It is strange to be known so universally, and yet to be so lonely.
Silent night, holy night … well for me – silent for sure as I sit here listening to the only sound in my condo, a rhythmic dropping of water from the kitchen sink to keep me company. There is no other time of year that slaps me across the face harder, reminding me every second of this torturous two week holiday break just how lonely the lifestyle of a mistress is.
Actually I misspoke.
“How lonely the lifestyle of this mistress is” I should say as I speak only for myself and not anyone else to be certain. There are no friends houses for me to go visit and no nice Christmas dinners to be enjoyed, I instead am picking at a 5 baht bag of sticky rice sitting here beside my 20th story balcony window wearing my long purple tshirt that barely covers my knees upon which I precariously balance this laptop. I’m leaning my head against the top of the sofa gingerly as to not disturb my perfectly set new hairstyle which conveniently ate away 3 hours of time at the salon earlier today. Now I’m just waiting for the earliest moments of twilight to assure me the sun will indeed rise and I’ll make it through this eerily still night that brings with it Christmas morning.
To pick myself up I’ve just gone through my emails to re read all the well wishes you guys have sent me so far this December …
“Thank you for what was a most amazing session, I cannot wait to come back next year and see you again.”
“I had a wonderful time, both at dinner and in the session but I have to admit I enjoyed talking to you far more as you are by far the most interesting girl I’ve met in Bangkok.”
“Deciding not to chicken out and meet you was the best thing I’ve ever done of all my times in Bangkok. You are so interesting to talk to and I’ll be back in February to see you again.”
“I don’t know if I’m more spellbound by your beauty or your intelligence. I’ll be back again to find out.”
Blue fish. Blue fish. Blue fish. Blue fish. Thank you for your comments but they’re all coming from blue fish dudes.
Bah, I’d usually screenshot the sms chat from which those quotes came from but I can’t be bothered. If you don’t believe me by now, it’s out of my hands and anyways I have no reason to lie. For a year I’ve poured my heart out into each story giving truthful accounts of both my feelings and my experiences so I can relay to those interested what it is exactly like walking in the same shoes that the original Mistress Jaa left me with before this lifestyle all but consumed her.
But I’ve done that story after story for a different reason than her. I’ve made it clear haven’t I? Maybe I’ve been too clever in my writing, expecting people to read between the lines, and when I sat down to write Fatal Attraction, one of my most popular blog posts, I all but said what’s bothering me but to no avail.
If I’m to believe what all the guys tell me at face value, I’m “the most beautiful girl they’ve ever seen” and I’m “by far the most interesting girl” anyone’s ever talked to in this part of the world. Yet here I am at the end of yet another year, single, alone, lonely, unmarried. Geez, I feel like the girl at the dance who never gets asked. Well that’s not altogether true, I do get asked, about once or twice a day on average actually, but all blue fish and not a single red one to be found.
Huh?
I’m a lone red fish swimming in a sea of blue fish. I have the traits of an American, Commonwealth, or European girl … you know : educated , opinionated , confident , independent , financially secure. Shit like that which would make me as much a red fish as girls from say, a USA University are. Trouble is, the guys who swarm to this part of the world aren’t looking for a red fish, they’re looking for a blue fish.
A real stupid, subservient, but beautiful blue fish.
In fact, you guys travel half way around the planet to go fishing here because you can basically put a tire at the end of your fishing pole, it simply doesn’t matter, you’re going to catch a blue fish no matter what. There’s quite literally millions of blue fish bred and raised in the “yes sir, yes sir, three bags full sir” school farms here.
I get it, I do, really. From your perspective, why wouldn’t you want a girl wayway way out of your league and who’s idea of multitasking is being able to iron, fold clothes and give a blowjob all at the same time. Fuck, she’ll even smile while she swallows and say “anything else darling?” I might be going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing it’s hard to find such a girl in Munich, New York or London? I recently had to go to Kao San Road for a session with a backpacker dude and I caught myself thinking like a guy as I walked down the street saying “who would fuck any of these foreign girls?” I got my answer as we went dancing after the session and I had more than 10 guys trying to get me instead of Miss Brussels and it occured to me for the millionth time that I was born 3,000 miles away from where I needed to be born.
Herein lays my problem, I need to get to where you live, where all the red fish girls swim. Cuz i fucking guarantee, you put me in an American University for 2 years, and I’ll have my pick of guys wanting to commit to me … I’d be a bad ass red shark over there, and all them fat red fish wouldn’t stand a chance.
But sadly I’m not ‘there’ , I’m ‘here’, which sucks more than your normal suck.
I … I get to swim with what is the equivalent of Dory from Finding Nemo, except there’s like a school of them that covers the ocean as far as the eye can see here. How easy is it to fuck a pretty blue Thai fish? On an online dating questionnaire after the question “Do you believe in sex before marriage” they have to add “Duh” as a clickable response. When asked “After how many dates would you consider having sex with your significant other?” they had to add “1/10th of a date” as an answer.
I’m not really into your tradition of sitting on an old man’s lap and whispering my wishes into his ear just on account that I don’t feel like feeling Santa’s boner. However if i did, I’d most definitely wish for not only a spectacular wedding dress but a reason to wear it. If that was asking too much I’d settle for a one way ticket out of here.
Ah, there it is. The first lighter shades of black repainting the pitch black sky, the sun approaches. Time to disappear to my vampire coffin and sleep away this joyous of days.
Merry Christmas everybody, I guess. Not accepting gifts, but if you wanna come over and kiss my ass you’re more than welcome to.
jaa xx
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“What the fuck is she doing?” I could see that expression written all over Dieter’s eyes which – when compounded by the fact that my eyes had the exact same expression showed in unison that there was something very wrong going on in the session he had booked with me and the original Mistress Jaa. That was December 8th of last year, and after a turbulent week thereafter, Mistress Jaa officially finally succumbed to the pressure that 5 years of being Head Mistress for jaa4u.com had brought on and did the right thing by stepping down.
I don’t say it was the right thing because it benefited me. Taking over for her was more of an act of taking the load off of her shoulders and letting her breathe while I kept her business afloat and on December 13th I took over officially which now seems like an eternity ago. Now Dieter – god bless his crazy fucked up heart – even though he’s a total basket case and will definitely make the top 5 list as I write about it more this week – the dude had every right to be pissed off. He showed up on time for the session, I believe it was his 3rd with her and 1st with us together so there was this familiarity that had been established, a familiarity which allowed Jaa who was clearly at the end of her rope to act out her own version of the Top Gun scene where Maverick won’t engage and Sundown – (me) – confronts her with it.
As hot as I am, Jaa is hotter so it would make sense that she got to play out the part of Tom Cruise and I got to play Sundown, which sucks because if I had my choice on which black actor I’d play it’d be Denzel haha. For the 1st hour of the session I sat on the bed talking with Dieter while Jaa continued to clean the condo and as we rolled into hour number two her unwillingness to engage in the session became damage control.
Remember the captain of the Titanic how he had resigned himself to his death, choosing to hold the wheel of his ship before he drowned? That’s how I felt throughout the last hour of that session, except the windows never imploded and the ship never sunk.
Instead, I was handed the reigns of the horse later that week and I made rectifying the wrong done in that session my very first priority by coercing Dieter to come see me for a private session, my first as Head Mistress and frankly speaking, I blew doors off of his mind in that session … something which went so deep that it permanently fucked up our relationship for the rest of the year, and I list it as the 4th most memorable session of the year.
Which means that from last December 13th to the one upcoming, there have been many fantastic sessions where I’ve gotten inside a guy’s mind even more so than i did with Dieter, but in a good way. Dieter went all basket case on me, whereas other sessions I influenced guys in a positive way and therein lays the amazing part of being a Goddess that seduces men, I wake up feelings inside guys that they haven’t felt for decades and I show them just how truly deep desire can run. Which brings us to Mr.Grey, a session that very closely followed Dieter’s meltdown but was the spring board that launched me strongly into January as it taught me just how deeply I can swim inside a guys mind weeks, months even after a session.
The 5th best session of last year started the very moment I went down to greet the guy showing up for his Tease & Denial session and saw only a very handsome man in his late 30’s sitting in front of the cafe at the condo wearing a finely tailored grey suit and sitting with a posture that exuded confidence. Atypical of most guys who show up for their session who have long since succumbed to the heat of Bangkok and show up wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts.
I hung his jacket up in my front foyer closet and invited him to sit down on the living room couch while I made us an Earl Grey tea to sit and relax, well that’s what I told him at least. I’m about as interested in sipping tea as a midget is at wanting to climb the Great Wall of China. At best, the tea is a distraction – not by the way i sip it although I’ve had guys drool at how my lips slowly wrap around the lip of the cup and let the moisture sit on my lips as i look up at them after swallowing and say “what?”. No, it’s a time distraction to allow me to pick up on the subtleties of how he is feeling towards me. Mostly, I’m looking for that fake wall of pleasantness that guys throw up with their legs crossed and holding the tea like they’re at a hi-so biscuit eating affair at the Bodiam Castle in RobertsBridge, East Sussex, pretending like my lace dress isn’t causing their cock to climb out of the pants and raise the white flag of surrender.
Mr. Grey as I shall call him, handsome as he was, had to keep crossing and recrossing his legs to disguise his bulging dick making an uncomfortable mountain in his slacks and by not taking my eyes off of him as we talked for the first 15 minutes I made him more and more uncomfortable with his hardness.
We all have this comfort zone of the people we’re attracted to and know we can get, and once we’re forced to covet something that is way outside of our comfort zone there is an uneasiness that permeates the air when in close confines of one another – for the person who is coveting that which is out of her … or for you guys … his league. Let’s say for argument sake that we’re talking about you being sexually attracted to me. By most guys definition, I’m a 9 , or at the very least an 8, and even for the extremely critical men out there, i’m a strong 7. By comparison, most guys, even as handsome as my Mr. Grey client was, is at most a 7.
For me, Chris Hemsworth – you know him as Thor is a 10, my knees would tremble around him the way this girl did upon seeing Heath Ledger.
