On Punishment, Part 3 : Suggestive Intimidation

Femdom Blog

1829918300

It’s challenging to command another person when I lack the proficiency in English to demand respect and don’t have the depth of experience from numerous sessions to guide my actions effectively.

My first clue about how to conduct myself in a session came from a video I watched while studying the femdom lifestyle on kink.com—which, granted, is mostly a porn site with a thin layer of femdom around it—but it does have tiny nuggets of gold that can be found if one looks closely enough.

In the video, the submissive slave is dominated entirely in a foreign language he clearly doesn’t understand. His discomfort tilts the balance of power in his Mistress’s favor, and I found this technique to be brilliant. I used it almost exclusively until the last few years, when I felt comfortable enough with my English proficiency to begin speaking in a more common dialect during my sessions.

But then I saw another video on the same website, one where the Mistress didn’t speak a word at the start. Instead, she sat in a chair and watched in silence while her slave began inching toward her, crawling on the cold stone floor while dragging a massive kettlebell attached to his testicles via a rope.

The pain on the slave’s face was palpable, measurable by the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, stinging his eyes as he balanced, trying to reach his Mistress in time while avoiding the danger of severing himself from his balls every time he pulled the kettlebell an inch closer to his goddess.

That video inspired my views on punishment techniques so profoundly that I recreated it in a scene with my slave and Mistress Jaa. I had numerous slaves drag a massive kettlebell, tethered to their testicles by a rope, inching towards me—each of them, despite the pain, taking nearly an hour to finish the exercise in devotion.

Great, right?

But despite the dedication and struggle, it didn’t quite fuck with the slave intellectually the way I had hoped. There’s a distinct difference between making a slave persevere through something physically excruciating and instilling absolute dread in their veins. From dread comes fear, and from fear comes respect. That’s what I was after, but how? How could I bring that level of fear to their core without pushing them past their limits in a way that left them broken?

As with most of my ideas, this one evolved. The seed of an idea would grow into something much more refined—and much more effective.

At the start of my Mistress career, I made it a point to study and emulate the techniques of Mistress Jaa. She may have represented everything I despised, but she was undeniably the best Mistress I had encountered in my research.

I dove deep, reading every one of her 700 stories from her original blog. Her writing, though riddled with broken English—almost as if Charly from Flowers for Algernon were documenting her own experiences—held a genius in its simplicity. Behind the fractured words, there was brilliance in the ideas she presented, and I wasn’t going to let that slip by me.

One of her earliest stories, titled iPod, iPad, iShockYou, outlined a session I considered one of her greatest concepts. It was in that story that I saw the potential to elicit not just pain, but shock—a shock that reverberated through the mind, leaving the submissive unbalanced and unsure, forcing them to grapple with their own limitations. It wasn’t just about inflicting punishment; it was about pulling the strings of their mind, making them feel as though the ground beneath them could shift at any moment.

I recognized that extracting the most shock and surprise would be the foundation for the fear I so desperately wanted to cultivate in my sessions. The groundwork had been laid, but I had yet to perfect it.

So I decided to recreate the iPod, iPad iShockYou session.

For you to understand what happened in Mistress Jaa’s session all those years ago, I’m going to have my ai assistant re-write you her same story word for word but at the same university level of creative writing that it helps me upgrade my English to. Here then is original Mistress Jaa’s recount of her session from August of 2011:

 

 

Open your mouth, baby,” she purred, her voice a sultry invitation, “I’m going to give you my sweet spit because you are such a good boy.”

Drawing a parallel to the iconic allure of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, she likened herself to the star, untouchable yet tantalizing. “I’ve always maintained that kissing or sharing a blowjob is an intimacy reserved exclusively for those I love,” she explained, her tone both teasing and definitive. “Everyone knows this, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use it to shock you.” Her aim was clear: to explore the limits of cognitive dissonance. “When you encounter something so shocking, your brain often tricks you into believing it’s something else,” she mused, “because it struggles to comprehend the bizarre. I want to witness this deception first-hand.

My slave lies naked on the hotel bed, his vision robbed by a blindfold I’ve secured. His arms are bound, rendering them useless, but I’ve left his legs free, anticipating the games I’ll play with his balls soon. He wears my cock ring, a symbol of my ownership over his most intimate parts, an adornment he’s not allowed to remove.

