Crushing depression hit all day today preventing me from writing. Just a video tonight, let me sleep and I’ll tackle writing tomorrow.
This is a Patreon / FanVue subscriber only blog because once again I’m going to use the written privacy of my words to speak what’s on my mind – freely. Also, I wasn’t exactly the thinnest version of myself in the video as this was the first time daring to go out in public after 2 years of mostly being locked down in my condo and thinking I could survive all those days alone eating Lay’s Potato Chips instead of cooking. I chose – poorly. So I think that in this long self-analysis process of finding out what’s wrong with me, why I broke down so hard – there are little clues as to when my behavior changed or in …
I’ll show you the video in the ppv FanVue/Patreon section that inspired me – while I sat there watching these two film it – to do a complete 180-degree turn on how to make the velvety smooth foot cream lotion I was fiddling with at the time. So, a few things were coming to a head at the time this foot fetish video was being made. For one, I had my perfume business up and running on a very small scale – taking my wares to the On Nut market across from Big C every night to peddle my small inventory of wares. I just felt that I needed a more diversified product line and I’d noticed at the store …
In truth the real name for this blog story recounting a session I arranged should have been called Banged to Death by 40 Girls … that was the idea behind the whole thing, to see how many “short-time” girls it would take to break a man’s will. What would that actually mean? Would a submissive man ever use his safe word from “too much sex” and if so, what would be the underlying reason? These are questions that constantly run through my mind when searching for sexual and psychological limits of the men I control – I’m perpetually seeking just how much they will endure when it comes to entertaining their particular fetish. So I take you back to May …
Behind my house there’s first a jungle like forest and behind that there’s these pineapple plant hills/mountains (we call them mountains though these ones are about 12 stories tall to climb.) Since I was a young girl those have always been pineapple hills, until this season which began two months ago. Nothing was planted up there and instead, a reservoir has been built, there’s a lake of water, there’s a barbed wire fence beside the reservoir and most importantly the rickety dirt trail path that you saw me do my fart videos on – the one where all the cows and bulls used to live, that’s been widened to a highway like dirt patty road that leads up into the …
The trouble with trampling as I see it? Stilettos reduce the surface area and increase the pressure. Rib fractures happen, and suddenly I’m visiting a slave in the ER. No. There is a better way to trample … and slaves absolutely hate it. IN FACT … they hate it so much they will do anything to distract me the moment they realize it’s about to happen. I’ve seen grown men suddenly develop an intense need to recount their entire grocery list or beg to clean the grout with a toothbrush just to delay the inevitable. Their eyes go wide, scanning the room for an escape route that doesn’t exist, and they start making these pathetic, whimpering noises before I’ve even …
Listen closely, because I’m only going to explain the rules once. You need to understand the nature of the game before it begins. First, the Tickle. It seems harmless, doesn’t it? Almost childish really. But that’s the trap. I require you to be absolutely still. To be an object. Objects after all don’t giggle, and they certainly don’t squirm. But when the nerves under your skin are set on fire by my probing fingers, your body will betray you. The tickle you see, is the mechanism of your failure. It forces you to break the one rule that matters which is? Don’t spill me, don’t let me fall – for what good is a piece of human furniture if it …
What is the worst thing I’ve done to a slave as a Mistress? This is a question I’ve just posed to myself right this minute because I think before I point my finger at others I should first point it at myself. I can say this about myself, I didn’t do anything to any of my slaves that they didn’t specifically ask for For example, a toilet slave finds himself at my femdom resort, 35km from the nearest convenience store, deep inside pineapple crop mountains and dense forest way off Google Maps. He’s strapped into my vertical shit feeding machine in the bottom chair trying to come to grips with his throat and tongue not being able to function because …
Do any of you remember me sitting with the exact same pose in 2020 from my computer chair in front of my monitor at iPremium condo at On Nut? I’ll post it to lead off the pay-per-view portion of this blog as it shows my cute succulent nipple being exposed – thus my need to conceal it. I’m 57kg as of today, but in the selfie I took six years ago, almost to the day, I was 21kgs heavier. Side by side, I don’t recognize my old self, like, not at all. I am someone completely new and I’m not even sure who I am to be honest. This is the point I try to hammer home to my daughters …
We used to do these double Mistress foot worship sessions – the aim of which was to make the foot worshiper slave, a guy who like them all professed that he could worship any kind of feet all day and night, outright quit. We’d do that by giving him a choice of who’s feet he’d rather worship as we sat in front of him on this sofa, side by each with him kneeling before us from a distance. What he didn’t know, what none of them knew is that a whole afternoon of careful planning had gone into preparing for the foot worshiper’s femdom session. We didn’t tell him, we just let him choose by the metric all slaves go …