So I will start off by saying that I am a lucky Femdom Mistress, as I have quite a few strokers and goon pets. I like my pets to edge themselves stupid for me, turning them into complacent goon zombies who do my bidding without questions. Let me tell you about some of my favorites, the ones who’ve truly learned what it means to be a stroking, gooning toy under strict cock control. Each one has been molded into a unique combination of desperation, obedience, and mindless stroking devotion under my rules. There’s nothing quite like the raw, electric thrill of owning a cock that isn’t even in the same room as me. When one of my pets is locked into his Lovense, or simply wrapped in his own trembling hand, and I get to decide every stroke, every edge, every agonizing pause… and that power hits different. It’s intimate and absolute. I can feel the moment his brain starts to leak out through his tip, when the rhythm I set turns coherent thoughts into nothing but “yes Mistress” and desperate, wordless need. I love watching and witnessing their need through voice clips, through frantic texts, through the way his breathing cracks on a call, how completely I can unravel him. One slow command to grip tighter, one cruel command to stop, and suddenly he’s not a man with a job and opinions anymore; he’s my personal goon toy, mindless and leaking, existing only for the next pleasure pulse I allow.
But it’s more than just the cock control that gets me wet. It’s the surrender that follows. These pets give me their focus, their time, their shame, their orgasms (or lack thereof), all wrapped up in pretty little rituals of tease, delay, denial and worship. They edge for hours because I said so, they repeat my mantras until their voices break, they send proof of their dripping desperation just to earn a single “good boy.” And in return? I get to revel in the sweetest kind of dominance, which is “total” of course. I love how they become softer, dumber, needier versions of themselves the longer I keep them stroking, how their gratitude pours out in shaky thank yous and groveling voice messages. I love the slow burn of knowing I’ve turned a grown man into a leaking, brainless altar who’d rather edge himself stupid for me than cum without permission.
I love my stroking pets. I love my goon sluts. Because every denied orgasm, every ruined edge, every hour spent lost in trance of my voice and my pics reminds me that true power doesn’t have to be loud or aggressive, it can be the quiet certainty that I can keep you hard, aching, and obedient for as long as I damn well please.
Now settle in as I share with you some of my favorite strokers, edgers and goon pets, all exposed for our amusement here today.
Filthy Femdom Mistress Shares Her Favorite Strokers & Gooners
Hands Free Sissy Slut
Oh, you have to hear about this one, my delicious little hands free wonder. He’s utterly perfect in his slavish servitude to me. I get such satisfaction from owning a sissy slut whose clitty erupts at the mere whisper of my voice, without so much as a fingertip graze across that sensitive little thing. He’s truly one of my crown jewels, a living testament to how deeply I’ve rewritten his wiring. No stroking required, no permission to touch, just pure, shameful, spontaneous surrender whenever I decide to toy with his fragile sissy mind. That recent commute “mishap” was divine. I was simply cooing in his ear about all the wicked things I wanted to do to him, reinforcing what he already knows: he’s not a man, never was, just a simpering sissy beta whose only purpose is to leak and cream for superior Women. There he was, trapped in traffic, thighs clenched, panties already damp, trying desperately to hold it together… until he couldn’t. His clitty spasmed, pulsed, and flooded those poor lace panties with hot, useless sissy cream right in the driver’s seat. He had to pull over, waddle to a gas station like the messy little slut he is, and change into the spare pair he had in his luggage. The shame must have been exquisite, reduced to a spontaneous, hands free ruin simply because I spoke.That rush of power is addictive. Hearing how his body betrayed him so completely, no effort on his part, just my words triggering the explosion- it confirms everything. He belongs to me at the cellular level. And that first clip I saw of him… I still revisit it when I want to remind myself how right my instincts were. There he was with that other Mistress, already so far gone, squirming in satin panties, hips twitching, little clitty bobbing uselessly. He wiggled and writhed like a desperate girl in heat, building himself into a frothy mess until he popped, creamy spurts soaking the fabric while he whimpered apologies and thank yous. The moment I watched that video, I knew: this one needs to do it for me live, exploding to the sound of only my voice. I claimed him soon after, and the first time he came hands-free for my voice alone? Perfection. Same frantic squirming, same inevitable, emasculating spill, only this time it was all for Mistress Becky. My laughter echoed through the call as he sobbed in relief and disgrace. Then there was the pendulum session, pure genius on my part, if I do say so myself. I had him stand legs apart, pretty skirt hiked up so I could fully see everything. I told him to swing that clitty back and forth like a little pendulum. He obeyed, of course, hips rocking, clitty slapping side to side with increasing speed. The sheer motion turned frictionless humiliation into unbearable stimulation. He reported later it felt like the ultimate erasure- no hands, no stroking, just his own body whipping his pathetic nub until it couldn’t take anymore. The explosion came hard, spurting pathetically while he gasped “I’m not a man, I’m Your sissy.” He called it one of the most emasculating moments of his life, and for me, it was one of the most empowering. Sissy boys deserve total emasculation. It’s what keeps them dripping, devoted, and deliciously broken for me. He’s my favorite kind of pet- the one who proves control isn’t about chains or toys- it’s about the mindfuck so complete that his own arousal becomes undeniably mine to play with as I will.
