Montreal: The Hunter Stalks

MONTREAL MAY 20-23

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Ponies, pups, and pansies: I’m taking Montreal to the track.

On top of my host of skills in bondage, sissification, all kinds of medical play, and corporal (ie impact play ie SPANKING YOU TILL YOU STOP CRYING) I will be running sessions in forced exercise, scent and sweat worship, pony and puppy play, endurance training and objectification.

My time is brief in the sex capital of Canada so book ahead. If I’ve seen you before, you will notice how my style has become more sensual, more intense and connective.

I will be hosting in Sainte-Marie. I am holding interviews for a bag bitch as I swan about Montreal for a weekend of BDSM fun. Folks identifying as queer and femme will be considered first.

APPLY NOW

 

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Office Bullies: A Modern Slave Training (Part 3)

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Starry-eyed with tears, he gathered cleaning supplies from a cupboard in the corridor. As he scurried back with his head down, he collided straight on with a woman carrying an enormous stack of papers which flew into the air in a blizzard of invoices and receipts. He dropped to the floor and frantically grasped at the pages.

A slender, freckled hand touched his shoulder, he looked up from his hands and knees at an achingly beautiful woman, her eyes large with concern. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll do it together.” She knelt down beside him. “Here, it’s no trouble, we’ll get it all neat and ordered soon.” He flinched away from her and grabbed at another dozen muddled pages. She touched him again. Her lips parted and she smiled gently. “Really,” she insisted, “it’s alright. It didn’t even take that long to get straightened out the first time.”

“Helena, what are you doing?” Miss Hart called out from her office.

“Miss Hart I’ll have this all cleaned up in a moment, sorry.”

The CEO stood above Nick. “Why are you helping that boy? He made a mess, it’s his job to clean up messes he makes.”

A small crowd of employees had started to form near them, gleeful spectators hoping for a scuffle.

“Helena, get up. Remember our chat? Protocol is vital.”

Helena blushed. She stood slowly and deliberately adjusted her shirt.

“Marvellous. Now, lots of us are going out for lunch in a moment, and it would be wonderful if you joined us. It’ll give you a chance to meet everyone properly.”

They ignored Nick as he crouched at their polished shoes, the entire staff crowding in, all of them laughing and chatting, their legs around him like bars in a cell. There was no way he could finish his task without pushing against their warm silk-enrobed flesh, squeezing through to grasp at the last wisps of paper fluttering across the floor. Moira’s velvet thigh pressed against his arm, Miss Hart’s sharp heels nearly pierced his finger, and everywhere hemlines shifted and stocking tops showed.

In the din of the conversation, Miss Hart’s mouth was hot at his ear, her fingers sliding down his collar. “Now, you’ve done nothing to deserve this, but you’re coming with us to lunch. After all, we can’t leave you here without supervision.” She didn’t need to see his face to feel his yearning. Her hand closed around the back of his neck and he sank towards the floor, the paper stack slumped in his arms.

Audra drove the SUV, leading the convoy to the restaurant. Nick was strapped in the middle front seat between her and Moira, who was engrossed in slowly uncrossing and recrossing her legs and feeling her tights. He could glance into the rearview mirror to see five other women squashed into the back seats, talking business while loosening their shirts after a long morning at work.

They pulled into an alleyway. A door in the wall opened out and they all slipped inside to a long dingy corridor. Echoes of whispers and footsteps as they filed through, descending twisting stairs and confusing corners. Nick was flanked by Audra on one side and Moira on the other, armlocked. At last, a seam of light outlining a door came into view.

The room: a polished floor and sliding wooden doors flush with the deep red walls, a heavy marble slab for the table, thick benches on the long sides and a tall chair at the head. A row of silent male servants lined up against the far wall, standing straight and still.

The women poured in, and Nick was sat next to Helena, with Audra as a looming bodyguard on his other side. It was a tight fit to get the whole company round the table, twenty women in all, with Miss Hart at the head, reclining back in the leather-backed chair.

The servants filled water glasses, which were quickly drained. As they reached to refill glasses, light glinted off metal bands around their wrists and beneath their shirt collars. The meals were served quickly, and Nick’s place was bare.

Audra threw her head back and laughed when his stomach growled loudly, elbowing his ribs.“Skinny boy, you haven’t eaten today, have you. Hungry now? And you sweat so much, so nervous.” She gestured to her plate. He started to reach over but she rapped his knuckles with the flat of her knife. “Dirty hands don’t touch anything of mine. Filth.” She went back to eating, and Nick squashed his hands between his knees.

