Witch's musings

The dimly lit room was calm, silent, and perfectly arranged—the way I liked it. The wooden stool sat in the center of the room, unremarkable in its simplicity, but it was all the more powerful for what it represented. I crossed my stocking clad legs in my chair, the sharp point of my Louboutin heels brushing against the wooden floor with a soft click. My hair, a striking shade of deep red, fell in waves over my shoulder. I had always found the contrast of my vibrant hair against the dark tones of the room pleasing. Today was no different.

I glanced at J, who knelt on the stool, stripped of his garments, and vulnerable in every possible sense. His body was on display, bare and tense, as he knelt upright with his hands on his head, fingers interlaced just as I had instructed. His knees pressed against the hard surface of the stool, his muscles already beginning to show signs of strain. He was a picture of submission, and it pleased and aroused me to see how tense and afraid he was. 

I held my tools in my hands—a smooth wooden ruler in my right and a worn leather strap in my left. The weight of them was familiar and comforting, symbols of the power I wielded in this space. J had violated one of our cardinal rules and had pleasured himself. He had compounded the transgression by attempting to hide it and even lie about it, but I can see right through him. Now, he needed to be corrected.

“You understand why you’re here, J?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm. I didn’t need to raise it; my authority was already well established.

“Yes, Miss M,” he replied, his voice steady despite the vulnerability of his position. The way he addressed me was important, a reminder of the dynamic we shared.

I nodded approvingly and leaned back in my chair, my eyes never leaving him. He had been instructed to remain perfectly still, his hands locked on his head, his posture rigid, eyes locked on me. The position, while seemingly simple, would become unbearable soon enough. The room was silent except for the faint sound of my heel tapping rhythmically against the floor. The subtle reminder of my presence and the tools in my hands filled the air with a tense, expectant energy, and I knew the effect of looking at my stockinged legs and heels would have on him.

Time passed slowly, as it always did during these sessions. I watched J carefully, observing the slight tremors in his muscles as the strain began to set in. His breathing was slow but deep, and I could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure. His body, though disciplined, was not immune to its own reactions.

I could see it happening before he even realized. The subtle twitch, the way his breathing quickened just slightly—it was a telltale sign. His member had begun to stir, rising despite his best efforts. He was fighting it, but his body was betraying him, and I noticed immediately.

“Ah,” I said softly, my voice cutting through the silence. “We seem to have a little problem, don’t we, J? Your cock is being unruly again!”

His face flushed with heat, a deep red that spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He struggled to suppress his arousal, but it was too late. His body had already given in.

“Yes, Miss M,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew what was coming next, and I could see the tension ripple through him.

I stood from my chair, my Louboutin heels making a sharp sound against the wooden floor as I approached him. Each step was measured, deliberate, heightening the anticipation that hung heavy in the air. Kneeling beside him, I placed the wooden ruler gently against his thigh, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat of his skin.

“You know the rules, J,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “If you cannot control yourself, I will help you.”

“Yes, Miss M, as you wish Miss M” he whispered, the weight of his devotion heavy in his words.

Without hesitation, I lifted the ruler and brought it down in a swift, sharp strike against his member. He winced, his body tensing, but he didn’t move—not yet. His resolve was admirable, but I wasn’t finished. The ruler struck again, a controlled stroke that echoed in the room, sending a clear message. 

I watched as his body responded, as his arousal began to subside under the blows from the ruler. His breathing steadied, and slowly, the tension in his muscles eased.

Satisfied, I stood and returned to my chair, crossing my legs once more and resting the ruler on my knee. “Better,” I said with a hint of approval in my voice. “But we’re not done yet.”

J’s body was trembling slightly now, his muscles straining from the effort of holding his position. I could see the fatigue beginning to set in, but I also knew he wouldn’t give up easily. He was determined to avoid disappointing me.

“Hold your position, J,” I instructed, watching him closely.

He tried, he really did, but I could see it in the way his hands began to slip, the slight shifting of his weight as he sought relief from the discomfort. His body was betraying him again.

The leather strap was in my hand before he could correct himself. “Hands,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through his thoughts.

His hands flew back to their proper place on his head, but it was too late. He had broken the rules.

I stood once more, walking around to stand behind him. His back was straight, his body still, but I knew he was bracing for what was to come. The first crack of the strap against his bare backside was sharp, but controlled. He inhaled sharply but didn’t move, just as he had been trained.

“Stay still,” I reminded him.

