Catch A Rising Star

Subtitled: “Guerillas in the Midst … of Perfection”

Every e mail or application to serve me that I open, I’m not filled with disdain and boredom like the part time, poser dommes on the Internet, doing this to get some gas money for the weekend. As much as I have experienced, and as high as my standards are, the purity of my mission and significance of the role I grow to fill in a world needing a Goddess like myself keeps me from being jaded. A good ruler does not sacrifice for his citizens, however, his or her great mind must be aware of them, how lost they would be without him, and their hidden potential. That is, after all, how the greater part of the greatest domains prospered, especially European rules.

And so it is that I open emails with a hope that some unknown Slave/Servant/Applicant impresses me with his/her expression, devotion, or effort. Imagination may be the key ingredient, language, location, personal history, purity of servitude, need for my wicked genius, appearance, vocation – these are but a few ingredients that make one of you stand out from the many. BUT, the two ingredients that most catch my eye are effort and originality. Ergo this picture above. One new Servant in Training promised me he would do all he could in his small way to spread the word that there is one Goddess of Erotic Mind Control and Painful Pleasure worth experiencing. He went out and acted upon it, showing me that he’s not just words and empty devotion.

This won’t be a long blog, because it has a definite point, which I will get to later. I’ll precede this by telling you how power of a supernatural level gets poured into one Woman.

First of course must come the natural “shape” of the mind, soul, aura, and body – it must all seem pre-designed by the Dark/Light forces to attract the (sexual) energy and souls of those lost without a Goddess (though they may not know it yet.) I was born with this body and face … my actions even since young always drew upon the idea that women in control are the most powerful of all humans … my mind absorbed my stimulus and seemed to arrange it to accord with building personal confidence and power … and then came my natural budding into a Woman of Authority. What occurred then is what is occurring now on a grander scale. I began to absorb the sexual energy and souls of mostly men but some women who seem designed to “plug into” my many manifestations of my Erotic Soul – they became part of my Entity of Sexual Power. It’s hard to explain, but maybe if you can remember your first overwhelming kiss, that is how it felt when I first experienced someone actually surrendering his Erotic Mind to me completely. Fast forward a few years, and if the union reaches full maturity, it is more like when the Highlander beheads his foe and “there can be only one” occurs.

Now, I don’t want to run around lopping off heads only to find they are like dud firecrackers, fizzling then just lying there. No, that’s a waste of good head – and good head (especially when applied between the legs of Your Goddess on the end of a talented tongue) should not be belittled. [Though I have heard others call that Giving Goddess Face – kinda cute, I’ll have to use that in Asia, where it’s so important to Save Face. Hmmm, yes, that is a cause worth donating toward. Who else but your Goddess should exclaim within the busy Seoul and Tokyo underground … ““Save Face” before too many men who don’t know what the fuck they are doing down there ruin a good thing! Put Face back into the hands of women powerful enough to demand it’s done right. Spread the talent for the sake of all women and (delivering and enjoying) men/slaves!”]

That was a public and pubic service announcement from our sponsor. Back to my diatribe and YOUR MISSION.

I wait to take head from those worshippers who are impressing me with their initiative to serve me and make my life greater. Not just richer, greater. Greater is good for all of you . Greater means that more worshippers have come to me, surrendered their energy, and added to my Entity. This Entity is what transforms you – its power, that is. It is a bit like the magic that happens when an amazingly talented Front Man Singer for a band absorbs his first huge stadium performance of energy directed at him, and it transforms him into a superstar. While I am the superstar, you all could be shining stars, if you apply your mind and some time to serving your Goddess.

CATCH A “SUPERSTAR” MEANS YOU! Shine for me, and you’ll be snatched out of the darkness and be lying under the smouldering, smothering sna – ahem, one moment, the sexual high I get from knowing what I’ll subject you to spurred me too fast for your mind to handle. Some words you only hear when I am above you and my passion for dominance releases the words you’re dying to hear as you physically serve me and suffer my painfully erotic rewards.