The Timer Goon Pet
I also have a little goon pet who is controlled by time, and me, of course. My sweet, obsessive goon pet is released from his steel cage only after I’ve deemed his balls sufficiently swollen and heavy- usually after 6 to 10 days of total lock up, save for his grooming and cleaning routine. Once free, he receives my exact command- achieve precisely 15 edges within a 45-minute window, syncing each approach to the brink with a command, a custom erotic audio, or porn clip I select. He must count aloud for me, voice typically cracking with the strain by edge nine. Any overrun, undershoot, or accidental spill means the cage returns for double the previous denial period, plus a ruined cleanup where he thanks me through tears whilst cleaning up his filthy mess, typically with his sweet little tongue. Watching him tremble as the timer ticks down, sweat beading, cock straining in perfect obedience- it fills me with such a wild thrill. There’s something addicting about reducing a man’s entire sexual universe to my will that really stokes the arousal in me. When he hits that final edge exactly on the beep, glassy eyed and babbling gratitude, I feel like a goddess who has personally rewritten his nervous system. The click of the lock snapping shut afterward is music to my ears. It’s proof that his pleasure is no longer biology. It’s just my perfect science experiment. I had one such session with him recently, as he mindlessly, slavishly stroked my cock for my pleasure, obeying my command to go blank, goon and edge for me, perfect little triggers I have already programmed in him. His poor little mind goes completely blank with the first command, his hands stroking desperately to fulfill my will with the second. Finally, once I give the command to edge, my goon pet is perfectly obedient, balls swelling with cum he desperately aches to release. But thats not the name of our stroking game. His only reward for successful gooning was to goon again for my amusement. Once I had my fill of my pet, I made him put his cock away for the day. You went about your day as best you could, mind fully melted, stuffed back into your cage for safe keeping.
My Remote Sex Toy Addict
Mmmm, my remote toy addict is so fun to wind up like a fucking toy and play with for hours. This remote sex toy addict has completely surrendered his cock and his mind to me. Picture this needy little goon slut sprawled out in his dim room, Lovense Gush wrapped snug around his throbbing shaft for that relentless oscillating hug, Solace mounted and thrusting deep to the tune of my talented fingers, and Domi buzzing mercilessly against his tip or balls whenever I feel like cranking the intensity. No cumming without permission, no mercy, just endless denial turning his brain to warm, dripping goo. While I control every pulse and thrust, he’s glued to a loop of sexy femdom GIFs on his screen and with each denied peak his brain melts further. Words evaporate, IQ plummets, until all that’s left is this mindless, leaking mess whimpering my name in his head, body twitching in silent worship. There’s nothing more exhilarating than reducing a grown man to a drooling, brainless goon slut who lives for my next cruel vibration. He’s not stroking anymore- he’s just existing as my remote controlled toy, and god, does that power feel divine.
The Goon Drone
I also have a goon drone, my sweets. Arent I such a Femdom Mistress? My goon drone exists in perpetual sensory overload, no full strokes permitted, only endless feather light circles around the swollen head while my pre recorded voice loops my commands in his headphones “deeper… slower… dumber… for Mistress.” We melt his brain over hours and hours, ensuring that he is perfectly incapable of thinking. He’s locked into 4 hour goon blocks with mandatory journaling breaks where he types out how much stupider and leakier he becomes. This goon drone is currently on a 72-hour no cum streak, and his brain has melted repeatedly over the past 3 days. He confesses he barely remembers what a real orgasm feels like anymore, as the pleasure becomes its own reward without orgasm. Observing his vacant stare, the tiny trance like hand motions, the constant glossy dribble- it inspires a dark satisfaction in me. He’s become a living sex toy whose only function is sustained, mindless arousal for my entertainment. Every time he sends a voice note whimpering mid goon, voice slurred with need, I feel a pulse of triumphant heat between my thighs. I’ve turned all cognition into nothing more than cock worship. He’s no longer a person- he’s my warm, pulsing automaton, and the sight of his empty, vacant eyes makes me wet with ownership.