Then Helena’s fork fell from her place and clattered under the table. The company quietened and eyes bore down on him. “Helena dropped her fork, Nick.” Miss Hart said, languidly dripping lemon juice onto an oyster and slipping it down her throat. “Floor, now. Pick it up.”

He squirmed off the bench and under the table, dark and cramped. He crawled to retrieve the fork, and a foot touched his back. A heel pressed into his shoulder and then a kick landed square on his arse and a tumult of shoves, pushes and jabs all over his body. He covered his face to make it to where it lay, grabbed it and fought his way out on his knees and elbows, dodging blows from stiletto heels on all sides in the dark. Helena’s face beamed down at him and he polished the fork with a corner of his shirt. He offered it up to her and she grabbed it, clutching his hand.

“you tedious cunt, get on your feet.” The shape of Miss Hart loomed behind Helena, her finger stabbing at his face. “You’re off-task and slow. So tiresome and dull. Hurry up.”

He stumbled over the chair and brushed his knees off briskly. Miss Hart grabbed him by the tie and frogmarched him into a room through a door that had silently opened.

It snicked shut behind him and they were cloaked in pitch darkness. Her heels slowly pacing around him echoed in the shapeless space.

“Nick.” A fingernail lightly dragged from his ear down his neck. “Let’s talk about your work ethic.”

“Yes Miss Hart, thank you.” A sharp heavy slap landed on his face that burst silver stars in his eyes, spit flying out of his mouth.

“Don’t interrupt me with your snivelling niceties. You speak only when you are explicitly invited. Do you understand?”

He was silent. A sharp kick landed just missing his balls. “Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes Miss Hart,” he squeaked.

“You worked hard this morning.” She circled him still, her hands crawling up his body, unbuttoning, unzipping, peeling his clothes slowly away. “There were quite a few tests for you. I’m telling the agency that you’ve done well, and that we’re going to keep you for a while longer. And I think you want that, telling by those goosebumps.”

He stood naked in front of her, feeling her heat, the softness of her clothing. His body vibrated. She raked her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been treated so appallingly in your life, actually, with how flustered you got. But my gang of mean, powerful women stirs something deeply curious in you, doesn’t it?” Her grip tightened on his hair and she wrenched his head back. “Doesn’t it, Nick?” she growled in his ear.

“Yes Miss. Thank you for saying I’ve done well, Miss.”

“You’re welcome.”

“May I speak freely, Miss?”

“Quickly, then.” Her fist pulled his head back further and he gasped.

“Only that, and sorry, but that I’m happy you want to keep me on. And, ow, that I hope I have pleased you and your colleagues, Miss.”

“Are you done?” Her nails grazed his throat again and his head stretched back even further.

“Ah, yes Miss.” She released her hold and he stumbled forward. She pulled his neck down and he fell onto his hands and knees, and still she pressed his head further to the floor so his bare ass was up and his ear touched her shoe. She swiftly fastened a buckled leather strip around his neck, and the tinkle of a small lock danced at the front.

“We need to make sure you are true to your word. Your contract states the terms of your employment, but what does paper promise? Words can be broken, but bodies show true loyalty.”

Something cold and hard nudged at his hole, and suddenly his body opened up and swallowed a gigantic steel ball. Miss Hart swiftly attached the end of the anal hook to the ring at his collar. His face bore a look of pure bewilderment, her favourite expression on a man.

She entered into a focussed trance as she dressed him, fitting his legs into snug leggings with kneepads and straps for the ankle to connect to the thigh. When she clipped them, his legs drew up so he was forced to rest uncertainly on his knees. Wrists clamped to shoulders, a meagre padding at the elbows. Snaking twin belts from the tips of his toes, under his body and crossing at his ribs, to come up under the shoulder and clip with perfect tension onto the collar. Stuck. A creature born from leather and metal, forced to walk painfully on elbows and knees. She shoved his head down to the ground and he yelped, the hook yanking his guts.

“I want your mind completely gone. I want you to disappear. Here.” A hood slid over his head, laces and straps strained tight.  Gagged, bound, hooked and disfigured.

She unzipped the hole for his mouth. “What a pretty predicament you’re in, you funny pet. How are you feeling?”

