Being a Dominatrix Pays the Bills, but Dogs Rule Her Heart

(NEW YORK) — In the back corner of Pinks Cantina on a Sunday night in February, Holly DeRito is meticulously setting up the prize table for the winners of “Rock N Roll Bingo.” Dressed in skintight, faux-leather leggings, the 49-year-old has two small braids of platinum-blonde hair sticking out from the bottom of a sequined beanie. She thoughtfully lays out a series of items: a Victoria’s Secret purse —perfect, she says, for holding drugs or a flask — a full-size Chuck Mangione record, Richard Simmons’ “Reach” on vinyl, and a pack of ironic 1990s Valentine’s Day cards with the phrase, “My feelings for you linger,” over a photo of The Cranberries, famous for their song ‘Linger’.

The New York City bar is half full, with customers at only five of its 10 little tables. Still, DeRito hopes that with the people who have shown up, she can raise money for a dog named Romeo, who was fighting for his life when she rescued him in Tijuana, Mexico, in late January. 

“Just What I Needed” by the Cars comes on as the people playing bingo check their scorecards for a match. DeRito points to an older gentleman with shoulder-length white hair and a bald crown. “He’s a client,” she whispers to me. By client, she means a “slave” who pays DeRito to humiliate him sexually. “He’s adopted two cats from Waggytail Rescue,” she said. “It’s a Tuesday night, and Holly would call and be like, ‘Hey, want to come over? I got the ass guy.'”

Everyone has their thing. For some, it’s alcohol. For others, it’s food. For DeRito, it’s rescuing animals. Her nonprofit organization, Waggytail Rescue, formed in 2003, has helped foster and find homes for nearly 9,000 dogs and cats in New York City and Los Angeles — something that makes her no money but captures her devotion. But behind the devotion, platinum hair, skintight pants, and rock ‘n’ roll is someone suffering from deep physical and emotional pain. 

From a New York City that no longer exists

In a city that has become increasingly homogenized since the creative explosion of the 1970s and ’80s, “sameness” is now ubiquitous. Events like a small East Village bar celebrating its musical icons on a Sunday night serve as a reminder of what was. Now, the streets are overrun with finance bros in white leather sneakers, and girls with their hair slicked back in claw clips posing for Instagram, emulating the trends and energy of people like DeRito who come from a New York City that no longer exists. Characters like her — who go against the flow — are harder and harder to come by. DeRito is a time capsule perfectly preserved in her petite 5-foot-3-inch frame. 

For 25 years, DeRito has lived in a five-story walkup on Norfolk Street, performing several odd jobs around the city to get by. Her most lucrative gig, the actualization of clients’ sexual fantasies as a dominatrix, allowed her to buy her studio apartment for $119,000 in cash in the early 2000s. Fetish sessions evolved into a bondage-themed workout class, Slavercize, which gained the attention of ABC News and Playboy as men and women garbed in black latex masks waited to be spanked by a stiletto-heeled DeRito after performing a series of push-ups. “Good boy,” she would praise each man as they kissed her feet. “I probably could buy another apartment with the money I spent starting up the rescue because I was making so much money,” DeRito said of her work as a dominatrix.” Some clients would pay a vet bill for $1,000,” she said, “and I would give them that many spanking sessions.”

DeRito’s longtime friend Erin considers herself a partner in crime. “Holly’s clients would want another person to watch,” she said. “It’s a Tuesday night, and Holly would call and be like, ‘Hey, want to come over? I got the ass guy.'” Other times, DeRito would lure her friend to Harlem, where the shelter on 110th Street was actively euthanizing dogs. It became standard, leaving the shelter with 10 dogs climbing all over the pair as they drove down the FDR.

“With Holly, you’re either gonna go to a bar or go out dancing and be hungover,” she said,” or you’re gonna go to 110th Street and bust out a bunch of chihuahuas. How could you not love that?”

I asked DeRito what a typical day looks like for her. Her response was utterly chaotic and yet perfectly on pitch for her personality. 

“I was suicidal a few months ago because I have fibromyalgia,” she said. “I was in so much pain. But I go out almost every night because maybe I’ll have a moment where I can escape the pain. I’ve suffered from chronic depression, so it breaks that negative thought if I go out,” she added. “New York became my therapy.”

They say the body keeps score, but it is hard to imagine someone who spends her time zipping through the city streets on her bike, often with a dog, or seven, in the front basket, as someone in distress. 

“I had an MRI today,” she said. “Then I got on my bike and went to the farmers’ market. I got some boiled chicken to bring to this dog, Sourdough, at the shelter. He wouldn’t eat, but I did that trick where you chew up food and spit it in your hand. Even though I’m vegan, I’ll do this for a dog.”

On Wednesday nights, DeRito attends a live band karaoke, Glitter Glitter, at the Lower East Side burlesque lounge, The Slipper Room. She gets in for free because Cornelius at the door is a longtime friend and animal lover. A recreation of once iconic “Karaoke Nights” at the village hangout, the Elbow Room, which has since closed, DeRito, as a regular, would share the stage with Michael Stipe of R.E.M. or Moby, singing their hearts out to Barry Manilow. Many fundraising events she throws for Waggytail are inspired by this magical time in her life. 

‘Always for the rescue’

Russell Steinberg, the “Karaoke Nights” host and friend of DeRito, honors any favor she asks because it is “never self-serving, always for the rescue.” Admiring his friend, Steinberg says, “Holly has made a life for herself doing what she wants, living in the hardest city there is to exist. No frills.”

A unique thread in DeRito’s story is how the dogs are a conduit for connection in all aspects of her life. Long nights out in the city cultivated friends who have helped foster animals, kinky clients have contributed to her pursuit, and the animals themselves have allowed DeRito to continue creating a community in what can be an incredibly isolating city. Even as the city changed, she was never afraid to be herself: a timeless, ageless character. “I feel like ‘Holly’ is the adjective I use to describe certain things,” said Sullivan.

An hour into bingo, three people collected their prizes, including DeRito’s client, who opted for a Ring Pop and a drink ticket. DeRito enthusiastically held up a laminated Venmo QR code linked to Waggytail’s donation page—a technological update from her hands-on days at the shelter. Up a few hundred from the beginning of the night, Romeo the dog was going to make it. Ever persistent, so was DeRito.