Greetings little ones,
Apologizes, but Mistress Strict is off the air temporarily as my ISP (Bigpond GRRRRRRRRR) is having some exchange problems in my area and I am waiting on a site visit from one of their geeks. oh well.
As soon as things are back on track, I will tell you all about my lovely Christmas new year holiday.
Be wicked
Mistress Strict
Monday, 31 December 2007
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Bare bottom spanking
Dear ones,
Is there anything more intimate, more erotic or more sensual than a good old fashioned bare bottomed spanking? Turing my boy over my knee, feeling his weight settle over my knees, feeling is breathe quicken, the warmth of his skin. My hand rubbing gently over his bare arse. The shiver of anticipation before my flat palm is brought down hard and fast across the exposed flesh.
I delight in seeing the rosey red colour rise, the first stroke producing pink finger marks, the more strokes the deeper the colour. The skin under my hand warms the more stroke I apply.
The moan of a boy as I rake my nails over his tender bottom. Oh the joy and delight a bare bottom spanking brings.
Is there anything more intimate, more erotic or more sensual than a good old fashioned bare bottomed spanking? Turing my boy over my knee, feeling his weight settle over my knees, feeling is breathe quicken, the warmth of his skin. My hand rubbing gently over his bare arse. The shiver of anticipation before my flat palm is brought down hard and fast across the exposed flesh.
I delight in seeing the rosey red colour rise, the first stroke producing pink finger marks, the more strokes the deeper the colour. The skin under my hand warms the more stroke I apply.
The moan of a boy as I rake my nails over his tender bottom. Oh the joy and delight a bare bottom spanking brings.
Saturday, 17 November 2007
it isn't easy
Dear ones,
I have a number of sissy girls doing distance training with me. I am proud of them all. They work hard, doing their very best to complete the lessons I give them. Thy learn to walk, talk, sit, curtsy, kneel, serve and most importantly obey! It is NOT easy being a sissy and distance training really tests a girls commitment and dedication. The lessons I set are individualized to each girls level of experience and personal circumstances, but still from time to time each one will find it hard if not impossible to complete a given task.
Having failed to complete a task the true test of a distance trainee is to accept the punishment given (if there is one,) and continue to move forward. It is all to easy to give up. A true sissy would never do that. Times of self doubt are natural, but giving up is not the way to move forward. Accepting that from time to time we all fail and using that failure as a learning tool is the ideal.
A sissy must be dedicated. I am proud of all my girls, because they trust in me, they give their all to their lessons and they are beauties, every one.
I have a number of sissy girls doing distance training with me. I am proud of them all. They work hard, doing their very best to complete the lessons I give them. Thy learn to walk, talk, sit, curtsy, kneel, serve and most importantly obey! It is NOT easy being a sissy and distance training really tests a girls commitment and dedication. The lessons I set are individualized to each girls level of experience and personal circumstances, but still from time to time each one will find it hard if not impossible to complete a given task.
Having failed to complete a task the true test of a distance trainee is to accept the punishment given (if there is one,) and continue to move forward. It is all to easy to give up. A true sissy would never do that. Times of self doubt are natural, but giving up is not the way to move forward. Accepting that from time to time we all fail and using that failure as a learning tool is the ideal.
A sissy must be dedicated. I am proud of all my girls, because they trust in me, they give their all to their lessons and they are beauties, every one.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Torment
Bound and helpless.
That is how I like to see a man. Unable to escape, ready to serve me. I light a candle and sit back, my heel resting in the back of his neck and I allow the candle wax to drip onto his back. His body tenses and the heat of the wax caresses his skin. Anticipation, waiting. When the next drop falls it catches him be surprise. He strains, trying it seems to hear the drop falling, hoping to prepare his body for its kiss.
Again and again. My pleasure toy. Taking my pain.
That is how I like to see a man. Unable to escape, ready to serve me. I light a candle and sit back, my heel resting in the back of his neck and I allow the candle wax to drip onto his back. His body tenses and the heat of the wax caresses his skin. Anticipation, waiting. When the next drop falls it catches him be surprise. He strains, trying it seems to hear the drop falling, hoping to prepare his body for its kiss.
Again and again. My pleasure toy. Taking my pain.
