Fairy Princess Palace 🧚‍♀️

I’m sorry, are you telling me how to decorate MY palace? 🤨
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I don’t have anything like that in the main building, but there are lots of cabins out in the woods that I didn’t have a hand in decorating; you might find something suitable out there. No cute girls though 😜
Merely a suggestion, the curtains are useful for privacy, and keeping out draughts.
 
The problem with putting you into a tub 🛀 is that all of your best assets are hidden by the sides. This may not fit into your design aesthetic, but you’d sure look great in it:

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Oh, this image is making my mind go wild!
I’m imagining bubbles covering the view from above, but the water below the surface is clear. And there’s a handheld shower head there… yesss, yes yes, I think I could have a good time with that tub 🤭
 
I’m sorry, are you telling me how to decorate MY palace? 🤨
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You tell ‘im! 😊

After spending almost my entire adult life in long-term live-in relationships (and the decor compromises that came with them), I wanted to go with something unapologetically pink, girly, cool, cozy, relaxing and ME for my bedroom when I moved back to LA. These were some of the pics I used for inspo:
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My dear Baron: Sie sind von Deutschland? Aus irgendeinem Grund bin ich im Sommer viel fauler als im Winter. Ich bewege mich langsamer und schreibe langsamer. Sicherlich jetzt hier sind die Winter months angekommen, heute noch 30 Grad in Palm Springs. Ich aber fahre trotzdem noch viel am späten Abend mit meinem cabrio beim Sonnenuntergang nach Joshua Tree in die Wüste. Heute spielt der CD player die Beach Boys "Don't Worry Baby" und die großen Erfolge von "Marianne Rosenberg." Meine favoriten..."Er Gehört Zu Mir” und "Ich Bin Wie Du!"

Wie ich hier sitze und schreibe, denke ich über das Wort Leidenschaft nach. Ein Wort das ich viel zu oft benutzt habe! Aber Leidenschaft was für ein wunderbares Wort? Leidenschaft ist für mich etwas heißes; etwas, das kocht; das brennt. Leidenschaft, die die Farbe von der am sorgfältigsten konstruierten Fassade entfernt, um die darunter verborgene Realität zu enthüllen und dann meine eigene D/s Realität.

ES WAR EINMAL: Once upon a time there was a Queen who lived in a tower of burnished Carrera marble. From her vantage point high above the grey fog-shrouded moors, she commanded the world that sprawled around her. The sun rose for her, a splendid friend who coaxed winking sprites of magic from the cold hearts of her many jewels; the moon was her co-conspirator as she fondled sinful thoughts and rude ruminations during her nights of dark fantasies. She would sit seductively in front of a MAGIC MIRROR and the mirror would whisper to her--hour after hour after hour -- of her charm and of her glacial beauty; and she would lackadaisically stroke her golden hair; run her gloved fingers over the decadent richness of her garments; and luxuriate in the tales told by the mirror. For her the MAGIC MIRROR started like a mere touch, like a tiny breeze that was only perceived by her subconscious. Then finally to recognize it for what it was and to free her submissive emotions, which enabled her to float beyond all earthly boundaries and to make her what the MAGIC MIRROR expected of her to be. The MAGIC MIRROR was her only true friend, and she polished it daily with religious zeal--occasionally even licking dust motes from its blazing surface--occasionally even kissing the image that taunted her from the other side of the glass.

She placed her favorite chair before the mirror, arranging it for the best view, placed the many small tables nearby, festooning them with scented candles, building her scene to be, laying her toys and implements of passion where they might be easily reached as she once again began her entry into her erotic realm of ecstasy. The mirror whispered: ”Entwine Me!” Present yourself to me pushed-up, painted, pouty and perversely petulant. Allow me to see your red whorish lacquered nails drawing light patterns of imagination over your silk encased legs. She again turned in front of the MAGIC MIRROR to look at herself. Her lips plump painted red, glossy, shiny, candy red. Her theatrical applied eye lashes she had swept with the deepest black mascara and had prepared herself meticulously to his exact instructions.

Her hair, black and straight, was twisted tight, so very tight, into a French braid hidden by her black hat and a black whispering lace veil just long enough to leave her mouth available for him.
The ghostly whiteness of her skin glowed as she had so slowly, so carefully applied layer upon layer of lucent, sheer foundation until it became in rendering her face as exquisite as any porcelain doll. Her eyes, dark and deep with desire, she outlined with Egyptian kohl. She was wearing an exceptionally tightly laced underbust corset, an open-cup shelf bra, her 5-inch black stilettos with silver locks around her ankles and black gartered FF stockings hissing all of their own melody. Her cheeks remained white but soon they may be glowing from the caress of his hand. The MAGIC MIRROR knew that her submissive skin had not been properly handled, properly used and properly touched in too long a time for what she felt to be an eternity. But tonight...tonight, if he blessed her with his presence he would change that! As she was looking directly into the mirror she pulled her large tits into twin torpedo’s pretending for a moment it was him behind her. Then in her black patent leather stiletto heeled pumps she began to parade in front of the MAGIC MIRROR. Oh wait, one last touch required: ’Crimson Rouge’ must adorn her nipples. She went on to twisting them mercilessly as she applied the rouge, wishing her fingers to be his - pulling, stretching, squeezing, her nipples, her nipples as only he knows how. Soon, so very soon.

SHE WAS ENSNARED BY THE MAGIC MIRROR SUFFOCATING HER WITH SUGGESTION: She wants, but she was afraid of what she wants and as his desires bringing him closer to her. She imagined his hands playing her gently like an instrument. She was wondering how he knew where she liked to be touched. She was trying in pushing her thighs together, trapping his hand in her crotch. There was a violet scarf draped over the lampshade and her boudoir was bathed in a soft suffocation of purple hues. The glow from of the lampshade was now a bright beacon illuminating the smeared red of her lips and her kohl that ran as black tears beneath her eyes lost in deep thought. She was telling him stories of other people and of other nights; of other moonlit sex; and he was drinking her stories, thirsty for more images and emotions to quench the fire of his desires and fantasies for her…und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute.

Tja was soll ich mehr dazu sagen? Hier folgen noch ein paar persönliche Bilder. Fühl dich gedrückt…Deine lilly…miau!


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Don’t know what this is but please take it elsewhere. Thanks!
 
After spending almost my entire adult life in long-term live-in relationships (and the decor compromises that came with them), I wanted to go with something unapologetically pink, girly, cool, cozy, relaxing and ME for my bedroom when I moved back to LA. These were some of the pics I used for inspo:
Love this for you 💕
 
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