What is an interactive beatdown you ask?

HOW IT WORKS:

Anyone can make a suggestion for things I should do to Beltway Bitch. It’s all good – whether you want to see him dancing like the sugar plum fairy on the capital lawn again or my knee in his groin, or a paddle to his ass till he cries – just go for it in the comments on my blog, email me, niteflirt mail me, DM me on twitter, whatevs.

Suggestions I deem unsafe, lame, in-your-dreams, or in violation of terms of service of Niteflirt content, will be rejected. Suggestions I deem FULL OF WIN are to be implemented and filmed. Those who made these awesome suggestions will get the clips that I film from them for FREE. So it’s a competition thingie. If you’re a Domme you can totally play too if you want – I’ll fly your banner and do some blog posts of your awesomeness if your idea rocks – I don’t get crazy ass traffic, but it’s not terrible either.

But that’s not the only way to win! If you are a ticket holder, or if you visit the GIFT REGISTRY and buy an item ($75 or more) to use on him, you will also be entitled the clips and some exclusive media – stills, mini clips, custom virtual thank you cards from Beltway, the IM id for any BEATDOWN CAM that might happen (depending on secure connections and travel locales)

The only items on the registry that I do not want for this purpose are things that go in my golden portal of perfection (ha) – that’s for Stud, not dumbass here, duh.  Everything else on the list is game.

The inspiration for this game is largely my disinterest in hauling 50 pounds of gear Eastward yet again, so the more gear I get the more interesting this will be. It’s also that I’m feeling playful and extroverted – act while this madness lasts.

So, gather round, get into your moblike chest pounding lord of the flies mode and let the BEATDOWN begin!

TICKET HOLDERS:

Please be aware that you are funding gear and extras pertaining to the trip and beatdown, and you will get your media AFTER I am back in the Midwest, the week of the 26th.

Wait, cash?

Yes.  Cash wrapped in stupid love letters may now be MAILED to:

Studio Stern LLC
PO Box 940
Germantown, MD 20875

Why? I have a LIFE unlike a lot of internet bitches who have time to scurry to the post office and back like your well trained hamster – IE: I have people who do this shit FOR me. Why not give my mail forwarding bitch a reason to continue to breathe? You can save a lowly idiot by mailing things, today.

I have a gorgeous onyx and pewter manicure and onyx toes – the nail techs are mystified by anyone who’d go so dark in summer, but hello, there’s a reason I should give a shit what everyone else does?

There’ll be a hypno clip featuring the manicure – a literal representation of my elegant claws. I know you can’t wait. In the meantime, salve your desperation on these clips.

A final warning Once and once only I urge you to stop this madness, stop clicking, get out while you can. The problem is that I look so tantalizing, I sound so brilliant, and I paint a picture so seductive that you are sure to have trouble backing away – temptation and addiction are your lot in life.
Mark Custom / this little piggie Mark has already spend beaucoup on this, but he can buy it AGAIN with the rest of you! Additionally, there’s an infamous game of “this little piggie” something for foot boys, shoe boys and fans of being down at my feet for it’s POV perfection. Darling Poetic License heels with cherries – so chic.
Dangerous Mind How I make you helpless – a precise breakdown of why so many men become so incredibly weak for me – what my allure is and why you NEED to see this clip and why you NEED me

Je suis belle, ô mortels ! Comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s’est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Éternel et muet ainsi que la matière.

Je trône dans l’azur comme un sphinx incompris ;
J’unis un cœur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes ;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j’ai l’air d’emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d’austères études ;

Car j’ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles :
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles !

——————————-

For those who can’t (my own translation)

I am beautiful o mortals, like a dream all in stone
and my breast, where everyone batters himself in his turn
is shaped to inspire in the poets a love
as lasting and as mute as matter itself

enthroned in the sky like the inscrutable sphinx
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans
I disdain movement which disrupts clean lines
I never laugh and I never shed tears

Poets, before the great poses I strike
derivative of the airs of the greatest of monuments
are consumed all their days in austere study

for I have entranced these docile admirers
with clear mirrors: which render everything even more beautiful
my eyes, my great eyes, which burn bright, eternal!

I realize not everyone is that dedicated – yet! So to make giving easier – I’m developing some DIVINE wishlists at my favorite stores. I’ve been very resistant to wishlists in the past – I don’t like running around and I don’t like online shopping nearly as much as your average vapid twit with no life, but I’m on a sudden consumerist kick.  You’ll be able to humor me, and I’ll be posting highlighting each new wishlist in succession as I make them.