“Okay, now you’re tied up, you can’t do anything… and you emailed me that you’re crazy for my poo, right?” I tease, my voice dripping with promise. “Well, baby, I’ve got something for you in this bag.” I let him hear the rustle of the bag as I open it, the sound a prelude to the unknown. Initially, my plan was to slip some of it into his food during our dinner, watching him consume it unwittingly. Of course, such an act is reserved for those with a particular inclination. For someone like him, who revels in such fantasies, I have a plethora of scenarios in mind. But this approach is better; it’s not about the act itself but the thrill of psychological manipulation. I live to do things that drive your mind wild, to keep you guessing, teetering on the edge of anticipation. That uncertainty is what makes our time together so exhilarating.

I allow him to listen as I delve into the bag, the sounds of my actions clear: my toe entering, the squish as it becomes coated, all part of the sensory experience I’m orchestrating.

“Open your mouth, baby… because I’m going to do your mouth with my foot, and I want you to suck it clean for me,” I command, the authority in my voice undeniable.

He knows well the consequences of disobedience; an errant move would meet with a harsh reprimand. Thus, he complies, his mouth opening but just slightly, a hint of trepidation mingling with the thrill of his fantasy coming to life.

“I said, open your mouth,” I reiterate with a sharper tone, and his jaw drops wider, accommodating the full length of my toe. He closes his mouth slowly, his taste buds encountering something unexpected.

And he loves it. Why? Because what he tastes is the sweetness of Nutella chocolate I’ve smeared on my toe. The small jar of Nutella makes a distinctive sound when opened, a detail I planned when I purchased it at Lotus yesterday. Knowing he’d emailed me, expressing his eagerness for something special in a bag, I devised this twist. The shock on his face when he realizes it’s not what he expected is priceless. He sucks my toe like a child savoring a treat, cleaning every speck of chocolate from my toe and foot with relish.

“Eat my poo,” I tease, pushing him further into the realm of his own desires.

“Push your face in my toilet,” I command, the words a test of his limits, a game of control and submission.

“Push your face in my toilet,” I say, and his reaction is a cocktail of dread and anticipation.

“See, just joking, baby… just chocolate, not my poo. Now, it’s time to eat my poo, jing,” I tease, guiding him by the hand to the hotel bathroom. Yet, I don’t follow through with the act; I have a new idea, an eleventh step to my ten-step process for those eager to clean my ass. Honestly, playing with poo isn’t my style. I don’t like touching it or smearing it on anyone. My forte is teasing, manipulating the mind rather than the body. That’s why I refuse those who wish to be my toilet slaves; there’s no tease in that, no excitement. If his arousal wanes, I feel I’ve failed, and making someone hard from poop? That’s a challenge because it’s inherently repulsive. Perhaps only one or two out of a hundred would find this appealing, and I strive to make it thrilling for those few.

So, I position him before me, his mind racing with the expectation of consumption. Instead, I grab his hair, pulling his head between my legs, lifting my buttocks slightly so he can witness the act of defecation. I keep him from touching himself, reinforcing the consequences of disobedience with a reminder of my previous demonstrations. His height makes it comically difficult for him to fit his head between my legs.

Once finished, I don’t wipe; I simply pull my underwear back on, saving the aftermath for later. I push his head down towards the toilet water, making my intentions clear.

“Smell good, ya? Turn you on, baby? Now, put your tongue in and lick like a dog, my poo, and swallow something from that toilet.” I watch as he complies, dipping into the water, taking in what I demand. “Lol… you think Survivor is so bad when they make people eat something nasty? Lucky I can’t be on that show, telling everyone what they’re eating.”

This is step eleven, a new level for him—eating my poo from the toilet like my dog would.

I instruct him to clean his mouth, brush his teeth, and shower, personally ensuring he’s scrubbed clean in every way. I leave him to finish in the bathroom, knowing I have but a couple of minutes alone. During this brief solitude, I call my ladyboy friend, asking her to wait just outside the hotel room door, which I leave unlocked. He’s the epitome of the perfect slave, his demeanor one of complete submission; hands clasped behind his back, kneeling in readiness to obey my every command. He’s a paragon of what a slave should be, a model for others to emulate. With him, I feel a comfort that allows me to push boundaries, to introduce him to experiences he’s never encountered.

