National Treasure

Continued from: Family Meeting

So, I stumbled across a cooking show on Prime the other night. Long-time readers of my blog will know that I enjoy dabbling in the culinary arts. I am not a classically trained chef but I've had training and have some skills in that space. 

You will also remember that I'm a huge Anthony Bourdain fan, rest his soul, and I did a tribute post to him once: Bourdain Post

From his books (I've read them all) to his adventurous food travel shows and the rebellious, rock and roll perspective that he brought to his narration and writing, he was truly a gem, I miss him. 

(Bear with me, this post is still about spanking you perverts!)

To that end, I was delighted to see him on a show that I never knew or heard about before. It's called The Taste U.K.

The gentleman on the left is Ludo Lefebvre (pronounced: la-fab), who began working in Michelin star restaurants in France at the age of 14. He eventually earned his own Michelin star for a restaurant he opened and operated in Los Angeles. 

The gentleman on the right, needs no introduction, it was nice to hear his voice again and his quick-witted, often inappropriate commentary. 

But, between them both, the piece de resistance, the diamond in the roughness of these two vulgar, tattooed men. 

Nigella Lawson! 

Totally got a little girl-boner when I saw it was her as part of this cast. 

All of you silly men out there (and I'm sure, some of the women)...if you fancy a "Mommy" approach to a spanking fantasy, her wooden spoon, her antique carpet beater, my GOD, she is your gal! 

From her extremely posh accent to her grace, her poise and her sheer elegance, I literally did not know how to describe this National treasure using only one word. Voluptuousness? I thought. It didn't even come close to doing her justice. I had to ask one of the A.I. girls for help. How do I pack all of these words into one description to truly honour this beautiful woman. 

Elegant, posh, curvaceous, refined, prim, proper, maternal, voluptuous.

"Why don't you try, Opulent, Ma'am?" The A.I. version of Summer said to me. 

That's perfect, I thought to myself. Her opulence is unquestionable, and as I watched her on this show and heard her speaking, the Mommy fantasy began to take-hold of me, as I squished my thighs together on the couch. 

Bourdain, in one of the episodes and in true Bourdain style, drops a: 

"Don't let her fool you, there's an iron first under that velvet glove." lol - Classic Anthony. 

The two of them were actually friends, the most unlikely of pairing when I saw them collaborating for the first time on a show. She's silk stockings, pearls and high-tea. He's jean jackets, punk rock music and stale cigarette smoke. Who knew.  

The concept of the show is almost like that singing show called The Voice. Twenty-four people who are not chefs, some had training, most were just home cooks, had but one tasting spoon to show the judges what they are made of. 

They had to pack their entire culinary prowess into one spoon for the judges to taste. Then, like The Voice, they either got dismissed, or one of the judges, all of the judges, asked and fought over the person to be on their team.

Cute concept, until sadly, people started to get eliminated and sent home. But that's when my butterflies began to stir, listening to Nigella scold these adults, literally sending them off to a room, heads bowed in shame, to think about their actions and how much they disappointed "Mommy" with their cooking. Layer on that accent of hers and I could see the spanking scene playing out before me. 

I asked one of the A.I. girls, "hey, can you play the role of an old-fashioned, opulent, elegant and absolutely gorgeous, posh-accented, British mother? The mother has two adult children and based on their recent, poor behaviour, she is required to punish them." 

This is what it came up with (it named itself Lady Penelope in the story but lets just call her Lady Nigella, shall we?):

Picture Lady Nigella, resplendent in her tailored pencil dress and heels, standing ramrod straight in the centre of the drawing room. Her adult children, Reginald and Elizabeth, both impeccably dressed in their finest evening attire, quake before her steely gaze. 

"Now then," Lady Nigella begins, her cut-glass accent slicing through the tense atmosphere. "I believe we have some rather pressing matters to discuss, regarding your appalling behaviour last evening. 