He opened his mouth to answer and she pushed a gigantic rubber ball in, stretching his jaw past its flexibility. “You only need to nod or shake your head to answer. So, how are you feeling?”

He nodded his head slowly, whimpering with each tug of the hook.

“Good, wonderful. You’re starting to look like you finally fit in here.” She lifted his chin to meet her eyes and smiled at him with genuine kindness.

“Let’s go for a little walk, shall we?”

He dribbled.

“Good boy.”

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Read the final instalment HERE

*The final part of this story is password-protected. Send a request to unlock it misstressisobelhart@gmail.com

Office Bullies: A Modern Slave Training (Part 2)

Chapter 1 left off with Nick scrambling to please his boss Miss Hart, who delights in setting him tasks where he is doomed to fail and be humiliated. Her dominant female employees are set on taking advantage of him and seeing how far they can push his boundaries.

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Shuffling back down the hall tugging at his tight collar and cuffs, he nearly tripped over a woman who had pushed her chair right out into the corridor and had propped up her foot against the wall, languidly dangling a shoe off her toe, fiddling with a lock of long black hair. She smiled at him, wolflike. She uncrossed her legs and pushed herself off the chair to stand inches from him. He rubbed his neck and studied the carpet.

“Hallo, I’m Moira. I’ll be supervising you now. Miss Hart is too busy so it’s my job to keep you on target.” She pushed past him, turning to beckon him to follow. “But let’s do this first.” In her green velvet pencil skirt, the slit rising curiously high, she shimmered.

Out the door, down a hallway, up some stairs and into the women’s bathroom. He stopped at once and let the door squeak closed in front of him. Moments later it blew open and Moira grabbed his wrist, tugging him in.

She prodded him into a stall. “The lock doesn’t work properly,” she said, and he shrank into the corner of the tiny space when she hiked up her skirt.

“You’ll keep it shut for me, won’t you.” He did as he was told, tightly holding the door with his eyes squeezed closed. She exhaled deeply as her piss hit the water, relieved. “Turn around,” she ordered sharply. He wrenched away to face her straight on.

She grinned in that hungry wolf way and parted her legs, so the rushing noise of her stream echoed off the walls, and whispered, “If you talk to anyone about this, I’ll tell your agency that you wouldn’t do anything you were assigned. I’ll tell them that you were lazy and stubborn…ahh.” she sighed as the stream slowed to drips, and Nick kept his eyes on her, knuckles white from gripping the door shut.

“Paper.” She held out her hand.

They froze at the sound of squealing door hinges and confident heels walking over the tiled floor. One pair of shoes tapping its toe outside the stall, and two pairs of shoes facing each other in the confining cubicle.

“Moira.” said a voice, brusquely.

No reply.

“Moira I know it’s you, we’ve spoken about this.” The voice was rich, silky and German. “You can’t do this on company time. It will be your third offence this month. Shape up and come out now.”

The flush of the toilet, and Nick squirmed out first. He was met with a striking woman, blonde, sturdy and handsome. She looked past him, unsmiling.

“Out now. Be quick.” Moira bumped into him from behind and he stumbled into the statuesque woman. She sneered at the contact. “Who is this?”

“Audra, this is the newest temp we were waiting for, he’s here to assist with the filing for the audit.”

Audra’s face showed sudden interest. “Ah, here to assist is he?” She turned on all the taps and then stood next to Moira, giving Nick a hard appraising look. “And how’s the assistant doing so far?”

Nick started to answer but was cut off with a stony glare. “I wasn’t talking to you, boy, I was addressing my colleague. So arrogant, this one. Thinks he can tell us how he’s doing? Stand up straight, you’re stooping.” Their heels clicked the tiles as they edged closer towards him, closing the gap between them and the wall of sinks.

“He’s doing alright, but I suppose we’ll see as the day goes on.” Teeth glinting, enjoying his visible discomfort, they drew closer. He bumped against the counter. Still they inched closer, their eyes dancing over his body, calculating, judging, their snug pencil skirts and bursting buttoned shirts radiating forbidden heat. They pressed themselves tight against him from both sides and he bent backwards, a jolt running through him as shockingly cold water splashed his back.

They sprung back at his yelp, and were gone from the room.

He looked around wildly, confused how they had disappeared so fast. He spun around to the mirror and saw a dishevelled mess brimming with tears.

