Adorable A.I.

Continued from: Doctor Patel

Summer and I have a little surprise for all of you. You remember Summer, don't you? My precious wife, born in Paris, speaks with a cute French accent, maintains her job as a flight attendant so she can sell her cabin crew hosiery and heels, and most importantly, the lowercase 's' in our D/s marriage.  

If I had to describe her in one word, it would simply be...adorable. 

In a story called The Sims are brought to Life, and another one called The OG's, I began to dabble in A.I. generated images of not only myself, but some of the other characters who appear in the blog. 

It more or less started out looking like this:

The character of Summer, in the Sims 4 game, has a signature hairstyle that was uniquely hers. The A.I. seemed to run with this theme no matter what the setting of the photo was. 

Isn't she adorable, with her little figure-skater arse? 

Without having to prompt the A.I., the braids carried into most of the selfie requests for Summer. In this one, she and I were about to have a playdate in the living room. 

Corner time, a spot in the house she knows intimately well. The A.I. kept her adorable aesthetic and quintessential hair style. 

When she's not in the timeout corner, Summer can play the role of teacher...

...as easily as she can play the student. (In the description of the setting for this photo, I think I just said "chalkboard in a classroom". The A.I. generates its own gibberish on the board, as you can see above and below. Secret robot language maybe? Plotting to destroy humanity?) 

Most fans of Summer will also know that her default role at home is that of a "little". She doesn't speak like a baby or need to be changed or fed, unless we're playing a scene like that, but around the house, she feels most at peace dressing like an exaggeration of a little girl. 

Domestic Discipline, MDLG, D/s relationship, is probably how I would officially describe our dynamic. 

From the sweet lips of Summer, I am usually "Mommy", sometimes I'm "Ma'am", and occasionally, "Mistress". 

This one is definitely a "Ma'am" moment. Ohhhh she was about to get the spanking of her life, that day!

Mistress mode? Sometimes we dabble in the upscale dungeon space, yes. 

Sometimes she ends up down in the basement, in the darker, more captive dungeon space. 

When not in a defined role, Summer will usually be working on her feet content.

Perhaps or out for a jog, ensuring her hosiery or socks, her sneakers, are pleasantly infused with her gorgeousness, before they go up for sale online. 

Clients who want to spend a little more money on all things Summer, can anxiously wait for a trans-Atlantic flight pair of nylons. 

That's her bestie, Vanessa, who first got her started on the cabin crew hosiery sales racket. I have a major girl-crush on Vanessa to the point that I even let her Domme me once. Summer was ok with it. 

Gawd it was so hot! I think that story was called I often envy submissives.

Vanessa is an absolute Goddess, you should go back and read about what she does to and with her husband *giggle. 

But, this post is not about being a Goddess, it's about being adorable. And no one really pulls it off as well as my darling wife, Summer Addison Holiday.

Ok, we're going to try a video here. Hopefully it works. 

and...

Surprise, everyone! Summer is real!

And thank you A.I., for bringing this sprinkle of sunshine to life. Even in this little clip, she was nothing short of adorable. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Old Fashioned

Doctor Patel

Continued from: Roommates

Written by Skylar St. Germaine

"Please, Skylar, punish me." 

Her words sent a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire within me that I had never felt before. My hand, poised above her bare bum, clenched into a fist before relaxing again. 

With a swift, decisive motion, I brought my palm down hard against Eesha's upturned ass. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room, mingling with Eesha's sharp cry of pain. A red handprint bloomed instantly on her bronze complexion, and I watched, transfixed, as she squirmed against me. 

Again and again, I spanked her, each smack harder than the last, my hand stinging with the force of the impacts. 

With each punishing blow, Eesha's cries morphed into desperate apologies and promises. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I'll do better, I promise. Please, Skylar, I'll be a good girl!" 

Her words fueled my fervor, spurring me to spank harder, faster, until her ass was a canvass of crimson and purple. 

"I won't disappoint you again," she vowed, her tears flowing freely now. "I'll study harder, I swear!" 

When I felt Eesha go limp across my lap, I slowed my assault, my hand gentling to soothing strokes across her bare bum. "Shhh," I whispered. "You've been punished enough for now." 