The Leak Fountain
My Leak Fountain is forbidden meaningful strokes most days and is kept in a gilded cage of steel for my pleasure. Instead of stroking, I order rhythmic taps, light head slaps, and gentle ball squeezes designed purely to milk constant precum. He’s so deeply conditioned that my mere name appearing on his screen triggers an automatic ooze. He films close up “leak confessions,” chanting “I am Mistress’s dripping faucet… my mess belongs to her” while the juices pool on his belly. One session he spurted hands free from the sheer humiliation of repeating it, and then scooped and swallowed on command while I laughed. The spectacle of that pathetic slit weeping endlessly, the shame flushing his face, the way he thanks me for blue balled torment- it ignites a wicked pride in me. I adore watching biology betray him at my whim; every involuntary drop is an offering, every filmed humiliation a love letter to me. When he begs me for “leak days” like they’re sacred, I feel profoundly powerful. His body has become my fountain, and I control the flow with a single word.
The Praise Kink Stroking Subby
My praise kink stroking subby is my needy praise slut. He craves the sensual cruelty of his femdom Mistress (thats me) counting edges aloud “Ten… eleven… hold it right there, such a pretty cock for me, for my amusement. Now, stop, and marinate in your desperation”. The blend of sweet coos and iron denial makes him sob with gratitude. When he’s deepest in the haze, pupils blown, I let him hump the air while I whisper how proud I am of his suffering. He ruins exquisitely on command, spilling weakly while crying “thank you for ruining me so beautifully, Mistress.” Hearing those broken whimpers, seeing tears mix with precum as he thanks me for denial- well, it floods me with tender sadism. There’s an electric intimacy in weaponizing affection, isn’t there? I build him up with words only to watch him shatter from the drop. Each trembling “good boy” he earns he feels my control take deeper hold, and the sight of him smiling through post ruin tears, cage already clicking shut, leaves me glowing with possessive bliss.
The Cocksucking Stroke Pet
My Cocksucking Stroke Pet is one of my favorite depraved little toys because he’s obsessed with jerking his cock while replaying every dick he’s ever sucked for me. He doesn’t just stroke, he pumps slow and hard while his brain loops through the nasty details- the first time he gagged on cock with spit running down his chin, the hours he spent on his knees with a cock stretching his jaw. He whispers it all out loud while he strokes, how his mouth got wrecked, how the weight sat heavy on his tongue, how his head went blank the second he started sucking like the eager slut he is. Every memory makes his dick leak more, his hand speed up then slow down to edge himself stupid, his breathing turn into pathetic gasps. He’ll go for hours like that if I let him, lost in his own cocksucking porn reel, turning every denied cumshot into proof he was made to be on his knees with a full mouth and a dripping cock. Owning a boy who jerks off to the taste still stuck in his throat, who edges himself raw to memories of being used… fuck, that kind of dirty control is what gets me off hardest.
The Air Hump Chastity Pet
This pet has no hand privileges whatsoever. I command him to thrust and grind into empty air like a frantic little slut, staring at one cruel tease photo of me. He whines and whimpers on cue, hips jerking uselessly while the cage stays locked. The raw desperation, the futile pelvic spasms, hips gyrating uselessly, the way his face contorts with frustrated need- it’s pure, primal comedy to me. I laugh aloud watching him degrade himself into instinct alone. There’s a feral joy in stripping away dignity until only rutting remains. When he collapses panting, thanking me for the “workout,” I feel like I’ve domesticated something wild. It’s exhilarating watching his cock reduced to nothing more than a prop for my amusement, body betraying him without a single touch.
The Butt Slut Stroker
I want to brag about one of my newest, yet most obedient, hole-hungry pets: The Butt Slut Stroker. This filthy boy isn’t allowed to touch his cock unless his ass is stuffed full, plugged, stretched, or better yet, taking whatever thick toy I’ve ordered him to ride that day. He’ll spend hours edging himself stupid with a fat dildo buried deep, clenching around it while his hand finally gets permission to wrap around his leaking dick and pump slow, desperate strokes. The fuller his ass feels, the more it stretches him open, presses right on that spot that makes his toes curl, the harder and dumber he gets. He’ll whimper about how the plug makes his cock throb without even being touched, how every clench around the toy sends a jolt straight to his balls, how he can’t think about anything except being filled and jerked at the same time. I love making him describe it on voice notes: the wet squelch when he rides it deeper, the way his prostate gets milked until precum just drips out nonstop, the pathetic way his strokes turn frantic then slow when I tell him to edge without cumming. He’s turned into this mindless, ass-obsessed gooner who only feels right when he’s plugged and pumping, proof that my real control isn’t just over his cock, it’s over every greedy inch of him.
