Dominatrix on Trial: How a Canadian Dominatrix Fought the Law and Won

Dominatrix on Trial: How a Canadian Dominatrix Fought the Law and Won

©Terri-Jean Bedford 2011

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Digital ISBN: 9781626016217

Print ISBN: 9781626016224

Hardcover ISBN: 9781626016231

First edition published by iUniverse, 2011

Second edition, April 2022

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

A Note To the Reader

Chapter One: The Raid

Chapter Two: Bad Little Girl

Chapter Three: Jail and Bail

Chapter Four: Bad Big Girl

Chapter Five: My Trials Begin

Chapter Six: The Bondage Bungalow

Chapter Seven: My Trials Continue

Chapter Eight: Running the Bondage Bungalow

Chapter Nine: The Big Trial: Getting Ready

Chapter Ten: Sessions in the Bondage Bungalow

Chapter Eleven: The Big Trial: What a Spectacle!

Chapter Twelve: Clients of the Dominatrix

Chapter Thirteen: The Big Trial: What a Result!

Chapter Fourteen: Back in Business

Chapter Fifteen: Higher Courts

Chapter Sixteen: Dominatrix Lineup

Chapter Seventeen: Staying Alive

Chapter Eighteen: Constitutional Challenge

Chapter Nineteen: Constitutional Decision

Chapter Twenty: Supreme Court

Chapter Twenty-One: And Until Now

About the Author

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank from the bottom of my heart the many lawyers, students, experts and activists who have stood with me during the many years of legal battles and personal struggles. They are too numerous to name here, but you will read about them all through my story.

However, it is my special privilege to dedicate this book to nine men and three women you will also read about, none of them lawyers, whom I call The Dozen.

The first two allies to join me were Art and Scott, two of my most trusted clients, who were both outraged at the high handed and abusive treatment I received from police, prosecutors and courts.

ART: Art lived near the Bondage Bungalow and came to my aid right after the arrest, when I got out on bail. A wealthy and educated man, Art was in his mid-50s when the raid occurred. He was used to dealing with lawyers and knew that, if he’d been at the Bungalow that day, he could have been arrested and exposed to his family and the public. I will always be grateful to him for helping us win the first round of our legal battle and the other support he provided. Art paid some of my legal fees, gave me money to live on and arranged a conventional part-time job for me. I would value all this help at close to $100,000 at the time, and that doesn’t include his very valuable advice and leadership in the early days of the battle.

SCOTT: The other client who came to my aid was Scott. A well-established professional himself, he described himself as a well-off playboy, with no wife or children. With time and money to indulge his fantasies, Scott had seen a few doms before he came to me. He was a client for about a year, working on chores at the property for reduced payments to me, and even staying over some weekends. Scott had a foreboding that the Bungalow and I would run into trouble, and said he would help if it did. When that happened, Scott essentially became Art’s assistant in the early days of my legal battles, before taking over from Art after a couple of years.

ROBERT DANTE: Robert published a glossy magazine out of Toronto called Boudoir Noir, which catered to the Canadian, American and British S&M scenes, or community. He was a leading activist in cases such as mine and he served as a media spokesperson for the community and an expert witness at one of my trials. He publicized the raid and reaction to it and set up a dedicated defense fund to receive contributions for my legal fees. He also helped me with the early drafting of this book. Robert’s wife, Mary Dante, was one of Toronto’s most famous doms in her own right, but she was also well-known as a submissive to Robert. The Dantes had been the subjects of documentary films in which they were seen as aesthetes of S&M.

PATRICIA ALDRIDGE: Paddy ran and still runs Toronto’s longest running and most extensive facility for cross-dressers, called Take a Walk on the Wildside (a trademarked name). I had bought much of my cross-dressers’ wardrobe from her store, so I knew her during the time I operated my bungalow in Thornhill. We are friends to this day. Walk on the Wildside offers cross-dressers a mini-department store with an extensive selection of women’s clothing and shoes big enough for men of all sizes. Paddy offers transformations in which her staff will help customers learn to apply make-up and select clothing and has overnight suites, so out-of-town customers can take a vacation as a woman. Paddy’s clientele includes prominent businessmen, politicians and even blue-collar workers and farmers.

