An Ode to Ruined Orgasms

Full orgasm? Denied!I absolutely LOVE ruined orgasms! Actually, I suppose I should clarify that. I love to ruin other people’s orgasms.  Mine will stay delicious, as they well should be.  Yours however…well, did you ever get an “I” for incomplete in a class?  That was rather unsatisfactory, wasn’t it?  All that effort put in, and nothing of substance to show for it.  A ruined orgasm is rather the same thing, I think.

Ruined Orgasms Are Fun…For Me!

I understand that our perspective may differ, but mine is the only one that matters in this equation.  I wrote this little ditty to put it in a more artsy framework.

An Ode to Ruined Orgasms

Tormented cock, twitching helplessly,

Rightfully denied, for my amusement

Released but yet contained, unsatisfied and left yearning

Next time…perhaps

Pearlescent drops gleam against purple hued head

Alas, no full bliss, no sweet draining

But rather unfilling jets

Empty of meaning

Your anguished cries

Adorn me with a smile

~ Miss S

What Exactly Is a Ruined Orgasm?

A ruined orgasm is just what it sounds like.  It is an orgasm…of sorts…though the pleasure one normally associates with it is removed.  By me.  ~soft laugh~  That can happen in any number of methods, including, but not limited to, ceasing to stimulate, blocking the flow, prostrate massaing and thwacking.  All of these seem better to me when they are combined with good old-fashioned mind-fuckery.

Why Would You Want a Ruined Orgasm?

There is, of course, no single reason that applies to all people.  In my experience, most of the reasons involve some variation of it keeping the man in a heightened state of arousal and awareness.  It also helps keep his energy focused on where it should be, which is pleasing Mistress.  I know that it pleases the hell out of me!

Have you ever played with orgasm ruination?  What did you think about experience?

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Spring Cleaning – Sissy Assignment

Take Ms Suffer's White Panty Test

Take Ms Suffer’s White Panty Test

Alright all you sissies.  It’s time to get to work!  It’s clear that if I don’t crack the whip that you’ll do nothing but laze about every day, browsing through Victoria’s Secret catalogs, and rubbing your clitty through your panties.

The burden of that is rather on my shoulders, I suppose.  I’ve been busy and derelict in my duties.  And Lord knows I can’t depend on you to see to it yourself.  You’d rather spend your time oooing and ahhing over the latest issue of Cosmo. But all that is about to change.  You will get off your chaise lounges, and swish your asses into gear.  Starting now.

Your Assignment – Spring Cleaning

That’s right, I said cleaning.  Get too mouthy about it, and you’ll be licking the toilet bowl clean.  Any more distention?  I didn’t think so.  So let’s get started!

If you are a sissy who actually has a French maid outfit, then by all means, put it on!  If you do not have one, then wear something black and white.  If you don’t have something black and white, then find an image on the Internet and print it out for your motivation.  Then visualize yourself in it, serving me.  That should help get you in the proper frame of mind.

First Job – Tackling the Refrigerator

Open the door.  Do you see a bunch of calorie-laden junk food?  If so, toss it.  No self respecting sissy is going to be eating that garbage.  You need to get that waist whittled down to be more visually appealing to me and whoever I decide to have you service.  If you need assistance in that area, you can sign up for my Whipping You Into Shape Program.

Next Up – Straighten Your Sissy Things

Your “sissy things” are going to vary for each of you, and since I’m not there to see what needs done, you will need to take the initiative and do it yourself.  Report what you did in the comments.

For some of you, this will mean going through your makeup, getting rid of what doesn’t work…no dear, you do *not* look good in lime green eyeshadow…sorting through the old, etc.  If you don’t have a train case, get creative.  Use a cardboard box, and let your sissy energy flow, decorating it with feminine images and colors.  If you do this option, take a picture of your creation and send it to me!  I’d love to see it.

For others, this will mean judiciously sorting through lingerie and stockings.  Have a bra with a busted strap?  Mend it!  Are your stockings filled with runs?  Keep them in the cleaning bin to use to shine my boots, and note on your shopping list that you need to buy new ones.  Are your panties all in a jumbled mess?  Fold and organize them, either by color, by style, or by fabric.  I personally like the by color option.