That’s a guy who understood comfort zones and the effects of smashing through them. I’m sure he was fully aware, as Chris is that the longer he entertains an average looking girl in conversation the more uncomfortable the situation becomes, a distilled uneasiness that makes the heart pump, the knees feel weak, and makes sweat form at the top of the forehead. That’s all I’m doing in my sessions as I’m aware that as that gap between my 9 and your 7, or 6 or in most cases 5 increases the more I have a hold of your utmost attention as I speak to you.
The gap between a 9 and a 7 as it existed between Mr. Grey and I was only slight and at that point confidence takes over. The confidence of having top model guys seek me out night after night whether it’s at the dance club or at the food court at Terminal 21 … not that there is a plethora of male models hanging out at the food court, but I have been approached by more than one there, something I’ve written about before if you recall.
That confidence of knowing how to deal with guys who would make my heart race makes it very easy for me in turn to hold the conversation as I did with Mr.Grey and let the tension of the situation grow on him as opposed to having it disturb me.
Fifteen minutes into our talk and at the end of our tea cups there was this pause in the air, the silence that screams out “ok what do we do now” and it was written in his eyes that he was eager to start the session, totally unaware that it had begun the moment I met him in the lobby and my mind said “fuck he’s hot, I have to take the wind out of his sails quickly”.
“You didn’t fully tell me what you wanted in your email” I said to him as I collected the tea cups and the holders from the coffee table and took them to the kitchen. “So before we begin, I want you to tell me – in detail this time – exactly what it is you want out of our session today” i continued as I slipped the dishes into the sink and reached into my hand purse to reapply a bit more of my perfume on my wrist to mask the smell of tea in the room. I had turned the air off just before he announced he was arriving downstairs so though the room was moderately cool the smell of the tea was allowed to linger in the air with the lack of circulation. The perfumes I choose are subtle but intense, i’m a connoisseur of smells and i knew it wouldn’t take long for the moistness of my wrist to set a new smell in the room for his senses.
The best way to deal with men’s bullshit is to cut through all their pretentiousness. I like to take the “i’m a 9, you’re a 7” and throw it right in their face and see them deal with it in an impromptu sort of way so they can’t ease into the situation. Things are so much better when they’re real don’t you think?
So with that in mind, I walked back to the couch where he was sitting parallel with the hand rest and his legs outstretched dangling down to the floor in a semi crossed way. Enough space for my petite body to slip into and from his solar plexus I wiggled my bumb into him and as I turned I slid down into his lap – making sure that my ass pulled his cock from the upright position to where it lay under me pointing down stretched out towards his ass and bearing the full weight of my body.
His hands, with his fingers stretched out looked as if he were an untrained doctor about to reach into the open chest cavity of a patient with no knowledge whatsoever of where his hands should go or what they should touch.
I could actually feel the head of his cock throbbing uncontrollably under the small of my back but I paid it no attention, and poor Mr.Grey was doing everything he could to not explode all over his pants and the back of my dress a mere 17 minutes into the session. His hands for lack of a better place to land decided to come to rest just under my breasts but I grabbed his left pinky finger with my hand and removed it while still continuing to talk.
“So, what is it you really want?”
“I … I … uhm…I want to be slave” was his exact response, so noted because he left out the word ‘your’, which is interesting since he was born and raised in England. Oh how quickly grammar school goes out the window when you’re trying desperately not to shoot your load on your mistress’s ass.
Another thing that drives a guy crazy is girls who are unabashedly frank in both their dialogue and mannerisms. Using that advantage at an appropriately timed moment causes all sorts of misanthropic conflaguration as it did with what I said next to Mr. Grey;
“I’m sitting on your cock, and you’re trying not to cum because baby i can feel your head pulsing under my ass. My body has completely invaded your personal space and in such a quick period of time, and all you can say of your desires at this point is that you want to be my slave? Really?”
“No, I , I mean, you are my mistress, i cannot…”
“Cannot what, touch? So if I told you I want you to fuck me right now , you wouldn’t because of some unwritten rule that precludes you from doing so?
I could see his brain literally pumping out smoke as his thoughts raced at light speed trying to ascertain whether or not that was an invitation for him to fuck me. His predictably neanderthal reaction was to slide both his hands down the back of my hair to my neck and lift me up toward him so his lips could get closer to mine. I used that momentum he generated to turn as he lifted and we ended up in a me straddling him kind of position. I cupped his face with my hands and pulled the back of his hair slightly while wiggling my ass on what was now a petrified tree trying to access my covered cave through two layers of fabric between us. He stood up, lifting my body with him almost falling over backwards with his rush to get me to the living room wall, and there we stood with me in his arms and him trying fervently to move in with a kiss. I however had that covered as my hand met his chin and twisted his head to the side and my foot came around to the front from being wrapped under his thigh and I gently tapped him in his balls causing him to hunch over but still dangling me like a baby kangaroo in a pouch below him.
“Do you want to fuck me, right here, right now?” I asked him, again intruding on what he was used to as usual behavior by a girl and thus extracting the purest of answers from him.
“Yes mistress, please.”
“Please doesn’t do anything for me, I want you to explain to me how hot I am to you and how much you want to fuck me.” I demanded from him in a sexy tone of voice with my lips so close to his that he could smell the fragrance of the Earl Grey tea on my breath.
“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, I’ve never felt desire like this.” … a probably true statement, yet there was uncertainty in the tone of his voice, like he thought this was all a facade of trickery. After all, who really gets to fuck a mistress hotter than any of the mistress’s that have permeated his dreams since – forever, and just moments after encountering her? There’s that self-doubt that exists in any man, a doubt that when he’s exposed like this guy was, asks of himself if he is truly this desirable to a woman. Especially a woman perceived to be out of his league, why would she want him so quickly?
Tease & Denial. It’s all in the denial. When we’re denied that which we truly desire, it just makes us covet it more. Once that denial is looped, much like a cat trying to chase it’s own tail, a crazed desire takes over the body and whether it’s the male you or the female me, that desire manifests itself as a pure craving. In being a mistress, i’m mostly the supplier of that craving and very rarely do I entertain the idea of participating in that craving with my client.
As with all things in life, a paid session is still an interaction between two individuals. A lot of you guys show up at my door wearing your day worn t-shirt, your 100 baht shorts, your $5 Hai Karate 80’s cologne and barely washed, hardly shaven … expecting me to have some sort of forced attraction to that kind of look. I’m human, I like hot men, or at least, I like men who put the effort into being as hot as they can be. Some of you 5’s and 6’s in terms of looks can clean up nicely and be presentable as a solid 7 , perhaps even an 8 , and perfectly desirable to a girl. It’s sad that in my experience, 75% of men out there don’t have a clue about how to present themselves. Be it bitten nails, or an unsightly nose hair, or an annoying habit of adjusting ones balls as they walk (seriously, why do you guys do that, and furthermore, why do you think we don’t notice?) there’s inevitably something that destroys the attraction in almost every session.
Thus, this guy was a rare bird indeed. He had CK cologne, not my choice of smells for a man but a nice effort nonetheless, but more importantly is he was dressed to kill and so very few men know how to dress themselves. It helped that he was genuinely attractive, but that wasn’t his selling point, I was hotly attracted to this vulnerability that existed inside him, hidden for sure, but i’m more perceptive than most.
“That’s what I wanted to hear” and I kissed him on his cheek, moving towards his ear slowly until my lips rested right above his tender ear lobe. After a quick nibble i whispered so quietly into his ear that which he wanted to hear so dearly ; “i’m going to let you do anything you want with me, except fuck me, or kiss me on the lips, but with our clothes on.”
For a moment he looked at me with an aura of disbelief which turned into the most pleasant grunt I’ve ever heard as I reached down and grabbed his cock through his dress pants and began rubbing my thumb under his cock head as i pressed my lips deeply into his neck until my teeth bit hard, squeezing his cock with all my strength as my teeth collapsed into his skin. He immediately dropped me to the floor – quite surprisingly as I thought he’d do the opposite and hoist me up – but whatever, his next move was to drop to his knees and kiss my navel. Quite the submissive act but I loved it and after due time spent kissing and sucking my tummy I pushed him down towards my pussy.
“You have the most amazing tummy, it’s beyond sexy” he whispered sadly, (you be the judge, that’s my tummy there in the photo) bidding adieu to my belly button as he approached instead the upper part of my clit. Though I was wearing jeans under my lace top, his sucking was forceful enough to cause her to swell uncontrollably and fuck – it was all I could do to not rip open my Mango’s and let those amazing lips probe my pussy, but I resisted. Then just as I had let go of the expectation of being lifted he scooped me up, turned ninety degrees to his right and flopped me down on the sofa.
“Fuck it lets go to the bedroom” I told him and grabbing him by his hand I tugged him to my master bedroom where i resumed the flopped back down position but on my queen sized bed this time. It feels so nice to say that – “queen sized bed” after spending every day of my life up until this year either sleeping on the floor, on a mattress, or on my tiny hobbit sized bed that i’d slept on the past 3 years.
He chose to flip me over on my tummy and climbed up between my legs like a raft making it’s way down a river between two canyon walls, but when he got to my ass I picked up the heel of my foot and by hooking the back of his head I pulled and locked his nose into my ass making him smell my fart as it sat and lingered inside my jeans. I laughed as I turned around to look at him and he had a delirium in his eyes reminiscent of a crazed wolf. The energy that followed throughout the next hour matched that simile as he aggressively kissed smelled and sucked at every part of my body while I made sure I held on to his dick the whole time as tightly as a woman drifting in the rapids would cling to a life preserver.
A thousand pleads and an hour later he collapsed onto his back on my bed in total frustration holding the top of my hand which as I told you was latched onto his dick like a leech.
“Please mistress, you have to let me cum, I can’t take it any longer. Can we please make love.”
Interesting how a man changes his terminology, when he’s in control he wants to fuck the shit out of something, but when he’s desperate with no relief in sight that act suddenly becomes “making love”.
