The diamond beams ignite your surrender as you kneel in front of your Mistress in the sepia glow of the bar, and the net is cast.
I watch you in a similar way I watched the camera when Natasha pressed the shutter.
It is an appraisal and a breath, a suspended moment where our energies orbit each other. Then, the dance starts as I describe what will happen. With each word, you relax and offer your will, with each breath you melt into the shapes I lead you in. Breath and words are the musical structure of connection. Sensations and emotions released by them as you dive deeper into yourself, deeper into submission charge my lead as I transport you into this dance that transmutes us both.
Maîtresse Nuit
More on Bondage, gender exploration etc
If gender explorations, bondage and/or role play, attract you, you may find the section on Transformation & Feminisation, Bondage and / or Role play of interest.
Should you be a true devotee: you may email me for a Pro-Domme session after having made sure we are suited.
This post may have intrigued you and you may wish to explore your interest in kink and BDSM in transformational life coaching or mentoring with me. I am an EMCC-certified coach & mentor.
You may also have questions and/or issues revolving around your practice as a Mistress, Master or as a sub, you would like to explore. I’ll be happy to think of solutions with you. Read more on coaching & mentoring
FLAGELLATION | Canes & single tail whip, the final ordeal.
“One after the other, the canes whistle and cut a lattice pattern of swollen white ridges across your buttocks which first turn to red, then purple. Each new cane slotting its strikes in the imprints of the previous ones, deepening the dents until the tender skin gives and blood rises to the surface.”
Slave [¥], my consenting captive is led to the last trial of a two days metaphorical descent in the Underworld: The flagellation. This episode concludes the transcendental experience of “Submission in times of confinement”, a podcast series in 7 episodes created during the Covid 19 lockdowns.
You can listen to the podcast series on my Youtube channel or on Patreon.
Blindfolded, our consenting captive, flanked by Mistress Aquilina and Mistress Euphrasia, journeys through the long hall of shame in a procession. Our cortege advances slowly towards the seventh gate. Slave [¥] discovers a new universe of sensations created by the “penitent” sandals equipped with spike soles he is wearing.
The corridor is barely lit with thick pillar candles planted in tall prickets made of rough cast iron spaced every two meters on each side of its walls.
The flames seem to lick the black walls with quiet undulating amber tongues; the only movement in the ominous stillness.
You stand at attention: the steel points of the penitent sandals dig into the soles of your feet delineating a new internal geography of discomfort as you assess the distance you will have to walk to the oak door of the initiation chamber.
I have hooked the long chain leash to two points. One to the ring of your Prince Albert which comes out of the chastity device through a special slot. The second through a D ring sealed in the posture collar holding your neck and chin high.
I wait in the middle of the burnished hall: a hieratic silhouette of leather: catsuit, thigh high boots, gloves, mask, my hair framing my face like a helmet. A magnet, an incarnation of the Great Goddess.
A light thug of the leash prompts you to start your march.
The long black hair of your wig softly caresses your bare shoulders, tickle your ams until it touches the biceps and extremity of the black latex gloves . It reveals the space between the back of the laced boned collar and the trim of the waspie strangling your waist. It teases your sewn nipples when a strand catches the red thread loosely linking them.
If wearing six inches heels has been at times a challenge, the pronged surface of the soles proves to be a real torture! A fit prologue to the ceremony.
Slowly, our procession advances to the quiet rhythm of my heels hitting the hard floor.
You try to remember the lessons of deportment and hold the muscles of your abdomen and back tight and up in an attempt to be as light on your feet as possible.
There is no escaping the blunt spikes which burrow under the tender skin at the root of your toes, hit the metatarsal bones, mark the plantar region, dig in your heels.
You discover a treasure of uncharted sensations as you learn new declinations of suffering.
The minute pins tear your stockings and trace new ladders with each step, sending pale ribbons shooting along your legs, keeping a record of the trial.
When you finally arrive at the door, they have designed an original map of our caravan whilst your face wears the serpentine traces of eyeliner dissolved by tears.
You kneel in Nadu at the door. I drape your leash, then the rope of supplicants around your neck and shoulders and disappear in the Inner Sanctum.
A soft padding down the hall …. candles are snuffed.
Darkness.
The two sentinels hooded and entirely clad in black latex silently mount guard at your side. They each hold a five branches silver candelabrum.
Time is suspended
The ceremony begins with the ritual of the cross of acceptance which affirms the consenting captive vows of devotion towards the Feminine principle and his Mistress. This is a necessary preparation to the caning. Intimacy and connection between slave and Mistress transform the increasing intensity of the pain.
The door opens from the inside and the vast crimson room materialises amongst the wisps of incense.
Mistress Aquilina opens the march, you follow on your fours and Mistress Euphrasia closes the door. Your small procession advances to the sofa where I am seated.