Now, because my generosity is really something else – a video teaser I just made for the site. Yes, my soles are fucking FILTHY in this clip. Some of you love that kind of thing, and for those who don’t – lick it anyway, fuckstick!

Wanda stands in front of the canvas with her arms crossed over her
breast.

“This picture, like many of those of the Venetian school, is
simultaneously to represent a portrait and to tell a story,”
explained the painter, who again had become pale as death.

“And what will you call it?” she asked, “but what is the matter with
you, are you ill?”

“I am afraid–” he answered with a consuming look fixed on the
beautiful woman in furs, “but let us talk of the picture.”

“Yes, let us talk about the picture.”

“I imagine the goddess of love as having descended from Mount Olympus
for the sake of some mortal man. And always cold in this modern world
of ours, she seeks to keep her sublime body warm in a large heavy fur
and her feet in the lap of her lover. I imagine the favorite of a
beautiful despot, who whips her slave, when she is tired of kissing
him, and the more she treads him underfoot, the more insanely he loves
her. And so I shall call the picture: _Venus in Furs_.”

* * * * *

The painter paints slowly, but his passion grows more and more
rapidly. I am afraid he will end up by committing suicide. She plays
with him and propounds riddles to him which he cannot solve, and he
feels his blood congealing in the process, but it amuses her.

During the sitting she nibbles at candies, and rolls the paper-
wrappers into little pellets with which she bombards him.

“I am glad you are in such good humor,” said the painter, “but your
face has lost the expression which I need for my picture.”

“The expression which you need for your picture,” she replied,
smiling. “Wait a moment.”

She rose, and dealt me a blow with the whip. The painter looked at
her with stupefaction, and a child-like surprise showed on his face,
mingled with disgust and admiration.

While whipping me, Wanda’s face acquired more and more of the cruel,
contemptuous character, which so haunts and intoxicates me.

“Is this the expression you need for your picture?” she exclaimed.
The painter lowered his look in confusion before the cold ray of her
eye.

“It is the expression–” he stammered, “but I can’t paint now–”

“What?” said Wanda, scornfully, “perhaps I can help you?”

“Yes–” cried the German, as if taken with madness, “whip me too.”

This is being nicely addressed through a variety of behaviorally adjusting changes, and he’s morphing into quite the sissified slut every day. But it’s things like this mp3 that set a guy like twiglette on the right path – it’s a popular classic of mine, and it gives you a full seven days of workbook assignments, imagery tasks, and psychological exploration in regard to your total size-lack.

The first step is acknowledgment that you have a problem.

It’s been called – and I relish this – “the meanest mp3 ever.” And you need it – badly.

I’m just going to let this do the talking. All you need to know is that it was inspired by my order for him to jack off onto his toothbrush and use said toothbrush as usual – performed for me with aplomb on cam. I believe he did say “Oh my God, this is appalling.”

Yes. Yes it was.

And inspiring, evidently, as well.

ODE TO A TOOTHBRUSH

Dulcet bristles, white as silk

Please receive my loser milk

Should i spill or lose control

Discipline will take its toll

Born a loser, trained to serve

Stripped of ego, stripped of nerve

“This,” she said “is what you’ll do

“ruin out a plop of goo

“worry not, there is no rush

“but catch it all on your toothbrush.”

Utterly aghast was I

to brush with my homemade creampie

But not for me to question why

Just to make my dicklet cry

Never let the pleasure rise

Stop before you close your eyes

Have a care you don’t enjoy

Pleasures don’t attend the toy

Out it squirts with not a spasm

A classic ruination ‘gasm

Snared upon the springing bristle

Prior twas clean as a whistle

Now besmirched with beta juice

Once be-sacked and now sprung loose

Learn to like the salty taste

Defeat and shame both mixed with waste

Now into the mouth it goes

sliming up my toothful rows

Awful salty viscous stuff

Life, for cuckolds, can be rough

File under:  Tributes. Literary. Disgusting.

I love aslipofagirl. Don’t get me wrong.

And I love Angela St. Lawrence, who scooped this for me on twitter.
But what the ever loving fuckety fuck.

Cosmo.

Fuckers.

Yes, this makes perfect sense to me. It’s soooooo sexy. Men will love it.

These are the reasons, I motherfucking hate you, pervert, and relish making you cry andbeg for mercy.

No, YOU do it.

Send me a photo of you, with a thong on your head, and I will send you five free minutes. These will be very brutal minutes.

spoilarealgoddess@gmail.com