femdom

Explaining My Harvest and Extraction Scene

Many of you have contacted me asking what my seed harvest session is. You just don’t get subtlety, do you.

Scenario 1: I am a sadistic villianess, the power-mad keeper of the key to your cage. You are bound and hooked up to my ingenious machine, and you are helpless against my milking machines. I taunt you as the rope bonds grows tighter, as the sensations intensify till you feel like you will burst…

Test alpha and you will be an exalted slave in my ranks. Test beta and I will still find a job for you, perhaps cleaning grime off my stiletto.

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Scenario 2: I am in the bath, waiting to be cleaned and pampered by my servant. I am to be treated as a Goddess, pure yet decadent. You ache in chastity as you lather up and polish my body. I may humiliate you further by dressing you in slutty silky frills and laugh as you fumble for your clit, desperate to impress.

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The theme has room to include bondage, CBT, punishment enema and sissification, catheter play, and so on. Essentially, it’s about edging. This is done with prostate massage, JOI, and/or a machine. As to whether or not there is a release, that depends on how sweet and compliant you are with my evil plan. The gooey result is then recycled into you through any of your holes, or turned into a frozen popsicle for the next victim.

Book Your Seed Extraction Today

 

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New Photos

Oh my darlings. The photos are up.

Just what on earth am I bathing in? Well, let me just say it took considerable time to harvest, and that was after going to all the trouble of kidnapping, tormenting, and teasing the “livestock”. Worth the factory farming though, and now my evil plans for global control of the male species are that much closer to completion.

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Of course you’ll like it the first dozen or so times that you are milked. But then, the longer you are left in your cage, brought out into the light to feed and harvest just twice a day, you may regret your life choice to be a donor. But by then it’ll be too late to get out of the contract, which binds you until you are pumped dry of all of your seed. At least the food isn’t bad – my studs make sure of that.

SEE MY NEW PHOTOS HERE

 

 

How lucky am I to have such a rich network of talented degenerates in Toronto. My fabulously skilled photographer Sydney Rose and I had a fortuitous day at the Patricia Marsh Dungeon rollicking around in the clawfoot bathtub upstairs.

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.

 

Spanking Therapy

bum.jpgThe paddle, the spoon, and I can rattle off any implement, but it’s the intention that stings. It’s the therapy of absolvement, paying the price for the thoughts and memories that go round and round your head, feeding the guilt that festers.

A spanking shocks the system and can purge those feelings, and with a loving hand it draws it out further, that no judgement is passed and this is for your own good, truly. Because the satisfaction that I get from it is that you will feel lighter after a good, firm round of measured beatings, knowing how it will be played out, being able to mentally prepare for each set of spankings.

Whether I deliver 5 or 50 beats with my bare hand or with a copy of Forbes Handbook, it ceases to matter once you are in a headspace of receiving penance for your wrongs, however great or small, however long ago, and whether or not you wish to share the details with me.

I remain a kind and understanding authoritarian, and the reason I pay such close attention to the number, speed, and severity is because I am committed to you going through something intense and coming out the other side feeling light, feeling freed of your burdens. Over my lap with your boxer briefs somewhere around your knees squirming on my body, your bottom getting ever more red, your cheeks blushing with pain and desire for more, you reach a state where rational thought and conscious cognition ceases to be. There is only anticipation for the next round of punishment/ therapy/ erotic embarrassment. I love watching the intellect dissolve and be replaced by the deep body experience of receiving corporal training. The body becomes so malleable once it’s warmed up.

I understand and am honoured by the responsibility that comes with caring for someone who is in a state of physical ecstasy and release from a firm, loving spanking, and I do not take it lightly. I take care of those who are willing to travel down into a deep place of letting go, whether by crop, cane, paddle, or my hand. The marks and bruises that follow are medals of endurance and dedication to the purge.

Don’t Fear the Dungeon

It’s supposed to look scary. You should be intimidated. These feelings are normal. They don’t need to stop you from visiting one. I will not seal your eyelids shut with needles and waterboard you unless you ask me to. A dungeon is the perfect place to play and explore. There are more cleaning supplies than a hospital, more tools than your dad’s shed, and the hooks in the ceiling have been installed by trained professionals. No plaster crumbling down on your head, not today. Walking into a dungeon space allows you to leave your everyday life in the lobby. It is easier to slip deep into your imagination, and the lines of reality blur when you are chained to a desk in a classroom, getting the fingering of your life. Time stops, you’re transported back to that time when you saw your best friend’s mother in her kitchen bending over to adjust her stocking, or to that fantasy where you are a little puppy who needs to visit the vet’s. It’s not all whips and chains, darling, though it certainly can be that. The dungeon is a sandbox for grown-ups, and it’s easy to make friends at the playground. Come to the dark side. We have cookies.

Foot Worship

 I went to an event in Toronto for female dominants and submissive admirers, where I met a foot fetishist. He seemed sweet, so I asked him what did it for him. As he explained, he showed me photos of young women’s feet, painted nails, smooth skin, straight toes. He said it was all in the presentation. The polish mustn’t be chipped. He said individuals each have their thing, but from his point of view it is the arch of the foot, the straight line of toes (especially the two next to the big one), the space between them, are only the beginning of it. He told me that having access to this place in the body, where all nerves end, is the biggest thrill. Knowing that he can give pleasure by touching the lowest place on a woman makes him feel…useful.

I pressed one foot against his chest and the other hard against his crotch. He looked at me nervously since we were only at a drinks social, but this was too intriguing to pay attention to flimsy formalities. I let him massage each of my feet slowly, smell them through my stockings, kiss the warm flesh. It was sensual and pure and I felt luxurious and relaxed. I deserved some quality pampering that night after walking around the city in high heels all day. It’s a beautiful thing to feel a fetish blossoming in the moment.

I saw a friend the week after and told him about my experience. When we got more comfortable, he took my foot in his mouth and swallowed it down to below the second joint of my big toe. This was very erotic for me, a genderfuck moment. Never before had anyone deepthroated any part of me, unless you count dildos. As a reward I gave him a little slap on the face with my foot, rubbing it up his nose so he looked like the piggie he knew he was.

I think it all begins with a well-heeled shoe. I’m a fan of shiny or soft firm leather, since they catch the light so nicely and are so rewarding to lick and polish. The heel should be high enough to accentuate my natural arch and still feel good to walk down city streets in. I like my shoes to be admired, caressed, kissed, and ultimately removed. This part is not to be rushed. The foot will still be there no matter how long you pay attention to my shoes and stockings, so take a little time to please me here. Remove my shoe slowly, with both hands, because you are undressing your Queen. My Toronto dungeon has many a chaise lounge for me to recline upon, several small hard stools for you to perch on.  Foot worship is becoming a favourite fetish of mine, because it is primarily for my sensual pleasure. Your gratification is hardly my concern. You are here to please me. Remember that while you are down there touching up my pedicure.