Podcasts to Paddles

[femdom] [spanking] [chastity] [sissy] [F/ff] [lezdom]

Continued from: The BJ Podcast

Oh, darlings, stepping into Jessika’s little gamer-girl room was like wandering into a candy-coated fantasy—neon lights glowing from her setup, posters of pixelated heroes on the walls, and that cozy chaos of controllers and plushies scattered like forgotten toys. Jessika and Brandy were perched there, mics ready, looking absolutely adorable in their casual cute outfits—Jessika with her reddish hair tied back in her quintessential braid, gamer headset at the ready, and Brandy all flirty with her signature cheeky grin.

Young, bubbly sprites, both of them, their eyes wide with that mix of curiosity and mischief that makes my dominatrix heart flutter. I settled into the guest chair they pulled up, my tailored skirt hugging my curves just so, heels crossed elegantly, feeling like the queen bee in a hive of naughty honeybees. The podcast kicked off, and it turned into this delightful interview—me spilling the secrets of my Facility while they peppered me with questions, their voices all giggles and gasps.

“Hi everyone, welcome back to the BJ podcast. No, that’s not what the title means—lol, you pervs! It’s just Brandy and Jessika here, and oh my god, we have a super special guest today! Mistress Andrea from the infamous Facility! Like, we’ve been dying to chat with you. Tell us everything!”

I chuckled, leaning into the mic with that velvet purr I reserve for drawing out confessions. “Hello, lovelies—thrilled to be here. The Facility? It’s my little empire of exquisite escapes, where adults come to indulge in all things kinky and corrective. Think of it as a playground for the perverse—spankings that sting just right, bondage that binds the body and frees the mind, humiliation that leaves you blushing for days. We’ve got specialty rooms for every flavor: the judicial wing for those courtroom fantasies, where you’re ‘sentenced’ to bare-bottomed justice over my knee or on the spanking machine. The antique classroom, all polished desks and plaid kilts, where naughty ‘students’ write lines before bending for the paddle. And the nursery—oh, that’s a pink paradise of pacifiers and powders, perfect for regressing into blissful, diapered submission.”

“Omg, the nursery sounds so cute but so naughty! Like, at our age, getting spanked and put in diapers? Wild. But tell us more about the spankings—do adults really get, like, public cornertime?”

“Absolutely, darlings. Public cornertime is a staple—nose to the wall, hands on head, bare bum on display for all to see. It’s that delicious humiliation, standing there with your cheeks glowing red from a fresh spanking, feeling every eye on your vulnerability. 

For the adults, it’s about that power exchange: being reduced to a naughty child, even at 24 or 40, over my lap for a hand-spanking that builds from warm tingles to fiery stings. Or bent over for Daddy’s belt— that ritualistic whoosh through the loops, the crack across bare skin. 

Positions vary: over the knee for intimacy, hands on knees for exposure, or draped over furniture for those deeper, thudding impacts. And the questions you asked earlier—age-regressed attire? 

Often yes, like fuzzy PJs or schoolgirl skirts flipped up. Cornertime lengths? Fifteen to thirty minutes, depending on the ‘crime,’ long enough to let the lesson sink in while the burn lingers.”

“Wow, that sounds intense! Like, the buildup—the lecture, the waiting… ugh, I’d be dying. But okay, we have to ask about the mandatory thing for guys—the cock cages? That’s new to us. How do they work? Why?”

I smiled, crossing my legs with a soft whisper of black hose, and a caress to the gold key around my neck. “Ah, the cages—my favorite gateway to deeper submission. For all male clients, it’s mandatory: those stainless steel or silicone devices lock around the penis and balls, a little brass lock clicking shut to deny any unauthorized erections or touches. 

