Category: other

Crawl to serve Me now, HERE!

Episode 1: Meet the slaves: Loser and Worm

The dungeon air hung thick with anticipation, cool stone walls absorbing the faint scent of ozone from the equipment. At its heart, illuminated by strategically placed spotlights, stood the black-haired Dominatrix. Her presence wasn’t just commanding; it was sculpted in high-gloss darkness. She wore a black PVC mini-skirt, clinging to Her curves with an almost predatory sleekness. Below it, encasing Her legs, were Her signature black PVC overknee boots. They rose impossibly high, the severe, unbroken lines ending just above Her knees, the material reflecting the dungeon lights with a cold, but mesmerizing sheen. No zippers marred their perfection; they were a seamless column of dominance.

Before Her, kneeling on the polished floor, were Elias and Ren, but the Dominatrix did not call them by their names. She called them Loser and Worm. Their eyes were lowered, fixed on the impossible shine of Her boots. The Dominatrix regarded them, a faint, knowing smile playing on Her lips. “Rise,” She commanded. Her voice was a low purr that resonated in the quiet space. They obeyed instantly, and their movements were fluid with practiced submission. “You understand the privilege,” She stated. “The black PVC overknee boots demand reverence. They demand cleanliness. You will perform this task with the focus it deserves. Every inch. Every curve. Understood?”

“Yes, Dominatrix,” they chorused, their voices thick with a mixture of awe and desire.

Episode 2: The fun begins

The Dominatrix extended one long leg, the black PVC overknee boot catching the light like a blade. “Begin,” She ordered, Her tone shifting from instruction to expectation.

Loser and Worm moved as one, sinking back to their knees. Their hands hovered for a moment, almost reverently, before making contact with the cool, smooth surface of the PVC. There was no zipper to navigate, because the boots were a single, seamless entity. Starting at the sharp, pointed toe, Worm began, their tongue flattening against the cool, slightly yielding material, tracing the severe line upwards. The taste was faintly chemical, clean, mingling with the subtle scent of the PVC itself and Her skin beneath.

Loser focused on the heel, the severe arch where the boot met the sole. He worked meticulously, his lips and tongue mapping the curve, feeling the minute texture of the high-gloss surface. The PVC warmed slightly under their ministrations, becoming pliant yet unyielding. They moved upwards in unison, their breath misting slightly on the polished surface as they covered the instep, the ankle, the long, muscular calf encased within. The only sounds were the soft and wet ones of their devotion and the occasional creak of the Dominatrix shifting Her weight, watching them with hooded, approving eyes. The black PVC overknee boots were not just footwear. They were an altar, and the slaves were the acolytes.

Episode 3: Concluding the session

“Enough,” the voice of the Dominatrix cut through the focused silence, not harsh, but absolute.

Loser and Worm froze instantly, pulling back, their lips glistening, chests rising and falling rapidly. They remained kneeling, eyes still downcast, fixed on the now pristine black PVC overknee boots.

She regarded them, a deep satisfaction warming Her usual cool expression. She took a step closer, the boots making a soft, definitive thud on the stone. She cupped Loser’s chin, tilting his face upwards. His eyes met Hers, filled with a profound mixture of exhaustion and fulfillment. “You worship the boots,” She murmured, Her thumb brushing a stray smear of moisture from his cheek. “You worship Me.”

She turned to Worm, offering a hand. Worm took it, pressing his lips briefly to Her knuckles before rising. “The devotion was… complete, Dominatrix,” Worm whispered. His voice was raw with emotion.

The Divine One nodded. “The ritual is concluded. The black PVC overknee boots are satisfied.” She gestured towards a low divan draped in dark velvet. “Aftercare. Now! You’ve earned it.” Her tone brooked no argument, layered with the care that always followed the intensity of their shared dynamic. The gleaming boots led the way, a symbol of power revered, as the Dominatrix and Her slaves moved towards the softer light, the scent of PVC and devotion lingering in the air.

Shiny hugs and love,
Diana

Meet the Giantess now, HERE!

Episode I. The chamber that knows its place

The chamber was designed for proportion, though not for comfort. Everything within it (walls, markings on the floor, the placement of the lights) existed to emphasize one truth: She was too large to be questioned.

The Giantess Dominatrix entered without ceremony, Her black PVC catsuit reflecting the cold glow overhead. Each step of Her high heels resonated through the chamber, not loud, but final. The slaves were already kneeling where they had been instructed, heads lowered, hands placed precisely as required. They did not look up. They had learned better.

“Positions,” She said calmly.

At once, they adjusted, backs straighter, knees aligned, eyes down. One slave shifted a fraction too slowly.

The Giantess stopped.

Silence stretched. Her posture alone was enough to draw attention like gravity.

“You will remember,” She said, “that delay is a choice.”

“Yes, Giantess,” the slaves replied together.

She resumed Her movement. The floor accepted Her weight without protest. The slaves did too, but with fear.

Episode II. The law of proximity

The Giantess stood among them now, vast in scale, Her presence rewriting distance itself. To be close to Her heels was to feel watched. To be beneath Her was to feel measured.

“Look,” She commanded.

They raised their eyes, not to Her face, but to Her stance, to the polished curve of Her heels, to the ground that belonged to Her alone. She paced slowly, deliberately, ensuring each slave understood where they stood in relation to Her.

“You are not small by accident,” She said. “You are small because I allow it.”

One slave swallowed, nerves betraying discipline.

She stopped directly before him.

“Do you understand where the law comes from?” She asked.

“Yes, Giantess.”

“And where it is enforced?”

The slave hesitated, only a breath too long.

The Giantess Dominatrix lifted Her foot slightly, not threatening, merely present.

