if it plays. if not how do i fix it so it does?
xx
Sunday, June 26, 2011
a higher resolution clip
i've already posted about this 'art' vacuum bed installation when it appeared in the UK press. here's a clip all the way up to 720p (and remember you can save youtube videos with the right browser and widgets) which fills my screen. embedding has been turned off so you'll need to go here to see it.
i always am curious how fetishism feeds into mainstream culture even if its just art galleries. now could i find funding to make a full latex doll mannequin suit and get paid to stand in dress shops?
xx
i know where i am in SL now
in case you want to visit i'm back in the Shadow Box and can be found Estate Obscure.
come visit.
actually i simply adore the shadow box and am working on a draft story around it. well its draft now, hope to finish it sometime which will lead to more possibilities of what it does and can do to me. in short; it inspired me.
i'll share the story so far with anyone in world that im's or comes to visit.
xx
ps; looks like someone has realized similar themes in real life:
latex leggings for the masses
i check out both ebay.co.uk as well as our local .com one when looking for latex and it wasn't a surprise that latex like leggings are still very strong and varied in the uk. here not much of anything.
guess they really didn't break into mainstream and is reserved for celebrities and movie stars. so go to ebay.co.uk if your after a pair or two.
meanwhile i did spot these transparent latex pantyhose which have been mis labled as leggings. no idea if they're using stolen images or if they even look like that however.
still, they're utterly yummy latex and if anyone knows who makes them do let me know and i'll post the correct link.
xx
guess they really didn't break into mainstream and is reserved for celebrities and movie stars. so go to ebay.co.uk if your after a pair or two.meanwhile i did spot these transparent latex pantyhose which have been mis labled as leggings. no idea if they're using stolen images or if they even look like that however.
still, they're utterly yummy latex and if anyone knows who makes them do let me know and i'll post the correct link.
xx
photoshopped or real
not sure exactly though i could almost believe or be persuaded that its a doll suit. it looks manufactured rather than computer generated and based on the thickness it could well be real. the thickness reminds me of the old suits used in tron or how old neoprene looks when cut and layered up.
anyone know the truth or do you like me just want to think its real.
xx
wellie spotting at mudfest 2011 aka Glastonbury
i was emailed a link to this story about singer Jessie J's still singing at the festival even with a broken foot.
i wondered why and then scrolled down and saw the photo of an assistant helping her on with a pair of wellies (aka rain boots) and i know why it was sent in :-)
who makes them and where do i buy a pair? someone must know. if your on twitter please ask her for me!!
xx
i wondered why and then scrolled down and saw the photo of an assistant helping her on with a pair of wellies (aka rain boots) and i know why it was sent in :-)
who makes them and where do i buy a pair? someone must know. if your on twitter please ask her for me!!
xx
Monday, June 20, 2011
here i am, encased and soon to become art
yes!! i finally heard from the maker of the Shadow Box display system that i previously reported on several occasions which i spotted on the SL Fetish Fashion Blogspot. it was all a weird co-incidence. i was posing in my doll display case in Stones and Rubber then the area collapsed and was rebooted into some newbie space when i heard from the designer. after chatting to her a bit and discovering she's working on several new models based on suggestions from customers, she tp'd me over to see them for real.
i have loads of ideas on how to customize it for my own particular tastes. one of which relates a favorite fetish story 'a bottle of lesbians'. she took me to a working on and i'm still here now. no idea where here is - though i'll stay until told otherwise.
xx
Saturday, June 18, 2011
there's always a sale on
i've missed reporting on a few of them them but guaranteed both Westward Bound and Libidex have something on sale every couple of months. more so at Westward bound it seems.
here's the latest from Libidex.
Libidex Five Suit Sale - 30% Off selected range.
Starting today, Libidex will be cutting the prices of a select five of our sensuous catsuits from our Made to Order range - and remember, that means in any colour and any size you wish!
