A PROFESSORA E A DISCIPLINA

Eu sempre fui conhecida na universidade como a professora mais rígida e, ao mesmo tempo, a mais calma. Meu controle psicológico costuma ser o suficiente para colocar qualquer adulto no eixo.

Mas naquele dia… não foi o suficiente.

A diretora me chamou cedo, com aquele olhar que já dizia tudo:

Professora Lavínia, precisamos de você. É sobre Valentina Rocha.

Valentina tinha trinta anos, era herdeira de uma empresa enorme de tecnologia aeroespacial, e achava que dinheiro comprava tudo inclusive respeito. Uma adulta teimosa, arrogante e acostumada a mandar.

Mas não comigo.

A diretora suspirou:

Ninguém consegue lidar com ela. Ninguém.

Eu consigo; respondi.

E consegui mesmo.

Quando entrei na sala da diretoria Valentina estava lá, molhada literalmente, o cabelo ainda pingando depois de um incidente no laboratório de testes. Estava irritada, falando alto e cruzando os braços como se ainda tivesse cinco anos mentais.

Professora Lavínia, aquela equipe de idiotas derrubou o solvente em mim! ela disse.

Eu me encostei na mesa, cruzando as pernas, olhando bem nos olhos dela.

Silêncio. Controle.

Valentina… você causou meia dúzia de infrações hoje. Interrompeu uma apresentação, desacatou um instrutor e quase danificou um simulador caríssimo. E, além disso, está falando comigo como se eu fosse uma funcionária sua.

Ela sorriu com desdém.

E o que você vai fazer? Me suspender? Me expulsar? Meu pai resolve isso.

Antes que eu respondesse, a porta abriu.

O pai dela entrou: Heitor Rocha, um homem imponente, sóbrio, respeitado no país inteiro.

Valentina correu até ele:

Pai! Essa professora quer tirar meus direitos no laboratório! Manda ela parar!

Heitor apenas ergueu a mão pedindo silêncio.

E então olhou para mim.

Professora Lavínia… ouvi dizer que a senhora é a única aqui que sabe lidar com adultos difíceis.

Valentina arregalou os olhos.

Pai??? Como assim???

Ele continuou:

Essa mulher é adulta, tem trinta anos, e desde os dezessete nunca aceitou limites. Já tentamos tudo. Mas… pela primeira vez na vida, alguém conseguiu impor disciplina.

Ele respirou fundo. Se a senhora achar necessário… pode continuar.

Foi então que eu vi nos olhos dela aquilo que só eu sei reconhecer:

mistura de fúria, medo e… rendição.

Eu caminhei até Valentina devagar, segurando seu olhar até ela desviar.

Coloquei a mão em seu queixo e a forcei a olhar de novo.

Valentina… você precisa de limites. Não porque eu quero… mas porque você está implorando por isso sem perceber.

Ela tentou recuar, mas eu a segurei pelo braço.

Não com agressividade, com autoridade.

Tire as mãos de mim! ela gritou.

Eu sorri.

Não. Não hoje.

Heitor apenas cruzou os braços, observando.

Uma aprovação silenciosa e pesada.

Eu sentei na poltrona da diretora e puxei Valentina pelo pulso.

Ela caiu sobre meu colo, chutando o ar, completamente indignada.

Professora! Você não tem esse direito!

Eu tenho. E você sabe que quer que eu continue.

A primeira palmada ecoou pela sala.

Firme. Precisa.

Não para machucar, para colocar a mente no lugar.

A segunda fez ela prender a respiração.

A terceira fez o corpo dela parar de resistir.

O pai dela observava, sério.

Eu sentia o olhar dele dizendo “continue”.

E eu continuei.

Num ritmo firme, calculado, dominador.

No fim, Valentina estava imóvel.

Respiração curta.

Vontade quebrada.

E finalmente… calma.

Eu levantei seu rosto pelo queixo novamente.

Você vai obedecer as regras da universidade. Vai respeitar os instrutores. E vai me respeitar acima de todos eles.