“Here,” the slave answered quickly.

A faint smile touched Her expression. Not kindness, but confirmation.

Episode III. When the ground responds

The ritual continued, until one slave shifted again, testing, perhaps unconsciously, the limits of Her patience. His knee slid forward, breaking alignment.

The chamber felt suddenly smaller.

The Giantess turned with deliberate calm.

“Naughty,” She said, not loudly, not harshly. The word itself was enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from the group.

She stepped back, raising Her high heel higher this time.

“This,” She said evenly, “is what happens when the ground must remind you who commands it.”

She brought Her foot down.

The impact did not strike the slaves, but the floor itself answered. A deep vibration rolled outward, the chamber trembling beneath Her magnitude. The slaves felt it through their knees, their chests, their bones. Dust trembled from the edges of the walls.

The Giantess did not move afterward.

She simply stood, letting the silence settle again.

“Correct yourself,” She said to the offender.

He did. Instantly, perfectly.

“Good,” She replied. “The ground listens. So should you.”

Episode IV. The weight of permission

Later, She allowed them closer, not as reward, but as responsibility. Kneeling near Her heels required control. Any tremor was visible. Any fear was obvious.

She looked down at them, one by one.

“You serve beneath Me,” She said, “because I force you, because I choose that you shall remain.”

“Yes, Giantess,” they answered, voices steady now.

She shifted Her weight slightly, testing them. None moved.

“Remember this,” She said. “I do not need to step on you to command you. The knowledge that I could is sufficient. But rest assured: if I have to, I will.”

She turned away, Her heels retreating with slow authority, leaving the slaves exactly where they belonged, smaller, steadier, and fully aware of the measure that ruled them.

The chamber returned to calmness.

The ground did not forget.

Shiny hugs and love,
Diana

Tie her up now, HERE!

Episode I – A stillness that meant devotion

The chamber was quiet, except for the faint hum of the overhead lights, their reflection rippling over the red catsuit that encased the submissive’s entire body. She sat on the floor with her legs held wide by the spreader bar, her hands secured together in front of her, wrapped tightly in fabric. Her posture was purposeful, chosen for endurance rather than comfort.

The hood left only her eyes visible: calm, steady, and trained toward the door she could not see, but sensed in every breath. The lock on her collar rested against her throat like a symbol of the lack of freedom, rather than a restraint.

She waited not because she had been told to wait, but because waiting was the point.

Episode II – His footsteps cut through the quiet

When Master finally entered, He said nothing at first. Words were unnecessary. His presence changed the atmosphere on its own. He circled behind her, observing how she held the posture she had prepared long before He arrived.

His hand never touched her. This was not a moment for touch. But He adjusted the angle of her shoulders with a gesture alone, a faint motion that told his sub what He expected. She corrected herself immediately, controlled in each shift of tension.

“Hold,” He instructed, and the single word filled the entire chamber.

She did.

And He watched, analyzing the steadiness of her breath, the discipline in her stillness, and the silent commitment behind the hooded eyes that never drifted away from Him.

Episode III – The trial of endurance

Time was not measured in minutes here, but in obedience. Master placed a wooden rod across the back of her upper arms, extending it like a horizontal line that she was not to disturb. The position forced her torso forward, strengthening the pressure on her arms and core.

She remained still.

Her breathing slowed, not out of weariness, but out of devotion to control. Master moved in front of her, crouching so His eyes met the narrow opening of her masked gaze. There was no distress there, only determination. He nodded once.

“Good,” He murmured. “Now follow!”

He instructed the slave to shift her focus, not her body, into imagining the weight of His expectations pressing more firmly on her than any restraint could. The psychological demand was sharper than physical fatigue.

Yet, she held.

Episode IV – Questions that measured her spirit

Master rarely asked questions during training, but when He did, they carried weight.

“Why do you stay in stillness?” He asked, hands clasped behind His back.

Her answer required no voice. He had long trained her to communicate through presence, not sound. The way her gaze steadied, the way her muscles formed a quiet line of endurance, it was enough.

He stepped closer, close enough for His shadow to fall over her. “You choose this?”

Her head dipped a fraction of a nod. Not instinctive, but intentional.

He walked around her again, slowly. “And do you surrender because you are compelled… or because you trust?”

Another pause. Another silent, measured nod.

The faint exhale from Master carried something rare from Him: approval.

Episode V – A reward defined by restraint

Approval from Master was subtle, never dramatic. His hand reached forward, not to touch her face or body, but to gently remove the wooden rod from across her back. Relief was not the point; recognition was.

“You maintained more control than I required,” He said softly. “Look at Me!”

Her eyes lifted to His immediately.

“For that, you earn a privilege.”

He unlocked the collar. Only for a moment. Only as a symbol. The lock clicked free, He held it in His palm, and then He replaced it carefully at her throat.

Unlocking and relocking her was the deepest sign of trust He ever granted.

One breath, two… then she bowed her head, accepting the gesture as the honor it was.

Episode VI – The return to the red quiet

When Master finally stepped back, the chamber seemed to settle around them. The test had ended, but the atmosphere had not loosened. He touched nothing else, not her restraints, not the spreader bar, not the tied hands. She did not need release to understand the moment’s significance.

“Be still,” He whispered. “Let the silence hold your discipline.”

And she did.

The reflective PVC catsuit glowed softly beneath the dim lights, her breath calm, her posture restored, her devotion unshaken. Master left the chamber with the same deliberate quiet with which He had entered.

The submissive remained behind, not abandoned, not forgotten, but preserved in the ritual stillness that defined her.

For her, restraint was not confinement.

It was purpose.

Shiny hugs and love,
Diana