I kind of wanted to stop as well, not for exhaustion sake, but for the fact that I had so much pussy juice running down my leg – trapped inside my jeans that it felt like I had peed myself and my panties felt like I had taken a swim in the pool downstairs. The smell must be akin to catnip for as I cuddled up beside him he curled himself down towards the vaginal area of my jeans again just to rest his head.
“Do you really want to cum?” I asked him.
He looked up from my pussy and firmly put his fist over my hand which was still pulsing his cock like I was taking his blood pressure.
“Please” he begged.
“Put your mouth on my nipple” I ordered him, but when he let go of my hand to pull open my lace to get to my bra I slapped him hard across his face. “On my nipple … outside my top, not inside” I added. When I felt the bites of his teeth trying to locate my nipple it sent a shiver down my spine. My nipple was so taut from all the kissing and petting that my nipple was quite large and spread out – thus hard to acquire in his teeth. Finally he found her and my instructions continued.
“I’m going to stroke your cock super slowly for the next hour” and as I spoke I unzipped his pants and let this hugely thick cock of his, the thickest I’ve ever seen, spill out onto his belt. My thumb found the part under his head and with slow rhythmic pulsing of my hand and gently pushing my thumb into the vein under his cock head I demonstrated just how slow the rest of the tease was going to me.
“If at any time you lick or suck my nipple in the next hour I’m going to stop immediately and you’ll be asked to leave. But if you can manage to hold her in your teeth for an hour, I promise you’ll cum eventually.”
He simply moaned for his response and I began caressing his hair like a baby with my left hand while rolling my thumb around his pulsing cock with my other hand. It wasn’t even a minute later that he began to shake and cajole hips into convincing his balls to release his stuff … but to no avail, my tease was far too slow for that old school trick to work. There’s tons of little tricks guys use, I should one day make a simple blog post listing them all like a Texas wanted list, but rest assured I’m aware of them all and they all get punished accordingly. From the ‘squeezing the balls between his legs’ move, to the ‘contracting the muscles in the ass area’ to coerce an orgasm before it’s due time, they’re all amateurish and easily preventable. Tediously slow torturing of the cock at a rhythm that sits below the danger line of inducing an orgasm is the best way to derail all the tricks guys use.
But they try, I applaud them for it. The one that does get me from time to time I will admit, is the straight faced liar guy. The one who will look as straight faced and calm as a Sunday school boy praying at church while perfectly disguising the imminent eruption in his balls. Oh the joy of seeing his “aha I tricked you face” as he orgasms turn into “no wait what the fuck, stop stop stop” look as I wipe the cum away and purposely keep rubbing the top of his cock head for the next 10 minutes as he screams with his hands tied up. If he moves too much to avoid my rubbing he gets a good hand slap on the bottom of his balls to correct his behavior subtly. I’ll continue on like that until he’s within seconds of his second orgasm – because it’s very hard for a guy to pull such a trick the second time, there simply isn’t the velocity in the balls needed to launch the cum – and when he’s desperately close to cumming a 2nd time I’ll force him to briskly get dressed and leave the condo, quick enough so that his cock is hard as a rock in the elevator going down.
An hour and forty minutes into the session with Mr. Grey and he was at a crossroads of emotions. On one side, my gentle stroking of his hair with his teeth lightly gripping my nipple had reverted his memories back to a post-womb state and he was happy with letting time melt away in my arms like that forever. However, his harmony within himself was being fiercely fought with the agonizing teasing I was doing to him down below.
He began whimpering through his teeth, so much so that it became annoying, like a baby that had been put to sleep earlier than he had wanted. I pulled him by the front of his hair off my soaked lace and asked him what the problem was.
“I need to cum mistress, i need it now. Please.”
“Allright” I answered. “But you have to use your hand to cum and I want you to cum over your suit.”
“Mistress?” he simply questioned me with one word? But rather than explain myself I stood up over him as he laid on the bed grabbing his own cock in reaction to seeing me strip out of my jeans revealing my g-string pussy soaked black panties. I turned to face his cock and squatted down over his face so that my legendary ass was inches away from his mouth. Slowly I rubbed my ass cheeks across his face letting the dank smell of my hole surround his nose instead of my perfume and with a spank of my hand on his I got his fingers to start stoking his cock as I did so.
Just lightly enough to barely touch his tongue I kept my distance as he tried to find the wetness of my panties on his tongue. He began to yell and wince his eyes as he approached orgasm. As he did so I sat down with all my weight on his nose letting the stench of my pussy juice and my ass juice be sucked in by his over eager lips and as he erupted his cum he managed to shoot the first squirt and the second squirt of his load all the way up to where he had just been sucking in the breast area of my lace top , but the subsequent squirts littered his suit with his cum as he sucked feverishly on my panties – trembling by the legs as he did so.
By the time he had showered and I had changed into my t’s and shorts, it was time to say good bye and as I walked him to the door he summoned his last bit of courtship by stopping at the door and asking me if he could please kiss be once before he left.
“Sure” I said.
Then I nudged him outside the foyer of my condo door, turned around and pointed to my ass. He actually chose not to, instead walking away backwards smiling at me and shaking his head repeating the word “wow” over and over until his elevator arrived and he disappeared.
Now instead of saying something clever to finish off my account of the session I’m simply gonna tell you what I did next and leave it at that. I don’t think I’ve ever dug my fingers into my pussy as hard or as fast as I did the second the elevator door closed and I slammed my condo door shut. What I remember, truly, is that I held off on my orgasm which would have came in the first 5 seconds until a good 30 seconds later. Because I screamed when i made myself cum, and I never scream, but I’m sure it was so loud that he probably heard it on his way out of the lobby walking to the soi as my open balcony window overlooks the street down below.
Ah fun, but that was only the 5th best session of the year. I guess you’re wondering what possibly beat that? You’ll know tomorrow.
jaa xx
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Since I’ve been busier than a cat trying to cover shit on cement the only fun I’ve had in my life recently has come from replying to my email. For the most part, sharing my photo gallery privately instead of publicly has really improved the quality of the email inquiries I’ve received and I’ve really enjoyed having some extremely long email threads with guys exploring in great depth both their fantasies and life in general and it’s made for some very personal and intimate sessions which I’ll get to writing about this week. Intimate as in, there is so much information that has been shared before the session that it feels often like I’m seeing a person I’ve known for years so there is no need for acting.
That’s exactly what needs to take place for a truly moving experience to take place, there has to be a comfortableness so great that all the pretentious bullshit gets left at the door and for 2 hours we can just be ourselves.
What’s curious is that in order to get that level of depth I’ve had to remove the visual cue men are so attracted to and instead appeal to their intelligence – which for me was a great leap of faith since I admit that while I’m above most other Thai’s when it comes to having discourse about all things intelligent, I hardly compare to what you guys bring to the table for discussion. I’ve had to rely on my writing to get through to you, which again is amazing since my first drafts that I type or speak into my phone are barely comprehensible even to myself. After each and every session I pretty much dump my thoughts to my phone like poop through a diarrhea infected goose.
I’m not rehashing everything that happened in the session either, rather I pick out concepts – ideas which I think I explored and open up to bigger topics – which if I write about and expand upon it helps me be a better mistress in the future – at least that’s the plan.
However, as much as I’m thrilled with all the sophisticated gents who are showing up for sessions I still get the odd inquiry from guys who haven’t scored since the eighth grade picnic.
If I can sum up what’s changed the most about me this full year as Head Mistress here is that whereas I used to try to reply calmly hoping to not miss out on revenue I’ve since come to realize that getting an intelligent reply out of these guys is as hopeful as trying to squeeze oil out of a cats ass.
It ain’t happening.
At most, they’re amusing to me and that’s fine as it allows me to answer business email the way I’ve always wanted to talk to assholes when I worked in the public sector.
Business isn’t any worse for the wear in me doing so, and for me it’s fun being a smart ass. Like this guy who comes from the country or perhaps planet called Khi.
…………………………….. Introduce Yourself : Your name, age, and country : Hi, Im Maho from Khi and 32 male What are your interests for your session ? im intrested in full body to body massage and relaxing anal, prostate and related things. With whom would you like your session ?Mistress Jaa & Wael both Choose the time period you are interested in listed here from least to most expensive : 2 hour double mistress session 10,000 baht Pick a Date 25-11-2015 Email
…………………………..
From where? Khi? Is that on this planet or some other planet?
Also, you booked the session for November 25th , that was 3 days ago.
I can only assume that on planet Khi they’re still working out the kinks on time travel. At least you got the year right, high five babe.
Khi ain’t no country I ever heard of, they speak English in Khi? I should have said that to him … but guys I tried watching Pulp Fiction and fuck if that isn’t the most boring movie I’ve ever seen I don’t know what is. I think that’s a movie for dudes, because it does absolutely nothing for me whatsoever.
Hey, know what else doesn’t do it for me? Poppers or any other kind of drug. I live (not by choice) in the land of the two C’s – Crazy and Corruption. While I can’t do anything about the Crazy –
I cando something about making sure the corruption never comes to my front door however …
………………………………………
Introduce Yourself : Your name, age, and country : Sven 37 German What are your interests for your session? Anal dildo Poppers With whom would you like your session? Choose the time period you are interested in listed here from least to most expensive 2 hour : , 7,000 baht with Mistress Jaa
Pick a Date 01-12-2015
………………………………………
Anal Dildo Poppers sounds like a new product that I should sell at a BDSM store.
1) insert dildo into the ass.
2) feel the cool rush as the dildo ejaculates poppers directly into your anal blood stream
For a limited time, buy your Anal Dildo Popper and receive our anal insemination kit free.
While supplies last.
Some conditions may apply.
From Johnson & Johnson.
🙂
Seriously, anal i do … whatever strap on you like. But I’m against having someone, anyone, bring anything illegal into my residence. And silly as it may be, poppers are illegal here.
