The Season for Giving

Continued from: National Treasure

As the holidays approached, our household bustled with preparations, the air thick with the scent of pine, fireplace and hot, dirty F/ff, F/m. F/ffm, FM/ff sex...ha!

I'm a giver...I'm a giver, during the holidays, everyone. Look at all those capital F's of me giving!

Amidst the chaos, I received a call from Mandy, one of my favourite clients. All of you remember Mandy? The nurse, the soccer mom, juggling the demands of her career and family with admirable grace, all while mixing in the odd bake sale.    

Is that in a church?? Is that top you're wearing, church appropriate? 

And those jeans, Mandy! Tsk tsk. Sweet baby Jesus in his manger...Those jeans are about to win the internet, once I post this. 

Anyway, the phone rings as Russell, Sarah Jane, Summer and I navigated the holiday season. Cassandra decided to spend Christmas with her recently reunited family, I wonder where that sudden motivation came from? See, giving yet again. 

*Ring *ring

"Mistress Andrea, it's Mandy," she breathed into the phone, her voice whispering as if she was not in a place of privacy. "I know it's last minute, but I desperately need a session before the holidays swallow me whole. Please, can you fit me in?" 

I smiled, my heart going out to this hardworking woman who craved the release and escape that only my unique services could provide. 

"Of course, my sweetheart," I assured her. "Come on over, I'll make sure you leave feeling refreshed and ready to tackle whatever the holidays throws your way." 

A few hours later, Mandy arrived on my doorstep, still clad in her hospital scrubs, her hair pulled back into a messy pony. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her shoulders sagged with fatigue. 

"Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice, Ma'am," she said gratefully as I ushered her inside. enveloping her in a warm hug. "You have no idea how much I need this right now." 

I led her to the living room to do a quick consultation and see what's been causing her the most stress. As I listened to Mandy pour out her heart, I could see the toll that her demanding life was taking on her. And to top it all off, she had a few shifts at the hospital during the holidays. 

"My poor girl," I murmured sympathetically. "You've been carrying such a heavy burden. But you're safe here with me, let me lift that weight for you and help you to find the release and escape you so desperately need." 

"Tell me, sweetie, what kind of session are you looking for today? What would bring you the greatest satisfaction and fulfillment?" Mandy hesitated, her cheeks flushing an adorable shade of pink as she lowered her gaze demurely. "I want...I need," she stammered, now only whispering in shame. "Something rough, Mistress. Something intense and overwhelming. Captivity, CNC...cages...sex slavery..." Her words trailed off, but the hunger and longing in her eyes spoke volumes.  

"Ok," I replied eagerly, "so down in the basement then?"

I smiled a wicked smile, and before sending Mandy off to prepare, I paused, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Wait just a moment, my dear," I said, holding up a finger as I retrieved a medium-sized present from beneath the festively decorated Christmas tree. 

"This is for you," I announced, pressing the beautifully wrapped package into her hands. "A small token of my appreciation for what you do, both in the ER and as my loyal client." Mandy's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth falling open as she carefully unwrapped the gift, her fingers trembling with anticipation. 

As she lifted the lid of the box, she let out a soft gasp, her breath catching in her throat. Emblazoned in gold lettering, upon the delicate tissue paper within the box, read: Christian Louboutin. 

The sleek, black patent leather gleamed in the soft light, the iconic red soles peeking out proactively. "Oh, Mistress," Mandy breathed, her voice filled with awe and gratitude. Mandy's eyes sparkled with tears of joy as she gazed upon the exquisite shoes, her fingers tracing the smooth leather reverently. I don't imagine the poor thing ever spends a single cent on herself. I wanted to make her Christmas just a little more merry.

"Mistress, I couldn't possibly accept these," she protested weakly, her voice trembling with a dichotomy of emotion. "These are meant for women...like you - powerful, confident, dominant women. I'm just a lowly submissive in this place, unworthy of such a lavish gift." 

"Nonsense, my dear," I replied firmly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Here at the Facility, we believe that every woman deserves to feel like a goddess, regardless of her role or position. Whether you're on your knees, begging for mercy, or strutting around twirling a whip, you have earned the right to wear these magnificent heels. 

Mandy blushed deeply, her cheeks flushing a shade of crimson as she glanced down at her white nursing runners. 

"Now, why don't you strip down right here for me and get these heels on, hands on your head please, and we'll get this session started." 

Once fully naked, Mandy slipped on the luxurious Loubies, her posture transformed, her spine straightening and her chin lifting with newfound confidence. 