The Servant who wrote the above Guerilla Advertising for me caught my attention 100% and I was VERY pleased with him. He has no idea the time I have spent designing his path to transformation because of this. But he will find out, as I present to him assignments, conditionings, and rewards that consume him and his soul and sexual energy as much as it makes him into what he said he wanted me to make him into. His ability to enjoy his fetishes and simultaneously serving me will grow ten-fold. Imagine if you have a foot fetish … and your Goddess could magnify your rewards so much? All by using some imagination, and being bold enough to display your devotion to me.

So here is my mission. All you new Applicants for my attention, sexual gratification, and mind control: find ways to use Guerilla Advertising to display my website to people who might hit on it. As you all know, once hits reach a critical mass, they explode in popularity, and I am experiencing phase two of this. Let’s say there are a few more phases. Your Goddess Wants Them!

IMPRESS ME WITH YOUR IMAGINATION AND DEVOTION. ENGAGE IN SOME GUERILLA ADVERTISING. Now, I’m not actually telling you to go out and do illicit graffiti. What you do is your own business. Any way you display my website though will be recognized for its daring, position in public (high traffic area, celebrity areas, media areas) and its creativity. Hmmm, anyone care to find out if the Goodyear Blimp will let a bondage and erotic mind control fly over the World Series? Let’s re-design the blimp to look like one of my incredible full breasts on one end, and the strap on of mine that you’re dying to swallow on the tail end. Oh, it’s sooooo good to be Goddess with an imagination and the followers who feed it! This is making me quite warm and moist in the right areas. I’ll have to summon that creative Servant and make him do the things on cam that fill my mind with power and sexual climax soon. SOON. Damn, the feeling I know you’ll have when you go out spreading my power sexes me up! Hmm, can I type and force my nipples into my spike studded corset without leaving a scratch on this flushing breast flesh … wait, got to take a moment’s break to lick that light scratch right above my nipple. (pause) Better, but …. Mmmm, another lick won’t hurt.

What do you get for it? The one who impresses me most will not only be immediately in the hot seat of my erotic eye, but will get one hour of private voice on the phone with his Goddess, culminating with 15 minutes of free private webcam. Any more and he might mentally and sexually “fry”.

GOTTA GO! I’m on fire! Time to take over a mind, body, and soul! SIZZZZZZZLE!

Soldier Reporting For Duty

A samurai should be masterful of their art enough so that even if their head is cut off from their body, they can perform one last strike. This idea is due to certain animals such as serpents giving one last reflexive bite when their head is removed. Samurais are near impossible to find these days. True warriors are a dying breed. Shame… I like slaves, but you want your slaves strong, powerful… any Mistress can own the weak and callow… but a Goddess should have an army of true samurais.

Bushido, or warrior’s way, has made way for Dr. Phil and Barney the Dinosaur. Our warriors lack the true will of war, and instead play GI Joe with realistic toys. They just don’t get the abuse they used to.

That’s where I come in. I do give the abuse and make the weak who survive stronger, and cast aside the useless dead.

So learned one of my soldiers the other day…

I am not a patriot… It is all about me, not country, not politics, not god, not about anything but me. So hate me for doing this to a soldier in the war if you wish, but you are shortsighted, if you do. Not to mention the fact, he comes to me for this.

It began with a conversation about his role in the military. His lack of success as far as ranking came up. His glorification of the infantry and his hidden shame at his true origins was amusing.

I berated him for not going through true infantry training, a topic he dodged around for almost a half hour before admitting he switched jobs and then became infantry. I degraded the masculinity of military service, the infantry in particular for being called “The Queen of Battle” and wearing powder blue cords and insignia backgrounds.

I attacked his head the closest way I can… I attacked his ego. Even tasteless jokes about friendly fire were not off my limits.

Through it all he admitted he is a fuck up, who makes bad choices. And this is the kind of revelation I intended. His ego destroyed, this soldier carried on and admitted his weakness… and came back later for more… a final headless strike.

He returns because he looks to be stronger and harshness is sincere.

Others pass hugs out like candy and laugh at you when your back is turned. Others say the word “love” time and again, and leave for someone with a few more bucks than you. Missionaries will feed you as long as you listen to them talk about their beliefs… all kindness. Sincerity… well I’ll let you decide how much is there in the end.

The effort to be harsh is a backhanded kindness you can trust.

