I'm also on Patreon and Twitter.



Service requires patience, discipline, and dedication. You will need all three in ample measure to endure these sweet punishments, and to reap the rewards.


(Widowmaker/Reader, Bondage, Blindfolding, Femdom, Restraints, Sensory Deprivation, Oral and Buttjob/Hotdogging)


Click, clack

It’s a delicate sound, but sharp and distinct, thrumming along the floor when it stops and then starts again.

Click, clack

The noise gets louder, rustling forward, then stopping, leaving you to sit there in silence with your heartbeat in the darkness.

Click, clack

You hold your breath, afraid that she’ll hear, but more afraid that she’ll stop again. Your pulse pounds in your ears and along your wrists. For a terrible moment, nothing happens, and then…

“Bon garçon, mon cher.” She chuckles. Her voice is cold but sweet, delicately drifting into a chuckle as she approaches. 

Click, clack

And that noise doesn’t stop, even as she gets closer, until it’s right by your feet, and the echo bounces up to your ears. You quiver, ankles straining but stuck, arms stubbornly unable to move from their positions. 

She releases a little sigh, and you can hear the whisper of her hair moving as she shakes her head. “You’ve been such a good boy, my pet. Don’t ruin it now, so soon. Naughtiness is one thing, but rebellion is another.”

You gulp and halt your struggles, however much your body screams to move. A dainty finger traces the line of your jaw, then curls beneath your lower lip, pressing gently inward. 

“Well done, dear. I’m proud of you.” Her grip is released, and you hear sliding, shuffling and stretching...and, tellingly, unzipping. Another sigh, this one deeper, more unashamedly in relief, slips from her lips, and something light falls to the floor with a draping, muffled whump.

But one sound remains consistent, as she adjusts herself. One thing stayed ...or was put back on, once the rest was off.

Click, clack

You shudder when her hands cup your cheek and you feel her breath on your ear, a cool, uncomfortably infrequent exhalation that sends goosebumps rippling down your neck. When she speaks, it’s with gentle but confident command.

“Good boys like you are rare indeed. It is only fair to pamper you accordingly.” 

One of her hands slips down, the nail dragging along your neck, then your clavicle and chest, further down to your bellybutton...and deeper below, until dainty fingers are brushing something that’s wavered between stubborn stiffness and softened impotence the whole time you’ve been stuck here.

A pat on your cheek accompanies your gasp. She pulls away completely, shuffling until another gentle grasp is enclosed around the paired spheres that hang beneath, cradling and comforting. Her grip is not warm, but bracing, and you need more. Her breathing whistles across the tip as the hand further up wraps around the thicker part near the bottom, and then a flash of cold wetness envelops the head.

Your vision is shrouded and dark, but in your mind’s eye, you can paint the picture. A catsuit of purple and pink and blue, skintight and peeled away and discarded to reveal the body beneath, hued in violet amethyst and periwinkle blue. High-heeled spires support her form, slim and elegant, a gymnast’s silhouette, or, rather, a dancer’s, primed more for smooth grace and strong balance than voluptuous, buxom flaunting. A ponytail of darker tones, pulled back tight against her forehead, leaving long eyebrows to furrow or quirk above golden, almond-shaped eyes. A pointed chin, and sharp cheeks, but the severe angles are equal parts fierce, severe, and enticing.

It’s almost better that you can’t see her. Amélie Lacroix has no flaws, but when robbed of sight, you can run amok with imagining every curve, every little smirk, every delayed heartbeat. It means that when you’re unhindered by temporary blindness, you’ll be able to appreciate her that much more. 

You can imagine her all the more clearly, thanks to the pale lips she’s enclosing around your cock. Her hair slipping to the side, or maybe draped over a shoulder. Fingers that have taken lives delicately squeezing your dick and stroking your balls. Supple thighs holding her in an exaggerated squat. Pert, perky breasts shadowed by her head as she leans forward. Back arched to better emphasize the pert, smooth shape of her ass, looming behind her as she works your shaft. Her eyes might be closed in concentration, or wide-open in excitement, or half-lidded as she looks up at you with a smouldering, hungry glare. And all the while, she never stops suckling and licking, knowing just when to drag her teeth along the skin, or the exact moment to hum so the vibrations go right to your nutsack.

Widowmaker can suck your dick until your balls are dry however she wants, and there’s nothing she can’t do. She can messily, loudly slobber and sputter and drool, throat thrashing around your cock, and she can just as easily can take you inside until your nuts are resting on her chin without a sound. It’s marvelous, and the sensation of her delicate attention conspires with your recollection and mental imaging to bring you to a swift and sudden end. Your balls throb in her grip, your dick shudders in between her lips, and she happily sighs and lets you spurt right onto your tongue, mouth holding fast to keep anything from escaping. It comes out of you in one rocking flood, then another, then another, until her throat bobs and she gulps mightily.

Widowmaker’s mouth comes off with a whistle and a popping sound, but she’s not even breathing heavily. She’s hardly breathing at all, and you know that the sweat you can smell lingering in the air is your own. 

You know what to say.

“Merci beaucoup, maîtresse.” 

She grunts softly as she rises from her squat, releasing her grip on your crotch as she goes. After a pause, perhaps to stretch, she ruffles your hair affectionately.

“Good. Never forget what you are.” Widowmaker murmurs. “You should not need to be blindfolded and bound to a chair to remember that you are mine.”

You nod. Her voice softens even more, and you can hear a hint of amusement in her voice. “Remain still. You have lasted two hours already in your confinement, a remarkable success: do not spoil it now, so close to the end.”

You have no intention of responding, but before you can even think to try, the air before you ruffles with the familiar motion of Widowmaker spinning on her heels...and then, a pillowing sensation you had not dared hope to feel again. You whine, then bite your lip to stop the noise as Widowmaker cushions your cock between her marvelously soft, round, plump asscheeks, pressing them together with her hands, and begins to grind, sawing your dick in the crevice of her perfect backside with smooth, steady glides. 

It’s a good thing you’re tied up, because if you weren’t, you don’t think you’d be able to stop yourself from leaping on Widowmaker, lining up your dick with her invitingly tight asshole, and fucking it raw, whatever the consequences. It is fitting that you are blindfolded, because if you were able to see the muscles of her back straining, or the ripples and jiggling of her ass as she rubbed and thrashed against your dick, you would probably erupt right then and there, coating her butt with your load.

But you can’t, and you won’t, so all you have is to enjoy what you can for as long as Widowmaker will let you. Lucky for you, she’s a doting Mistress, if a demanding one.