I accessed a pair of handcuffs from a nearby drawer and just as I was about to affix them to her wrists, a flicker of concern crossed her features. "Wait, Mistress," she said, turning to face me with a furrowed brow. "I heard that Sarah and Russell are living here now. Is she here?"

I nodded happily, remembering that these two are secret little lezzy playmates, before explaining the entire circumstances surrounding the house fire and Russell's stint in the hospital. Mandy, the little subby doll, obediently kept her hands atop her head and feet together, standing at submissive attention throughout our vanilla conversation. 

Eventually, I asked her to extend her wrists for me while I accessed the handcuffs once more, chattering them into an open position. 

"Actually, Mistress," she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was wondering...that is, if it wouldn't be too much trouble..." She trailed off, biting her lower lip anxiously as she struggled to find the right words. 

"What it is, sweetheart?" I prompted gently. 

Mandy swallowed hard, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor as her hands returned to the top of her head. "Well, I was hoping that perhaps...maybe...Sarah could run my session today," she blurted out, her words tumbling over themselves in her haste of excitement and arousal. 

I giggled and nodded approvingly, then gave her juicy bare bum a nice encouraging slap, ushering her off to go shower and prepare for her session. Sarah was upstairs folding my laundry, I sent her a text, lazily, rather than walking up the actual stairs. 

"You wanted to see me, Mommy?" she asked, taking my hands into hers and kissing the tops of them respectfully. 

"Indeed, my dear," I replied, my voice low and sultry. "Christmas has come early for you it would seem. Mandy is here. She asked for you!"

I slowly and deliberately explained the kind of session that Mandy had asked for, allowing Sarah Jane to paint a vivid picture in her mind, of riding crops, of clothespins, I could see her mouth practically watering as I spoke. 

"Like down in the sex dungeon, Mommy? I'll get to dress like a big girl?" she asked excitedly, her eyes wide with lustful anticipation. 

I smiled and nodded my head in the affirmative. "Yes, my little one," I confirmed. 

"Oh, Mommy, thank you!" She gushed, throwing her arms around my neck in a spontaneous embrace. "I won't let you down, I promise. I'll make Mandy squirm and beg for mercy, just like the naughty little slut she is!" 

I chuckled and returned her hug with equal fervor. "I have no doubt that you will, my sweetie."

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Never a dull Moment

Continued from: Fire & Ice

In the dimly lit basement of Cassandra and Carley's Coventry townhouse, the air thick with the scent of leather and female arousal, a symphony of tortured moans and muffled screams filled the room. As a centerpiece, perched precariously atop a wicked wooden pony, was a naked young woman, her body trembling with agony as the weight of her petite frame pressed down upon the edged wood of the device. Her most sensitive areas - her delicate pussy and tender asshole - bore the brunt of her body weight. 

A bit gag had been forced between her teeth, rendering her cries for mercy into little more than pathetic, drooling whimpers, while electrodes attached to her stiffened nipples, delivered intermittent shocks. Tears streamed down her face, smearing her carefully applied makeup and leaving streaks of mascara trailing down her flushed cheeks. 

As the pitiful moans and choked cries of the woman on the pony faded into the background, becoming little more than white noise, Cassandra turned her attention to her next victim - a pale-skinned Irish lass with fiery red hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. The girl was bound to a whipping frame, wearing only stockings, her porcelain skin glowing like moonlight in the dimly lit dungeon.

"Now then, my pretty little bitch," Cassandra purred, circling the spread and bound woman, a riding crop twirling ominously in her hands. "I understand that you've been sent here by your husband? Is that true?" 

The girl nodded miserably, her lower lip quivering as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "Yes, Mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the muffled cries of the woman on the pony. "I've been arguing with my husband, talking back to him when he tries to discipline me. I know I've been bad, and I want to be better. Please, Mistress, help me learn my place." 

Cassandra smiled indulgently, reaching out to strokes the girl's bum cheeks which already bore some fiery welts. "Of course, my dear," she said, her voice laced with false sympathy. "That's why you're here isn't it? To learn the true meaning of obedience and submission. And I promise you, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect, docile little wife your husband deserves."

The girl yelped in pain, her body jerking against her restraints as a vivid red welt bloomed across her pale bottom. 

"Count them," Cassandra commanded, her voice hardening as she prepared to deliver another stroke. "And thank me for each one." 

As Cassie attended to her whipping, close-by, another scene of debauchery was unfolding. There, bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight, stood Carley - a striking vision of tattoos and piercings, her lean, slender body clad in nothing but stiletto boots and a harness of black straps that accentuated her every curve and contour. 

