Of all the interesting things that happened last month on my most recent femdom filled European trip , the one that stood out the most happened between sessions whilst I was alone and semi-unconscious on a train. Which went along with the theme of the trip in general – the theme that can be called
“Things that can Happen to You when You’re Passed Out”
… for lack of a better title.
So since this is a femdom related blog , lets address my latest fetish – one that can only happen on these European trips apparently – because until Thailand grows some tall-ass mountains back home , it’s gonna be hard to replicate here on my home turf.
“Mountains you say? Why mountains?”
Glad you asked.
Without a doubt, THE greatest thing about these travelling European sessions is the enthusiasm that each and every one of you guys has to show off to me the parts of Europe that have captured your imagination over the years. I’m going to assume a lot here in my next thought , so pardon me if I’m way off on this but it does seem to ring true across all seven sessions I’ve done in Europe since January. In a nutshell … I think seeing me on a travelling vacation is wholly cathartic for you men.
Basically what’s going on is …. since it’s not entirely cheap to see me over there at 10k baht per day … you’re taking a guy who’s made his way in the world quite successfully … but that success has come at a great expense … the ability to discover who you are , or more to the point , who you used to be. Often I feel, that which makes us successful doesn’t necessarily define who we are. Yes, most of you go on business trips and get to see the world that way , but you’re never truly free when you do so.
Just as when you take a vacation with your significant other and your kids … there’s a rule set that defines your actions around them so again you’re not truly free.
But taking a break from your life … to see this hot young mistress you’ve built a rapport with … and being able to let yourself go for days and days on end … motivated by the pride of showing off places that have been dearest to your heart while at the same time having lustful enthusiasm coursing through your veins for the first time since high school … and being able to live out a fantasy relationship of serving your mistress while feeling free inside …. ya that’s the very definition of cathartic.
Except for one thing.
I have worked two hours per day since I can’t remember when , and you guys work upwards of 10-12 hours per day. My free time is spent in the gym or walking around Bangkok while your free time has your ass plastered to an airplane seat of an office chair , and therein lays the fundamental dynamic which creates a ghastly fitness imbalance between us.
I don’t smoke , I don’t drink , I’m in the gym with a personal trainer two hours each and every day of the week , plus I go run for an hour at the park nearby three times per week. I’m pumping out over 100 barbell squats per day and taking the stairs over any escalator I see.
So whenever I land and am greeted by your open arms at the airport , I’m sooner or later sat down at a coffee table and presented with a travel itinerary that’s so jammed with events that it makes my pussy quiver with excitement as my finger passes over the days activities and sure enough , each and every time I do so my fingernail hits a day that’s filled with just a bit too much to do…. for you. And that’s the day I decide right there and then at the coffee shop … that I’m going to unleash my little horny fetish upon you.
Happens every – single – time.
the journey of a thousand miles …. pic.twitter.com/qNMwcFnRh1
— ThaiGoddessJaa (@FemDom_Khaleesa) May 3, 2019
Your imagination for travelling , all of you – is stunning.
The problem is , the brain in your head when tasked with making travel plans while swimming in happy endorphins is holding on just a bit too tight to the days where you were a Rugby star in University and had the thighs of a gazelle to go along with the lungs of a Thoroughbred Racehorse. When the reality of the matter is that nowadays you have the thighs of a starving giraffe and the lungs of a fat toad.
Thus, when I see a day outlined as such :
“We’ll arrive in Zermatt at about 6am which – after a nice breakfast at this quaint little cafe I know – we’ll be able to hike around the Matterhorn and be done by mid afternoon and th…”
“With me on your back.”
“Umm ,yes, well , then we’ll perhaps have a little ski in the late afternoon before relaxing before dinner in front of a grand stone fireplace …”
“Where you’ll be massaging my feet….”
“Yes of course, where I’ll be massaging your feet … and then we’ll sit down for a nice dinner , anything my mistress desires is hers for the taking. And then we’ll head back to the hotel to …..”
“We’ll head to the shopping mall you mean …. to satiate a woman’s greatest desire , the need to shop. Yes?”
“Errr, yes, of course, for sure” and after pressing his silver rimmed spectacles up to his eyes begins to jot some impromptu ideas of where to shop onto his itinerary paper sprawled out on the coffee table between us, “we’ll stroll through Bahnhofstrasse for a bit then…”
“A bit” I say , as I wrinkle my nose and eek out a timid smile while slowly lifting my coffee cup to my soft succulent lips and pausing before taking a teeny sip.”