ROXY: Paddy’s friend Roxy was a male cross-dresser who worked for her. He was a business graduate who chose to retire comfortably from the U.S. business world at a relatively early age. In normal clothes and situations, he appeared as a tall, distinguished, middle-aged man. Roxy worked with Paddy to help me in so many ways I could hardly keep track. I’m sorry, though, to say that he died several years ago. In his last days he read, or had read to him, my early manuscript and made me promise that my story would get told. He did so much to make that possible. As I write these words I am crying.

PHYLLIS: Scott had a lady friend who owned a business of a somewhat technical and conservative nature. She had told him at a function he went to, shortly after we were raided, that she was looking for staff. Scott put me and a few members of our circle with applicable backgrounds in touch with her. She hired us. I worked in telephone sales. But she didn’t stop there. She was supportive in a number of other ways, as a friend as well as employer and confidant. She introduced me to lawyers and assisted in finding me accommodation. She did so much to enable me to fight, as well as just survive.

ALBERT: This elderly, distinguished-looking gentleman came up to me for the first time at my first fundraiser and told me how wonderful I was. Then he handed me a big check, gave me his phone number and told me to call him if I needed more money. He was as good as his word when I did call. Scott made sure that every expenditure of the funds he gave was documented and reported to Albert. The funds paid legal and related expenses. Albert was a player, meaning a participant in the S&M lifestyles, and was known to a number of doms. He was in his mid 70’s at this time.

Albert’s story is so moving that I want to tell you a bit about him now. He told me he lived an entirely conventional life, married without children, until his wife died. He was 61. He retired the following year. Then he engaged in a lifestyle he had always dreamed about, along with other interests such as travelling and studying music; or causes he believed in—such as mine. He told Scott, to whom he became a bit of a mentor, that until he retired he did not feel like he was enjoying life.

Albert is gone now, but may his example be remembered. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word.

CATHY MAID: He was a manual worker in the Canadian Armed Forces. A dedicated cross-dresser, he had never been married. Of medium height and build, he looked very good in women’s clothing; easily passing as a woman on the street. He lived at my second house, where he was a resident slave and was very good working with the cross-dressers and in other role play. He was willing to appear on camera when television interviewers came, or in making videos. He worked during the days as a baker. Not only that, but he was an avid sci-fi fan and loved to dress up as sci-fi characters, particularly from Star Trek, at sci-fi conventions. He remains part of my circle of close friends and his loyalty has taken so many forms that I can never be too grateful to him.

BABY BETTY: A major presence in my life. He is an infantile and calls me mommy. He has been a client and then a dear friend and playmate for over 20 years. By day he is a truck-driver, and a good one. He has often been like a father to my daughter. He has been helpful in so many ways they are difficult to count; and looking back I can hardly believe. Heaven is made for such people.

THE GEEK: He was referred to me when a dom who knew him outside the scene mentioned that I needed work on my Website. This was what he did. Over 20 years later he is still doing it. He is my guiding light, technically, on anything Internet. He has never been a player or enthusiast for what I do, but has been dedicated in helping in my legal battles from a sense of right action. He has joined our circle of friends and he and they help each other regularly.

CAMILLA: After a failed marriage, Camilla led the normal life of a single working woman with a good career, working in the office of one of the lawyers who represented me. In addition to her contributions to my legal battle, she provided support to me personally as a slightly older woman acting as confidant and adviser. She became like a second mother to my daughter. She still is.

MICHELLE: After I had closed my second house and was between legal battles I was contacted by a retired senior executive of the Canadian division of a well-known multi-national corporation. He said he wanted my services. I told him I had no facilities and was not in practice, but he said he would take care of that. The upshot was that he equipped his home and cottage for S&M play, and I became his personal dominatrix. He was also my chauffeur.

His wife was in a nursing home dying of Alzheimer’s disease and no longer recognized him or their sons. He lived alone in a nice house. His sons, in their 40s, had places of their own. So, he figured there was no reason to not live out his fantasies, at long last.

In addition to driving me around I could do my laundry at his house, and he took me for weekends, sometimes longer, to his cottage; where we went boating and I drove the cart as he golfed. Also, he was able to share his advice and some assistance with acquaintances of mine who were in business. Scott told me that he received some valuable mentoring from Michelle.

Michelle is gone now. But he gave me so much, in particular what a life with luxury and comfort was like.

