"Reasonable" Attire According to Whom?

The last time I flew, I made a mental note never to wear a corset when I have a date with airport security. I left the corset packed, but the vintage girdle still set off the metal detectors in Toronto. I wore the same girdle on my flight to paris (via Amsterdam), but at the transfer point it was my shoes that set it to beeping. My friend advises that I wear reasonable clothes, at least for travel, but what does "reasonable" mean? I wear what pleases me, with or without reason!

I'm on the ground and settled in, with a fair amount of trouble already planned. Nuit Elastique, a Parisian fetish party, is just around the corner and I expect to be there in some kind of satin 1940's outfit featuring my personal dream fetish panties. I'll be taking a short trip to Aix en Provence for a photo shoot next week, only after I have had my fill of degrading a certain unlucky European garçon in a lux hotel room and in the streets of Paris. What could possibly be sweeter?

On July 21 I will start a road trip to Amsterdam for a few days and arrive in Berlin on the 24th. There I'll meet up with Tara Sterling and spend some time enjoying german life and sunshine with her. On the 29th we'll both return to France until August 6th, partly to Paris and perhaps also to the south for a little vacation on the mediterranean. Suggestions, anyone? During the time that we're together, Tara and I will have some session time available for those who can handle our combined wickedness.

In my meticulous packing I somehow overlooked my favourite heels, so I'll have to find a new pair to keep me at least 5 inches higher than the nasty cobbled streets of Pigalle. That, and a decent place to get a pedicure. Apparently most French women do their own nails, so I get a look of annoyed confusion when I ask them where they had their toes "done."

For those back home who tremble at my absence, I am still available on NiteFlirt in between adventures and to discuss sessions when I return.

Lady Rancher

I spent the weekend outside the city, exploring the land where I imagine running my fantasy ranch. Driving north through Olema, Inverness, and Point Reyes, I thought it must be a sign when I saw a boat called the Wayward Miss and a road called "Dream Farm Lane." Deer, foxes, horses. A lighthouse, a general store, a cheese shop. They're awfully pretty to visit, but right on the fault line.

Further north, into Sonoma county, is where the Osmosis enzyme baths are, just steps from the WildFlour Bakery. A tiny town set around a historical well. It's a great place to live halfway between luxury and homesteading.

Gone Bad

Craving an encounter with a roving pack of vicious she-beasts, bent on getting their thrills causing you pain?

Wishing you, too, could be the laughing stock of a tough girl gang, fresh from a 1950's pulp paperback?

Ever yearned for the picture perfect sissy sleepover party, complete with pillow fights, makeovers, and truth or dare?

I've gone and joined a gang.

The Girl Gang.

Bad Little Bobby

Bobby was sent to me for corrective corporal punishment- discipline best administered by a knowing parent, of course. To save him the embarrassment of having his pants pulled down in the principal's office and his wails heard by the majority of the student body, I took him into my soundproof bedroom the minute he walked in the door. In addition to being hours late, he smelled as if he had been playing with matches!

Bobby is such a hard case. He lies again and again, and the only way to bring him around to the truth is by taking him over my knee and spanking him. Hard. For an extended period of time.

I dump his backpack out onto the floor and order him to change into his pajamas. I find stolen toy guns, chewing gum, and a notebook which should have been filled with science notes but is instead rather empty. Empty except for the notes passed among his delinquent buddies during Mrs. Parker's first period biology.

I order him over my knee immediately. He howls and asserts that he's telling the truth, that he wasn't cheating on the test, that he went to the library to study after school. His lies unravel bit by bit as his bottom reddens. I do it for his own good, I tell him. Only for his own good. But that's not enough. He raises his voice at me. I slap him across the face so hard that his eyes pucker and he looks as if he'll cry. I continue his spanking but move on to the hairbrush, sure there's more to the story.

He's belligerent. I take him by the ear. "You do NOT raise your voice at me, young man!" I shout in his face when he's pinned against the wall, fearful.

Hairbrushes, straps, wooden spoons, paddles, razor strops, and again my bare hand.

I lecture and I smack.

Eventually, I get the kind of result that the pediatrician suggested I look out for- squirming and sobbing, a hot face flooded with tears. He's wide open, telling the truth. I know it's time for the diaper.

Soft Debut. Shhh.

The website! It's here! But shhh. The Grand Debut won't happen until I have a few new photo shoots to share.

In the next two months you can expect to see more images, more presence on some of the more interesting message boards (like Max Fisch), and I've finally made the leap to using NiteFlirt. The decision was a tough one- for such a long time, I refused requests for distance training or phone sessions. I still value the physical energy and intensity of a face-to-face session, but I have a number of people across the ocean (or mountains) with whom I would like to remain connected and continue to session, even when they cannot session in person.

I have also been turned on to the feeling of control from afar through some of my private play thoughts lately. How do I sit on the throne of your heart when I'm halfway around the world? How do I police your chastity when you're away on business? How do I hear the tremble in your voice after the fourtieth self-inflicted stroke of the cane? In short, how can I continue to fulfill my own lust for control, pain, power, and amusement when a physical meeting is not possible? The answer is through the telephone line.

European Dates Confirmed

I've just posted some specific dates for my European visit in the summer, including a new trip through Dusseldorf and Brussels, I hope. I will be accepting appointments while in Europe, but advance booking is recommended.

Though I haven't posted it, I'll be down in Aix en Provence for a day or two for a photo shoot with the world famous Robert Chouraqui. He took photos of me a few years ago which were stunning, and with my new site coming up, I feel that new photos are in order!

My carnivorous plants are sending up tiny blossoms - dainty and colourful, but deadly for the unfortunate little insects that fall into their traps! I hope the spring is blooming wherever you are!

Spring is Sandal Weather

Some time ago I attended a Footnight- a private party like a maze with foot worship around every corner! Apparently the parties have been evolving to allow for even more privacy for the twosomes and threesomes (and foursomes...) to trample, worship, bathe, salivate, caress, and discuss the magical powers inherent in those most useful and curvaceous parts of the body. When I last attended, I found myself occupied all night with capable worshippers and met a lot of interesting characters.
I actually overlooked the invitation until this morning, but immediately RSVPed when I saw it. The "Spring is in the Air" Footnight party will be in a hotel in South San Francisco on May 1st and should coincide with the release of my (drumroll) new website! I'll be there, and hopefully so will Tara Sterling.

Now, which shoes to wear and what colour to polish the toes? It's my impression that a bright blood red is always in style, as is a darker merlot polish. What else do you find appealing? Obviously the shoes to wear for such an event are open toed. What are your dream shoes?