He laughs uncomfortably , like a school kid about to embark on the longest recess of his life, and then takes off his spectacles and cleans them on the taught shirt that’s curving around his portly tummy, “we’ll have a grand time that evening once we get back to the hotel I’ve booked for us.”
I finish my sip of mocha latte and place the cup gently down on the coaster before reaching over and stroking his hand with mine … “oh , you have NO idea how fun that evening will be” I say with another wrinkle of my nose.
For I knew as soon as he mentioned the Matterhorn , that the walk from the bus to the trail head at dawn would already have his knees shaking like a turkey’s neck the eve before Thanksgiving.
Come the day , my poor slave has already began to show the effects from three days of non-stop hustle and bustle as we zipped around from location to location already covering a staggering five cities in three and a half days. To him the three hour , ten kilometer Matterhorn hike is like climbing Heartbreak Hill at the end of the Boston Marathon. But no worries, the skiing excursion planned for the late afternoon will have his legs feeling like he’s run both the Boston and the New York Marathons back to back on the same day. Then of course there’s the three hours of walking around the adorable and yet endless shops of Bahnhofstrasse awaiting him , and no doubt I’m going to recommend we take the long romantic walk back to the hotel instead of a taxi – so that he may haul around the backpacks and shopping bags for a wee hour longer.
Gotta admit, that day had me pretty freaking tired as well.
By the time we got back to the hotel my body was screaming for a long hot bath. Oh , by far, the thing that I love the most about Europe is that some hotels have a bathtub and I wonder how it is that I’ve gone my entire life without enjoying the wonders of a steaming hot bubble bath. Also, … please humour me , I am a child after all – at times … I freaking love playing with the two hot water and cold water handles in the bathtub as until this year , I had never seen a hot water handle that controls the hot water exclusively. Hot water was but a dream growing up , something one thought about and wished for desperately while dousing oneself with cold morning water at 5am in the bath trough back home.
Truth be told , the first time I experienced a hot water shower with an electric heater in Bangkok- I was able to eek out about 12 to 15 orgasms that afternoon.
But a bathtub … nothing holds a candle to that. Though I must say that it makes me feel awfully sleepy, something that I needed to fight off because I knew that the longer I sat in the tub , the deeper my host was falling into his exhausted sleep on the bed.
Ok so here’s what I’ve learned about this fetish I’ve acquired – always wait until the second round of REM sleep , not the first , before instigating the torture.
Somehow, someway, a man’s sense of responsibility with respect to time – and not wasting it – still is on guard through the first round of REM sleep , and if awoken , though it may take a few minutes – he’s well and able to continue on with his evening no matter how late it may be.
But come the second round of REM sleep , about three to four hours into his collapse – there’s no fighting back. It’s like playing with a zombie , I shit you not.
The guys eyes may open, his body may move, but there’s no coming back from whatever dreamland he’s in – not when the body is in full emergency recovery mode from an arduous day of exercising non stop.
And thus … his cock is fully at my mercy.
That’s the beauty of a guy’s dick , it never sleeps.
There’s a wonderful , indescribably childish feeling that comes over me when I know the agony of a Tease & Denial is fully separated from a man’s consciousness. To have a cock at full mast and leaking oil all over the place while the man is snoring away is kind of like copying the final exam from a teacher’s briefcase while he’s out for lunch. (not that I’ve ever done such a thing, cough cough)
You see, to understand fully the excitement derived from playing with the rock hard cock of a passed out man … you absolutely must understand my perspective on the usage of a man’s dick. The usage of such could be explained in an entirely separate full story as the details are quite intricate, and it’s quite a window into the girl I am or perhaps better words might be .. the woman I have become.
Simply stated, a man’s dick is for my amusement. That and only that. I couldn’t care a rat’s iota if the man wants to pleasure me with it, wants to show off it’s girth , or even wants to raise a pirate’s flag upon it ; really couldn’t care less.
In mistress mode, I get 0 satisfaction from anything other than using it as my own personal toy. Now there’s still a slight , very slight normal girl mode that still exists at times (though less and less frequently as time marches on) which lets me drop my guard and use it for pleasure – but even then – there are rules. And that’s what I’m saying about a whole separate blog entry can be written upon the subject. Safe to say, this job fucks with a girl’s mind, like an enjoyable seething corruption that over time fully consumes what was once my old brain.