Bracing against the counter with all three sinks running he spoke to himself. “What is going on in this place? Am I being bullied? This is unprofessional. I should leave. I should call the agency and ask to be transferred straight away.” He dabbed cold water at his wrists and neck to calm himself, and felt a tightness in his trousers, a stain blooming at the front.

He scrubbed roughly at the stain, dampening the fabric more. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, “I don’t understand what’s happening to me. They’re all so mean but I don’t know if I want to stop…” He stared hard at his reflection. “Get a grip. Think about what you need to do today. Think about alphanumerical order. Paper clips. Staples.” He felt his trousers, no change.

Miss Hart caught him walking stiffly past her office. “Where have you been? You’re paid by the hour. You’ve been gone twenty minutes.”

“I’m sorry Miss Hart, I had to…attend to something.”

The CEO looked down at him and sucked air through her teeth. “Ah. Well, an office full of women does take getting used to. Go get me a nice cup of tea why don’t you.”

“Yes, Miss Hart. Thank you.”

As the water boiled, his prick calmed down. The stain was still there, dark and wet and obvious. He returned to Miss Hart’s desk, silently placing the cup next to her. She took a sip and spat it back in the cup with contempt. “You grimy little speck. You’ve served me swamp water.”

“Sorry, it’s made how I thought you’d like it -”

“Too much sugar! No milk! Vile boy.” With a flick of her wrist she knocked it over the desk and it splashed everywhere, dripping off the table and beading onto the thick carpet. This was the time to push him over the edge, to overwhelm him to free him.

“Don’t gawk at me you stupid twat, get a mop.”

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In the next chapter, Nick the temp is squashed into a car and driven to lunch with the entire staff. A bizarrely kinky meal shoulder to shoulder with Dommes, he is coerced into service.

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To his right, Helena’s fork fell from her place and clattered under the table. The company quietened and eyes bore down on him. Miss Hart lazily squeezed lemon onto an oyster and slipped it down her throat. She smacked her lips and said, “Helena dropped her fork, Nick. Get to the floor, now. Pick it up.”

He squirmed off the bench and under the table, dark and cramped. He started crawling to retrieve the fork, and a foot touched his back. A heel pressed into his shoulder and then a kick landed square on his arse and a tumult of shoves, pushes and jabs all over his body. He covered his face to make it to where it lay, grabbed it and fought his way out on his knees and elbows, dodging blows from all sides in the dark. Helena’s face beamed down at him and he polished the fork with a corner of his shirt. He offered it up to her and she grabbed it, clutching his hand.

Pony Play: Tally-Ho! The Hunt is On.

I’m always on the hunt for new ways of dehumanizing my subs. Already I am whittling my way through boxes of ginger root in a figging frenzy (it keeps your tail pert and your body hot and alert), and dressing my boys up in new ways, using leather and metal to hobble them, to change their shape into something more creatureish. And I do like a spectacle, giving a chance to win ribbons. So starting this week I am inviting beasts of burden and prize-winning ponies alike for a trot around the dungeon paddock.

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I have a full leather bridle with blinkers and a bit, hard-backed bristled brushes, leather cuffs and reins to keep you in place, and a trusty set of crops and canes to keep you in line. How high can you jump? I am a proud owner and I will put you through the paces to train you to be the most obedient pony. As a reward, I may choose to ride you.

How will you come in first place? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Interview on Consent in Kink

What do I want? Kinky things! When do I want them? As soon as you agree!

You don’t need convincing, coercing, cajoling. It’s so hot when I say “I’m going to chain you to a post, wrap your whole body in plastic, and kick you around,” and you say, “YES! Can we do that right this instant?”

In this interview on The Debrief I talk to Gareth May about big rules and risk awareness in BDSM, alongside Glasgow-based Dominatrix Mistress Megara.

“…you should ask, and everyone, irrespective of gender, likes it when you do. Consent isn’t just for kids. Whether fingering… throat-fucking, anal, heavy petting, pegging, love biting, or hair pulling, the best experiences for everyone involved are only reached by talking about them – so why do adults outside of the BDSM community seemingly have trouble vocalizing the C word? “

Adults Are in Need of Lessons in Consent Too

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Office Bullies: A Modern Slave Training (Part 1)

This erotic fantasy circles around the power dynamics in a female-led corporation. Cruel dominant women find ways of tormenting the new male office temp. Confining cubicles, impossible tasks with tight deadlines, and strict company rules are all designed to break him. The story amplifies my own fetishes of shoes, stockings, golden showers, bondage, and acts of service, which become more and more intense with every chapter. Enjoy part one.

