A Full Hiatus
Yes, that’s right. A big break, of unknown duration, starting on April 20, 2024. I adore being your Mistress and I will love it even more when I’m back.
If you miss me…
The Dominatrix manor by the sea
“How do you feel about the idea that I hypnotized you and took over your brain, and now your only purpose in life is to serve me?”
I’m on the phone with my submissive, e.
“I don’t feel anything about it, Mistress. That’s just what happened.”
Fear and desire — an endless replay
She lifts his shirt. While all she holds is his arm, his body seems trapped, like a damsel tangled in weeds. The sun illuminates them strikingly, a statuesque vision of PVC, draping black hair down her back, shimmering red hair framed by his hands up over his head, and his cartoonish face of lady-in-pleasure shuddering in front of me. “You know what I’m going to do right?” she taunts, crawling her fingers slowly up his torso from his waist. “P-p-please, Mistress,” he pleads meekly, “please let me go.” In response she shoves him back and into the wall.
The welts rise — a story about whipping and feet.
She instructs him to kiss and in an instant he is everywhere on her boots. The exchange is silent, punctuated only by her occasional moans. He kisses the boot with profound tenderness, his fingers grazing the contours of Cléo’s calves, trembling with desire. His diligent focus causes the world to shrink around us: in that moment there is only boot. His tongue licks repetitively, percussively as if in this moment we are rooted not in the heartbeat but in the fetishistic repetition of a pervert’s thirst for leather and feet.
In with the new.
This summer, I want to prioritize my fantasies. Above all, I want to share my time with those who contribute to my joy, comfort, and pleasure. Those who are interested in true power exchange. And those who want to play with art-making as a sadomasochistic practice.
The beginning: a story of armpits
A fetish — like for hairy armpits — is a message. If you follow it, it will lead you somewhere.