These are the people, and there are others, whose courage, generosity, hard work, encouragement, loyalty and support of every other kind have not only made it possible for me to keep fighting, survive economically and tell my story, but also have, I believe, saved my life and that of my child. They are citizens of the highest caliber. You should thank them for some of the freedoms you enjoy today, whatever your lifestyle.

To protect privacy, most are identified by pseudonyms, and I have told my story in a manner that protects their privacy.

When authorities are corrupt or incompetent, when nobody seems to care about victims and when injustice and hypocrisy seem the rule, don’t lose hope. Heroes walk among us.

Terri-Jean Bedford

April 2022

Preface

Let’s start with a confession or, rather, two. A few times, I yawned when whipping men in chains. I also confess to nodding off in court when prosecutors were trying to send me to jail. But what’s a girl to do? Maybe if I tell you my story, you’ll understand why I was so tired.

I am Terri-Jean Bedford, Canada’s most famous dominatrix. This is the story of my personal and professional life: How a future mother and grandmother, a biracial woman, was neglected and abused as a child and became a prostitute, dominatrix, defendant and, finally, a plaintiff in a constitutional challenge to Canada’s prostitution laws.

For almost two years, I was a top dominatrix in the Toronto region. My facility was one of the best. Several dungeons existed in the area at the time, but rarely did police bother to investigate them. These facilities catered to men and women who wished to act out adult fantasies of fetishism, crossdressing, infantilism and masochism. No sex or sexual acts happened in my dungeon and nothing occurred that could be called indecent. Everything was consensual and above-board. To be on the safe side, I ran my house with the assumption that every client was an investigating police officer.

Yet in September 1994, I was arrested on charges of keeping a common bawdy house. The charges were not even fit for trial, according to the first judge. But for years, the authorities appealed while refusing to drop the case, apologize or return my personal property. At first nobody could understand why officials had called press conferences to publicize the raid. It was a front-page story in one of Toronto’s daily newspapers and the lead story on local television news the day after the raid. In the following years there were appeals by both prosecutors and defense attorneys and then, in 2007, I joined with two other courageous women to challenge the constitutionality of Canada’s prostitution and bawdy house laws.

Over the years, I have been interviewed and profiled extensively in the media. The issues raised by my trials have resulted in much discussion in the media; in the academic and legal communities; and on the streets. My trials have influenced subsequent court decisions. And in 2010, the country’s prostitution laws were struck down as a result of the constitutional challenge. Today, the battle rages on in the courts, with many parties seeking to join the fray.

A few years after the raid I opened another facility but closed it three years later when my health deteriorated. Today I am disabled by chronic liver disease and spinal deterioration. Over the years, I have attempted to write my memoirs and only now do I feel that the time is right to publish the whole story. I’m continually astonished at how much people know and remember about me and my court battles. When I’ve talked about what I might put in a book, people have always been fascinated. They invariably said that not only would people be titillated by the private practices of some of our leading citizens and others, but they would also be intrigued by the many psychological and civil-liberty issues that came to light.

In this book, I will tell you all about my personal life, the goings-on in my houses and my legal battles. But I also want to give you some insights into why clients visited me; what kind of woman becomes a dominatrix and why; and what such a career choice does to her. I will also introduce you to a great number of people who figure in this story as neither doms nor clients. They are friends, police officers, lawyers, judges, reporters and concerned citizens.

You will read about my battles with authorities to determine what activities are legal between consenting adults in private, who decides what is legal and who makes those decisions. There is also the ongoing battle to make our laws and how to enforce them in a way that is clear, consistent and logical. If it is legal to put women’s clothes on your boyfriend, tie him up and tickle him for free, why might it be against the law to be paid for it?

As you read my story you will be surprised by many other examples of our society’s moral and legal hypocrisy. But you will also see the changes achieved in how society does or does not regulate our private relationships. These changes have enhanced our freedoms and I am proud to say that I played a part in bringing them about. Finally, you will see that many more changes to our laws are needed, more changes are possible and more changes are coming.

One of my many supporters said that above all else, my story really is about citizenship and what can be achieved when an ordinary or even disadvantaged individual advocates for a cause and then becomes that cause. In my case, that cause was and is freedom. Freedom is not a gift. Our freedoms oblige us to act when they are challenged. Those who can fight for freedom must do so or lose their self-respect.

