The Pianist

Continued from: Alice: Down the Rabbit Hole

[F/f] [female supremacy] [classic rock] [hosiery] [socks]

Summer had been away for a few days, working on a series of transatlantic flights with a completely new crew. While I missed her terribly, I also knew that these trips were an important part of her career, and I supported her wholeheartedly. 

Still, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy whenever she mentioned her fellow flight attendants, especially the attractive ones. 

On this particular trip, Summer had apparently hit it off with a lovely Jordanian woman who used to fly for Emirates. According to Summer's text messages, this woman is "like us" - a euphemism we often used to describe someone who might be into kink or BDSM. 

Naturally, this revelation set off alarm bells in my head. While I trusted Summer implicitly, I also knew how charmingly naughty she can be, especially when it comes to seducing unsuspecting women. The thought of her flirting with some exotic beauty halfway across the world made my blood boil with possessiveness and concern. 

I wasted no time in scolding Summer via text, sending a series of motioning palm emojis, combined with a ripe peach emoji. I think I even sent her this one: 

"Behave yourself, Summer Addison!" I warned sternly, hoping that she could feel my tone on her bare backside. 

To her credit, Summer responded promptly and adorably, sending me a seductive selfie from her layover hotel room. She quickly changed the subject by hinting that she had a surprise waiting for me upon her return. 

Intrigued and curious, I pressed her for details, but she remained tight-lipped, insisting that I would have to wait and see. (Ohhh, she's getting a spanking when she gets home!) This only fueled my imagination, as I spent the next few days speculating wildly about what sort of treat Summer might have in store for me. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Summer arrived home, looking radiant and refreshed despite her jet lag. She greeted me with a warm embrace and a lingering kiss, her body melting into mine as if we hadn't seen each other in years. 

Summer smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I brought back a little something for you, love..."

Before I could respond, Summer took my hand and led me toward our music lounge, my heart raced with anticipation. I could sense something special awaited me, but I had no idea what it could be. With a playful giggle, Summer placed her hands over my eyes, guiding me forward with gentle steps. 

"Okay, keep your eyes closed," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "I have a surprise for you but you have to promise not to peek." 

I nodded eagerly, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I promise," I murmured, my voice barely audible. 

Summer guided me a few more steps before coming to a halt. "Alight, open your eyes!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. 

As I blinked my eyes open, it took a moment for my vision to adjust to the light. But then, as if in a dream, I saw her - Gamazda! Seated at the white grand piano, her fingers poised elegantly over the keys. My jaw dropped open in shock, and my trembling hands flew up to cover my mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped my lips. 

If you remember back, dear readers, this little red sparrow appeared in the blog before. A story called Major Renovations: Vanilla Space. This is what I wrote about her in that post: 

I felt like that internet girl who goes by Gazmada. She's popular on YouTube for playing heavy metal covers on the piano, which she absolutely crushes, all while scantily or very cutely dressed. Heels, pantyhose, socks and knee socks. She'd fit right in with the culture of our Facility. 

What a little biscuit she is, huh?

Have a look at her lighting up some November Rain, and looking like a boss-bitch while doing so: 

We tend to feature, celebrate and genuinely root-for remarkably amazing women on this blog. Alexandra Kunznetsova is one of them. Big fan of hers. And she's in my friggen piano lounge right now! 

I can't even...

She was even more adorable in person, her pinky-blonde hair falling in soft waves around her face, her eyes sparkling with intelligence and warmth. She was dressed in her signature denim skirt with nude pantyhose that hugged her slender legs, paired with adorable white and pink runners that added a playful touch to her ensemble. 

Hosiery and runners! Summer is the only other person I know who does this. Must be a European thing. 

As I stood there, frozen in awe, Summer began to explain how the miraculous encounter had come to be. 

"I met Alexandra on my last flight from Russia," she said, her voice filled with pride and enthusiasm. “We got to talking, and it turned out she's a huge fan of your blog, Andrea." 

I could hardly believe my ears. One of my piano idols, someone whose talent is second to none, knew who I was?! It seemed too good to be true. I can't begin to explain how many times I wished I could play the way she does. 

And a fan...of my blog...How could this be? 

My mind raced with possibilities, trying to piece together the puzzle of her interest in kink and BDSM. 

(She's covering Don't Speak by No Doubt in this one: Don't Speak)

It occurred to me that there were clues scattered throughout her public persona, hints of a darker, more femdom side, lurking beneath her polished exterior. 

I thought back to some of her earliest online videos, where she had gained notoriety for her jaw-dropping renditions of hardcore rock classics. 