For the grosser sissies out there, this may mean actually cleaning your toys.  You don’t even want me to start on how disgusting it is that you’ve not cleaned your dildos since last year.  Or maybe you do, but now is not the time.  Just get busy!

Finally, Break Out the Feather Duster

Some of you sissy whores have been waiting with baited breath for this one.  You’ve been hoping that I’ll tell you to stick the feather duster up your ass and use it to dust with.

If you want to, I won’t deny you.  Though I won’t insist either, as it’s really not as much fun for me to hear about as it is for me to watch you do it on cam.

You can either do it sissy style, with feather duster protruding, or normally, but I want every speck of dust gone.  Don’t forget about any cobwebs that have formed over the winter.

When you are done, it’s time for the test.  Instead of a white glove test, we are going to do a Miss S White Panty Test.  Take a pair of white panties…a CLEAN pair, for any panty sniffers that are reading…and put your fingers inside the crotch.  Use it to glide over a few surfaces that you dusted.  Do you see any traces of dust?  If you answered no, good girl!  You can go to the reward below.  If the answer is yes, dust the entire house again, and you are not allowed the reward.

All Work and No Play Make You a Dull Sissy

Now then, if you are one of the industrious ones who takes direction well, and did as she was told, you may now reap the rewards of your hard work.  Look around.  Isn’t that nice?  Not only did you improve your environment, but you pleased me, which should be reward enough for you.

But because I am feeling generous today, I’m going to allow you an additional reward.  You get to lie back on your fresh sheets….I know that you changed them without being told…and you are going to let your mind have the fantasy that gets your sissy stick so hard that it seems as if it will explode.

Then you will let it explode, focusing on me the entire time.

After your breathing and heart rate have returned to normal, you can leave a nice, detailed comment, sharing with me what your fantasy was about.


Are you ready to play?
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Erotic Depersonalization, Objectification and Dehumanization

I’m a woman of varied interests, and erotic depersonalization is something that can, in the correct context, put a smile on my face.  And the wise among you would do well to keep that smile firmly in place.

What is Erotic Depersonalization?

I find that the term is often times interchanged with dehumanization and/or objectification.  While I enjoy all three, I’m not sure that to interchange the terms accurately reflects what we mean at the time.  I’ll define in my own words, and I’ll trust that you’ll take that as the gospel. ~winks~

Let’s Start with Dehumanization

To me, this means to make not human.  Obviously, I can’t make someone truly not be human, so this is fantasy based play.  It may take the form of puppy play, pony play, or some other type of critter.  From my observations, submissives can find a great deal of freedom in being able to express themselves in this manner, under the guiding hand of a dominant.

And I can find a great deal of enjoyment in watching a pony boy artfully swish his tail for me.

Next at Bat…Objectification

I view objectification as reducing someone from the sum of their whole to parts for my use.  I think that it means roughly the same thing as when you hear a vanilla woman speak of being treated like a sex object.  She means that every thing else about her has been theoretically stripped away except that which the viewer finds a use for or pleasure in.

I see that as being what would take place if I were to put a face dildo on you.  Your face…your identity…would be reduced to (or elevated to, depending on one’s viewpoint) a placeholder for my dildo.  Not a bad gig if you can get it, I assure you

Finally, Erotic Depersonalization

In my world, this type of play is when I use you as my boy bench, my footstool, or any other number of inanimate objects.  If I’m using you as a footstool, I don’t ask you if your knees are getting tired anymore than I’d ask an actual footstool if it were tired of doing it’s job.

Another way that depersonalization can come into play is when a submissive has their “I” removed.  Instead of “Mistress, I have your dinner ready”, we get “Mistress, your boy has your dinner ready”.  A subtle adjustment of words that can have a profound psychological effect toward slipping into the proper mindset to serve me.

Would I Enjoy Any of the Above 24/7?

No, I would not.  While each appeals to me greatly for a number of reasons, I would not want a D/s dynamic that consisted of nothing but one of the above.   There are indeed true fetishists of each niche that would love that, but I am not one of them.  I believe it would be boring after awhile, not to mention that for me, part of the thrill of dominating is the interaction that I get from engaging with an intelligent mind, both in and and out of session.