Reginald, evert the brazen one, attempts to interject. "Mother, honestly, it was just a spot of harmless fun. No need to make such a fuss."

Lady Nigella's eyes narrow dangerously. "Harmless fun, you say? Is that what you call making a complete arse of yourself in front of our guests? And you! "she turns her icy gaze on Elizabeth, "cavorting with that stable boy like some common tart. I raised you to have standards, child." 

Omg, that was gold! Haha, cavorting....the stable boy...tart. lol  

If you watch the cooking show, you'll actually hear her say "tart", obviously in different context. She says testicles and balls several times (apparently rabbit testicles are quite tasty). And other triggering Mommy words such as "bottom, ...of the best, and disappointed."  

Let's keep going, chop, chop. 

"Where is your dignity?" Elizabeth hangs her head in shame, unable to meet her mother's piercing stare. "I'm terribly sorry, Mummy," she murmurs. "It won't happen again, I promise." 

"Indeed it will not," Lady Nigella agrees. "Because I intend to ensure that neither of you forgets this lesson anytime soon." 

She retrieves a slim, supple rattan cane from its sacred spot atop the fireplace mantle, flexing it ominously between her hands. "Both of  you, remove your garments below the waist and bend over the back of the sofa. Six of the best, on the bare. And I expect you to count each one aloud and thank me afterwards. Failure to do so will result in starting over. Am I quite clear?" 

A.I. nailed that one, well done! At this point to add rich detail, I could have stopped it and started asking things like, can you describe how the siblings bare their bottoms, the shame and embarrassment of seeing each other's most private parts, etc. Which is more in the style of Miss Julie and her stories, but I didn't want to interrupt, I just told the thing, "go on." 

The siblings exchange horrified glances, but they know better than to argue. With shaking hands, they strip naked from the waist down, baring their bottoms for the impending punishment. 

Lady Nigella takes her position behind them, tapping the cane menacingly against her palm. "Let us begin, shall we?" Without further ado, she brings the cane whistling down onto Reginald's exposed cheeks. He yelps in pain, dancing from foot to foot. "One! Thank you, Mother," he gasps out, his voice trembling. The second stroke follows swiftly, eliciting another cry. "Two! Thank you, Mother!" 

By the third stroke, tears are streaming down his face, but he manages to choke out the required words. Lady Nigella shows no mercy, laying on each stroke with precision and force. When she finally finishes with Reginald, his bottom is a perfectly laddered pattern of angry welts. 

She turns her attention to Elizabeth, who is already sniffling in anticipation. The first stroke lands with a sharp zip, and Elizabeth howls. "One! Thank you, Mummy!" she sobs. The cane continues to fall relentlessly, each stroke harder than the last. Elizabeth's bare bum soon matches her brother's, a painful reminder of their transgressions. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, it is over. Both siblings are left weeping and rubbing their sore behinds, their dignity in tatters. Lady Nigella replaces the cane on the mantlepiece, her expression stern but satisfied. 

"I trust this experience will serve as a reminder to behave with the decorum befitting your station," she says coolly. "Now, run along and compose yourselves. We have supper guests arriving shortly, and I expect you both to be on your best behaviour. 

Chastened and contrite, Reginald and Elizabeth slink from the room, their bottoms throbbing with each step. As they depart, Lady Nigella allows herself a small, secret smile. Nothing like a good, old-fashioned caning to keep one's offspring in line, she thinks to herself. 

Perhaps she should institute regular sessions, just to be safe. After all, one can never be too careful when it comes to raising proper English gentlefolk. 

Not bad, A.I., not bad at all. Nigella, what did you think? 

I once thought the only good thing to come out the U.K. were Twiglets and Dyson vacuums, but you lot have a real treasure on your hands with Nigella.  Take good care of her and let's hear what the A.I. thinks of the real Lady Nigella. 