Another strike followed, then another. The sound of the leather against his skin filled the room, each strike firm and precise. This was about discipline, not punishment for its own sake. I could see the tension in his muscles, the way he fought to remain still despite the pain.

After several strikes, I returned to my chair. J had held his position, and I was pleased with his resilience. His body trembled with the effort, a tear ran down his face, but he had endured the first round.

“Well done,” I said softly, watching as he lowered his hands from his head.

“Who said you could lower your arms now. Hands! Eyes, on me!" He immediately complied as I again crossed my legs and dangled my heel and waited for his member to twitch and rise. It always amazes me that the poor thing knows the ruler is coming and it still can't control itself. 

So the cycles continued, alternating ruler strikes to address his erections and crop strikes to address his lack of body control.

One cycle. A second. A third. A fourth and a fifth. 

Finally I deemed he had enough. "You may put your arms down," I told him gently. He did so, his shoulders sagging in relief. His body was tired, his cock head and ass welted and red, but he had done what was required of him.

I stood once more, approaching him, my demeanor now gentler. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I offered him a quiet smile. “You did well, J,” I said, my voice soft. “It’s over now.”

“Yes, Miss M,” he replied, his voice filled with gratitude and relief.

I helped him to his feet, his body still trembling from the ordeal. His teary eyes met mine, and in that moment, there was a shared understanding. Through this correction, our bond had grown deeper and stronger.

“I think you have learned your lesson. Go and get dressed,” I instructed, my voice gentle. “You’ve earned some rest.”

As he gathered his clothing, I watched him for a moment longer, feeling a quiet sense of pride at the devotion and willingness to please he had for me. Though, I knew that before long his unruly cock would lead him right back to this place for more delicious correction.

I licked my lips at the thought.

You Can Pretend You Don't Care

You can act nonchalant.
You can try to pretend that I don't affect you.

But I'm your fantasy
Living in the flesh

You think you have a handle on this, but Miss M knows more than you, little one. Your cock is mine. Your devotion is mine. Your body is mine. I own you in parts of your mind you don't even know about yet.

You might think you have a handle on your thoughts, on your emotions.

But when I cage that cock (which by the way, is so sad, I love when it points right at me, the way it aims for me, and I can use it, choke on it, edge the fuck out of it, and make you my toy) you're lost and helpless and you cannot stay in charge of that brain.

You lose all control.
The body runs the show.
And that body belongs to me.

So, I now run the show.

You give it to me. You surrender your Manhood to me. You hand it over, like a beautiful teacup, full to the brim with piping hot tea on the daintiest little China plate, trying not to spill it, as if you're handing it to royalty. I am honored by your devotion. I do not take it for granted.

Sometimes you forget what it's like to be surrendered into me. Sometimes, you forget what it's like to have my hand gripping around your neck, my mouth pressed down on yours, stealing your breath, stealing your sanity. You forget the feeling of your eyes rolling back in your head, the way your heart beats so fast you think it might explode, the way the fear circles in your belly.

You forget that I can simultaneously melt you, and terrify you, with one look.

You forget the hell I can unleash on you if you decide to be sub-par. If you decide to do less than the minimum requirement.

Until I cage you.
Then you cannot forget.
Then it's all right there.

All the memories
All of the ownership.
All of the pain.
All of the desire.
All of the torture.
All of the desperation.
Pointing at me

At that key dangling around my neck.

When you cum, I lose you. You go home. You pleasure yourself. You think you have regained control of your mind. Of your body.

Until that cage goes back on.

Then almost instantly, your body remembers who you belong to. There's no escaping it.

It's me.

It will always be me.

That cage will remind you of me for the rest of your life.
When you marry some pretty lady who knows nothing about femdom, and unsatisfied (as you never are with me) you will sneak the cage on under your suit at work in the bathroom someday while no one is looking because you desire to be owned once more. You'll probably wear panties too. And knowing you, a plug. You will desire your Goddess to destroy you in every way you've ever fantasized about one more time. Lonely in your office, making money, with that family you desired at home, because you were young and thought you knew what you wanted in life.

But

It will be me that your cock craves.
It will always want Miss M while it's in that cage.
You will always be mine.

What if... Eden never stopped existing?

What is it's here, now, but the church, the government, the people in charge of power and wealth, created a story to make you believe that there's something wrong with the most beautiful, powerful, ecstatic energy available to you on earth, right here, right now, in your body, whenever you want it?