So, this dude is paying me 10,000 baht per day to be a Mistress’s boyfriend, and somewhere within those 24 hours he’s hoping (expecting? haha) for some attention to his dick. Agreed?
Well where is it written that said cock play can’t be carried out while the guy’s passed out unconscious on the bed and only aware sub-consciously that his dick – or more to the point – his balls are in agony?
To me it falls right into the category of using a guy’s dick in a way that is so far removed from what he had planned that it’s ever so enjoyable.
There I am then, at 1am, just as I’ve done with every single guy I’ve seen in Europe this year, having myself a Netflix binge on my phone (which isn’t ideal but hey – can’t wait to buy the Galaxy fold phone) with my phone in my left hand and his dick and balls in my right hand. As an after thought it seems, I’m caressing and stroking his dick ever so softly as I push through the first 3 episodes of Black Summer. It’s important that in the first hour I’m surgically soft with my touch so that somehow he incorporates his dick being played with seamlessly into his dream. That’s why the distraction of a movie or a show works wonders as it lets my hand – with all of its last 7 years of teasing experience – just subconsciously go through the motions of getting him harder and harder without disturbing his deep sleep.
The beauty of such a tease is that there’s no need for bondage whatsoever. As I pass into the second hour – and fourth episode of Black Summer – he stirs. In this particular case, he simply turned his head from side to side multiple times with a frown upon his brow. Guys react differently when the painful throbbing of the testicles begins to pull the exhausted man from the sub-conscious to a more conscious state. I say “more” because truly – he’s so physically drained that there is only mental will to fight back, nothing physical to be concerned with at all.
Other guys have mustered a squint eyed , chin against chest , gawking (for a brief second) at his pulsing dick – before collapsing back into the pillow. Some had tried to roll over in the bed to go belly down but that’s easily countered with a bit of body pressure , cuz like I told you there’s no physical fight left in the guy.
I had one guy yelp. Yes – yelp. In the middle of the night in a French hotel in Cannes there was this very loud YELP which sounded more like a grunt and a choked scream … kind of like the sound made when forced to eat Broccoli and Brussel Sprouts at grandma’s house.
But this guy just stirred. Shook his head left , then right, then left again , and sunk back into the pillow.
To which I’ll pause a minute or so and simply hold onto the flag pole with clenched fist … before resuming light stroking again once he’s drifted back into his dream.
Now as accidentally learned with the last guy – the dick most certainly can orgasm by itself without the guy being awake and aware. I had no idea. I truly thought that cumming had to include a willing consent from the mind , an agreement of sorts to attain ejaculation. Probably that’s due to all my sessions having the guy tied to my bed and seeing him trying to will his dick to orgasm while being restrained – and sometimes they’re successful – though it doesn’t seem enjoyable to do so. But the point is , I have been totally mistaken all this time. The cock functions as a separate entity and doesn’t need the brain to be let in on what it’s doing.
Which … is fucking perfect because as I told you … I always seek to separate cock from mind in my sessions. It’s a toy , nothing more, nothing less.
Did you know there’s a reason I’m not on the pill?
It has nothing to do with wanting to feel natural without hormone intervention , and nothing to do with planned pregnancy. It simply is a deterrent to acting spontaneously.
Like, I’ve had a couple of times – truth be told – that I’m there in session in the middle of the night with a rather hot passed out guy and his massive dick is just pulsing away uncontrollably in my hand that my pussy is literally leaking fluid all over the sheets like a motorcycle with a broken brake line. If I was on the pill – I’d surely have mounted the guys cock and used it to get off in the middle of the night without him knowing.
One of my fantasies is to be able to constantly fuck a guy without him knowing. Now I’ve tried that before by getting a guy so high that his mind is perma-lost in the 4th dimension falling through an ever warping abyss of space … but even so … a guy knows when he’s being fucked by a tight pussy. Only by pushing a guy to his physical limits throughout a day’s activity, then mixing in a glass or two of wine, and bringing him home late sets the table for the only time him and his dick can be fully separated. God I’d love to have a nice dick to fuck without regard for his wants or desires on a regular basis.
