Category: Femdom Blog

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! 🙂

The Chemical Cost of Feeling: Why Femdom Was My Unlikely Lifeline

The morning sun was just starting to peek through the Chiang Rai air, painting the humid air in soft oranges. My two dogs, oblivious to the storm raging inside me, licked my face with relentless affection as I sat on the side of the road, tears streaming down my face. My parents were nearby, their quiet presence a gentle anchor, pretending not to notice their adult child crumbling. The dogs wanted to make me happy. I knew it, understood it, but my brain, a stubborn, cruel organ, refused to translate their pure, uncomplicated love into anything but a dull, aching emptiness. It’s this: the unbearable void that even love can’t touch.

I’ve lived with schizophrenia for years, battling delusions, panic, and the flattening weight of medication. But it’s this emotional desolation, this inability to feel joy when it should be overflowing, that truly guts me. Why can’t I feel anything but sadness, even when my dogs are trying so hard to cheer me up? What is this twisted wiring that makes me hate my own brain for not allowing me the simplest human emotions?

For a long time, I found an unlikely, often misunderstood, cure. Or at least, a powerful treatment.

For nearly a decade, I was a professional Dominatrix in Bangkok. My sessions were intense, theatrical, sometimes dark, sometimes absurd, and always emotionally charged. But what most people never grasped was that I wasn’t doing it entirely for them. I was doing it for me. I needed those sessions. I needed to witness the happiness on their faces as they surrendered to me, as they suffered for me. That honest, erotic, often innocent surrender wasn’t just about their pleasure; it was a potent, almost alchemical, shift in my own chemistry. It moved me. Sometimes, it even made me feel alive.

Mike: A Shared Chemical Imbalance

One of my earliest clients was a man named Mike Boger. If you’re familiar with George Carlin’s brilliant bit on “soft language,” you’ll understand my disdain for the clinical term for his condition: Persistent Depressive Disorder. What it really meant was that Mike couldn’t feel anything either. Ever. His was a chemical imbalance—severe, unyielding. Serotonin, dopamine, norepinephrine—all perpetually out of sync. Mine fluctuates, a rollercoaster of highs and devastating lows. His was a flatline.

Mike came to me seeking pain, hoping it might just be intense enough to break through the impenetrable fog of his apathy. But during our first session, when he removed his shirt as I instructed, I saw them: rows of deep, self-inflicted knife cuts scarring both shoulders. At least a hundred on each side. Instead of enacting the scene he desired, I practically begged him to tell me what had driven him to such a desperate act. He explained his condition, his lifelong numbness, and his desperate hope that profound agony might finally allow him to cry, to feel something.

I couldn’t inflict that kind of pain on him. Not with what I suffer from, not with the deep empathy born from our shared emotional struggle. But I told him I understood. I truly did.

That conversation was the genesis of a strange and beautiful friendship. Instead of intense beatings, we engineered full-day “thrill rides.” Imagine: tackling every single escape room in Bangkok, back-to-back, until we’d cracked every puzzle. Or infiltrating laser tag games, joining random groups as a duo, and systematically dismantling every opposing team, emerging four hours later drenched in sweat. Then, a wild whim: a midnight dash to a public park, a covert jump into the swimming pool, followed by pizza on the sidewalk, soaking wet and utterly exhausted.

He couldn’t always laugh, couldn’t always express the overt joy I yearned to feel myself, but he consistently told me those were the only times he felt truly alive. “You make me feel like I exist,” he once said, words that will forever echo in my mind.

One night, I took him to an Irish bar with an open mic comedy night upstairs. The act before him bombed spectacularly. But Mike, borrowing the comedian’s guitar, calmly took the stage. He announced he was from Colorado and would sing a song about living in the Rockies. He strummed hard, his voice raw, screaming: “Good God it’s fucking cold! Good God it’s fucking cold! Good God it’s fucking, fucking, fucking coldddddddddd!” Then he stopped. “That’s all I got. Goodnight.”

The bar erupted in howls of laughter. As he walked back to me, bathed in applause, he didn’t laugh, but he grinned—the closest I’d ever seen him come to unadulterated joy.

A week later, he put a rifle in his mouth and painted the wall behind him.

vote for me !!!

The Weight of Being “Too Much”

I miss Mike more than words can convey. I’ve only ever truly loved two foreigners. He was one. My slave in the videos is the other. One is dead. The other is now afraid of me because of the intense experiences I put him through during the COVID years.

