!--[if gte IE 5.5]> div.disclaimer_bg { position:absolute; left: expression( ( 0 + ( ignoreMe2 = document.documentElement.scrollLeft ? document.documentElement.scrollLeft : document.body.scrollLeft ) ) + 'px' ); top: expression( ( 0 + ( ignoreMe = document.documentElement.scrollTop ? document.documentElement.scrollTop : document.body.scrollTop ) ) + 'px' ); }

Play and Inspiration

I’ve been holding myself back for so very long, haven’t allowed myself to play for my personal pleasure in quite some time. It feels like a whole section of myself just shut down, dark and waiting for inspiration which I got in spades this past week on my first trip to the Pacific Northwest with a long-time devoted pet. When I think of him during that 5 day period, my memories bring a smile to my lips contemplating him decked out in lacy panties and stockings keeping him on the edge while I came over and over filling him with plugs and cocks fucking him wearing nothing but my knee highs/patent leather heels/strapon/smile compressing his skin with my arsenal of clips and clamps leaving the most delicious marks on his body with my riding crop and whip and my essence in his nose and mouth in as many ways as I can think of to amuse myself.

Sigh.

Now that I’ve returned, it’s a slow re-adjustment to the eastern time zone, brain still floating on a cloud of nearly continuous play and good service and toothsome food and attentiveness and no sleep mixed in with the excitement from that new city and its dramatic mountainous landscape. My focus shifts and I feel that something sleeping inside begin to stir as I contemplate my newest amusement, a young, eager boy, wishing to become my slut and fucktoy. Nothing has happened yet, it’s as if I’m taking the time to savor and enjoy our initial intercourse from a distance, fully appreciating the anticipation being created. However, when I allow myself to do so, I will take pleasure playing with him, mouse to my cat.DSCN0330

It’s good to start feeling balanced again.

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/MartinePhoenix
Call me on Niteflirt: Call Button

BDSM fiction – sissy’s First Visit (part 1)

As we spoke on the phone, her velvety tones were irresistable; that, my friends, sealed the deal. While I had initially been attracted by Mistress Martine Phoenix’s beautiful pictures and enticing interests, just listening to her voice put me over the edge. Dropping to my knees while still on the phone, I humbly begged to be her servant. She only laughed cruelly. “Silly boy, what can you possibly offer me?”

I told her of my five years experience in the scene, my skills as a writer and lastly, most importantly, of my desire to serve her! She paused as if in thought. “You can write? Perhaps I may have some use for you. What are your interests?” I hurriedly told her of my desire for humiliation and corporal punishment and how I wished to serve her. I told her of my experience as a houseboy and that if she but mentioned the word, I would be honored to cook and clean for her. Mistress Phoenix regarded me for a moment before answering, “I believe that I can use you. I want additional stories for my web site and you may be just the slave to provide them. However, I have no need for a houseboy.” She laughed as if struck by a sudden thought. “I can use a sissy maid, though; you DO like humiliation, don’t you? Well, here’s the deal, bitch: you come to me, pay for a session and I will begin your transformation into my sissy maid. You will write about your degradation and experiences while serving me. If you do well after the first session, I may make you my bitch. What do you say? You have thirty seconds to decide.”

The chance to be her sissy maid and write about it? Oh, the humiliation! Oh, the chance of a lifetime! I jumped at it, begging for the opportunity to be her property. Telling me to prepare myself, she ordered me to arrive at the studio no later than 6pm the following evening. She gave me directions and hung up the phone. I was trembling, scared, excited and totally elated. I prepared myself for my new life.

I found myself waiting to ring the studio buzzer at 5:55, arriving early to make sure there would be no mistake and could barely contain my excitement. The receptionist greeted me, “Mistress Phoenix will be with you shortly. Go into the dungeon, strip and call me when your clothes are folded neatly by the door. I would hurry, if I were you. Mistress Phoenix wants you naked and kneeling when she arrives.”

I followed directions and called the receptionist when I finished. She came, glanced at me and took my clothes. “These aren’t folded neatly, I assure you that Mistress Phoenix will be notified. Are you wondering what I am going to do with these? They will be shown to Mistress Phoenix in their current state. She will give them back to you if and when she decides!” With that, she walked out smirking. My humiliation had already begun.

From my lowly position, I heard the clicking of heels approaching the door. It opened. “You must be the new slave, writer and soon-to-be sissy.” I kept my eyes focused on the floor and was graced with a glance at her beautiful feet encased in her high heels. She ran her hand through my hair and slowly stroked the side of my cheek. Roughly grasping my mouth she squeezed and forced my head up. “Look at me! You won’t get the chance often, you lowly wimp. Tell me what you see!”