I guess what I need is a dude to go run a marathon a day for me and then take him shopping every day throughout the year. Maybe send him to the gym for a late night squat session and then and only then … would I own his dick every night.
Meh, a girl can dream.
So as much as I wanted to briefly hop on and super slowly tease my pussy with his hardness , I resorted to the next best thing – giving him the sorest case of blue balls he’s ever had.
One of the best giggle moments I’ve been able to enjoy constantly as a Mistress is seeing a guy I’ve teased throughout the night try to walk to take a piss in the morning and having to cup his nuts like they’re about to fall off … and then moaning on the toilet seat.
“What the fuck , why do my balls hurt so much?” he said as he walked bow legged over to the hot water machine beside the TV.
“No idea, maybe you walked too much yesterday?”
“No, not even close to that, they feel as if they’ve either haven’t cum in a year , or they came twenty times last night and are thoroughly drained.”
“Well I am capable of giving you both of those scenarios” I said with a devilish smile.
As that was our final morning together I gave him a good thirty minute long over the knee spanking to make the task I had in store for him that day a miserable affair. And so we’re moving closer to my semi-unconscious moment … but to understand what knocked me out into oblivion you have to understand what I had planned for my slave that final day. I had eyed a few times on previous trips to Switzerland the bicycles one can rent at any train station – in particular the double seated bike’s as my Mistress mind instantly equated that into having a slave do all the hard work for me while I rode along effortlessly. Or so I thought.
So after taking a short ride down to Rifelberg the idea was to make him rent one of those two seated (tandem) bike’s and with his sorely spanked ass either on the seat or hovering above … to pedal us all the way on a scenic bike path to the next station which looked to be about a 2 hour bike ride.
I thought how miserable must it be for a man to have an aching case of blue balls and a stinging red ass have to pedal not only himself but his Mistress as well down a bike path while she had her hands down his pants making the trip even more miserable.
Except … it wasn’t a two hour trip. As I found out before in Taman Negara , Malaysia , I’m not a very good map reader and distance estimation is definitely not my forte. That evening in Malaysia it almost got my slave killed and to this day he still writes me about how terrified he was. But in a sense, this mishap was worse. Worse in that … well in Malaysia we were lost in the jungle on a never ending path that I had deemed to be a good “shortcut” to our destination in the middle of the jungle and I had hurt my ankle , so I was being carried on his back as darkness descended.
On this day, as we entered our fourth hour on the bicycle – my ass was experiencing a new sort of hellish pain. The last time I had felt so much anal hurt was when I chose an all day jaunt on horseback in Central America. I’ve heard that riding a camel is even worse , but I can assure you that going up and down mountainous hills on a thin leather covered steel bike seat is a hell of its own.
I had long since abandoned the idea of keeping his dick warm as I coasted along behind him making him do all the work.
Nope, I wanted to get the ass trip from hell over with so by the end I was pedalling just as hard if not harder than him from behind and sweat was pouring down my back – soaking my pullover. Worse is that when seated behind, there’s no warning of when we’re about to go over a bump so it’s kind of like being anally assaulted by surprise every now and then and I’d utter out a mad “holy fuck, ow” once every 5 minutes or so.
Six hours later we pulled into whatever station that was and we walked the bike … him bowlegged … me ducklegged … to the place where you check in the bike.
Yada-yada-yada , we said our goodbye’s and headed off on separate trains in different directions- him heading back home and me off to my next session a good 9 hour train ride away.
“Good” I thought, nine hours of sleep isn’t what I wanted, it was what I needed … what I craved. Damn I love Swiss trains , French trains for that matter as well. They aren’t like Thai prehistoric trains that have parallel seating as you stare at the person sitting across from you on wooded seats.
There’s all kinds of seating arrangements on these trains from Double Seats, to the Parallel Seats , and then there’s this curved section of seats that extends into a sofa like padded couch that sits right in the middle of the car. I made a beeline for that section of seats and was overjoyed when the sparsely occupied car had nobody choosing to sit anywhere close to me.
“Oh my god, a bed of my own” was all I was thinking as I sunk into the seats and put my feet rudely up to occupy all four or five spaces along the left wall of the car.
It must have been instantaneous that I had drifted off , I don’t even remember pulling out from the station. I was jolted awake by the ticket conductor asking to see my stub and in a stupor I was able to dig into my purse and present it to him , before clutching the purse to my breasts and coddling it like a baby as I once again drifted off into a deep sleep. I even remember what I was dreaming about when I dozed off.