Sunday, 4 November 2007
Bondage with a twist
Just the other day, I had the most amusing bondage session with a relatively new client.
Over the years, he had visited many professional Dommes, he had visited many local dungeons and would often indulge his passion for bondage when he was interstate and overseas on business. He had the feel of a ‘been there done that’ kind of gentleman. He expected nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted a bondage session. He wanted to be held, exposed, taunted and teased. He wanted it to be ‘real’, secure, he wanted to be unable to escape no matter how he tried and struggled.
It was with much satisfaction that I listened to his enthusiastic feedback at the conclusion of our session. He gushed about how he had never experienced a session that had left him feeling so ‘alive’. He fervently expressed his desire to experience this type of session again.
WHY WAS THE SESSION Soooo DIFFERENT?
Most dungeons are located in easy to reach central city districts, in industrial areas or inner city suburbs. Session are held in atmospherically lit rooms, themed rooms with candles, rich looking fabrics, stone walls or medical rooms. For his session, I took him into my largest play space. The Australian bush. My studio is located on a secluded private retreat, with plenty of bushland and privacy.
He was bound and helpless, spread eagled between two unyielding gum trees. Mother nature was at her most wicked best, the harsh sun licked at his tender exposed skin, he was indeed vulnerable and exposed. Blindfolded he knew nothing of his location. He could feel the wind on his face, the sweat trickling down his chest, he was helpless, at the mercy of mother nature, her biting insect hoards and me. The more he struggled against the bonds, the more he sweated, the more the insects bothered him.
I enjoyed the session very mush because for me, there is nothing better that making a session, REAL.
Over the years, he had visited many professional Dommes, he had visited many local dungeons and would often indulge his passion for bondage when he was interstate and overseas on business. He had the feel of a ‘been there done that’ kind of gentleman. He expected nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted a bondage session. He wanted to be held, exposed, taunted and teased. He wanted it to be ‘real’, secure, he wanted to be unable to escape no matter how he tried and struggled.
It was with much satisfaction that I listened to his enthusiastic feedback at the conclusion of our session. He gushed about how he had never experienced a session that had left him feeling so ‘alive’. He fervently expressed his desire to experience this type of session again.
WHY WAS THE SESSION Soooo DIFFERENT?
Most dungeons are located in easy to reach central city districts, in industrial areas or inner city suburbs. Session are held in atmospherically lit rooms, themed rooms with candles, rich looking fabrics, stone walls or medical rooms. For his session, I took him into my largest play space. The Australian bush. My studio is located on a secluded private retreat, with plenty of bushland and privacy.
He was bound and helpless, spread eagled between two unyielding gum trees. Mother nature was at her most wicked best, the harsh sun licked at his tender exposed skin, he was indeed vulnerable and exposed. Blindfolded he knew nothing of his location. He could feel the wind on his face, the sweat trickling down his chest, he was helpless, at the mercy of mother nature, her biting insect hoards and me. The more he struggled against the bonds, the more he sweated, the more the insects bothered him.
I enjoyed the session very mush because for me, there is nothing better that making a session, REAL.
Sunday, 28 October 2007
House Slave
Greetings little ones,
Well Mistress has been keeping VERY busy, clients, clients and more clients. What a delightful change to have a house slave all for my very own.
My house slave did my bidding, from morning until evening he was there just for my use. I clean and pamper ME. My feet were tended in the most delicious manner imaginable, peppermint foot balm, massaged and pampered. Oh my how delightful it is to have someone dedicated to MY pleasure.
Chores were done without fuss. Supervision was a joy not a chore for me. Watching my house slave clean and scrub on her knees, with the same level of dedication he showed to massaging my feet as to cleaning the floor. I was so proud and pleased with the house slaves focus.
EVERYTHING was about making my life easier. When I had another client, my house slave waited bound in the corn of my studio. Not struggling, not moaning, not seeking my attention. He showed that he honoured the process, respected the needs of my other client and most importantly respected ME.
Having a house slave to do my bidding is a truly wonderful treat. I do hope there are more dedicated slaves out there for me to use, tease and appreciate
Well Mistress has been keeping VERY busy, clients, clients and more clients. What a delightful change to have a house slave all for my very own.
