D. Katarina

Sexy and elegant, Fetish, FemDom, Punishment & Discipline wrapped up in erotic writings of D. Katarina

Winter

To start a piece of writing with the effects or manifestations of winter season seems at this moment presumptuous. My short preface presents a shift from an outdoor to an indoor activity, perfect for this time of a year or another, to avoid cliché. Leather trench coat, hook of the elegant umbrella handle, inspiring awe and second thoughts, held by black leather gloved fingers, shiny and tight, and knee high leather boots.

I meet you at the nearby cafe—through the glass I see that you’re already there. I come in with a plan to have a cup of hot tea and then, warmed up, leave the dim lounge dim and take you to a well-lit shopping centre. My tea forms ringlets as your shaky hand places it in front of me. You don’t look up any higher than my red lips, from where your gaze slides down and almost helps unbutton my coat. White blouse reveals red bra—dark soul. My plan is to take you to Agent Provocateur and get myself a couple of sexy seductive panties. You’ll help me pay. Well—just the half: the other half is happily funded by my ‘panty and bra slave’, who, despite his deepest wish, cannot be physically present at this moment. I will later torture him with a picture I’ll stage for him wearing my new lingerie. Someone else’s camera lens can touch my bare skin: my panty and bra slave, however, must kneel down and bow to the iconic image of me once it reaches his inbox. You will be a bit luckier as you will get to see me in those panties and—bonus!—you will get to suffer for all the masochists, fetishists, submissives and sissies who crave my attention and can’t ever have it: they rub me wrong way!

Later the same day, I will enter my apartment all set up for a lesson, with you—obediently holding various paper bags stuffed with lacy satin undergarments wrapped in silk tissue—behind me. I give you the chance to look at my leather backside thoroughly and once I feel it’s enough I will blindfold you. And maybe I’ll just torture and provoke you with the sight of me in boots and lingerie, until you confess your dirtiest secret fantasy. But everything in order: you put the bags on the counter, I lock the door, you undress fully, even the socks, and devoid of the burden of time you wait, kneeling. I take off my trench coat, throw it in the corner, it doesn’t collapse folding onto the laminate floor but keeps its shape like armour. I put one leg, then the other in front of you to first kiss and then clean the mud off of my boots. I keep them on. You can now watch me strip more layers—first the blouse and then the pencil skirt I step out of. Walking toward my sexy ‘coat hanger’ where all the leather straps, torture and discipline tools wait to be used, I turn back only to find you with a hand on your hard-on without my permission. It offends my authority, and as I’m reaching for the collar, at the last second I change my mind, grab the long strip flogger. and smack your guilty right hand in an instant.

“Get to work you lazy little wimp! Over there, in the corner, you see? Bring the piece here and unfold it! Make sure not to scratch the floor or damage the piece!”—I dictate, while observing his obvious curiousness. It is written on his face that he is trying to identify the folded piece of furniture, but at the same time he instinctively knows how to open it up. From its central inner part he unscrews necessary parts, I tell him which piece goes where and then the final touch—the top cushion roll. The solid oak, elegant, sturdy, spanking bench with softest black leather cushioning and straps stands in front of his surprised look, yet, before he asks any question whatsoever I twist his arm from behind his back, pull his hair and exclaim that I want him “on the bench, right now!” Without thinking he climbs on it—as there is only one way to do so with the uttermost practicality. I tighten all the belts and straps: he is mine to do with what I want. I am his to adore as I stand, with those panties I left on at the AP store—the back string cutting in, little red lace just above my butt cheeks, wrapping around, accentuating my hips, low rise skimpy mesh copying the mound of Venus—right before his eyes he can now touch me with.

 

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GET READY!

Get ready, and in the days ahead have me on your mind well before you present yourself in front me in all your glamour—denied the highest, final peak of arousal, the deepest ocean, the wildest wave that takes you to a calm shore—denied but enormously alert and sensitive to even the slightest air movement, like a smoke detector, so that when in my presence, just moving my ear to your lips to hear your cautious and shy whisper “more”, the scent of my skin, leather and perfume mixed with oxygen molecules electrifies your whole body, runs through your veins bulging up your dick, blurring your vision, narrowing your focus, widening your view on one thing only: getting the object of your desire, which is not the orgasm itself, but its much longer lasting predecessor—excitement.

