Victoria Cayne

Every session better than the last…

I very rarely am speechless but this toy’s writing is so incredible, I really don’t have much to say aside from having someone completely trust and surrender to Me is truly magical. 

Hi F/folks:

I’m not qualified to review a Domme of Mistress Victoria Cayne’s caliber, so this isn’t really a review. I feel tremendously fortunate to have met MVC and this is one way I have of saying thank you for some of the most amazing sessions I’ve ever had, and for her kindness toward me. Our first session was mind-blowing and I’ve been her client ever since. We took a year-long break during the pandemic before a vaccine became available, but we stayed in touch during that time. Once we were both fully vaccinated, I was fortunate to find myself kneeling at her feet again. This is an account of a session we had right before Christmas of last year. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks in advance for reading.

Mistress Victoria Cayne was dressed discreetly in a black hoodie, sneakers, and track pants. Her hood was pulled down over her head to cover her striking red hair and her soulful brown eyes flashed at me from above a black face mask. No one would have guessed she was a dominatrix unless they took a gander at her make-up which was several notches more provocative than that of your average jogger. It was a new hotel for us, a step down from what we’re accustomed to, but the city was booked solid during the week before Christmas. We spoke excitedly as the elevator made its way up the floors. Some kids who appeared to be just out of college were in the elevator with us, dressed in identical outfits to let the world know they were on the same marketing team. We continued talking after we entered the room. She gazed down at my sweatshirt.

“Block Island? Where’s that?” 

I began telling her it was a place I spent summer vacations when I was a boy, but she started pinching my nipples through the sweatshirt and it soon became impossible to speak. I grew tumescent in my jeans as she crushed my nipples between her thumb and forefinger; all the while whispering words of encouragement and urging me to take more for her. I melted. Right there and then, I became totally and completely hers.

Mistress told me to remove my clothes while she went to change. I stripped and waited for her, crouched on the floor in the downward-facing dog position. Mistress Victoria emerged transformed. Shimmering red hair swirled around a beautiful, oval face with alabaster skin, full, sensual lips, an aquiline nose, and flashing brown eyes. A sheer, semi-transparent, black top tried in vain to cover her lithe, tattooed, body. She wore nothing underneath but a black garter belt and tan, high-fashioned stockings. On her feet were patent leather, stiletto-heeled mules. She was truly a Goddess to behold—utterly breathtaking. I gazed up at her enchanted. 

“I remember you said something about stockings.” She smiled, pointing to her elegant feet in their shiny black mules.

I knelt and eagerly pressed my lips to her toes, moaning softly because it was all too much and I felt like she’d opened up the gates of paradise for me.


I knelt up, unsure what her command meant.

“I meant to kiss all the way up my stocking.” 

“Yes, Ma’am!” I replied with the eagerness of a puppy. I kissed from her toes all the way up her leg to the garter clasp, making little doggie noises because I was so incredibly turned on. When I’d finished worshiping her right leg, she pointed to her left and I continued my joyous task. Finally, she pointed to the bed. I lay spread eagle on it, while she tied me down slowly and sensually. MVC took her time planning and executing my bondage. Every knot felt like love as she pulled it tight. 

It’s very difficult to describe a session with Mistress Victoria Cayne in a linear fashion because I go into a sort of ecstatic fugue state when I play with her. She’s like a great jazz musician, pulling inspiration from the moment and using her many years of experience to transform a BDSM session into high art. I say I’m not really into bondage, but as she bound me to the bed like a meticulous spider, I groaned and whimpered with the tightening of every knot. The whisper of her fingertips over my skin was like the Ten Commandments coming down from on high. She took me into a different world. My whole body became a sensory receptor. I became pure id. A stockinged foot covered my nose and lips. She blindfolded me so I couldn’t see what she was doing. Gloved fingers drove me to the point of desperation as the conductive gel was sensually applied. Mistress attached the electrodes. The current was only a whisper at first. She brought it up very slowly.

“Do you feel anything yet?”