I let him lie on the floor, unbound, giving him the illusion of freedom, perhaps even relaxation. I offer him my foot, and he begins to lick and suck my toes, gradually moving up my leg. As his hand ventures towards my ass, I correct him, guiding his head back to my toes, “What are you thinking, baby? You think you can go up to my knee? Get down to my toe… I say you can come up high like that?”

While watching a movie, I ensure he’s not bored by offering my music. “You want to listen to my music… I want to share that with you,” I say, placing his head on my leg and fitting headphones over his ears. I let him listen to my iPod for five minutes, fostering the illusion that I’m sharing something intimate with him. At the same time, I turn up the TV volume to drown out any external sounds. It’s fortunate I do this, for the phone rings loudly, startling me, but he hears nothing over the music. I receive the call from the hotel informing me my friend has arrived. I direct her to enter quietly, the door already ajar.

“Open your mouth, baby,” I whisper, lifting one of the headphone ears. “I want to give you some sweet spit.” I watch with delight as he opens his mouth, letting my spit fall slowly onto his tongue, ensuring he swallows every drop. “Open your mouth, baby… I have more spit for you,” I continue, and he complies once more, taking in more of my saliva.

“Keep your mouth open… I have a lot for you,” I command, repeating for emphasis, “Open your mouth, baby.”

My friend enters silently, and I guide her to slowly insert her penis into his mouth. “You hungry, baby? I have more Nutella for you to suck, okay?” I coat her penis with Nutella, making sure she doesn’t touch him with her legs, maintaining the illusion. “Suck it, baby… Nutella tastes so good… I want you to clean that.”

You can tell he thinks it’s just my dildo; there’s no shock, only a mild surprise that it’s not my toe or foot this time. But as it grows in his mouth, I see his mind wrestling with the reality of what’s actually there. His mouth knows, but his mind refuses to accept it. After all, we’re alone in this hotel room, so it must be my dildo, right? He sucks on it with fervor for five minutes, clearing every trace of Nutella from it. Then, I have her stand, remove his blindfold, and take off the headphones, revealing her standing above him.

“How?” he gasps repeatedly, each “how” punctuated by my laughter.

“Now you worship me? Now you believe me when I say I am the best? You know anyone can play with your brain like that?” I tease, reveling in the moment.

“IshockU yet?” I ask him while looking at my watch. “You have another hour with me ahead of you … trust me, when I’m done with you, you’ll be more than shocked.”

I’m certain Jaa was referring to the lovely Natty as her ladyboy friend in that story. I believe this photograph was taken on the same night—yes, the very same bed where that session occurred.

In my upcoming book, I’ll be including the original texts of her stories, all 700 of them. On the left, you’ll see the raw, unpolished words she used, and on the right, the AI-enhanced version where I’ve sharpened the prose. It’ll be a unique experience, showing the evolution of her ideas alongside my own refined interpretations.

If you’ve been following me for long enough, or perhaps have experienced a femdom session with me, you’ll start to see the parallels between my approach as a Mistress and Jaa’s. The foundation is the same, yet the execution can be quite different.

However, when I tried to recreate the exact session she described, it ended quite differently than I had expected. I think that’s partly because deception has never been part of my playbook. I’ve never had a need to lie or hide anything from someone in my life. So, knowing in the back of my mind that I had to sneak my own ladyboy friend, Arita, into the room, probably aroused suspicion in my submissive’s mind. And, unfortunately, that suspicion didn’t just sit there; it lingered, clouding the moment and undermining the flow I was aiming for.

But I also think the night went off the rails because the chemistry wasn’t right. It’s one of those things that can’t be forced, no matter how well you plan. You know the saying: “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” And this night was a perfect example of that. My submissive wasn’t as compliant as I hoped—there was a distinct lack of trust, which made him more hesitant. On top of that, it was one of his first times in Bangkok, and he carried with him all the stereotypes of how unscrupulous Thai women can be. The weight of those stereotypes hung in the air, thickening the tension and adding a layer of distrust that didn’t help matters.