The involuntary shaking of your hands and lowering of your voice to avoid annoying me speak of your immediate submission. I further exercise it by my hands’ firm grip around your essentials and the clear, articulate, accent-altered sound of my voice: ‘you little shrimp, listen carefully to the following task I have for you!’ Since my boots have received much attention, soaked in traces of adoration smeared on them, I want them clean and polished for the second half of my day—the heel of these boots must be especially clean—I tell you, therefore—take everything you need from the lowest drawer and get to work—and further, unable to withhold commenting on improved performance—these nipple clamps will serve as quality control of your work!

As you crawl I see how you sneak a peek in the corner where—cross-legged—my girlfriend sits giggling to herself. I wink at her to signal action: she stands up, you hear the clicking of her heels, she corners you before you reach your destination and have a chance to dig through the drawer to find what I asked for, you lose your speech, I laugh out loud, you look up only with your eyes—head remaining obediently lowered. She now stands right in front of you, legs apart, you can’t move neither forward nor backward, because at that instant I stand behind you. One could say that we sandwiched you, you little naked shrimp! Her in front and me behind is enough to send you into a submissive, defenseless mode. Without saying a word, almost in complete silence, one thing can be heard and that is your gulp when you swallow down your nervousness. And at that precise moment the clock start ticking again, the scene moves on rapidly when she grabs your hair and points your face to her red dildo, which your mouth, without nibbling, makes disappear. And guess who, with black latex gloved hand examines and fingers your rear end? Taste, feel, smell, hear, see and be fully, wholly immersed in the ‘now’ that you’ve always dreamed about and is here. Both your important openings are taken: your tongue and lips glide around the rubber phallus my girlfriend wears to annihilate your manhood; your ass hole is penetrated with a finger or two, invasively announcing victory.

PAPER TIGER

“Can I serve you? Admire and worship you? I want to suffer for your attention! How can I serve you? How can I make you smile, what can I do to please you? What must I do to see you pleased!?”
“I want you to have your pleasure, your comfort! I want you to be my muse! I want you to be amused by me! I want you to verbally abuse me, call me names, and in the name of my subordinate self and your superior self treat me like you would a dog: train me, love me, pet me, control my personal space, my bathroom-going, my eating habits, my pleasure, reward me and laugh at my tricks, punish my misbehaviour, collar me and lock me in while you go out and have your fun.”
Having fun: flirting with hot men and women, while all dressed up in sexy leather, or tight leggings with high heel boots, teasing you with my firm ass before I leave you alone with a chore, locked in a chastity belt with the key securely hidden out of your reach, most likely tucked under my clothes, hopefully I don’t lose it when undressing for someone else….
“I will look out for your pleasure, I will sniff out great opportunities for you, my Mistress, my Domina!”

I let you near me to prove yourself, you have my attention which is divided between you and others like you. Your humility serves as a vehicle for me to travel far with, yet I trample over your loyalty – you love my heels, I despise your weakness, your lust, your lack of self control. I become crueller and colder as your pleas grow ceasely. I deflect them with even more of the merciless arrogance to which you’re drawn by the force of your own nature: dependent, relying, always thirsty and hungry. I test your strength, physical and mental capacity, I play with your naked self and body and expose it to chilling mockery of presumed endurance, you last only as long as my interest in playing with you.

At times I can’t stand seeing you reduced down to zero, trembling, wanting, your aroused knot of nerves ready to explode in a most tormenting climax, which you yourself both fear and desire all the same. I sometimes pity your narrow focus, constant neediness, lovesick mind, lusting body, and instant readiness for fulfilling my whims, for you have none, besides the addiction to pain.

The more I demand from you, the more you give as if there was a bottomless pit of unending supply within you. There never seems to be enough of your provisions, and I dig deeper. The deeper I go the less I’m frightened, as I continue peeling off the layers, you get used to your desired role and are comfortable with your new, happier you. There are times when I cannot tell who is leading and who is being led!

