From Fake Acting to Final Breath –
How Jiu-Jitsu Turned My Face Sitting Sessions Into the Ultimate Test of Submission
Face sitting, when I first started as a Mistress 11 years ago, was just me copying what Rainy and Jaa (Mistress Jaa v1 + v2) would do to address such a session. I’d simply plop myself on top of the very willing slave’s face and do a two-hour shimmy shake. He’d pretend to suffer, I’d pretend to laugh; two hours would pass, and he’d slip me the envelope with 7,000 baht inside and profess how great the session was.
Was it? Really?
“All that fake acting on both parts—is that what constitutes a ‘great session’?” I asked myself as a new girl stepping into the business. It seemed to me that no matter the fetish, he learned absolutely nothing about being submissive. He didn’t evolve. He simply immersed himself for 120 minutes of gratuitous self-indulgence.
The Chair and the Choke
So, just before COVID hit, about my fifth year as a Mistress, I invested in a pricey face sitting chair to ensure that every face sitting session henceforth would be a true experience of submitting, suffering, and persevering. Granted, the purchase wasn’t perfect, as I found the design of every single face sitting/queening chair out there doesn’t allow for the girth of the slave’s shoulders. This required a lot of uncomfortable adjusting on the Mistress’s part above to position my ass over the slave’s mouth, all while being careful not to tip the chair over, as the design required the Mistress to sit perched on the edge of the seat.
The result? Well, the face sitting sessions indeed became something to endure. This was partially because I realized that hooking the headrest underneath to the first chain link genuinely squished the slave’s face into the crevice of my ass, but partially also because of COVID hitting and me putting on 20 kg of ass weight, which made breathing a near impossibility for him.
About that time, wanting to make my femdom wrestling sessions also feel real, I started going to Jiu-Jitsu. During COVID, it was free and held privately in a student’s backyard, just five minutes down the road from where I lived. All the while, I was still using the red face sitting chair for any face sitting session, but by the time 2022 rolled around, I had been attending Jiu-Jitsu classes for two whole years. Once classes moved back to the main gym as COVID restrictions let up, I was (mistakenly) awarded my blue belt. This was purely out of the commitment of our little private group of students who were dedicated to learning the sport while the world was shut down, and we all got rewarded for breaking the law—go figure, eh?
Now, as I’ve made it quite clear, I suck at Jiu-Jitsu because I never once went to class with the mentality that I wanted to learn how to fight other people. I was simply looking for techniques that made sense for me to use in a femdom wrestling session where the slave wants a bit of true resistance—enough to get frustrated and then to ultimately lose while being placed in an inescapable yet surprisingly sexy position.
The Leg Triangle and Rika’s Lesson
Luckily, I became very fond of one such position: the Jiu-Jitsu leg triangle. Teach me De La Riva guard? I’d start picking at my nails in total disinterest. Teach me Berimbolo rolls? I’d instead count the frayed threads on my now fading blue belt. But teach me anything to do with a leg triangle, and I’d stay late into the night, almost having to be kindly asked by the house guest hosting the class to please stop training the triangle and go home.
Could I ever pull off a triangle in class when rolling (fighting) with classmates? Not even once—though not from lack of effort. In fact, there was this MMA female fighter named Rika, a tiny little girl who was ninja-like in the way she’d appear to be somewhere and would reappear somewhere else an instant later, having sunk me somehow into one of her expertly executed triangles. I can’t tell you how many times I had to tap with my nose buried right into her pussy, the life disappearing from my eyes as I slipped into eternal blackness—maybe 100 times? But each time I tapped, I put myself in the position of one of my submissive slaves, thinking, “This is EXACTLY how a slave would choose to die—if commanded to do so by his Mistress—because it is such a very sexy submissive position” from which there is no escape.
The leg triangle, in my opinion, has everything a Mistress would enjoy seeing a slave suffer through when it is applied correctly. If you’ve never been trapped in one, let me describe to you what happens, as I have tons of experience in that regard from having my nose buried in Rika’s pussy.