The only thing that really tied both attempts to pull off the same session together was the undeniable charm of the ladyboys involved. Natty, who had mostly worked with Jaa, had such a delightful personality, one that made any session feel seamless. But equally captivating—and far more innocent—was my ladyboy Arita, who was a spitting image of Sandra Bullock.

The running joke between us? I’d always call her “Thai Sandra,” a nickname she loved because it gave her the thrill of knowing I—and all my clients—thought of her not just as a beautiful woman, but as a famous movie star. She relished the idea of being more than just another girl, embracing the comparison to someone as iconic as Sandra Bullock. It was playful, fun, and honestly, a little empowering for her.

Arita put so much trust in me. Anything I’d teach her or ask her to do, she’d not only do it without question but would try so hard to execute it genuinely, and that’s why everyone loved her. Everyone, that is, except for this gentleman. What we were planning to do that evening was super off the books:

Perhaps he, my client, sensed that.

In my black and pink gym bag, the one I carried to my sessions, I had all the essentials—an iPod, an iPad, my pair of Sony noise-cancelling headphones, my Mistress clothes, a ton of rope, and even a wooden wedge to keep the outside door of the hotel wing ajar.

But unlike Jaa’s session, my client and I hadn’t discussed him being a human toilet at all. This was long before I gained my reputation for such extreme sessions. The only thing he had communicated to me through emails was his reluctance and hesitation about being with ladyboys, expressing that he “had heard Bangkok was full of ‘em”—a statement that, at the time, was undeniably true.

As soon as he mentioned this in one of his emails, I saw an opportunity to mimic Jaa’s original session. I just needed to figure out how to get Arita into the room unnoticed. Jaa had used a loud television or her iPad playing music through speakers she had brought with her, but I had a pair of very expensive noise-cancelling headphones that would render him unable to hear. All I needed to do was remove his ability to see and move, and I believed everything would go off without a hitch.

Ah, you know what I remember most from carrying out that session? It wasn’t immediately clear to me when I first read about her antics why she had bothered to bring a jar of Nutella. But after I blindfolded my client and placed the headphones on his head, drowning out all other noise except for the playlist I had chosen, it suddenly dawned on me. She had brought the Nutella to distract one of his last remaining senses—to focus on the comforting, familiar taste of chocolate, making it harder for him to focus on what was actually happening.

I didn’t bring a jar of Nutella with me, but I did have cherry-flavored lip balm in my purse. I applied a generous amount to his lips, knowing it would make him instinctively taste it and, without realizing it, start sucking it off slowly, tonguing his lips to clean it.

In fact, he did it so often that I began to reconsider the need to tie him up tightly. I didn’t want him to feel like a prisoner; I wanted him to feel as free as a bird, but still utterly distracted—like he was floating, drifting into something entirely out of his control.

Which, if I don’t mind saying so, was working perfectly. I had his penis not only at full mast for the first thirty minutes of the session, but it was quivering with excitement, leaking oil like a well-oiled machine—a vessel on the brink of explosion, struggling to contain its own anticipation.

I remember that session began late, at 10 p.m. at a hotel on Soi 11. I had instructed Arita to come up to the room at exactly 10:30 p.m. As that moment approached, I deliberately broke the rhythm of my hand caressing the shaft of his manhood. I stepped away abruptly, crossing the room to open the door for her so she wouldn’t have to knock.

Arita was already standing right outside the hotel room. I let her in, gestured toward the bathroom where she could change into her Mistress clothes, and then join me on the bed.

But as I approached the bed, my client leaped to his feet, tore off his blindfold, shook off the headphones, and stormed into the bathroom after her before I could even say a word.

Of all the senses I’d thought to eliminate, I had forgotten one of the most crucial—his sense of smell. Patty, who was fond of wearing the oriental Trésor by Lancôme, had applied it liberally before our sessions. I had bought it for her, knowing the intoxicating scent was a favorite among clients.

But in this case, the scent served as an alarm bell, signaling the presence of an intruder. He, already skeptical and uneasy, must have thought that something was wrong—that a heist was underway.

His reflexes were sharp. He must have had training in martial arts or perhaps had worked as a policeman at some point in his life. He had Patty’s arm twisted behind her back, her neck trapped in a tight grip.