As our website expands, many of our wonderful creations get forgotten about. This sale will highlight some of our more unusual designs, offered to you at a better price than normal. Visit our website now to purchase one of these special catsuits at a whopping 30% off! This sale will only last for a week so hurry and place your orders now.
sadly what they don't sell is posters of any of the images they've shot for their catalog. wouldn't that be a really really good idea? maybe life sized even ;-)
xx
new rendered latex imagery by Minos
can be found by visiting his Perilous Thoughts website and see his latest latex creation here .
which reminds me i must send him an email as hopefully we can collaborate on a story one day.
that offer goes to any other artist or writer out there too.
xx
which reminds me i must send him an email as hopefully we can collaborate on a story one day.
that offer goes to any other artist or writer out there too.
xx
sometimes i rewrite stories i find
just for my own interest and in this case it was a M/M story so had to fix it so i could get into it more. i also added more latex fetishism into it.
this is pretty old - probably 2001 or so. thanks to Coppelia for such a wonderful story in the first place.
xx
Dummy
by Coppelia
One night, she who I call my lover came to me as I slept, and penetrated me with a needle of exquisite length. The shock of its entry brought me awake even as my lover's drug begun its work. Helpless, I gazed through the darkness into the face of my fate. She spoke then, in the same, soft, tender voice I had heard so many nights before:
"You know that you can't move, don't you? Not so as a fingertip. Even now your breath becomes shallow, the rise and fall of your chest slighter; so slight it scarcely seems you live. But you do live, don't you?"
As she spoke, she traced the contours of my chest with her lovely fingers, circled my nipples, ran a palm teasingly my sides, flexed, and reached unhurriedly for my groin. Every touch registered: I could feel the shape and weight of my balls cradled in her hand, feel that hand's warmth, the eddying of her breath as she spoke. Everything, distinctly, yet removed, as if I was already withdrawing from the fragile frontiers of my newly immobile form. 'Self' now centred behind eyes and ears, a spark in the darkness of the room, as I awoke to my new dawning passivity. I lived, drew faint breath, and that was all.
"It's important that you do live, my darling. What I have one tonight is only a beginning, for both of us. I shall remake you and you will help me do it."
She leant forward and kissed me on my frozen lips.
"I love you."
Firm fingers reached up, and gently closed my eyes.
***
Perhaps I slept. Perhaps she drugged me again. In any event, I had no awareness of time passing. I had no dreams. Simply: it as dark; it was light again. And I was staring up at myself.
Perhaps the torpor her drug had induced in my body brought a similar effect upon my mind. I only know that I felt no surprise at suddenly seeing myself thus: naked, laid out with arms by my sides, face up on a brilliant white table in a brilliant white room. Some small part of my mind calmly noted that in fact I was looking up into a full length mirror set on the ceiling. Mystery solved. My lover leaned forward into the vision she had just granted me, and smiled.
"Now we begin."
First she shaved me - face, chest, armpits, legs. She lingered over my groin, stroking my cock, cradling my balls as she had before- Then she shaved my head, my eyebrows, and removed my eyelashes.
Finally, after what must have been the work of many hours, I was completely hairless; every inch of flesh utterly denuded. Even the fine down in the cleft of my buttocks had been sought out, and eliminated. I watched myself in the mirror, more naked now than when I was born. Watched the needle go in again; and welcomed it.
***
When light returned, a sheet covered me from neck to feet. All curiosity gone, I relaxed easily into my ever-deepening passivity, and waited.
"First I strip you down..."
My lover whirled the sheet away with a conjurors flourish. Revealed, the shiny-smooth skin of my inner thighs arched towards my pelvis - and met, unencumbered by the graceless bags of flesh and gristle that had been my masculinity.
"...And now I build you up. Watch!'"
She moved towards a trolley of gleaming surgical instruments at the head of the table.
***
What follows next must have taken a long, long time. My lover slices, cuts, stitches and sews, removes and inserts, remoulding my form to her own unknowable plan. And always I watch, in the mirror. On one occasion, by careful manipulation of a second, hand-held glass, she shows me the two tiny surgical steel valves she has installed in the heels of my feet. One is to regulate the flow of nutrients into my body, the other governs the removal of waste from it. Two pencil-thin tubes run from the valves to a remarkably small flat box which controls the entire process. Impassively, I watch the progress of the pale translucent liquids through the tubes. I am grateful that my lover has done this. I don't want to die on the very cusp of this strange new life.
Another time, I awake to find the sheet in position again. My lover is humming. She sounds pleased. She pulls away the sheet.
"Voila!"
The feminine form in the mirror looks back at me, serene, self- composed, self-sufficient. Its new perfectly-shaped full breasts tilt upwards challengingly. I feel a distant erotic pleasure. I am beautiful. Divining my thoughts, my lover laughs out loud.
"Now we can really get down to business..."