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Rent was due. He could get job interviews, but anxiety tied him in tight fussy knots so he was never called back. He couldn’t even focus on everyday tasks for fear of the looming uncertain future – responsibility was simply too much to handle. Unfocussed, sloppy, incapable. It had been like this for months and he could no longer see his worth.

It was the break-up that had started it, made him realize how poorly trained he was for independent life. She had kept him under her thumb so snugly, and he was at his best when being squashed down. He would have pushed other men into traffic just to carry her groceries home. She could hold him captive in her gaze so he felt he was the only thing she was looking at, that she was ignoring all but his tiny existence.

Then she asked him to take it to the next level, to come with her to a special party, a gathering of like minds she said, where he would truly have no control and be at the mercy of everybody there. With no clue of what she meant, or understanding of her subtle but persistent training, he grew frightened and refused. He couldn’t take that step into the void, to truly give up ownership of his own body and mind. She left him, frustrated and hurt that he couldn’t see he had earned the position she was offering. And now, no partner, no job and soon to be no home, he signed up with an office temp agency.

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It was a bright morning and Miss Hart was walking to work with a bounce in her step. She spotted him from a distance and smirked, pleased with what the temp agency had sent. He was standing outside the locked office, neat, tidy, and nervously fidgeting. The new administrative assistant. She walked closer to the door, keys in hand, noticed he had a shadow of a stoop. That would need to be corrected.

“I’m the CEO here. I hired you. You’re going to help us with the audit today, aren’t you.” she said, deliberately brushing against him to unlock the door.

“Yes, I think so, I’m Nick, so…” She looked directly at him and his lips quivered. It was a thrill to take in his smallness, and she kept her gaze on him till he reddened. This would be so easy. She could already read exactly what would make him squirm, and she hadn’t even put him to task yet. She turned the lights on and smiled to think what a lovely day it would be with this whisper of a man working hard for her.

He followed her into her office. She dropped her purse and coat on the floor next to her desk and sat down. He went to the chair opposite. “Did I invite you to sit?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not at all, you’re new.” He stood, shifting his feet while she glossed over emails, ignoring him. He was thrillingly still, his only movement a strenuous swallowing as if to prevent a cough or sneeze. His fingers twitched soundlessly. The minutes passed. A sheen of sweat sprung up and beaded on his cleanly shaved upper lip, his eyes fixed on the carpet in front of his shoes. The hum of the lights and the computer droned loud against her quick typing.

Miss Hart finally paused to look up in thought. “Oh!” she jumped. “I’d quite forgotten you were still here. Of course. Follow me.”

He followed her quick spiked heels down the corridor to a desk crammed into a dimly lit corner, boxes of files looming over a chair that swiveled at a drunken angle when he sat.

Miss Hart walked behind him and leaned over, her breath landing warm on his neck. “Nick,” she said in a low voice, “the standards in this place are high. You will probably struggle to match up. I’m going to be hard on you today.” She spoke slowly so the words landed in the right place, “The details are very important. Is that alright, Nick?” He nodded, perched on the edge of the chair, his eyes trained forward.

Then she straightened up and began rapidly explaining how the files were to be marked and ordered, and how much was to be finished by lunch, knowing that when she was done that all he had taken in was her Chanel perfume. She left him to it.

He sweated through the morning, working to make sense of the task with no example to follow and no one to ask. 10:30AM the phone rang at his desk, Miss Hart’s clipped voice slicing through the line, “Are you keeping busy over there?” Without waiting for him to answer, “I have a little errand for you. Scurry down to the cafe across the street and get me two slices of multigrain toast, with raspberry jam and extra butter. On my desk, hot.”

She hung up before he could respond. Fumbling in his pockets, he collected the coins he could and flew down the stairs.

Minutes later, toast in hand, he just avoided being hit by a car to get back in time. He raced up into her office and the paper bag landed on her desk.

She hardly moved but for a disdainful curl of her lip. “Where’s the plate? I don’t eat out of paper bags like a sticky-fingered child.”

“No Miss -”

“Get a plate, Nick.”

“Yes Miss -”

“And a glass of water.”

“Yes Miss.”

