Unfortunately I will be away from my dungeon next week. Normal service/servitude can and will resume the following week (commencing 18th).
On a more positive note, I will be adding some beautiful new photos to my ‘Bitch Next Door’ gallery on December 1st. 22 days and counting…..!
Grab your garlic, shine up your crucifix and stock up on Holy Water (or Jack Daniels) – the dark and devilish heart of the year has cast its shadow upon us once again. But don’t despair, I come with the offer of a little light relief in sinister times. Not only have the clocks kindly bequeathed us an extra hour in bed but the flickering flame in your pumpkin is paving the way for my annual homage to the season of de-sanguination. And I have to say its rather fangtastic.
In fact, I am so pleased with my orthodontically-inspired new photos that I will let them do the talking (or should that be bloodsucking) for themselves. What can I say, I put the vamp in Vampire like no other Mistress.
Check out the rest available in my latex gallery NOW!
The Queen of Halloween x
I am now unavailable until Monday 7th October. All worthy emails will be replied to upon my return.
And to keep you out of mischief whilst I’m absent, here’s a little glimpse of my latest DDI advert. I might well be a little biased but I think it ROCKS!!
There’s always one lingering deep in the mind’s eye of our most formative fetish experiences – a modern day siren summoning you to shore via jagged rocks and smashing waves. Whether this beguiling creature arrived in the form of a teacher, next-door-neighbour, matron, or baby-sitter, I can guarantee you’ll never forget her no matter how hard you try.
Whilst the feminine wiles of most of the ladies in your life probably went unnoticed, there was just something special about her. Her skirt might have been tighter, if not an inch or two shorter than her counterparts. Her shoes might have announced her arrival with a mesmerizing staccato click. Her scent might have lingered a little longer than most, kissing you good night and inspiring all sorts of sweet dreams. And if nothing else, she always came complete with a wicked little glint in her eyes and a sweet, seductive smile on her lips.
She was friendly but she was also strict, at times unbelievable so. The mere thought of a misdemeanour and you’d be straight over here lap and on the receiving end of a very stern spanking indeed. Or perhaps just the threat of being bent over her stocking-tops was enough to make you behave like a Saint?
‘Does she realise the effect she has on me?’ you asked yourself innocently time and time again. ‘Surely she can’t?’
Oh but she did.
Fact. The Saveloy sausage was invented in the sumptuous surroundings of the Savoy Hotel in 1956. A Romanian chef named Elton concocted it from a mysterious mixture of meats and spices leftover from a banquet the evening before. Refusing to be associated with the less than regal result, the hotel management banned his suggested branding of ‘The official Savoy Sausage’. Irritated but undeterred, the innovative chef simply inserted the first two letters of his name and the Saveloy was born.
And so I found myself in The American Bar at The Savoy yesterday. I was meeting a particularly interesting individual for the first time. Now it’s definitely worth me explaining that we’ve now met for the ‘first time’ on almost a dozen occasions. It is a curious situation indeed.
Slave C insists that EVERY time we meet it is as complete strangers and always in one of London’s lovelier watering-holes. After the formality of introducing himself he asks all sorts of questions – what might a session entail, how should he address me, and how would I/could I use and abuse him. Could I kidnap him, hold him against his will and keep him as my pet? How many boots do I own, how do they taste and what would they feel like raking against his sensitised skin? Sometimes I have whips in my bag and threaten to show him, on another occasion I informed him I was wearing nothing but a latex leotard under my coat. I was.
Although each encounter involves nothing more than kinky conversation, colourful cocktails and a persuasive power of suggestion, they never cease to amuse me. And of course they not only stimulate my sadistic sense of adventure but usually play perfectly into my 5 star hotel fetish.
Nevertheless, the question remains: Why go so far with a fantasy yet never dare venture into the dungeon (or domestic space) of the Dominatrix?
Well I firmly believe anyone interested in BDSM has their own private dungeon deep inside their mind. In contrast they might not have someone to explore it with – whether that’s through the physical act of submission and all that entails or just a friendly chat on a wet Wednesday afternoon in August.
Or maybe it’s a question of that first foray into the unknown. As another slave put it so eloquently, ‘Firsts have a unique quality all of their own, never re-created nor forgotten.’
Meeting a Mistress for the first-time must provoke an intoxicating (perhaps addictive) mixture of excitement and anxiety. So why not try and recreate this, to re-wind it and re-play it as if on a loop? Maybe you can have a second chance to leave a first impression after all?