Entendeu?

Ela assentiu.

Pela primeira vez desde que entrou ali.

Heitor suspirou, aliviado.

Professora Lavínia… nunca ninguém fez ela se comportar assim. Obrigado.

Eu me levantei, ajeitei meu cabelo e respondi:

Não me agradeça.

Disciplinar adultos que acham que mandam no mundo…

sempre foi minha especialidade.

E saí da sala com um sorriso satisfeito.

Um dia cansativo.

Mas delicioso.

Porque, às vezes, o dever realmente traz prazer.

Nota: Este conto é uma obra da minha imaginação, inspirado em sensações, emoções e elementos de uma sessão real, mas sem relação literal com fatos ou pessoas específicas.

Aftercare — The Way I Bring You Back Under My Control

When you enter a session with me, I take you to a place that is anything but ordinary. I pull you out of your comfort zone, out of your patterns, and into a state where your body, your mind, and the deepest part of you respond only to my direction. And because of that, there is something you must understand: the session does not end when the intensity stops. Aftercare is part of my domination over you. When I push you to your limits, your body and your mind shift into a sensitive state sometimes quiet, sometimes empty, sometimes intensely emotional. This is not weakness. This is the result of your surrender to me. And I know exactly how to guide your return. Aftercare is the moment when I bring you back to equilibrium, when your breathing steadies, when your mind settles, and when your body understands everything it just endured under my control. It is when you stop reacting from the intensity and start coming back to yourself safely anchored by my presence. With me, nothing ends abruptly. I don’t leave you floating, confused, or disconnected after something intense. I bring you down with the same precision and authority with which I took you up. This is where the true bond appears: when you realize that domination is not just about pushing you further, but about ensuring you return whole, calm, grounded still under my influence. Without proper aftercare, many fall into what is known as sub drop that emotional crash that confuses, destabilizes, and hurts. With me, you won’t go through that alone. I know the reactions, the mind, the rhythm, and the intensity each body can handle. I take you far. And I am the one who decides when and how you come back. That is aftercare with me: part of your surrender, part of my control, part of the experience only those who stand before me ever get to feel.

Sissy vs. Crossdresser — The Difference Within the Soul

Not all femininity is born from the same source. Some wear a dress to play with aesthetics. And some wear it to discover themselves. The crossdresser seeks a visual experience the texture of stockings, the touch of silk, the reflection in the mirror. He is an artist of the body, transforming himself out of curiosity, aesthetic pleasure, or the simple desire to feel something new. When it’s over, he can return to his daily role, as if closing a book after an intense read. But the sissy… The sissy does not simply wear clothes she wears a suppressed truth. Every gesture is submission. Every color, a symbol of surrender. She transforms not just to see herself in the mirror, but to see herself kneeling before the authority that awakens her. A sissy lives to serve, to learn, to feel guided. Her femininity is ritual, devotion, surrender. She doesn’t seek to be a woman she seeks to belong to the will of the one who dominates her. It is the fusion of pleasure, obedience, and identity. While the crossdresser explores a role, the sissy embraces a destiny. And when the makeup smudges, when the lipstick blends with her heavy breath, that’s when the truth appears not in the clothes, but in the eyes begging to keep being molded.

The Sissy experience

There is a silent moment when everything changes.

When the man who spent his life hiding his desires finally looks into the mirror —

and sees not what the world expects, but what has always lived inside him.

Makeup is not a disguise.

It is revelation.

Each lipstick, each stocking, each heel is a confession of what beats within his soul.

And when the right fabric touches his skin, the body understands what the mind denied for so long:

it is not weakness it is liberation.

Under my guidance, the sissy learns to walk differently, to breathe differently, to exist differently.

She discovers that femininity does not make her smaller it makes her complete.

Because deep inside, what she truly wants is to be seen, shaped, and accepted by my will.

