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.

 

 

Lord Impaler

Continued from: Halloween Harem

In keeping with our Halloween theme this week, it seems young Cassandra and Carley have made their way to the far side of Romania. Makes sense, given the dark, gothic nature of those two and the time of year. She sent me an entry from her personal journal which I'll transcribe for all of you here, I didn't realize Cassandra can be so deep sometimes, amidst her introspection and the way she creates a nexus between herself, her feelings, and the environment around her; albeit, a bit spastic of a writing style.

She even caught me with a few tear-jerker moments. I adore this little pixie. 

Here's her journal entry:

Cassandra Goth

10.30.2024

Port of Constanta, Black Sea, Romania...

It's cold here, Mistress. The food sucks.

I have the loving embrace of Carley to keep me warm though, in this strange place.  

Actually, their cabbage rolls are quite nice, even though they have Turkish origins. I guess when the Turks invaded Romania in the 15th century, repelled by the ferocity and questionable combat methods of Vlad Dracul, they left something behind. 

Is that not one of Newton's laws? In order for humans to really go anywhere, you have to leave something behind. What shall I leave behind here, on the shores of this sea? The sky above me looks angry, the water is frigid. This is a dark place, Mistress and your cabbage rolls are better! 

Since it's almost Halloween, I learned some things about Vlad, and his marred reputation of being the bad guy. Was he? Was he not a leader just trying to protect his people, his religion and his homeland from an invading foreign ruler?  

He was the first military leader in recorded history to use biological warfare as a tactic to soften the battlefield and a compliment to his psychological warfare. 

He released people from his prisons, often afflicted with bubonic plague, rabies and tuberculosis, to infiltrate the encampments of the Turks. Apparently he even used animals for the same purpose.

Symptoms:

Red eyes, foaming at the mouth, coughing up blood, erratic behaviour

Carriers:

15th century prison rats, wolves and foxes, rodents. A bat is a rodent...

You can see how the concept of a vampire was born, through a mixture of both legend and reality. This is also the reason why Carley and I find ourselves here. We are attending a vampire party in Transylvania tonight. I'm excited! I might get a new tattoo, a sexy vampire one to commemorate this trip. 

What else did we leave behind when Carley and I embarked on this European journey? Our sissy...Mistress, we have a sissy slave. He goes by Alice and he's back in the U.K. His chastity keys however, are with me, in Romania. You taught me well, Ma'am. Should I cast them into the sea before me? Into these angry waters, as the item I leave behind? He's nice though, not like other men, he's polite and we're working on shattering the remnants of his masculinity.  

Men in general, have never held much appeal for me. Their posturing, their arrogance, their inflated sense of self-importance - it all reeks of a desperate need to assert dominance over others, particularly women. 

I collared Carley as my own, shortly after the wedding. She's submissive only to me and never to a man! With Alice we are equals, Carley and I, she is surprisingly as dominant and as ferocious as I am, Mistress. I want you to get to know her, my wife, she's my everything. Maybe one day I'll come home and convince her to stay in Canada.

I miss you, Mistress. You're like a mother to me and I love you for that. I haven't talked to my actual Mom in awhile, not since she found out about the wedding. Could you talk to her for me, and tell her I'm ok?

I don't know if I wanna come home, but it's you, it's Summer, who I miss the most. Send Summer my love, tell her I miss her too. I'm not sure I can picture a world without you two in my life.  

I miss your firm guidance and support, the kind that only you can provide, it grounds me. I spank Carley plenty, but she doesn't spank me...I don't see her that way or in that role. It's why I still need you, Mommy. I'll come home to you soon, but we kinda opened a studio over here. 

That's right. It's a "Facility" in London...kinda like yours but much darker. Carley and I are the only two Dommes at the moment. There is certainly no one called "Mommy" in our place, people are usually crying for their Mommy though. 