So if you can drop the poppers bit, we can do a session just fine. Let me know if you want to talk about it ok.
jaa xx
Never heard back from him. I guess my Anal Dildo Popper machine is about as popular to him as the Bass-O-Matic :
Let me say though that there are times where I’m completely wrong about the guy and the impression of him that I’m getting through email is nowhere close to what the guys is like if I meet him. It’s very rare thing that I agree to meet somebody once I’ve lost my mood with him in email but in the end I did agree to see this guy I’m about to introduce to you. To be perfectly frank, I agreed to see him for only two reasons : to actually do what I promised to do to his phone and to kick him so hard his kids would be born dizzy.
It’s self-evident whom is speaking to whom, just follow along , (sorry but copy pasting something this long from gmail isn’t allowing me to space it out nicely for some reason)
Supreme Mistress, thank You for the fabulous video. It s ok fir The ballbusting sessione this 28th at 4pm. I need to make a video of the ballbusting session in which You and me show our faces. Is it possibile?
Best regards.
……………………………
So 4pm tomorrow , me and Mistress Wael at my condo , 10k , ballbusting session … confirmed. No video taping though.
……………………………
Supreme Mistress, how much for the ballbusting session if I stay 15 minutes?
……………………………
i can charge you 4,000 for an hour. You’ll want to stay longer. Every guy who has been scared has been so turned on that he has stayed the whole 2 hours and enjoyed it.
……………………………
Supreme Mistress, I need the ballbusting video with Your face
……………………………
Supreme Mistress, no problem for 1 hour for 7000, but I need to make a video of The ballbusting session with The face of The two Mistress. Neverthless, I would pay only one Mistress for 4000
……………………………
and I already told you that I don’t allow myself to be video taped 🙁
……………………………
No problem, Supreme Lady, but in this case, I would pay 5000 for having both of You for a ballbusting session for 1 hour.
……………………………
I’m going to take the other 2 sessions on offer tomorrow and pass on yours. I’m not Manchester United and this isn’t a contract negotiation. I’d rather book the others, make 14k on the day and go shopping in the evening. You can keep your 5k in your pocket and do the same 🙂
……………………………
Please, Supreme Mistress, forgive me! I will come tomorrow for 7 k!!
……………………………
Well we’re kind of fucked now as I have to find a time to see you, I’ve booked the other 2 people already. I’d have to move them both an hour later to free up time in the late afternoon at 4 or 5 pm, that’s the only option
……………………………
Supreme Mistress, I humbly ask You forgiveness for the inconvenience! Are You available Sunday?
Can I take a friend of mine who iwill filming with mobile the ballbusting session?
……………………………
Sunday is booked
……………………………
Supreme Mistress, could I have the great honor to come to You today?
……………………………
Why? You keep saying you NEED to make a video , and I’ve told you 100 times, I don’t do videos.
……………………………
Supreme Goddess, don’t worry: its enough that only Your colleague shows her face while You are destroying my testicles.
……………………………
if you bring a video camera i’m going to throw it out my 20th floor balcony window.
……………………………
Supreme Queen, I would use only a phone
……………………………
then it’s being tossed out the window.
……………………………
Good morning, Mistress! It’s ok if I give You 7000 for an hour session of ballbusting with you and Miss Wale and for making a video with my cell phone taking only with me and Miss Wale? if so, what time should I come?
Best regards.
……………………………
yes sure, and then as I told you before, I am throwing your phone off my balcony window. We’ll see if phones can fly.
…………………………… Supreme Lady, please, I’m ready for today. May I come for The ballbusting session? Ok Supreme Mistress, at what time You are aviable?
……………………………
you should go see Mistress Wael at her place. She only lives on the 7th floor, your phone may survive the toss.
……………………………
Ok, Supreme Mistress, What time?
……………………………
If you can make it to my condo at 7:30 we can do the session before my next session begins
……………………………
Supreme Mistress is 8:30 ok?
……………………………
Ya fine, I need the extra hour to sharpen the spikes on my shoes. At this point I want each and every one to be razor fucking sharp.
……………………………
Mistress Wael lands a direct hit.
So 8:30 pm rolls around and he shows up with his friend at my condo, 2 sweet if not cute Italian guys who can’t stop gawking at my ass and whispering “Bellisima” over and over again. I invited the guy up but made his friend take a hike. The whole time up in the elevator he can’t stop staring at my ass and pussy because I was wearing my sexy cop uniform which the last time I wore it at Climax nightclub for Halloween I had literally half the guys in the club buying my drinks and trying to rub themselves up against me. So here’s this shy guy, way out of his comfort zone and unable to talk as his English is barely passable so I suddenly felt awful at wanting to toss this guys phone out the balcony window.
My anger had subsided which I was thankful for as the last ballbusting session – which I thought had ended without incident – ended up with the guy going to the hospital afterwards and he’s no longer able to have kids. That was much, much different than the sexy teasing way I often do where I make the cock and balls as hard and therefore as tight skinned as possible before giving love taps with my shoe to blend dizzying pain with pleasure. That last guy challenged me to kick him as hard as I could, thinking my small body couldn’t generate enough power to inflict any pain of consequence. Sadly for him, I have a great Muay Thai trainer.
I was wrong about him, he was teddy bear cute. I can share the whole video privately if you want to see it, just let me know, but I will tell you that the funniest thing to me was that through all the pain he simply couldn’t stop staring at my pussy like it was The Holy Grail.
A few well placed kicks put an end to the gawking though , don’t worry – it was just a flesh wound 🙂
jaa xx
[formcrafts id=’10805′ name=’Book A Session’ align=’left’][/formcrafts]
So you want to be castrated? No, here’s a far better idea – one that is guaranteed to not only immortalize you in social media until the end of time but will simultaneously make your 1 inch dick the least looked at part of your body even as your video becomes the most watched in the internet’s history. That’s what you want right? You’d do anything to divert attention from your pathetic little worm of a dick, so much so that cooing about the size of your wallet hasn’t led to any satisfaction and you’d rather just be rid of the little worm. Relax, we’re gonna fix that right now.
By far, the most confounding part of being a mistress is trying to match reason to why FinDom guys suddenly appear at my doorstep, drop thousands of dollars at my feet in a ridiculously short amount of time. Which in turn gets me to extrapolate just how insane my year end revenue totals are going to be, so much so that on more than one occasion this year I’ve contemplated what retirement will be like at age 29. Then, just like that, they’re gone. Disappearing just as quickly as they materialized – leaving me with a pile of money that could have been ‘oh so much more’.
Then the self analysis sets in, the second guessing of what it was they wanted that I didn’t fulfill, followed by endless research of how to manage this part of the business in a more effective way. Finally I come to the conclusion every time that I’d have an easier time trying to strap on fuck a Hippo in his ass than make sense of how a FinDom’s brain works. So to that end, rather than spend any more time trying to solve my problems I’m instead going to solve theirs. I’m gonna do that by making their exposed dick the most non watched part of a video that’s going to in the end surpass PSY – Gangnam Style’s 2.5 billion hits.
Let’s start by listing the materials you’ll need to stage the world’s most remarkable smut video ever shot.
Super Glue
Chicken Wire
Rope
Video Camera
Got all that? Great. So here’s what you’re gonna do. You only need one sharp strip of the chicken wire – the thinner the better, and with it you’re going to make a loop that fits snugly around your neck – be careful not to make it too tight as we want to avoid any unnecessary chafing. To this loop you’re going to add a liberal amount of rope, say about 20 meters as we want to give gravity and acceleration a good amount of time to build up as you descend towards infamy.
Now, strip. Reveal to the world – remember over 2.5 billion viewers – the pathetic bump you have for a dick and trust in me that not one of those viewers is going to pay any heed to the source of your humiliation.
At this point you need to seek out a very high bridge – one where your buddy can also find a good location to film you from far away. Two parallel bridges a few hundred meters apart from one another running high above a river comes to mind as a perfect example. Once your buddy is in position and gives you the hand signal that they’re filming you need to slip the chicken wire around your neck and secur
e the end of the rope to the railing of the bridge.
Now for the brilliance of the idea.
You’re gonna apply a tube of super glue to each of palm of your hands making sure they are covered fully before attaching the hands to the face cheeks. Once the glue has set – we’re all set to go. Climb up over the railing – make sure you get the ‘ok’ sign from the guy videoing this – and jump off. People will think you lost your mind – literally.
Come on! That’s better than a fire hydrant pissing on a dog. At the very least it’s better than coming to me asking for a simple castration. Hey what’s more scary, the fact that I’ve had 25 guys ask me to castrate them this year or that I’ve studied in-depth on how to do it properly? haha.
In total, 23 of the 25 asking to be castrated dropped varying amounts of money at my feet and all but 2 have long since vanished, never to be heard from again.
The only 2 guys who have been paypig worthy in terms of loyalty are the only two who did not ask for castration in the first place, Benny and Marco. That’s a bit of an anomaly don’t you think? I mean, if it wasn’t for those two guys I’d absolutely believe that there is a strict correlation between castration and Findom.
Coincidentally, do you know from which country I get the most emails asking to be paypigs but who never follow through? Italy.
From which country do I get the least emails asking the same, but follow through the most often? Americans.
What guys want to have their dicks lopped off the most often? French dudes.
The rest of the world seems to be quite happy with their package down there, but I have my Burdizzo Cutter ready just in case one comes a callin’ 😛
jaa xx
[formcrafts id=’10805′ name=’Book A Session’ align=’left’][/formcrafts]
to me sry hon its just for this amount 7,000 baht i buy myself a golden horse and let it shit silver bricks until sunset .)
