Real-Time Service

I was so deeply moved by my time with teddybearslave today. This blog post is likely to be poorly structured at best, and completely incomprehensible at worst, but I need to get my tumble of thoughts out of my brain into some place where I can see them again and remember what I feel like right this moment.

I'm so cautious interpersonally, in some ways. It's a crazy statement from someone whose husband's girlfriend lives with us, who has an in-person lover locally and another long-distance. I can see that.

And yet, on Friday night, when I tagged in to substitute in a play scene with my husband and another local couple, I stopped myself from kissing her, taking off my clothing, licking her, blowing him... and in the debrief, we all admitted later I could have done any of those and been welcome, but we hadn't negotiated it. Instead, I did what I knew we'd agreed on: I added my energy, I helped hurt her, I helped arouse her by kissing and licking elsewhere, but I would rather err on the side of caution and leave everyone wanting a bit than to go over a line and leave anyone regretful.

So I love asking for permission, but I hate asking for help. I always have.

I used to have a strong back; I built sets and hung lights in college. I can carry a 40-pound bag of dog food, a 50-pound dog, an air conditioning unit, furniture. I can do it by myself! I can hear the echoes of myself as a toddler pitching a fit, and my feminist professors ranting against stereotypes of women in American culture. I loved making more money than either of my husbands. And I loved the mental image of myself from 1991, driving to my job with my freshly dry cleaned cocktail dress neatly laid over a stack of lumber I needed to haul, to be used to build sturdy things that people would stand on onstage. That was me. That is still me, in my head. Tough. Capable. Strong. Feminine. But with the claws of a tiger and the shoulders of a bear.

Today, my teddybearslave came over for the first time. To serve. To serve me. I've paid people to clean before, I've paid people to help me organize before. Those felt like even exchanges, your time for my money. Clean. Easy. Simple. And although I cringed at needing the assistance, I knew I had earned the money to pay for it.

Today was different. teddybearslave was cleaning in exchange for attention. Energy. The privilege of ... gulp ... serving me. His expectations were merely that he be allowed to change into frilly panties and stockings before he cleaned, and that afterward, he be allowed to do whatever I wished.

This morning before he came over, I almost wiped down the bathroom before he came over a dozen times. I have long hair, I shed. The tub has stains that were there when we moved in. I'm pretty sure we haven't cleaned behind that cabinet, ever. I kept hearing a voice saying, "I'm not paying him, he shouldn't have to do that..."

But I let my bathroom be uncleaned before he arrived. It was excruciatingly difficult to let anyone serve me like that. To let someone else see one of the ways I have felt the most weak, the most needy, the least strong. To let him see that weakness, and let him fix it.

The bathroom, unsurprisingly, is perfectly clean. Everything shines. Everything is lined up straight. It's beautiful.

Afterwards, for play time, I wanted to stop thinking about my bathroom, and instead show him how I like to have my sore muscles rubbed: in my back, my hands, my feet. I wanted to show him first, then let him. Feel his muscles under my palms, then feel mine under his. Get used to the feeling of each others' bodies, grow accustomed to touching.

I felt his back muscles loosen immediately under the heels of my hands. They responded to me. He doesn't carry his tension in his back. Nor in his ass. Nor in his legs, all luxuriously covered in nylon thigh-highs. So strong and so silky under my palm.

Then I laid down, let him rub my back. I overruled the urge to be grateful and non-specific, knowing it was okay to ask for more, less, other. No, press in first, then slide. Use the heel of your palm, or the side of your hand. Yes, like that. Right there.

I felt him squishing away a tension in my left shoulder I hadn't realized I had, and thought about my bathroom, sparkling. I felt him listening to my muscles. I felt him wanting to help me.

It felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal of all my feminine strength. I don't need a man to help me, goddammit. I don't need anybody to help me, goddammit. I'm strong and powerful and full of grace and this is totally wrong to let him serve me like this. I'm strong enough to give without taking, I'm strong enough to do and do and do and never rest... The crazy voices of a million moments of martyrdom echoed through my mind.

Sometimes, when the tension in a muscle gives way, it releases something emotionally which has been tightly held for decades. When that happens, sometimes it releases tears.

"Don't stop, I'm fine," I managed to say. I felt him press in, staying steady, while I cried, because I needed someone to help me, yet again, and because, yet again, I found the help I needed when I finally found the courage to ask for it.

I didn't ask if I could cry, I'm his Mistress. I didn't ask if he minded, I'm his Mistress. And the good wishes pouring through his fingertips let me know he was at least okay, if not a little confused.

I did explain myself, eventually, with his hands still working on my back. It's vulnerable for me to be served - I feel my needs exposed. I don't feel comfortable crying with most people - the urge doesn't usually even surface - but when I do, it means I have a gut-level trust. It's a good thing. My tears subsided. A grin began.

