💌 📖
Skip to main content

Go on, take a peek… You know you want to!

Whitney’s Store

Shop Now

Switch

I love switching back & forth. You could call me a light switch lol. I love going from sweet and subby to sensual domme.

Role Play

There is something about getting swept away in someone else’s fantasy that makes my panties wet. Do you have a wild idea you want to act out? I am your girl.

Country Fun

You know the saying “Country girls play like a boy, love like an angel and know their way around a big ….

Buy Minutes

Sexting

Tip Me

Pics Panties & More

The Sinful Pen

More from Whitney

  • Whitney’s Office Séance

    Whitney’s Office Séance

    By Whitney · Bio · All Blogs · Twitter

    Whitney’s Office Séance

    My office is a séance of power; latex and whispers replace paperwork as obedience signs its own contract. The very air vibrates with electricity as I stand before my submissive employees, my blouse half-open, my skirt slit high, my eyes glowing like candle flames behind my glasses.

    Slowly, deliberately, I walk among your ranks, my stiletto heels clicking on the polished floor with each measured step. Your eyes, wide and hungry, follow my every move, drinking in my every sultry detail. I savor your reaction, feeding off your desire for dominance.

    In the center of the room, I set my crystal ball, a beacon for the dark magic that soon takes hold. Wearing my full leather regalia, I swing my arm in a wide arc, encircling you all within my dominion. You tremble with anticipation, knowing your bodies are now mine to command.

    With a flick of my wrist, I unleash the spell of obedience. Latex restraints sprout from the furniture, binding and immobilizing you instantly. Moans of pleasure and surrender echo through the room as the struggle leaves your bodies.

    And now, as I circulate among my possessed playthings, I take my pleasure, using my powerful thighs to grind against any who dare resist. Their cries of ecstasy mingle with the scent of latex and musk, confirming that they crave this possession as much as I.

    When dawn hits the blinds, every soul here will still work for me – their bodies, minds, and very souls bound to my will. And as I leave this office, I already envision the next séance, when we’ll once again dance in the thrall of dark desire.

    Behave beautifully,
    Whitney
  • Whitney The Mirror Mistress

    Whitney The Mirror Mistress

    By Whitney · Bio · All Blogs · Twitter

    Whitney The Mirror Mistress

    In my latex and in my mirror, obedience finds its reflection; every command echoes twice—once from my lips, once from the glass.

    As Mirror Mistress, I rule with an iron fist, my domineering presence amplified by the haunted portal I’ve mastered. My reflection in the silvered glass is my quivering prey, a puppet danced upon by my every thought and desire. From the moment I don my skintight black latex, suffocating curves molded to my voluptuous form, I am the embodiment of control.

    My submission slave, a quivering mass of flesh and need, enters the opulent chamber lit only by flickering candles and the mirror’s ethereal glow. His eyes, glazed with equal parts fear and arousal, drink in the sight of me – a vision of sleek, shadowed power, my piercing blue gaze burning through the transparency of latex.

    “Kneel,” I command, my voice low and husky, the words dripping with authority as they reverberate within the glass. The slave scrambles to obey, his reflection mirroring his movement in perfect synchrony. Through the mirror, I’ve claimed dominion over his very being.

    “Strip,” I order, savoring the way his hands shake as he fumbles with the fastenings of his clothes. The mirror magnifies each tremble, each gasp, as he reveals himself to me, vulnerability wrapped in skin. His reflection undresses in tandem, a tantalizing preview of the flesh to come.

    Once bared, I run my gloved fingers over the mirror’s surface, tracing the outline of a willing slave. “Touch yourself,” I instruct, watching, transfixed, as he mimics my gesture. His fingers brush his chest, his belly, each caress mirrored in the glass, amplifying the sensations until his entire body is flushed and quivering with need.

    I step closer, latex creaking with each movement, until our reflections almost touch. “Service me,” I growl, and the slave, driven by an insatiable hunger, crawls forward, his lips pressing against the mirror in a passionate, desperate kiss. Our silhouettes meld into one, a symbol of the unholy union I’ve forged between flesh and glass.

    In the throes of passion, our bodies move as one, the slave’s writhing form mirrored in every contortion, every gasp. I cup his face, fingers digging into the mirror’s surface as I force him to meet my gaze. “You are mine,” I hiss, and in that instant, his reflection shatters, merging irrevocably with my own.

    When I release him, the slave crumples to the floor, spent and broken, yet a twisted smile plays upon his lips. He knows, as do I, that he is forever owned by the mistress of the mirror – a pawn in my game of twisted control.

    Now bow to the woman in the glass, because she’s me—and she always wins.

    Behave beautifully,
    Whitney