Mistress Vancouver Dominatrix, Fetish, Discipline, Domination

 

visual memento

Once you crawl in, you can stay there on your knees; look up! Scan me from top to bottom.
Thigh-high, shiny leather boots, tight leather pants, a patent leather corset buckled tight around my waist, a sheer sleeveless blouse, and my hands and arms above my elbows encased in black leather opera gloves—it turns you on!

I know this, because in your email you admitted that you have a weakness for leather, and that your knees shake when imagining a woman who looks and feels like herself when wearing it.

As you’re slowly gliding your hungry eyes on the armour covering most of my skin I notice droplets of sweat on yours, which is devoid of hair, just as I ordered. Even your pubic hair is gone. It makes you look innocent, obedient, with balls smooth like a good little boy. Nipple clamps attach to your shaved nipples with absolute ease except for the pain they and I inflict. I pull the chain connecting them—you’re not to grimace! I want you to take it, to breathe in the moment of brief beauty—that is, to transform the temporary sensation of pain into a sensation of delight, if not bliss.

And there is more that I grant your inexperienced self: those balls, as you said earlier, were never so firmly grasped, neither by a foreign/strange hand, nor by a rope or leather restraint. So there! A snap of a parachute secures them for me. What is a leash good for if not being used? Nothing. So I introduce you to it, lead you around, just so you know that this is my play, on my stage, where you are here for my amusement.

That day I let you leave my realm with so much excitement and arousal that’s it draws you back to me in less than a week’s time.
Today I’ll keep you for a little longer. Today your arousal peaks, as the promise of sweet pleasure blinds you and you ignore my painful ways of inducing it. Today the leather trench coat somewhat scares you, my dark plum lipstick makes you shiver when your pale lips kiss the leather of my high-heel leather boots. I clamp your nipples again, today with less carefulness—no need for extra sweet talk around it, because now you know how it feels. Same for the leather strap with cock-ring, although today I add a little weight to it to stretch your balls.

Red hemp rope looks elegant against any skin, but particularly stands out against pale and hairless skin. Thus I bind your arms behind your back in a Japanese style chest harness, (Ushirote Munenawa), and further tighten the bondage through the ceiling ring loop that you’re attached to.

The teasing starts, your breathing stops upon my command: I remove one, then the other nipple clamp. It’s a game of observation, paying close attention to your reactions even through a camera lens—you handed me your phone to take as disgraceful or as classy pictures of our time together as I please.

Well, you and your phone are at my disposal for another two hours. I tease-torture you, showing you the photos I take, you like them all. But you're tied up, unable to do anything about my decision to delete, keep and even send some to myself, as much as you're unable to resist my forceful magic wand: the promise of climax is in your eyes and fast breathing.

Few days after, you enjoy the memento from our time together: you're lucky enough to have received the visual evidence of it. And so, here is one:

 

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