Being a sissy is not a game.It is a ritual.It is surrender.It is the courage to let the man who pretends to be strong die,

so that she may be reborn as what she always longed to feel.And when she kneels before me,

with painted lips and an open heart,I smile.

For in that moment, before my eyes, stands the purest form of surrender:

the transformation of desire into identity.

The Passion for Domination

From the very first moment I understood the power that lives in silence, in a look, and in control, I knew domination would become more than an art it would be an extension of my essence.

Domination fascinates me not only for the act itself, but for the psychology that shapes every gesture, every breath, every surrender. It is a subtle game between desire and control, where the body obeys, but the mind is the first to kneel.

To be a Dominatrix is to understand that pleasure is born from absolute power, but it blossoms through trust.

It is the ability to lead someone to their limits with elegance, turning pain into pleasure, submission into liberation, and obedience into devotion.

Each session is a ritual of presence, intensity, and surrender — a unique moment where every submissive reveals a different universe to explore.

My passion for domination is what fuels my art.

I do not seek to control bodies alone, but to awaken minds, break masks, dissolve resistance, and guide the submissive toward the deepest experience of themselves.

Because to dominate is, above all, to understand the human soul and to know exactly what to do with it.

When Ego Speaks Louder Than Dominance

Nothing destroys the essence of BDSM more than judgment disguised as authority.

I have witnessed and silently observed so-called dominants who use the title of “professional” to justify arrogance, prejudice, and a lack of empathy.

These are not dominants; they are insecure people hiding behind the illusion of power.

True dominance does not humiliate what is authentic.

It does not ridicule identities, desires, or bodies.

A conscious Dominatrix understands that every fetish is its own language a reflection of the mind and of desire itself.

To treat that with contempt is a clear sign of emotional ignorance and, worse, a lack of ethics.

There are those who laugh at someone else’s fetish, who criticize what they don’t understand, who use their position of power to diminish rather than to guide.

And the saddest part is when that behavior comes from those who should be the example.

A professional in BDSM does not exist to project her own insecurities onto others.

She exists to transform, to welcome, and to expand the experience always within the boundaries of respect and awareness.

No submissive should ever feel ashamed of who they are.

Shame has no place in a consensual exchange.

If you have ever been humiliated, rejected, or disrespected for what you feel, understand this: the fault is not yours.

It belongs to those who confuse domination with abuse.

To dominate is not to shout.

It is not to wound.

It is to lead with firmness, clarity, and purpose.

It is to touch the mind before the body.

And that requires emotional maturity, not just practical experience.

When someone asks me what separates a professional Dominatrix from an amateur, the answer is simple:

A true professional masters herself before she ever masters another.

Respecting another’s identity and desire is not kindness it is duty.

Anyone who cannot do that should never call their work art.

The Body Remembers What the Mind Tries to Hide

Fetishes are never born by accident.

They emerge somewhere between the unconscious and desire a place where body and mind meet to translate what even the individual may not yet understand.

Some call it a deviation.

I call it a language.

What awakens desire is often what reason tries to bury.

A sound, a scent, a memory, a forbidden touch — the brain registers it, the body reacts, and pleasure becomes an echo engraved within. Some fetishes seem to be part of us from the beginning, as if written in our design. Others are born from defining experiences tender, sensual, or traumatic leaving subtle and powerful traces.

Then there are those that arise from discovery, from curiosity, from chance.

Sometimes a single glance, a fleeting scene, or an unexpected feeling can ignite something that refuses to fade.

And once awakened, it rarely goes back to sleep.

The human mind adores association. It learns that certain gestures, textures, or sensations are tied to pleasure and begins to crave them.

Not out of addiction, but recognition.

A fetish is the mind’s erotic memory.

And like every memory, it can evolve, vanish, or transform.

Some desires burn fast and bright consuming themselves in their own intensity. Others take root, becoming part of one’s emotional body, part of one’s identity.

A fetish can be refuge, mirror, power, or surrender. It can be born from control or chaos, fear or fascination, pain or love.