She was perfect, beautiful beyond words. However, I tried. “Mistress Martine Phoenix, divine Goddess! You are so wonderful, so beautiful. Your dreadlocks are perfect, your catlike eyes and full, luscious lips make me weak! And oh, Mistress, you have the body of Venus come to life. Please do what you will with me. I exist to serve you!”

Mistress Phoenix looked fantastic in her leather corset, black leather skirt and knee high leather boots; certainly the picture of a Goddess. One of her hands grasped my face, another carried a cruel cane. She slapped my face and told me to look down again. “Listen carefully, slave; I am going to lay down the rules that will govern your time with me. If you disobey my rules, you will be punished. If you forget my rules, you will be punished. From now on, your name is Babette, my French sissy.” She walked behind me. “Starting today, you no longer have a cock and balls, you have a clit.” She kicked me in my new clit. “I expect it to be shaved when you serve me. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will kneel on all fours when in my presence at all times, unless I give you different orders. When you kneel, your head and eyes will be kept down and your legs will be spread. When I say ‘up’, you will rise to your knees only. You exist to serve not only myself and my female friends, but anyone that I order you to.” She grabbed my face and allowed me to look at her again.

“Do you understand my rules?” I gasped that I did.

She moved behind me, “I understand that you failed to fold your clothes neatly. Let’s see, you have two shoes, two socks, panties, pants, a belt, a shirt and a watch. That’s nine articles of clothing and you will receive a stroke with the cane for each article. Count!” Her cane rose and fell nine times; I struggled not to scream. Next, I felt her hand softly stroke the welts she had made. “If I need to punish you for disobedience again, it will be two strokes instead of one. Now, thank me for correcting you and crawl to the table.”

Mistress Phoenix then strapped me to the bondage table face up. Walking away she cheerfully stated, “Babette, you lucky slut, I am going to give you plenty to write about today!”

To Be Continued…

Mistress’s weekend – an offering from c.

This entertaining story was written as a present to me from one of my devoted pets.  Hope you enjoy it as much as I did…

Well, let’s see, just thought I would remind all my retainers how nice it is to be totally pampered and catered to.

I have just returned from a weekend in the country at one of my pet’s estates.  Not only did he send a limo for me but it came stocked with some delicious food to nibble and a bottle of champagne he had selected from his own wine cellar.  When I arrived at his manse, I was greeted by a beautiful female servant and relieved of my coat and bags.  A red ball gag in her mouth, clamps on her pert nipples and the smell of hot cunt in the air…I knew she’d come in handy later on.

Immediately, I make my way to the fully equipped dungeon, my thigh high leather boots with the five inch heels crushing the rose petals my pet had strewn on the hard wood floor, that lead me to him.

Ah… There are not many sights as delightful as walking into a dungeon and finding a pet waiting for you, on his knees in the kow-tow position, offering him or herself to their Goddess.

So vulnerable, so giving, so ready to receive my abuse…and what’s this I see…? Are those some drops of pre-cum that I detect, glistening in the candlelight on the floor directly below the purple head of his stiff cock?

That’s what I like to see, and what a fitting compliment.

This makes me so hot that I waste no time. Without saying a word, I approach him and stand with the toe of one of my boots next to where his forehead is touching the floor. He pants in anticipation and I can feel moisture between my legs. He knows that I am going to have him greet me by licking my boots, but I wait.

The anticipation grows. His panting becomes heavier. His cock twitches, and finally…yes there it is…another drop of pre-cum falls from his meat and hits the floor. I rub my leather clad toe in it and tell him to lick it off.

Breathlessly, he thanks me as his tongue laps up his juice. I raise the toe of my boot off the floor, rocking back on the heel and tell him to show me how hungry he is by taking as much of the toe into his mouth as he can.

He eagerly obliges, stuffing half my foot into his mouth.

Oh What Fun!!
Oh What A Sight!!

Now the fun really begins. I order him to his feet and tell him to take his place at the wooden X, facing the wall and to secure his ankles to it.

After locking his wrists in place, I select one of my favorite, custom made canes from the arsenal. This one has soft leather wrapped around one end, so as to prevent slipping from my hand. On the business end, a small hole has been drilled and a thin strip of leather has been slipped through it and tied in a loop, creating a small leather tassel, ideal for tormenting nipples and balls.

I instruct him to stick out his ass and prepare for my first swat. I wave the cane through the air… I love to hear it whistle, and it also keeps him off guard, never knowing which one is the one that is going to connect and then…WHAM!

The cane catches both his ass cheeks and he recoils and yelps his thanks. The burn is instantaneous and almost immediately I can see the welt starting to form.

I connect again, and again, alternating between his tender thighs and his lily white ass cheeks. With each swat to his ass I can feel a pulse in my clit, and I can feel it starting to push against my damp panties as it grows more stimulated and engorged.