You see, you can’t truly love someone like me. Or like Mike. We are too much. Too chemically broken. Too emotionally demanding. Mike tried to stay married, but his wife left him in the middle of the night just a year into their marriage. We break people. We’re an emotional black hole, drawing others in only to discover we consume too much.

So now, when I’m sitting on the road, breaking down for no discernible reason, with two dogs showering me with affection I can’t return, I finally understand why Mike chose his exit. I hated him for it then. Now, I completely get it. I’m not saying I’m punching my own ticket anytime soon, but the trend line isn’t exactly pointing towards a happy ending. I have to course correct, fast.

My current doctor and two trusted friends tell me that the transition from Haloperidol to my new medication creates a “grey zone”—a brutal chemical storm where the lingering effects of the old drug collide with the new. Haloperidol takes months to fully exit my system. I’m only in week six of this horrific period. So, at best, two more weeks of this hell. At worst, six. Fuck.

My parents spend entire days with me now, their presence a silent, steadying force that helps me navigate the most difficult hours. I hate feeling like a burden, like a newborn requiring constant care. But in the afternoons, that’s exactly how I feel.

And yet, within me, there’s an overwhelming wellspring of love. It’s just directionless, like a flood with no outlet to the sea. What do I do with it all? Why does it matter so profoundly to me that the people around me are happy and content?

My Fuel: The Bliss and Agony of My Slaves

That’s why I became a Mistress. That’s why I loved it so much.

Before the chaotic group sessions of the COVID era took over my life, I found a precarious mental stability in those four hours each night, seeing my “slaves” utterly enthralled and blissful at my mercy. That’s what drove me. It wasn’t just about control; it was about the profound emotional current that surged between us.

In fact, that intense drive led me to “torture” them more and more, to extend Tease & Denial sessions far beyond the two hours they’d initially bargained for. There were nights when 10 p.m. sessions bled into 1 or 2 a.m., my slave moaning, crying, twisting, and squirming on the bed, openly begging for release, only to be gloriously happy when I finally granted his orgasm.

I’d anticipate those moments all day, on pins and needles, meticulously planning how to extract the most profound joy and wondrous agony from my slaves that evening. I truly believe that the act of orchestrating and witnessing their emotional high boosted my serotonin levels, and alongside my daily Prozac, it kept everything in a delicate balance.

Things didn’t catastrophically spiral until the COVID years, when those sweet, torturous one-on-one sessions were replaced by grotesque spectacles like “The Ladyboy Gauntlet.” Every night, I was arranging twenty ladyboys to simultaneously destroy a slave’s mouth and ass. All I got out of it was cash. There was no mental stimulation, no resonant emotional feedback. In fact, I was often horrified by the sheer pain my slaves endured, and the terrifying extent of their willingness. I’d come home, lie in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering, “What the fuck just happened? Why would I arrange such a horrific thing? Who am I, really?”

Which is why, despite everything, I still cling to the hope of returning to being a full-time Mistress someday. Yes, I’d have to purge the Haloperidol from my system, embrace this new medication, and achieve stability without collapsing into all-afternoon fits of tears and misery. But I proved I could do it from February to May this year. It’s doable, once this terrible crossover period ends.

Then, if I commit to only doing the fun, light sessions—the kind I perfected during the first seven years of my Mistress life—I believe the serotonin boost from those interactions will help me live a stable life.

Why? Because, in a way I cannot fully explain, my brain is wired to respond to the happiness of others. Being a Mistress guarantees four hours a day spent with people whose mood—intricately tied to what I’m doing to their cock, of course—directly ignites a spark of happiness within me.

I know this makes no sense to most people. Perhaps you need to be schizophrenic, or have a severe chemical imbalance, to truly “get” what I’m saying.

Let me try a different analogy. You know how sports fans talk about certain players having the “it” factor—that inexplicable drive to be champions, to rise in the most crucial moments? What is that drive? What is the “it” factor? I think it’s something fundamentally unexplainable, unless you possess that athlete’s unique mentality. Only Michael Jordan could ever attempt to articulate why he needs the ball with the game, the season, the championship on the line. Only Michael Phelps could explain the primal compulsion to accelerate into the final stretch of every single swimming event, demanding first place.