There is no “right” or “wrong” in desire.

There is only what is conscious, consensual, and true, and what is imposed, harmful, or unconscious.

The first liberates; the second imprisons.

Self-knowledge is the bridge between what excites and what consumes.

Understanding where your fetish comes from does not mean erasing it it means redefining it.

It is the transformation of impulse into awareness.

And when that happens, pleasure becomes something greater than a reaction it becomes art.

Some wish to understand where their desires were born.

Others simply want to feel them.

Both are right.

After all, a fetish is where the mind bows to the instinct and the instinct reveals what the mind tried to hide.

When Desire Speaks Louder Than Reason

Some things are born in silence. A thought that keeps returning, an impulse you can’t quite explain, a desire that insists on resurfacing even when you try to erase it. You call it a fetish, but perhaps it’s simply a part of you trying to be heard. The right question was never “is this wrong?” The question is: “what does this say about me?”

Desire, when repressed, creates noise. But when understood, it becomes power. The problem is not what you feel it’s how you relate to what you feel. Some seek pleasure as an escape, others use it as a mirror. One reveals truth; the other hides emptiness. You must know on which side you stand.

Many carry guilt that was never theirs. They were taught to fear pleasure, to hide their bodies, to control what is natural. And the more they repress it, the stronger it becomes. But pleasure is not the enemy of reason it is the path to knowing it. When you stop fighting what you feel, you begin to understand what truly moves you.

Any desire can become a cage if it’s used to fill a void. When pleasure turns into necessity, you lose control. When the body acts before the mind, something within you is asking for help. True pleasure is born from choice, not urgency. Where there is clarity, there is control. And where there is control, there is freedom.

There is no such thing as a “good” or “bad” fetish. There is only what destroys you and what reveals you. And to know the difference, you need courage: the courage to look at yourself without disguise. What you do does not define who you are. But how you do it does. Perhaps your fetish is not a mistake to be fixed, but a door one that, if opened with awareness, can lead you to the truest version of yourself.

The Silence Between Fear and Desire

True domination begins long before the first touch.

It is born in the gaze, in the held breath, in the tension that precedes surrender.

Choosing whom to yield to is more than an impulse it is a decision that changes how you see and feel the world.

Because there are those who simply play… and there are those who turn this game into art.

In my sessions, time bends.

There is no rush, no distraction, no mask.

Only presence mine and yours.

The body becomes an instrument, the mind a fertile ground for pleasure and vulnerability.

Every detail is part of a ritual: the sound of leather, a whispered command, the silence that forces you to think.

To dominate, for me, is to understand the soul before the body.

It is to read what hides in your gestures, pauses and hesitations.

I like to go beyond what you imagine you can endure yet never cross what must remain untouched.

The limit is my brush, and fear, my paint.

I do not believe in formulas.

Each person is a universe, and that is what fascinates me.

Some arrive seeking pain, others redemption.

But in truth, all crave the same thing: to feel something real, intense and unforgettable.

What happens behind closed doors is more than a session.

It is a mirror.

It is where you discover how much you can strip away not your clothes, but the layers that shield you from your own desire.

And once the moment ends, nothing remains the same.

My space was created for this.

Discreet, silent, safe.

Every object, every instrument, every scent was chosen to provoke a reaction.

It is not about pain or pleasure it is about control.

And control is what separates reality from fantasy.

I do not accept everyone, nor do I wish to please everyone.

I prefer the intensity of a few over the excess of many.

Each act of submission I receive becomes a story written by two, an offering that only makes sense when there is trust.

If you understand that BDSM is more than a practice it is a dialogue between power and surrender then perhaps you are ready to cross the door.

But be warned: what lies beyond it is not entertainment.

It is an experience.

And when it begins, the world outside simply disappears.

Allow yourself to live a single experience. Step inside and close the door.

Copyright Notice: Text and image by Mistress Lavinia. All rights reserved. Reproduction, editing, or use without prior authorization is strictly prohibited.