(She's covering November Rain by Guns n' Roses here: November Rain)

Watching her attack the keys with such ferocity and precision, it was clear that Alexandra possessed a wild, untamed spirit that belied her classical training. It was like she had 15 fingers! There was something undeniably edgy and alternative about her approach to music, a rebellious streak that set her apart. 

(This one is Don't Cry, another from Guns n' Roses: Don't Cry)

Pantyhose AND socks? A noticeable proclivity towards hosiery and high heels in other videos too. Her petite frame and youthful features cut a strikingly alluring figure, one that would be catnip to anyone with a foot fetish. 

She went full schoolgirl in this one, while playing a Pink Floyd classic: Another Brick in the Wall

As I considered all of these factors, a realization began to hit me as to why she might be a fan of my work and what we do here, at the Facility. 

Is that a lace top? Are those stockings? Atta girl! 

(Here, she's right into some Don't Stop Believing by Journey: Don't Stop Believing)

Plaid skirt...pencil skirt actually! Maybe she would fit in around here...? 

While it is certainly tempting to project my own fantasies onto her, imagining her as a willing submissive or a powerful dominatrix, that's not why I made this post, the intention was not to objectify her in that way. 

The truth is, I could listen to her play for hours and I'm a huge fan. I would love to see her climb to one million YouTube subscribers, so go find her and subscribe. The poor thing is hanging at 947,000. 

There's certainly enough dumb shit on YouTube that has over a million subscribers, but this woman, has a real gift and she's sharing it with the world. 

With that, I dismissed the notion of corrupting this little red sparrow. And with the lovely backdrop of Alexandra playing for us, I turned to Summer, a small grin tugging at the edges of my lips. 

"So..." I leaned in close for a whisper, my serious face boring into Summer's eyes. "Tell me about this Jordanian woman."

Mistress Andrea

xo

Continued in: Innovation Lab

Feet Lovers

Continued from: Helping a Friend

[Flight Attendant] [feet] [foot fetish] [hosiery] [high heels] [F/m]

A.I prompt: Can you make me an image of a play on words. A Domino's pizza box that says "feet lovers" instead of meat lovers?

This was about the 30th attempt at this image above, and it's actually kinda cute. I can live with this one. 

This one was a bit concerning, with the knife, and not A.I. generated. This one came from the interwebs. Sorta cute also. 

You know what else is cute? My wife, Summer! 

Now get inside and warm those buns up before I'm forced to help you warm them up!

"Oui, Mummy." 

After a few years and over 300 short stories, I have realized that Summer herself, has never written one. She was interviewed once, by some wiener from the internet but she has not once, authored a story on here. Probably because her English is not 100%, she has a noticeable, one could say thick, French accent. Also very cute! 

Go have a look at her interview: Someone's Gonna Get It

So, dear readers, try to follow along as best you can, with her Frenchness sprinkled into this one. Take it away Summer, after you get off eBay and put your phone down. 

"Oui Mademoiselle." 

I remember zee moment I first realize zee power of my feet, so vividly. I was une jeune fille, fresh out of flight attendant training, et eager to explore zee vast world. One of my first long-haul flights, I found myzelf noticing some of zee male passengers...zey would be starring at my feet. My feet zat were encased in sheer black stockings and perched atop zee high stilettos. 

Zee hours spent walking up and down zee aisle, attending to pazzengers' needs, had left my feet aching and swollen. But as I admired zem, I could see what zaa silly men were seeing, 'ow shapely and elegant zey looked. Zee arch of my foot was perfectly defined, my toes delicately tapered, and zee skin smooth and unblemished. Look and zee for yourzelf:

It was zen zat I decided to celebrate my beautiful pieds, to adorn zem and show zem off to zee world. I began wearing dainty anklets and zee toe rings, painting my nails a deep, seductive red, and slipping into zee finest silk stockings and lace-topped hold-ups. I took all zaa pride in caring for my feet, massaging zem with luxurious French lotions and keeping zem soft and supple. 

After meeting ma cherie, Vanessa, she told me her naughti, naughti little secrets. She is a very bad girl, who needs zee spanks! Somezing we also dabbled in, cherie and I. 

After zees long flights we would kick off our heels in zaa h'otel room and snap pictures of our stocking-clad feets, zee sheer fabric clinging to our sweaty soles and toes. We posted zees images onto the internets, describing zee aches and pains of our travels, telling zee men how much we needed the massages and comforts. 

To my surprise, zee responses were overwhelming. Men from all over zaa world began messaging me, complimenting my feet and begging for more photos. Zees men were captivated by my feet, driven wild with desire by zaa sight of my sweaty stockings and exhausted arches. They offered me money, gifts, anyzing to convince me to send to them my worn nylons or shoes. 