***
First, I am sprayed. My imperfect, pinkish-brown skin toned down to a slick, flawless all-over white; the thick, fast setting gel granting a new immobility laid upon my immobility. Now I am not only motionless, but rigid as well. When the compound dries completely, my lover removes the protective shields from my eyes and I see for the first time my new, porcelain-pure skin.
Sensation now takes on a new meaning. I find I can no longer differentiate between the limits of old and new skins. The marble-cool smoothness I feel when my lover touches that unblemished outer surface *is* my skin. She raps her knuckles against my shoulder. A sharp, clacking sound. I am a thing of mere flesh no more.
Make-up, or rather, painting next. Eyebrows redrawn, slightly quizzical, upward tilting. Delicately rouged cheeks. The subtlest of greys for the eyelids; luxuriant new eyelashes glued on; mascara and kohl effects complete the illusion. Blood red for the lips. Nails, long and shaped, painted to match. Contact lenses are fitted; appropriately blank for the outside, transparent from within. My vision is not at all impaired. I feel a faint sensation of relief. I do so want to watch. A big moment - the wig. My lover toys with various styles and shades, finally settling on a mid-length affair, soft black curls tumbling in profusion to my alabaster-white shoulders - a good choice. Even naked, I am haughty, austere, regal...beautiful.
At last - dressing up. My lover is clearly enjoying herself, and I share in her pleasure as she tilts me back to slip black silk panties up into my crotch. I feel their smoothness next to mine, hugging me there closer than anything I have ever worn in that other life, which already seems to me no more than a waking dream.
Suspender belt, the sheerest black stockings, and garter go on next. I am raised to standing position to facilitate this, the valves in my feet engaging with slots in my specially-designed stilettos. A moment's dizziness assails me, compounded as much by the fear that I will no longer be able to watch these final stages of my transformations as it is by the sudden rush of blood from my brain. If I were not so perfectly supported by my new skin, I would topple, and perhaps shatter on the tiled floor.
Ever-attentive, my lover senses this momentary distress, indicates with a smile and a wave of a hand the ring of mirrors ranged about us. Through a reflection of a reflection of a reflection, I can see better than ever before; myself, from every aspect. Perfect, and very nearly complete.
My lover next busies herself with the boned and wired basque, lacing and relacing, making the most of the narrow waist and broad hips she has sculpted from me. These intimate attentions have roused her, the points of her inflamed nipples pushing at her satin blouse as she works. She is disciplined, however, and contents herself merely with long, slow movement of her hand up one stiffened leg which ends in clench between the thighs which almost lifts me from the floor. All the while, her amused blue eyes bore into mine with a fixity only her drugs and artistry have allowed me to surpass.
Outer garments have already been selected, are quickly hung upon me, as I am zipped and buttoned tightly in - a taste of my fate to come. Smoothing down the ruching on the gorgeous beaded bodice of a crimson latex evening gown, adjusting it's bustle, arranging the voluminous skirt, and finally adjusting a pretty little jet choker about my throat, she speaks again.
"Oh, yes, you are beautiful, my mannequin, my dummy. Do you see yourself in the mirror, my model? What a exquisite thing you have become! By- reducing - you to this dumb immobile clotheshorse, this shop window statue, I have freed you from the burden of ordinary humanity. For you there is no need for a name, no burden of meaning, or doing."
"Look in the mirror, my dummy, and what do you see? Some - *thing* - which simply is. I envy you that repose, and thank you. Because I couldn't have made you over into this beautiful object without your help. you do know that, don't you? If your mind had not willingly embraced the same total acceptance I forced on your flesh, if you hadn't come to want this magical thing as much as I did, then you would never have survived the transformations. But you did want this, my beautiful dummy, I know. And for wanting this as much as me, for changing yourself so totally into this miraculous object, you shall have your reward..." She bent, and whispered in my sculpted ear.
***
She kept her word. I am now installed in a shop window, in an expensive and adventurous fetish boutique. Quite how she managed this feat, I don't know. Of course, nor do I care. It is enough that I am here, perfect, inviolate. Once or twice a week, giggling shop girls who know nothing of my mystery change my clothes, dress me in shimmering fabrics, startling colours, the best the store has to offer. I am good for business. People gather to gawp at me through the window, not knowing why; come in to clutch at the cloth which I imbue with a little of my own uniqueness.
My lover visits often, to marvel with me at my latest incarnation, repeated to infinity in the store's many mirrors; and to check on her cunning mechanism, which runs out through the hollow heels of my shoes, into the pedestal to which I'm fixed.