Of course then I send him my photo gallery. Suddenly he immediately tries to book me and instead of his golden horse he budgets for a rubber rat that doesn’t shit anything. Still though, he’s a bit short on cash …
dear mistress – goddess
who is this on the pics you miss ? you would do that tease session with me omg i am dying – you are so beautiful……….. would you do that session for the estimated price 4000 bat teries
pleeaaaassee say yes i short of a heart attack in awe ..regards
Haha, 4,000 baht was my fee when I was a Jr.Mistress under the original Mistress Jaa, that is the fee for Mistress Wael as I still feel she is in training and until her English catches up to my level that’ll be the Jr Mistress fee. You pay for beauty, or in my case you’re paying for the hottest ass in this country. <—- Notice how I use the word “this”. I’ve long since absolved myself of referring to where I’m located as the possessive pronoun “my”. In fact, I went out of my way to find a poppy to wear for Canada’s Remembrance Day November 11th and I’ll be cooking a Turkey on the 28th to celebrate American Thanksgiving.
Why the 28th and not the 26th – the actual day Thanksgiving falls on? Well for one, I’m eating my Thanksgiving dinner by myself so I’m not exactly inconveniencing anyone. Secondly, I’ll be watching “The Game” on the 28th if only to laugh that a football team named itself after a nut tree. Go Michigan!
Other than that, well I’m reaching for things to write about as though it’s been a packed week there’s nothing exceptional out of the sessions I’ve had that would make up a full story, and the one that was ridiculously fun, I’m not allowed to write about it which sucks donkey balls. I’m gonna hand out my first bravery award … I hereby knight thee Marco as the bravest submissive ever as he became the first guy to endure a very painful full 2 hours of being locked inside my spiked chastity until he reached orgasm.
When you’re locked inside a spiked chastity, the harder your cock gets the more painful the session becomes and really there’s only two ways to achieve an orgasm in such a device. One is the quicker way of allowing me to jack you off while you scream bloody murderous pain and have the palm of my other hand coerce the cum from your balls. The much much longer and surely more torturous way to enjoy an orgasm is to let me play with the tip of your protruding cock by rolling the penis head in my fingers. Pulling you to an orgasm that way is as slow as watching a herd of snails travelling through peanut butter.
The orgasm when extracted this way is a bitter-sweet symphony of pain and pleasure as the meticulous throbbing of your cock as it tries to launch the cum up your shaft allows the chastity’s spikes to simultaneously dig deep into the cock’s sensitive skin producing what truly is a mind numbing orgasm. So congrats to him for summiting Everest so to speak as all guys previous to him had failed to endure the painful approach to climax.
Apart from that I want to say that I’m really proud of Mistress Wael for softly diffusing a very dangerous situation for her and walking away from it not only unscathed but with the ability to laugh at what happened nonchalantly.
You guys … by that categorization I’m referring to anyone submissive or who is allured to Femdom are very much a respectable crowd of gents. Just because we all have our secret fantasies that don’t gel with mainstream societies idea of what is “proper”, it doesn’t by any stretch of the imagination mean that we are freaks and thus deviate to abnormal behavior because of our devilish desires. I’m including myself in the freakish category as I have some very anti-confirmatory like female fetishes as well , one of which I’ve written about at length. So though originally Jaa and now me have been operating sessions from this website for 6 years now, there hasn’t been more than 2 cases where a guy acted highly improper. It’s a fascinating statistic considering that I’ve done well over 1000 sessions now and I’d say original Mistress Jaa had over 10,000 sessions in her span.
So it’s not a surprise that it was not one of “our” group of guys but one of Mistress Wael’s contacts from her brief time working in a massage shop that forced himself upon her this week. The whore seeking crowd is less obnoxious at these shops but only slightly. My tenure at such a shop lasted all of 2 weeks when I all but twisted the baby finger off of a guy who tried to touch my ass inappropriately and wasn’t invited back to work thereafter. Hers was a bit longer having found that the pay is double than what she made as a chef, unfortunately she accumulated quite the parasitic fungal type of male contact list and I’ve finally been able to rid her of every last one of these scumbags.
Except she got contacted by one this week and on her own went to visit him at his hotel. Not 10 minutes into the massage part of her session he reached up and by grabbing hold of her body he reversed the position with him on top and trying to insert himself inside of her. I’ve told you before, Wael is a blue belt in Gracie Jiu Jitsu, I bring her to all my wrestling sessions because it’s exhausting for guys to fight her. I’ve fucked many an ass as reward for winning such a session simply because as a general rule, guys egos vastly overstate how well they can do in a real fight with little or no training whatsoever.
When she told me the story of what happened from the point where he tried to force himself inside of her I was visibly upset and wanted to immediately get some revenge but was not only calmed by how she told her side of the story but I was shocked at how she giggled.
“It was like playing with a baby.” she said.
When I asked her how that is possible since he was so big by her description she said “a guy cannot control my hips and focus on fucking at the same time, he has to choose.” So be it, he braced his hand on her stomach as he aimed his cock and that according to her is the “one arm in – one arm out” position that sets up a leg triangle and a couple of seconds later he was beginning to pass out slumping limply to one side. She released her lock, shrimped away and made it to standing distance without hurting him at all.
“I don’t need to hurt him just because he is horny.” she said. I said what if he tried to hit you. She put me in her triangle and ya … striking is about the last thing on my mind, other things like fear of dying are more prevalent lol.
Ya fuck, she’s really coming along with her confidence. I had one sort of situation where the guy was just persistent with his touching and though he never tried something physical like this guy did I found digging my nails into his testicles until they bled rather effective as my form of self defense.
Finally, what’s with all these people changing their Facebook profile pic to a montage of their face with the French flag. Nobody did a montage of Kenya’s flag earlier this year when that university massacre went down. I abhor such violence, but to pay special homage to a certain event due to geographical location. Fuck that. Here’s a better idea, figure out where the violence never ever occurs and take lessons from them.
For instance, you know how I avoid bad sessions? Not only do I have filters that instantly delete emails coming in from certain originating countries, the ones that do somehow manage to slip through I pay absolutely no attention to.
“Ya but some snakes don’t bite, you can have them as pets, they’re safe…really.”
You know how you defeat that argument? You don’t let a fucking snake in your house period. At all. Ever. That way you’re absolutely sure of one thing … you’ll never get bit.
omg. haha
I’m so opinionated. At least I have one, more than can be said for the swarms of lemmings I walk among every day here, and hey … you don’t need a golden horse that shits silver bricks to meet or date any of them. But if you wanna hang out for Thanksgiving and watch a football game with a hot–as–fuck–chick while munching on some Villa bought Turkey that I’ll claim I made myself, come on over.
jaa xx
[formcrafts id=’10805′ name=’Book A Session’ align=’left’][/formcrafts]
Emo was a lower class woman from the poverty stricken village living on an income that made her ration the spoons of rice she could feed herself with each day. That being said, she was happy with her lot in life, and after crunching down on a handful of fried crickets she and her mom had dug up by hand a few hours earlier she lit a candle and read herself to sleep under the sloped tin roof of her open air shack.
“Have you seen the numbers child?” her mom said nudging on her shoulder as the first embers of sunlight flickered through the midnight blue sky.
The lump in Emo’s throat thumped hard as it dropped suddenly to the lower bowels of her intestine putting a sudden pressure of stress square on her abdomen. “Have you checked?” she said squinting at her mother through one half opened eye.
“No but the newspapers are in front of the store already, shall we look?”
“No” she thought but Emo dragged herself to her knees anyway and began fumbling with her right hand under the soggy mattress while her left hand rubbed clarity back into her eyes. “I can’t read it mom, the numbers are wet and smudged” she said holding the lottery ticket in her hand which looked very much the way a wet tissue would floating at the top of a toilet bowl.
“4945050” her mom said as she took the wet ticket, folded it unnecessarily, and tucked it into the strap of her bra.
“Ok let’s go look.” and they scurried out of the shack down the pitch black dirt trail that led to the village store.
Emo had faith that she would never win the lottery but her mother did. Mom would go search the woods out back of their hut for hours looking for any sign of numbers from a deity that would guide her to choose the winning ticket. Always she would come back with a piece of bamboo whose roots would somehow in her eye make out the number 331 or as was the case this past week, a symmetrical like stone that perhaps was curved enough to make an outline of the number 5 on the left and what could be the right half of a 0. Her mother had spent days on end searching vendor after vendor for a number sequence ending in 5050, all the while holding her prized rock over the tickets as she scanned for the numbers 5-0-5-0. Whether the numbers would be the same numbers picked were almost irrelevant at this point as the photo she uploaded to her Facebook page had acquired over 13,000 likes in the past few days leading upto the lottery. The most likes she had ever gotten before was 4,000 the time she uploaded two plops of pig dung that had fallen from the swine’s ass and landed in a 169 pattern.
“Oh God” her mom gasped making the sound one would make with a dying breath. “It wasa sign” she said with a voice of hollow disbelief.
“Is it really”? Emo managed to say suddenly holding back tears and standing with a gaping mouth, her hands maternally sliding down to cup her tummy under her navel.
“Yes, yes” her mom said in an increasingly louder voice and then “YES” again. “494…50…50 look, look for yourself, LOOK.”
It was true. The numbers in the top corner of the newspaper coincided exactly with the numbers on the soggy lottery ticket but rather than react in any manner that exuded excitement she let the ticket slip through her fingers and fall to the ground as she took a jerking step away from it the way a kid would jump away having stumbled upon a field of prickly plants.
“No, no I won’t do it, I won’t. I just … won’t” Emo sobbed. She was immediately snapped out of her sorrow by the smack of her mother’s hand across her right cheek. The poverty, the hunger, the sleeping under a leaky makeshift tilted roof, the many holed running shoes, she was happy with it all for she was three years away from finishing school and then in her dreams 3 more years away from university which ultimately would be her proper lottery ticket out of the village. Not this sham, this mockery of freedom, an authoritarian devised lottery “gifting” the female winner the right to give birth. Horror filled her eyes as she saw curious faces poking out through the dawn lit windows attracted by the commotion her mother was making. “They’ve heard, oh for fuck sakes the whole village will know in a matter of minutes now” she thought.
“The monkeys will be lining themselves up around the block to be the one to get me pregnant” she considered and then winced at the thought of such a sight. More pictures came flying into her imagination, each more disgusting and vile than the one prior. She envisioned herself in a few years time at 18 years old with a baby in each arm and one at her foot. The way it had always been in the village for any girl once she had bled. But that was before the lottery. The lottery was freedom, it was a shield, as any man impregnating a non lottery winner would be put in chastity or castrated. For Emo the new law was a guaranteed lottery ticket to freedom, to wealth, to opportunity.