And so, my little side business was born, I started selling my used stockings, pantyhose, and heels to zee highest biddars, carefully packaging zem to preserve my unique scent and zee evidence of my femininity. 

I developed a system with Vanessa's help, verifying the authenticity of my items, taking photos and videos of myzelf wearing zem, sealing zem in airtight bags with my signature and a personal note. 

But zee more I embraced my role as a purveyor of worn delicates (I was zelling my knickers, too) zee more I found myself drawn into zee world of kink and BDSM. Zee men who bought my items often had very specific requests, asking me about my last spankings or if I like to be tied up. I must admit, zier ideas were exciting to me. 

This is a time in her life where she can't explain it in English, but she basically didn't want her severed feet to end up in some dude's freezer. Oh look, a creepy basement!

The bad man on the internet said it was safe down there...go on, Summer. He just wants to take some pictures of your feet." 

Oh fuck! 

Safety, ladies! Safety, safety! I get the whole CNC (consensual non-consent) play, but please take care of yourselves and be smart about power dynamics play. 

Zat is when I met my beloved Mistress Andrea. She led me through zee various rooms of her Facilitee, each equipped with its own array of bondage gear, whips, and other implements of discipline. Here was a place where I could safely indulge my deepest, darkest fantazee, where I could surrender completely to zee pleasures of submission. She was tall and statuesque, with jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a commanding presence zat made my knees weak. A woman who could bend me to her will, with nothink more zan a glance. 

Eventually, our relationship evolved beyond zee confines of zee fetish studio. We moved in together, sharing a grand mansion on zee outskirts of zaa city. Mistress continued to run her business, welcoming clients into our home and guiding zem tru dare own journey of submission and self-discovery. Meanwhile, I balance my duty as her devoted slave with my career as a flight attendant, jetting off to exotic destinations and returning home to kneel at her feet. 

Our love story culminated in dramatic fashion. I'm going to start crying. Our love story culminated in a hotel room in New Orleans, when Mistress hid her face from me, to hide zaa tears in her eyes. 

That storyline can be found here: I have a plane to catch

"I don't know how to say goodbye to you anymore." She zed to me. Right before she told me that she loved me. 

"Say it again..." I replied to her. Hehe, and she did! 

As I embraced my role as Mistress Andrea's devoted wife and submissive, she encouraged all of zaa feet content and grew my side-hustle into a lucrative business zat has made us beyond rich. 

Who would have thought, oui? Somezing zoe zimple as my little toes. 

Love always, 

Summer Addison Holiday 

💋

Continued in: Sports Betting

 

Enigma

Continued from: Guilty Pleasures

[F/m] [F/sissy] [feminization] [humiliation] [spanking] [OTK] [BDSM] [femdom] [Mistress]

It was shortly after Christmas, and I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast when Russell shuffled in, looking rather flustered. 

"There's a very young and jacked, angry-looking woman in the living room, Andrea," he announced, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of jocularity. 

I couldn't help but chuckle at his bewildered expression, realizing that he'd never met Skylar before. And...I may have forgot to tell him she appears in the vanilla wing of the mansion from time to time. I guess she must have just finished a session on the heavenly-hash side of the house.

"That would be the Doctor," I explained, rather nonchalantly, all while pouring Russell a coffee. "She's one of my new gals at the Facility." 

"The Doctor?!" Russell remarked with a laugh. "She does, umm...like your medical fetish stuff?" 

"No, honey," I laughed, "she's an actual doctor. PhD in astrodynamics or something." 

"The-hell d'you find her?" Russell spoke, now sounding awe-struck, but not nearly as awe-struck as I was, the night I first met this young enigma of a woman. 

"I think I interrupted something, she just glared at me, and didn't say a thing. Like she was looking right through me." Russell stated, now sounding a bit amused with all of this. 

I will admit, Skylar does possess a bit of a distant glare, robotic looking and a bit spacey. It's like there's about sixteen other conversations going on in her mind, as she's maintaining a conversation with you. 

"It's because her brain is working about ten times faster than yours is, darling." I cooed to Russell, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"C'mon, I'll show you, and introduce you to her." 

Still clad in her dominatrix leathers and heeled boots, looking every bit the intimidating goddess, she simply lounged by the fire, smoking a weed pen and mumbling to herself under her breath. I whispered to Russell, as not to disturb her. 

"She's running through the 'data' from her latest session, analyzing every detail of her sub's reactions, every nuance of her client's behaviour, and making notes about it."

