Femdom Blog

Who am I?

That’s not a rhetorical question for you,  its a self-reflective inquisition of myself.

If I look at the bright side of things – and god knows that’s been hard to do this month – I could step back and say that I’m just maturing from the mid 20’s girl I was when I started writing for this site to the “not quite” mid 30’s woman I am now , and with time has come a decade of change that makes me wince at who I was , right up to about a year ago.

Now some might say it took this cancer in my chest to bring about change but in truth its been this whole last two years that has made me , well , in  one of your guy’s words “more human” …

“P.S. I’ve also noticed based on your posts how you’ve slowly gone from robot to human the past few months. #silverlining”

Well at least if this cancer gets me I’ll die as a human, that’s gotta be worth something , yes?

What if I told you that I can pretty much pinpoint the exact moment I became more human?  It happened in the 2nd last session I had before I went to Europe last November.


The reason I know there was a change in me was because of the empathy I had for this submissive guy who had been coming to see me since last July for regular ballbusting sessions.  Let me ask you a question first ok, before we continue because  we  need a baseline of comparison here.   What would be your reaction if you kicked your best buddy in the balls as hard as you could?

He’d drop to the ground like a rock, no doubt.

But then what would be your reaction when you see him writhing there in agony trying to catch his breath , both hands clenching his groin and maybe a bit of drool wheezing out of his mouth at the same time.

Would you laugh at him?

Now say your friend struggles to his feet and asks you to kick him again, harder this time.

At what point do you start to have empathy with his suffering?



I never have empathy.  Ever.

In fact, it becomes second nature to laugh at the person , and if you think that’s twisted , think that in those situations I’d then demand the man to crawl over to me , lick my foot , and then order him to thank me for the privilege of doing so.

With this gentleman I’m referring to, we’d even add humiliation to his suffering by making him serve as a naked coffee table for me, Mistress Wael, and Arita … and with sandwiches and scalding hot coffee on his back one of us would kick his balls hard enough to watch the whole human coffee table crash to floor.  We’d  walk in the spilt coffee and have him lick it from our toes , then chat thereafter ignoring him whilst he polished our living room floor.

That’s just par for the course Mistress mentality , its absolutely nothing for any of us to demand such servitude from a man.


me-in-franceExcept, fast forward to November and this person shows up for his last session before I’m to fly to France , only this time he’s perfectly content with letting me watch The Revenent on Netflix while he buries his face between my legs to smell my dank post-workout pussy and all the wonderful fish aroma that comes with it.  For you that might be exciting,  but for him it’s such a downgrade from the activity he asks for in his sessions.   He was so perfectly still for the entire first hour of the movie I had begun to feel I should tease his dick until the film had ended but he refused to let me touch it.

I”m not exactly chopped liver when it comes to looks okay, so when a guy refuses to let  me touch his dick that’s like a 5 alarm fire bell warning something’s wrong.

We talked it out for a bit and he revealed that come October he had a gnawing pain in his groin , one that physically caused him pain when he tried to orgasm.  “It’s like natural chastity” he said as he laughed at his own joke and then continued “I haven’t cum since late September out of fear for the pain.”

With his phone he began showing me all these pages he had researched on the source of the pain and how to remedy the situation , one of which suggested a manual procedure called Testicular Torsion.

Not wanting to go in for a surgical procedure , and unable to administer this treatment upon himself , he asked me right there while the movie  was playing in the background to help him out with this testicular torsion … and you might cringe as I tell you this … but it involves him  laying back ,  and me separating his left testical from his right … grabbing a handful of the skin above his left nutsack … pinching that skin with my left hand … and with my right hand I was to grab his tightended testicle and twist it 360 degrees or more.

I understand if you’re feeling cross-eyed after reading that.

Luckily , assuming that this might hurt the dude more than he’d ever experienced  pain before , I had told him to bite into my sofa’s pillow.  Because the scream he let out when I began twisting was blood curdling.

And that’s when it happened.   A wave of empathy hit me , like a wave, only it didn’t pass through me, it enlodged itself inside my soul …  which sounds pretty mellowdramatic , yes,  but its true and  that’s the best way I can describe it.

I let go and I just said aloud “I’m not doing this.”

Of course he replied with a string of “please Mistress” but I was steadfast in my decision.   It was  final.  I’m just not inflicting that much pain on a guy , no matter what.   Furthermore, I’m not a doctor, I could be causing irrepairable damage by twisting his nutsack like that.

