I am shanghai dominatrix Alessandra

I met first slave in 2008 so I have 16 years of experience in various BDSM practices as the role of foot mistress, chastity domme, pain domme, boot goddess, pegging domme...

Background: If you ask me how I got into BDSM, the answer is simple: I knew very early that domination is in my blood. I grew up in a family where my father is dominant and my mother is submissive. However, I never lose confidence and dominance even though I was awashing in daily belittlement from my misogynist and beta loser father. He tried to shame me into conforming to his narrow views of femininity. I am sorry for him because his brainwashing on me never works! Instead, I embraced my strength and my power. I became a dominant girl, unafraid to take charge and assert myself in any situation. I refused to let anyone else define or limit me based on my gender. You may wonder why I did not become a submissive like my mother. It is possible to question self-value when you spent your childhood with such a misogynist and dictator father. I think partly because dominance is in my blood and partly because I had the right judgment when I was 7 or 8 years old which was I realized he is a total loser.

Introduction: In the amazing city of shanghai, I blend in seamlessly as an average office lady by day. However, beneath the guise of normalcy lies a secret identity that few are privy to - I am the female dominant, a BDSM educator-dominatrix who dominated and practised BDSM on over 600 submissive western men behind closed doors. For me, being a BDSM educator-dominatrix is not just a role to play, but a part of who I truly am. And as I continue to walk the fine line between light and darkness, I know that my journey is far from over - for the world is full of submissive men just waiting to fall under my spell.

I am shanghai dominatrix Alessandra known not only for my unwavering control, but for my ability to navigate the shadowed edges of desire with the finesse of a conductor guiding an orchestra of the forbidden. Over the years, I've mastered countless fantasies, indulged every manner of kink, and peeled back the layers of even the most guarded submissives. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for the man I came to call the King of Fetish.

He was tall, composed, quietly intense—and beneath that calm, beautifully timid. A veteran airline captain, he had spent over thirty years in the skies, a man of discipline and command, trusted with lives at 40,000 feet. But the moment he came into my world, that facade softened. He didn't come to assert control—he came to lose it. And not just through submission, but by surrendering to the most elaborate, unapologetically taboo map of desires I had ever encountered.

He came bearing 18 fetishes.

Yes—18. Each one specific, psychologically intricate, and emotionally layered. He wasn't there for release. He was there for ritual, for degradation, for worship. He wanted to be dismantled—fetish by fetish, breath by breath. And I, the architect of his undoing, was ready.

Here is the constellation of his cravings:

Hair Fetish – His need began at the scalp: the dried scent of my urine woven into strands of hair, a lingering marker of ownership he begged to inhale.

Nail Fetish – The scent of fresh polish sent him trembling. Watching and smelling me paint my nails was his liturgy—sharp, chemical, divine.

Golden Shower – Not just a kink, but a rite. Warm, humbling, pure dominance in liquid form.

Nylon/Stocking Fetish – Sheer fabric gliding over skin, the shimmer on my legs—it was visual ecstasy and tactile obsession.

Foot Fetish – He worshipped every inch: arches, toes, heels—kneeling before them with a reverence I usually reserved for temples.

Nipple Torture – He craved sensation that bordered on cruelty—ice, clamps, wax, slaps—all sacred in his world of pain-meets-pleasure.

Breath Play (Strangulation) – My hands around his throat didn't inspire fear. They inspired surrender.

Snorting Pee – He didn't want to be degraded. He wanted to be devoted. This act was his form of prayer.

Vomit Fetish – Messy. Raw. Vulnerable. What the cockpit never allowed—emotionally unfiltered chaos.

Spit Fetish – A single drop on his face triggered rapture. Saliva as a symbol of unrepentant contempt and control.

Pegging – He reversed the dynamic willingly. I led; he opened. My power became the rhythm of his undoing.

Trampling – My heels pressing into his chest weren't pain—they were proof. Proof that he existed beneath me.

Plastic Bag Breath Play – Suffocation and rescue, terror and trust. Gasping under cellophane until I decided he'd had enough.

Sneeze Fetish – A release, uncontrolled and sudden. Erotic to him. Amusingly powerful to me.

Cough Fetish – The rasp, the fragility. Each sound stirred him in ways even he couldn't articulate.

Heel Fetish – My stilettos weren't just footwear. They were sharp declarations of who ruled the room.

Chastity – He wore denial like a second skin. Locked, aching, beautifully tormented.

Prolapse Fetish – The final frontier. The ultimate taboo and humiliation. And to him, the most exquisite form of giving everything.

He was a man who had once ruled storms and turbulence, but here—on the ground—he sought to be shaken from within. In the skies, he wore layers of protocol, uniform, control. With me, those layers peeled away, piece by piece, revealing a raw, pulsing need to be undone.

Each session brought us closer to his core—not just physically, but psychologically. We stripped away the pilot, the prestige, the pride. We uncovered the trembling soul underneath. He didn't just want to indulge his fetishes—he wanted to disappear into them. To be overwhelmed. Held by them.

And I?

I became the storm he could no longer fly through.

Last month, a Canadian slave booked a foot fetish and bondage session with me.

