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

Continued in: The Season for Giving

Guilty as Charged

Continued from: Ethically Sourced

Here's Carley's conclusion of her fateful day at my Spanking Court, please enjoy and don't mind her eloquence in the language she uses...she's very well spoken ; ) 

Unbeknownst to Cassandra and I, Mistress had an ace up her sleeve when she entertained our pleas of not guilty, concealing a sinister smirk on her face. As it turned out, one of her gentleman clients, who sees her to be spanked, is an actual lawyer. Fuck! 

He even looked like a lawyer, with his cheap suit, 900-dollar shoes and a smug look on his face. 

Cassandra, my accomplice in crime, stood beside me, her lovely features pale and pinched, her grip on my hand tightening as Mistress Andrea (the Judge) began the proceedings. The charges - anilingus and lewdness - seemed to hang in the air like an unspoken promise, each syllable imbuing me with a sense of illicit thrill. 

Cassandra attempted a futile defence of herself, pleading with the court and making me blush in the process, when I heard her describe my own little bum hole. 

"The room was dark. I thought it was her pussy because she's so beautiful and pink back there."

"And the first time you made her cum, Miss Goth, is it safe to assume you knew it was her vagina then?" The lawyer attacked. 

"I was just cleaning it and it went off." Cassandra plead in her own defence.

After that line dropped, I glanced to Mistress Andrea who was doing her best to fight-off a giggle-fit behind the bench. 

"You were cleaning Miss Chapman's vagina and it just went off?" The lawyer repeated back to Cassie, his own voice cracking with the humour of it all. 

And with that, he bluntly turned to the bench and issued his final statement to the court. 

"The prosecution rests its case, your Worship."

With every fiber of my being screaming 'guilty,' I awaited the verdict, suspended in a state of exquisite butterflies. 

Mistress Andrea read our sentences to the court. I think mine was more lenient as I was only charged as a party to the offence. Nevertheless, I was still assigned 18 strokes of the judicial wooden paddle on my bare bum, and two months probation. 

Poor Cassandra, who still gripped my hand tightly during sentencing, would be receiving 36 strokes of the cane on the bare, and four months probation. 

Both sentences, to be carried out immediately before the court. 

The spanking bench, with its buckling leather restraints was produced, along with the caning stockade and finally the dreaded implements. A wicked thrill coursed through my veins like liquid fire, mingling with dread as I beheld the polished surface of the wooden paddle. My imagination ran wild with visions of not sitting comfortably for a week, and - dare I confess it? - a certain shameful exhilaration. 

The guards assisted us in removing our remaining dignity, the protective layers of clothing. Pants, then panties - each item surrendered like shed petals - until we were both naked from the waist down. A low whimper escaped my lips as reality crashed home; I would soon present my quivering flesh to the merciless gaze of the court. 

The guard's grip tightened on my upper arm, as I was lead to the spanking bench and restrained. 

The Judge's nod set the wheels of fate in motion, and with a deliberate slowness, the executioner approached, armed with the wooden paddle. 

Stroke after stroke followed until we reached the full 18, each one meticulously spaced to ensure maximum suffering. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill forth in a deluge of surrender. Yet even amidst this maelstrom of pain and humiliation, something perverse within me was thrilled with each brutal caress of the paddle. 

With my paddling complete, I was released from my crucible of correction and summarily deposited onto a hardwood pew of the courtroom, the unforgiving surface biting into my spanked bottom. From here, I was forced to sit quietly and witness Cassandra's ordeal unfold. 

My heart went out to my fellow transgressor, as the pretty guard flexed the cane in her hands, so sleek and unforgiving. 36 sizzling strokes followed, leaving her bare bum a network of fine lines, raised across her skin like stripes of shame. 

Amidst the fiery storm of pain and discipline, her very core responded with instinctual surrender, releasing a silken rivulet of arousal that glistened across her exposed pussy. My mouth watered at the spectacle before me, itching to explore the tender folds of her most intimate area. If only the constraints of the courtroom could be shed, I'd ravage her right on the spot. 

Alas, we soon found our wrists and ankles encircled in cold metal shackles, as we were led bare bottomed from the courtroom. Ball gags came next, an intrusive presence that muffled our whimpers of desire for each other. Locked securely into our cells, shackled and gagged. The court seemed to anticipate how we'd feel toward each other, after this ordeal, and decided to add this additional layer of torture. Jailed for one hour, to reflect on our punishments in silence. 

From my vantage point however, all I could reflect on was the area of the cellblock that I could see from my cell, and the sign that hung above it, illuminated with the words: 

"FEMALE PROBATION AREA"

The area looked like a stage, complete with directed lighting and a microphone boom, elevated and facing several rows of spectator seating. 

My stomach sank with a familiar sickness of butterflies as drool bubbled from my gag. I laid eyes on the apparatus that made up the centerpiece of this stage...

Female probation...