You recognise the thigh high boots, the dagger heels. My gloved hands rest on my knees.
In the position of a cross, you lie on the carpet, your forehead three inches away from the point of my toes.
My acolytes trace around you a circle of smoke with sage and sprinkle rose water on your body. The droplets, when they reach your bottom, prickle your skin.
A bell tears the silence. You kneel in front of me and my gaze, once again dive deep in your oceanic eyes, dissolving thoughts, petrifying time.
I pull slightly the thread linking your nipples and you stand at attention, feeling every prong supporting your weight.
From the corner of your eyes you register the four canes displayed on the mantel of the fireplace between the sack cloth laid on the spanking bench to your left, the two bullwhips on the rack to your right.
A lovely tableau is revealed in the psyche mirror flanked by the candelabrum: Firmly held by a series of belts, you lie on the bench, the hemp cloth tightly enveloping your waist and hips. Anchored
Behind you, I stand hieratic: the Triple Goddess, the Eternal Feminine, Creatrix, Matrix, Destructix.
Drifting on the waves of the Prelude to Parsifal, you begin a new descent in the darkness as I wake up your hind. The volley of leather thuds are quickly absorbed as you slowly blush. The air around us changes texture, it seems to thin with every blow.
One after the other, the canes whistle and cut a lattice pattern of swollen white ridges across your buttocks which first turn to red, then purple. Each new cane slotting its strikes in the imprints of the previous ones, deepening the dents until the tender skin gives and blood rises to the surface.
The space of the Crimson room changes with the intense focus of our work for this is what is happening: we are very tangibly one now: I, you, the canes, the air, the music, the room.
Our atoms are twined in this experience where the boundaries of perception have disappeared, and we both feel the strikes as the blows hurled and the impact of them, acidic, burning, breathtaking, intolerable and reaching an absurd, ecstatic pleasure.
From red to white hot and then black.
You rest, spent, taken by a formidable rush of endorphins.
I watch reclining on the sofa whilst I catch my breath.
After the caning, slave [¥] is taken to the flagellation post where he will receive the last sacrament and his liberation with the single tail whip which concludes his descent into the Underworld: an Ego death journey of transformation.
From the bench, you have been dragged to the flagellation post by Ms Aquillina and Ms Euphrasia. They have cuffed your wrists to a long metallic bar attached to cables held overhead.
I have tied your legs together from toes to hips with hemp rope and have removed the spiked sandals.
Your arms are lifted above your head by the mechanical suspension.
You breathe deeply, slowly, floating yet conscious that this last trial will demand all your strength, devotion and concentration. It will demand of me the utmost focus, precision and feeling.
I bring the braided handle to your lips to kiss as I watch you eyes turn a darker shade of steel.
With tongues of fire, the lashes drum and wrap your thighs, your arse and penetrate to the deepest of your core as the fortress of your self disintegrates, liberating the gold particules of your devotion.
Prostrate at my feet you fly on the wings of the Goddess and kiss the points of my boots.
The space slowly opens and the Crimson room glows.
Maîtresse Nuit
Thank you to
slave [¥] and my wonderful devotees for all the inspiration and
joy in the practice of this unlikely art.
The amazing women, Mistresses, Dominatrixes who have and
continue to inspire me.
my mentor Mistress Fiore
Mistress Aquilina, Mistress Euphrasia, True Severity, Miss Meyers,
Lady Lola, Morrigan Hel, Herrin Ariadne, Cassandra van Cane,
Domina Sylvia, Lady Nastasia, Lady Marlon, Lady Mephista, Lady Skotia,
Lady Roxane, Princess Zuleika, Mistress Aranea
&
Catherine Robbe-Grillet & Beverly Charpentier
More on BDSM Rituals:
If you have enjoyed this post and are intrigued by the history of the archetype of the Dominatrix, I recommend reading the wonderful book written by art historian and archeologist Anne O Nomis “The history and arts of the Dominatrix” https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/19101104-the-history-arts-of-the-dominatrix
“Women’s Rites” by Jeanne de Berg (which was the Dominatrix name of Catherine Robbe-Grillet for a long time) is an account of some poignant and beautiful ceremonies created by this talented French artist and writer.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6611256-women-s-rites
“The Ceremony” is a wonderful film part documentary by Lina Mannheimer which is inspired by “Women’s Rites”. Catherine Robbe-Grillet and her Partner and slave Beverly Charpentier (who is herself a Dominatrix) recreate a SM ceremony. This documentary sheds light into the beauty of our art, the numerous dimensions that BDSM opens. and the strength of the bonds between a Mistress and her slaves. There are some poignant interviews of her devotees.
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3589290/
I recommend the book by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy “Radical Ecstasy” if you are interested in the transcendental potential of SM play.