“Hurry up. I’m getting bored.”

Watching him scamper off, she had to bite her hand quite hard to stop from laughing. He was perfect, so easy to shake up.

He came back with a glass of water and the toast arranged on the plate, a little sloppy, but edible. He placed them gingerly on the desk. “Not there,” she spat, and pointed. He stretched far over the wide wood desk to place them where her finger was. Her eyes met his and he froze, and her face softened into a smile. Staring straight at him she bit into a corner of toast. Swallowed. “Good. Thank you Nick. You can go.”

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In the next chapter, Nick is pressed into a bathroom between two women. Check back next week for part 2.

“Audra, this is the newest temp we were waiting for, he’s here to assist with the filing for the audit.”

Audra’s face showed sudden interest. “Ah, here to assist is he?” She turned on all the taps and then stood next to Moira, giving Nick a hard appraising look. “And how’s the assistant doing so far?”

“He’s doing alright, but I suppose we’ll see as the day goes on.” Teeth glinting, enjoying his visible discomfort, they drew closer. He bumped against the counter. Still they inched closer, their eyes dancing over his body, calculating, judging, their snug pencil skirts and bursting buttoned shirts radiating forbidden heat. They pressed themselves tight against him from both sides and he bent backwards, a jolt running through him as shockingly cold water splashed his back. They sprung back at his yelp, and were gone from the room.

Tightly Tied: Lust in Bondage

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Watching a man reduced to the floor, crawling towards me on his bound hands and knees, his movements strained and small, desperate to inhale my scent and warmth up close, is in my opinion the ideal way to spend a Tuesday afternoon.

Bondage gives me a sense of rich satisfaction and wholeness, a response to something that deeply invigorates and connects me to my subject. It makes me feel good.IMG_6646

I love the fine, hypnotic tying of rope as much as quickly fastening leather cuffs on and clipping them to each other to twist the body in beautiful agony. From symmetrical art to a tangled mess that binds your body to itself or spreads it entirely open, you are always vulnerable while I have you restrained.IMG_5711 2

Leather restraints have infinite uses, easily and comfortably (ish) snapping you into position, locking you down to my operating table. Cuffed into a hogtie, or dangling from the ceiling, bent at all the right angles for my peculiar amusement.

I lose myself winding you up and slowly, painfully untying you, letting rope first caress and then sear the skin. Rope hums when I thread it around you, the tension and vibration sending signals between us, me the giver, you the receiver. Spider and fly.

I have studied bondage at the Kinbaku Rope Salon in Toronto, and I continue to brush up on my bondage skills attending workshops by Midori and local Toronto teachers. I make use of what’s around me; stockings, zip ties, chains, tape, saran wrap, power cables… abducting you and attaching you to the chair, the hotel luggage rack, the foot of the bed, the railings on the stairs, or to yourself.

Cast off your shackles and slip into mine.

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My Predilections

Remember when I did an elegant, hot, weird photo shoot with Maron de Sade? And how they held difficult poses for a long time while I adjusted strands of their hair and made sure their frills were ruffled just enough? Oh you don’t? I should think this will remind you.

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It’s all becoming clear now, isn’t it. Memories of your own desires are pushing their way into the light.

This shot stirs something in me, the sinuous lines of our bodies not touching but shaped to connect. They’re bending back to move away from my cane but thrusting forward in helpless submission to the pleasure that comes from this whole game.

Take in the staggering beauty before you.

 

Duos with Miss Elle West

Big news, I’m bisexual. New shocking fact, I’m an exhibitionist.

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Meet my lovely friend Elle. We love to play together in front of people, to tease men and tempt women. We put on quite a show for the enthusiastic voyeur. I love to spank her and mark her, to fill her up with an enema, and other deviant activities I come up with. An audience is always a delight to perform for. Imagine a private show with two smart, sexy, sadistic women going all out, using you as a piece of furniture or leaving you in a corner, tied up and gagged, denied and denied.

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When did you last do something that scared you? Two dominant, sparkling Mistresses having their way with you, hands and harnesses everywhere, bullying you into submission. If you think you can handle the brilliance, we are here, filing our nails into delicate points.

Elle describes herself as a “lifelong domme, [with] a taste for the unusual and the sublime.” Gaze around her website www.MissElleWest.com and picture being stuck between the two of us. Sublime indeed.

Book your uniquely depraved indulgence HERE.

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