Are you ready to play?
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A Fledgling’s Journey into Submission

His hair was the first thing that caught my eye.  I tend to like men with hair that is either long, or military short.  His is about shoulder length, and something in the line of his form captivated me as he lifted it off his neck and turned to talk to the older man on his left.

He’s young…looks to be mid 20’s at the most.  He is far too skinny to be called slender, and a good gale force wind would send him reeling.  But still, there is something that draws my sun-glass shielded eyes to him again and again between plays.  He sits 4 rows in front of me, and slightly to my right during home games for my local college.  When his hair is pulled back and up in a ponytail, he is almost a cross between Joakim Noah and Ashton Kutcher.

I want to do perverse things to him.  And he is the inspiration for this fantasy.


He can hardly believe it, but he simply does not dare look up.  It would be such a simple thing…to just lift his gaze in defiance.  But he can’t.  The mere thought of defying her makes it hard to swallow.  So he remains with head bowed,  wrists crossed behind his back, knees pressing into stone, silently wondering what she would do next.

He didn’t have long to wait for an answer, as her low voice broke the silence.

“What’s the matter, boy?  Not quite what you had in mind?”

At her amused tone, crimson flags of color climb upward on his face.  When she had approached him at half time and silently handed him a folded up piece of paper with a street address and a time, he thought he had done a better job of scoring than the team on the field.  But this…this wasn’t at all what he had bargained on.

Sure, he’d seen setups like this as he surfed porn on the net.  Now and again, he had even stopped and studied them, wondering how men got themselves into situations where a woman was in control.  He was sure something like that could never happen to him…and yet…it had.

She’d played him like an instrument from the moment that he arrived at her house.  Step by step she had lured him, and his pulse had raced, and his cock had stiffened, thinking that any moment…after just this one more thing…surely she would bed him.  But she was a latex clad master puppeteer, and he didn’t stand a chance against her.  Which is how he found himself nude and kneeling in front of her in a room in the basement of her home that was filled with things he was nearly afraid to imagine the intended use of.

Wordless, he shook his head back and forth.  Her soft laughter spilled out into the space between them like bubbles rushing to the top of a glass of champagne.

She squatted in front of him, balancing precariously on platform boots.  Her gloved hand reached out, and tilted his chin upward.  His heart raced in his chest as midnight pools locked his gaze, and her fingers slid over his jugular vein.  With her left hand, she held up a long skinny rod with a triangle of leather on the end of it.

“This,poppet, is a riding crop,” she said, with her eyes never leaving his.  “It is one of many things you’ll come to crave.”  Her fingers slid down his chest, across the flat plane of his stomach, then grazed the head of his cock.  It swelled to life in response.

“You see, when you play in my world, you’ll learn of the delicious place where pleasure and pain waltz arm in arm.  It’s a beautiful dance, and one that is very, very addicting.  Of course…”

As she broke off the words, her mouth moved to his neck, nibbling lightly along it as her latex covered hand gripped his shaft.

“…you don’t have to play.  You can leave.  Right now, as a matter of fact.  If you want to, that is.”

And he *did* want to leave.  Or at least part of him did.  But that part seemed insignificant when he felt her teasing touch, and listened to the siren song of her voice.  Mutely, he shook his head again, and as her lips curved into a crescent moon smile, he felt an electric jolt through the head of his cock.

“No?  I rather thought not.”  Her lips traveled along his jawline, and her hand squeezed, causing pre-cum to spill out, then the pressure of her hand was gone, as was the caress of her lips.

“But go you shall.  At least for tonight.  You have 24 hours to decide if you will return.  Should you do so, bring your clothing and other personal effects, as you will not be leaving for some time.”

She rose, then took a few steps away, before returning, and dropping his jeans, tshirt, and shoes in front of him.  The tip of her riding crop found his chin, and as she ran it along the underneath side, his head tilted backward to look up at her.

“24 hours.  Not a minute more.  Understood?”

“Yes, but”, and as he opened his mouth for a flurry of words to pour out, she pressed the leather of the crop against his lips.


Still trapped in a mist of need and hunger, he slowly nodded his head.

“Excellent.  Dress and see yourself out.”  With that, she turned and walked away from him without a backward glance.  The way she carried herself spoke that she was supremely confident that he would be back the next evening.

As he knelt, watching her, and clutching his clothes to his chest, he knew that she was right



Are you ready to play?
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