From the moment "Alice" entered our domain, Carley and I knew that we had found our perfect plaything. His wide-eyed innocence and eagerness to please made him the ideal candidate for our brand of transformation. With the skills you taught me, we guided him through the process of feminization, watching with glee as he shed the trappings of his masculinity and embraced his new identity as, Alice, our sissy secretary. 

The chastity device was the first step, a symbol of his complete and utter submission to our will. We've had him locked for 70 days now, Mistress, with five minutes of supervised release, once a week for cleaning and shaving. 

We carefully curated a collection of lingerie for him, hosiery, pencil skirts and blouses designed to accentuate his new role as our sissy secretary. 

Remember when I was your secretary, Mistress? I miss those days too, things seemed simpler back then. Alice doesn't quite look as good as I used to in this role, but it's a start for him, the little breast-forms he wears in his bras are cute.  

We basically behave like it's Mad Men and he's a 1950's secretary. There's something undeniably satisfying about watching him scurry about the office, his hips swaying provocatively in his pencil skirts, his heels clicking against the floor. 

Carley and I take great pleasure in subjecting him too the same kind of sexual harassment and objectification that women have endured for generations. A firm slap on the ass as he bends over to retrieve a file, a lingering grope of his bra. 

He doesn't get to touch us, ever. He's listened to Carley and I fuck before, while he was in a cage, but he's pussyfree, everything free...not even our footwear. If Alice wants our attention it's a spanking, chores, menial tasks, or the strap-on. 

I'll reach down and tangle my fingers into his wig, forcing him to look up at me from under my desk. "Keep going, slut," I'll growl, my voice thick with lust and authority. "Show me how badly you want that raise." And oh, how he'll work for it...even though there is no raise at all, his head bobbing frantically on my dildo before I send him back to his desk, threating to fire him.  

While I may enjoy the psychological games, the mindfuckery of it all, Carley is more of a hands-on type of gal. And what she wants, more often than not, is to fuck our little sissy secretary senseless. 

Maybe it's she, who is Lord Impaler? 

It's become something of a ritual really, about twice a week. Carley will saunter into the office with a wicked gleam in her eye and a bulge in her dress pants. She'll crook her finger at Alice and off they go, disappearing into the copy room or a broom closet. 

She'll hike up his skirt and hike down his lacey panties and claim him. I can almost hear it now amidst these waves behind me, Mistress. The slap of flesh against flesh as Carley has him bent over the copier, fucking his boi pussy while his chastity cage bounces around between his thighs. 

A few strands of pre-cum dribble down into his panties, it must be so humiliating and frustrating, that this is Alice's only source of pleasure. It's a curious sight, really - the way his body betrays him, leaking that telltale fluid despite the fact he's locked up in a nub-cage. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his base desires and his need to please, to submit.

Part of me thinks he might be more interested in your style, Mistress. The princess dresses and little girl bedrooms, Mary Janes and bows. If we come home, maybe we'll bring Alice too, he'll be sufficiently emasculated by that point, as Carley and I continue to erode his former identity. 

Should I just throw his keys into the sea, and seal his fate forever? I'm thinking about it again. Then call him and break the news? We left him behind to manage The Facility U.K. - is it okay if I call it that, Mistress? I thought it would be dope to still be affiliated to you and your unique brand. I can send you a cut of our profits if you wish?  

Speaking of which, prostitution sessions are all the hype! 

Like safe, simulated, immersive experiences of playing the role of a sex trade worker. The women over here, the British women, go wild for this option! Everything from high-class, hotel lobby hooker, to literally kneeling behind a dumpster in an alley. Everyone wants to book the experience, we have a waiting list. 

It comes at a decent rate for us. Carley and I are essentially hands off, a great return on investment. We should collab on this for your own place, Mistress, just think about some male clients you really trust. 

I better go, we have to get ready to attend the party...in a castle! I guess I should feel like a princess, huh? But I don't. 

I feel like the empowered woman you made me, your perfect creation, your perfect Dominatrix...