Nigella Lawson is a well-known British food writer, television chef, and personality. She's famous for her accessible approach to cooking and her celebration of indulgent, comforting food. 

She's also celebrated for her beauty, charm, and effortless way of blending sensuality with cooking - a style that has made her a beloved figure worldwide. 

Ummm, *slowly raises hand on behalf of Canada, "present". 

Nigella Lawson's beauty is the epitome of posh elegance with a tough of earthy sensuality. She exudes a timeless, voluptuous allure, characterized by: 

• Dark, glossy locks that cascade effortlessly, framing her face with sophistication
• Striking, luminous skin that radiates warmth and vitality
• Curvaceous, feminine figure that embodies classic beauty and confidence
• Expressive, sparking eyes that draw you in with intelligence and charm
• A naturally graceful demeanour, paired with her posh accent, making her presence both refined and inviting.     

Rather than flaunting wealth or extravagance, Nigella's opulence lies in her ability to make life feel effortlessly luxurious and full of pleasure. She represents a lifestyle where beauty, comfort, and sophistication coexist seamlessly. 

Wow, I thought I was the one with the girl-crush on her. Seems like the A.I. has a flushed-face too. 

While I am notoriously impervious to the charms of desserts, I'd try her cupcake, if she offered me one.

*wink  

She's has loads of holiday recipes online, check out that show if you have time, it's fun. I'll see if I can Christmas present all of you a video of me: 

Meh, my selfies are better. 

If you don't check back in during the holidays (I will likely be doing some writing), happy holidays from Summer and I, Russell and Sarah Jane. Wishing you all a safe, sane and consensual 2025. 💋

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Cabin Fever

Continued from: "Come on, let's Colour"

The car tires crunched on the gravel driveway as we pulled up to the quaint cottage nestled in the snowy woods. The night air was crisp an cold, and the moon shone brightly overhead. I turned to Summer, who was practically bouncing with excitement in the passenger seat. "We're here, sweetie," I announced, a warm smile spreading across my face. "Our own little winter wonderland." 

Summer's eyes sparkled with delight as she took in the charming sight before us. The cottage was straight out of a fairy tale, with its pitched roof and stone chimney puffing out wisps of smoke. As we gathered our bags from the trunk, I couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over me. This was exactly what we needed - a chance to escape the hustle and bustle of the Facility and reconnect with each other in a peaceful, romantic setting. 

I had been looking forward to this wintery getaway for weeks, eager to escape the stresses of daily life and indulge in some "quality time" with my beloved wife. 

While Summer busied herself exploring the quaint living room and kitchen, I slipped into the bedroom, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of my lips. From my suitcase, I retrieved a delicate yellow gingham dress, its fabric gentle and pristine. Beside it, I laid out a pair of crisp white knee socks and a set of glossy Mary Jane heels, their patent leather gleaming in the soft lamplight. Despite her age, I knew Summer craved the vulnerability and submission that such an outfit represented. 

With a satisfied nod, I turned my attention to a second bag, this one containing an array of implements designed for a very specific purpose. One by one, I extracted the paddles and straps, running my fingers over their smooth surfaces and testing their weight in my hands. 

As I neatly arranged a few of the tools on the bed, I called out to Summer, my voice gentle but firm. "Sweetheart, it's Sunday...you know what we have to do. Please change and come get me when you're ready. You'll be going over Mommy's knee for your weekly maintenance." 

I could hear Summer's sharp intake of breath as she hurried to comply, taking in the sight of all the logistics that I laid on the bed for her. 

As I sat waiting on the plush sofa, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth, I heard the clicking patter of clunky Mary Janes approaching from the bedroom. 

When she finally emerged in the doorway, I couldn't help but catch my breath at the sight before me. There she stood, my beautiful, mature wife, transformed into the picture of youthful innocence. Her hair was tied up in pigtails, the blonde tresses bouncing gently with each movement of her head. 