The first sensation is one of “holy sh*t, this is real” because it is a super-tight lock around the neck by the opponent’s largest muscles in the body—the leg and thigh muscles—no match for the tiny carotid arteries of even the strongest neck any man might have. Men that I wrestle in sessions have the same reaction the first time caught in my leg triangle. They at first smile laughingly, as it’s maybe the first compromising position they’ve ever been put in, and that smile lasts for exactly two seconds, replaced immediately by a look of genuine concern because—again, for the first time in most of their lives—they hear the terrifying gurgling sound made by one or both of the carotid arteries as they get pinched off, restricting the flow of the red stuff to the brain.
Think of the sound when you gargle with mouthwash; loud, right? That’s the perceived level of noise the ears pick up as the arteries begin to gurgle, and a quick, intensifying dizziness begins to set in.
Man strength then kicks in. From the onset of the third second caught in a leg triangle until about the seventh second, there will be a burst of man strength that I’ll have to ride the same way a cowgirl would ride a bucking bull. I’ve struggled with these five seconds in my femdom wrestling sessions because the way to prevent man strength from kicking in is to grab his head with both hands and pull it or twist it out of alignment. However, it feels mean and rude to do that in a session to a nice guy who just wants the thrill of domination coursing through his veins. By ignoring this proper Jiu-Jitsu step, I’ve had my head whacked against the bedroom wall and risked a spinal injury. Some of my stronger slaves have really freaked out and tried to stand up on the bed with my legs attached to his neck, thus hoisting me up and dangling me upside down before they run out of air and collapse on top of me, bending me like an accordion. So, as my face sitting sessions have steered toward the extreme, I’ve had to ask my slaves if they have any neck problems and warn them that if things go according to plan, there may come a moment where I’ll have to crank their neck quite hard, but that I’m sorry for having to do so.
Intermediate and Advanced Submissions
The descending darkness as the world fades to black is a scary thing to experience. But I’ve been told that when the face is buried into my naked pussy or my naked ass, the feeling is welcomed, and there is a feeling of total submission to the inevitable outcome. What I mean is that in class, there is often a very violent and then sudden ending to the submission as the opponent thrashes wildly and then… zzzz. But in a femdom wrestling session, after the five reactionary man strength seconds pass, there is a peaceful resignation to his fate, and most of them have a smile on their face when the lights go out.
So, starting around 2023, I stopped using the face sitting chair almost altogether and switched all face sitting sessions to applying the leg triangle. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t a femdom wrestling session; I’d first explain to the face sitting slave what I’d be doing and, face up like you see here, I’d introduce the position to him so he can experience what it feels like without having his breathing restricted.
Then I lay the slave down on the bed face up, mount him, and put him in a top-down leg triangle where my legs are wrapped under his neck along the top of the bed and locking up on the right side of his body. At that point, I’m squishing my pussy into his face and looking straight down into his bulging eyes as he tries to adjust to not just my pussy taking his breathing away but the tight, anaconda-like feeling wrapped around his neck.
When the gurgling in his carotid arteries begins, I’ll distract him by lifting up my top and playing with my tight little B-cup titties, and I’ll even curl my torso all the way down to dangle my nipples in his left eye and then right eye, alternating between them, making him have to rapidly blink the discomfort away each time.
At the beginner level, I’ll just hold this position without squeezing my thighs into his carotid artery. Even though there’s no risk to his health, most slaves will use their safe word after about 20 minutes of this kind of face sitting because the sound of the constant gurgling in his arteries freaks most men out, as it is quite a discomforting feeling.
At an intermediate level, I’ll simply ask the slave, “Are you ready to die in my pussy?” and little by little, say over 20 seconds, I’ll slowly start to squeeze my thighs into his carotid artery and let him experience for the first time that slow slippage into eternal darkness.
The thrill—for the slave—is to have him wake up about thirty seconds later from what feels like a deep sleep, only to find himself in the same position he was just in and then to feel my thighs once again begin to constrict around his neck, sending him back to oblivion once again. For most slaves, when they wake up the second time, there is that instant recognition of what just happened, and a look of fear descends upon their eyes. It is about this time with nearly every slave that he starts the back-and-forth shaking of his head, exclaiming, “No, no, no, please,” to which I’ll just smile and begin to negotiate with him.
“But you said you like face sitting. What happened? You changed your mind after only ten minutes?” and the slave will try to respond, but only with muffled words, as my pussy won’t let him speak coherently.