Written by: Carley Chapman 

Continued in: Fallen Angels

 

  

 

 

Dream Team

Continued from: The Tears of the Sissies will Water the Meadows of France

The day had arrived for Remy, the sissy boy from France, to join the girls and I for his fantasy session. I would be playing the role of the strict Schoolmarm. 

(Not sure what I'm doing with my hands in this one)

I arranged for one of my older, male, slightly creepy clients to play the role of the leering Principal in this all-girls school. Then, as I stated in the previous post, I put together my dream team of fellow students. Beautiful women who would like nothing more than to tease, humiliate and belittle poor Remy, as the new foreign exchange student. 

Check out my dream team: 

We have Summer.

The bubbly best friend who's skirt is not regulation length, just to drive the boys mental. 

Nancy. 

The more mature, senior schoolgirl who is the leader of this group and close assistant to the teacher. "Assistant" could be synonymous with tattle-tale. 

Finally, the new girl, Carley. 

The goth-girl, maybe the wild-child, believed to be unpredictable. This will be her first playdate at my Facility so I'm not sure what this little pixie is gonna do. She does look great in her uniform though. I can't wait to see what this little sniper is capable of.  

There was absolutely no fuckin' around when this French wiener arrived. I booked him in personally, dressed in my role and wielding a cane. He was booked in through the cellblock area so he could truly appreciate his impending peril. Every stich of his clothing was removed, right down to the little pink, clit cage that he wore to his session. 

This was my view as I towered over him. He was completely hairless below the eyebrows, he lacked muscle tone for a man, and his pathetic little thingy looked like so: 

Ick! We need to get that little clit hidden beneath some panties, forthwith! I seized control of the keys to his little clit cage and locked them away with his boring, boy clothes. 

When Remy originally booked this multi-day session, he wanted to be dressed like the other girls. But just to make things worse for him, I didn't do a full transformation with makeup or a wig. I wanted him to still look male, just to humiliate him further, in the presence of my beautiful girls. 

Appearing outwardly male for day one was my rule, but dressed like a schoolgirl. He will have to show me that he truly wants to be a girl. He will need to behave like one, sit like one and learn how to please men like one, before I'll continue his transformation beyond his mere attire alone. 

Which outfit should we go with? I had three options that fit him. 

Option A:

(Not a huge fan of the shorts, but you can see his locked up little clit-bulge in the front)

Option B:

(It's important that he be in high heels, as he clicks around the classroom)

Option C:

(Look how ridiculous he is, dressed like that!)

Once I get him dressed, he will feel sick to his stomach with humiliation. Then I'll finally present him before the girls and tell him to introduce himself as Lena, his sissy name. 

Poor Lena is going to be in for a long few days! She's already crying and I haven't even caned her yet. 

Stay tuned. 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Les Misérables

 

The Tears of the Sissies will Water the Meadows of France

Continued from: Gamer Mode

Hello everyone. I have to take a quick detour from my exploration of newly discovered animations within the Sims. I received a fan request, for a personalized series. I'd like you all to welcome Remy. He is an adult male from France. 

Obviously under consent, he wished his own likeness to be posted for all to see, to shame and humiliate him even more than his outfit would suggest. 

As you can see, Remy is a sissy schoolgirl. His plaid skirt is lifted and panties lowered, to expose a tiny pink chastity cage, housing an even tinier little clitty between his legs. This is the style of dress he prefers to be in, rather than his boring male clothes. 

Look at the two little dimples on his back, just like a girl! It's called "Britney Spears back", Remy. And all the men enjoy seeing these little dimples, when they take you from behind. Very visually delightful and feminine in the timeout corner too!

From his pigtails to his knee socks, it looks like he has everything, with the exception of Mary Jane heels. He will remedy this very soon.

After my last post, Remy left me a comment on the blog that read: 

Hello Mistress.
I am a sissy slave schoolgirl from France who wears a chastity cage.
Could I become a character in your stories please
I would like to be enrolled in your school for girls and be required to wear the same uniform as the other students
I would follow the same training as the other girls and I would also be punished

I think we can accommodate this request. Maybe a little foreign exchange student program for him, but the only option available is an all girls school?

I need to first put together the perfect team of minions to ensure he has the "proper" experience during his time with us. 

Nancy Landgraab, remember sweet Nancy, the oldest of my clients? Perhaps she could provide a more "senior girl", maternal and caring approach to Remy's time with us, while holding the authority to discipline him also, like the den mother of the group? 

We now have an AI version of Nancy. What do you think...pretty close? 

And I know she can pull off the schoolgirl look. I have spanked her over my knee many times while she's dressed like this: 

My wife, Summer! Obviously. She's from Paris. We totally need her to be involved, so she and Remy can conspire, commiserate and giggle in their native language, behind the teacher's back. 

We all know that she can rock the schoolgirl look too! 

Then, we need a wildcard in the mix. Someone who could go completely off script and just do whatever. Usually this role is filled by Cassandra, the wildest of them all, but alas, Cassie is unavailable for Remy's visit. 