The Journaling Gooner
He must document every torment in humiliating essays: stroke tempo, edge tally, drip volume, mental fog level. After each multi-hour goon he writes titled pieces like “How My Cock Makes Me Dumber for Mistress Today.” The coerced introspection while still throbbing becomes its own edge. Quoting his own pathetic phrases back to him later sends him spiraling deeper. Reading those raw, self-degrading paragraphs, knowing he poured his shame onto the page for My eyes only—it gives Me a slow-burning, intellectual arousal. I’ve turned his mind into another locked organ; every word he writes is surrender, and the vulnerability makes Me feel like I own not just his body, but his inner monologue.
Actually, I have the essay write here, shortened for brevity sake’s as my journaling gooner does pontificate heartily.
How My Cock Makes Me Dumber for Mistress Today
Ms. Becky, I’m still on the floor, legs shaky, cock still hard and leaking a little puddle on my stomach. I woke up already throbbing at 5 something this morning, and instead of getting up like a normal person, I just started touching. Slow at first, then faster, then slow again, whatever felt like it would keep me right on the edge without letting me finish. I lost track of time, but it was over two hours of just stroking and stopping, stroking and stopping. Every time I got close, my brain turned off a little more. At the beginning I could still think about stupid stuff like work or what I needed from the store. By the middle, those thoughts were gone. All I had left in my head were short, dumb sentences like “Ms. Becky wants me stupid” and “Im Ms Beckys gooner pet.” I kept whispering them out loud until my voice sounded small and cracked. I edged so many times I stopped counting after a while, maybe twenty? Each one pushed me deeper into that foggy, empty place where thinking hurts and being blank feels safe. The worst part (or the best part) is writing this right now while I’m still leaking and aching. You told me I have to write while it’s still throbbing so the shame stays real, and it does. Every word I type makes me feel smaller, stupider, more yours. Reading back the things I whimpered to myself makes my cock jump all over again. It’s like my own words are teasing me now, locking my mind up tighter for you. I know you like that. Knowing you’ll read this later, maybe smile or touch yourself while you see how easily I fall apart… that thought alone keeps me dripping without even moving my hand. I’m still hard. Still foggy. Still here on the floor because standing up would mean trying to be smart again, and I don’t want that. Not when being dumb for you feels this right. Thank You for turning me into a thing, a thing you can control and mold to your will.
Yours, stupid and grateful,
your leaking boy
Isn’t that so sweet to hear? Do you see how his reflection time makes him even more mine than he already was?
The Silent Worship Ignore Pet Stroker
My Silent Worship Ignore Pet Stroker has only one rule- no sound allowed, only the slap, slap, slap of flesh against flesh, as he strokes mercilessly. Any moans, whimpers or whines restarts the session from zero. I can’t have my ignore pet interrupting my work- which is, of course, what I am attending to whilst he beats his cock raw for my amusement. He pulls up a picture of me, reverently soaking in my beauty, as he strokes, goons and edges for me. The enforced silence amplifies isolation. He becomes a stroking sycophant for mistress. There’s something exquisitely powerful about ignoring him while he kneels there, aching, stroking and leaking in perfect silence. I sit at my desk, typing, sipping coffee, living my day as if he is not even there, yet every tiny tremor in his body, every suppressed whimper he chokes back, every fresh bead of precum that drips onto the floor screams his devotion louder than any begging ever could. The more I withhold my attention, the more desperately he strains to please me without a sound, the more I feel the full weight of my control settle over him like a collar. In that deliberate neglect, I don’t just own your body, I own your entire mind captive. I am left with the rush of knowing you’ll stay dumb, hard, and hushed for as long as I choose… that is dominance at its purest.
Schedule Your Next Stroking & Gooning Session with Me
So there you have it, just a handful of my favorite stroke addicts. I mean, I have to say this- I truly love what I do. Being a Femdom Mistress and having all this delicious power and control over these mindless stroke drones and good pets keeps me fairly drenched and wildly satisfied, as they provide hours and hours of sensual entertainment for me. Interested in exploring cock control? We should connect, yes? You can find me at intelligentphonesexcalls.com, on X as @msbeckyenchants, and you can email me at becky@enchantrixempire.com. I’m also on discord as LDWBecky and we should definitely be friends, if we aren’t already, yes?
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