So, when I—just a chemically lopsided, part-schizo girl—tell you that I need to feel love around me, that I am literally powered by the emotional charge of the people in my presence, I mean it in precisely the same way an elite athlete talks about needing the ball with the game on the line. It’s that strange, primal compulsion to step into the storm, not for gold medals, but because something deep inside demands it. I believe it’s the same region of the brain, whatever lights up for Jordan in overtime or Phelps at the final turn.

For me, it’s about watching a man tremble beneath me. Seeing his bliss. His tears. His total, utterly profound surrender. And realizing, with a chilling clarity, that his joy, his pain, his intense emotional state, somehow keeps me alive. That is my fuel. Always has been.

Mistress Wael

Mistress Wael : Beyond Submission – Fanvue

Epilogue!!

I’ve written 1,000 stories now for my Fanvue blog and about 2,000  for my Scatbook blog so with 3,000 stories under my belt I’m finally at the point where I finally feel comfortable writing for this website – which still doesn’t feel like my website due to the name in the url, know what I mean?  It’d be like if you took over Al’s Diner yet your name was Bob, the place wouldn’t feel like your joint until you changed the name to Bob’s Diner, right?  Well, that’s how I feel.

I’ll write more often.  There’s just been too much going on inside my foolish little noggin’ upstairs to have any energy left once I post on FanVue, Loyalfans and Scatbook every morning.

By the time I’m done afternoon hits and if you’ve been reading my FanVue / Loyalfans posts then you know what happens in the afternoon.

Honestly, it’s akin to turning into a werewolf – only they go through that torturous phase only when the full moon hits … for me it’s promptly around 2pm every single day that my transformation begins.

I’ve debated endlessly about whether or not I should be posting here about my struggles, because for the 10 years I was a Mistress in Bangkok writing for this blog it was always ‘business related posts only’ … that was the mantra.

So as much as I wanted to write about things when things weren’t going so well … I always nixed those thoughts and wrote about the latest greatest session I did because that’s what would generate emails for even more sessions.

But I think I’ll start posting more about who I am … more so than the sessions I’ve done.

After all, with one session being half a million baht, and an endless list of people lined up to get into my Femdom Resort – I think you people should finally get to know who the hell I am and what you’re actually signing up for.

Fanvue written thoughts from today.  I’ve been all over the place with my health the past three days and the first ten days of February haven’t been anywhere near as productive as I’d have liked them to be.

But I managed to sleep for most of the past 48 hours and I’m feeling better – though it is 3am as I write this long post … I started at midnight.  So I’ve pasted the 3,000 words that I wrote on FanVue earlier tonight down below and now as sort of a prologue to the post I’m adding to it at the top here.  Sometimes when I write – to get myself in the mood to do it because it takes up 8-12 hours in a row of my time – I just start talking about anything to get me going.  So below, you’ll see me talking about the stock and forex trades I made this week – trying to keep my streak of 27 straight winning trades and 84 out of the past 100 alive and well.

But I know that the only people who are transfixed by me writing about my trades are my Fanvue followers as we have long talks in chat every day over there and the less than 10 subscribers I have are my closest friends, it’s the tight knit community that I’ve longed to have and I hope it grows over time.  It’s the only place that leaves me alone – its why I’m there so much.  Loyalfans has all these petty rules and Onlyfans is 100 times worse – those sites are soon be extinct dinosaurs in my opinion as FanVue is on the right track with using AI for its creators to help me out.  It’s just a shame that all the other girls on that site are ass shakers and titty jigglers – which is in direct contrast to the more intellectually slanted content I provide.

Anyways, I’ve said it many times – if you happen to be one of the few people who genuinely like what I write and understand where I’m going with this – and where my life is leading me … and you want to talk to me about things … then know that FanVue is where I have chosen to hang out and talk to my friends.  It’s the only place – other than email, that I talk to my followers, clients and friends.

Scatbook is where – if you’re okay to be anywhere from slightly to greatly appalled by what I’ve been up to in terms of just how far down the rabbit hole I’ve taken female domination lately – you can find my deepest and quite disturbing thought process.  Though, I can’t spend hours a day talking to all my subscribers there about the most depraved forms of submission – I’d go crazy if I entertained every person’s thought in great detail.  So read -if you dare, but I won’t be chatting to you about any of the things I’m doing.