I tame you; you obey! I let your beast finally be free, it can happily walk within the walls of its own proposed and accepted prison cell: thank me for it! I want you to jump, you jump! When I say crawl, you crawl, and when I wield my whip you know I’ll use it! I’ll break your skin, I’ll tear your pelt! Don’t back off! Confront me! Surrender with a defiance of the same intensity as I dare you to face! So I know you’re my equal! The worst thing for you would be if I called you a paper tiger!

I just can’t get enough

I just can’t get enough and always need more. If I humiliate you by the the way I behave when you’re aroused, it is because I want to see your limits. If you’re bold, you won’t be afraid of my tactical moves, you would understand them only as my means of being, as means of exploring myself, my surrounding and the erotic possibilities of existence. I consider you weak and amiable anyways. With my sweet voice I will promise you heights and I will whisper in your ear while you shiver with arousal.
I will perversely entrap you so that I can protect you my own bizarre way.

I just can’t get enough and always need more. Since I don’t always know, what exactly it is I want at the given moment, I get very excited with various prospects and creatively set out to explore my curiosity.

Last time I saw you for our regular sexy play date I decided to put my outdoor boots on – knee high patent leather lace up boots with about inch and half heels – and take you, my little puppy-boi, for a stroll. The sun was shining, the birds twiddled their spring mating songs and I felt like getting out of the comfort of my play space and explore the outer limits you may or may not have.

I knew that by the time evening comes, the time of your expected punctual arrival, you would be full of erotic excitement – to say the least, as I prohibited you to masturbate and have orgasm since the day we agreed on meeting, which was 11 days ago. I didn’t share much of my fantasy with you, all you knew was that you were about to experience a new level of tease. I kept you for those 11 days in a suspension, horny, fantasizing about what I have in my mind. I bet your dirty imagination took you far beyond mine, as really, all I planned to do was to go out and enjoy the Saturday evening’s ocean side park.

6 pm, buzzer, greeting at the door, after being ordered to undress you crawl naked to kiss my boots, your cock hard, your balls shaven smooth, collar placed on your neck, small plug inserted into your butt with only minor struggle of which result, however, is your absolute obedience. Then came the blindfold and the rope work. Shibari I chose for that night served not only practical purpose of ensuring the plug’s stability, but also to please my eyes and enhance my power over you. The Kikkou, with strategically placed knots, did not restrict you in movement at all. Indeed, I wanted you to move almost freely, as if you wore no reminders of my control. And then, seemingly out of a spontaneous whim, I told you to get dressed. your surprised look was cut off by my serious expression. you obeyed and when you were struggling to put your socks and shoes on for our excursion (the ropes were cutting in with each bend of your body, pushing the plug deeper), I pulled up my latex mini skirt and casually brushed up against your face with my ass, before I reached for my leather trench coat. I put a long silk scarf around your neck to cover your collar and from behind my dark sun glasses the evening looked brighter than ever. We got lots of stares, but we didn’t care… I mean, you looked a bit uptight, no wonder. I told you to take some photos of me, which you did. They turned out blurry, because of your shaking hands. I told you to take me for a drink, which you did. It was good and so you left a generous tip, all while you wore my ropes under your clothes, my collar hidden under the unisex yet feminine scarf, and the butt plug, which you had to sit on. I allowed you to have a glimpse of my thigh and pointed at the tear the rough leather coat made on a silk stocking. With this we headed back to my place. you undressed again on my command. I tied you on the floor, teased you from top, spread-legged, then face sat you multiple times, forced you to worship my latexed ass and strictly restricted you to cum.

Take a deep breath

In each BDSM interaction, there are two perspectives – on the surface seemingly opposite. But in reality, each one is part of the same erotic dance, such as this leather smothering scenario:

“Take a deep breath” I’m lying on my back looking up at Her gorgeous ass – encased in a pair of soft lamb skin leather pants, and just inches above my head – when I first hear her say those words. I quickly start to inhale a big breath of leather-scented air, but before it is complete She sits down forcefully on my face and completely seals my mouth and nose in the leather pants. A millisecond later my world turns dark as my eyes are also covered beneath Her ass. “Can you breath?” She asks.