What if, in order to control you, someone told you not to masturbate, to SHUT OFF your creative (sex energy is creative) power... 🤔

Listen, I believe Jesus was the greatest man to ever walk the planet. Buddha, The Dalai Lama, Mother Theresa, the lady who wrote ACIM... also amazing humans. All attempting (and possibly even able to) to channel the spirit of goddess/ creator/ maker for us to understand it... Problem is... We don't actually understand what these enlightened people are saying 🙄🤦‍♀️

What if, by making it bad and wrong, we ourselves PERVERTED it.

If it wasn't bad. And wasn't shameful. Between consenting adults and ourselves and our creator, then the taboo would be erased, along with the cultural perversion.

[I also understand this is also a HUGE CULTURAL ISSUE, and that some ridiculously high number of children are incestuously raped/molested. 😭 There are so many trauma survivors. (But this is a separate topic).]

Here's the CRAZY part:
If you personally decided to stop shaming yourself, your body, your sexuality, your nudity, (and imagining what others are thinking of you - which is really just self- judgment) we would be halfway to Eden. If you personally decided to stop shaming and judging others bodies, sexuality, sensuality, power... We would be all the way there. 🤔

Up to you 🤷
Who wants to join me in the recreation of Eden?

Every morning, you send me a greeting.

It is one of the tasks that I have asked of you.

It is a promised connection.  Although you might have doubts or worries or simply a busy day, it is your duty. I like that it is obligatory. I want you to feel like you are never bothering me. I never want you to hide or withdraw from me.  Ever. 

Whatever is happening in the world, or in our world, every morning, I want you to send me a greeting.  

It is a moment when our lives touch. And in this moment, I want you to feel safe, happy, because that is how you make me feel when I receive your words.

With this touch, I claim you.  Every morning you become mine all over again.

You are important enough in my life that I require a greeting every single day.  It is so important that I will punish you if you don’t do it.

Therefore, every morning, you will send me a greeting.

And every morning, I want your heart to rejoice.

Because every morning, I will answer.

Remembering last night.
I didn't expect myself to respond like that.
You were instantly in subspace, it was almost like I lost you.

Such a very long night.
The spankings
Making dinner
Feeding me
Catching up with you. It's been too long. I'm used to knowing everything about you. A week away was too long.

Ugh and your kisses.
Little boy kisses
Lipstick kisses
Strong man kisses
Desperate kisses

I absolutely simultaneously melt and die from those kisses. The way your mouth seeks mine. The way your desire searches for me, for my mouth, my lips, my tongue, my nipple, my heart, my soul, my body. Parts of me I didn't know could melt, melt every time you reach for me with those kisses. Even before they're on my lips, I'm already melting from the way you lean in for me, the way you want me, the way you desire me.

Usually so stoic. No one sees this passion in you. But I do. I get it. I see it. I feel it. I receive it. I feel lucky and special and chosen.

Shaving you in the bathtub was incredible.

You literally gave me your manhood. I mean, it's your choice. You can always say no. I'm keenly and acutely aware of this. Everything we do, everything I control in you, is a gift.

Shaving your long, thin legs… every hair, that's been with you since puberty, you let me steal from you. Every inch of what society calls your Manhood… you gave it to me.

I am in awe.

So many women are so frustrated that they cannot get their man to even take out the garbage.

Mine lets me shave his legs. 🤤 The level of submissive behavior this man gives me is literally beyond me. It makes me melt. It makes me wet. It turns me on. To have so much power.
He's hot
He's giving me control of him, letting me emasculate him, feminize him, and he's getting TURNED ON by it!! I'm not doing anything wrong, for us.

Taboo?

Yes 😂 But for us, it feels very, very right.

And his legs looks like those of a gorgeous woman 🤤
At this point I'm losing my mind.
At this point I'm in Domme space.
At this point, I feel invincible.

All the fun bondage, begging, cockteasing, ball squeezing, pegging, orgasms, bed drenching, deep throating things happened. They were amazing. Sex is yummy.

But it's nothing compared to the days of buildup. Nothing compared to the hours that that last night lasted. The sexual, emotional tension. The control and surrender that happened.

The shaking
The fear
The cuddles
The nurturing
The bonding
The reconnecting
The safety
The trust
The chemistry
The kisses
The getting lost
The floating down the river…

Row, row, row your boat…
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life… is but a dream

Goodnight my sweet boy

Ugh
Every time I put you in the cock cage, this happens...

You go crazy. You're mad. Horny. Drooling. Drippy. Melty.

You're focused on me.

Like a temper tampering little boy, looking up at his mommy to save him.

That's right. Miss M will save you.

But Miss M is also the one who is torturing you.