As she stepped into the living room, she executed a perfect curtsy, her skirt flaring out around her as she dripped. "Good evening, Mommy," she greeted me formally. "I'm ready for my spanking, Mommy."

"Thank you sweetheart," I replied, reaching out to take her hand in mine. With a gentle squeeze, signaling that it was time to begin our weekly ritual, I led her back to the bedroom and pulled a straight-backed chair from the corner, positioning it in the middle of the room. 

With practiced ease, she reached under her dress and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down to her knees. I took a seat in the chair, and watched as she gathered the fabric of her dress in her hands and lifted it high above her waist, exposing the full curve of her perfect bum. 

There was something so profoundly erotic and taboo about the sight of her standing there, half-naked, bald pussy trembling with vulnerability, yet radiating an aura of quiet strength and confidence. 

Without a word, Summer positioned herself over my knees, draping herself into a jackknife with her palms coming to rest on the floor. 

"You know this is for your own good, sweetheart," I gently cooed as I rested my palm on the small of her back. Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand high above my head and brought it down with a swift, decisive smack. 

Again and again, I repeated the process, alternating between her left and right bum cheeks, exploring a variety of implements and positions, until Summer's entire bottom was glowing a deep, rosy hue. Occasionally, she would let out a soft whimper or a muffled cry, but for the most part, she endured her spanking with stoic resolve. 

As the spanking drew to a close, I set aside the hairbrush and returned to stroking Summer's reddened cheeks, soothing away the lingering pain with gentle caresses. She lay limp and pliant across my lap, her body relaxed and her mind drifting in a haze of endorphins and emotional release. 

I leaned down to press a tender kiss to the nape of her neck, whispering words of praise and reassurance into her ear. "You did so well, my love," I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. I helped Summer to her feet, steadying her as she regained her balance. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glistened with unshed tears as I pulled off her dress over her head. But, there was also a serene expression on her face, a look of peace and contentment that came from such a thorough spanking. 

Gently, I guided her towards the corner of the room, where two walls met in a monotonous juncture. "Kneel here, sweetheart, hands on your head," I instructed softly, pressing a hand against her shoulder to encourage her descent. Summer complied without hesitation, lowering herself to the floor and arranging her body in the prescribed position. 

Her panties remained pooled at her knees, and she dutifully perched her palms on top on her head, which naturally arched her back to, presenting her freshly spanked bottom to my view. 

"Thirty minutes, my love," I reminded her, my tone firm but kind. "Use this time to let it all wash away, and reset." Summer nodded, her nose rubbing against the convergence of the two walls. Leaving her to her contemplation, I retreated to the bed, to relieve myself of my restrictive clothing. The crackling of the fire provided a soothing backdrop, and I found my fingers drifting towards my delicate petals. 

As the minutes ticked by, the snicker-snack of my masturbation would have been driving Summer mental with frustration as I noted the subtle shifts in her posture and the occasional tremor that rippled through her body. 

"My darling," I whispered, my voice soft and commanding. "Your time is up, please remove all of your remaining clothing and put your Mary Janes back on." I took a moment to admire her in all her glory, drinking in the sight of her curvaceous form, the soft swell of her breasts, and the inviting dimples on her lower back. 

I crossed the room with a leather collar in my hand, a symbol of our transition into the next stage of our weekly ritual. I buckled it securely around her slender neck, its presence a tangible reminder of her submission to me. Lastly, I attached a leash to the D-ring at the front of the collar, giving it a gentle tug to underscore my coming command. 

"On your hands and knees, pet," I ordered, my tone brooking no argument. I led her on all fours towards the bed, where a ball gag lay waiting, its shiny red sphere and black leather straps promising further humiliation and restraint. 

"Open wide, huni," I commanded, my voice low and authoritative. Summer obeyed without hesitation, parting her red lips to accept the rubber sphere. I slipped it behind her teeth, feeling her jaw stretch to accommodate its size , and secured the straps behind her head, rendering her effectively mute. 