Here, it becomes an important aspect of making sure that I do have complete control. If he said or gestured that he actually can breathe I would take all the measures to improve the way my leathered ass seals and conceals his face. It already must feel like heaven for him to be played with and for his fantasy to come true. I want him to be completely dependent on my will: his capability to breathe would only mock my erotic game. It is my fantasy that solely depends on my own will and my will relies on it. With submissive men like him I enjoy taking them beyond what they thought they can handle. Men are smart creatures that do not hide their sexual inclinations so once they are known to me, I find nothing more pleasurable and amusing than toying with them.

I don’t really know. It has not even occurred to me to try to breathe. I try to suck in some more air. I can’t. Those leather pants have formed an absolutely air-tight seal. Maybe I can blow out a little bit of air….even that would feel good. But no. Nothing. I begin to get frightened. I try to turn my head to the side to try to break the seal, but nothing works. So I shake my head just enough to signal “No, I can’t breathe”. It turns out, that is exactly what She wanted to hear. Now I feel Her reach down and hold Her cheeks apart a bit as She rocks from side to side, and I sink down even deeper into Her ass.

Before he arrives, when I am getting ready for him, I carefully choose what I’ll wear for that particular night. The feel of second skin against my own skin only intensifies the already strong sensation of taking hold of some one so closely, intimately. I’m also attached to wearing leather emotionally not just physically: when I put it on it instantly charges me and I am quite intoxicated with feminine sexual confidence. The subtle edge, the extravagant elegance, the timeless look, the impenetrable durability of leather make for a perfect, authoritative outfit. Leather and imposing its power on others is a statement to me. I dare you to challenge me when I wear it.

“Thirty seconds.” Oh no. It’s only been thirty seconds? Already I don’t think I can go on much longer. I’m becoming more desperate for air. My body begins fruitlessly gasping in and out…trying to find even just a sip, but it’s hopeless. Not a molecule of air can get past the leather. She ignores my torment. Being smothered under Her seat is absolute, total submission. She Is using me for Her sadistic pleasure, and there is no escape. “STOP STRUGGLING!” She orders. She prefers Her captives to remain still. Besides, struggling only causes me to use up the remaining oxygen faster. So I relax and concentrate on the feeling of being imprisoned under that magnificent ass.

It’s not just that I prefer my subs to remain still, as, after all I can restrain them. It’s rather about giving up control for the time being. I want them immersed into the present, because that is what is real. Sharing the moment of desire and mutual fetish, respectfully and respectively each from different status point of view, like a symphony in crescendo, eventually ends. It is a key and a turn on to know that my object’s mind doesn’t wander, but is firmly rooted in the now-time, with all the possible expressions of physical arousal.

She brings up Her leathered legs and places them across my chest, so that Her full body weight is on me. The weight causes Her seat to bear down on me even harder – almost unbearable – but also unbearably erotic.

Why would any man want to escape such heavenly position?

“One minute!…..Good boi” Now I am seriously desperate for air. I start to panic a little. I try to move my head to signal Her, hoping She will feel my anguish and give me some small mercy. “Is it getting difficult for You?” She says “….Good!” Despite my distress, I find those words exciting and very arousing. She is enjoying my suffering, and just knowing that She likes it makes me hard. I calm down, and do my best to just accept Her torture.

That’s exactly what I want: surrender, acceptance, peace, so there can be space enough for play, fun, enjoyment, pleasure and erotic connection. It’s only when one surrenders to pain and allows it go through the body it can transform into another, higher, more divine sensation.

“One minute, thirty seconds” Every second has now become an agony that seems to last for a hour. My entire world is reduced to only that seat crushing my face. I feel like She is making love to me by smothering me so long and so hard. The harder She smothers me, the harder She is metaphorically fucking me. I can’t endure it much longer, but I don’t want it to end. By now, the real panic begins. The need for air has become a fierce urgency. I think She senses my panic, but I also think that only makes Her more excited. She continues sitting joyfully and counting down the seconds as they increase.