Goddess Of Edge Mercies

Suffering and violence as an aphrodisiac may seem the result of a very jaded progress of sexual exploration. A process where one needs greater and greater levels of stimulation as initial exploration seems trivial after progressing farther.

One cannot deny that this particular Goddess has come to demand greater levels of suffering each benchmark of her life. Yet, the truth remains; I was drawn to suffering from a very early age. Not just the physical aspects of it either.

As I young child I watched a group of boys beat on another boy. The kicks, the punching, and the name calling were almost mesmerizing. Finally and all too soon they abandoned the single boy on the ground, where he lay crying. I stood and walked over to get a closer look at the beaten boy.

He lay on his back wiping tears from his eyes and sobbing uncontrollably. I squatted next to him and studied his face as he stared back expecting kindness. I had none and his eyes began to look around at the sky for an answer, I lowered my head unaware of my own self, absorbed in his humiliation. As his head did everything to not meet eye contact he began to move, but my hand reached out to his chest to hold him there. It was then his head focused between my knees, and I was soon aware he was looking up my skirt.

I stood up refusing to be ogled by this other child and spit in his face adding to his humiliation, and stepped over him to leave him. I didn’t leave it at that. I turned back around, and shot a kick to his sensitive little balls. He lay there cupping himself and rolling in the pain of rupture.

Keep in mind; this all lacked any sexuality at all, as this was no more than young curiosity on all levels. However, it was a foreshadowing of attitudes to come.

As grade school began, there was always that boy, for ever creepy and suffering much to my amusement. I made sure that our introduction was far from the last time I had groined kicked him. I made sure Samuel Zachary was friendless and ridiculed from 1st to 12th grade.

He had been the laughingstock for his entire life. Some would blame me for his future behavior. I did not choose the way he became for him… those were the choices of a loser who embraced being a predator.

Through high school he could often be found loitering around girl’s houses from class. He developed his own reputation for giving girls he was fixated upon dozens of unwelcomed phone calls a day.

One day when I was 17 I even spotted him outside my home stalking me. I didn’t hide or cringe, I stared back enjoying the pitiful expression on his face. I stepped outside and walked up to him. He was obviously uncomfortable being confronted. “Need another kick in the junk, Sammy?” I asked him. He said nothing as he kept leering. A relative eventually came home, and Sammy took off then.

The next day held news. Sam had been arrested for raping an elderly woman that night, his first step in a laundry list of sex crimes. Still, as typical with our justice system, he never stayed put away long. I moved to a new neighborhood as the years passed, and eventually the sex offender was also run out of our old neighborhood.

In time I entered a local corner store as a dirty bearded man exited carrying a load of cheap beer. He had familiar eyes and leered at me in a way I am used to from all men, but yet was somehow familiar in its own way. I purchased my items and exited to see him still next to the building. I began to stroll home and passed him.

A glass phone booth in the dark betrayed his following me, and I knew I had my own prey. I dwelled on the memory of his gaze and tried to pin point why it was familiar. I let my hips swing as I slowly continued my stroll keeping my prey mesmerized with my body. How could he resist my short skirt and high boots in an outfit that hugged my body, and hair dangling just over my ass?

I entered the foyer of my building and as I found my keys I saw him climbing my steps. Here is a little wisdom for you when dealing with a predator, don’t act like prey. Dogs attack when they smell fear, a shark attacks what flees from it, etc.

He entered the foyer as I opened my door and I rounded on him, holding it open for him to enter the hallway. It was then I recognized him. “Samuel!” I exclaimed, “No wonder you were staring at me like that, I didn’t recognize you with a beard.” It caught him off guard, as he was working up to his attack.

“Umm… Hi…” he stammered.

“You need to clean up and have a drink with me, so we can catch up!” I said, much to his surprise. I saw in his face it seemed out of character for me to be so welcoming and nice. I had to recover, “Sam, have you found Jesus?”

Right then he knew he had me. My sudden and unexpected kindness explained, He grinned back and said “No, haven’t found him yet.”

“Well why don’t you have dinner with me and we can chat?” I asked as I sauntered to my door.

