More from Sierra

• Submit to the Darkness

  October 19, 2025

  There’s something delicious about Halloween—the way the air crackles with mischief, the darkness inviting you to give in to secret desires you’d never whisper in daylight. I’m Sierra— blonde, wickedly confident—and tonight I don’t crave candy. I crave control.

  You see, Halloween isn’t just costumes and carved pumpkins for me. It’s the night when the veil between your restraint and your fantasies becomes paper-thin. When you knock on my door, you’re not asking for treats—you’re offering yourself as one.

  Leather gloves, slow grin, and a whispered “Good boy… or girl… we’ll see.” I pull you inside. The only light comes from flickering candles and the orange glow of jack-o’-lanterns, casting shadows on the restraints laid neatly across silk sheets. My heels echo on the floor as I circle you like a hungry predator.

  Every command is consensual. Every tremble, every breathy “yes, Sierra,” is my favorite kind of music. I love the moment your wrists rest in my grasp willingly—when trust binds tighter than any rope. Your pulse skips when I trace a fingernail down your neck and remind you, softly but firmly, that you belong to me tonight.

  I don’t need monsters or ghosts to give you chills. The way I tilt your chin up, the soft bite of satin against your skin, the blindfold lowering over your eyes—that’s the kind of haunting that lingers.

  So when the clock strikes midnight and others are chasing candy and costumes—you’ll be tied in my web of silk and desire… grateful you knocked on my door.

  Happy Halloween, pet.

• Holy Blasphemy: My Sub Delights

  September 29, 2025

  Blasphemy, they say. But when a man submits to me like the devout believer to his deity, I savor the sacrilege. My body, a temple of dark-eyed temptation; my allure, a forbidden fruit. As I bask in the glow of power, I infuse each cathartic moment with holy blasphemy.

  Today’s devotion begins as our trembling supplicant, Alex, presents himself before me. His eyes, ablaze with hunger, cannot mask the terror of surrender. I orchestrate his degradation, every stroke of my tongue, touch of my hands, a profane benediction. “Worship me, blasphemer,” I command, as I guide him to his knees.

  He takes my supple thigh in his hands, his lips a fervent prayer against my skin. Each kiss a sin, each caress a transgression. Yet, Alex revels in the depravity, his faith unwavering in the face of his own corruption. “Holy fuck,” he gasps, as I slip my fingers beneath the waistband of his pants, “you’re going to—”

  “Silence” I admonish, my hand wrapping around his throbbing cock. “Blasphemy is my gift to you, and you will receive it on your knees.” I stroke him with deliberate slowness, each movement a blasphemous blessing.

  As he nears his breaking point, I slide down his body, my hair a golden curtain, my kiss a blasphemous benediction on his heaving chest. “Open wide, my apostate,” I demand, as I descend further, my lips hovering above his cock. With a wicked grin, I engulf him in my mouth, my eyes locked on his, drinking in his rapture.

  Alex’s litany of profanity turns to wordless prayer as I worship his manhood, each suck a blasphemous rite. His climax is a defiant declaration of his submission, a holy blasphemy that fills my mouth with the evidence of his devotion.

  As he collapses back onto the bed, spent and shuddering, I rise to tower over him, my beauty a corrupting influence. “Remember, my faithful disciple,” I say, “in my realm, every act of worship is a profane indulgence. Blasphemy is our sacrament.”

  And so, Alex remains at my mercy, a grateful servant to my every desire. For in the world of holy blasphemy, the mistress reigns supreme, and her devotees know no bounds of sin.