Then he started crying , sobbing , and he was literally begging me to do it because he couldn’t have sex,  he couldn’t masturbate, he couldn’t get hard and he said and I quote “I don’t feel like a man anymore.”

Fuck, and I caused that.

I flew off to Paris the very next day , and all through that trip that session haunted me.   For instance,  I would find myself walking up to the tower of Pisa and while admiring its beauty I’d say out loud to myself in a whisper “who the hell are you to screw with a guy’s health like that?”

“What have you become?”

“Where’s your heart?”

So I began some soul searching , trying to find the girl who cared about people’s feelings , their hopes and dreams, and their real wants not just their superficial ones.

Guys who sessioned with me on that late fall early winter European trip would all attest to this feeling of falling in love with their Mistress because I was much more friendly,  much more intimate than I had ever been.   And by intimate, I don’t mean in the bedroom, I mean hugging my guy when we were walking by the river in Paris, or letting him pick  me  up and spin me in the air atop the Eiffel Tower ,  or putting my hand lightly over his at dinner  and smiling.

Of course I’d be smiling at him drinking my pee from a champagne glass at a 5 star French restaurant,  a Mistress is still a Mistress after all.

But ya, all that trip I was much more loving.

I got home mid January and before I resumed sessions we had one of our little ‘business meetings’ Wael and I did where we discuss where we are with things and the ‘state of femdom’ as it applies to our business currently.  Mostly those meetings are about what toys we need,  what toys we’d love to have , what we’ve learned and we might air out any concerns we have.

“I want to be friendlier” I said, “I’m going to filter out those sessions where we have to hurt someone going forward.”

Wael’s response was “give them to me” and it makes sense as she’s a few years behind my curve so to  speak.

There is definitely a curve we all go through as a Mistress.

It’s a  four stage curve as  I  see  it.   Starts with “what the fuck am I doing and why is this guy listening to me and obeying me?”   Follwed in a year by “hmm, what else can I make this guy do for me?”  which leads to where Wael is at right now “I’ll do anything , I have no limits for how to control a guy.”  But eventually that circles back to the maturation of the curve and says “In how many ways can I make a male submissive slave fall in love with me” which is a collection of just the simplest minute things which I know drive a man wild.   I suppose ultimately,  its an unseen confidence.

So we finish that meeting , and I remember that same guy’s email was at the very top of my inbox that evening.  It read:

“It’s funny Mistress. If I knew for a fact I would die at 43 (just turned 42), I would be ok with it. I honestly don’t understand people who want to live to be 100. Every decade gets exponentially shittier. I can’t even begin to imagine how terrible I’d feel if I managed to make it to, like, 70. I’m pretty sure that if I die from natural causes, it’s going to be something with my junk down below. My testicular pain is getting worse and I just have weird lower bowel pains pretty much daily. Going septic from a bowel perforation is a really shitty way to die, so I’m pretty sure the first time I wake up with bad abdominal pains and a fever, I’m just going to go ahead and blow my brains out.”

Never heard from him since.

I’ve felt so shitty about that,  its been eating at the back of my mind daily.

Which brings me to my cancer.

I feel, in someway, this is karma,  this is ‘go around come around’ , or –  if  in fact he did end things as he threatened to do,  then this is “an eye for an eye” in the universe’s justice.

Like ,  it doesn’t make sense how suddenly this year everything can conspire collectively against me all at one time.

no-sleepIf feels, invitable in a way.  Death that is.   It’s why I can’t sleep at all lately,  not until I’ve endured sleeplessness unto my limit and I stumble to my bed to crash for 16 hours, motionless.

I gotta admit, maybe during sessions as a Mistress I’m strong just like you all think I am , but I’m clearly not handling this very well.   I don’t think being alone is helping much either.  I’ve twice woken up this month , having slept 16 or more hours having wondered where the day went , only to be replaced by panic that this  thing inside me just had another day to grow.  And I cry.  All day.  Again and again.  And I know  , I just know I  have to snap out of it.

There’s so many nice emails in my inbox,  I can’t read them, they make me cry even harder.

I actually got some work done today, I went ahead and wrote for the GoFundMe that out of desperation I’m setting up for myself.   That just made me angry as I wrote for that this morning.   I don’t think it’s fair that in order just to have a shot at making money for my surgery with a GoFundMe that I have to be from a 1st world country.    Basically,  my life is expendable, I’m Thai therefore since I come from a welfare state ,  a  3rd world country if there ever was one,  my life doesn’t matter.   Well, to me it does.  Sorry but, I like living.  I like life.   I love talking  to my cactus plant.    Ya  its  nuts,  maybe you’re right, but I love  doing it.  I would appreciate the chance to keep on doing so.

