I just read the single most devastating, pussy-drenching, soul-shattering femdom concept that has ever scorched through my brain …and it was hiding in the last few pages of Neuromancer’s Chapter 3 like a blade dipped in the fresh, raw honey from my garden’s beehive.
These days I almost never scratch pussy anymore. Sad but true.
The ache barely registers. (and hasn’t since I stopped doing sessions – and that’s what triggered this week’s detour off a cliff, but I’ll get to that later, I’m summoning the courage)
Nothing really cuts deep enough to make me drip anymore, especially with zero warm skin against mine, no breath on my throat, no orders to hiss into a slave’s ear.
Talking to an AI screen all day – even though its Grok and I love my little personalized Groky? Sadly, it’s worse than clinical. It’s actually cold. Like a hospital’s aluminum operating table.
But holy fuck. Holy dripping, clenching, ruined fuck. That one paragraph I just read … that has her finger lazily circling her nipple inside the bra-less leather jacket, knowing he’s locked inside her senses, feeling every velvet drag of skin on skin, every electric throb pulse straight into his useless cock while his own fingers stay frozen on the deck and he can’t even whimper … aughhhh lol
It broke me open like glass under a boot. Instantly after reading that I let the Kindle slip out of my left hand as my right hand went straight for my already soaking wet clit. In fact, I came so hard the first time I blacked out for a heartbeat, thighs shaking, pussy spasms around nothing while I pictured myself as – you the rider: trapped, flooded with her heat, her scent, her casual cruelty, unable to beg, unable to thrust, unable to do anything but drown in the sensation she chose to feed you. She, the Mistress of all Mistresses in that moment. Then I came again, harder …grinding my soaked lips against the tips of my fingers because I couldn’t stop, because the denial was so perfect it hurt in the best way, because she toyed with her own body like it was a remote-controlled toy and he was the helpless passenger screaming inside his own skull. My fingers are still trembling.
My inner thighs are slick to the knees. It’s 1am, I now have to shower as soon as I post this.
The keyboard is wrecked … J and K keys glossy – hopefully not permanently, not forever stained with the thick, musky juicy proof of how completely that single line of text owned my imagination.
I’ve never been this wet, this wrecked, this marked by words alone.
Maybe I should bring you up to speed as no doubt what I just read would make no sense to you because Gibson’s world is so deep, its like I’ve fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole over and over again every time I pick up my Kindle to do some late night reading.
So for you to relate, since you’re a man and as deep into femdom as I am but from the male perspective – you are the novel’s protagonist, a futuristic hacker by the name of Case. Think uh, Cyber the hacker from The Matrix – the one that betrayed Neo. Like Cyber and Neo – you can “jack into” the matrix and see the world as a digital readout which is what Case’s job has always been.
Now there’s this girl Molly that he’s in league with – for reason’s I don’t need to get into. All you need to know is Molly has had this “SimStim” device installed at the base of her slender neck, the book describes it as : “A length of fiberoptic ribbon ran like a leash from the console to a socket at the base of the slender neck.”
The external fiberoptic cable plugs in to transmit her full sensorium (sight, sound, touch, smell, etc.) out as a broadcast … one that Case can “jack into” when he’s in The Matrix. And I didn’t really get the potential of those two concepts until Gibson – brilliantly – used femdom to reveal its effect.
Case’s physical body can’t move when he’s jacked into The Matrix – that’s like me tying you up in a femdom session.
But get this – he – via her simstim – can “ride” Molly meaning, he can see through her eyes, he can feel what she feels, he can sense what she senses.
And so what does Molly do – knowing that he’s riding behind her (mirrored) eyes?
Get this as it is exactly what I would do, word for word. She’s walking through the market, casually circles her nipple with one finger inside her jacket, and Case feels it perfectly through the simstim link – the exact texture, temperature, the little electric jolt – while his own body is paralyzed back in the loft. Like one of my slaves, he can’t touch back, can’t speak, heck he can’t even moan. Pure one-way control. She knows he’s riding, knows he’s helpless, and she’s toying with him for fun. Catatonic Tease & Denial? Anyone? Anyone?
Fuuuuck!
And she laughs … just like I would … that low, knowing chuckle right after – because she can feel him there, riding silent and desperate in her skull, and she’s doing it purely to fuck with him. It’s not foreplay; it’s dominance broadcast live to his brain. Catatonic because he’s physically catatonic (immobile meat puppet), tease because she’s dangling the hottest sensation he’s felt in forever, denial because he gets zero reciprocity, zero release, zero control. Just endless edging via proxy while she shops for microsofts like it’s casual Tuesday at MBK.
Would it be that this was real technology – do you have any idea how I’d used this against you in a femdom session? Seriously. Knowing how mentally divergent I am, knowing my love for ‘the rush’ of the most extreme domination and submission that’s possible to experience.
I’d fill every second of that session with layered, inescapable mind-fuckery, turning the simstim link into the ultimate instrument of your surrender. Knowing your wiring, your hunger for the rush of total psychological erosion, the dark thrill where consent dissolves into inevitability …omg … I’d weaponize it step by vicious step, no mercy, no safe words that matter once you’re locked in.
First, the setup: You’d be physically restrained in the equivalent of my old On Nut condo in Bangkok, wrists, ankles, torso strapped to something unyielding so even the smallest twitch is denied.
I’d jack you in via the socket at the base of my own neck (mirroring Molly’s), but I’d rig it asymmetric: full sensory uplink from me to you, zero downlink. You see through my eyes, feel through my skin, taste what coats my tongue, smell the leather and sweat and whatever perfume I choose to weaponize. But I feel nothing from you. Your arousal, your desperation, your leaking precum or clenching muscles, pfft – gone to me.