“Who fucking wins a lottery, tell me, who fucking wins a lottery.” Emo screamed at her mom with the force of a thousand disappearing dreams.
“It’s a good thing sweetheart, you must embrace it, you are chosen for a reason.” her mom said holding the rock up high to the sky.
“Because you found a fucking rock is that why? Is that your reason? Fuck you. Fuck you I was free. I was free.” she shrieked and hung onto the last vowels of the word free until the air ran completely from her lungs after which she sunk to her knees as it began to rain.
Men started out of their shacks for houses shuffling towards the ruckus making a growing circle of peering eyes at the two. Her mom, realizing the danger, reached down to pull her young daughter up from the ground but as she did so she was shaken off as Emo rolled her shoulder away and curled her back towards her mom in a Quasimodo type of stance. It was then that she too noticed the growing throng of onlookers all whispering among themselves as they looked at Emo and the limp lottery ticket still laying on the ground at her feet.
“You” Emo said, pointing a finger at no one in particular, but addressing all at the same time.
“You would begrudge me every last bit of happiness” she hissed accusingly. Yet the crowd ventured forward, the circle around her and her mother tightening with every shuffle of the mob. It made no matter that the majority of the men were either already eunuchs or were permanently locked in their chastity cages, for the few who weren’t would be enough to fill her with endless seed in a matter of moments.
Emo reached down and snatched the ticket up in her fingers, holding it out for them all to see. Once the crowd saw the lottery ticket being held in the air a murmur of frenzied excitement shuddered through them.
“The lottery ticket is hers, NOT MINE” she screamed at the top of her lungs while turning and stuffing it down the front of her mothers shirt tearing it in the process.
Then, stepping backward away from her mom she whispered the words “I’m sorry” repeatedly through a stream of tears as her mom was hoisted into the air and the rock she had been clinging to dropped harmlessly to the ground.
jaa xx
[formcrafts id=’10805′ name=’Book A Session’ align=’left’][/formcrafts]
A most unclean thought not only invades my dreams every night now but it permeates the furthest corners of my mind the way a storm would displace sunshine. I don’t like to hurt anybody or anything and I’m the type of girl who would sidestep an ant and as recently as last week I took thirty minutes to help a moth escape from my bathroom to my balcony so it could live on. I love life and I believe all life is sacred and probably the very reason I do this job if we get right down to it is to help people feel better, I’m like a therapist and a quick search for that word in my gmail reveals that 22 people I’ve seen this year consider me to be exactly that for them.
With some people I’m 1000 emails into discourse with, taking the time each and every day to not only discuss any number of topics but sometimes to just be a sounding board that they can bounce their day to day gripes off of. I do so without thought of gaining future revenue by being there for them I just do it because I tend to concern myself with others more than I’m concerned about myself. I think that to be truly happy one should acquire an honest interest in the other person and always try to see the good in them.
Though, I’ve recently come across not one but two people that are just downright evil. In fact, they go far beyond evil. They are life-shattering people, and more than that … they are fully cognizant of their evilness.
It’s been a week since I’ve written anything for this blog, and even these guys that I email every day have felt this haunting change in my discourse with them but they haven’t been able to put their finger on what exactly is wrong with this sweet therapist that enchants their lives every day. My answer is that I can’t write when my heart is besieged with hatred, a feeling of malice toward two individuals so severe that in my dreams I am not judge and jury over their lives, I am their executioner.
As I wrote to my girlfriend the other day “he simply needs to be hurt” in talking about the first person i’m referencing. Here’s the weirdest goddamn thing though, and to understand this thing you have to know how my brain thinks. For instance, I don’t play with Ouija boards; do you know why? I don’t know one way or another if there are evil spirits in some other dimension – I don’t propose to know and I don’t have a strong opinion either way. But I sure as hell am not going to start playing with the fucking thing and become a possible conduit to that realm. I don’t believe in doing or saying anything that invites trouble as doing so is usually a self fulfilling prophecy.
So when I recently described the first evil cunt as an “evil pedophile like creature” and didn’t immediately erase it in my first draft, I think that whatever spirit there is that lurks over my shoulder and saw me write that sought it upon itself to introduce to me what evil really is.
Like fuck. Motherfucker. How does one get enjoyment out of shattering a life?
You know, with all my sessions packed into 2 days this week I’ve been playing this game called The Witcher , though I’m not a gamer girl I just love anything to do with Witching, magic, fantasy type stuff , heck I even went by myself yesterday to see The Witch Hunter to get my mind off things. Anyways, in this game along the main plot I had to make a decision whether or not to kill this Botchling, a deformed and discarded evil baby and though it made this quest impossibly difficult – for me anyways – by choosing to save the creature I couldn’t even bring myself to destroy such a life in a video game.
Then I realized, some things just need to be put out of their misery. I went back in the story line and this time while holding a sword to the baby’s head I imagined what either of these two fucklings would say if it was them at the end of my sword and I asked “how did you get enjoyment out of shattering a life?” They’d either smile or laugh, I’m sure of it as they are without understanding of the consequence of their actions.
I sat there with my mouse holding the sword to this thing’s skull for minutes on end until the mouse click finally became an emotionless thing to do. After a great deal of time contemplating life and its inherent meaning and importance I drove my sword through its skull and in doing so came to terms with the fact that for me it wasn’t just the right decision – in the end it was the only decision.
Right now these two entities are thousands of miles away from me. Eventually, they’ll both make the mistake of coming here. When they do, and I’m face to face with either of them finally, their fate is as simple as a mouse click away.
I am fucking gutted….. My boyfriend has decided to split up with me.
He think’s that our age gap is too big, what, with me being 25 yo and he being 19.
I wish he told me that 10 years ago……
It’s interesting that this joke is worth a chuckle when written as-is , but if I flip it and rewrite it as such … “He think’s that our age gap is too big, what, with me being 19 and he being 48” then the comedy of the situation is replaced with a creepy pedophilia type of overtone.
Yet that’s the case in a majority of all Thai – Foreigner relationships. Suddenly there’s no comedy or creepiness, it’s simply “ok” to which I ask … Why is it ok?
Why would a near 50 year old single – white – professionally employed male from a commonwealth nation shack up with a 20 year old impoverished Thai girl?
Well with the attractiveness levels of women around where he lives being quite a bit lower than pickings in my part of the world, he’d probably have to settle for a meth head who serves Kraft dinner to get a decent lay in his country. Someone who has more colonoscopy results than financial results at his work desk really should have more on his mind at this point in his life than fueling his pedophilia like desires, buy hey, if there’s grass on the field – play ball, right?
You guys ask me all the time “what kind of a man do you want?” Tongue in cheek answer … I’d say ‘one that wouldn’t consider fucking donuts simply because they have holes in them.’ What can I say, you men set the bar so low for yourself that an answer like that isn’t that far from the truth.
Having been exposed to a copious amount of ex-boyfriends, especially my latest, makes me realize all over again that the main function of the male species is the the manufacturing, distribution, package and marketing of bullshit. Of the three manufactures of present day bullshit, religion ranks a pretty high third place losing only slightly to the second highest producer : government .. any fucking government. So knowing that, long ago I came up with these two rules of how to shed my life of all bullshit :
If the person speaking doesn’t have a number on the back of a jersey , I don’t believe anything the person has to say. Not a word.
Don’t watch sports.
I’m whistling by the graveyard on the last one as I just bought mlb and nhl for Jaa’s kid (to get him off my notebook for Thanksgiving break) and I have picked up a rudimentary understanding of American Football lately not to mention I’ve kind of sort of been following the All-Blacks in the Rugby World Cup. That’s far from watching sports though I wouldn’t mind if I did because it’s the only thing that men can agree to never lie about, whether they watch or play. Thus, rule #1.
But when it comes to bullshit, I have to drop to my knees in awe, and raise my hands to the sky in fucking awe of the biggest source of bullshit in the world : Men trying to get laid. Notably : aging over the hill men who can no longer get laid in their own country without paying for it. Sadly, the minority of such men are the ones who accept their age, admire the women around them and then go home and jerk themselves off.
The alternative?
The alternative course of action for this cesspool of aging men – is to get up from their accountants desks, make up a fake Facebook account that promotes a delusional younger version of themselves, book the closest hotel to Nana Plaza and fill it with wall to wall barely legal whores.
And you Americans say “all men are created equal” … stunning bullshit.
If it was just left at that … a pedophilia toned sexual immersion shrouded in anonymity, that’d be tolerable. After all, not many of these guys call mom while their dick is still wet and say “ma, I’m 5 years from retirement and I just fucked the shit out of a broke 19 year old, are ya proud of me?”
It’s when these fucking creeps start smoothing the path to bring these university freshman girls back to their country so they can then call mom and say “ma, I’m bringin’ home a girl 60 years younger than you for dinner … and then making her my sex slave” … that’s when this guy stops being a sexual predator and fulfills his true calling in life by becoming : A Bastard.
Naturally, every bastard needs a bitch. A really stupid girl, one who really bought into the “its ok to be poor” kool-aid sold here and plays the unofficial national lottery called ‘fuck a foreigner to freedom’.
Luckily for these kinds of guys, my country is is a virtual KFC Chicken Farm of lottery players. It took me all of 3 minutes to find this Craigslist ad, but truth is : whether it’s advertised or not, almost all pussy is for sale here and can be bought. It’s sad that of the two kinds of women in the world, the minority of us are the ones who don’t need a man since we found out we can survive on our own. But how can one even have the foresight to approach life with that mindset when we’re taught from childhood to not think for ourselves and instead encouraged openly to follow a man and have him take care of us.