How they work? Simple—the cage encases the shaft, keeping it limp and contained, with a ring around the base for security. Urination and cleanings are possible through the slots, but pleasure? Forget it. Why? Control, darling—pure, exquisite control. It strips away their ‘manhood,’ rendering them pussy-free, caged and limp, vessels for others’ pleasure rather than leaders in the bedroom. It’s a wonderful intro to forced feminization: start with the cage, add panties to hide the bulge—silky lace or cotton briefs that rub against the metal, heightening the humiliation. Then full sissification—dresses, makeup, wigs—turning alpha types into simpering maids begging to be used. No more thrusting conquests; they’re the ones penetrated, plugged, or pegged, their locked cocks forgotten in the frenzy. Questions? Fire away.”

“Omg, that’s… hot but scary! So, like, they can’t get hard at all? And the feminization—do they wear the panties over the cage?”

“Exactly—no erections without my key. The panties go over, that soft fabric teasing the confined skin, a constant reminder of their demotion. It’s transformative—watch a burly exec wiggle in frilly undies, begging for release that’s never coming. And for sweet little fillies like you two, if you were to ever visit my Facility, you'd always be safe from men with free-wielding cocks, because there simply aren't any."

“Lol, I can picture it! And the sissification—full makeup and everything? How do they feel after?”

“Blissfully broken, usually. Makeup tutorials under my guidance, heels that make them totter—it’s all about flipping the script, turning predators into prey. They end up craving it, that pussy-free existence where they’re the ones filled and fucked.”

The interview flowed like that—questions on rooms like the medical suite for “exams” with stirrups and probes, or the pet play area with leashes and bowls. We laughed, we gasped, and by the end, their adorable energy had me scheming collaborations. 

The interview wrapped up with that bubbly energy only Jessika and Brandy could muster—giggles echoing as they signed off, their mics going silent, the red recording light flickering out like a candle snuffed in the wind. Jessika’s gamer-girl room felt even cozier now, the neon glow softening around us, those adorable sprites leaning back in their chairs with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, still buzzing from our chat about cages, classrooms, and cornertime confessions. They were precious, really—young, eager, with that innocent curiosity masking deeper cravings I could spot from a mile away.

I leaned forward in my chair, the tailored skirt shifting against my skin with a whisper, my heels planted firmly on the floor as I fixed them with that knowing gaze I reserve for peeling back layers. “You’ve never actually been spanked before, have you?” I asked softly, my voice a velvet thread pulling at their secrets.

They exchanged a glance, those ashamed little looks like they’d been caught with hands in the cookie jar—or perhaps in their panties, given their content. Jessika bit her lip, Brandy’s cheeks blooming pink, the farce of their podcast hanging in the air like unspoken smoke. All that talk of Daddy’s belt and bare-bottom beltings, delivered with such upbeat flair… it was charming, but transparent to someone like me, who’s turned real whimpers into symphonies.

“I’m not judging you, lovelies,” I assured them, my tone warm but commanding, leaning in closer to bridge the gap. “Fantasies are the spark; reality is the fire. How about this: come to my Facility, free of charge. Experience a real spanking—for real reasons. Let me show you what it truly feels like, that sting that builds to surrender, the humiliation that melts into bliss.”

They looked uncertain at first, nerves flickering in their eyes like shadows in candlelight—fidgeting hands, shifting in their seats, that mix of fear and forbidden thrill I know so well. But closet spankos like them? This was their golden ticket, a safe space to explore the kink that haunted their masturbation. I added, ever the enigmatic draw pulling them into my web, “You could have private one-on-one sessions, or… the two of you could be spanked together, if you wish. Side by side, sharing the sting, the shame—intimate, isn’t it?”

They giggled then, holding hands across the desk like schoolgirls plotting mischief, decisions flashing in their eyes without a word spoken. “Together,” Jessika blurted, Brandy nodding with a shy grin. “Yeah, together sounds… fun.”

I stood, smoothing my skirt with that elegant poise that commands without effort, thanking them for the show with a wink and a smile that promised delights—and discipline. “11 a.m. sharp ladies, at my Facility tomorrow,” I said, voice dropping to that authoritative purr. “You’re both in very big trouble.” Another wink, a lingering look that left them breathless, and I turned, heels clicking out of the room, the door shutting softly behind me. Let the anticipation simmer—they’d be mine soon enough.

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

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