Most of it – errr, well more accurately 40% of the comments are of the “what you’re doing to people is wrong – just wrong” crowd and I don’t have time for them.  You either get me – or you don’t.  You’re the type of submissive person who is looking for absolute and total submission – to the point of becoming an object and nothing more … like – taking the “man” out of the word “human” is what you’re into …. or quite simply, you’re not willing to go that deep.  That’s fine.  Nobody can cater to every single person out there.

I just happen to prefer making 1/2 a million baht per month rather than focusing on 7k per hour.

Like for me, yes – 7k for a one-hour session – I can find one or two of those sessions every single day if I wanted to.  And ya, the money piles up as the month goes on but I guess I just enjoy more than seeing the 450,000 baht deposit come in and get to work on arranging the month with that one lump sum of money.  Because that has allowed me to hire Patty the ladyboy and entice a younger sexy girl to come and be trained … which will allow in June for me to host two slaves per month at the femdom house rather than just one, so 1 million baht per month.

It’s just a better business model than what I had been doing for the past eleven years.

I got the model from the pay-to-win MMRPG games I’ve been interested in but originally detested their business model.  I was always a “$15/month World of Warcraft” kind of girl – which for me is akin to the 7,000 baht per session model.

But those pay-to-win games let everybody pay for free – however if you want to win, you pay $20,000 for the legendary fire sword that kills anything and everything in one shot … unless you’ve paid for the $30,000 usd armor that protects you from the legendary fire sword and so on.

So yes, jaa4u.com is free – was free.  But the best blog stories from my books are behind the $5.99 Patreon wall , and the very best sessions aren’t 1 hour mini dives into femdom but the one month “you won’t survive what I have in store for you” 1/2 million baht sessions.  I’m pay to win – that’s my business model now.

And I can do that because I’m the very best at this super narrow niche that I’ve fallen into as a Mistress.  One that – as you’ll read below – was born out of total accident, brought about by the covid lockdowns.  I just found that – again by total accident – that catering to the deepest, most dangerous, most thorough types of submission is far mor lucrative than catering to the one hour shallow but fun & quaint types of sessions I had been doing since 2014.

I don’t want to get repetitive as I’ve talked about it in the pasted  content down below … but for a 2 year period in Bangkok, because so many girls and ladyboys were so desperate for money that they’d consent to doing anything and everything – even if it meant an all night session, my path as a Mistress took a permanent diversion down the road of the perverse.

When Bangkok returned to normal, I had to create my own little world where such sessions could continue on and that’s what I’ve done with the building of my private femdom house and these 1-month extreme human toilet slavery sessions.

Which as some of you have read on Scatbook, have extended into being nothing more than a piece of human furniture – not allowed to move a muscle for a month as I turn you into an object … and fuck, the applications for just doing that for me is already long enough that I could book ahead deep into 2026.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I could double the 450,000 baht price tag for these experiences and the demand would still be there, but that’s not my goal.

It’s never been about the money – it’s always been about providing the very best and most unique femdom experience that can be found on this side of the world.   Anyone who’s had a session with me knows this.

Anyways, I’ve rambled too much – there’s 3,000 words below this for crying out loud.  I have nights where I just write like this and even then it’s still not enough.  It’s but a sliver of the thoughts on femdom that go through my mind every day.

It’s why I linked jaa4u.com to Patreon because my thoughts on femdom and where I’m going with this are so “out there” that it’s better to keep the deepest thoughts on the matter behind a paywall.  Just to be safe.

Or better put … the sessions I’ve done and the thoughts I’ve had on them from 2020-2024 are all NSFW.

As of 2025 they’re now NSFAAA or not-safe-for-anywhere-at-all … and most certainly not for the general public.

Want to see how far Alice’s rabbit hole goes?  Start by doing some back-reading in this order:

1. Scatbook
2. Fanvue

and in much shorter posts Loyalfans and Onlyfans – only because they censor things quite heavily where Fanvue and Scatbook don’t so I’m able to write freely on those sites.

Here now is the rest of what I had written earlier this evening on Fanvue:

It took a week, but once again, say it with me … “gaps get filled.” And once again, right to the penny. Would it be that people had the patience to only trade this fact and wait for the handful of times each year that it happens, there would be a lot of people with a 100% win-rate on their trades. The other trade that, with patience, has nearly a 100% win-rate is to buy the .vix when it dips below $13, buying it as close to $12 as possible. Again, it’s another once or twice per year trade. And even then, most of the time the trade has to be held for one to three months before it takes off into the $20-$30 area.