I lose control with you in that chastity. It immediately melts my chest. I feel close. I feel soft. I feel butterflies. I can't breathe.

Every photo you send of my big cock all squished up in a tiny cage. Ugh. 🤤 I can't breathe when I see it. It's mine.

And the longer it's in there, the more drippy it gets. I am literally turning you into my girl. Into my bitch. Into my toy. Wet and waiting to be fucked.

That you would give me this. You would give me this part of you. This precious, sacred part, that's always been wholly yours... Is now mine.

You're hypersensitive and your entire body is warm. The thought of me sends a feeling of sheer excitement through you.

Your body is mine
That cock is mine
Your ass is mine
Your breath is mine
Your masculinity is mine
Your ego is mine

You can no longer drive hard with force. All of that driving energy is directed wherever I tell it to go.

I am the driver now
You are my vehicle

Where will I take us?
You don't even know, but you still surrender to me 🤤🔥🥵

I like the aesthetic of black; it carries an edge of danger and power, absorbing all other colors into its mysterious depth.

Black stockings, black heels, black lingerie. I love the word 'lingerie'. It sounds so sensual rolling off my tongue. And it does the job of arousing you so effectively. 

The black matches the leather cuffs around your wrists that are firmly locked behind your back, and the black of the leather leash attached to your cock. You shuffle on your knees to follow me around as I play with you, my toy. The glistening tip of your cock shows me that you enjoy this black accessory as well.

Maybe a bit too much, as your cock drips on the floor. The black crop lands a smack on your ass. The leather crop again makes contact as another drop drips, this time landing on my black heel.

You, my boy, have gone with red this evening—red knees, a red throbbing cock and most importantly, a red ass.

The ping of your message alerts me to your arrival. I am in the foyer by the time you reach my front door. A glance at the clock confirms you are precisely on time, not that I had any doubts. The importance of today has been palpable in our recent messages. I open the door, and there you are, standing with a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy. You step inside, and the door closes behind you, sealing us off from the outside world.

Our normal greeting of two new lovers is eschewed for stricter protocol today. Today, you are moving towards the role that I have been considering you for—my submissive, my pet, and, depending on the task or day, my slut.

“Put this on,” I state without emotion. Today is about stripping you down and starting from the basics of submission. It is about teaching and molding you into my perfect pet. I hand you the hood, black cloth with a string, which once over, I will tie up. You take the hood from my hands, your movements careful and deliberate. As you pull it over your head, I can see the shift in your demeanor. The hood takes away your sight, heightening your other senses, making you more aware of every sound, every touch, every command.

I love using the hood right from the start; it reveals any anxieties, any issues with trust. The possibility that we are not at the right stage to move forward begins with this one act. As you pull the black cloth over your head, your breathing becomes shallow, and I can sense the shift in your energy.

With the hood securely tied, I guide you down the hall and to another door. This one leads to the basement, to my play area, a place where you will come to both enjoy and fear. As I open the door, I say, “There are many steps down. The railing is to your right.”

I take your left hand in mine and guide you down the stairs. Your steps are tentative, each one careful as you adjust to the loss of your sight and the heightened reliance on my guidance. The descent feels long, each step echoing in the confined space.

At the bottom of the stairs, I lead you a few more feet to the door of my playroom. I stop and tell you to kneel to the right of the door. I watch as you kneel, albeit awkwardly without being able to see, the disorientation clear in your movements.

“Good,” I murmur, satisfied with your obedience. I take a moment to admire your submission. Before opening the door, I give you one simple command: “Stay.”

I enter the room and feel the familiar energy in the space. I have spent countless hours here, enjoying encounters that would fill many books. The decor has been chosen piece by piece to create a den of pleasure and pain, one that is both pleasing to the eyes and the bodies that sweat, cry, and plead for more.

The walls are adorned with various implements of discipline, each meticulously placed. The soft glow of the ambient lighting casts shadows that dance across the room, enhancing the atmosphere. The leather furniture, the polished wood, the strategically placed mirrors—all of it designed to heighten every sensation, every emotion.

I walk to the one wall and select my implement for today—a red leather crop. Perfect for your inspection. I take a seat in a wide, plush leather chair and, with it, take out my phone. I proceed to catch up on work emails while you kneel, waiting outside the door.

I glance down to see that twenty-seven minutes have gone by. I know this to be an agonizingly long time on one's knees, especially if untrained to do so. Luckily for you, there is carpet in the hallway, unlike in here.

“Come,” I finally call out, my voice firm but inviting.