He laid down again, so I could rub his hands. They're huge. Strong. Calloused. His back had given way to my pressure, but his hands were holding on. He needed his hands to stay strong; after all, they make him what he is, a servant.

So I pressed. Rubbed from his elbow down. Listened to his muscles. Told him to let me. He had to close his eyes to release to me. There, that's better. His breathing slowed down and I could feel him struggling to surrender to my touch. The other hand went easier, and I found myself curling up my hand in his relaxed palm, marveling at how tiny it looked, how safe it felt.

When I tucked his arm around me and snuggled in beside him, I giggled. This was ridiculous. Mistresses don't cuddle, right?. But he was my plaything, and I got to do what I wanted, and I didn't have to ask, or I had already asked, or something like that. He would tell me if he was uncomfortable, we had already established and reinforced that. I was simply to do with him what I wished, and what I wished was to wrap his giant teddy bear arms around me and cuddle in beside him, so fuck it, I did.

It was too much for his calm. His hands began roaming, stroking my skin. He pressed against me, and I could feel the erection growing under his pretty panties. I enjoyed his touch, his want. I felt him want to kiss my neck, but stop himself, and I grinned, knowing that for any other lover, I would have told him to go ahead, but for this moment, I wanted to feel his desire and his struggle, so fuck it, I did.

I could just lie here and let him caress me. I could grind against him, or not. I could leave him breathless. I could do anything, feel anything, have anything from him. He was there for me. I got it. I was so happy.

I laid him on his back, knowing my timer would go off in a few minutes, and spent the minutes running my hand over his body, feeling the curve of his muscles in his arms, down his chest, where his breath caught when my fingertips traced, how he trembled a little when I brushed over the dampness of the wet spot on his frills. I didn't have to do anything, complete anything, give anything. This was for me.

It seems absurd to me that I absorbed the feminist ideal in a way that made it hard for me to be served. And yet, I was struggling with feeling weak by accepting the surrender of someone else to my whims. The struggle was unexpected. The fact that I was learning quickly, that I seemed to be able to get past the crazy voices and do whatever I wanted to do with him made me suspect that I was going to figure it out.

"I'll probably go on record as the craziest Mistress ever." He laughed, shook his head no. I thought about asking for stories of others crazier than I, but realized I didn't need them.

The timer went off. I silenced it, and asked myself what I wanted. Just me. Without regard to his wants, just me.

"Put your clothes back on. There's a hanger in the bathroom for your things to leave here. I could probably go longer. We could probably do more. But this seems perfect to me."

He nodded. "Yes, it does."

I grinned. "So we're done."

Downstairs, I stood on the bottom stair and pulled him over to me by his shirt, pausing him close to me, eye to eye. Are Mistresses supposed to kiss their slaves? I don't know. But I had the urge to kiss him. So fuck it. I did.

I'm gonna learn a lot from this.

Retro Picture Sets

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Merry Christmas To Me

So in addition to getting connected to the party side of kinksters in the heartland (as I wrote about in my last post), I was smart enough to drop an introductory note to the community's unofficial photographer: Sir Wallter (I'm not being sloppy, his name really has two Ls, and you can find him on Model Mayhem if you're so inclined).

Last night, we loaded two outfits, my travel toy bag, and a ridiculous volume of beauty products into the car to head over to Sir Wallter's for a photo shoot.

It went well.

Snuggling

 No, seriously, I mean, it went really really really well.

Teasing

 Sir Wallter's specialties are: (1) bondage rigging and photography (but alas, I ran out of energy before we got to that part of the evening - boooooooo) and (2) vintage pin-up poses, so I brought my awesome Secrets In Lace ostrich-feather-trim chiffon robe, and let him direct me, which resulted in winners like this:

Bunny Ears!

Yep, that's right, the classic make-bunny-ears-with-your-shoes Playboy pose. How freakin' awesome is that? Seriously. Couldn't you just kiss him? (don't tell anyone, but I totally kissed him -- how could I not? He shot me with bunny ears fer fux sake!)

But he was also kind enough to allow me the use of one of his play rooms, the one with the St Andrew's cross and implements of bondage and torture artfully placed about, to do a shoot with one of my other strap-ons, since my Feeldoe set had been relatively popular. Turns out, his eye for top shots was just as keen:

Training Time

 That's my hefty strap-on, his hefty paddle. They make a nice pair, don't they?

In addition to just having a fantastic eye for poses, he had a gift for drawing emotion out of me. Even though it was our first shoot, together, he got me all playful and squirmy and needy.

Inviting

I love my foot curling up in the background from being wiggly...

He said I'm welcome back. All I can figure is that somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something very very very very very very good.

Or maybe it's just that in my adulthood, I keep doing things that are very very very very very very naughty. It's hard to tell, isn't it?

If it means something to you, Happy Christmas Eve. If not, Scandalous Saturnalia...