My counting down is extremely arousing to me: I know the risks, and they thrill me. As I am looking at his hard dick each following number that leaves my lips seems to magnify his erection. The throbbing cock cannot be a manifest of anything else but the state of bliss. When I finally lift up the orgasmic wave of his relief is evidently more satisfying than the actual orgasm.

“One minute forty-eight. A new record! Very good” At last She rises up and permits me to gasp in some air. I breathe in and feel a tremendous relief. But even more strongly than the relief, I feel an immense gratitude for Her kindness in allowing me to breathe once more.

I’m glad though that I am still, after all this, considered kind.

As I rapidly try to catch my breath, She stands up and slowly turns around facing forward. Then She kneels down over me once more. I look up and this time to see Her inner thighs and Her leather covered pussy just inches away. She glares down with Her piercing eyes, and I know that She is nowhere near finished with me. Then again I hear Her say: “Take a deep breath….”

“One minute and 23, 24, hold on there under my leathered ass!”

Sexy Caning

The uncompromising, strict look of my prosecuting self reflects back at me from the mirror. My sharp eyebrows darkened by the mood I’m in, slightly, almost invisibly, soften, so that I only feel them as the thought of what is about to happen completely fills me in. A feeble sensation of worry about her pale, smooth, even skin comes as quickly as it leaves. Now the red-lipped smile appears, that which is rather mischievous, content, provocative.

As I’m smoothening the sleeves of my white shirt I imagine her being on her way to me, without panties, just like I told her: being obeyed to purely for my delight makes me aroused and satisfied. When I was dressing up I took particular care to show as little bare skin as possible; it’s only my face that remains masked with just a few, accurate brush strokes. I tighten my black necktie, adjust the full-length zipper at the back of my leather skirt leaving only about three inches open above the knees for imagination. I feel the texture of the skirt with my palms and find the little knobs of my garters attached to my sheer stockings. Then I step into my black leather stilettos, grab my short leather gloves from the countertop and, leaving the bathroom I switch off the light to see myself shadowed by the taboo that we’ll start breaking as soon as…..

…..she enters and the first thing I check on is her appearance from distance: she is wearing a black short pleated skirt, no nylons, high heel shoes with buckles around the ankles. Then I inspect her from a closer perspective. Her lips are soft, moist and juicy, but she wears no lipstick for I don’t want any lipstick marks. Then I glide my gloved hand, still piercing her with my eyes, lower through the neck which for now I only gently squeeze, then slip it in the cleavage of her white top. This sends her instantly into subspace and I have one more thing left to inspect.

I remove my right-hand glove and lift up her skirt. The smooth skin of her pussy has no panty lines or traces after wearing them, is white, clean-shaven and inviting. To her surprise I slap it and it makes her shudder, but like a good little slut she lightly parts her thighs in hope for my second approach. Her lips are soft, moist and juicy. Smacking it again I feel her little cunt wet. Holding her chin and squeezing her cheeks as if wanting to feed her I force her mouth open making her lick my fingers. Her eyes are closed, her tongue working its way in between my fingers, then sucking them, and while she does this, nearly absentmindedly aroused, I tease her nipple. She wants to touch me, lifts her until-now-resting arms, but they are rejected by my stern NO. “You are here, because it turns me on that you’re such a little horny slut that you let yourself be caned by me. The thought of my cane landing on your ass cheeks makes your cunt wet and hot more than anything. Perhaps your wish to pleasure me will be granted if you behave accordingly.”

But what I really want is to have her bent over the bench, skirt up, legs gently apart and relaxed. I order her to follow me and bend over without undressing. I secure her hands to the legs of the bench with leather wrist cuffs and gag her beautiful sensuous mouth with a red ball-gag. I squat in front of her and I look into her eyes. I see nothing but deep lust through those moist, dark wide-open pupils. Her moans are muffled by the gag. I walk past, touching her side, pulling my fingers all the way to her ass, which, now bare and exposed, is waiting. She knows she will be caned and she wants it. I make her say it. From behind I press my hips against her hot bottom only to glide my hands in between the leather of the bench and her chest to reach her breasts and free her nipples, so I can pinch and rub them.