What was completely unnecessary was the shove he gave her, kicking her out of the room. She crashed awkwardly into the wall across the hallway, crumpling to the floor in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably.

And here I was, in my very first week as a Mistress, already butchering my first session. I had overused the whip earlier, now I was in the middle of a confrontation with a supposed submissive man who was using force to remove us from his hotel room.

With Rainy (Mistress Jaa’s replacement) breaking down and crying during her first two sessions, and original Jaa nearly dying on her very first session due to excessive water intake while attempting to pee constantly for five hours straight—only to end up in the back office of someone who wasn’t even her client the very next session—I can confidently say that all three of our journeys into Mistress life began in a rather rocky, unpredictable way.

But I had to share that session with you because the removal of my slave’s senses using the noise-cancelling headphones, blindfold, and music planted a seed in my mind—not just about building anticipation and excitement in my client’s mind, but also about using the same techniques to cultivate fear.

It took years for that seed to sprout, developing roots of experience that would eventually allow me to return to the principles of that session—but with a far different purpose in mind.

You see, in my first few years as a Mistress, the one session I never truly understood the purpose of was the CBT or ball busting session. No matter how many times I did it, I just couldn’t wrap my head around the appeal. In every session I conducted, I made it my mission to establish the element of fear. I’d use various techniques to achieve this—some subtle, others not so much. The simplest way to instill fear? It all starts with a surprise. The first time I hit a slave, it has to be spontaneous, aggressive, and without warning. It’s that immediate shock that delivers the message loud and clear: I’m not here to play games. Disobedience will not be tolerated.

The purpose behind that first smack isn’t to provoke a confrontation; it’s about setting boundaries. I don’t just strike a man for no reason. Typically, I lay out the rules early in the session, and if the slave chooses to test those boundaries, my response has to be severe enough to make sure they don’t try it again.

But here’s the thing—men who, for whatever reason, enjoy having a Mistress damage their genitals? Those sessions used to drive me insane. A pain slut, so conditioned to endure agony, can shut off the pain receptors in his mind. Over time, the pain becomes something he tolerates, especially in the testicular area, where he’s been repeatedly abused. This constant numbness in the area makes it difficult to gauge his limits.

The real kicker? When they start flipping the tables on me. Imagine trying to get a man to use his safe word while kicking his balls for two hours straight and all he does is laugh. It was like an endless cycle of frustration. After a while, I found myself thinking, “Fuck this. There has to be a better way to handle ball busting and CBT.”

The problem? The fear element was missing. I wasn’t getting the reaction I wanted because, to them, it was just another session, just another set of pain they had conditioned themselves to endure. And that’s when I realized—this needed to change.

Rather than taking Muay Thai classes, like Rainy did to perfect her kicks, I took a different approach. Instead of just inflicting pain, I thought back to that iPod, iPad, iShockYou session that had stuck with me all these years. The fear wasn’t about the pain—it was about not knowing when it would come or how it would hit. That element of uncertainty—that’s the key to fear. It was time to incorporate that into my CBT sessions.

I began by diving into the CBT & Ball Busting folder on my pCloud, going through all the videos we had recorded from previous sessions. The first thing I did was quickly dismiss all of Rainy’s videos. They felt like kindergarten-level material compared to what I needed. Instead, I focused on the real treasure: the PhD-level CBT videos in original Mistress Jaa’s folder.

I’ve never been one to undervalue what’s important. I wouldn’t sell a single video of hers for less than $500. Those videos are nothing short of a master class in female domination. One of my all-time favorites? Jaa vs. French Spider Man—16 minutes of absolute perfection. I consider it the third-best femdom video I’ve ever seen, but when it comes to CBT, it tops everything else. It’s only rivaled by two of the most legendary Tease & Denial videos ever made—also her fine work.

You won’t find me using Tumblr, but back when it was more popular than Twitter, original Jaa held the title for the top viral clip in back-to-back years. The first was Shudder, where she blew on a slave’s cock that she’d edged for six hours, and it made him shudder uncontrollably. The second clip, aptly called Fear, was from Jaa vs. French Spider Man—the very scene I’m focusing on.

