Amalia Valentine: Professional Bitch

Amalia Valentine is a NYC based domme who found her way to domination after being raised in an oppressive Catholic environment that stigmitized sexuality and female desire - something I relate with completely. Nothing like religious dogma to pressure cook you into someone who embraces your own pleasure and perversion. I sat down with Amalia to discuss how consent, boundaries, warmth and joy fill her practice and life journey. Check out Amalia’s website here and follow her on instagram here. Women like Amalia inspire me so deeply!

Leo Brooklyn: Can you tell me how your journey into domination began? Was there a specific moment or influence that set you on this path?

Amalia Valentine: I’ve always been kinky. Even as a kid, I was exploring kink online, probably going down internet rabbit holes I shouldn’t have, but it felt natural to me. It wasn’t until I moved to New York for college that I started really engaging with kink in a lifestyle sense. I went to workshops, started building skills, and just immersed myself in learning as much as I could.

After I graduated, I didn’t have a job lined up, and I was like, “Okay… I need to make money somehow.” I already had this growing skill set, so I started out on Seeking Arrangements. That was my first entry point, but I realized pretty quickly that I needed more, I needed community. I wanted to be around other people who got it. Eventually, I found mentorship, and the rest is history.

Leo: Who was your mentorship with?

Amalia: I started pro-domming in 2019, but I didn’t start my mentorship with Lucy Sweetkill until 2021. The pandemic kind of messed everything up for a while, things were just weird and disconnected, but once stuff settled a bit, that’s when I was like, okay, I’m ready to go deeper with this. 

Leo: How did you make your way to New York?

Amalia:  I moved here for college. I grew up in Philly, so I’ve always been an East Coast girl. Coming to New York felt like flying out of the nest. I needed to be in a bigger city, somewhere with more queer people, more kinky people…just space to explore on my own terms.

There was definitely this part of me that was super determined to make it here. New York is wild—it’s a beast of a city! But I was like, okay, I want to do this. I got here in 2015, so this is actually my 10th year in New York. It’s where I’ve lived my whole adult life. I moved here as a teenager and now I’m at the end of my 20s. So yeah, definitely formative years.

Leo: What do you love most about doing this work in New York City? How does the energy of the city shape your persona or practice?

Amalia: I think New York is such a unique and vibrant place. There’s a huge variety of kinks and interests here, and I meet so many fascinating people whose desires really reflect who they are. That diversity keeps it exciting, it’s impossible to get bored.

It’s a wild, fast-moving city, but if you can carve out a space that feels like yours, it’s incredibly meaningful. The kink community here is so rich and full of people from all kinds of identities and experiences. I’ve grown so much because of them—subs, clients, other Dommes, sex workers. I honestly can’t imagine finding this kind of community anywhere else. New York is really special that way.

Leo: Have you found that New York’s clientele or kink scene has any distinct flavor compared to other places? How are your subs different from subs in say, San Francisco?

Amalia: Yeah, I’ve toured in quite a few places at this point, and honestly, I haven’t noticed much of a difference, which is kind of disappointing in a funny way. Like, I wish I could say all the piss drinkers are in one city and all the foot people are in another. But the reality is, kink is everywhere. The variety of interests really seems to be a national, and probably international, thing.

Sometimes you find a local kink community that’s really solid and active, and sometimes you don’t. But that doesn’t mean the kinky people aren’t there. There are probably proportionally just as many in small cities as there are in big, metropolitan ones. And what’s really special is getting to connect with people who might not have any other avenue for exploring their desires. Especially in smaller cities or places in the Midwest it means a lot to be that connection for someone. That’s something I really value.

Leo: What are one or two of your favorite cities to tour in?

Amalia: I go to Boston a lot. There’s something about touring in places that are more socially conservative or a little puritanical, people there tend to be major pervs, and I mean that in the best way. Boston folks are into some freaky stuff, which I love. It’s also one of the few cities where I’ve built ongoing relationships with people over time, which feels really special. And yeah, I guess the more religious or repressed place is, the more people want to rebel. It makes for some fun, weird sessions.

Leo: Absolutely. For me, I was raised conservative Christian — and so many of my sex worker friends and colleagues come from similar backgrounds. A lot of them were raised in actual cults, or evangelical Christianity, which… is a cult, let’s be honest. It’s a total pressure cooker.

Amalia: Yes! It’s like, you know, diamonds are made under pressure and whores are made under religious fundamentalism.

Leo: What does a really fulfilling session look like for you? Can you describe one that left you feeling especially happy or proud?

Amalia: I get this question a lot, and I think people expect me to name a specific activity—like, what’s my favorite kind of play. And yeah, I have preferences, of course. But honestly, I consider myself a pretty omnivorous kinky person. I’m into a lot of different things and can find excitement and creativity in all kinds of play.