The third trading method as I told you last week is to fish for forex stop loss raids by hedge funds. Which is like deep-sea fishing where you sit in a boat all day and get 0 bites – and you do that all year long … until one day, while nodding off in the boat out of total boredom you get a shark on the line. Then you reel it in and eat merrily for a year. So I made $100 with my 10 Nvidia shares lol. Yes I know, I’m a big time girl trader. lol But I’m 3/3 this year on trades and now 27/27 going back to 2024. I don’t count 2023 from June-December as I wasn’t in a good place mentally so every single thing I did back then was erratic and spontaneous. If I go back to covid, so 2020 onwards, I’m near perfect on every trade. But the sad thing is that if I had the ability to hold all my positions – which technically I do if I don’t mind paying thousands of dollars in interest fees every year – geez I’d be so rich.

I had – and I can screenshot it and show you if you like – a 200 share purchase of META when it was $90/share, and my biggest trade ever which made my heart actually hurt from how fast the account moved – a .2 lot purchase of Bitcoin when it sank to $16,000. Add AFRM – 200 shares at $12 , MARA 200 shares at somewhere around $7 and so many more. But I can’t buy and hold like everybody else can, sadly. So I have come to grips with that and only trade gaps-get-filled with forex hedge fund raid fishing and if I am buying and holding then it is the .vix because I know the spike when it rises will probably recover all of the interest fees. Sucks so much to be born here.

Again though, even though its not a Forex hedge fund raid – notice the stop loss wipeout before it goes up? I was a) too woozy the last two days to even notice and b) my 10 shares allow me to not have to have such a tight stop loss – mine is way down at the next line of support so far off the page. That’s the benefit of not having any money lol, my small positions let me ride the trade and learn from all the silliness that goes on. It was during covid when I needed to win every trade to have money to live on that I would wait and wait and wait some more for the panic to become so pure that I could step in with my 20 shares and make $100 to $200 every month which paid for my food.

As long as I live, I will never forget those 3-5 hour walks around my condo at night, feeling like I was walking in the middle of an apocalyptic event – wondering how I was going to keep my family alive. That’s the thing that makes me so sad, you know that? I am not exaggerating even one bit when I say that if it was not for me and all the things I did to pull rabbits from my ass between 2020 and 2022, my family wouldn’t be here. Like, it started with me making a video sales link on jaa4u.com and putting up for sale all my old and very awful videos – for like $20 for a collection. Do any of you remember when I did that? Hang on, let me find it for you.

Ya here’s one of the first ads I ever edited, in fact I think it was the very first one and I had to do it out of an emergency with the lockdowns having just begun.

I used ai to erase two obvious words because two of my other blogs have like censorship cops everywhere.

Again, this is why FanVue is so good – there’s no censorship here and I can link anything and everything so I say what I want to say all day long.

But ya, there were all these random videos that were awful – blurry and shot with old phones, shaky , bad lighting, hand held.

I thought well – let me just put them all into categories and see if people will buy them since we’re all locked at home everywhere in the world anyways.

Sadly, since I had to combine them with Jaa’s videos I had to split the money with her … typical because every money making idea ever on jaa4u.com was my idea, and anyone with the name Jaa just sat back and collected the money from my life saving ideas.

Then when people started buying those crappy videos – which was all I had at the time it clicked that because lockdowns might go on for a very long time and videos sell – that might be the way to survive.

That was the year I learned how evil play plal is – without the first two L’s … and I’m only typing it that way so I can copy and paste this story to the other blogs where they’ll surely censor that word.

Lockdowns started in April and I remember just before my birthday in August getting a nasty letter from them saying they were seizing my money and shutting down the account – but that I’d get my money back 9 months down the road.

But as panicked as that made me at the time – it was a blessing in disguise because from April to July I had squeezed all the sales I was going to get from those crappy videos and I had started my new job as a video content creator on all the online platforms.

Which means that revenue was coming in not from playplal but from the other blogs , both mine and hers – I was running both.

Yes, both. I’m telling you – she did nothing, absolutely nothing but reluc-tant-ly (also for copy/paste purposes) film every 3rd day. Fine by me, I made money from all of my subscribers of which there were so few and 1/2 of hers … and because so many men were blinded by her at the time it was more than enough to turn the calendar to 2021 and still be in the green.