It's a surreal scene, really - this stunning, powerful woman, lost in thought, her mind working overtime to dissect and understand the intricacies of human submission as a sexual kink. I pause for a moment, watching her in fascination. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she processes the her inner dialogue. 

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

Meanwhile, inside Skylar's mind: 

My client, a middle-aged man with a successful career and loving family, had broken down in tears the moment I presented him with the frilly pink dress and matching Mary Janes he would be wearing for his spanking. His reaction was fascinating - a raw, visceral display of emotion that seemed to stem from somewhere deep within his psyche. 

As I guided him over my knees and began his spanking, his sobs intensified, mingling with gasps and pleas for forgiveness, yet I wasn't spanking him hard, nor did he require my forgiveness for anything.

It's clear that the humiliation of being dressed like a little girl had struck a nerve, tapping into some long-buried shame or insecurity. But why? What was it about this particular stimuli that elicited such a profound response? 

Was it a manifestation of some childhood trauma, a desperate attempt to atone for perceived failures as a father or husband? Or perhaps it was a way of reclaiming a lost innocence, a chance to experience the unconditional love and guidance that only strict maternal discipline can provide.    

Halfway through his spanking, with his panties down to his knees, I decided to introduce a new element to the scene - a full-length mirror, positioned directly in front of my client as he lay over my lap. 

As I resumed his spanking on his reddening cheeks, I observed his reflection in the glass, noting the way his tear-streaked face contorted with each impact. The effect of the mirror was immediate and profound - his crying became more intense, his body writhing beneath my grip as if trying to escape the image before him. 

It was clear that seeing himself in such a vulnerable, humiliating state only served to heighten his emotional response. But why? What was it about witnessing his own degradation that pushed him over the edge? 

I hypothesized that the mirror acted as a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil, forcing him to confront the aspects of himself he had long sought to suppress. By dressing him as a little girl and subjecting him to a punishment typically associated to misbehaving children, I had tapped into a wellspring of guilt, shame and self-loathing that had festered within him for years. 

The mirror merely served as a catalyst, brining these feelings to the surface and allowing him to experience a cathartic release. As I continued his spanking, I marveled at the complexity of BDSM and the ability it has to break down barriers and expose raw, unfiltered emotions that lay beneath. 

With each snap of my palm against his tender bottom, I could feel him surrendering more deeply to the experience, letting go of the inhibitions and hang-ups that had held him back for so long. By the end of the session, he was a quivering, sobbing mess - but there was a palpable sense of relief in his demeanour, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

I'll make a mental note to incorporate the mirror technique into future sessions, eager to see how other clients might would respond to this potent tool of psychological manipulation.

When I close my eyes I can see the room again, I can smell it. It had a distinct aroma of pink baby lotion. The space was deliberately decorated like a little girl's bedroom, complete with pastel colours, frilly lace curtains, and an abundance of stuffed animals perched on every surface. But the centerpiece, the element that may be adding to the session, was the massive mural adorning the wall above the bed. 

A gathering of Disney princesses, each rendered in vibrant detail, the artwork seemed to watch over the proceedings with knowing smiles and sparkling eyes. I couldn't help but wonder what effect this visual stimulus had on my clients, particularly the men who found themselves in this feminine domain. 

Did they feel as though their spanking was being witnessed by a chorus of giggling, judgmental women, their embarrassment magnified tenfold by the presence of these iconic figures? Was this Mistress Andrea's intention all along - to create a space where our clients' shame and vulnerability were constantly reinforced, even in the absence of a real audience?  

By surrounding our clients with symbols of femininity and innocence, we were effectively stripping them of their adult identities, reducing them to the status of helpless, naughty children in need of correction. 

I'm only scratching the surface of what this world has to offer. There was so much more to learn, so much more data to collect - and I am determined to uncover all of it, one spanking at a time.

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

As I cleared my throat, Skylar snapped out of her scientific state. She looked up, startled as if she'd forgotten where she was. "Oh, hello, Mistress Andrea," she said, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. "I hope you don't mind me making myself at home. I just needed a quiet space to think after my session." 

I assured her it was no problem at all and gestured to Russell, to introduce him. 

"Sky, I'd like you to meet someone very special to me. This is Russell Burnett, the one I've told you about." 

She tilted her head to the side, almost like a synthetic human processing new information. She fixed her distant gaze on Russell, her eyes narrowing to study his face. 

"Mr. Burnett, you used to provide Mistress Andrea with spankings, didn't you?" she blurted out, her voice low and curious. 

"Did you ever position a mirror in front of her?" 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Scientific Method