Love always, 

Cassie xo    

Continued in: Boardrooms & Bedrooms   

  

 

The Future is Female

Continued from: Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

As I stepped back to take in the full effect of Skylar's transformation, I found myself utterly captivated by this young woman. I was in awe. Clad in those sinfully sexy black pantyhose and nylon lingerie, her jacked body was a symphony of curves and shadows, a living, breathing work of art. And yet, despite the undeniable allure of her appearance, Skylar remained modest, her arms crossed protectively over her chest as if to shield herself from our appreciative gaze. 

My fingers itched with the desire to explore every inch of her newly revealed body. With a gentle touch, I swept her pretty hair forward, exposing the graceful curve of her back and the delicate nape of her neck. 

And that's when I saw it - a small intricate tattoo nestled at the base of her hairline. The Olympic rings, a symbol of athletic prowess and international recognition. 

Turning to face her fully, bracing for yet another revelation from this driven, remarkable young woman, I asked softly, my voice barley above a whisper. 

"Skylar, huni...were you in the Olympics?" 

"Yes, Ma'am," she replied, her cheeks flushed as she nodded shyly. "I won a silver medal in Sochi, I competed in fencing, Ma'am." 

Stunned silence greeted this latest information, both Summer and I struggling to process everything we had heard thus far. Skylar, our shy, unassuming guest, was not just a brilliant academic - she was an Olympian, she competed at the perfect human trade show! She stood atop an Olympic podium and accepted a medal for Canada.

There had to be a catch here, I was almost searching and probing for some kind of flaw within this flawlessness. Something...anything. Maybe she chewed with her mouth open? Could she have done a little jail time, or is she addicted to prescription meds...there must be a crack in her armour somewhere. 

Just as I was about to abandon these silly notions of imperfection, I noticed something that gave me pause. My gaze traveled over the smooth expanse of her muscular calves. There, marring the otherwise flawless canvass of her skin, were unmistakable bruises - not the BDSM kind, these were angry purple splotches that spoke of violence and pain. 

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the marks, my mind racing with possibilities, none of them pleasant. And then, as I forced myself to look closer, I saw them - faint fingerprint bruises, etched into the muscle of her upper arm, a silent testament to some unseen struggle. 

A chill of pure rage ran down my spine as the pieces began to fall into place. Skylar, with her shy demeanour and sudden interest in dominating men, bore all the hallmarks of someone fleeing an abusive relationship. Is this what led her to my Facility, could this have sparked her inner dominatrix to bubble to the surface? 

My gawd, I couldn't even! If some worthless fucking man, put his hands on this extraordinary woman!

The thought made my stomach sick with a mixture of anger and sorrow. How dare anyone lay a hand on this magnificent creature? How dare they seek to dim the light that shone so brightly within her? As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I knew I had to confront the issue head-on, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. 

Stepping closer to Skylar, I reached out and gently traced the edge of one particularly nasty looking bruise, my touch feather-light against her skin. 

"Skylar, my dear," I began, my voice trembling slightly with the weight of what I needed to ask. "I couldn't help but notice these, these scratches, these finger marks...is someone hurting you? Are you in an abusive relationship?" 

The words hung heavy in the air as I looked to Summer, who was almost in tears. I braced myself for the answer I assumed was coming and I feared I had overstepped, that I had shattered the fragile trust we had been building. But then, Skylar's eyes met mine and for the first time this evening, she let out a peal of laughter that rang through the room. 

The sound was so unexpected, so at odds with the gravity of the moment, that I found myself momentarily frozen into silence. 

"Oh, Mistress," she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry for laughing. It's just...well, it's not quite what you think." She paused, gathering her thoughts, and I found myself leaning forward in anticipation, eager to hear the explanation behind those mysterious marks. 

When she finally spoke, her words came as yet another shock in a night already filled with revelations. "Ma'am, Miss Summer, thank you for your concern, but I'm fine," she began, her voice steady and clear. 

