BDSM Game of Control For an American Tourist in a Shanghai Church Alive

An American submissive, lost in the restless pulse of Shanghai, reached out to me with a hushed confession that quickened my blood: he craved a forbidden rite within the bustling walls of a crowded church—a haven of piety teeming with oblivious worshippers, soon to cloak his yielding in shadow. The audacity of weaving our taboo amidst the throng set a wicked thrill ablaze within me, urging me to orchestrate a scene that would test his limits beneath the weight of unseen eyes.

I slipped into the church, a clandestine figure among the murmuring congregation, satin ribbons coiled discreetly in my bag—their silken promise clashing with the rigid pews packed tight with bodies. We found a shadowed corner, pressed close on a bench as hymns droned around us. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, voice a dangerous murmur barely audible over the crowd. “Ready to sin where angels watch?” His nod was fleeting, his breath catching as the air thickened with risk.

With deft, concealed movements, I guided his arms behind his back, the ribbons sliding over his skin as I knotted them—tight enough to bind, loose enough to taunt, each twist a silent dare to resist me amidst the masses. His shaky exhale melted into the hum of prayer, his surrender cloaked by the faithful, slipping him into the guise of a captive disciple poised for my will.

I drew him nearer, his body rigid yet yielding against mine, a trembling secret amid the sea of strangers. His exposure—masked yet palpable—fed my craving for dominion, his stifled anticipation a spark to my fire. My fingers drifted low, teasing his shirt's edge before slipping beneath, tracing slow, deliberate rings around his nipples, hidden by the press of the crowd.

He gasped, a sound swallowed by the swell of voices. My hold on his bound wrists sharpened, a muted warning. “Quiet,” I breathed, my tone a sultry blade beneath the din. “One sound, and they'll all know.” My nails grazed his flesh—scratching, pinching, rolling—until his frame shuddered against me, ensnared in the delicious clash of torment and bliss. His teeth sank into his lip, a desperate bid to silence the storm I stirred within him.

I smirked, my breath a warm phantom against his neck. “Good boy,” I whispered, the words a velvet vow lost to the clamor. “But this is just the beginning.” Around us, the church pulsed with life, its sanctity teetering on the brink of our unseen rebellion—and I had no intention of stopping.

Seductive Blood Play Experience for a Devoted Expat Submissive in Shanghai

 The message came through late in the evening—a sexy, eager male submissive reaching out with a request: a blood play session. The thought alone sent a thrill racing through me, sparking my imagination. I could already picture him, vulnerable and trusting, his skin pristine and waiting for my touch. I adore the raw intimacy of blood play, the way it blends tenderness with edge, and I couldn't wait to explore that with him.

When I arrived, the air between us buzzed with anticipation. I led him to his living room, the faint scent of candles mingling with the sterile bite of medical supplies I'd prepared. First, I took my time washing my hands, the warm water and soap suds a soothing ritual before the intensity to come. Then, I rubbed medical alcohol over my palms and his chest area, the cool sting evaporating into a sharp, clean scent that grounded me. I wanted this to be safe, deliberate—perfect.

He stood before me, his breath shallow, eyes flickering with a mix of nerves and desire. I stepped closer, my fingers brushing his shirt as I helped him undress. Piece by piece, the fabric fell away, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest, rising and falling quicker now. I pressed my palm against his sternum, feeling the wild thrum of his heartbeat beneath my skin—alive, electric, a rhythm that mirrored my own growing excitement. He was in my hands now, fully surrendered.

I pulled him gently into my arms, his warmth enveloping me as I tilted my head to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His skin was flushed, slightly salty against my lips, and I lingered there for a moment, savoring the tenderness before the storm. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I dragged my nails across his chest. The first scratch was light, teasing, raising faint pink lines. His breath hitched, a small sound escaping his throat. I pressed harder on the next pass, my fingers steady and sure, until the skin finally gave way. A thin ribbon of crimson bloomed against his pale flesh, vivid and glistening in the low light. The sight of it—his blood, his trust—sent a shiver of exhilaration through me, binding us in that raw, unspoken connection.