From watching that video, I learned something incredibly important: One way to break a pain slut’s will is to simply show him that you’re crazier than he is. And this is where Jaa excelled. The infamous candle under the balls scene that went viral 15 years ago? That was the moment she learned she could do anything to a man. Pain? Pain was just the starting point. In that moment, I believe the innocent version of Jaa was left behind, and evil Jaa took over.

I wasn’t quite ready to have a “who blinks first” contest when it came to dishing out punishment, but watching that video and others like it taught me a valuable lesson. I realized that even the toughest pain sluts have a tendency to brace their bodies by instinctively clenching muscles in preparation for pain. The challenge? If I could disable that reflex and deprive them of their senses to detect incoming pain, I could destroy even the most hardened pain slut.

CBT sessions are hard to get good at, and the reason for that is simple: the vast majority of submissive men are looking for a way to enjoy submission and be played with—whether physically or mentally. On the rare occasion, we’d get an email from someone requesting a CBT session, but more often than not, the back-and-forth discourse led to nothing more than a 20% conversion rate to an actual session. With our business thriving and so many emails to juggle, none of us had the patience to spend time following up on something with only a 20% chance of landing, especially when we knew that something like Face Sitting or Tease & Denial had a 100% conversion rate.

But eventually, one of the guys I saw for a session during my very first year as a Mistress, a tall young blonde European kid—Sven Spengeman—came back to me. He’d heard through the grapevine that my CBT techniques had improved over the last five years.

There was some truth to the grapevine’s claims. I had definitely grown in my ability to deliver a painful session, but with Sven, I achieved something even greater—true pain. Sonny, true pain is the greatest thing in the world… except for a nice M.L.T. (mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich), where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomatoes are ripe. It’s so perky, I love that…

But how did I extract true pain during that session? Well, certainly not with a blacksmith’s bellows. No sir, to extract true pain, you need headphones, rope, a blindfold, an iPad, and a wristwatch. See where I’m going with this?

The atmosphere in that loft was unlike any other I’d worked in before. It was stark and minimalist, a far cry from the usual plush, decadent surroundings you’d expect for a femdom session. The beams in the loft were thick and imposing, ready to support whatever I had in mind. The large floor-to-ceiling windows were covered by black drapes, not only to block the view from the outside but also to set the mood, creating a sense of isolation that was perfect for the session.

Sven, who had been to sessions with me before, looked uneasy as I led him up the ladder into the loft. The quiet of the house seemed to amplify his nervousness. The stark, open space of the room felt more like a cold, sterile art gallery than the warm, luxurious spaces I usually worked in, and I could see it on Sven’s face: he wasn’t used to this. The vibe was very different from what he was accustomed to in the typical, more lavish environments of our usual sessions.

It was like something out of an art film or maybe even a horror film, with the wooden beams overhead, casting long, haunting shadows across the floor. The space felt both expansive and confining, like the calm before a storm. The setup, in its eerie simplicity, reminded me of something out of Edward Scissorhands when he carved the ice sculptures. It was a surreal, almost chilling scene to enter, with everything stripped back to the basics.

But this was exactly the kind of space that I could use to create the psychological depth and fear I sought in my sessions. And it was in these moments of discomfort and uncertainty that I could push boundaries, extract fear, and ultimately control the atmosphere entirely, setting the stage for the intense session that lay ahead.

I could tell Sven felt the unusual tension in the air. His unease was palpable, and in that moment, I knew the environment was doing exactly what I needed it to—shifting the power dynamic between us, setting the scene for what was to come. There was no going back now.

As I watched Sven hang suspended, hands stretched above his head, and his legs bent outwards by the ropes, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The tension in his body was undeniable, and I could see the concern beginning to flicker across his face as he tested the ropes and found them firm, with no slack to be had. This was my domain now, and he was exactly where I wanted him—vulnerable, restrained, and anticipating what would come next.

The room around us felt still and quiet, save for the faint hum of the music from my iPad. I made sure to check my headphones first, feeling the connection settle into place before slipping them onto his head. His world was about to be drowned in sound, cutting off the external noise and leaving him to focus solely on the sensations I was about to create.