Around her waist, protruding obscenely from between her legs, was a massive strap-on dildo, its thick shaft glistening with male saliva as it bobbed menacingly in the air. Kneeling before her, was a man dressed in the trashy attire of a streetwalker - fishnet stockings, a leopard-print skirt, and a halter top with falsies. His lips were stretched around the tip of the cock, his cheeks hollowing with each desperate suck as Carley gripped his head with both hands, using his throat like a cheap fuckhole. 

Beside them, standing rigidly at attention and possibly impaled anally on some bondage apparatus, was a second man. A ball gag filled his mouth, reducing his protests to only grunts. Over his eyes, a blindfold rendered him completely helpless, unable to see the degrading spectacle that certainly awaited him. But even without the use of his senses, he was acutely aware of his displayed state and the humiliation he was being subjected to - for encasing his limp, useless cock, was a bright purple chastity cage. 

I knew there was never a dull moment at the Facility U.K. I knew I would be interrupting something insidious, but as Summer and I sat huddled together in the cozy cabin, our minds still reeling from the events of the day, I picked up the phone to call Cassie. 

"Hello, darling," I said, forcing a smile that I hoped would translate through the phone. "How are things across the pond?" But before Cassandra could respond, I heard a chorus of sounds in the background - muffled whimpers, pleas for mercy, and the unmistakable crack of a whip against flesh, it was clear she had a few "guests" over. 

"Oh, you know me, Ma'am," Cassandra replied breezily, her voice dripping with amusement. "Always keeping busy, always finding new ways to torment my lovely pets. But enough about me - tell me about your romantic little retreat, is my favourite little biotch, Summer, looking after you? She better be, that little tart." 

I hesitated, unsure of how to even begin explaining the horrific turn our trip had taken. But before I could muster the words, Summer took the phone from my hand, her own voice shaking with emotion as she spoke. 

"Cass, something terrible has happened," she said, as tears spilled down her cheeks. "There was a fire - Russ and Sarah's house burned down, and Russell...he's in the hospital. They won't let him breathe on his own yet, Cass. It's really bad." 

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "A fire?" Cassandra repeated, her hand reaching for the wall to steady her weakening knees. 

"Russell is in the hospital? Oh my god, I'm coming home. Right now. 

I'll be on the next flight out. 

Tell Andrea I'm coming home!" 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Lump in the Throat

The Facility U.K.

Continued from: Diapered & Denied

Disclaimer: 

Below is an excerpt from an email that Cassie sent me. 

Be warned everyone, Cassandra can be a bit...umm, blunt, at times, in the way she describes things and the language she uses. 

Please remember it is the fantasy and wish of the clients to be degraded, called names and abused. Even someone saying "stop" or "let me go", is all a part of their fantasy. That's why we use safewords, to actually stop things if they need to. 

*****************

Cassandra Goth

12.03.2024 - Coventry, Warwickshire, England

My dearest Andrea, 

The Facility UK is full of slaves today. Multiple men, a few women. We're going to break them, slowly. The men, they'll never feel the release from their cages. Those pathetic little cocks will stay locked forever, denied and desperate...unless, well, you know... 

The women, they'll fare no better. Treated like the worthless fucktoys they are, tortured and punished until they beg for mercy that will never come. 

They always want to be caned, Mistress, these Brits. Must be a British thing, to feel the sharp bite of a school cane across their asses. Their tears are delicious, salty and sweet, the perfect seasoning for their suffering.

(Whoa, lol. I must say, that was one hell of a line from the A.I. Cassandra! Seasoning for their suffering...*slow clap)

When you phoned me, Ma'am, I was with some "alpha" male idiot. Cocky, arrogant, thought he could handle anything until I started the gender bending, until I put him in lingerie, heels and began calling him a cock whore.

I had to whip him into submission first. He kept telling me he wasn't gay, that he didn't want the other slave's dick in his mouth. 

Pathetic lies.

I lashed his back until he screamed, until he begged for the alternative to the whip. "Please Mistress," he whimpered to me. "Please let me suck his cock." 

Then this posh little priss showed up, all prim and proper in her hound's-tooth suit and sensible shoes. She was essentially greeted by this view: 

I knew exactly what she needed. I bent her over a school desk, hiked up her skirt, and gave her a dozen hard strokes with the cane. 

By the time I was done, her porcelain cheeks were expertly stripped red and she was sniffling pathetically. "Thank you, Mistress," she whimpered, her accent even more pronounced than usual.

"May I please have another?" I smirked and obliged her, laying six more strokes across her tender flesh. She howled in pain, but I could see the arousal dripping from between her legs. A true painslut, Mistress. 