Maybe that Carley girl? Remember her? That mousey, tattooed little thing? If her Dominant, Robby, lets her, then perhaps she could come play with us? I'm pretty sure she would have a gothy, schoolgirl uniform in her wardrobe somewhere. 

Robby will have to let us know if Carley can come by for a playdate. 

As for you, Remy, it would appear the stage is set for some deep humiliation, severe discipline and continued denial. You can expect your submissive stay with the girls and I to be absolutely miserable!

How do you put it, Les Misérables?

Mark my words, the tears of the sissy will water the meadows of France!

Mistress Andrea

xoxo  

Continued in: Dream Team

 

The Secretary

Continued from: Call me "Sir"

Meanwhile, back at MY den of debauchery, everything was seemingly vanilla. Everything except my wife Summer, who was dressed like a little girl, and my new idol, Goddess Vanessa, who came over for brunch before both of them had a flight to catch. 

The stuff that was coming out of her mouth, oh my word! About what she just did with her husband and her bull. I was blushing and covering my mouth. 

Her wild tales became the inspiration for the last few posts I made, as she told Summer and I about her unique relationship in extreme detail. I was calling her "Goddess Vanessa" to her face, I was so impressed. I treated the two of them to Montreal smoked meat, eggs Benny! A truly luxurious dish.   

When I served Vanessa she immediately said, "thank you Mistress Andrea, this looks divine." I responded with a, "you're welcome Goddess Vanessa," after hearing the descriptions of her playdate. I was actually feeling a little subby toward her, which is extremely rare for me these days.  

From the couch in the living room, Russ even cocked his head in our direction, his arm lovingly wrapped around his baby-doll, Sarah Jane. 

"You made him do WHAT?!" He shouted toward Vanessa, referring to something he overheard. "Good lord!" Russell said as he chuckled and tickled Sarah Jane who giggled in his arms.  

Russ and Sarah Jane had become such a cute and blossoming little BDSM couple. They adored each other, that was evident. Today she wore over-the-knee socks of a senior schoolgirl, a role she had spent some time in now, slowly but confidently earning her gold stars of progression. She looked super cute. His palm rested on her bare thigh, the lovely void of exposed flesh between her socks and flirty, plaid skirt. 

She still called Russ, "Daddy", but that was about to change. The next morning she was set to be promoted to the role of his slutty secretary, and she would now be addressing him as, “Sir". 

I think they celebrated with one last night in her "little girl" bedroom. Sarah Jane was a bit torn, she knew "Sir" would be a welcome escape from stuffed animals and pink sheets, but she would ultimately miss her "Daddy", and the comfort that space provided for her. 

I'm sure "Daddy" gave his little one a good “farewell for now.” By morning, her socks, kilts and Mary Janes would be replaced by pencil skirts, stockings and stilettos.  

Meanwhile, it was just Cassandra and I alone in the bar, Summer and Vanessa left for work. You know what pairs perfectly with the richness and luxury of eggs Benny? Champagne! 

After two glasses Cassie was offering me a lap dance and pole dance. I got comfortable on the couch to watch her sexy little frame, gyrate and sensually sway like a cobra. 

She slowly stripped her top off, one arm at a time, followed by her little bra, before spinning her bare back into the pole. 

Gawd she is sexy! As you can probably imagine, things escalated from there. 

The Champs had gone right to my pussy, which tingled like the bubbly I continued to suckle off Cassie's nipples. 

Cassandra begged to go down on me. She knows I like it when she flips to full blown submissive for me, even though her verbiage is not as eloquent and refined as her Mother, Bella. 

"Please Mistress! Please may I taste your hot cunt!" 

Trucker mouth...sheesh! 

When her Mom goes down on me, she asks my permission like she's speaking to Queen Victoria in 1837. 

What an eager little tongue though! Holy Christ did I ever cum. 

In preparation for Sarah Jane's promotion, Cassie and I had spent the past few weeks converting a loft in my home, into a cool office space with a bit of a steampunk feel to it.  

It served as a fantasy space for Boss / employee scenes for my clients who wished to be spanked by their a lady boss. I was letting Russ use the space to further train and condition Sarah Jane. The Secretary stage is one step closer to Sarah's ultimate goal of reaching the Upper Floor. When promoted to that illustrious rank, she would become a sex slave to multiple partners, couples and required to serve at large parties or events.   

Russell and I both agreed that Sarah Jane would benefit from a mentor. Who better to join her in the office space than my beautiful Bella Goth? A woman of incomparable grace and elegance, who happens to be my owned sex slave and has already been promoted to the Upper Floor. 

I can think of no better mentor for Sarah Jane to help her make the transition from a "little one" to a "big girl." 

Of course these two will need a boss, Russell, to keep them in-line and on task. Bella and Sarah Jane will actually be doing work in this space. We have so much online content, client bookings, fetish sales and the fan sites for Summer and Vanessa to manage. 

We'll see if Russell can manage these two with his firm leadership. I just hope he doesn't get too distracted, we actually have deliverables that need to be accomplished here. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: "Forced" Labour