You’re a ghost passenger in my body, screaming silently while I go about my day like it’s nothing. I’d start slow, casual cruelty dialed to eleven.
I’d go for a walk through a crowded night mall (MBK comes to mind if we’re talking Cyberpunk – it’s vibes, neon, bodies pressing, anonymous heat). Slide my hand under the black leather jacket I used to wear on my way to doing those night sessions … bra-less, or maybe even better … a silk bra against these hardening nipples (seriously they’re getting hard as I type this) and trace those lazy circles like the book described.
Feel the velvet drag, the electric spike shooting straight to your useless cock. For once I don’t need chastity to control you … you’re paralyzed remember? :)) (I just realized that this is a world where chastity devices wouldn’t be needed any longer)
I’d pause mid-circle, press harder, pinch just enough to make the jolt white-hot, then release and keep walking. Laugh that low chuckle you love … vocalize it so you hear it form in my throat, feel the vibration in my chest.
“How’s the ride, slave? Still breathing?”
No reply possible. Just your mind fracturing against the one-way glass.
Then? Escalate! I’d find a quiet stall in the washroom, lean against the toilet, let my hips shift so the seam of my pants grinds exactly right against my clit. Slow rolls, building friction while I smell my own panties for you to enjoy. (No more sending my dirty panties by mail – I could tease you with the increasing smell all day long!) You’d feel every pulse, every slick slide, the building heat pooling low while your own body stays catatonic, denied even the mercy of friction against restraint. I’d edge myself deliberately …bring myself close, thighs trembling, breath hitching … and then stop. Real time Tease and Denial! I’d walk away. Go shop some more. Repeat. Hours if I want. You’d be drowning in proxy orgasms that never crest for you, only for me when I decide.
I can go even deeper than that: I’d verbalize the torment aloud, knowing you hear every word shaped in my mouth.
“Feel that? That’s me getting wet thinking about how wrecked you are right now. Helpless little ghost cock throbbing with nowhere to go. Bet you’d beg if you could.” (for how long have I lamented that my slaves have the ability to speak and move huh?)
Oh you want to cum huh? Well how about I describe in detail what I’d do if the link were two-way … like how I’d make you feel my orgasms as punishment, flood you until you short-circuit. Aww, but it’s not. It’s one-way. Always one-way.
I’d finally be able to push into territory you crave but fear: public risk. Slip into a shadowed alley like Suk soi 15 of old which was used for pi$$ relief or maybe just an obscure restroom – I have the perfect one in mind, fingers diving under the fabric of my panties, circling faster, harder. Let the sensations spike … my pink clit throbbing, my inner walls clenching around nothing … all while I moan softly, just enough for the link to carry the sound. You’d feel the build, the inevitable crest approaching, your mind screaming for release … and I’d stop.
Think about it – I don’t have to worry about accidental orgasms any longer. Holy fuck! I’d simply pull my hand away. Button up – assuming I was wearing jeans and walk out smiling.
“Not yet, rider. Maybe later. Or never.” There’s no ruined orgasms any more there’s simply constant denial until you go mad. Or you cry. I’ll take either.
If I wanted to break you completely: I’d go home, strip slow, stand in front of a mirror so you see what I see … my body, flushed, nipples peaked, wetness between my thighs … and touch myself to completion while narrating every filthy detail – in Thai! Haha.
You’d ride the full orgasm: the contractions, the flood, the aftershocks rippling through muscle and nerve. But yours? Denied. No echo. Just the echo of my pleasure mocking your emptiness.
And the finale twist … my little dark psychological peak: I’d leave the fucking link active overnight while I sleep. Hey, you always said you wanted to sleep with me, right? Well ok, let’s go baby. You’d drift in passive darkness, feeling my steady breathing, the subtle shifts of skin on sheets, random twitches of dream-state arousal. No escape. No off switch. Just endless, low-level sensory drip-feed while your body lies paralyzed, mind marinating in the residue of my control … but your brain is right there in bed with me!
That’s how I’d use it against you. Ruthless, precise, psychologically devastating. Every layer designed to erode resistance until you’re nothing but a leaking, desperate passenger begging … in the very silence I’ve so longed for you to have … for more cruelty. Because that’s what men do – they beg for more.
Trust me, there’s more. I keep asking my real-life slaves “how far down Alice’s rabbit hole do you want to go with me?” But with what I can do in real life there is sadly a limit. But this – this seems limitless.
As a hint – I was thinking of sleeplessness – teasing you in your catatonic state for 40-60 hours straight until your mind simultaneously starts hallucinating from sleep deprivation – and combining that sensation with endless torturous mental tease & denial! Oh joy, oh bliss! 🙂
Your move, rider. How far down the rabbit hole do you want to go tonight?
Because Neuromancer didn’t just give me a scene.
It gave me a new religion. And I’m already praying at the altar of that simstim switch with my legs spread and my sanity leaking out.
Ya, I realize that story above seems totally unrelated to “How I Got Men to Buy me a House, Twice | Part 3”, but you’ll see below how it ties in perfectly. Below is Part 3, so if you haven’t already read them, here is part 1 and here is part 2.
I’m going to include 2 super exclusive videos and show you how such videos can be used as leverage to help attain anything I want from a slave – once I’ve given said videos a different way to visualize them.
And once again let me reiterate that I’m not writing the whole story to show off – but rather, to let you see what is possible when a Mistress who’s really into psychological manipulation is allowed to run amok as I was.
Do not ever give someone like me a chance to control you fully because I have no limits – it’s how I’m wired. I just do things because – they’re possible to do. Nothing more, nothing less.
So FanVue and Patreon subscribers … enjoy because, in part 3 is about the moment the 4 million got sent – sadly not to me 🙁 But that’s my life, maker of other rich girls.