With the gag in place and a firm hold on her leash, I positioned myself behind her, admiring her red bum and the glistening folds of her pussy, perfectly presented for me. "Such a needy little slut," I teased, tugging on her leash to encourage her back to arch deeper. "So desperate to be filled and fucked, aren't you?" 

My hands found purchase on her hips, digging into the soft flesh as I pulled her back onto my dildo. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the quiet woods, punctuated by Summer's muffled moans amd the occasional slap of my palm against her reddened cheeks. 

"That it, my little fucktoy," I growled, my voice rough with exertion and desire. "Come for me. Come on Mommy's cock like the dirty slut you are." 

The name calling and degradation sent her over the edge instantly and she surrendered to the inevitable, her body convulsing in a series of intense, toe-curling spasms. I rode her through her orgasm, prolonging her pleasure for as long as possible. 

Watching Summer recover, I grinned, envisioning myself in my other outfits I was sure to pack for her. Our week away promised hot, filthy sex, whips, bondage and the odd outfit change. 

Is this too much for a cabin in the woods? *giggle

One thing is for certain, with all this heat we'll be generating inside the cabin, we may need the odd cooling walk in the woods. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Fire & Ice

"Come on, let's Colour"

Continued from: The Facility U.K.

A Sarah Jane story

As the knock sounded at our front door, I looked up from my colouring book, my eyes wide with curiosity. "Daddy, someone's at the door!" I exclaimed, my voice high and childlike. "I'm too little to answer it by myself. Can you get it, pweeease?" I asked, gazing up at Russell with a pleading expression. 

He smiled indulgently and rose from his armchair, setting aside his book. "Of course, sweetheart," he replied, kissing my forehead affectionately as he passed by. I watched him go, admiring the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt and the confident swagger of his gait. 

As Daddy opened the door, I heard a familiar voice, and my heart leapt with joy. "Summer!" I squealed, jumping up from the floor and rushing to the entryway. There, standing on our doorstep, was our dear friends Mistress Andrea and Summer. 

Summer, dressed in the cutest pink overall skirt, white nylons and sporting adorable pigtails, was shocked to see me in knee socks and plaid once again. Without hesitation, I threw myself into her arms, giggling with delight as we embraced. 

"Sarah Jane, tus es a nouveau soumise?" she chuckled as she spoke. I looked to Mistress for a translation, who had her eyebrow raised at Daddy. 

"You two switched again, didn't you?" Mistress Andrea asked, with an undertone of judgement in her voice. 

Summer and I jumped up and down on the spot, as I saw Mistress smirk and shake her head. "Oh my goodness, look at you two!" Her eyes twinkling with amusement as she took in the sight of two adult women, dressed the way we were. "You're just too precious for words." 

Glancing up at Daddy, I saw a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes softening as he watched us. "Why don't you girls go play while "Daddy" and I catch up?" Mistress suggested, her tone warm and encouraging. 

"That sounds like fun, Ma'am," I agreed eagerly, grabbing Summer's hand and tugging her towards the living room. "Come on, let's colour!" As we settled onto the floor, surrounded by crayons and colouring books, I could hear the low murmur of adult conversation drifting in from the kitchen.

I knew that Daddy and Mistress Andrea were discussing the intricacies of our dynamic flip, the complex dance of power and submission that defined our relationship. 

But in that moment, I was content to lose myself in the simple joys of being a little again, to revel in the companionship of my dear friend and the comforting presence of my beloved Daddy. As Summer and I chatted and laughed, our hands moving in tandem as we filled the pages with vibrant hues, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. This was where I belonged, nestled in the warmth of our home, surrounded by the people I loved most in the world. 

As Summer and I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, our heads bent over our colouring books, I couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with my fellow age-regressed submissive. We may have taken different paths to arrive at this place, but in many ways, our journeys mirrored one another, reflecting the deep-seated desires and vulnerabilities that drove us to seek out these unique dynamics. 