And she has shared another secret with me: there is a polymer, a chemical, in the nutrient which flows into me from her clever little device, a chemical that reacts with the subcutaneous fat in my body, and with my hidden human skin. Stiffening it, changing it, cell by cell, inexorably, transforming it into a form of plastic that melds indivisibly with the gloss hardness of the second skin she has already granted me, until there will come a moment, soon, when there is no separation possible between one and the other.
I yearn for the moment. The final farewell to transient flesh. With every minute of every hour of every day I continue to change, becoming less and less human, more and more object. My thoughts move slowly now.
I feel myself becoming stiffer, more solid; more and more the beautiful thing she has made of me...And when, at last, the process is complete, my lover has promised she will take me home. Where her mannequin will pose, just for her.
Forever.
this is pretty old - probably 2001 or so. thanks to Coppelia for such a wonderful story in the first place.
xx
Dummy
by Coppelia
One night, she who I call my lover came to me as I slept, and penetrated me with a needle of exquisite length. The shock of its entry brought me awake even as my lover's drug begun its work. Helpless, I gazed through the darkness into the face of my fate. She spoke then, in the same, soft, tender voice I had heard so many nights before:
"You know that you can't move, don't you? Not so as a fingertip. Even now your breath becomes shallow, the rise and fall of your chest slighter; so slight it scarcely seems you live. But you do live, don't you?"
As she spoke, she traced the contours of my chest with her lovely fingers, circled my nipples, ran a palm teasingly my sides, flexed, and reached unhurriedly for my groin. Every touch registered: I could feel the shape and weight of my balls cradled in her hand, feel that hand's warmth, the eddying of her breath as she spoke. Everything, distinctly, yet removed, as if I was already withdrawing from the fragile frontiers of my newly immobile form. 'Self' now centred behind eyes and ears, a spark in the darkness of the room, as I awoke to my new dawning passivity. I lived, drew faint breath, and that was all.
"It's important that you do live, my darling. What I have one tonight is only a beginning, for both of us. I shall remake you and you will help me do it."
She leant forward and kissed me on my frozen lips.
"I love you."
Firm fingers reached up, and gently closed my eyes.
***
Perhaps I slept. Perhaps she drugged me again. In any event, I had no awareness of time passing. I had no dreams. Simply: it as dark; it was light again. And I was staring up at myself.
Perhaps the torpor her drug had induced in my body brought a similar effect upon my mind. I only know that I felt no surprise at suddenly seeing myself thus: naked, laid out with arms by my sides, face up on a brilliant white table in a brilliant white room. Some small part of my mind calmly noted that in fact I was looking up into a full length mirror set on the ceiling. Mystery solved. My lover leaned forward into the vision she had just granted me, and smiled.
"Now we begin."
First she shaved me - face, chest, armpits, legs. She lingered over my groin, stroking my cock, cradling my balls as she had before- Then she shaved my head, my eyebrows, and removed my eyelashes.
Finally, after what must have been the work of many hours, I was completely hairless; every inch of flesh utterly denuded. Even the fine down in the cleft of my buttocks had been sought out, and eliminated. I watched myself in the mirror, more naked now than when I was born. Watched the needle go in again; and welcomed it.
***
When light returned, a sheet covered me from neck to feet. All curiosity gone, I relaxed easily into my ever-deepening passivity, and waited.
"First I strip you down..."
My lover whirled the sheet away with a conjurors flourish. Revealed, the shiny-smooth skin of my inner thighs arched towards my pelvis - and met, unencumbered by the graceless bags of flesh and gristle that had been my masculinity.
"...And now I build you up. Watch!'"
She moved towards a trolley of gleaming surgical instruments at the head of the table.
***
What follows next must have taken a long, long time. My lover slices, cuts, stitches and sews, removes and inserts, remoulding my form to her own unknowable plan. And always I watch, in the mirror. On one occasion, by careful manipulation of a second, hand-held glass, she shows me the two tiny surgical steel valves she has installed in the heels of my feet. One is to regulate the flow of nutrients into my body, the other governs the removal of waste from it. Two pencil-thin tubes run from the valves to a remarkably small flat box which controls the entire process. Impassively, I watch the progress of the pale translucent liquids through the tubes. I am grateful that my lover has done this. I don't want to die on the very cusp of this strange new life.