For me, the most important part of any kinky dynamic is the connection. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. I could be doing one of my favorite activities and, if the connection isn’t there, it can feel really flat. Totally two-dimensional. But then I could be doing something super simple, like a basic foot worship session, and if the energy’s right, if there’s real chemistry, it can feel electric. Sometimes even emotional or spiritual.

That’s the beauty of it. The way I see kink, nothing is inherently anything, it’s all just a vessel. A framework. And what makes it powerful is what we bring into it—our experiences, our energy, our imagination. There’s potential in every session, in every scene, in every person to tap into that kind of magic. And I think that’s one of the most beautiful parts of this work, every time you walk into a session, you’re surrendering to the unknown. You never really know what might happen… and that’s part of what makes it so special.

And I think the work I do has made me a lot more open-minded. I see people of all different ages, body types, genders, people who look completely different from one another. And honestly, a lot of them are people I might never have crossed paths with in my day-to-day life. But in the container of a session, there’s all this room for surprise, for connection.

There have been so many times where I’ve found myself thinking, Wow, I really connect with this person, even though on paper, we have nothing in common. And that’s carried into my personal life too. I’m way less judgmental now. I go into interactions thinking, I have no idea what’s going to come from this, but I’m open to it.

Leo: One thing I really admire about sex workers—especially Dommes—is how clear and intentional you are about boundaries and communication. But I’m curious: how do you protect your own emotional or physical boundaries when you’re feeling drained or depleted?

Amalia: That’s a great question, and honestly, it’s something a lot of sex workers, and a lot of women in general, have to navigate, both professionally and personally. Whether or not you're in the sex industry boundaries are important, but especially for  sex workers who are dealing in the realm of bodies and intimate proximity.

For me, the longer I’ve been in this work, the more comfortable I’ve gotten with just saying no. Like, “No, we’re not a good fit,” or, “I’m not going to continue this conversation because you’re not respecting the boundaries I’ve clearly laid out.” If someone isn’t following instructions, isn’t listening, isn’t treating me with basic respect—that’s a no. Period.

Part of setting boundaries is being proactive. It means communicating expectations upfront, even when it feels uncomfortable. A lot of us are socialized to be people-pleasers, and unlearning that has been really valuable. It’s helped me get more confident in how I communicate and in knowing when to walk away.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that not all money is good money. If a dynamic is draining or damaging to your mental health, it’s just not worth it. And I think that’s something every sex worker learns at some point in this industry.

Leo: Yes, absolutely. It's so important. Honestly, we could teach courses on this—talk to vanilla girls about their dating experiences in New York...

Amalia: No, I’m horrified. Like, truly scared. He said what to you?! Why are you allowing this? It’s really the trenches out there. My heart goes out to them but, seriously, you’ve gotta have good boundaries. You’ve gotta demand to be treated the way you deserve.

Leo: Can you tell me what kink means to you personally, not just professionally? 

Amalia: Yeah, definitely. I have a lot of thoughts about this.

When I think about kink, I think about leather. And I mean that capital-L Leather, the Leather Community. Historically, it's a community of queer people that has coalesced around BDSM, leather as a material, but also as a lifestyle. It’s so much more than just sexual acts. For me, it’s about how I orient my entire life.

Being a queer leather person means I’m in relation with other kinky, queer people in ways that don’t follow cishet, patriarchal norms—romantically, interpersonally, politically. The way I love, the way I organize, the way I work, the way I show up in community, all of it is informed by my kink identity. Whether it’s through non-monogamy, queerness, gender, or the kind of community I choose to be part of, it’s all connected. All of these things are like braids that are informed by my sexual life and the richness of it, but Leather isn’t just about how I fuck in the bedroom. It’s a way of life, a way to orient myself against the oppressive status quo.

Leo: How would you describe the power dynamic between you and a sub? What do you think makes that exchange feel sacred or transformative for them—or for you?

Amalia: I think for me it comes back to this idea that nothing is inherently anything. Kink is just a vessel, and it can hold so many things. Sometimes it’s a vehicle for transformation, healing, even spirituality. And sometimes, it’s just a way to get off. Both are valid.

I don’t go into every scene expecting it to be profound or life-changing. Not every session is meant to be deeply connective, and I think it’s important to be mindful of that, especially because I’m not going to give that deeper part of myself if I can’t feel that it’s going to be received or reciprocated. That’s where boundaries come in. I’m really intentional about who I offer that energy to.

That said, there have been people I’ve met through this work who’ve changed me in a real way—who’ve shifted how I think about power, how I understand dynamics, even how I see myself as a Domme in profoundly moving ways. Sometimes a session invites me to confront parts of myself I wouldn’t otherwise look at. When those moments happen, they’re rare and sacred. And I think only people who’ve experienced the depth of a real kinky connection truly understand how moving that can be.

Those are the experiences I seek out, the ones that stay with you, that feel beautiful and transformative. That’s the kind of magic I’m always open to.

Leo: Are there any rituals you do to help you get into the right headspace for a session? Or even daily practices you have that feel connected to your identity as a domme?