I listen as you rise and cautiously enter, guided by the sound of my voice. The hood still obscures your vision, adding to your disorientation and heightening your other senses. You pause just inside the threshold, awaiting further instructions.

“Close the door behind you,” I command. You obey, the soft click of the door closing behind you echoing in the room. I rise to meet you in the middle of the room and turn you towards the chair I was sitting in.

“Good. Now, strip,” I instruct, and I hear your sharp intake. I walk around you, taking in the sight of you, watching the way you hesitate just for that split second before your hands find the buttons of your shirt. It falls to the floor, and is met with trousers, briefs, belt and finally your socks.

I reach out and gently stroke your cheek through the hood. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, Miss M,” you reply, your voice steady despite the uncertainty.

“Then let’s begin,” I say, satisfied.

The silence in the room amplifies every sound, every rustle of fabric, every breath you take. I don’t say a word as I start circling you, the click of my heels the only sound I make. I purposely circle around and around, and with the softest of touches, the crop draws patterns on your skin. I run the crop up the inside of your thigh, just stopping before it touches your sac. I draw a line across your shoulders and then proceed to run the crop ever so lightly down the small of your back, eliciting little goosebumps to erupt.

I continue my calculated strokes with the crop, tracing the inside of your arm, then the back of your knee. Finally, I give one of your hard nipples the tiniest of flicks. Your moan escapes before I can flick the other.

I giggle at your reaction, as now I know you are desiring this inspection and enjoying it just like I knew you would. “How does it feel to be so exposed and vulnerable right now?” I ask slowly, drawing out the words "exposed" and "vulnerable" to emphasize them.

You breathe in and seem to think, holding your breath before sharing your answer. "Miss M, this is all new, and I will admit I am very nervous and feeling exposed for certain."

“Well, this is all new to you, and I would be very concerned if you weren’t nervous, to be honest,” I say with kindness. “This is a serious step for me and for you. Your consideration could be ending today, and I could have myself a new pet.” I say this in all seriousness.

I take the crop lower as I shift to stand in front of you, running the tip of the crop all the way up the front of your leg to the tip of your cock. I lift it just a few inches and ask, “Are you embarrassed by your size? Do you think you measure up to the other pets I’ve had?”

“Nooo, Miss M,” you draw it out like you are not sure if you should be. “Well, you should not be. It is a beautiful sight, and even though it is what they call average, it’s plenty big for what I have planned for it anyway,” I say with a smirk.

I emphasize my point with a quick flick to the tip, another moan coming out of you, this one noticeably louder. I choose to ignore your enjoyment and proceed with my line of questions.

“How does it feel knowing that I have complete control over your naked body?” I whisper through the hood by your ear. This is when I see the shyness being overtaken by your enjoyment. Your flaccid cock has started to harden.

“It feels wonderful, Miss M,” you add. “I have always desired to have a a Mistress like you control me in every way possible.”

My sharp reprimand of “Enough!” has your mouth shut without another word.

“Do yourself a favor and keep your answers short. And by the way, I am not any Mistress, I am “thee” Miss M, and you would be wise to remember such things.” An emphasis is made as the crop lands swiftly on your ass, this one not gentle like the last.

The red bloom from the crop spreading across your cheek turns me on, and I can't help but add another slap of the crop to create the perfect match. You yelp as it lands, and this time I shush you to be silent. "Stand in proper inspection position, arms behind your head and widen your stance," I say as I slap your inner thighs with the crop, teasing the tip of your cock with the back-and-forth light flicks.

The crop comes up to draw another line from your hip bone all the way up to your armpit, where I find you a bit ticklish. You try to put your arm down to stop the tickling, and you receive a hard smack to your ass. "How does it feel knowing I can touch any part of you whenever I want?" The crop again slides up, this time on the other side, to be met with your ticklish armpit. You move a bit but bite down on your lip to quiet the protests that want to erupt. "Good boy," I whisper in your ear.

These words have the desired effect, and your cock bobs as if in agreement. I can't help but bring the crop again to the underside and start to tease and flick with the tiniest little movements, evoking a little whine from your lips. "Are you embarrassed by your erection? Do you think it's pathetic?" I ask as your cock produces its first drop of pre-cum. I lift the hood to show you another part of your inspection as I capture the drop on the tip of my finger and bring it to the tip of my tongue for a taste. Your eyes are wide, and your cock bobs from my touch, fully erect, and your mouth parts as I taste you.

"You should feel honored," I murmur, my eyes locking onto yours. "To be inspected so thoroughly, to have every inch of you scrutinized and evaluated. This is a privilege not many receive."