My house slave did my bidding, from morning until evening he was there just for my use. I clean and pamper ME. My feet were tended in the most delicious manner imaginable, peppermint foot balm, massaged and pampered. Oh my how delightful it is to have someone dedicated to MY pleasure.
Chores were done without fuss. Supervision was a joy not a chore for me. Watching my house slave clean and scrub on her knees, with the same level of dedication he showed to massaging my feet as to cleaning the floor. I was so proud and pleased with the house slaves focus.
EVERYTHING was about making my life easier. When I had another client, my house slave waited bound in the corn of my studio. Not struggling, not moaning, not seeking my attention. He showed that he honoured the process, respected the needs of my other client and most importantly respected ME.
Having a house slave to do my bidding is a truly wonderful treat. I do hope there are more dedicated slaves out there for me to use, tease and appreciate
Monday, 15 October 2007
A Story for you entertainment
She watched his every move. “Don't you tire of controlling everything?” she asked him in a matter-of-fact manner. “Doesn't it exhaust you trying to keep things organized? Wouldn't you like to just let go of it for a while?" Her eyes pierced his own for the single moment he dared look into them.
"Give yourself to me," she half-demanded, half-requested. Holding his hand more tightly, she drew herself closer to him. He watched her breasts seem to poke up from her leather bra and felt her long nails dug into his palm. "Would you like to be my boy?" she asked and sat silently, demanding that he reply.
There was no sense to this, he realized, yet he felt his chin move up and down in affirmative response. For the first time since he could remember, no thoughts raced through his mind yet it wasn't empty. He felt her fingers dig in harder as she stood and guided him behind her.
She led him down a hallway and into a darkened room. Releasing his hand once they were inside, he heard a door latch soundly. The darkness unnerved him and stoked the fear he harbored of being unable to categorize his surroundings and make sense of what his world had just become. Her voice interrupted his fear.
"Stand absolutely still and be silent," she whispered loudly from her throat.
The sound of her stiletto heels against the tile floor pierced his ears. Each step brought her closer and his body's warmth seemed to increase proportionally to her nearness. His trembling legs threatened once or twice to cease supporting his weight as he felt and heard her approach. The buzzing in his ears rose and his hands hung without function from his arms.
"Relax," she cooed, "it's not what you think you want, but it's what you need."
Her fingers touched his chest and her voice changed tenor. "Unbutton your shirt," she commanded, "and drop it on the floor."
For a moment, he hesitated. But there was something in her voice that made him want to remove it and something inside his own head that seemed to force him to perform as she instructed. As the white shirt fell silently to the tile floor, he studied his body to determine if he was now cold. He should be, he figured, because the outdoor temperature was low enough that …
"Shoes!" she instructed. "Take off your shoes and socks and stand silently!"
"NOW!" she ordered and without warning sent a single stroke of an unseen cane across his left cheek.
The shock of being struck overwhelmed him. Unable to think any longer, he simply stood shirtless in a dark room. All his body realized, even without his mind's analysis that it didn't want to feel that cane again.
He scampered to remove his shoes and socks and threw them halfway across the room. Anything to comply - anything to avoid that evil cane! Perhaps he heard a small giggle or perhaps it was his ears again unable to hear clearly. It didn't matter. Only the cane mattered.
"Pants are next," she continued without abatement. "Remove them, throw them on the floor."
Without giving him an opportunity to comply, she struck his right cheek soundly. He scrambled to comply and ripped at his belt, button and zipper to yank his pants to his ankles. Struggling to pull them off in the utter darkness, he lost his balance and found himself plopped indecorously on the tile floor with his jeans tied hopelessly around his feet.
"On your knees," she ordered. When he managed to plant his hands on the floor and steady himself to his knees, she planted two even blows - one on each of his now-searing ass cheeks.
His throat emitted an indiscernible groan as he flopped onto the tile and tore his jeans from his ankles. Forcing himself upright as quickly as possible, he tossed his jeans without direction and tried to comfort his aching ass with his hands.
He felt her approach him almost at the same time he inhaled the aroma of her perfume. The fragrance that filled his nostrils and his brain excluded all thought processes. He couldn't think because her bouquet saturated him completely. When her fingers touched his naked chest, he literally gasped for air.