I’ve spent a great deal of time this week while recovering from my surgery reading up on American ghetto life stories and seeing if they compare to village life here and from what I can assess, both lifestyles don’t really compare equally I think. For instance, I don’t think a black American child clinging to subsistence living in a Detroit ghetto has the same number of barriers to break down to being able to escape to a better lifestyle. From what I’ve read, American schools all seem to be homogeneous … “school’s free so here’s the books, here’s the curriculum, good luck” which compares differently to “school costs money, and primitive patriarchal societal rules dictate that the male gets to go before the female, but that’s ok because the girl is expected to find a man to take care of her anyways.”
Let’s guarantee every family has 6-9 kids by not teaching about family planning or safe sex which will ensure perpetual poverty, which creates the perfect self-fulfilling environment of not having enough money to send every child to school, which leaves women less educated than men, which leaves us dependent upon males and too stupid to do anything about it.
I mean, it’s jaw dropping at how stunningly effective the system has indoctrinated itself. Growing up in the village has a hopelessness to it that would compare equally to any world oppression that’s occurred if not for the sheer brilliance of having the affected not only be unaware of their plight but to fucking embrace it.
Luckily I never drank the Kool-Aid.
Telling a village girl that there are these magical people called “foreigners” who come from the second star on the right and straight on ’til dawn – who – will take a girl to actually live in one of the amazing places we see on the TV set … well, it’s just such a curious thing. The fantasizing of such a story isn’t that far off from how tribal chief’s would tell tales of the ‘white man’ back when we lived in an aural-oral society. (hey Dr.Green, I’ve been waiting forever to find a place to use that, that one’s for you.)
Sorry, a little shout out there to my most interesting University professor abroad who taught the most interesting class ever, even though at the time my English allowed me to understand only 20% of what he was saying 🙁 Thankfully he sat with me for hours after class on many different occasions and explained his lectures to me – perhaps wearing a thigh high skirt had something to do with the amount of time he’d devote to me in his office 😛
But I digress. Where was I? Ah yes …
So we have this cute little baby sheep who’s stumbled out of the forest looking for the path to this second star on the right and she’s being scoped eyeball to eyeball through a shotgun – being held by the motherfucker bastard foreigner who’s got his finger on his dick … err, trigger. In this case, I’m not talking about all of you, I’m talking about one particular motherfucking bastard – and one particular stupid bitch whom I tried to save from being shot.
Being a Thai lady trying to play the foreigner lottery is difficult at best. It’s because you guys know that If you have money you can fuck her no matter how stunningly hot she is. Stupidity means weakness and being weak means you become prey. If this wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t be living in the sex cesspool capital of the world.
Aha, but I’m the bane of existence for foreigners seeking their female prey as no amount of money can buy me or any girl who thinks like me. Especially when after your taxes are paid, I make 3 times as much money as any of you foreign accountants or lawyers , go figure that – a ‘lil stupid ‘ol Thai girl : my oh my. To me, working 8-10 hours a day as a tax accountant or a tax lawyer – and then losing 1/2 of all earned money to tax is like getting fucked in the ass by the boss’s cock 😛
Ya so I do quite well on my own thank you very much, I’m the last girl that’s ever going to be made to be a sex slave for one of these fuckers. What a bullshit lifestyle these guys are peddling and they can get away with it because for the bitch they’re after, there simply is no other alternative. Well there is. She can choose to work in the factory 12 hours a day for $7 pay for the rest of her life, I mean …there’s that.
I know personally a lot of girls who are married and some even not married, but stay with the foreigner in his country because they hope and believe that her man will faithfully give her money and she will have realized the lottery winners life of dreams where she’ll have money, maybe even enough to send back to her family and rescue them as well. I can tell you absolutely that to each one of them, they don’t give a flying fuck where he’s from, what his job is, how old he is, or what his behavior is like. That’s why you often see a 22 year old girl allowing herself to be groped by a man old enough to be her grandfather.
They’ve been sold a fake ticket, each and every one of them, save one.
The fact is, if you are a girl and you can’t speak your husbands language but opt to go live in his country, how can one communicate with his family or friends? If the guy is of any social class back home, would he even venture to introduce her to anyone in his inner circle? If the girl didn’t even go to school here in the first place, how can she hope to find any sort of job there whatsoever, or if she’s assumed the housemaid role, then how can she have the skill to go buy food for herself if she’d get hungry?
Well of course they’ll all answer the same just as they do when I bring it up to them on their Facebook pages, “it’s very easy I just wait for my husband!”
That uniform reply is the very definition of ROFLMAO (rolling on the floor laughing my ass off)
So let’s get this straight shall we. You go to his country yet you can only stay in his house and wait for him to patiently to give you some money – which he does once an appropriate amount of washing, cooking, cleaning and most importantly – fucking has been done in exchange.
Hmm, let’s call that for what it really is: A fuck slave.
Isn’t it?
Luckily, guys who are looking for fuck slaves are a dumb lot. Always looking to trade up to a better quality of sheep – and in their eyes I’m the gold ribbon superstar sheep that they all want to fuck, so to get one of these fucktards to lie to their girlfriends enough to come sniffing in my backyard is as easy as dangling a potato chip in front of a fat kid. Using my sexy-as-fuck ass to get these guys to bite at supporting me instead of their other girlfriend is a truly wonderful thing, as I long ago came up with a way to fuck these guys over in a way that hurts them more than blowing their balls off with a shotgun would.
Truth be told, I’m more than fucking bitter that years … goddammit … years of bullshit texting, talking, emailing – and all that was involved in my latest sting blew up in my face by accident. That’s fine, I have other ways to destroy that fucker’s life. But it was this setback that left me thinking … “if I have a deadly virus, why the hell would I try to infect people one by one, wouldn’t it be better to go all Scarecrow-like and infect the entire world?”
So as I’ve hinted at before, I’m indeed one of the principal shit disturbers in a private closed locked Facebook group of girls that totals over 300,000 of us – and the focus of the group is to warn our kind by exposing these playboy bastards for who they are. Hell there’s even copycat groups out there now so the total is well over a million of us chicks who are in the know.
But fuck. All that’s done until lately was alert the sheep of the wolves that have been spotted so they can be avoided.
What was needed was a way to show the sheep they can indeed slay the wolf. How? Simple, one must simply disguise themselves as a wolf in sheep’s clothing to draw them in. So I’ve recently – August to be exact – posted a step-by-step post of how to slay the wolf instead of hiding from it. I’m so unbelievably happy with myself that as of this week we’ve collectively slain our 100’th wolf in what has been just a little over 2 months time 🙂
By kill … I mean , I’ve taught the sheep that if these guys are all Al Capone, all we have to do is be a group of Eliot Ness’s. So what we’ve done is fucked up their ability to sponsor anyone to visit his country for 5 years.
All we have to do is get these guys to sponsor us for any type of visit be it marital, educational, tourist, whatever – it’s all gravy. As once they’ve signed on the bottom line and that ever so sweet visa comes back as being APPROVED , fuck ya. They’re done. Rip up the plane ticket and send it to them by mail with the photo of his other sweetheart – then sit back and watch these guys first go ape shit mad when we announce we have no intention of going, nor did we ever. Then, be it weeks or months later, get to enjoy it on a much larger scale of rage when they finally see what the master plan was all along and they’re little fuck toy can’t visit until she has bona fide hair she can grow on her pussy. It’s like enjoying a destructive tremor before the full blown earthquake hits.
A pittance you say? Well considering that the average age of these guys is 50 something years stupid, adding 5 years of having to travel here to be able to fuck pussy either puts them over 60 or close enough to it that their “ick” factor virtually triples in value by the time they can lure a sheep back home again. It’s not so much of a direct hit as it is a shot across the bow saying “fuck as many sheep as you want, but pick the wrong one and it might just be the sheep that’s fucking you.”
jaa xx
[formcrafts id=’10805′ name=’Book A Session’ align=’left’][/formcrafts]
The reason you’re gaining weight is because I’m losing it. Law of Conservation of Matter, it’s gotta go somewhere.
I’m reminded of back when I was, like, 16 and had moved out of the slum village for over a year and discovered KFC enough times that I had grown a cute tummy. But when I started losing a bunch of weight, my Gay friend who is still my best shopping partner, legitimately got mad at me because that’s how he thought the Law of Conservation of Matter really worked and he was afraid that since we did everything together, he’d end up “absorbing” some of the weight I was losing. Anyways, I lost about 1/8 of my body weight in the following 6 months or so and was sad I couldn’t lose the other 7/8ths to see if he’d bloat up!
I’ve been moody lately, and I think it mostly has to do with eating not being fun any more. The only food I can consistently eat without feeling like shit afterwards is a variation of Johnny Food (a concoction one of you subs cooked up at my condo and looks the same way going in as it does coming out, but it’s super healthy). Anyways, even with the Johnny Food, I have to eat small portions or I risk getting crampy. So I’m eating small meals of, like 80% fiber and now eating anything bad for me makes me almost instantly ill, and the other 7/8ths is now practically flying off. In no time, I’ll be too frail to get out of bed.
Having been treated to some awesome food in places like Turkey, Japan, Indonesia, New Zealand, the past couple of years and not to mention I have the Peruvian Japanese menu at Above Eleven memorized now that my favorite restaurant is my next door neighbor – I find Thai food to be bleh now. In fact, unless it’s squid, dead or alive, I won’t eat Thai food. Sadly, the only thing I know how to cook is Thai food so my options are to either burn down the condo learning how to make American food or spice up the food I cook such that it burns my taste buds to cinders rendering the food taste neutral, kinda like a smelly fart that doesn’t stain my panties – neutral.
As for how I’m feeling with my moods, I was doing pretty good for awhile with the Johnny Food, but then last night I got really crampy in my lower abdomen and ended up having to cancel an afternoon session because I could barely get out of bed. If I lived in a real country like Canada, I would have gone to the emergency room, but instead I played “Let’s see if it’s worse tomorrow.” Thankfully, it got a bit better, but I’m still pretty susceptible to 5 alarm farts and my bowel sounds have been pretty abnormal. I was worried that I might have a bowel obstruction, but I’m pooping and farting like a champ, so I guess everything is still moving appropriately.