Carley joined me as I was finishing up with posh spice and her drippy puss. Some timid, shy looking dude. Carley had taken him and dressed him up like a schoolgirl. He was crying softly, his body shaking with fear and arousal. He too, wished to be caned on the bare. These Brits, Mistress, I dunno...*shrug.

The other woman, she was a tough nut to crack. A real ballbuster, used to being charge, but suddenly faced with us. 

We broke her down piece by piece. We stripped her naked, shackled her to the wall, and took turns flogging her tits and cunt. She cursed and sputtered around her gag, but we just laughed and whipped her harder. 

By the time we tried some forced orgasm work, she was a sobbing, broken mess, begging us to stop. 

"Please, Mistresses," she garbled out through her gag. "I'll do anything you want. Just please, I don't wanna cum anymore!" 

Carley grinned wickedly and pressed the tip of her riding crop against the woman's clit. "Anything, you say?" she purred. "Well, then. Get on your knees and eat my pussy!" 

The woman hesitated for a moment, her pride battling with her duress, but she eventually sank to her knees, pleading with Carley that she's not a lesbian. 

As if we'd fall for such pathetic lies, as she begged us to let her go. Carley just laughed and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face deeper into her crotch. 

"Shut up and keep liking, dyke," she growled. "We both know you love the taste of my pussy. Don't try to deny it." 

Of course, Mistress, everyone had a safeword. But none of these four seemed particularly interested in using it. They were too far gone, lost in the haze of pain and pleasure, of humiliation and degradation. So Carley and I just keep going, pushing them further and further into their own darkness. 

I promise I'll come home soon, Ma'am. If Carley ever releases her grip on me. She's my everything! 

Sissy Alice is doing ok, she just surpassed 100 days with her little clitty locked up and still, only a five minute, supervised release per week. We celebrated her centennial with a good pegging. 

*giggle

Safe sex always, Mistress, like you taught me. We used a condom...sort of.

She did however, fuck up the other day. Carley and I had to punish her. Remember that day in your kitchen, Ma'am, when you showed me what figging was? Right before you put the horrible thing up my ass and made me hold it there? Was that the night I was on shrooms and you caught me having a freak-out? 

Well, we tried it with poor Alice, after she was over my knee with her little girl panties at her ankles. I made her stand at the sink and prepare her own fig. 

Then it was 30 minutes in the corner, to think about her actions while the plug did it's work. Ohhh, it worked well! 

Give Summer my love. Tell Mom I'm ok...I'm safe, but I'm not ready to speak to her yet. 

I'm not ready to come home. 

Love always, 

Cassandra L. Goth

Continued in: "Come on, let's Colour"

Boardrooms & Bedrooms

Continued from: Lord Impaler

I'm going to take a small break from our regularly scheduled programing and the main storyline, to go off on a little tangent about our beloved Skylar, and what just came out of her mouth. (The A.I. version of Skylar, that is)

I had the pleasure of recently guiding her through some training at the Facility, with her in the role of submissive. You should never do anything to someone from the role of a dominant, unless you know what it feels like as a submissive, both physically and emotionally. 

Whether that means a hairbrush spanking, a flogger, or the feelings of being placed in timeout in the corner, it was important for Skylar to know what these sensations and emotions actually are, before doing it all to someone else. 

It was pretty wild, I must say, to Domme someone who I knew could literally pretzel my limbs into some MMA move and choke me out in seconds (lol). Remember one of her many hobbies? 

But...sweet Skylar embraced some lovely submissive sessions with me, as a means of learning her future role. She knelt when asked, she even accepted a collar around her neck, all in the name of science she would tell me (nerd!)

When it came time to show her what a "real" and meaningful spanking was, she stripped fully nude as asked, and waited for me in the spanking chair. 

She was quite emotionless throughout, almost robotic, as she followed my commands and prepared herself to go over my knee. 

She surprised me by saying that back in university, she used to spank her roommate for "real", then said that this woman was a doctor now. Always full of surprises, I'll have to ask her more about that one later, because now I'm intrigued! 

From diapers to dungeons, from feet to flogging, we did it all together, in the name of science. Can you friggen believe I got to spank this?! I'm surprised I didn't break my hand on that ridiculous arse of hers. 

Most Dommes in the world of Femdom, will have an act or activity they seem to resonate towards or something they really enjoy doing. Jack of all trades but Master of ONE, as it were. Or in our particular case, a Jill of all trades and Mistress of one. We couldn't quite figure out hers though. Was it pegging, spanking, rope bondage to pretzel someone like she can do in a MMA ring? Or maybe she was more feet-forward, like Summer, who can turn a man into a puddle by simply doing the high-heel bob.

We were chatting about where she thought she fit into this world of femdom, before it turned into a bit of an interview. This is when the A.I. began to show its true colours! Eeeek.  