I was dreaming about the irony of being given a taste of my own medicine with this zombie like REM sleep craved state I was in , except I had no guy to fondle my pussy for the next nine hours.
But I did feel like I had a guy fondle his fingers near or around my breasts and I think I even may have smiled initially at the thought.
Then, not so much as it felt like a gentle but definitely noticeable tugging was going on around my chest area. Rather than arise in a stupor like I made all my slaves do however, I laid there slowly but ever increasingly aware of my surroundings even though I kept my eyes shut. Then there it was again, a tugging upon my chest.
Ever so slightly I lifted the brow of my right eye just enough to shed some blurred light on my environment and the first thing I saw was an arm and hand reaching out toward me. Then another tug but not upon me but originating from atop my purse which I was clutching to my chest … the hand was trying to slowly unzip my purse!
But you see, i was so fucking exhausted that I couldn’t think very clearly about what to do. It felt like waking up in the hospital wearing the immediate after effects of the knock out drug they give you before an operation.
Like, my brain was indeed telling me “this dude is trying to rob you” but my body was responding with a definite “so what, let’s get back to sleep” and as much as that sounds ludicrous to you , it was a very valid argument for my mind to reason out at the time. I simply didn’t want to move.
Now to understand what happened next , you have to understand a bit about how things work where I’m from. As I’ve had to tell some of you guys throughout the years that you’ve visited me … not a lot , but a few … if you have some sort of legal issue here in my country the last place you want to go is the police station. Any involvement with the cops here has you putting yourself at great risk and that’s because unlike where you’re from … cops here aren’t to be trusted.
So I have this ingrained rule that teaches you foreigners whenever I can to not fuck with cops while you’re abroad hanging out in a corrupted country. Which I suppose ran through my tired mind as “that applies to me travelling alone in this brief moment in a foreign country, so let’s resolve things on our own shall we.”
Thanks to many a wrestling session with Wael who’s actually trained how to fight , my instincts kicked in from play fighting with her … and in a flash I reached out and grabbed the guy by his pinky finger and twisted it outwards as she has done many a time in our sessions.
This thin as a razor kid , mid 20’s ish , with blonde or almost albino like hair – tried to dart and then collapsed to his knees in the middle of the aisle as I twisted his baby finger even more. He reached with his other hand to rescue his finger and when he did so I was able to grab is index finger from that hand as well.
Whatever he started whispering I couldn’t understand, but he did understand the one word I said … “sit” while I motioned with my eyes for him to crawl over to the seat that were a moment ago occupied by my stretched out legs.
“No police” I said to him. “Understand” and made a no motion with my head “no police.”
He shook his head in a yes yes motion and made a pleading motion with his eyes toward his pinky finger are twisted backwards in my right hand.
‘Up” I said matter of factly. Gesturing with my hand for him to get up he stood in front of me … again all hunched over in pain.
Sitting up before him I used my hiking shoe to first spread his right leg … and then his left one … but he instantly moved them back together again.
“No police ..ok?” I said again, wanting to use the most basic of English in this moment.
Again I kicked at his legs to get them to spread … and then raised my right boot to hover beneath his balls.
“No police … yes?” and yanked on his finger bringing the fucker to almost fall on top of me.
He rolled his eyes desperately and that was the moment of weakness I was waiting for as my foot sprung up and hoofed him with my shin bone right between his legs … and this time he did crumple towards me as his knees hit the floor.
You know what? I knew he liked it. Because I let his finger go at that moment and well one of two things could have happened there. One he could have struck me … probably not but possible nonetheless. Or two he could have darted for another car on the train and hope that I wouldn’t report him.
But he chose option number three … to remain on his knees clutching at his balls and then as the pain subsided a bit … looked up at me and our eyes held one other for a good ten seconds … before I showed disinterest and put my purse under my head as I stretched out my legs again , averting my gaze to the ceiling.
Still, it took him a good five seconds or so to give up hope on …. I dunno … perhaps he was hoping for another kick … or maybe he was somehow turned on by what just briefly went down. He left walking down the aisle towards the next car … and moments after I fell back into a state of semi-consciousness ….
but all the while replaying the whole scenario again and again as I drifted off to sleep … with a dampness between my legs.