Over the course of the next hour and thirty minutes, I’ll start to extract many things from my slave as bargaining chips in order to let him save himself from feeling that tightening grip of death around his neck once again. Things like his cell phone’s password, his wife’s phone number, his debit card’s password, and a few extra handfuls of cash. Would I actually call his wife? No, but the threat of doing so adds many beads of sweat to pour into his eyes as he frets about both the position he’s in and how I can weaponize it. Those of you who have read my book On Punishment! know very well how the threat of something bad happening can be much worse than the thing actually indeed happening.
Now, advanced face sitting? I mean, I can hear you asking, “How can repeatedly having to endure losing consciousness be elevated in respect to face sitting?” And my reply to you would be: why, introducing HTS along with his face sitting, of course.
The Peril of Extreme SM
I say “of course” with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek because trying to refine the best and safest way to do advanced face sitting was no doubt one of the triggers that led to my mental breakdown in late ’23. How so? Well, do you remember that old Bugs Bunny episode with Yosemite Sam where Bugs kept egging Yosemite on by drawing a line in the sand with his rabbit toe, saying, “I dare you to cross THIS line!” and Sam would say, “I’m-a crossin’ it, rabbit.” Then he’d cross the next line, and the next, and so on, until the last line he crossed led Yosemite over a cliff where he plunged to his cartoon death. That was me, playing the role of Yosemite, during and post-COVID, when I was agreeing to more and more insanely complicated and dangerous sessions where the slave’s comfort, and in some cases even his life, was being put in jeopardy nearly every day of the week, as I was so busy catering to my newfound clientele: the extreme ‘SM’ crowd that truly put the SM into the letters BDSM.
Then one day, I got an email from a slave who had already survived the intermediate leg triangle face sitting experience. When he asked me to repeat the whole session for him, he also asked for permission to tell me what he was really thinking and hoping for when hopelessly trapped under my pussy with my legs wrapped around his neck. When I gave him said permission, he almost immediately emailed me back saying that he had been secretly hoping that I’d one day unload either an endless stream of golden nectar or the facsimile of a Dairy Queen chocolate soft-serve ice cream squirting out of my ass and into his mouth, and that would be the last feeling he’d remember until he woke up in an absolute panic thirty seconds later, with his mouth still filled and air oh so hard to come by.
To accomplish this, I had to learn the reverse leg-lock triangle, where I’m facing his feet. His neck is similarly wrapped with one leg around his neck and over the shoulder, connecting with the other leg that wedges itself under his armpit. That positions my ass directly over his mouth with all my weight bearing down on his face, so there’s no way to turn his head to escape. It’s really nothing at all to synchronize a bowel movement with the squeezing of my thighs; it just happens naturally.
I’ve had the experience described as “the most joyous way one could possibly imagine to check out, only to be instantly reminded ten seconds later the peril one is in, leading directly to two distinctly different emotions that burn the experience forever into the slave’s memory.” Think of it as a total acceptance of one’s fate followed by waking up and having one’s ultimate survival instincts kick in with the adrenaline and endorphin rush that comes with that primal survival reaction… and swallowing my unthinkable gift suddenly becomes such a natural thing to do. I have hundreds of emails that would serve as great testimonials to how memorable the experience is, all of them saying some version of the same thing: that it was the closest they’ve ever felt to being fully alive, and loving it. How ironic that kind of feeling would come when perched right on death’s doorstep, huh?
For me, it was a horrible thing to go through over and over again because the slave’s very survival depends wholly on his survival instincts to immediately kick in and swallow rapidly to allow any air at all into their crying lungs. If you recall the scene in James Cameron’s movie The Abyss when Lindsay has been technically declared dead by drowning in the ice-cold water, but her husband is giving her CPR and slapping her madly in the face, yelling, “You’ve never backed down from anything in your life, now! Fight! Right now! Do it! Fight, goddammit! Fight! Fight! Fiiiiight!” Well, that’s the feeling I had to relive in real life over and over, only you can replace the words in the movie with: “Swallow, goddammit! Swallow it, swallow it right fucking now!” The stress of which, like I mentioned, eventually was a major contributor to my mental collapse because that kind of ending, or some variation of it, was happening in all my extreme sessions, and the stress of it all was off the charts.
However, any slave who’s ever tried the extreme face sitting version of my session will attest to one thing for sure: there was never any acting done. No need to pretend your life is on the line… when it actually is! 🙂
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