I remember the femme slut upstairs, and with the tip of my cane, I press the button on the intercom, summoning her.

More blows are delivered with the cane and I start to dance around, teasing his meat with the leather at the tip of the wood. My pet writhes in delirious pain induced ecstasy as I continue to raise welts on his flesh, making it appear as if he has sat on some sort of red hot, psychedelic waffle iron.

I run my fingernails over his burning skin, tracing and aggravating some of the beautiful welts I have just created.

I unshackle him and have him lie down on his back. I tell him to move his ass around on the floor, further irritating the burning lattice work that I have created.

He moans and groans…how I love those sounds…
…and what’s this?

Why here is that girlslut, just in time. Her chest covered in her own drool, and her nipples throbbing from the clamps.

Right on cue she kneels before me and assumes the kow-tow position, displaying to me the juice running out of her glistening, shaved pussy and the plug inserted in her ass.

across the small of her back, written in garish, rubyred lipstick it reads:

“I AM A SLUT”

and across her ass cheeks,

“USE ME”

And I thought I was having fun already…

Sexy Ebony Domina takes Toronto!

Sounds like a great news headline, right?

I’m pleased to announce my first stop on the Mistress Martine Phoenix World Domination Tour: Toronto!  All you lucky Ontario subs, fetishists and slaves will have the chance to make my acquaintance from December 21-24.

Curious about who I am?  Read the “About Me” section.  Want to know more about the type of play that interests me?  Read “Session Information”.

See you in the Great White North!

Film Still #1 Ethnic Kink

For the last few weeks, I’ve really enjoyed filming scenes with Ethnic Kink, a great BDSM production company based in New York.  Of course, clips are becoming available on each of their related sites, but I thought it would be fun to share film stills of my favorite scenes.

Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

Bondalates!

I’ve been thinking a great deal about bondage lately. Random musings keep popping up in my head about the best way to put these ideas into motion. The visions include lovely, spacious hotel rooms, my pretty pink ropes, a game bondage bottom and multiple hours to explore all ways the human body can be restrained. Dreamy, right?

The newest component to these daydreams: Pilates positions! I’ve been a devotee of this exercise regime for many years. A certain amount of strictness is needed to properly execute each particular component of core enhancing workouts. Because of this, it’s a wonder that I haven’t thought to combine the two sooner.

What a perfect opportunity; bondage play and slave-exercise training all in one! How it would work: once each position was assumed (i.e., the hundred, roll up, mermaid, double leg stretch, etc.), I would apply ropes both as a way to fully illustrate proper Pilates form and for my personal amusement, of course.

I can see it now. Ropes steadily tightening and locking my subject into position. Instructions about how to regulate the breath and surrender to the position. My delighted laugh filling the space with each new assumed posture…

Who’s game?

Scene from a sultry spring evening

6 of us stood on the corner of Houston and First Avenue, old friends and new on the way back from a low key SM meet and greet a few blocks downtown. The air had the feel one experiences during late August when New York’s heat hangs like a blanket over the sidewalks and parks with a rich velvet quality. It was a relief after the previous days of rain. r looked so adorable standing across from me; 5 foot nothing, curvy, juicy with the loveliest laugh and smile. Earlier at the bar, I had taken the opportunity to feel her out; locking her arms behind her head, I molded her back to my front, tickled her mercilessly and thoroughly enjoyed her squeals, giggles and (half-hearted) attempts to get away.

I couldn’t help myself, standing on that street corner, cars and people passing by. r pulled down the top of her dress a little to show everyone her pretty, lacy bra. I pounced and reached out to draw her closer by the lacing holding the front closed. My hands wandered down the front of her dress and over her breasts, while I said something unconvincing to our companions about not wanting to cause a scene. An idea struck me and I bade everyone to move closer until her face was pushed into my cleavage and she was firmly sandwiched among us all, my hands still stroking and pinching her tits. I murmured something into her hair about not quite finding what I wanted when my fingers struck gold. They clamped down on her nipples, drawing her even closer to me, eliciting a simultaneous gasp and moan from this pretty toy.

“…and what do you say, little girl?” I asked.
“thank you.” she whispered while melting into me.

I released her with a quick kiss on the top of her head and promised myself this wouldn’t be the last time…

My daily (not so) grind – or, why I love my occupations

After spending very many years in the corporate world, shuttling through the fields of law, advertising, and fashion, I am very appreciative of my current autonomy. To this day, I still don’t know how I was able to muster the enthusiasm needed to devote a huge percentage of my time contributing to someone else’s bottom line; being fulfilled in life is something that has become more and more important as I get older. There is a great deal of responsibility in being self-employed (quarterly taxes, anyone?) but I wouldn’t trade the peace of having full control of my day-to-day schedule for anything. Without a doubt, my lifestyle is not for everyone or even something 80% of the population would even understand. Regardless, the feeling of standing back and viewing a favourite toy in tight bondage, gagged, plugged and clamped in certain tender places affords me a deep sense of peace and serenity.