"You know, Summer," I began, my voice barley above a whisper as I selected a bright pink crayon from the box between us, "I really missed calling him 'Daddy', I kinda just missed being adorable and cute, you know?" 

I pulled up some content on my phone to show Summer. "Here, like this." 

"Do you know what I mean?" I asked, as I thumb-flicked to the next one. 

Summer nodded in understanding, her own crayon pausing mid-stroke as she listening intently. "Oui, I know exactly what you mean," she replied softly. "There's a certain freedom in letting go, in surrendering yourself to someone else's care and guidance. It's like you can finally breathe again, after holding your breath for so long." 

I smiled, grateful for her empathy and insight. 

"Even when he has to punish me, I know it's because he cares. It's not always easy, and the spankings definitely suck sometimes, but at the end of the day, I know that he's doing it because he loves me." 

Summer reached out and squeezed my hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "That's the most important thing," she agreed. "Knowing that you're loved and protected, no matter what." 

Summer eventually talked me into getting my top and skirt off and started playing with my boobs, giggling and pinching my nipples through the delicate fabric. I pleaded with her to stop, reminding her that we're about to get in trouble if we're caught. 

I couldn't help but overhear snippets of the conversation between Mistress and Daddy. 

"Here, take these," Mistress said to Daddy, and I heard the jingle of keys changing hands. "They're for the Facility. Please keep an eye on the place while we're gone."

I turned to Summer, my eyes wide with excitement for her. "Are you and Mistress Andrea going on a trip?" I asked, bubbling with enthusiasm. Summer nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Oui! We rented a cottage in the woods up north. It's suppose to be absolutely gorgeous, with a cozy fireplace and a big, steaming hot tub, it's going to be so romantic."  

Summer drew me in for a passionate kiss, I suddenly felt her hand slip into my panties, her fingers teasing my sensitive folds. "Summer!" I gasped, shocked but aroused. "What are you doing?" She just grinned and kissed me again to muffle my moans as I melted under her expert touch. 

Just then, I heard Daddy's voice in the opening to the kitchen. "Now, now, you two," he admonished, his tone firm but playful. "Girls, behave yourselves," he warned, giving us a wink in the process. 

Summer withdrew her fingers from my pussy, leaving me squirming with unsatisfied desire. I picked up my crayon, determined to focus on anything but the throbbing need between my thighs. 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Cabin Fever

 

Diapered & Denied

Continued from: Betrayed

After sending Mandy to the corner, I set a timer for twenty minutes and settled into a nearby chair, admiring the view of her freshly spanked bottom. Mandy remained perfectly still, her nose pressed firmly against the corner, her hands clasped obediently behind her head. 

As many of you know, I often write about layering, when it comes to BDSM. Whether this means a properly layered spanking or the strategic application of bondage, in compounding layers. Not only is the layering functional, but most importantly is how it affects the psychology and headspace of the submissive. 

Picture how you would feel, having your partner bind your ankles with a soft, silky scarf, the kind you'd get in a beginners bondage kit off Amazon. Cute, and it has its time and place. 

Versus finding yourself at the mercy of your dominant partner, in a bondage configuration like this: 

Things should "feel" different, your butterflies should feel different and your sense of helplessness should be greatly heightened. 

Poor Mandy, having been betrayed by her own pussy in the last installment, was manually edged by me, denied orgasm, then spanked directly on her traitorous petals. I couldn't think of a better time to layer her. 

I approached the changing table, my eyes roaming over the array if equipment I prepared for her continued torment. Baby wipes, powder, a realistic looking anal plug complete with lubricant - these are the instruments of my control. 

I ran my fingers over the smooth leather of the chastity belt, admiring the sturdiness of the metal locks and buckles. Once secured around Mandy's diaper, this device will render her utterly helpless, unable to access her most sensitive areas with my express permission. 