Another time, I awake to find the sheet in position again. My lover is humming. She sounds pleased. She pulls away the sheet.
"Voila!"
The feminine form in the mirror looks back at me, serene, self- composed, self-sufficient. Its new perfectly-shaped full breasts tilt upwards challengingly. I feel a distant erotic pleasure. I am beautiful. Divining my thoughts, my lover laughs out loud.
"Now we can really get down to business..."
***
First, I am sprayed. My imperfect, pinkish-brown skin toned down to a slick, flawless all-over white; the thick, fast setting gel granting a new immobility laid upon my immobility. Now I am not only motionless, but rigid as well. When the compound dries completely, my lover removes the protective shields from my eyes and I see for the first time my new, porcelain-pure skin.
Sensation now takes on a new meaning. I find I can no longer differentiate between the limits of old and new skins. The marble-cool smoothness I feel when my lover touches that unblemished outer surface *is* my skin. She raps her knuckles against my shoulder. A sharp, clacking sound. I am a thing of mere flesh no more.
Make-up, or rather, painting next. Eyebrows redrawn, slightly quizzical, upward tilting. Delicately rouged cheeks. The subtlest of greys for the eyelids; luxuriant new eyelashes glued on; mascara and kohl effects complete the illusion. Blood red for the lips. Nails, long and shaped, painted to match. Contact lenses are fitted; appropriately blank for the outside, transparent from within. My vision is not at all impaired. I feel a faint sensation of relief. I do so want to watch. A big moment - the wig. My lover toys with various styles and shades, finally settling on a mid-length affair, soft black curls tumbling in profusion to my alabaster-white shoulders - a good choice. Even naked, I am haughty, austere, regal...beautiful.
At last - dressing up. My lover is clearly enjoying herself, and I share in her pleasure as she tilts me back to slip black silk panties up into my crotch. I feel their smoothness next to mine, hugging me there closer than anything I have ever worn in that other life, which already seems to me no more than a waking dream.
Suspender belt, the sheerest black stockings, and garter go on next. I am raised to standing position to facilitate this, the valves in my feet engaging with slots in my specially-designed stilettos. A moment's dizziness assails me, compounded as much by the fear that I will no longer be able to watch these final stages of my transformations as it is by the sudden rush of blood from my brain. If I were not so perfectly supported by my new skin, I would topple, and perhaps shatter on the tiled floor.
Ever-attentive, my lover senses this momentary distress, indicates with a smile and a wave of a hand the ring of mirrors ranged about us. Through a reflection of a reflection of a reflection, I can see better than ever before; myself, from every aspect. Perfect, and very nearly complete.
My lover next busies herself with the boned and wired basque, lacing and relacing, making the most of the narrow waist and broad hips she has sculpted from me. These intimate attentions have roused her, the points of her inflamed nipples pushing at her satin blouse as she works. She is disciplined, however, and contents herself merely with long, slow movement of her hand up one stiffened leg which ends in clench between the thighs which almost lifts me from the floor. All the while, her amused blue eyes bore into mine with a fixity only her drugs and artistry have allowed me to surpass.
Outer garments have already been selected, are quickly hung upon me, as I am zipped and buttoned tightly in - a taste of my fate to come. Smoothing down the ruching on the gorgeous beaded bodice of a crimson latex evening gown, adjusting it's bustle, arranging the voluminous skirt, and finally adjusting a pretty little jet choker about my throat, she speaks again.
"Oh, yes, you are beautiful, my mannequin, my dummy. Do you see yourself in the mirror, my model? What a exquisite thing you have become! By- reducing - you to this dumb immobile clotheshorse, this shop window statue, I have freed you from the burden of ordinary humanity. For you there is no need for a name, no burden of meaning, or doing."
"Look in the mirror, my dummy, and what do you see? Some - *thing* - which simply is. I envy you that repose, and thank you. Because I couldn't have made you over into this beautiful object without your help. you do know that, don't you? If your mind had not willingly embraced the same total acceptance I forced on your flesh, if you hadn't come to want this magical thing as much as I did, then you would never have survived the transformations. But you did want this, my beautiful dummy, I know. And for wanting this as much as me, for changing yourself so totally into this miraculous object, you shall have your reward..." She bent, and whispered in my sculpted ear.