I moved with a casual grace, almost surgical in my precision as I took the scissors from my bag. The blade gleamed under the dim light of the loft, its sharpness a contrast to the slow, methodical way I cut his clothes off. There was no rush, no urgency. I took my time, deliberately exposing his naked body inch by inch, savoring the moment. I didn’t need him to speak—he knew better. Silence, for him, was a rule. A rule I had set early in my career to silence the constant “yes, Mistress” murmurs that would often annoy me. It was one of the first things I instilled in every submissive who stepped into my world: silence until spoken to.

His body was now naked, suspended in front of me, and I couldn’t help but admire the sight. The ropes cinched around his knees, forcing them outward, giving him a shape that reminded me of someone riding a thick-bodied horse. It was a position of submission, but there was a certain grace to it, like an elegant but restrained pose.

I took a step back, my eyes scanning his body, appraising him as I said, “You look like you’re straddling a horsey.” The words fell from my lips with a playful tone, echoing one of my favorite scenes from Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. The reference was subtle, but it was also a signal—his discomfort was a pleasure for me, and I was in control of how it unfolded.

The scene before me—Sven suspended, silent and exposed—was a reflection of how far I had come in my journey as a Mistress. Every element of the session had been carefully crafted, every rope, every sound, every word—each designed to push him to the edge of anticipation and fear, all while keeping him in a state of absolute surrender.

Inspiration often comes from the most unexpected places. In my case, a scene from the movie Closet Land deeply influenced how I approached the psychological aspect of mental domination. The film, which stars Alan Rickman as an interrogator, presents a brilliant use of suggestive intimidation, a technique that became one of my own key tools in wielding power over a submissive man.

In one of the pivotal scenes, Rickman’s character slaps the woman’s ears with an audible crack, and then he downplays the violence by saying, “Some subjects have their eyes burned out by cigarettes… but luckily for you, I don’t smoke.” With those simple words, he plants a seed of fear—an unspoken threat. The mere suggestion of what could be done lingers in her mind. It’s not the action itself but the idea of it. He doesn’t need to deliver the threat directly; instead, he allows her imagination to fill in the blanks. The threat, however mild at the moment, becomes a potential reality in her mind, making her uneasy and fearful of what might come next.

Later in the film, Rickman’s character opens a drawer and takes out a cigarette, and with this subtle action, he triggers the fear he had already implanted. The woman, understandably on edge by this point, asks, “I thought you didn’t smoke?” To which he responds calmly, “It’s my first.” It’s a masterful use of fear induction, as it implies that he is willing to cross boundaries, but only in response to her resistance. The woman’s previous fear is activated, and in that moment, she faces the terror of what might come next.

The psychological manipulation at play here is a brilliant example of suggestive intimidation—a tactic that plants the seeds of fear without having to act on it right away. By hinting at something extreme in the future, the interrogator (or in my case, the Mistress) forces the mind of the subject to contemplate the possibility of that threat. It keeps them in a state of mental suspense, where the fear of the unknown is more potent than any physical action that could follow.

I use a similar technique when I want to heighten the anxiety in a submissive during my sessions. Take, for example, the time I pulled out my spiked shoes. These particular shoes have over a thousand sharp spikes protruding from the toes, and when I placed them on the floor in front of Sven, I casually remarked, “Oh those? Don’t worry, I hardly wear them, they don’t fit.” The moment those words left my mouth, I could see the subtle shift in his expression. The seed of fear was planted. He didn’t know if I was going to use the shoes or not, but the possibility now loomed over him, creating unease, making him second-guess his every move. His mind had begun to work overtime, visualizing the potential pain, even though I had barely said a word about what I might actually do with the shoes. It wasn’t the physical object itself that instilled fear—it was the mere suggestion of what might happen.

This technique is a key part of my mental domination. I don’t always need to dish out pain to control a man. Sometimes, it’s much more effective to make him dread the pain for as long as possible. The anticipation, the uncertainty, the fear of the unknown—that’s where the true power lies. The more he fears the possibility of pain, the more control I have. The longer I can keep him in that state of mental distress, the more I am able to dominate his mind.