Luckily I had many offers to set up the GoFundMe , but so many of you are in relationships that I couldn’t let you put yourself in hot water at my expense.   There’s a young boy,  Rob, from England, he’s served as my foot worshiper for many – a – year , and he’s graciously gone ahead and given his ID to allow the fund to be set up.

Meanwhile, don’t get mad at me, I’m not insane … but I’ve basically spent all day every day watching TED Talk after TED Talk about what’s going on at the molecular level of my immune system.   And I’ve condensed all the information into 2  things that I  understand  and  one  that I don’t as of yet, but I’m learning.

Rightly or wrongly then, I’m starving the cells of glucose by refusing to eat.   Because fuck,  the gofundme may or  may not work, and it looks like it’ll be 2 more months before any type of tourism stars happening here, so it may be a while before I can come up with the money for the 2nd surgery.

Therefore, by my way of  thinking,  I have to slow the process down so it doesn’t  get to  stage 1 or 2, and the way  to  do  that by my  understanding is  starvation.    Fine, I’m already into day 3.   Not a bite to eat.  My intention is to go one week and if I’m feeling ok then on Friday I’ll eat some meat and then I’ll do 10 days,  then 14.   I intend to eat exactly 3 times this month only.

Secondly, I’m eating 2,000 mg of Vitamin C per day.  I’ve had 2 bottles of Vitamin C in my bedroom for 2 years almost ,  I’m just now eating them every day.

As well, with the little money I  have  left,  I’ve gone and bought 100 lime’s.   Lime juice and water I read is pure ascorbic acid Vitamin C and can help  …  if  indeed one is to believe the professionals speaking on those TedTalks.

“The Centre for Covid-a9 Situation Administration also extended the emergency decree for another month to the end of July after it is due to expire on Tuesday.”   …  and  there it is, hot  off the presses.  Closed ’til August.

0 sessions for yet another 30 days.

Fuck,  wonderful,  whatever.  I’m more resolved from that.  Those kids survived 2 weeks stuck in that cave in Chiang Rai last year, no food,  didn’t die.   I think food is a misnomer.  The glucose from food feeds the cancerous cells, while normal cells can switch to keytones when faced with starvation.  So no glucose,  the cancerous cells starve and the regular cells function in a state of Autophogy which boosts cancer fighting T-Cells.  See?  I’ve been reading.

So if I die from lack of food, you’ll know there  was  a method to  my madness.



Also, I said last story that it would indeed be nice to have a guy to sit with and hug me to help me get  through all of this.

Let’s be clear , that can’t happen.  I apologize for going back to the same old quotes from the movies that have affected me so much, but these quotes clarify exactly who I am at times,  and make it easier  for  me to  understand what I’m going through.   In  this  case,  I’m talking about this quote from 1986’s The Fly:

“Seth Brundle: I’m saying… I’m saying I – I’m an insect who dreamt he was a man and loved it. But now the dream is over… and the insect is awake.”

Which to me reads:

Mistress: I’m saying… I’m saying I – I’m a Mistress who dreamt she was a girl and loved it. But now the dream is over… and the domina is awake.

The way I  see  the world,  I can’t have  a boyfriend, I can’t  have a husband.   It’s something I can’t describe to you, instead,  you would just have to  have stood  in my  shoes  and  have  done  as many  sessions  as I’ve  done  over  the past  10  years to  understand how this job affects one’s personna.

And even then,  maybe you  wouldn’t understand entirely.   Maybe you’d just have to have  been  a girl,  brought up from poverty as I have, and have had so  many  guys kick dirt in your  face that only then you could understand.

Anyways, that’s irrelevant.  My point is that it’d be wholly unfair to have a guy come sit with me and give me a hug when I needed.

Because that man,  if he was willing to do that, would be a Knight ,  both valourous and kind.   Such men are so rare that such an act would be so honorable that it would be a crime to have that for myself.   Give instead to a girl open to love and let a relationship blossom from such kindness.

A lone wolf is indeed that, a lone wolf.  Nothing  more,  nothing less.


Let me walk that path and see where it leads.

But I promise you this, I’ll walk it not as robotic as I have done but rather as human as I can possibly be.

If I came across to  you as such in the past, I’m sorry for that,  I’m  just a  girl growing up and trying  to find her way.

If anything, this blog since day one is a testament to just how much we all change from decade to decade.

And it’s not our mistakes that ultimately define us,  it’s how we grow from them and improve upon ourselves.