Queening, anyone?

So, many of my readers know that I used to work as a pro Domme in a Manhattan dungeon back in the day, and if you didn’t know, now you do.  It’s no longer open.  It was one of many in *lower midtown* ~ on 20 something street~east side.  We were always busiest in the afternoons~ men in suits dropping in on their lunch breaks for a quick dose of humiliation, heartbreak, or pure hate.  It was a fun place to spend my early 20s and I have many fond memories there. 

One of the most popular requests was for Queening sessions, also known as *face sitting*, but I find that term to be a bit vulgar~ aren’t I such a prude? The fine art of Queening involves a dominant woman and a submissive male creature.  The Domme essentially makes herself comfortable by parking her fanny on the willing victim’s face.  The outcome is for him to not only feel excited, but to also feel threatened. One of my favorite fetish artists is Namio and he loves to portray images of Queening…

Will her weight crush him? Oh but she smells so sweet, so divine! It’s getting harder and harder to breathe but his useless bundle of genitalia doesn’t care~ it must have a death wish! She shifts her weight a bit to make herself even more comfortable, and grabs a fashion magazine to pass the time.  The fabric of her panties is tickling his lips.  If only… She senses his naughty thoughts and swats him with her crop.  I know what you’re thinking, she says, as she casually flips the pages, but we both know you could never please me.  The scent of heavy perfume from the magazine is mixing with her own.  She can hear him struggling to breathe beneath her and she smiles.  Need to come up for air? She loves to taunt him.  No, Miss, no, no… everything is perfect, I could die here beneath you.  You’d be about as useful to me dead as you are alive, she mocks. She starts to daydream about her boyfriend and the incredible sex they’d had only a few hours earlier that morning.  Her client groans.  She knows how much he adores her, it’s obvious by the expensive weekly sessions he books, the generous tips and gifts, and that ridiculous puppy dog mopey face that he cannot hide when he has to say goodbye at the end of their hour.  He cannot bear to hear the details of her lovemaking, but she always tortures him with them, anyway.  He woke me up with breakfast in bed today, she cooed and slowly grazed her crop up and down his thighs.  She could barely hear his deflated mumble of, Yes Miss, so she rubbed it in even deeper.. and I was the breakfast!  A platter of peaches, cream and me! Oh Miss, please! Please, what, worm? Please you? Hahahah!  Never! You are a lowly minion deserving of nothing.  You will forever suffocate for my whims.. and … oh, look at that! Hahahah! Your time is up.. your hot date of the week, your ONLY date… is over.  You get to go back to the office with blueballs and I’m going to out and spend your money.  See you next week, same time, sucker!

…and speaking of Queening, care to have a look at these fabulous chairs that would make perfect Queen’s thrones? Click here!

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