Your breathing becomes ragged as I continue my slow, deliberate inspection, the crop now tracing circles around your nipples, down your chest, and along your sides. "Do you understand what it means to be my property?" I ask, the crop pausing at the sensitive spot just below your belly button. "To be at my mercy, to exist solely for my pleasure?"

Your response is a shaky nod, your lips parting as you struggle to find the words. "Yes, Miss M," you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and arousal.

"Good," I purr, the crop moving lower, grazing your inner thighs once more. "Because from this moment on, your body is mine to command, mine to use, and mine to enjoy. Do you accept this?"

"Yes, Miss M," you reply, more confidently this time, the anticipation in your voice clear.

"Excellent," I say, a smile playing on my lips as I step back to admire the view. "Now, let's see just how well you can follow orders."

I take a step back, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before giving my next command. "Spread your legs wider. I want to see everything." Your compliance is immediate, your stance widening as you expose yourself completely to my gaze.

"Good boy," I say, my voice dripping with approval. "Now, bend over and grab your ankles. Your inspection is far from over." I tighten the hood and await your new position.

I stand behind you for an awkwardly long time. I turn the crop around and let a stream of spit land perfectly on your hole, the sensation causes you to clench, “Open wide as I need help with the next part of your inspection.” I say as I spit one more time on your asshole.

"Now, you have already agreed that you would very much enjoy being penetrated, right?" I ask, knowing your answer but wanting you to say it again.

"Yes, Miss M, I want you to penetrate me, please," your voice husky with desire.

"Good boy," I murmur, running the metal tip of the crop handle along your exposed entrance, teasing the sensitive skin. "Remember, you are here to please me, to fulfil my desires. Your pleasure is secondary."

I press the crop just slightly against your hole, not enough to penetrate but enough to make you feel the pressure. "Do you understand?”

"Yes, Miss M, I understand," you reply, your voice trembling with anticipation.

I push the crop a little further, feeling the resistance give way just slightly. "You will learn to take everything I give you, won't you?"

"Yes, Miss M," you gasp, your body tensing under my touch.

"Good," I say, withdrawing the crop and stepping back.

I move in closer, pressing my body against yours, my breath hot against your ear. "Are you ready to be completely and utterly mine?" “Yes, Miss M” is your only response.

"Relax then, it will be so much easier to complete my inspection." I see your hole unclench.

"That's better," I say, my voice low and commanding. "Now, let's see just how much you can take." I will not be giving you much as the metal tip is only two inches at most. But you do not know this, and that makes me smile as I press the crop against your entrance again, this time pushing it in slowly, savoring every moment as you gasp and moan under my control.

"Much better," I purr as I slowly play with your hole, gently as there is no need to rush this. Your body needs to be broken in, in more ways than one, and I want it to start desiring my touch immediately. This does not happen from starting from a position of pain.

I continue to press the tip in and out, watching your reactions carefully. "Tell me, how does it feel to be at my mercy, to have your body explored and used as I see fit?"

"It feels... it feels incredible, Miss M," you manage to say between gasps, your voice quivering with a mix of nerves and arousal.

"Good," I say, twisting the crop slightly to increase the sensation. "Your honesty pleases me.”

I withdraw the crop and then push it in again, this time with a bit more force, eliciting a louder moan from you. I see the effects of your enjoyment in the drips on the floor from your cock.

"You are making quite the mess. Tell me, how much more will you be able to endure?" I say teasingly.

"Everything, Miss M," you strain out.

"Everything? Really?" I question.

"Yes, everything and anything. I am serious," your tone grows bolder as you say this.

"How would you feel if introduced you to my cane?" I pause and see the hitch of your breath. I am enthralled as I can almost see the thoughts swirling.

"Everything and anything, Mistress," you say quietly.

I walk and select my cruelest bamboo cane. 

I walk over to you and bend over to your ear and whisper, "Don't worry, pet. I'll stop a few strokes after you start crying," as the sound of cane whooshes through the air...

There's something about leaving a physical mark on someone that makes me feel so intoxicated. Whether it's a bite mark on their chest, bruises on their ass, whip marks or welts from canes. It's a physical reminder that I have literally left a mark on their person, on their psyche. I think about them wandering around, thinking about me every time they look at it. I think about how sexy it is to have them come back to me, still covered in my marks only for me to leave more. I especially love poking the marks I've left, causing more pain. I dream about the colors they turn as they heal, like beautiful leaves turning. Purple to green to yellow to fade.