Amalia: Interesting question… I mean, there are the obvious rituals: putting on makeup, packing my bag. And I think a lot of sex workers can relate to the way even the mundane parts of the job, like answering emails, are just as important and take up just as much brain space as the “sexy” parts. Weirdly, there’s a specialness to the mundanity. 

But for me, there’s also a quieter, more sacred element. I have a large collection of erotica and sex work ephemera. I don’t necessarily use those pieces in my sessions, but I keep them displayed around my home. Sitting with them, just being in their presence, helps me drop into a certain mindset. It connects me to a lineage, a legacy, of sex workers who came before me. People who were doing this work under very different, often much harsher, conditions.

There’s something really grounding in those moments. It’s not about prepping for a specific session, it’s more about reconnecting to the bigger picture. And yeah, the smaller rituals—doing my makeup, listening to music, getting dressed in my outfit—feel important too. But the most powerful moments are when I’m just sitting in that history, feeling connected to something much larger than myself.

Leo: I’d love to come over sometime and peruse your erotica!

Amalia: Please do! I have so many thoughts about this because I’m also a literal archivist. That was my profession in a past life. I have a master’s degree in it! Material culture has always been incredibly important to me, especially when it comes to preserving the history and legacy of sex workers, particularly through print media.

Everyone wants to erase us. But the truth is, sex workers are foundational to culture, to media, to history. And I feel really strongly about making sure that’s documented. That’s why I obsessively collect media made by sex workers, both current and historical. That includes everything from zines to porn mags. If it contains our presence, I want to preserve it.

At this point in my career, that impulse—to archive, to protect, to witness—has really become part of my identity and my brand. I even joke that I’m the “Archivatrix”: a mash-up of archivist and Dominatrix. The archivist preserves culture, while the Dominatrix produces it. There’s a tension there, but also something deeply complementary.

So yeah, I’m constantly thinking about how I can carry forward that legacy through my work today as a Domme. It’s not just about performance, it’s about continuity, history, memory, and resistance.

Leo: Can you tell me about any ways that your approach to domination has changed since you first started in 2019?

Amalia: I think a lot of baby Dommes (which we were all at one point!) can relate to the early phase of posturing. You’re trying to figure out who you are as a Domme, what your style is, how you’re supposed to show up. And a lot of that is shaped by these cultural archetypes of what a dominant woman should look like, this very specific image of dominance that’s often intense, cold, cruel, maybe even masculine in its energy.

And sure, some of those elements can show up in my play, but they’re not me. I laugh a lot. I smile. I’m a warm person. In the beginning, I felt like I had to fit a certain mold to be taken seriously. As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to understand that domination doesn’t have to look one way–I think a really expansive understanding of power is that dominance can be anything, any type of personality can embody dominance. There’s actually something really beautiful about how power can be expressed in so many different forms, across so many different personalities.

I’ve grown into a much more expansive and authentic understanding of dominance. Not everyone has to wear black latex or be stone-faced all the time. Power can look soft, colorful, joyful. And I can still fuck you up while laughing. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

Leo: If you could change one thing about how society views sex workers—I mean where do we even start— what would it be? 

Amalia: This question is really important! I do organizing work with Decrim NY, and our main goal is to decriminalize adult, consensual sex work in New York State, which is going to be a long fight.

There's so many intersecting things that need to happen simultaneously for sex work to be decriminalized and for our ideas around sex work to shift as a culture. We need to stop stigmatizing sex work and sexuality in general. We need to understand the nuances of gender.  We need to move away from the idea that police and prisons are solutions—they’re not. Criminalizing people instead of giving them resources doesn’t protect them, it harms them.

There’s also the issue of access—to banking, to safety, to basic rights. Sex workers are constantly being pushed out of both digital and physical spaces. All of these things are connected: workers getting de-banked, getting arrested on the street, getting deported, getting doxxed and harassed online. I think in a lot of ways, sex workers are the kind of canary in the coal mine into this slippery slide of fascism.

I think sex workers often have their finger on the pulse of societies and cultures, and can predict, even years in advance, what's going to happen because of who we interact with and all the different ways that our work is mediated, both in person and digitally. 

All of that to say is I wish people would listen to sex workers, because we are some of the most valuable comrades that you can have in your fight for liberation. And I wish that people would take us more seriously.

Leo: One more question- can you tell me how you chose your name?

Amalia: Yes! I was raised Catholic, and during confirmation you have to choose a Saint’s name—most girls pick something like Mary or Catherine, but I went with St. Valentine because he was cool as fuck. So "Valentine" is a nod to that, and also to the Catholic-to-kink pipeline, which is very real.

I also just genuinely love Valentine’s Day—I love love, and all the cheesy, over-the-top parts of it. As for Amalia, I wanted something a little Italian, a little unique. There are a lot of common names in sex work and I wanted to stand out. Plus, I think V names have this sexy, noir energy that really fits a Domme vibe. It’s stuck, and I’m happy with it. People know who I am—and that’s all I need.