P.S. I'm expecting coal tomorrow. Or to have Santa slip in and have me suck him off when I'm half-asleep. Either way, I'm clearly on the naughty list.

Fuzzy Secretary Santa

You wanna take pictures of a scantily clad phone sex operator for fun? Although my plea for a photographer on FetLife was not much more sophisticated than that, an aspiring erotic photographer by the FetLife handle of "Quicksilver84" took me up on the offer anyway, and we spent a few hours this afternoon taking pics of me.

Although not as luminescent as my 40th birthday photos in Vivian Ronelle's impeccably lit studio, I was happy that Quicksilver captured a few great moments. It should be enough for a month or two to feed this blog, and to send to callers (I know I know, I'm months behind on thank-you follow-ups, I'm sorry...).

My plan right now is to break the pictures out in three separate posts, but just in case I get lazy or distracted, here were the three concepts:

First, "What are you wearing?" has been answered a lot lately with "my fuzzy pink bath robe and slippers, plus undies" so I thought I'd provide a view into what that looks like on a good day:

Robe, slippers, undies

That's me in The Red Room, with the rope lights at the place where the wall slants on purpose, ready to be wrapped up and snuggled, or unwrapped and... well, that part's up to you.

Secondly, I was long overdue for a good secretary look, and I have a caller with a thing for textured tights, platform heels, and a good ponytail to grab, so I dug back into my memories of my white-collar professional days for a look that started off like this:

You wanted something, sir?

By the end of that outfit, the strapless corset and tights were fully exposed, and the use for the ponytail was glaringly evident to anyone paying attention.

Last, but certainly not least, Mrs. Claus got a bit of an update for 2011.

You've been very naughty

Oh, gracious. That is... ummm... quite an update indeed. She seems a bit ... angry? Power-hungry? Eager to find a target for that flogger? Maybe it's best if she goes back to checking her list.

Thankfully, I remembered to ask for at least one good horizontal shot because Kiwi Candy asked me for a new banner. She's re-doing her listings and her blog ... again... the woman seriously puts the rest of us to shame with her work ethic, bless her darling little slutty heart. So I popped this together for her:

I think it's warm and friendly and playful and inviting, but I'm much more interested in what you think of it - I'd love a comment or an email telling me whether or not you would click it if you saw it in the wild.

Overall, there were some lessons learned: I need to re-think the lighting in my Red Room, I probably shouldn't wear red things in The Red Room, and I should let the photographer help me put my stockings on next time, since it turns out it's kind of a thing with him.

All in all, it was a fun, affirming afternoon with a charming young man. (He's 27, so he's just young by comparison. I didn't do anything illegal, don't worry) Productive fun was had by all!

Video: Paralegal Humiliation and Blackmail

You've been a bad boy, haven't you? First, you took credit for my work on the case, then you lied to me about your marital status, and last, but certainly not least, you are working with a seriously under-equipped little partner there in your pants, aren't you?

Tell you what, you just sit back and enjoy this video conference call where I do a strip tease for you on company time, and I'll make sure and save it with no audio so HR and the senior partners can get a good long look at it, if you don't give me what I'm demanding...

I was in quite a mood when I shot this video, thinking of a caller who is a lawyer (and I used to do litigation support, so the jargon is actually legit), who will likely be both horrified and fascinated by it. The humiliation includes legal incompetence as well as small penis humiliation. I think I had some leftover hostility from my old job!

I know there are more images in the gif than usually available for most clips that only run 6:22, but I had a ton of fun shooting it, and couldn't choose only a few looks.

I think I look kind of adorable in this one, if I do say so myself, but what I'm saying definitely shows that I'm not someone you want on your bad side!

It's available for $7 via NiteFlirt:

Cartoon Pinup Galiana, Part II

As I explained in the first Cartoon Pinup Galiana blog post, a friend of mine asked a friend of his to do a cartoon pinup of me.

In addition to the spectacular me-alone picture, he also delivered this gem, in two views, for Mistress Galiana:

The uncensored view is here: http://psophotos.net/galianachance/cartoon/galiana02.jpg

The details are spectacular. The chair is rich-looking, the mischief in my eyes and smile are exactly how I feel when I'm topping sensually, my breasts are stunningly pretty, the negligee and stockings are fabulous, my sweet exposed pussy with a touch of a landing strip threatens to flow over onto his chin.

And my feet... rubbing allll over him. A foot fetishist's dream come true. From there, I can stuff my toes into his mouth, or let my soles slide langorously down his chest... Oh. My. What have we here?

You can find the uncensored version here: http://psophotos.net/galianachance/cartoon/galiana03.jpg

Not only are those strong arms restrained, either by ties or the delicious surrender of will, and not only is the chest gorgeous, and strong, but look what fun toy my feet have to play with there! A tied-up package, like a gift, strong and hard and aching just a touch.

