Here is the HD picture

Does anyone here have any information about what happened to Madame Marissa?

She was a german femdom clip producer focussed on facesitting and feet and suddenly stopped posting new clips at the end of 2025 / beginning of 2026.

Now, her clip stores are offline, her website https://www.madamemarissa.com is offline, and the same with her X account.

Has anyone heard anything?

What is more beautiful than waking up and finding your sweet pet doing all his chores naked, only with a plug tail and with his collar on? Breakfast done and the house clean, he's ready to take his place on all fours and eat my pussy as I take my delicious breakfast 🥞

How can we make it better? Any ideas?

For quiet some time I have developed a crazy attraction to female hands.
Especially, thin hands with long fingers and white nails.
It sometimes surprises me how I am so drawn to it.
I would sometimes give up unlock time for a few minutes of palm worship.

Am I weird?
If possible female answers please

Translation:
Hi! I’m a 25-year-old secretly bisexual guy who’s very passive and submissive. I have a girlfriend the same age who is the only one who knows about my orientation and preferences, and we practice a lot of sexual humiliation.
Lately the fantasy of her exposing my sexual orientation drives me crazy. She knows this, so the other day while having a drink with her and three friends she had just met, she casually said in the conversation (I think we were talking about my appearance) that I was a good faggot and invert. It was strange because she said it in such a way that it seemed natural and integrated into the conversation—her friends didn’t pay any more attention to it, but I felt a huge amount of excitement, and when we got home we had one of our best sessions. She put me naked on my knees, blindfolded me, started painting insults on my body, and edged me while calling me a faggot and asking me if I liked that everyone knew about it.

Here is the HD picture.

The HD picture

Right me and the wife were talking and she said about menstrual cramps and how us men don't have a clue how they feel and I happened to say the closest we can get is if she were to smack my balls with a wooden spoon at random times as cramps come and go randomly....she now thinks this is a great idea and is planning to give this a go in a few days as this will be during her time of the month...I'm dreading it! I am great with dealing with spiked chastity and cock rings but ball smacks is a different thing completely...I think this will be the start of her being in control (I welcome this happily) can't wait to start being her bitch again 😋

Here is the HD picture

J unbuttoned his jacket and dropped it onto the desk chair. He went down on his knees on the stiff carpet, his thighs shaking after holding his posture through the pitch deck and the elevator ride.

The phone on the desk buzzed twice, screen lighting up blue.

VIDEO CALL: MISS MASHA

He slid his thumb across the glass. Her face showed up in the frame, lit from the side by a lamp off-camera. She looked unhurried, squinting slightly into her own screen.

"Set it against the lamp," she said. The voice came through the small phone speaker flat and quiet, with no room acoustics. "Angle the camera down. Step back."

He wedged the phone against the brass base, tilted it, and took four steps back until he stood under the overhead bulb in the center of the room.

"Take off the rest. All of it."

His hands fumbled with the waist button. He unzipped, kicked his shoes clear, and let his pants and briefs drop around his ankles. He stood bare under the light, his skin flushed, breathing through his mouth.

"Look at the camera," she said. "Reach back and take it out."

J clenched his jaw, reached behind his leg, and found the silicone base. He pulled. It came free with a sharp suction that made his stomach drop. A cold sweat broke across his chest. His knees dipped as he caught his balance.

"Hold it up."

He held the wet shape three inches from the lens.

"Put it on the desk. Get on your knees. Touch yourself."

He dropped back down to the carpet, legs spread. He gripped himself and started to stroke, his posture awkward, bent forward toward the screen.

"Louder," her voice said from the desk. "Stop trying to quiet it down."

He stopped holding his breath back. Rough, heavy rasps hit the drywall. He stared at her face on the glass while his thumb moved against his skin, his legs tight as he hit the edge.

"I'm close," he choked out, his shoulders hunched. "Miss Masha, please..."

"Hands on your head." Her voice did not change tone.

J stopped instantly. "What?"

"Interlock your fingers on top of your head. Right now."

He pulled his hand away and laced his fingers over his hair. The sudden stop left a sharp ache across his lower belly. He sat back on his heels, shaking, trapped right at the brink.

Miss Masha leaned in closer to her camera.

"You thought this was a transaction," she said. "You thought if you performed on camera, I would let you finish."

He stared at the screen, unable to swallow.

"Pick up the plug. Put it back in. On camera."

His hands dropped. He picked up the firm silicone, put one hand on the desk edge to steady himself, and pushed it back in. A choked groan scraped out of his chest as the shape settled deep into his pelvis again.

He fell onto his side on the carpet, gasping.

"Ten minutes," she said through the speaker. "Don't move. Don't touch yourself. Just feel it."

The screen stayed lit. At the top of the video frame, the clock read 9:48.

J lay with his knees drawn up, his cheek on the stiff wool weave. Every second dragged out in a dull press in his hips. Sweat dried cold on his ribs. He kept his hands flat on the floor and stared at her face in the blue light.

She didn't speak or adjust her camera. She sat back in her chair, watching his chest move, taking in the small twitch in his thigh whenever he shifted off his hip bone.

At 9:58, her shape moved on the screen as she leaned toward the lens.

J's heart hit his ribs. He pushed up onto his palms, breathing fast, heat coming back into his face. Ten minutes. He had stayed still. He had taken it.

"Miss Masha," he said, his voice dry as paper. "Please."

He looked into the lens, waiting for the word that would let him reach down and finish.

Miss Masha looked back through the screen. A small smile showed at the corner of her mouth.

"You actually thought you were getting off," she said.

His stomach went cold and empty.

"Next time, fucker."

The screen cut to black.

The double-beep of the ended call sounded in the quiet room. J stayed on his knees in the dark, the plug tight inside him, staring at the dead glass.

A second later, the phone buzzed once against the blotter. The screen lit up with a text notification.

MISS MASHA: Sleep with it in. You can take it out at 7:00 AM before you meet Greg. Not a minute before.

J stared at the text until the blue light timed out and went black. He pushed himself off the floor, dragged his body onto the bed, and lay on his side under the stiff white sheet, feeling every hard shift of the silicone against his hips as he settled in to wait for morning.