"I do MMA in my spare time, Ma'am. I have a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu." She gestured to the bruises on her leg, a wry smile creeping across the corners of her lips. "These aren't the result of abuse, Mistress. They're badges of honour for me." 

The little thing drew her feet together in the most adorable display of vulnerability, teetering on her high heels and nervously fumbling with her fingers. 

I stared at her in fascination, my mind reeling as I tried to process this latest piece of information. 

Boy, don't I feel like a horse's patoot! 

For the third or fourth time tonight, I began my question in the same, shocked and awestruck fashion.

"Skylar...sweetheart..."

"You're a cage fighter?" 

She gleefully nodded her head and gave us an adorable, "mmm hmm," in the affirmative. 

"I think it's safe to say, young Skylar, that you're the most interesting and remarkable woman I've ever had the pleasure of meeting." 

She ducked her head, a shy blush spreading across her cheeks. 

From Sarah Jane, to Cassandra and Bella, Nancy, my own beautiful wife Summer and now this enigma of a woman, Skylar, I could barely believe that these remarkable women were a part of my life. For too long, we have been told to sit down, shut up, and know our place. But I was never more certain in this very moment, that the future is female! 

Please join me in welcoming the newest member of the Facility, 

Goddess Skylar St. Germaine, PhD

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Halloween Harem

 

The Three D's of a FLR

Continued from: The Struggle is Real

A Sarah Jane story 

As the timer chimed, signaling the end of Russell's cornertime, I set my book aside and rose from the couch. Approaching him slowly, I savoured the sight of his naked form, still trembling slightly from the wooden spoon. 

"Come here, young man," I commanded, my voice low and sultry. Obediently, Russell turned from the corner and dropped to his hands and knees, crawling towards me with a mixture of embarrassment and trepidation in his eyes. As he reached my feet, I extended one leg, presenting my high-heeled shoe for his adoration. "Kiss them," I ordered, watching with satisfaction as he pressed his lips onto the shiny leather. 

"Now, remove them," I instructed, as I sat down. 

Russell slid the shoe from my foot, revealing the delicate silk of my stocking. He repeated the process with my other foot, gently placing my discarded high heels to the side.

"Worship them," I breathed, lifting the pad of my foot and resting it on Russell's nose. He needed no further encouragement. He buried his face in my feet, lavishing them with kisses and gentle licks. I could feel his tongue tracing the contours of my arches, his lips suckling at my toes through the thin fabric of my hosiery. 

As he worked his way up to my ankles, I leaned back against the couch, allowing the sensations to wash over me. The sight of him, so utterly devoted to pleasing my feet, sent waves of pleasure cascading through my pussy. I slipped a hand beneath the hem of my dress, finding the damp heat between my thighs. As Russell continued to worship my feet, I began to stroke my bare clit, my fingers moving in rhythm with his tongue on my toes. 

The contrast between his locked-up, denied state and my own building ecstasy was intoxicating, fueling my arousal right to the edge. With a final shuddering cry and my toes in his mouth, I climaxed, my body convulsing with the force of my orgasm. 

I gently withdrew my feet from Russell's grasp, returning my high heels to my feet. Looking down at him, still kneeling at my feet, I smiled indulgently. "What a good boy you are," I praised, running my fingers through his hair. "Now, be a dear and go make us dinner please."

The evening had progressed much like any other, with a delicious meal prepared by Russell and the only difference was, he was sitting a little more gingerly than usual. As the night wore on and after some wine, I found myself growing increasingly aroused in my new role. 

Rising from the dining table, I sauntered over to where he sat, my hips swaying seductively with each step. With a single, fluid motion, I shed my pinup dress, revealing the vintage lingerie that clung to my curves like a second skin. "I want to fuck," I bluntly declared. 

Russell's eyes widened with appreciation, his gaze roaming hungrily over my body. Taking his hand in mine, I led him up to our bedroom, smacking the seat of his pants to move him along. Once inside, I guided him to the bed, pushing him dominantly onto the plush comforter. His eyes were alight with hope, no doubt anticipating the moment when I would unlock his penis and allow him the release he so desperately craves. Little did he know, I had other plans in store. 