My hope is that my efforts and my story will help all Canadians and others enjoy their freedom of self-expression and that it will help the true professionals whose livelihoods extend from offering fantasy role-play or sex to do so openly and safely. The dangers faced by women who provide these services are terrible. Our legal battle is seeking to change this. The hypocrisy of the position taken by many authorities against change is a national embarrassment. Nothing can be worse than what we have now. Canada can do better. I believe it will.

A Note To the Reader

Most of the names of friends, clients, the people who worked with me and my supporters have been changed for legal or ethical reasons, as I’m sure you can appreciate. The names of government officials, police officers, judges and most others who appear in the public record are accurate.

Chapter One:

The Raid

Thursday, September 15, 1994, was sunny, warm and dry. I had my morning coffee on the back patio. A couple of staff members sat with me for a few minutes. I tossed some crumbs to the squirrels and looked out over the huge yard. The garden I had planted was colorful in its late summer bloom. Life was good. I was a successful dominatrix with eight rooms of a house outfitted for role-playing and dungeon play. I had a loyal staff: Judy, my receptionist and Princess and Mistress Morgan, the two full-time dominatrices besides me. Ed was my security guard.

That time running the dungeon was one of the few times that my life was something other than a living hell. I was able to send money home to my daughter and her guardians. I had a roof over my head and I felt safe.

After coffee, Morgan, Ed and I began cleaning the house, a task usually performed by our slave clients, if any were available on the given day. Princess arrived at 11:30 in the morning and joined us for lunch. Judy was off that day. Three appointments had been scheduled: The first, a cross-dresser Princess was to supervise, was set to arrive at noon. The second was a performance with Princess and me at 1:00. The third was a tour of the house scheduled for 2:30 that afternoon.

The performance was a scenario in which one woman dominated another while the client watched. I would put Princess in bondage and discipline her in a teacher/student role play. The client, Tim, had seen Morgan and Princess act out this scenario once before. This time, he had requested me to be dominant with Princess. This didn’t strike us as odd; some clients liked to watch such shows again and again with different women acting the roles.

Princess was on her monthly cycle and unable to concentrate on her role as a submissive, so I apologized and told Tim that the show was canceled. Tim said that he wanted a consultation with me instead of the performance, even though he’d had three previous consultations. This wasn’t odd; many clients asked for such sessions to discuss their needs and wants in detail even after visiting many times. He mentioned other scenarios and asked about hygiene and safety, which I took to mean that he was considering being dominated himself. I told him to fill out a questionnaire or write out his fantasies, but he declined. He thanked me and left.

Of course, we found out later that day that Tim was an undercover police officer and that he had made these requests so that we would be in full costume and Princess in bondage when they raided us and took our pictures.

When the doorbell rang half an hour later, I thought it was our 2:30 tour appointment arriving early. The cross-dresser was downstairs, having a shower before getting dressed to leave. I opened the door to a young man dressed casually and holding a piece of paper. He handed me the paper and said he was told to write some things down before he came back.

He reached into his back pocket and showed me his police badge, saying, I’m with the York Regional Police. You are being served with a search warrant and are being charged with keeping a common bawdy house.

I was amazed. You’re out of your mind, I replied. I don’t offer sex here—it’s strictly domination and cross-dressing and that’s legal.

No, he said. You’re charging money for it and you can’t do that.

As we spoke, about 15 men lined up behind him at the door. The officer with the badge pushed me aside and the men rushed into the house. These plainclothes detectives, uniformed constables and an emergency task force all acted as if they were capturing terrorists or hijackers.

The bungalow consisted of one ground floor and a basement, where I maintained different rooms to accommodate the preferences of my clients, including the dungeon, examination room, throne room and shower were. I’ll explain more about the specific function of each one of these environments a bit later. The parlor, the classroom, the living room, office, bedroom, washroom and the kitchen were upstairs. I ran to the foot of the stairs to yell downstairs to Ed that the police were here, and it was not a break-in. A massive officer grabbed me and told me to sit on one of the couches in the living room. I hesitated and he grabbed me around my chest and punched me several times on the side of the head. I fought back, but he was huge. The blows were full punches and I saw stars but I didn’t bleed. There was some bruising days later, but I did not think to report it. Then he held me down on a couch. I started to cry. He eventually let me go and went to look around the house.