Who knows for sure? Maybe such an exchange shouldn’t be questioned. It might be nothing more than an interesting escapade (in the birthplace of a shiny sausage) where everything is certainly not as it seems. Curiouser and curiouser indeed.
N.B. Written with the consent of Slave C.
Dear 4pm slave,
I doubt you will have the chance to read this before you arrive at my door (1 minute to go). Perhaps that’s a good thing, for us both. The fact is I am feeling like an unreasonable bitch today. So instead of the rather light-hearted role-play we had planned, I am going to inflict a prolonged, intense, unreasonable caning upon you.
You will simply be instructed to bend over, and then it will begin. Stroke after stinging, burning stroke will rain down on your rear until you are so sore and so broken you can’t possibly imagine taking any more for me.
Well you won’t have to imagine, because just when you think I might be finished I will begin again. Your caning will continue regardless of your limits, your feelings, and your threshold. It will continue until I am well and truly finished with you. I know you can take it for me, you will not have a choice.
Aah, it sounds like you’re at the door now!!
I am now working/playing away until 7th July and therefore not available in London until 8th.
Although my phone will be off, you are welcome to email me. There may be a short delay in responding but be patient and I will get back to you (assuming you deserve it) as soon as possible.
I look forward to making up for lost play-time upon my return. And I fully intend to make the most of my carefully-cultivated crop of extremely vicious stinging nettles at the very first opportunity.
Au revoir losers, worms, sluts and of course all my adorable yet despicable slaves too.
The sound of stilettos makes you shiver.
The smell of stiff leather makes you weak.
The feel of fully-fashioned stockings makes you melt.
The ache, the itch, the sweet surrender make you mine.
A surge of submission takes over as you instinctively avert your gaze.
Greet me. Give yourself. Be my bitch, my dog, my darling.
Relinquish that misplaced sense of autonomy and embrace a soul-satisfying sense of belonging to a true Goddess.
Relish this moment – the meeting place of your depraved thoughts, dreams and desires.
Or you would if you could….my stable is currently full. As an exclusive Mistress I need to have ample time to ensure all my slaves are kept painfully on their toes and under my critical gaze. I will therefore not be accepting new recruits until the autumn.
You are welcome to write to me in order to introduce yourself but no new sessions will be granted until September. Some accomplished begging might propel you to the top of my waiting list though. And of course my wish list is easily accessible in order to facilitate filthy bribes. Oh yes, filthy bribes…the dirtier the better.
Oh how I love it when a slave spends his birthday behind my dungeon doors. Really though, what better way can there be to celebrate than with a generous portion of pain, suffering and humiliation at my hands? It’s not all cruelty though. Of course cake, balloons, and Mistress dressed to kill are all on the Malice menu too.
Last week I had an enormous amount of fun marking my slave’s big day. Of all the memorable moments, one I will never forget is a particularly evil little party game I devised. Imagine being stripped, plugged, gagged, and forced to bounce on a room full of balloons until every one has burst with a bang on your most sensitive spots. Oh and did I mention nipple clamps? I don’t think I’ve ever laughed quite so loudly (in a ladylike manner of course).
By the time the game was finished my slave was a gibbering wreck. While he caught his breath I kindly prepared some refreshments and a nice, big serving of sticky chocolate cake. Maybe it’s hard to enjoy such a treat when it’s served slap, bang, splat on your face. But then surely it’s the thought that counts, or so they say. In any case I thought it was hilarious.
My slave was thoroughly spoilt with his next task…on his hands and knees hoovering up all the crumbs and icing which fell on to my new knee-high leather boots. With his hands bound behind his back he seemed to make more mess than he cleaned up though. His punishment for such a crime brought us to the finale of our day with the intriguing tradition of the Birthday Bumps. Let’s just say my cane left him with a rosy red welt to mark each and every one of his years on the planet.
We both agreed it certainly was an unforgettable celebration. And despite the fact my personal birthday suit might not have made an appearance it’s still safe to say I am a generous and benevolent bitch indeed. Now where did I put those birthday candles?
I am now unavailable until Thursday 30th May. I will be intermittently on email so there may be a delay in responding but be patient and I will get back to you (assuming you deserve it) as soon as possible.
And a big thank you to all of you who donated to the dogs. My hotpants have now been re-homed with very appreciative new owners.