She chuckled and planted cold metal against his waist. Unable to hear or see or think, he stood silently and tried to force his body to understand her actions. The metal pressed lower and lower and within moments his underpants had been cut and removed. Scissors or knife, he wondered briefly, until he realized that he was absolutely naked, cut off from the comfort of his carefully developed reality and at the mercy of this woman whose last name he didn’t even know.
It was at the moment of that combination of understandings that he began to cry.
He didn't just whimper; instead, he felt great gushes of sobbing emerge from his eyes but begin down deep in his gut. The years of concentration, organization, order and total absorption in his work fell from his soul like a snake sheds his skin to begin anew.
His skin burned but the sobbing continued unabated until she closed in and licked his tears with her tender lips. As she drank in his fear and grief, he was comforted by her care and concern. He relished in it and allowed himself to cede that piece of him to her tongue.
It was then that she took his cock in her gloved hand and pulled it toward her, and along with it, him. Struggling to match her step, she led him around the darkened room in a macabre sort of dance. She strode faster and he semi-galloped to keep up with her. When she turned, his cock turned first and his body followed. The march forced him the length and width of the room and just for good measure, she strutted him around its perimeter until she finally yielded his organ.
An unseen rod greeted his ass once more and he pressed his hands to his cheeks as if to ward off any further blows.
"At attention!" she hissed into his ear. The overpowering memory of the rod drove his hands to his sides, his chest forward, his chin up and his legs straight.
Pinching both of his nipples with her fingertips, she pulled up and straightened him even further. His mind was on fire and his body seemed to belong to someone else. Nothing made sense, nothing fit into anything he could have imagined.
"It's late," she commented, "and I'm tired."
He felt a surge of energy invade his body and depart just as quickly.
"And I'm hungry," she finished.
He felt her fingertips release his nipples then rub them to drive a merciless searing pain throughout his chest. Her fingers and palms rubbed against his chest, back, waist, hips, groin and neck. She wiped his eyes, presumably with his underpants, and then dabbed carefully at his face to remove any trace of sweat.
"Get dressed," she ordered and dropped his pants, shirt, socks and shoes at his feet. "I'll see you at the table."
The clicking of her heels on the tile floor grew fainter and a bright flash of light told him that a door had been opened and then closed. With no one providing orders, he was at a loss as to what to do next, but soon, little by little, his mind emerged and reminded him that he was naked. Dressing quickly, he felt his way toward the door, opened it, trekked the hallway and rediscovered her sitting waiting for him.
For the first time, he understood exactly what he wanted and needed. He nodded and seeing him, she smiled broadly at the sense of calm he exuded.
"Give yourself to me," she half-demanded, half-requested. Holding his hand more tightly, she drew herself closer to him. He watched her breasts seem to poke up from her leather bra and felt her long nails dug into his palm. "Would you like to be my boy?" she asked and sat silently, demanding that he reply.
There was no sense to this, he realized, yet he felt his chin move up and down in affirmative response. For the first time since he could remember, no thoughts raced through his mind yet it wasn't empty. He felt her fingers dig in harder as she stood and guided him behind her.
She led him down a hallway and into a darkened room. Releasing his hand once they were inside, he heard a door latch soundly. The darkness unnerved him and stoked the fear he harbored of being unable to categorize his surroundings and make sense of what his world had just become. Her voice interrupted his fear.
"Stand absolutely still and be silent," she whispered loudly from her throat.
The sound of her stiletto heels against the tile floor pierced his ears. Each step brought her closer and his body's warmth seemed to increase proportionally to her nearness. His trembling legs threatened once or twice to cease supporting his weight as he felt and heard her approach. The buzzing in his ears rose and his hands hung without function from his arms.
"Relax," she cooed, "it's not what you think you want, but it's what you need."
Her fingers touched his chest and her voice changed tenor. "Unbutton your shirt," she commanded, "and drop it on the floor."
For a moment, he hesitated. But there was something in her voice that made him want to remove it and something inside his own head that seemed to force him to perform as she instructed. As the white shirt fell silently to the tile floor, he studied his body to determine if he was now cold. He should be, he figured, because the outdoor temperature was low enough that …
"Shoes!" she instructed. "Take off your shoes and socks and stand silently!"