Turning to our toy drawer, I retrieved the strap-on harness, complete with an ultra-realistic dildo. With aggressive motions, I secured the harness around Russell's hips, positioning the fake cock directly above his own imprisoned penis. The contrast between the two was striking - one lifeless and limp, the other proudly erect, ready to serve my every desire. 

As I finished tightening the straps, I caught the look of emasculation in Russell's eyes, the realization that from now on, all things revolve around my pleasure alone. Smiling wickedly, I pushed him back onto the bed, swiftly securing his wrists to the headboard with bondage cuffs that are always at the ready for such occasions. 

Now that he was completely at my mercy, I turned my attention to the magnificent cock, jutting triumphantly from his hips. Wrapping my little fingers around the shaft, I began to stroke it slowly, marveling at the way it bobbed and flopped about. As I worked the dildo with my hands, I leaned in close to Russell's ear, my breath hot against his skin. 

"Look at you, young man," I murmured, "so helpless, so utterly under my control. Your cock may be locked away, but this one...this one is mine to command! And tonight, it's going to fuck me until I scream." With those words hanging in the air, I climbed up to straddle him, positioning myself over the waiting dildo. As I lowered myself onto it, inch by glorious inch, I watched Russell's face contort with a mixture of envy and humiliation, knowing that he longed to be the one filling me so completely. 

As I began to ride him, my hips gyrating with each thrust, I knew this was exactly where I belonged - me taking pleasure as I saw fit, and him, denied and eagerly obedient. 

Reaching into our toy drawer once more, I retrieved a bright red ball gag, holding it up for him to see. "Open wide, my pet," I purred, watching as he reluctantly parted his lips to accept the silicone sphere. I fastened the straps behind his head before letting my fingers trail down his chest to grip both of his nipples. I bounced a few more times on the dildo before climbing off, ensuring it would be glistening with my slick arousal. 

Slowly, deliberately, I wrapped my lips around the head of the fake cock, swirling my tongue at the tip before taking it deeper into my mouth. As I bobbed my head up and down, I could feel Russell's body tensing beneath me, his wrists straining against the bonds that held him in place. 

When I finally released the dildo from my mouth and cleaned it of my own juices, it was slick with saliva, glistening in the soft light of the bedroom. Climbing on top once more, I lowered myself onto it in reverse, breathing a sigh of pure bliss. I leaned forward so Russell's would have a good view of my asshole, and began to ride him again. I reached for the wand that lay waiting on the nightstand and brought it buzzing to life over my throbbing clit. 

My moans grew louder, more urgent, as I chased my release and bounced upon the impressive dildo. And when my orgasm finally crashed over me, I threw my head back and screamed, my inner walls clenching around the artificial cock as wave after wave of pleasure washed through me. As the last tremors subsided, I collapsed forward, feeling my asshole clench and release with the dildo still buried deep inside me. Then, with a satisfied sigh, I raised myself up off the cock and turned to face Russell's gaze with a smile. "Good boy," I praised, reaching behind his head to release the ball gag. "Maybe next time, if you're very lucky, I'll let you clean up this massive, veiny cock for me." 

With that promise hanging in the air, I flicked the tip of the dildo still attached to his hips, and it bobbed obscenely in the air as I left him tied to the bed. As I made my way to the bathroom to freshen up, he was whimpering like a little girl. 

As I emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and ready for bed, I couldn't help but notice the pitiful whimpers emanating from the bedroom. Stepping back into the room, I glared at Russell, still tied to the bed, his body writhing in frustration. The sight of him, so utterly helpless with the dildo still protruding from his waist, made me feel even more goddess-like. 