By this time, having checked her readiness by slipping my fingers in her wet cunt – lips slippery and glistening with pussy juice, my thoughts become wild and start to wander… maybe I should fuck her instead, fuck her hard with my red g-spot reaching strap-on dildo until she pees herself in explosive orgasm and then when I free her she will pleasure me with her kitty cat tongue as long as I want.

These thoughts, however, are rejected by a stern NO of my higher I, who is like a good guardian angel more patient, yet at the same time like a strategic, deceitful devil knowing when the right time comes, striking only then.

So I stick to my plan grinning to myself.

Winter Warm-up

It was the blur and the doom of long winter evenings that brought you in to me. The ocean rocked the ships and the fog horn went on all night in half-hour intervals.

You buzzed in. Although I knew you’d be coming your presence struck me as surprising, and I reacted accordingly. Right away, I thought you’re condemned. I pressed you against the wall in to the corner by the entrance door with my eyes. You didn’t retract, but you also didn’t move an inch, perhaps afraid of my glance turning you into a stone. Suddenly, the space that separated us, the gap of cold embers filled with glitter and sparkles, became significant to maintain.

Being in control I restarted the scene put on hold, un-paused the time and pulled you in. I held your belt, your arms hung defenceless, desirous. The half-light’s decoy led you on in, where your dick’s throbbing and my heart’s pounding finally clashed. I knocked you over onto a red bed, pulled up my short leather skirt, revealed my stockinged thighs and climbed on top of you. Pretending to want to kiss your lips and suck tongue I began to tie your wrists behind your head: you gave in so easily. Once I got to learn your button – press and hold. Your pants concealed your erection only vaguely. I wanted to assure myself of it, so letting you look upon my tank top, nipples studded, I slowly took it off.

At that moment whatever I prepared well ahead of time before your arrival just made absolute sense, because your desire, now evidently accentuated, needed to be controlled, tamed, played with, manipulated and taken advantage of…..

I recall you wanted to say something, your mouth showed teeth in hopeful smile, but I had my hands on your dick and you forgot. So instead I gave you words to say, which you repeated like a pathetic little puppet, multiple times, one after another, convincing me: “I want you!”

That was the last thing you said that night; from under the cushion I took out the ball gag and gagged your mouth with it. Then finally I pulled down your pants. I lubed my latex-ed palm, played with a smooth texture in between my fingers, your eyes wide open, your cock pulsating.
You probably thought your confidence would make me passive and I’d be hypnotized by you. You must have been thinking that your sex-appeal is going to melt me like an ice cube on your tongue. I did not allow your tongue to express itself and realize your fantasy. Although disguised in a heat of sexual mood I remained cool and devious.

The fog horn signalled that another 30 minutes had passed. It was time to see how well you can handle my shiny black slippery latex glove. Observing your body’s reactions I avoided going all the way and when I felt your cock increasingly hardening with nearing edge I stopped. Your rapid breathing, and the wave of sweat that covered your skin showed your obvious arousal. I mockingly and promptly wiped the drops of precum onto your face saying that there is only one way for you to have what you want: “When the right time comes I will allow you to shoot it into your mouth and swallow it all for me!” You looked like you were enjoying yourself too much. To make sure it wasn’t the pleasure itself you were receiving from me, the pinwheel I kept in close proximity now became my tease-torture tool. I rolled it up and down the shaft of your ready-to-explode cock, had your balls tightly in my palm’s grip. Soon enough they got their dose of nippy sensation, too. While the pins traced the skin of your full blue balls I gave a very slight reward to your erect member: the slow gliding of my hand contradicted any pain you could have been feeling. The alternate pattern of some pleasure with intense sensation caused by pinwheel seemed to work the best. Another 30 minutes into the night and I was still, without mercy, weaving my plot. There is no nicer method of punishing a man, than leaving him sexually frustrated.