I didn’t at first. Then, suddenly, there it was. “Yes, Ma’am!” I called out like a child who’s just discovered an Easter egg.

“Good. Can you take more?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am!”

She increased the current slowly until the peaks of the waves were almost painful but not quite. My senses were so heightened, the needles of electricity felt like another, more intense form of pleasure. Goddess continued working on me—tormenting my sore nipples, covering my face with her feet, and playing my body like a violin. It was sensory overload. I wondered how she was doing all of those things to me simultaneously. Was Mistress Victoria an alien with powerful psychic abilities and an extra set of hands to tease and torment me with? If so, I was dearly hoping she’d carry me off in her spaceship!

“This has nothing to do with your pleasure. It has everything to do with my control.”

Thank you, Goddess! I’m not worthy! 

“Sorry I’m making so much noise, Ma’am.” The sensations were so intense I couldn’t keep quiet. “I can’t help it.”

“I love it!” The little growl in her voice left no doubt as to her sincerity. Mistress Victoria Cayne was like a tigress with her prey. Utterly enslaved by her touch, I looked into her eyes and felt our connection lock. A powerful current seemed to flow between us; a pulsing wave of energy passing from her into me and back again in a perfect, closed circuit. I remember feeling like I’d come home—like after all my searching, trials, and tribulations, I’d finally found the Mistress I was born to serve. I told her how much I loved being her toy. I told her I felt safe with her, that I trusted her. 

Mistress Victoria graciously acknowledged her possession of me. “Yes, you’re mine.” She smiled down at me as I writhed in ecstasy at her touch. “You’re my toy and you belong to me completely.”

Sure, we both know nobody can ever really belong to anybody else. In fact, we discussed that very thing later that afternoon. In reality, we can only ever really belong to ourselves. But for those two hours, while I was her prisoner in Shangri-La and Mistress Victoria Cayne had her way with me, I belonged to her body and soul. 

After having her way with me on my back, Mistress flipped me over onto my stomach. I told her I felt like a grilled cheese sandwich and she laughed, re-imagining me as a panini. I luxuriated in the warm, sensual glow as she bound my arms and legs securely to the bed for a second time. Every knot felt like a kiss as she pulled them tight. Cool conductive gel was applied while I lay on the bed floating in a stoned haze of subbie anticipation. The electrodes went on and I felt the first whisper of current beginning to flow through my balls. She pushed it a little higher…

[Apologies, but in the interest of discretion and to appease the SESTA/FOSTA gods who have given us impossibly vague guidelines to follow, I must draw an opaque curtain over my session account here. Everything that happened fell within the boundaries of safe, sane, consensual BDSM play, but the gods are capricious and I’d rather be safe than sorry.]

I lay on my back trying to catch my breath for what seemed like a long time. I felt reborn. I still do, sitting here and typing these words with my sore nipples. When our time together was over, I brought Mistress Victoria’s bags downstairs to her waiting car. We exchanged a warm hug and said our goodbyes. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she said she was looking forward to next time. 

“Me too!” I turned to look at her as I was walking away. “With all my heart!”

I returned home, utterly exhausted and deliriously happy, smiling at everyone I passed on the street. Afternoons as perfect as that don’t grow on trees. We’re fortunate to experience them even a few times in our lives. Since serving Mistress Victoria Cayne, I’ve been granted an embarrassment of riches. The more I get to know her, the better I like her. She’s truly kind and giving to those she deems worthy. MVC has the opposite of the dreaded “domme-itis” syndrome. She’s like the anti-domme—completely natural and down to earth?no artifice whatsoever. What you see is what you get. 

“If I have to sell you on how great I am, we aren’t a good match,” she said to me. “My reputation speaks for itself.” 

My first session with MVC was in January of 2019 and my devotion to her has steadily deepened. I’ve lost interest in seeing anyone else. It’s incredible to me that every session just keeps getting better, even after all this time. Any sub she deems worthy to serve her is truly blessed. I’m overjoyed to count myself among them.

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