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

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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.

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More from 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
  • Latex Lessons from Mistress Whitney

    Latex Lessons from Mistress Whitney

    by Mistress Whitney • 888-750-4746 Ext 840

    Latex Lessons from Mistress Whitney

    My latex fetish is more than a kink – it’s a weapon. The sound of my gloves snapping makes you tremble before Mistress Whitney even touches you. I move slow, deliberate, letting the rubber slide across your skin as I whisper about obedience, control, and the art of surrender.

    You kneel before me, eyes downcast, hands cupped submissively in your lap. My black latex catsuit stretches obscenely over my full curves, the crotch panel a tantalizing thong. I place a gloved hand on your eager head, fingers weaving through your hair as I guide you to worship my boots.

    The way you smell the rubber, lips brushing against the polymer as if it’s the most sacred thing, turns me on. You’re so greedy for my touch, constantly seeking permission to lick and suck at the gloves I leave carelessly draped across my thigh.

    I command you to strip, latex clinging to every inch of your skin as you reveal the extent of your devotion to Mistress Whitney. Your cock throbs, hard and leaking, trapped inside a skintight rubber sheath that accentuates every vein and ridge. You think you’re a perfect latex toy, but it’s your submission I crave.

    Now, bend over the table and reach back to grip the edge, spreading your ass in a lewd display. This is what you’re made for – to be arranged, used, and dominated by your latex fetish dominatrix. I trail a boot up your inner thigh, the smooth leather a contrast to the textured rubber on your other side. I can feel your pulse racing, the way you tremble in anticipation of my touch. It drives me wild.

    As I tease your entrance, coated in sticky latex lubricant, you try to push back, eager to be filled. But I hold you off, gloved fingers curling in your hair as I demand you wait for my command. Your moans and whimpers are music to my ears, proof that you understand your place. Only Mistress Whitney can give you what you need.

    With a decisive snap of my fingers, I declare, “Now.” And then I claim you, my latex-covered cock sinking deep into your rubber-wrapped hole as you scream your surrender to me, to your latex fetish, and to the sensual domination of your mistress. You’re mine, now and forever.