I love that the rope is rose-colored, almost the same shade as the head of his cock. Seriously. Perfect.

The tension in that body... I want to do nothing and do everything, make him weep and make him sigh in pleasure, feel his skin and taste the sweat off his chest as he struggles not to come.

Thank you. I love it.

Feet Pics x4

I'm pleased as punch with myself to be able to announce, for the delight and pleasure of the foot fetish / heel fetish / boot fetish crowd: I have four new picture packages up for sale, focused on my feet!

Most of the pictures taken during my 40th birthday celebration shoot last September were not focused on my feet, but the original photos were high enough resolution to allow me to offer some excellent pictures just by cropping. Plus, of course, the foot-focused ones we did take are included.

All pictures are at least 1024 pixels tall or wide, and many are larger. The sample / preview pictures below are much lower resolution than the pictures for sale. Each set is $10.

First, Feet In Heels: 54 pictures of my feet in heels (creamy satin off-white heels, and grey heels with fabric embellishment, nail color OPI "Red"). A couple of preview pictures:

Don't my feet look all pretty and elegant? I wish they looked that way all the time... /sigh  To purchase Feet In Heels, click here:



Next up, Bare Feet: 31 pictures of my bare size 8.5 feet (nail color OPI "Red"). Pictures include naked ass in some shots. A couple of preview pictures:

I'm told I have lovely feet, but they seem so... normal to me. They are size 8.5, which is the most common size, with arches that are defined but not terribly high, toes that are long but not freakishly so. Perhaps it is the lack of distinguishing characteristics that make them lovely? To purchase Bare Feet, click here:



Then we have Feet In Bondage: 23 pictures of my feet (nail color OPI "Red"), in grey heels with fabric embellishment, bound by a white scarf. Pictures include bound hands and ass in some shots. A couple of preview pictures:

It's a specialized picture set: feet + bondage. Who knows if it will be popular or not... it's a very specific combination... I made up the tie with the scarves. It felt amazing to be tied up and writhing around the floor with someone photographing me. These are not rational things I crave, I understand that. To purchase Feet In Bondage, click here:



And last but not least, Boots and Sybian: 48 pictures of my vinyl platform boots with fishnet hose, and some with one foot on the Sybian. Pictures include ass and pussy in a few shots. A couple of preview pictures:

I love these boots so much. They're surprisingly stable considering how ludicrously impractical they look. I bought them to fly to Europe to meet my first BDSM lover, and I always feel daring and adventuresome in them. To buy Boots and Sybian, click here:


Even though I've expanded the number of places I need to post new picture packages (the Gallery, NiteFlirt to create the package, MyFlirtStore, my Stuff to Buy blog page), having the gallery makes it so much simpler than it used to be. Now it feels much more like the hard part is choosing the pictures, instead of all the other administrative trivia surrounding the posting of a picture package. Yay progress.

And may your feet be happy, always.

Yesterday's Pictures

1. I got a present from a caller in the mail, and told him I'd take pictures when it arrived.

2. That coincided with "maybe I'll stop shaving for a while and take pics when I next shave again".

3. These coincided with "one of my best callers had an awesome request for a holiday picture of me".

So yesterday was picture day.

First up: shaving. Since most of the pics are me naked and those aren't allowed on this blog uncensored, here are some partials:

Before shaving, there were pics like this, but full-body - I was kneeling.

The during-shaving pictures were soapier than this, with one leg up, standing, but tricky to find one that I could post, even partially.

Then I took pics in my new present -- yummy! So silky soft!

And then, by request, satin gloves, a Santa hat, and the red corset from the September shoot. He got more than just this picture, but the "naughty or nice" finger wag amused me greatly.

I don't know if I'm going to turn these into packages for sale or not, but I thoroughly enjoyed feeling pampered and photographable!

Corrupting Newbies

I might have just done a bad thing. He said I'm his 3rd phone sex call ever, that the first was probably a man, the second seemed strung out or drunk, but that he likes curvy, shorter, older women... so he "is probably in trouble" with me.

He likes women in nylons.

I asked if he wanted to kneel in front of me, where he could see what kind of panties I may or may not be wearing, and have me rub my hose-clad feet up his thighs, over his belly, onto his chest, and feed my toes into his mouth. His "yes"es sounded sincere, and maybe a little pained.

Or if he's ever had a woman press the soles of her stockinged feet together and slide his cock into the space created by the arches. His orgasm at the very thought was enthusiastic and rewarding.

He might have been playing a fantasy role. It might have been a lie that he is a newcomer to these parts. The fact that he'd called back again after two strikes meant that he was likely to keep trying, with or without me, right?

I don't consider myself a femme fatale, the seductress type who leads men to their ruin. I like to think I'm helping people by providing high-quality services that they were going to indulge in whether or not I joined the profession.

But man... that was kind of fun.