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Specific Stories About: 'My Personality'
A Woman’s Search For Meaning

“When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”     Consider: PM Dec 8, 2019, 6:40 AM (1 day ago) to me Another great read by the Mistress of the short story! I must say though , all of your recent stories seem to have a cry for help as a constant theme? As much as I love your insights into the male and female psyche, I do get concerned when I see someone on a seemingly self destructive path. I just get the impression …

bdsm poem

Our sexual Dreams – like life , are finite … Bounded by our time on this planet,.  Societal rules.  And measurements. It’s where we must lean on a Mistress for support. Where we rejoice in each other’s fantasies. Where we share lessons about our perceived place in the world. Together we increase compassion through the mirror of each session’s mixed results. A man and his mistress … their character revealed. for nothing goes according to plan Getting older is wonderful … and terrible.   Triumphant … and heartbreaking. Our identity is formulated in failures. Fall seven times?  Get up eight. Thus in the face of certain weakness before me , will you maintain the struggle? Can you lift a memory from …

strapon-femdom-mistress-jaa-bangkok

Since my blog is a conduit into the thoughts of your Mistress , I thought that in lieu of an official story you’d enjoy a peak into some of my email correspondance , as the first thoughts which pass through my mind after reading a fresh session request are some of the purest. So how do I actually follow through on emails?  Perhaps we’ll start there. I read it , usually while sipping on “morning” coffee which for me remember is mid afternoon right after I’ve woken up. Usually my legs are propped up on my bed under a pillow while my weary arm is draped over the headboard and i’m grabbbing the first sip of my Nescafe instant roasted …

‘Round ‘Round the World

It was a rainy Sunday morning if I recall correctly , I was nine years old at the time, and there I was huddled up with a blanket in the left corner of my small shoebox sized bedroom to get away from the water leaking in from the roof as it always did every rainstorm. Dad was downstairs already yelling and screaming at my mom for one of the last times before he took off forever while outside of my tiny window sounds of my idiot neighbour slurring his drunken words were being drowned out by the 8am droning of the neighbourhood military like speakers strung high a top the telephone poles reminding us to ’embrace the poverty and find …

my painting

Waiting for a femdom session worthy of a blog post is much like fly fishing where most of the time you’re casting your lure and nothin’ bites , nada, zilch.  You guys would have more fun smelling your ball sack than doin’ what I do day in / day out , however …. Once the line jerks though and the fish is on , oh it’s on like grey poupon … meaning shit’s about to get exciting. Case in point, this story about Joey the Fish – not his real name but close enough for jazz , as it begins with a J and hey it rhymes as well – so figure it out. The fish part is true enough …

21 thoughts lips

Seemingly for over a month I can’t find it within me to construct a story that’s worth writing let alone reading.   The roots of the problem no doubt can be traced  back to these bouts of self inspection, depression and goal-less-ness that I’ve been plagued with from about October onward ’til now. That’s not to say however that I haven’t  had some great thoughts pass through my mind.  My phone and  my laptop have a notes section which  gets filled with random  thoughts, memories,  recordings and  the occasional video – and it’s from these that in the past , when allowed to  marinade like a good steak in the fridge , produce some fine story lines. So since that hasn’t …

Dum spiro spero

“Aren’t you going to give me a shot to knock me out before you cut me open? “No.  Don’t need.” (2 minutes later) “need.  need.”   (repeat times 12) “It’s ok.  19 more to go.” the doctor says with the wry humour of a dead puppy. My eyes roll back as he makes the next incision and the knife introduces me to pain like a shot of Tabasco sauce to the back of the throat. I gasp, a little, and then make the mistake of looking down toward my pelvis to see my skin sliced open an inch deep. And then, darkness, black like the night.  Only to wake up , perhaps a moment later, perhaps longer (?) with vision blurred …

Survival is a 4 Letter Word | FukU

One of the consequences of being born very premature is having to battle a lifetime of medical ailments , but a second and more cerebral ailment is living with the constant feeling that the world never intended for us to stick around , which are feelings both Wael and I share. As I posted on Twitter today, once again I’m going under the knife come September 1st and I’ve told my surgeon that I want all of these maladies removed in a single session , to which he remarked that I’d be in quite some discomfort for the first 10 days following the procedure. Thus, I’m not doing sessions until let’s say about the 12th of September, so keep that …

christ redeemer rio femdom bdsm

This naturally beautiful girl I met while hiking in Sri Lanka had these gorgeous eyes that held in a single instant both sadness and hope. I saw in her eyes those of my own when I was her age , where there seemed to be no hope of a better life and yet – I knew if I was a bit entrepreneurial in my ways that it might be possible to find an escape. So I gave her quite a handsome tip and a kiss on the cheek , told her to keep the flowers to sell to somebody else and it seemed like for a brief moment we connected as we looked in silence into each others eyes. I …

Planes, Buses, & Consciousness

I boarded the plane for the flight home from Sri Lanka in a surly mood , one which dove a few levels deeper when truly – the second coming of John Candy from his Planes, Trains and Automobiles movie checked his ticket twice and confirmed with a smug smile that the aisle seat beside me was indeed his for the next few hours. My forehead pressed even tighter against the window as I looked out it in such a forlorn way , unamused by the luggage handlers throwing bags onto the plane’s cargo area down below like they were hurling dead body bags into a grave. ‘Fuck my life’ I thought I said in my mind but apparently not. “Why?” …

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