I arrived at his hotel room in Shanghai and said“You have chosen to serve this evening, but remember, submission is both a gift and a challenge.”
I prepared my tools—a collection of ropes that would bind him partially, allowing just the right amount of movement to maintain his desire without granting him true freedom. The ceremony began as I secured his wrists, each knot tied with precision and his journey into submission.
“Tell me what you yearn for,” I commanded, my gaze piercing through him like a needle stitching his desires into reality.
“Your feet, Mistress,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I wish to worship them.”
With those words, I smiled, a slow and deliberate curve of my lips that promised much but gave away little. “Very well,” I replied, reveling in the control I held over him.“But know this: reaching them will require all your strength.”
I positioned myself comfortably on sofa, my feet adorned with delicate anklets that shimmered like stars against the midnight sky. As I extended my legs before him, I relished the subtle power shift—the captive gaze locked onto my feet, sparkling with imagination.
“Begin,” I commanded softly yet firmly.
He strained against the bonds that held him, his muscles trembling as he attempted to inch closer. The ropes allowed him just enough mobility to advance but were cunningly restrictive, ensuring that every small progress was hard-won—a metaphor for submission itself. His determination only heightened my thrill; watching him struggle lighted a flame within me.
As he stretched out his tongue, longing etched on his face, it was still not enough. The gap between his eager desire and my alluring feet remained teasing—just out of reach. His resolve coiled into desperation as he attempted to bridge that gap, inch by painstaking inch.
“Is this what you truly want?” I teased, arching an eyebrow in mock innocence. “To worship at the altar of my feet? Your movements tell me your heart is willing—yet here you are, struggling.”
He breathed heavily, sweat glistening on his brow as he nodded fervently, the reality of submission dawning on him like the first light of dawn chasing away shadows. The challenge invigorated our dynamic; I was not just a mistress but an embodiment of every fantasy he had ever dared to dream.
“Push harder,” I urged, savoring my role as both guide and judge. "Let the ache be your reminder of your devotion."
With another surge of effort, he strained closer, desire mingled with frustration etching deeper lines across his brow. He was so close now; I could see him visualize the moment he would capture my foot with reverence. But then reality struck again like a cruel joke—the tempting distance remained prominent between us.
“What will you do for me now?” I asked playfully, indulging in my role as I relaxed back comfortably, relishing in the scene before me.
He moaned softly—a sound both delicious and pitiable—his tongue flicked out once more in an effort to close the remaining distance. Each small movement sent waves of anticipation through me; I reveled in my mastery of this game.
“Beg,” I commanded, speaking softly yet sternly.
His breath caught for a moment as he hesitated, vulnerability coursing through him like electricity. But then he let go of all pretense; dignity dissolved into humility as he pleaded in fervent words that flowed through clenched teeth.
“Please, owner Alessandra… allow me to worship your feet.”
In his submission lay an invitation; it beckoned to even greater depths of pleasure for us both. I could feel the power thrumming within the room like a heartbeat between us—this was not merely about bondage and fetishes; it was about exploration, trust, and unabashed intimacy.
“Then you must try harder,” I replied with a sultry smile that forged a connection deeper than any restraint could shackle. “Show me your devotion; make every ounce of effort count.”

[Like Ra]

He came bearing 18 fetishes.

Yes—18.

Beat my half thousand https://www.likera.com/blog/wp/archives/15022 🤣

[Like Ra]

I merged the threads since they all are about you. And YOU are very welcome!

thank you.

As a prodomme in Shanghai, my approach is centered on crafting experiences that strike the perfect balance between pushing boundaries and nurturing trust. Each session is tailored to the unique needs and desires of my submissives, ensuring deep connection and intense exploration. Recently, a Lebanese client reached out to me for a mummification session. Recognizing the significance of this request, I prepared meticulously.

I arrived at his hotel promptly, ensuring the environment was serene and free from distractions. The room was softly lit, creating an atmosphere conducive to focus and immersion. With everything in place, I was ready to guide him through an experience of deep restraint and sensory stimulation.

Since it had been years since my client had last undergone mummification, I began gently. Seated comfortably on a plush sofa, I partially wrapped him from his shoulders to his waist. The mild restraint allowed him to ease back into the sensation of being bound while still retaining enough movement to acclimate. During this phase, I instructed him to pick up various objects from a table using only his mouth, presenting each one to me as an act of submission. This simple yet effective exercise served to heighten his awareness of the restriction, building anticipation for what would come next.

Once I sensed he was ready, I moved on to full mummification. I wrapped him tightly from head to toe, ensuring every inch of his body was encased in the embrace of the material, leaving only his nose and mouth uncovered to allow for breath. With his movement entirely restricted, I shifted the focus to his sense of smell — a subtle but powerful tool in sensory exploration.

I instructed him to inhale deeply, guiding him to concentrate on the scent of my body. As he did, I presented him with a challenge: he had to identify the body part by scent alone. If he succeeded, he would earn the privilege of worshipping my feet. However, if he failed, there would be consequences — a spanking after I released him from the mummification.

The session unfolded as an intentional and carefully orchestrated dynamic of control, obedience, and sensory stimulation. Each phase of restraint was designed not only to test his limits but to deepen the power exchange between us. It was a profound experience that transcended physical restriction — a powerful exercise in trust, submission, and the subtle art of connection between Mistress and submissive.


Shanghai Mistress Alessandra