I’m getting pretty sick and tired of being crampy all the time, though.
I need to have some major changes by the end of the month, one way or another. Fuck, I chose this condo because of it’s awesome gym and pool thinking I’d be wearing the exercise machines out every day once I moved in. Since I never go what I need to do instead is buy a shotgun and a gym membership. I’m going to force myself to spend at least two hours a day at the gym on my days off, even if it’s just walking on a treadmill while watching a movie. I’m basically going to force myself to keep my abdomen active, try to get some endorphins flowing, and see what that does for my mind and body. And if that doesn’t work, well I’ll already have the shotgun. All I’ll need to do is sneak some anticoagulant from the drug store and head on out to the jungle. Even if I miss my “off switch,” I’ll still bleed out well before anyone could get me anywhere near a hospital. But maybe it won’t come to that (but if it does, I am hereby bequeathing the remaining 75% of my anal plugs to all of you). I’ll keep one for myself as I heard a nasty rumor that we all excrete some shit when we die and I am not going out with brown smears on my g string.
Can you tell yet that my period is knocking on the door?
Seriously though a period is like coming home one day and finding that your spouse has constructed this entire new baby bedroom inside your house and you have to tell them “Sweetie we don’t have a baby” and then your spouse FLIPS THE FUCK OUT like “The FUCK do you mean we don’t have a baby I DID ALL THIS WORK” and then they spend the next week tearing the whole room apart and throwing it out into the street and screaming at you and then finally when the room is completely gutted they calm down and say “It’s okay hon we’ll have a baby next month” and then they start building the room again AND THIS SHIT KEEPS GOING FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE UNTIL YOU HIT LIKE 50 AND THEN YOUR SPOUSE LEAVES YOU BUT NOT BEFORE SETTING THE WHOLE HOUSE ON FIRE SO IT’S NEVER THE SAME AGAIN.
My fucking surgical procedure is gonna go down on Tuesday too, right at the peak of the blood Tsunami, so I’ll be both sore and sticky when I wake up. Which of you wants to be bedside when I wake up to experience that upcoming mood?
Crickets.
Seriously this must be what it feels like just before one turns into a zombie. So while I’m still of sane mind, I’ve been trying to quickly write about the sounding session I had and coming up with a good opener for the story has been difficult. The only thing that popped to mind for “sounding” (warning: mixing metal tubes and your dick while i’m on a period may be hazardous) is “Drilling for oil? More like drilling your boy-hole” and I don’t think that’s funny enough so, hmm. Ok, a runner up just popped into mind: “Sticking a tube in urethra? Better urethra than my-rethra” *badoom ching* This is like comedy gold. Are you writing this down?
So ya, 20th to the 27th next week I’m not doing sessions on account that I’ll be chained to a hospital gurney. That’s the crux of this whole babbling post. So as I lose the last 7/8ths of myself next week and you all get fat , well now you know why.
Saying you want to be Face Fucked and then guiding my dildo to the side of the throat with your tongue is like trying to get a little bit pregnant. It’s a cheap trick, it pisses me off, so don’t do it. As the guy found out tonight you’ll be punished by me or by my ladyboy friend mercilessly. We don’t want to hear fake moans, contrived breathing difficulties or see unnecessary thrashing of your feet and hands.
What we want, unequivocally is for you to accept the last inch, have her balls press deeply into your chin, and if that destroys your throat and makes you gag her cock back up then so be it.
So tonight even though my sissy session went great there was again nothing out of the ordinary to write about, and in fact tonight was but a sexy repeat of Monday’s session with the same person – hey what can I say, sissy cross dressers love me. Probably because my best friend is gay, all his friends are gay, and they all love me too so I really seem to identify with that type of a session. That being said, writing about how I fucked his ass for 1 1/2 hours straight isn’t terribly exciting stuff and since my fantastic sessions last weekend it’s been a light week with not much to write about.
Ah, but relaxing downtime is fleeting isn’t it? 🙂
Enter stage right Mr. ‘I Wanna Be Face Fucked’ for my session because ‘i deserve it.’
Oh I’m sorry, I’ve been remiss in my details. Did I forget to tell you that I had already ass fucked my sissy boy for an hour on Monday night this week? So, you’ll understand why I walked home from Nana looking very much like I had to take a tremendous shit with every shaky step down soi 11 going back to my condo. With just under 3 hours of pounding ass action under my belt – and when I say pound I do mean I like to pound – my legs, in particular my thighs and hips were seizing up on me making me feel so light headed that I felt higher than giraffe pussy.
I decided to stop into Starbucks on my soi for no other reason than to just be able to sit down for a few minutes and chill out. As I collapsed into my chair and my feet sprung up horizontal my phone popped out of my pocket just as it started to ring. It was kind of comical, I thought somehow my wooden legs popping up had caused it to ring, but glancing at the number I recognized it as the Face Fucking guy’s digits. For 10 minutes he did more begging than a soi dog begs for food asking me to please fuck his mouth with my dildo. No teasing, no ass fucking, he just wanted me to drill for oil in the back of his throat for an hour.
I called my ladyboy friend, thinking to pass the session to her but she was already in a session of her own so I reluctantly agreed since I had promised to see him even though my hips were tighter than spandex on a fat woman. Anyways I’ve got elective surgery scheduled for next week and a second session today would pay for it in one shot which had been weighing on my mind as well.
Now in the almost 3 years I’ve been doing this, at first with the original Mistress Jaa and this year solo, I’ve yet to use fatboy – the biggest of my dildos, nobody’s been brave enough. The last dick I saw that was as thick was a short thing though and he asked me if it was ‘sufficient.’ I said well you may never hit oil but you’ll sure bang the fuck out of the sides going in. Anyways I bring that up because it was in that session the nana ladyboy tried to give him a blowjob and got a sore jawbone for her troubles. I kind of wanted a quick session so I threw fatboy onto the stove and boiled him up getting him ready for a good old Texas ‘go big or go home’ type of late night.
Ever played air hockey against somebody who has no idea how to play – like me. Play me in air hockey and I’ll just move my hand back and forth in front of my goal as fast as I can trying to deflect everything you hit at me to the side. This guy plays with dicks the way I play air hockey. Like I said at the beginning, if I’m putting a rubber dick the size of a coke bottle balls deep into a mouth and I don’t get some serious reaction and retraction then I know the guy is playing tongue hockey defending his throat from the final inch.
You know what remedies that? Gravity.
By hanging his head over the end of my sofa he can defend his tonsils as much as he wants but when i squat my legs down onto his chin its pretty simple math: rubber & gravity > tongue with the added fun being that with his neck at full extension he can’t get my dildo out of his throat so easily so he has to gag it out. Kind of important, because …
Twenty minutes into squatting onto his face my legs cramped up so suddenly and so tightly that I couldn’t move. It wasn’t so much my legs as it was the side of my hips because the only motion I could do was to fall forward onto his chest which took the pressure off my legs and let me collapse onto his face like I was wind surfing on his body … my rudder being the dick a good 10 inches down into his throat.
Except this rudder was stuck in the ocean and while the ocean might be fine with that he was thrashing like a fish in a boat. I had handcuffed his hands behind his back earlier and my weight pushing his shoulders over the couch i guess it looked like I was face fucking Gumby however he wasn’t gonna be able to stretch his throat free of my dildo.
I rolled off him to the back of the sofa and it was like popping a cork out of a champagne bottle, sound included. The “pop” sound of the rubber dick first stretching his cheek out so far that he looked deformed for a second and then flicking out of his mouth followed by what I wish was champagne.
Politely he took off to my bathroom where the better part of his dinner lunch and breakfast came up into the toilet thankfully while I karate chopped some life back into my legs and did some of what was probably the worlds first Strap On Yoga stretching.
He came out of the washroom a minute later asking for something to drink so I literally shuffled to the fridge and opened my only bottle of green tea, grabbed the mop hiding beside the washing machine and intended to go back and mop up the oil on the living room floor when unexpectedly he coughed the tea back up onto the floor of my kitchen behind me. I looked at him with my most cross ‘you have to be kidding me’ stare.
“I can’t swallow.” he said bent over at the waist, his blonde hair dangling dangerously close to the mess on the floor he had just spat up.
“Why?” I asked, completely perplexed.
“My throat won’t close” he said while bringing his right hand to his throat and in a crab claw shape he started trying to squeeze his throat as if he as self-choking himself, “it’s forced open” he continued.
“What do you need?”
“A Tracheotomy maybe.”
I had to laugh when I heard him say that. I handed him the mop and pointed to both his two messy puddles on the floor shaking my head smiling as I did so. “A cesarean for your throat – yup, makes sense”
“How so?” he asked back.
I undid my strap on, placed fatboy in his hands and after poking my cheek with my tongue a few times i said “Because it looks like you did get a little bit pregnant after all.”
jaa xx
[formcrafts id=’10805′ name=’Book A Session’ align=’left’][/formcrafts]
“Thank you for what was a most amazing session, I cannot wait to come back next year and see you again.”
In fact, you guys travel half way around the planet to go fishing here because you can basically put a tire at the end of your fishing pole, it simply doesn’t matter, you’re going to catch a blue fish no matter what. There’s quite literally millions of blue fish bred and raised in the “yes sir, yes sir, three bags full sir” school farms here.
I … I get to swim with what is the equivalent of Dory from Finding Nemo, except there’s like a school of them that covers the ocean as far as the eye can see here. How easy is it to fuck a pretty blue Thai fish? On an online dating questionnaire after the question “Do you believe in sex before marriage” they have to add “Duh” as a clickable response. When asked “After how many dates would you consider having sex with your significant other?” they had to add “1/10th of a date” as an answer.
to seek out a very high bridge – one where your buddy can also find a good location to film you from far away. Two parallel bridges a few hundred meters apart from one another running high above a river comes to mind as a perfect example. Once your buddy is in position and gives you the hand signal that they’re filming you need to slip the chicken wire around your neck and secur