But was I really punishing him? Wasn’t it I who indulged in darkest, bizarre games one only dreams of? Wasn’t it I who initiated it? He was guilty of mixing lust with the desire to act upon it, and that needed to be corrected. I wanted to keep him in suspense for as long as possible, to let the desire, not me, continue to torture him in order to maintain that flickering fire between us. After a while I just sat comfortably by his side playing with and watching his reactions, cautiously preventing the end of the game, prolonging the night. He was condemned to having no release, furthermore – he was not to act upon his lust. The desire to act upon it was strictly my dominion and prerogative.

There Is Only Leather Between Us

The sign or signal is to stretch out your legs from their bent position. I can’t glorify you as a royal throne; you look nothing like a deep red velvet armchair one would imagine giving out orders from to have her will fulfilled.
I sit down not to give out orders. you assume your position and I sit down not to give out orders, but to reduce your status to its bare minimum. you learn to lie down flat on the ground, melting into it, becoming one with it only to provide a safe seat.
It starts with my letting you have that last glimpse of my leathered long legs that tower high above your head, high heels of my boots by your ears; your scanning from my knees through inner thighs to where they meet at the zipper on my pubic bone is fire-hot, burns itself into my second skin.
you down there seem so high. I from up here send you a wink and turn around so that now I can torture you with a sight of my firm, round, shiny black-leathered ass. your cock in anticipation won’t get more than a teasing slap, firm pull and an even firmer squeeze – all while I’m bent over, your eyes glued to my bottom. Then I skilfully bind your balls with a leather parachute and attach a leather leash to it.
Now I am ready to sit down: you face my nearing ass and your nose and mouth are suddenly covered by the leather of my pussy, cheeks of my ass covering your eyes. There is nothing more for you to see, so lifting up about an inch I tell you to take a breath and inhale the scent. I turn my head to meet your eyes, but they are closed, I lift up one more inch and see you smile. I smile to myself, or rather grin mischievously and jerk the leash which instantly opens your eyes to attention, cock erect and needy.
Now laughing out loud I order you to take a deep breath, hold it in and I plant my ass onto your face.
“Can you breathe?” I ask and I feel you shake your head no.
My gloved finger toys with the drippy head of your cock, my will is fulfilled and my mind speaks through my mouth: “you cannot possibly serve a better purpose than a Queen’s seat! How lucky you are to find yourself underneath me. Literally!”
you’re breathless; I make you breathless, where your signal is to stretch out your legs from their bent position once you’re really on the edge of leather intoxication. Before thirty seconds pass I lift up, look at you and it is like watching a bud that only opens hidden in the night: calm and peaceful you fan-open your lashes and slowly breathe in through a smile into your erectile.

I have a hibiscus plant and for the past few months it has been blooming, orgasmic. In the evening I switch off the light, darkening the bud, letting the night do its magic. By the time morning comes there is a red, five-petaled flower with its hungry, golden-powdered tongue waiting for the night only to wilt and give space to a new one.

I face-sit you like this multiple times, so try to imagine what I feel, what goes on in and through my body…… There is only leather between us.

The Lightning of Fetishism

Slowly opening the door I tuck myself behind it to lengthen his anticipation of finally seeing me. He hesitantly steps in, where nothing stands between us anymore, where we can passionately indulge, each from a different hierarchical perspective, in a mutual fetish.

While closing the door and opening the scene, our eyes meet and without any sentiment I order him on his knees to kiss my feet. He drops down and I have to correct his absurd enthusiasm: “I said kiss, not lick!” and purposely step on one of his hands.

He reverts to the appropriate manner that allows him to appreciate the exquisite shoes on my feet. I hear him sniffing and inhaling the scent of leather and my sweat mixed together. His moves are now more composed. He tenderly holds and worships my elegantly encased feet, his eyes are closed, his lips sealed and his cheek is polishing the tip of my shoe.
This gentle vulnerability gives him a streak of absolute devotion, which in turn empowers me. An electrifying sensation runs through my body, I feel the sparks under the mesh of my stockings, the very tips of my breasts are struck with the lightning of my own fetishism.