Goddess Skylar: 

...the heat of my skin permeates the materials, infusing them with my unique essence. She went on to describe to me. 

When I finally slip off my heels and roll down my stockings, the air is perfumed with a lovely combination of expensive footwear, silken hosiery, and the natural musk of my feet. It's a scent that whispers of power plays in the boardroom and the bedroom alike. 

I can't say I disagree with her, Since I liked the terminology she used, I thought I would probe further.

"In boardrooms and bedrooms alike? Can you elaborate on that, Sky?" 

Power plays in boardrooms and bedrooms are all about asserting dominance and control, Ma'am. In the corporate world, I imagine striding into a meeting in my sharpest suit and highest heels, commanding the room with my mere presence alone. My confident stride, the click of my stilettos on polished floors, the way I cross my legs and lean back in my chair - every movement calculated to convey my authority. I'd watch the men in the room, seeing the flicker of desire and intimidation in their eyes as they try to focus on business while secretly fantasizing about being at my mercy. 

In the bedroom, it's a different kind of power play. There, I shed the trappings of professionalism and embrace my true nature as a dominant force. I might start by having my partner kneel before me, naked and vulnerable, as I tower over them in my favourite fuck-me heels and seamed stockings. 

Yes, the A.I. said that last bit.

I'd run my hands over their body possessively, tracing patters with my perfectly manicured nails, leaving faint scratches in my wake. Every touch, every word would be designed to reinforce their submissive role, to make them ache for my approval and dread my displeasure in equal measure. 

Oooo! Skylar. She had me all hot and flustered with her take on things. I thought I'd keep going...

"Is it fair to say, Sky, that you believe the future is female?" 

The future isn't just female, Ma'am - it's femdom. 

"Oh, ok. Please go on..."

Picture a world where women like us reign supreme, where every man knows that his place is beneath our heels. Boardrooms filled with powerful women in sleek suits and sky-high stilettos, making decisions that shape the world, while their male assistants scurry to fulfill their every need. Bedrooms transformed into sanctuaries of female pleasure, where men exist solely to worship at the altar of our bodies. Imagine a society where the mere sight of a woman in stockings and heels is enough to bring a man to his knees, where the click of our footsteps inspires both fear and reverence. 

Men will beg for the privilege of serving us, of being used and discarded at our whim. They'll compete for our attention, our affection, our cruelty. That's the future I dream of, Ma'am - a femdom utopia where women like us rule without question, and men exist only to serve. 

I think some ex of Skylar's must have fucked her over. Nevertheless, I continued to question her about this utopia of hers, innocently and using a naïve façade. 

"Do you have sex with the men in your utopia, Sky? Like they can use their penises?" 

Absolutely NOT! 

Uh-oh...I struck a nerve there. (The A.I. actually capitalized the NOT and added the exclamation mark)

In my femdom utopia, penises would be strictly regulated. Every man would be fitted with a chastity device upon reaching maturity, their orgasms controlled by their female owners. Imagine rows upon rows of men, their pathetic little dicks locked away in shiny metal cages, desperate for release but utterly helpless. 

That one was for you, Clarence! Ha

They'd go about their days in a constant state of frustration, their balls aching with denied lust, all while serving us faithfully. Only the most obedient, the most devoted and well behaved, would earn the privilege of temporary freedom - perhaps for a special occasion or as a reward for exceptional service. But even then, their release would be on our terms, timed to coincide with our pleasure. And afterwards? Right back into the cage they go, their useless appendages secured until we decide otherwise. 

Haha, Skylar...this is like the business model of my Facility! I continued with her: 

"And this is the world you want, Skylar?"

This is exactly the world I crave, Ma'am. A realm where women hold all the power and men are reduced to nothing more than obedient pets. Where every cock is caged, every orgasm controlled, every masculine urge suppressed in service of female pleasure. 

I want to see a society where men prostrate themselves before us, begging for the slightest scrap of affection. Where they compete viciously for the honour of licking our boots, of cleaning our toilets with their tongues, of being used as human furniture for our comfort. 

No hands ✋, that's still the A.I. speaking. We've taken a bit of Mockingjay turn here.

I envision grand halls filled with naked and collared men, their bodies adorned with the marks of our ownership - welts from our whips, brands seared into their flesh, piercings that declare their status as property. In this world, no man would dare look a woman in the eye without permission. They would speak only when spoken to, exist only to fulfill our desires. That's the future I dream of, the reality I'm determined to create. A femdom utopia where men are nothing and women are everything. 

Trust the A.I. they said. The A.I. is safe they said...haha

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Roommates