"NOW!" she ordered and without warning sent a single stroke of an unseen cane across his left cheek.
The shock of being struck overwhelmed him. Unable to think any longer, he simply stood shirtless in a dark room. All his body realized, even without his mind's analysis that it didn't want to feel that cane again.
He scampered to remove his shoes and socks and threw them halfway across the room. Anything to comply - anything to avoid that evil cane! Perhaps he heard a small giggle or perhaps it was his ears again unable to hear clearly. It didn't matter. Only the cane mattered.
"Pants are next," she continued without abatement. "Remove them, throw them on the floor."
Without giving him an opportunity to comply, she struck his right cheek soundly. He scrambled to comply and ripped at his belt, button and zipper to yank his pants to his ankles. Struggling to pull them off in the utter darkness, he lost his balance and found himself plopped indecorously on the tile floor with his jeans tied hopelessly around his feet.
"On your knees," she ordered. When he managed to plant his hands on the floor and steady himself to his knees, she planted two even blows - one on each of his now-searing ass cheeks.
His throat emitted an indiscernible groan as he flopped onto the tile and tore his jeans from his ankles. Forcing himself upright as quickly as possible, he tossed his jeans without direction and tried to comfort his aching ass with his hands.
He felt her approach him almost at the same time he inhaled the aroma of her perfume. The fragrance that filled his nostrils and his brain excluded all thought processes. He couldn't think because her bouquet saturated him completely. When her fingers touched his naked chest, he literally gasped for air.
She chuckled and planted cold metal against his waist. Unable to hear or see or think, he stood silently and tried to force his body to understand her actions. The metal pressed lower and lower and within moments his underpants had been cut and removed. Scissors or knife, he wondered briefly, until he realized that he was absolutely naked, cut off from the comfort of his carefully developed reality and at the mercy of this woman whose last name he didn’t even know.
It was at the moment of that combination of understandings that he began to cry.
He didn't just whimper; instead, he felt great gushes of sobbing emerge from his eyes but begin down deep in his gut. The years of concentration, organization, order and total absorption in his work fell from his soul like a snake sheds his skin to begin anew.
His skin burned but the sobbing continued unabated until she closed in and licked his tears with her tender lips. As she drank in his fear and grief, he was comforted by her care and concern. He relished in it and allowed himself to cede that piece of him to her tongue.
It was then that she took his cock in her gloved hand and pulled it toward her, and along with it, him. Struggling to match her step, she led him around the darkened room in a macabre sort of dance. She strode faster and he semi-galloped to keep up with her. When she turned, his cock turned first and his body followed. The march forced him the length and width of the room and just for good measure, she strutted him around its perimeter until she finally yielded his organ.
An unseen rod greeted his ass once more and he pressed his hands to his cheeks as if to ward off any further blows.
"At attention!" she hissed into his ear. The overpowering memory of the rod drove his hands to his sides, his chest forward, his chin up and his legs straight.
Pinching both of his nipples with her fingertips, she pulled up and straightened him even further. His mind was on fire and his body seemed to belong to someone else. Nothing made sense, nothing fit into anything he could have imagined.
"It's late," she commented, "and I'm tired."
He felt a surge of energy invade his body and depart just as quickly.
"And I'm hungry," she finished.
He felt her fingertips release his nipples then rub them to drive a merciless searing pain throughout his chest. Her fingers and palms rubbed against his chest, back, waist, hips, groin and neck. She wiped his eyes, presumably with his underpants, and then dabbed carefully at his face to remove any trace of sweat.
"Get dressed," she ordered and dropped his pants, shirt, socks and shoes at his feet. "I'll see you at the table."
The clicking of her heels on the tile floor grew fainter and a bright flash of light told him that a door had been opened and then closed. With no one providing orders, he was at a loss as to what to do next, but soon, little by little, his mind emerged and reminded him that he was naked. Dressing quickly, he felt his way toward the door, opened it, trekked the hallway and rediscovered her sitting waiting for him.
For the first time, he understood exactly what he wanted and needed. He nodded and seeing him, she smiled broadly at the sense of calm he exuded.
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