***
She kept her word. I am now installed in a shop window, in an expensive and adventurous fetish boutique. Quite how she managed this feat, I don't know. Of course, nor do I care. It is enough that I am here, perfect, inviolate. Once or twice a week, giggling shop girls who know nothing of my mystery change my clothes, dress me in shimmering fabrics, startling colours, the best the store has to offer. I am good for business. People gather to gawp at me through the window, not knowing why; come in to clutch at the cloth which I imbue with a little of my own uniqueness.
My lover visits often, to marvel with me at my latest incarnation, repeated to infinity in the store's many mirrors; and to check on her cunning mechanism, which runs out through the hollow heels of my shoes, into the pedestal to which I'm fixed.
And she has shared another secret with me: there is a polymer, a chemical, in the nutrient which flows into me from her clever little device, a chemical that reacts with the subcutaneous fat in my body, and with my hidden human skin. Stiffening it, changing it, cell by cell, inexorably, transforming it into a form of plastic that melds indivisibly with the gloss hardness of the second skin she has already granted me, until there will come a moment, soon, when there is no separation possible between one and the other.
I yearn for the moment. The final farewell to transient flesh. With every minute of every hour of every day I continue to change, becoming less and less human, more and more object. My thoughts move slowly now.
I feel myself becoming stiffer, more solid; more and more the beautiful thing she has made of me...And when, at last, the process is complete, my lover has promised she will take me home. Where her mannequin will pose, just for her.
Forever.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
away from Second Life for just a bit longer
i can't seem to get my netbook to run SL clients so it will be a few more days until i return. so many apologies to all of you who said i was going to be on this weekend.
xx
xx
there's a story in this series..
from an advertising campaign, i'm guessing for the clothes?none the less its amazingly well shot. hope someone takes on the task of captioning them in some way.
maybe cursed display cases - the only way to get the mannequin out it to take their place, of course these curses rarely come with instruction manuals.
xx
Friday, June 03, 2011
its all a mall life...
i was wondering through what appeared to be an endless mall trying to kill some time while on this work trip and for the life of me i couldn't find a thing that tickled my kinky parts. nothing remotely fetishistic. nothing for a latex fetishist either.
so more navel gazing, how besides the obvious music videos and Catwomen are people discovering the spark of their inner fetishists?
ok, i've seen some heels and a few pair or more 'designer' rubber boots - though other than that - nada.
comment?
one start of an idea is a fetish is closer to art in some ways. when you see the fetish item be it clothing, shoes or something more intimate something just clicks, comes into sharp focus - resonance starts in mind and heart and you just need to connect to it - almost to be consumed by it. or is that just me?
xx
now in a new comic
thanks to Andy Latex for adding me to a custom new comic for his yummy blog. its a result of mainly all his work and stylised illustrations skills with me jumping in the to some slight copywriting around his core concept.
its been posted on Smooth Slick and Shiny Blog awhile ago and with ally my dashing around and work i've sadly and rather embarrassingly not done anything with it.
its above now and do click on it to view it at full resolution.
he's had some blogger issues which resulted in almost loosing it all so go visit it asap. like me at present, due to work loads he's now just uploading some of his large past work to share with the world.
due leave feedback - its what keeps us all bloggers going.
xx
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
who wears latex the best?
pop Q; (in a vague attempt to get people to reply in comments i must admit)
who in your opinion wears latex the best? Lady Gaga, Rhinna, Katey Perry or even Fergie?
here's Lady Gaga being interviewed:
i wonder if she's created a demand for latex amongst here 'monsters'.
according to the kinkiest conservative UK paper the Daily Mail Lady Gaga admits she went bankrupt after spending millions on tour costumes the full story: here
xx
who in your opinion wears latex the best? Lady Gaga, Rhinna, Katey Perry or even Fergie?
here's Lady Gaga being interviewed:
i wonder if she's created a demand for latex amongst here 'monsters'.
according to the kinkiest conservative UK paper the Daily Mail Lady Gaga admits she went bankrupt after spending millions on tour costumes the full story: here
xx
the deepening
i had loaded the image from a hypno domme who i peak into on occasion and she has some very nice hypno gifs. i wanted to do a longer entry though for now here's a little teaser.
she seems to be obsessed with the idea of her slaves being zombies through her Mp3s- has anyone had experience with her work be it MP3's or the animated Gifs?
xx
she seems to be obsessed with the idea of her slaves being zombies through her Mp3s- has anyone had experience with her work be it MP3's or the animated Gifs?
xx
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