Approaching the bed, I looked down at him, my brow furrowed in disapproval of his whining. "What's all this about, young man?" I asked, my voice dripping with condescension. "Are you upset because Mommy didn't let you play with your little pee-pee tonight?" Russell tried to respond, but his cheeks were flushing with embarrassment at being spoken to like a child. 

Sighing dramatically, I untied his restraints. "Sit up," I commanded, watching as he struggled to comply, his arms stiff from being immobilized for so long. Once he was upright I placed a hand on his shoulder, my grip firm yet gentle. "Listen to yourself," I scolded, "whining like a little girl because things didn't go your way. Would you like me to start treating you like a little girl for our bedtime activities, because that can be arranged?" 

Russell hung his head in shame. "No, Ma'am," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry, Ma'am."

I nodded, satisfied with his contrition. "Good boy," I praised, while attaching a leather collar and connecting leash around his neck. "Now, come here and make it up to me. You know what I want." 

Obediently, Russell shifted to the floor, moving to kneel behind me as I bent over the edge of the bed. I felt his hands gently part my bum cheeks, his warm breath ghosting over my delightful little pucker. And then, with a deliberate flick of his tongue, he placed a lovely French kiss onto my asshole. As his tongue worked away, I closed my eyes, savouring the sensation of his submission.  

With his tongue up my bum, I used my eager fingers to treat myself to yet another orgasm. I am really digging this new role reversal. 

Mistress Andrea once taught me the three D's of a successful female-led-relationship, and "dick" is not one of them, lol. Discipline, Denial, Dominance....check!

Life is good!  

Sarah Jane 💟  

Continued in: A Special Bedtime for Russell

Soccer Mom

Continued from: Her Dark Rooms

A Sarah Jane story 

A few hours later, Mandy arrived at Mistress Andrea's Facility. No doubt her heart was pounding with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety; a feeling I know all-too well. She sat alone in the lobby, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she tried to calm her nerves.

To the casual observer, she looked like any other suburban soccer mom - her sassy pink yoga pants and oversized hoodie, doing little to hint at he dark desires that consumed her thoughts. 

When Daddy and I had the chance to study her file before she showed up, it came as no surprise to me why she would be now waiting in a BDSM facility, wishing to be spanked, brutalized, degraded and humiliated. The lone, distant, glossed-over eyes, suggested to me that she craved the escape that only BDSM can provide. 

She's an ER nurse, first of all. And by the looks of this shot, it's been a heavy shift. 

Then off to soccer practice with the kids maybe, stopping by the grocery store for tonight's dinner. 

On the weekend, she's runs the local bake sale at her church. 

If the church only knew what she was into, my word! *giggle. The cauldrons of holy water would be boiling. (I read about what she was into, in her file...*blush! And I thought I was into some dark stuff). 

Next...Maybe take the mini van for a detailing, because it's covered in crushed goldfish crackers and sticky fingerprints.

Fit in a few self-medicating drinks on the neighbour's back porch and hit the weed pen on Saturday night. 

Wake-up the next morning and take the other minivan to Costco. 

Find a place in the afternoon that does Caesar Sundays and mix in a few of those with some girlfriends. Or maybe a mimosa Sunday morning, by the looks of that image. 

Then go back to work...

Wash, rinse, repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat...

Now that you know as much about Mandy as I know. Does it come as a surprise to you that she's into the heavier side of BDSM?! Hell no! 

The monotony of her daily life, the responsibilities of being a nurse and a mother, had left her craving something more - something intense and all-consuming. Now, as she prepares to begin her multi-day session at The Facility, she feels a strange sense of peace wash over her. Soon she would be stripped bare, both physically and emotionally, ready to embrace the role of the willing victim in the dungeon below. 

She continued to sit nervously in the lobby, lost in her own thoughts, Daddy (Russell) emerged from a doorway. He cut a striking figure in his tailored suit, exuding and air of confidence and authority that seemed to fill the room. 