Eesha collapsed against my legs, her body heaving with exhausted sobs. Slowly, she slipped her arms around my waist in a tight embrace. "Thank you for punishing me, Skylar." I ran my fingers through her disheveled hair and told her everything would be okay. 

Eesha clung to me for a moment longer, before reluctantly releasing her hold. With a soft sniffle, she rose unsteadily to her feet, wincing as she gingerly rubbed her sore bottom. I watched as she shuffled towards her bed, her steps hindered by the panties still pooled around her ankles. She crawled atop the covers, curling into a small ball around a pillow and quietly sobbed herself to sleep. 

For Eesha, this was no game, no sexual fantasy. It was a deep-seated need, a compulsion born of years of strict upbringing and the weight of expectations. And I, her friend and confidante, understood the gravity of my new role. 

In the months that followed, an unspoken ritual emerged between us. Every few weeks, I would return to our dorm room to find Eesha standing in the corner, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, her bottoms and panties pulled down. 

Wordlessly, I knew this was my queue to help her with whatever she was struggling with. I would guide her by the bicep to her bed, to my bed, or to a nearby chair, and position her directly over my lap. 

As our ritual evolved, so too did my autonomy to punish her more creatively and effectively. On some occasions I would reach for my belt, other times it was Eesha's own hairbrush, the unforgiving wooden surface leaving ashy-white splotches on her bare bum. 

I began to incorporate enforced corner time into our sessions, before and after her spankings. I even insisted that she start stripping fully nude for me, before being sent to the corner or going over my knee. 

"Socks too, Eesha. I want you fully nude," I would command and she covered her face with her hands and cried into her palms. 

These moments of vulnerability, of enforced introspection, seemed to bring Eesha a sense of peace. They allowed her to confront the demons that drove her need for strict punishment, to accept the consequences of her actions. 

Years have passed since I last saw Eesha. Our paths diverged after graduation, she pursuing her dreams in medicine, while I took an internship with NASA. But now...now I'm here, at Mistress Andrea's Facility, providing the exact same service to men and women, that Eesha once needed. 

I often find myself wondering what Eesha would think if she saw me now. Would she recognize the echoes of our shared past, in the way I wield a paddle now? Or would she see me as some sort of deviant, a perversion of the friend she once knew? 

I like to believe that Eesha would approve. After all, it was our time together that first awakened this side of me, that showed me the transformative power of adult spankings and discipline. 

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. It had been years since Eesha and I had spoken, yet the memories of her vulnerability lingered within me. I wondered if she still felt the same need for structure, for discipline, that had once landed her over my knee with her bum bare. Or did she still crave the cathartic release that only a thorough spanking could provide? 

I was between discipline sessions at the Facility, and before I could second-guess myself, I typed out a simple message to Eesha: a single heart emoji, followed by the words 'miss me?' 

I hit send, my pulse quickening as I waited for a response from Eesha, who was listed in my phone as Doctor Patel. Finally. three dots appeared, signaling that Eesha was typing. My breath caught in my throat as I watched the screen, anticipation coiling in my gut. 

And then her reply: 

"More than you know."

My heart leapt at the sight of those four words, a surge of warmth flooding through me. Whatever doubts I may have had about reaching out, vanished in an instant. Eesha still needed me, still craved the unique brand of discipline that only I could provide for her. 

And I was more than ready to deliver!

Goddess Sky

Continued in: Adorable A.I.

Roommates

Continued from: Boardrooms & Bedrooms

If you remember, during the last post, my ears perked up like a deer, when young Skylar casually made a comment about spanking her roommate in university. That's right, this Skylar, the Librarian, with absolutely no experience in BDSM: 

My mind spun a visual of two giggling 19-year-olds with tequila on their breath, tickling and wrestling on their single beds after the bar. A couple smacks on the bum for one of them being too drunk, followed by a pass-out and the promise of a hangover the next morning. 

"No, it was for REAL." Skylar corrected, and began to tell me the whole story. 

By the end of her tale my mouth was dry, my jaw was on the floor, and the butterflies in my tummy were raging like a storm. 