Then in late April of 2021 the funds that had been seized were finally released into my bank account and that was like over $1,500 and ya – looking back at the calendar, April’s revenue was $2,000 from our online presence so suddenly I had nearly $4,000 which I knew would get me safely into 2022.

Remember, at the time – every last penny that I didn’t need to survive in bkk I was sending home to feed my daughters, my mom, my dad my sister and her daughter.

Then – and I’ll keep this for Patreon as it’s sensitive, ghastly and highly immoral – another injection of usd $6,000 came in near the end of 2021 which cleared the way for me to survive to April of 2022.

Around then, that’s when with super strict rules – the first set of people were allowed to travel once again and its when my vip client from France took advantage of the unique situation where no bar girl in the city had money and would do anything to survive for a day.

I got emails from him asking me to line up 10 sexy bar girls and 10 ladyboys for an evening of fun where I’d order the girls to fuck him one by one and then order the ladyboy’s to fuck his ass one by one after he was totally exhausted.

That led to things like me taking over the services of an entire ladyboy club and having him and … ok I’ll nicely say 2 other “clients” – but the truth I’ll put on Patreon – suck every single ladyboy working there – about 40 of them. One after other.

I kept thinking of Dr. Hammond from Jurassic Park and his line “spared no expense” because him spending 50k baht to 100k baht a night was a common thing.

And that’s how I survived covid. For once it got out on the forums that I was THE contact for arranging any fantasy you can possibly think of – and seriously I have to dedicate an entire book to just those wild sessions as they’d make your jaw hit the floor … I became super famous, especially in places like Dubai and Saudi Arabia.

It was a unique time where everybody was so broke that they were texting me , en-masse every night begging to be included in one of those sessions and each one giving me a list of her friends with photos included so I could pick and choose the lineup each night.

It was never one on one, it was no less than 3 and up to 50 girls / ladyboys a night.

But I still remember quite vividly, walking around my condo in April of 2020 to the sound of silence – absolute silence … and this was at 7pm … thinking this might be it, the end of my time on earth.

To go from thoughts of sure starvation to basically defining the word exploitation just 700 days later, just wow.

This is definitely the tl:dr version where I’m just skimming over things.

I’ll tell you one thing though, my life from 2020 until today has been anything but boring.

And that’s maybe why I’ve been feeling restless lately. No, I’m not talking about my fight with the lingering side-effects of this Haloperidol that I’m learning how to ween myself off … I mean general restlessness from nothing happening living up here in the middle of nowhere.

There are some days where I’m okay with it and yet there are others where I feel like I might as well just move myself into a retirement home. Well, we don’t have any of those, but if we did – that’d be a similar feel to how I feel now.

If I zoom out from my life and look at it from a far, I think this is a 2-3 year step back from the business and day-to-day life of being a Mistress.

In the end that’s what I think this will end up being. I’ve had ever increasing thoughts on the days I’ve felt well that sometime in 2026 I may return to Bangkok and much to the chagrin of every Mistress and club in Bangkok – take back the tittle of being the most popular femdom Mistress in the city, in Asia and in the southern hemisphere.

I know it’s not like me to say that. But it is how I feel, especially lately.

Do you want to know the exact moment I clued on the fact that Jaa and I are the very best at what we do? I’ll tell you.

Had a client – it was Jaa’s client actually, I’m talking original Jaa’s so we’re going back a while. The guy wanted a dungeon and it was one of our long-time vip clients so we all had two options. To ask Thomas – original Jaa’s old client who’s done everything he can to try and get a foothold in the business – even building his own dungeon in his house out by Punnawiti bts station … and yet the dungeon sits empty. Heh, he even tried to write blog stories on his website … but were so obviously written by a man that , well , men just know when something is written by a guy. Anyways, I didn’t want to give him a toe-hold in the business by doing a session at his dungeon.

So we decided – just this once – to use Midori’s dungeon. Her business model and ours couldn’t be more different so we had never used her place as none of our clients need a dungeon … we operate on a much higher level appealing to those who want a total brain fuckery experience and not to be tied to machines.

So in one of those super rare occasions where the three of us did a session together, we did this one particular session at that dungeon and it was such an eye opener.