Some officers brought Morgan into the room and she sat across from me on another couch. We could hear people going through the house. Downstairs, the raid team was greeted by Ed, who had not heard my warning and thought they were intruders. He threw two officers down the stairs, but when they shouted, Police! Lie down on the floor! he became peaceful. Princess opened the door of the shower-room area and threw up her hands. The police pushed her down onto the floor beside Ed. They also pulled our client out of the shower and handed him a towel. The client, an elderly man, was shaking in terror.

Upstairs, Morgan and I sat on the couch, upset and yelling at the officers that they had no right or reason to be there.

I said to the officer who hit me, I want your badge number. I’m charging you with assault.

He laughed and said, Call me master.

Ed was brought into the living room and sat down beside me. Some of the officers searched Morgan’s purse and they asked her questions about her identity.

In the days and weeks ahead, Ed, Morgan and Princess told me what happened to them.

Princess was taken upstairs into my office and questioned by two officers. The police took $50 from our money box and handed it to her when she told them she had not been paid that day. They told her that she would have nothing to worry about and they would not tell her family provided she didn’t call a lawyer and did what they said. They said a lawyer could not help her.

The cross-dressing client was ticketed as a found-in and told he would have to appear in court. He was allowed to leave a few minutes later.

The raid had now been underway for about 30 minutes. A plainclothes officer walked up to me with a female cop and told his colleague, Search her in the bathroom. She led me to the bathroom and closed the door on us, out of the view of any other officer. I was wearing a simple, casual and somewhat skimpy outfit, which she told me to remove and drop to my ankles. She then ordered me to lower my panties. I was completely naked. She looked me over carefully for a few seconds and then told me to turn around. She told me to bend over. I heard her giggle, but when I turned around, she was not smiling, although she did have a very pleased look on her face. She told me to get dressed and patted the pockets of my clothes before taking me back to the couch. She told Morgan to stand up and took her to the bathroom, where the strip-search procedure was repeated.

Sitting on the couch, we could hear furniture being moved downstairs. We heard laughing and shouting. Princess saw the officers playing with my equipment and jokingly threatening each other with whips. The police wandered around the house and the grounds, talking to one another and taking pictures. I heard one of them say to another officer, But there isn’t anything illegal.

Morgan and I were told we would be taken to the police station and held overnight for bail. We asked if we could call our lawyer and were told we could call from the police station. We also asked if we could change our clothes before we left. Remember, I was wearing that skimpy outfit and Morgan just had a turtleneck and jeans on. We were going to appear in court. They refused to let us change. I started to beg.

They seemed to enjoy my begging, especially one female officer the one who also enjoyed strip searching me but they stopped laughing when I said I would not go if I wasn’t allowed to change. This started another conference of whispering. Finally, the woman officer, accompanied by one of the male officers, told me to get up and get the clothes I needed. I went with them into a couple of rooms and got things suitable for court. I had to change in front of them, male officer included. They returned me to the couch and took Morgan to her clothes, which were downstairs by the dungeon.

Morgan was appalled when she saw what was going on downstairs. She saw officers playing with the whips while wearing the wigs. The raid had become a party for them. She went into the burlesque parlor, which was in a closed-off room on the opposite side of the basement from the dungeon and other rooms. This was where most of her clothes were stored and where she slept on a foldout couch. When she came out to go upstairs after she had changed clothes, she got angry with the officers playing with the whips and wigs.

She said, Do you want to see what we do here?

They said they did, so Morgan sat on the throne and told one of the officers to kiss her foot. He went down on all fours and kissed it. The other officers whooped with laughter, the female officer included. I could hear the laughing upstairs.

Morgan said, Kiss it again—this time with feeling, and the scene repeated itself.

Later, Morgan would tell me that what most struck her during this time was the look on the faces of the officers. The laughs coming from a few of them seemed forced to her and she thought they were amazed by my establishment. You could tell by the way they looked at me that they wanted to be spanked and that they were turned on by the restraints and equipment.

The officers escorted Morgan back upstairs and she sat down across from me. There was little more to say. Four of us were sitting there: Ed, the client, Morgan and me. I could hear Princess talking with a couple of officers in my study. Finally,