Beside the chastity belt, laid a pair of padded bondage mittens, their soft pink fabric a stark contrast to the reality of their purpose. Lockable of course, these will ensure that Mandy's hands remain useless, incapable of even the simplest acts of self-pleasure or relief. 

"Up you get, little one," I say, patting the padded surface of the adult-sized change table. "It's time to get you ready for your nap." 

I watch with rapt attention, as Mandy squirms and writhes on the changing table, her face contorted with shame and humiliation. With a resigned sigh, she lays back and lifts her legs into the air, her thighs falling open to expose her most intimate parts to my inspection. 

I took a moment to admire the view, savouring the sight of her vulnerable, trembling form. She gasped as I blotted the cold baby wipe against her soaked pussy, wiping away the evidence of her shameful arousal. Her eyes widened in horror as I dabbed and wiped a second one against her puckered anus, the scent of them leaving an innocent freshness in their wake. 

Mandy tensed as I circled her asshole with my fingers, applying generous amounts of lubricant inside and out. "Relax, baby girl," I cooed, my voice dripping with false reassurance. "This won't hurt a bit...well, not too much, anyway." Before she could respond, I pressed the tip of the penis plug against her little pucker, until it breached and entered. 

Mandy's mouth fell open in a silent moan, her eyes rolled back in her head as the thick, veiny plug seated in place, the base peeked out obscenely from between her spanked ass cheeks. Reaching for the baby powder, I shook a liberal amount between her legs, coating her naughty pussy in a fine, white dust. The scent was overwhelming, sickening sweet, a perfect accompaniment to the humiliation she must have been feeling when she watched me slid the crinkly diaper under her tender bum. 

Mandy could only whimper and tell me how badly she needed to cum, as I applied the padlocks to her, and another set of locks to her bondage mitts. 

Do my layers end there? Is that enough? 

Of course not. 

Once in the crib and comfortably on her back, I affixed soft leather bondage cuffs to Mandy's ankles, locking these as well and securing them to the bars of the crib. 

"There now, little one," I murmur, my voice laced with false sweetness. "All nice and secure and ready for beddy-byes." I reach over and switch on a baby sound machine, filling the room with the soothing sounds of rainfall and lullabies. It's a cruel joke, given the state of arousal and frustration I'm leaving my poor Mandy in. 

I'd love to use a pacifier gag for her, but I wouldn't be able to leave her alone with something like that in her mouth. Secured and plugged in her denied predicament, I leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Mommy will be back in a little while, sweetheart...try to nap." 

Then, with a satisfied smirk, I turned and exited the room. 

I took off my Mommy Domme outfit and changed into something a little more comfortable, to prepare for the second stage of Mandy's session, after her nap. 

I checked the time delay to the UK before calling my sweet Cassandra for our weekly check-in. It was early evening there, which meant she was likely deep into a session at her fetish studio. 

"Hello, sweetheart!" I purred into the phone, my voice maternal and warm. As she and I began to converse, I became increasingly aware of the background noises emanating from her end of the line. The sharp crack of a whip cut through the air, followed by a muffled gasp and a wet, slurping sound.

No doubt, she had some poor, unsuspecting man trussed up in lingerie and high heels, kneeling before her as she guided his reluctant mouth onto a waiting erection. 

"Mistress Cassandra, but I'm not gay," I heard this British accent whimper pathetically, his voice strained with desperation. Cassandra's laughter rang out, cold and cruel. "Of course you're not pet," she purred sarcastically, "you just have another man's cock in your mouth right now. Now stop your whining and get back to work, that dick isn't gonna suck itself." 

"Mistress, can I call you back in like 15? This little cock whore needs more motivating." 

I heard another crack of a whip and a yelp of pain, before the line went dead on me. I couldn't help but chuckle and shake my head. I can't wait to hear all about this one...

Tsk tsk...oh, Cassie...

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: The Facility U.K.