I catch him looking up from between my slightly spread legs; his gaze travels up my thighs, then stops at the level of significant body parts, working its way to my face. I put my gloved hands on my hips, shift the weight on to my left leg and with the other one I press his head properly on my leather shoe: “Pay attention, slave, I did not allow you to stop! Only when I tell you directly you may look up from where you are now!” Then I walk away and let him remain on his hands and knees for a few more seconds.

Now he is ordered to undress, which he does calmly, but quickly, revealing smooth shaven heavy-hanging balls and erect penis.
I sit down and lead him to my armchair with my voice: “On your knees, slave, crawl to me without raising your eyes from my shoes!” Then I cross my legs, commanding: “Now suck the heel!” and like the juiciest lollipop it really disappears in between his o-shaped lips.
(The sweetest juice of a peach, the drippy lip of a moist mussel, sizzling snail or octopus, slippery snake, dizzying whirlpool of thoughts in my head, persistent, hard pressure on a soft spot creates an urge to pee…)

Worship and Vulgarity as an epilogue.
To further implement and vulgarize my control over his sexual adoration, his worshiping my shoe as the brain masturbation, I move my foot and my heel, sensuously, in and out of his mouth. As I do so, his cock, a subject of waves of arousal, is now reduced to an object of my whim (mercy) to either step on or caress it gently anytime I please with my free foot.

Summer evokes eroticism

Summer evokes eroticism. By shedding layers of clothing due to heat, both men and women expose their skins. Visuality is stimulated to the point where hands want to touch and wrap themselves around the bare skin of shoulders, bellies, legs and even feet to test its softness.
To present you with the imagery here: the light, silk, strapless dress of which the skirt is easily lifted by the breeze, is black in color. The one who wears it against freshly-bathed pale skin is aware of her sexual power radiating outward through the way she walks and moves her hips. This elegant simplicity or rough grace of a tall female animal in heat is given by the shoes she has chosen to wear: black leather ankle high heel sandals showing red toes.
She goes to meet a man who seems promising. She is not running late: she doesn’t need to or want to run, and enjoys her walk on the bright side of the street. The sun – the blinded admirer, as if a reflector on a stage, follows her.
As she is nearing the meeting point and is evidently being recognized, a man from inside a restaurant waves and smiles at her in an exaggerated manner. She enters; he stands up, scans her from head to toe, sighs, then rests his eyes, safely, with his head bowed, on her shoes and offers her a seat. She instantly knows that is a good sign: a sign of submission.
Before sitting down, she removes her dark sun glasses; he steals a glimpse of her piercing eyes that are now, in turn, scanning him. He is tempted, but doesn’t dare to look into her Medusa eyes anymore.
Each sipping their own summer drink, they exchange symbolic phrases. She leads the conversation, smiles, red lips ablaze.
Each knowing the purpose of this meeting, they enjoy the animated company of the other.
She crosses her legs; thighs shimmer and shine.
His hands are nervous, fingers of one embracing the stem of a cock-
tail glass; the other is under the table. On his lap, or in his trouser pocket, she wants to find out.
So she extends, stretches out her leg to find and place it on a hidden hand making space between his thighs. Her lovely shoe is now in his palm, but she presses against it; his hand is defeated, he puts it on the table. She keeps the foot where it is: sole of the sandal on a hard pulsating cock, arch of the foot against the balls and the heel comfortably behind them.
During the further conversation a strong urge, a desire to touch the shoe, to softly stroke the ankle overcomes him, but he is quickly put in his place by her playful and teasing NO. Instead she creates more pressure on his crotch, making his eyes expose their whites, his breath deepen and his focus shift….
At the moment where he seems to enjoy it the most, she withdraws her leg and the sensation, as when you suddenly shut the television, vanishes. She rises from her seat, comes to him, gently lifts his chin and tells him almost whisperingly so he has to lip-read her: “I’ll e-mail you tonight. Then you can touch yourself, but no orgasm! See you tomorrow.” And he is left with lingering arousal in a cloud of her only slowly fading perfume.