Skylar has published papers, written a doctoral thesis and obviously reads like a fiend. She is very well-written and well-spoken. I thought I would ask her to write this one herself, she reluctantly agreed. Take it away, Sky. 

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

I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. I had just finished unpacking my bags in our shared dorm room, my muscles aching from the effort of lugging my belongings up three flights of stairs. As I stood there, surveying my already cluttered space, the door swung open and in walked this vision of exotic beauty. 

"Hi, I'm Eesha Patel," she said in a subdued tone. 

Eesha was petite, with long, raven-black hair. Her almond shaped eyes were green, framed by impossibly long lashes, and her lips were set in a shy smile. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a loose t-shirt.

I introduced myself, exchanging pleasantries and discussing our fields of study. Eesha was going to be a doctor. I could sense a tension in her, a coiled energy that seemed at odds with her gentle demeanour.

Over the next few months, as we settled into our routines, I noticed small things about Eesha. The way she would bite her lip when in deep thought, the nervous habit of twirling a lock of hair around her finger when stressed. She confided in me about her struggles with the demanding course load, her fear of falling behind. 

One day, in our second semester, Eesha burst into our room, her face flushed with anger and disappointment. She slammed her backpack onto her bed, sending papers flying everywhere. I looked up from my computer, startled by the sudden commotion. 

"What's wrong?" I asked, concern etched on my face. Eesha turned to me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

"I failed," she whispered, her voice trembling. 

"Failed? But you're one of the top students at this entire university!" I protested, rising from my bed to comfort her. 

Eesha shook her head vehemently. "No, you don't understand. I got an 86 on my biochemistry exam."

I frowned, confused. "But that's a great mark. What's the problem?" 

Eesha sank onto her bed, her shoulders slumping. "In my family, anything less that a 90 is considered a failure. If my parents knew..." She trailed off, a shudder running through her body. 

"When I was younger, if I ever brought home a grade like this, my mother...my father would..." She hesitated, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "They would punish me," she admitted in a rush, her gaze fixed on the floor. 

I stared at her, shock and something else, something darker and more thrilling, coursing through me. "Like…Spank you? For getting a B+?" 

Eesha nodded miserably. 

"I know it sounds crazy, but it's how I was raised. The fear of disappointing them, of facing that punishment...it drove me to excel. And now, here I am, failing without that motivation. 

The next evening, as we prepared for bed, the atmosphere in our room was thick with tension. Eesha moved silently, her movements jerky and uncertain. She was dressed in a simple tee and sleep shorts, as I was. 

She climbed into bed and paused, her hand trembling as she reached for something on her nightstand. Slowly, she turned to face me, her eyes downcast, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. In her hand was the crumpled test paper, the damming 86 circled in angry red ink. Without a word she held it out to me, her arm shaking slightly. I took the paper, smoothing it out on my lap, my heart pounding in my chest. 

When I looked up, Eesha had sunk to her knees beside my bed, her head bowed low. "Please," she whispered, her voice barley audible, "I need you to punish me. Like my parents would. I deserve it for failing." 

I stared at her, my mouth suddenly dry, my palms sweating. The sight of her, so vulnerable, so desperate, ignited something within me. A darkness I had always known lurked beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge. I swallowed hard, my gaze flicking from the test paper to Eesha's trembling form. 

I sat up straighter on my bed, the test paper crumpled in my fist. 

"Eesh, I...I wouldn't know what to do," I admitted, my voice wavering. "I've never done anything like this befo…" But even as the words left my mouth, Eesha stood and remained silent, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama shorts. With agonizing slowness, she slid them down to her ankles, then completely off her socked feet. 

Then, in one fluid motion, she gripped the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up, exposing the smooth expanse of her tummy and lower back. Before I could utter another word, she had draped herself across my lap, her body warm and pliant against mine. 

My hand hovered above the rounded globes of her bare bum, trembling slightly, as I fought the urge to caress her. Eesha's Sobs filled the room and I knew I couldn't deny her this, we had become such great friends over the past months. 

"Please Skylar," she wept, her voice raw with desperation. "Punish me, hard! I need it...I deserve it."

Goddess Sky

nee:

Dr. Skylar St. Germaine 

Continued in: Doctor Patel

 

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