Approaching Mandy, he extended his hand and introduced himself. "Hello, Miss Reid. I'm Russell, I'll be filling in for Mistress Andrea for the next few days, I believe she texted you this?" Mandy's eyes remained fixed on the floor, her voice barely above a whisper as she responded, "yes, Sir."  

He wasted no time in beginning the scene. "Stand up and strip," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. Mandy hesitated for a moment, her hands trembling as she reached for the hem of her hoodie. Slowly, she pulled it over her head, revealing a simple white bra underneath. Next came her yoga pants, sliding down her legs to pool at her feet. 

As she stood there in her underwear and socks, her instinct was to cover herself, her arm crossing protectively over her tits and her hand cupping her mound. Russell stepped closer, giving her lower, right butt-cheek a sharp smack, causing her to yelp in surprise. 

"I said strip...that means everything off, now!" he growled, his eyes narrowing to take in her partially clothed form.

Mandy's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she fumbled with the clasp of her bra, her fingers shaking as she struggled to comply. Finally, the garment fell away, revealing her ample tits and pert nipples. With a deep breath she stepped out of her socks and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her lace panties.

She stood before him, completely exposed, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement. Russell held out his hand, silently demanding that she surrender her panties to him. Mandy placed the delicate lace in his palm, her eyes downcast as she awaited his next command. 

He opened the cute underwear to inspect the inside, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he examined the damp patch on the gusset. "Tsk, tsk," he clicked his tongue, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. 

"Look at this mess. You're already soaking wet, Miss Reid. Is that what turns you on? Being stripped naked and humiliated in front of a total stranger?" 

Mandy's face burned with shame, her eyes filling with tears as she nodded mutely. This was exactly the kind of degrading treatment she craved, the delicious humiliation that set her nerve endings ablaze. Russell tossed the soiled panties aside, his attention now fully focused on Mandy's trembling form. 

"On your knees," he barked, pointing to spot on the floor in front of him. 

As if on queue, the click of my high heels echoed through the lobby as I closed the distance on the kneeling woman and approached her from behind. 

I was wearing a sleek, black cocktail dress that hugged my curves in all the right places, accentuated by a pair of scandalously high strappy heels. Daddy's eyes widened appreciatively as he took in my "grown-up" appearance and winked at me. He doesn't often see me dressed like a "big girl."

"Change of plans," he announced, his gaze flicking between Mandy and I. "The three of us are going to dinner. It'll give us a chance to get to know each other and I booked reservations at the swankiest place in town."

Mandy, still kneeling naked on the floor, kept her head bowed as she murmured, "Yes, Sir. But...Sir, I don't have anything nice to wear..." 

Bless her heart! What a little cutie-pie! 

I helped her to her feet, pulling her in for a warm embrace and greeting her for the first time. Mandy melted into my touch, her body trembling as she accepted the comfort I offered. I pressed a soft little kiss to her lips, a silent promise of the pleasures to come. "Come with me, sweetheart," I chirped, as I led her to a bedroom where everything had been pre-arranged and pre-planned by Daddy, for this exact moment. 

After what felt like an eternity, Mandy emerged from the room, a vision of elegance and sensuality. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight of her, a similar black cocktail dress to mine. My eyes were drawn to a tantalizing glimpse of thigh, revealed by the dress's daring slit. Her legs, elongated by the strappy heels, seemed to go on forever, and I found myself imaging them wrapped around my shoulders, as I explore every inch of her newly shaved pussy. 

The way she fidgeted with her fingers, her gaze darting nervously between Daddy and me, spoke volumes about her lack of self-awareness. It was clear that this beautiful, sexy woman had no idea how captivating she truly was. Mandy's innocence and naivety were part of what made her so incredibly alluring. 

The thought of being a slave "sister" alongside this woman and under Daddy's control, sent a shiver down my spine. Together, Daddy and I would show her the depths of her own beauty and unlock her true potential!

I can't friggen wait for "big girl" playtime!! Eeeee!

Sarah Jane 💟 

Continued in: Dinner and a Dungeon