As I prepared to blindfold Sven, I knew this was the right time to push him further into that mental space of dread. My use of the spiked shoes was just one part of the larger mental manipulation I had set in motion. Sven’s mind was already beginning to spin with what-ifs, and now, with the blindfold coming next, I was going to amplify that feeling, locking him into the dark unknown, both mentally and physically. The anticipation of what could happen would weigh heavily on him, more so than the actual punishment. And that, I knew, would be the key to breaking him.

When I stepped forward to slip the blindfold on Sven he had a look on his face like he was embracing the darkness, there might have been hints of trepidation but there was no fear yet and as always happens to me in life and in my sessions, I have flashbacks to movie scenes that are relatable to the moment, in this case this scene from Hellraiser:

That could have been me saying to Sven “you’ve done this before haven’t you?” and him replying “many, many times.”

That’s the problem with the unimaginative, mundane world of femdom we live in today. Every Mistress is a mere reflection of the next, each with the same dungeon, the same “queen’s chair of dominance,” the same black and red color scheme. Leather and latex? Those are the only options in their wardrobe.

It’s why there was no fear in Sven’s face as I slipped the blindfold over his eyes. Too many Mistresses had followed the same tired script before me—kicking him in the balls and asking him to count them one by one. He knew what to expect. Or at least, he thought he did.

But I wasn’t like any Mistress he’d seen before.

After securing the blindfold, I flicked the right cup of the noise-cancelling Sony headphones, cranking the volume up. Then, without saying a word, I slipped my sneakers back on, climbed down the ladder, and walked out the door to the shopping mall just down the street. I left Sven standing there, his knees spread, hands tied above him—listening to the music. I gave him time to stew in the anticipation of what might happen next.

An hour later, I returned to the house, making my way up to the loft. From the moment I entered the space, I could hear the faint sound of the music still playing in his ears. He was standing there, motionless but seemingly bored. I had been careful this time, taking caution not to wear any perfume—an essential move for this moment. Though Sven couldn’t see and couldn’t hear, he still had the ability to smell and feel.

I tiptoed forward in my socks, stopping just inches from his body. The rush of power that flooded me in that moment was unlike anything I’d experienced before. To stand before a slave, totally unaware of my presence, was intoxicating.

As fate would have it, Sven shifted his weight, yawning uncontrollably, but struggled to get it out on the first attempt. His head drooped, and his hands, suspended above him, instinctively rose to help stretch the yawn that was caught within him. That was the moment of total vulnerability I had been waiting for—the perfect opening.

His mouth opened wide, his whole body preparing to release the long-awaited stretch. And that’s when I made my move.

With precision, I stepped forward, my shin making contact with his exposed, vulnerable testicles. The force of my kick was like nothing I had ever given before—a sharp, decisive blow. The sickening thud echoed, and in an instant, his yawn was replaced by a high-pitched yelp that reverberated through the air, his body jerking from the shock.

What happened next, as Sven has often told me, was the moment that forever redefined his understanding of pain and submission. From that point on, nothing—no session, no Mistress—could ever compare to what I had just begun.

Continued in On Punishment, Part 4  (link to follow once I’ve written it)

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Now, that version you just read was how I have learned to write.  I type it out in Thai – and paragraph by paragraph , or sometimes 2-3 paragraphs at a time I let chaGPT change it to an English version which matches the style you have read on jaa4u.com …. because my model is trained on the writing style from every post ever published here and every email ever sent out by us.

 

I do it in clumps of 2-3 paragraphs at a time because that way chatGPT doesn’t shrink what I’ve written down to its own condensed version which it is trained to do I think.  However, what I am curious to know is that when I use DeepSeek and it’s ability to think deeper than any other LLM out there about it’s response …. is DeepSeek’s total rewrite of my work better than what you have just read?  Does it keep the soul of my writing style … which I’ll admit leans a bit to the poetic side as that’s how I write in Thai.

Or, does a DeepSeek reimagining of my story make it sound robotic and very much “ai-ish?”

Here then, is Deep Seek’s thought process and total reimagining of what I just wrote in Part 3 above :

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

_______________________________________________________________________________

 

I was going to keep writing all day but I wanted you to see Part 3 and so, I’ll get back to work and wrap up the first chapter with part 4 in the next 48hours.

 

Mistress Wael

[email protected]