As well as amusement and amazement at the havoc I create.

Studio memories

I was suddenly struck by memories of the dressing room at Arena Blaze. It was a small, oddly shaped space, holding floor to ceiling racks of trunks, television, couch and always slightly too many people, adding to the cozy vibe. During the summer, the front dungeons were icy oasis of constantly running air conditioners and drawn velvet curtains, all the better to keep the room comfortable for clients, at least initially. It was in the dressing room where all my best memories of working in a studio began. Dead phone evenings with 4 other girls on shift, back door open to a canyon of buildings in midtown Manhattan, funky R&B slipping quietly from the staff radio. Games initiated in fun in-between sessions, riding high off the heavy dose of scene adrenaline, involving crops, floggers, hands and vibrators. The sheer concentration that can only be emitted from a woman completely intent on drawing the perfect eyebrow line.

Remembrances

Going through boxes of papers and old Vault magazines filled with ads of Mistresses from long past, I happily stumbled upon a nondescript, black envelope. Within in were 40 poems, each individually printed on delicate transparent stock, written as an odd mixture of declaration, barely veiled plea and love note from a slave client lover man who, once upon a time, was very special to Me. As soon as I pulled the seal open, removing the unexpectedly heavy bundle, I was struck by a wave of remembrance of our time together.

C. was a large part of My life during the years 1999-2001; someone who managed to move past professional relations and learned defenses right into My romantic considerations. Scary thing, that. I ended up pushing him away and, by omission, into the arms of someone else. He got married not too long before dropping off the radar (which definitely signaled the end of our relationship) and is probably married still. The two of us are lives away from those countless hours spent in quiet, mutual contemplation of his bound self within The Pit in Arena Blaze’s Byzantine Room. However, reading his words so many years later brings Me back to an almost sensual remembering of C. How he looked at Me in a certain way, with open anticipation and many unformed questions in the back of his eyes. The wave and scent of his hair. His skin under My fingers. The rush I felt giving him pain. My delight in his humiliation.

As I sift through each page, I sense Myself sinking deep into his always unspoken feelings for me. I realize I was never very far away from the center of his thoughts.

#1

I am resigned to loving what she has left behind. As space, a phrase, discarded mannerisms. I will populate her absences, and weep for the scent that trails her. This is how I get used to her with another. I, too, am what she has forgotten, at home in areas she has passed through. There is so much country to occupy. Of course others see her as I do, and spend their nights speaking of new goddesses.

#3

Mine is a contained affair. Framed by walls of another’s choice, and a decor of so many timed screams. Can my love ever be equal here, more than local, and meant for every spot you once were. If my intentions have been improved, by better men, and in this same place. Perhaps it’s time to accept an impossible struggle, and a love too ferocious to forget by morning.

#6

This was planned for centuries, give me permission to believe. My blessings mean more if they were thought of through time. A final expression of an emotion, too old now, that waited for generations to rest at your feet. I am comfortable as something inevitable. Let me adjust to this sudden swarming of grace.

Maybe I’ll share more selections as a quiet remembrance of all that transpired between us. Or, am I just longing to see him again?

1
1
Accept
Decline
http://google.ca

Accept Decline

Mistress Martine Phoenix

Professional NYC Dominatrix, Mistress Martine Phoenix available for one-to-one sessions in New York City

This website contains graphic descriptions and content related to bondage and discipline, sadomasochism, domination and submission and is intended for a mature audience. It must not to be accessed by anyone under the age of 21 (or the age of consent in the jurisdiction from which it is being accessed). Areas of interest within BDSM and fetishism include but are not limited to: Corporal Punishment, Discipline and Restraint, Foot Fetish, Shoe and Boot Fetish and other fetishes, Humiliation and Degradation, Sissy and Slut training and so much more. You can visit my BDSM sessions information page for further information on Mistress Martine Phoenix, NYC based dominatrix. WARNING - YOU MUST BE 21 YEARS OF AGE AND AGREE TO THE FOLLOWING BEFORE ENTERING! I am over age 21 years old, and I have the legal right to possess adult material in my community. I will not permit any person(s) under 21 years of age to have access to any of the materials contained in this site. I will exit from this site immediately if I am in any way offended by the nature of any material contained herein. The entire MistressMartinePhoenix.com website, including its code, images, logos, and names are protected by copyright, and any infringement of said copyright will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. The creators of this Web site along with the services provided are released of all liabilities.