Back then, I was very much an observer and even now that’s what I do – I sit back and observe people , taking mental notes. I learn by watching other people and other people’s reactions and then improving upon what they’ve done. It’s how I learned to cook and quickly become a sous-chef as my foods were always head and shoulders above what anyone else could prepare.

Back then, I had to use tools that allowed me to not speak as my English was at the most basic of levels and so in my early days as a Mistress I had taken to YouTube to learn Shibari rope bondage techniques doing them over and over both on myself and on our ladyboy Natty – as we were usually left behind with no sessions while both Jaa’s were tag-teaming clients every night.

Since we had never used a dungeon before – and that includes original Jaa and her five years on the job – it was me, the least experienced who stepped forward to tie the slave up with one of my most beautiful patterns that left him wearing all my rope as a replacement for clothing – that’s how much I used.

He could stand, but he couldn’t move a muscle. With my now patented move of leading him with one finger under his chin around the dungeon I set him up tilted on a 45 degree angle leaning away from the wall towards the ground , his arms chest and hips secured to the wall … and I left him there for the other two to take over.

Anyways, the point is – that night, every one of her Mistress’s were watching in awe, absolute awe of how to conduct a session so naturally, so elegantly, with such absolute command that. I turned to Natty, sitting beside me and said in Thai “we’re going to give them a seminar – and we’re not even gonna charge them.”

I don’t pay attention to sports, heck I don’t even watch hockey any longer – I only did that to have something I could talk to my clients about, but I think I have to use a sports analogy to describe how I feel inside my heart right now.

Me walking away from the bdsm/femdom scene in Bangkok would be like Michael Jordan walking away from basketball when he was at his best. It’s not right. It’s not the right thing to do.

But here’s what I know, and I don’t give a fuck if my family doesn’t believe it – and no doubt they’ll probably have me locked up in a mental hospital before I can prove it – but the truth of the matter is that on the last week of this calendar year – just before the payments come due on the land and the student loan – I’m going to pay them off in full.

In that same week, I’m going to convert my home and the entire property to solar power.

Come the last day of this year, I will have not only zero debt in my life for now and going forward but I will have no bills to pay other than the internet.

And in 2026, if they haven’t put me in a mental hospital – which again they will very likely try to do – my sole purpose will be to incorporate, build up money in the bank account – and cross out each and every reason that an embassy can use to deny me a visa.

Then maybe from 2027- whenever I’m going to be a Mistress who travels the world, seeing clients anywhere they want.

By then both daughters will have graduated and / or will be in their last year of study and I won’t be sending them any more money at that point … either learn to fly or die is my point of view on the matter, my job raising them is almost done.

And when I’m free – I’m going to be really free. I suspect sometime in those 2-3 years, so I’m talking 2027-2030 my parents and my sister will reach the end of their time here on earth and I’ll own all this property – clear of debt, but I won’t be here much as I intend to see the world in my late 40’s and into my early 50’s.

Fuck I’ve earned it, no?

So why not just pay it off now, good question right? It’s a test. It’s my test to them to see how far they’ll go with this plot to have me locked up and declared mentally crippled to have the liens on the land forgiven.

Because if they do that – if they go that far, then I will abandon my family, disown them all and never talk to any of them again until the day I die. Not only that, but if released – I won’t live here ever again. I mean it.

If that means I have to travel perpetually, then so be it. I’m never returning.

I think – ya, there’s no way any of you could understand why I feel this way. I’ve been fucked with so much the past two years that it’s just my nature – it’s how I deal with things to let whatever happen – happen …and walk away from all the mean people in my life.

And not just mean, but at this point – its more about untrusting. Like, if my sacrifice of living in Bangkok for 15 years and never seeing my daughters just so I can take care of my family isn’t enough proof that I’m reliable, then ok, you can grow up alone and cease to know of my existence.

It’s kind of like Game of Thrones – “and now her watch has ended.” , well, if they had allowed girls on the wall.

My watch has almost ended.

The dark days are behind me, that was 2023 and early 2024. This is kind of like limbo for me. I’m biding my time.

2025 and 2026 don’t really exist in my mind, they are simply 700 days to trudge through.

My new life begins in 2027. Will I have a few more grey hairs at that time? Ya, for sure.

But I’d make a heck of a travelling companion I think. Ever travelled with one of the best Mistresses in the world?

I’ll bet you the market for that is unlimited. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Below is a sneak peek of this content!

Below is a sneak peek of this content!

Below is a sneak peek of this content!