Nice thing about letting the neighbors know you’re a Dominatrix is that they don’t think it very strange when they hear a man screaming from your apartment. So as the door closed and I turned and flooded his eyes with the pepper-spray all any neighbors thought of was foreplay. We writhed with pain, hunched over in agony. I reached into the kitchen grabbing an iron skillet and slammed it into the top of his head, causing a concussion. He went out like a light.

I dragged him into the second bedroom, my dungeon at the time and began to restrain him to the crucifix most of my servants dread. I let him hang there tied to its arms as I changed into an outfit more fitting, one of leather that won’t stain like my current choice in clothes.

I sat across from him comfortably, waiting for him to wake. He finally lifted his lolling head and took his time to focus on me. I stood to my feet and saw his eyes grow wide in fear. I slowly moved in close, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…” I said, “You thought you were going to rape me, didn’t you?”

“I’ll fucking kill you, you bitch,” he growled at me.

“Tsk tsk… I think, Sammy, you have no idea who your fucking with, I was always on top of you in school, kicking your balls… and now, I’m a goddess… your just a registered sex offender with no hope for a future.” I replied.

Now his pathetic leering had become mixed with shame. “Let me go,” he said “and you’ll never see me again.”

“Sammy… who says I never want to see you again?” with that a clap of electricity sounded as the clippers in my hand turned on and buzzed. He looked down realizing he was nude for the first time. I shave his whole body. Head to toe, even his eye brows were clipped and then razored, against his pleas for dignity.

“What are you doing to me?” he whined.

“Sammy… didn’t you get it? You haven’t found Jesus; instead you found Goddess Saphire and came to her… I’m going to have to be who fixes your worthless existence.” I laughed at him, “I am the way… for your pathetic self.”

The thin nylon chord in my hand slipped tight around his balls cutting off blood flow. His eyes grew wide, “What are you doing?”

“Sammy… look at your life, you’re on the streets, a sex offender. You can’t hold down a job, and no one wants you living near them. You rape the elderly, you victimize the young and still innocent, you are garbage, and need to be fixed and given direction.” It was the look in his eye that told me salvation is probably the most frightening thing in the world. Good thing I’ll never embrace it for myself.

“What are you going to do?” he whimpered.

“I’m going to free you, from slavery to your cock, and give you slavery to me.” I chuckled. With that my knife, which he hadn’t seen moved to his bound scrotum. I let it rest there and savored his sobs and pleas.

“Please let me go,” he finally begged.

“No, Samuel… that’s not an option.”

“Please don’t hurt me…” A tear rolled down his cheek, forgetting how filthy he was I was compelled to catch it with my tongue owing to the need to taste his grief.

“Let me ask you something Sammy… did it work for any of them when they asked you not to hurt them?” I pressed the knife against his sack harder, as he broke into uncontrollable tears.

“Forgive me.” He bellowed.

“I will, Sammy… I will, but you must make penance. You must experience sacrifice, and embrace control, surrender it to me, and embrace that I know what is best for you.” He continued to babble and cry. His tears flowed freely.

“Goddess… I see your wisdom… and you are right, my urges do have the better of me.” He let out a loud sob. “Let me stay intact. Guide me yourself, and if I fail, I’ll remove my scrotum myself in front of you.”

“You get one chance to turn yourself over to me and keep it that way. I own many strong men, they will make you keep your promise.” I warned him. I opened my closet in my dungeon room and he saw a dog crate large enough to accommodate an adult man. “Sammy, I am the way, now you can live without the urge,” I pointed to the crate, “Now you have shelter, where before you only had an alley and cardboard, and you will soon have your first of the guaranteed daily meals I will provide you. Don’t you have something to say?”

“Thank you Goddess Saphire for fixing me and giving me hope.”

With that I led him to a shower and put him away in his new home. I let him out daily and feed him, let him release his waste when I feel he needs to, and have given him purpose. He is my slave, my gimp, and my property. He has no sexual needs any more, only the need to be used. I allow good servants to abuse him as reward, and he’s become a great little cock sucker, and is left hungry enough to swallow every drop. He answers my phones while I am in session, serves waiting slaves refreshments, and does all my manual home labor. I freed him from the bonds of his urges, and gave him what those urges took from him, shelter, food, and value. Every night he bows lips to my feet and prays to his harsh, wise, and yet, merciful Goddess, and ends all prayers with a request for more.