Tales from the Dungeon: Unveiling Shanghai's BDSM Drama

 In the fabulous BDSM world, where boundaries are pushed, fantasies are explored, and power dynamics are tested, surprises are not uncommon. However, even the most seasoned dominatrix can be caught off guard by the intensity of a situation that challenges what we understand about submission, power, and connection. One such surprise recently unfolded in my own experience, when I discovered that two men I had been intimately involved with in very different ways—one a 52-year-old submissive I had been dominating for months, and the other a 25-year-old man I had recently introduced to the world of sissification—were father and son.

The First Encounter: A Veteran Submissive

Let's start with the 52-year-old man who had been a regular submissive in my BDSM sessions. He was no stranger to the lifestyle. He had spent years exploring various aspects of domination and submission, always seeking a deeper, more intense experience. Our sessions had been a constant back-and-forth of control and surrender, a space where he could let go of his everyday persona and submit to my authority completely. He craved humiliation and discipline, the kind that would push him past his limits and allow him to reach new depths of orgasm and self-discovery.

In our sessions, I would subject him to rigorous scenarios—sometimes involving bondage, verbal humiliation, and sometimes physical pain—all crafted to break down the walls of his outwardly strong and independent personality. For him, submission wasn't just about physical release; it was about psychological freedom. The control I exercised over him was not just a game—it was a gateway to his deeper, often unspoken, needs.

The Newcomer: A Curious Sissy

Fast forward a few months, and I met him, a 25-year-old man who came to me seeking an entirely different experience. His desires were rooted in feminization and the exploration of his submissive side through sissification. He was nervous and unsure at first, but eager to explore the world of BDSM and submission. Our first meeting was a mix of awkwardness and curiosity, but as we delved into the session, his transformation began.

The dynamic was different with son—where father sought degradation, son craved the experience of being humiliated into a feminized version of himself. It wasn't just about playing dress-up; it was about him losing his identity as a man and being reshaped into a more submissive, feminine persona. He needed to feel small, delicate, and powerless, something that both humiliated him and gave him a sense of freedom in the surrender. The sissy outing, as we called it, was about him embracing his vulnerability and exploring an entirely new form of submission.

Our sessions were a carefully constructed process, allowing the son to explore his newfound femininity and submit to my dominance in a very different way from the father. The contrast between the two men—the son's youthful submission and father's seasoned experience—was striking, and each encounter was unique in its emotional and psychological intensity.

I was wondering when they would find out about each other. Perhaps never.

I Combine Bible and BDSM To Dominate The Jewish Submissive In Shanghai

 I accepted a golden shower and spanking session booking months ago.

I did not know he is a traditional jew until I met him at the hotel lobby in shanghai. The first sight that struck me was his height—short with an unassuming presence. But what caught me off guard was the kippah perched atop his head, glistening subtly under the hotel’s soft lighting.

I ordered him to open his mouth once he was naked in the shower room. I released a warm stream of urine, watching as it hit its target with precision. The act was a powerful display of control, as he obediently accepted every drop, fully submitting to my authority.

It's effortless for me to embrace my cruelty; it's in my blood, woven into my very DNA. The stories in the Bible further cement this part of me, fueling the fire that keeps me unyielding. I couldn't help but see him as a modern-day Samson. In my mind, he had chosen Delilah's sister as his wife, bypassing me—the true Delilah. The thought enraged me, sparking a deep resentment. So, when he stood before me, I felt justified in unleashing my wrath, spanking him with no mercy, driven by the bitterness of being overlooked.

All of my sessions are conducted on the basis of respecting slaves' limits.

Shanghai SM Domination/Mistress/Dominatrix/Queen/Goddess for sissy/slaves/dogs/butlers/CDs/submissives Foot Dominatrix

mistress at doctor dot com
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I am pro dominatrix since 2008.
I offer all types of SM session: golden shower, pegging, pee into anus humiliation, especially creative in designing different kinky scenario plays.
book a session 1-2days in advance and session fee is required


Below is an example of the scenarios i have played with some of my slaves
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I bring a pair of black pantyhose to your room and help you to dress it under your pants

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You invite me to dinner in a gloomy restaurant.
I pour my golden "champagne" into your champagne flute after you finish the glass of champagne you ordered. You have to say "Tasty" after you drink my golden "champagne".

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I hold your champagne flute to feed you my golden "champagne"on the terrace
It will be our secret only