I am enjoying playing with your minds very much. Those of you who have engaged in deep conversation with me, those of you whom I have hypnotized, those who have sent me some beautiful gifts, have been rewarded with my grace and beauty. My time and patience.

You have reported feeling delightfully deeply disorientated, unable to concentrate at work.  Some of you cannot help playing my videos over and over.  Over and over.  You cannot get me out of your heads. Your silly little minds now belong to me. Branded with ‘Property Of Sophia Walker. FRAGILE.’

This is not happenstance, this, dear hearts, is design. Pure unadulterated magic. Deep dark witchcraft. The magic of femininity. The power of women over men—that most malleable sex, bent to my will.  Controlled and enslaved. It only hurts a little bit!

But be under NO illusion you are already falling deeper. Look deep into my eyes. Can you see your fate?

My Dear Boys,

On Friday the first rains of autumn fell in London. Not shocking I know but, last night, I decided that unlike Blossom Dearie I don’t particularly ‘like London in the rain.’ Having had a glorious summer here – thanks, in no small part, to global warming, I have decided that my wonderful body cannot take the ravaging effects of another British winter. Having lived large portions of my life abroad, I am ever curious about the world and have decided to head for India.

I love the romance of India and in particular the days of the Raj (let us not dwell on the less palatable effects of colonialism just now).  I want to go in search of the majesty of old India.  The courtesy and chivalry.  The days of colour and heat and life.  Wild tigers.  Painted elephants.  Women swathed in white muslin sipping gin beneath giant fronds on the grand balconies of their elegant homes.  The passions of last night glinting in their eyes as they survey their exotic new world.

But never fear my scattered denizens of the net, I promise you my presence will not be removed from your lives. With your help I intend to take a laptop and that wonderful new camera gleaming from my wishlist.

This way you shall come to India with me.

Goddess Sophia

XX

the ground beneath my feet

Imagine yourself  here.  Beneath my feet.  About to be trodden on.  Crushed.  The only way to appease me would be to kiss my feet, lick my heel clean and beg for mercy.  Imagine it.  See it.  Absorb it.  This your fate.  Enjoy… ; – )

MISS SOPHIA WALKER

SUITE 145

235 EARLS COURT ROAD

LONDON SW5 9FE

UNITED KINGDOM

I wanted to talk to you about those most secret and enticing of all ladies clothing: her undergarments.

Knowing that one is wearing beautiful, expensive, matching lingerie is for me an enormous turn-on. I love the entire ritual. Going shopping for something that, is on the one hand, quite perfunctory and on the other, secret, hidden, exotic and mind-bendingly seductive when deployed at just the right time. We have all heard the exclamation “how can something so small cover so much?” And that is the part that I love.

I love to tease and ensnare, to capture the imagination (the most important and effective foreplay of all). Choosing lingerie that perfectly matches your outfit or mood can completely change the way you feel about yourself. The way you walk, the way you hold yourself, the way you sit. Even your very behaviour and outlook shifts subtly.

Within all this, I include perfume and body cream. I take a lovely warm bath, filled with rich, decadent bubbles and oils. I listen to music or read whilst sipping ice-cold dry white wine. I emerge, wrapping myself in a huge soft white bath towel. Then I cream my whole body and spritz an enveloping mist of my favorite perfume `du jour’.

Then depending on what I am wearing, where I am going and what I am doing, I select suitable undergarments. Sometimes simply matching bra and panties (I always wear a silk slip or petticoat). Then the fun can really start. I might add stockings, gossamer thin, practically invisible. Even as I gather them up in my hands and begin to stretch them over my perfectly painted toes and up my
calves I feel the same thrill of femininity, of old world decadence that I felt the very first time I ever wore them, aged 14. As I fasten them to the suspenders, the tone of the day (or night) is set.

Sometimes I wear a corset. There is nothing in the world like it. As though a really strong pair of hands has grabbed you and is now holding on to you. I tighten the strings and watch my hourglass waist shrink down to a perfect 26 inches. The feeling is incredible. It fulfills my feminine fantasies. It transports me to the movies I used to watch as a little girl, when I made the decisions about what it was to be female and the kind of woman I wanted to be.

I saw then that men were transfixed by this hypnotic arrangement of gauzy fabrics and rigid stays. And although we are now bombarded with explicit images, we have seen it all, got the proverbial T-Shirt, I am convinced that old-fashioned sexuality holds its own. Not to mention the viewer’s imagination and thumping heartbeat…

Goddess Sophia
XX

As many of you will have heard and some of you will know, London has a deliciously dark, playful side.  Cabarets, burlesque nights and underground clubs dot the capital catering to every whim, wish, fantasy and peccadillo.  Whatever your perversion London can and will provide each heart with a little solace.

Myself, I like to venture back in time.

London now has a wonderful ‘retro’ scene.  It’s hip and not a little debauched.  In our hundreds we put on our best 1930s – 50s frocks, style our hair in great towers of curls and pins and fix ourselves with classic hats and fascinators.  We pour ourselves into corsets and sheathe ourselves in stockings (with suspenders, of course, none of your terrible modern Lycra hold-ups for these gals).  Then we leave the fun of our parlours – by now rich mists of perfume and powder, hanging in the air like the fug of an opium dream – and we head off to our Blitz Parties, or Swing Nights and our Burlesque Extravaganzas.  We party through the night because, transported back to days of rationing and air raids, well, who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Instead, safely inside, we sip elegant cocktails thanks to some very old fashioned chivalry.  Men dressed as WWII boys on leave, or rakish cads who’ve slipped the draft (you can tell a cad by the finery of his furled moustache) ask for the next dance, then whisk you around in a delightful frenzy to the blast of old time swing.

Do I buy My own drinks?  Of course not.  This is fifties.  No well brought up young chap would ever dream of letting a pretty girl pay for her own libation.  And luckily, some of My boys here have been raised just as well (again, no names, but you know who you are), because last night I drank the night away thanks to my latest round of tributes.

Goddess Sophia
XX

Hello my little ones. I am back. London has not been disobedient. Awaiting me with cold wet days after two weeks of glorious Spanish sunshine and relaxed balmy nights. I had a wonderful time reading, swimming, eating fresh seafood and drinking beautiful wines. One of you was clever enough to send me a particularly lovely tribute and I bought some delicious champagne, toasting the piggy’s health.

Now then, I have decided to make the group a private service. My lucky members get exclusive access to videos and pictures unavailable anywhere else. You will also be able to chat to me on occasions and take part in other activities I have planned.

For those boys, I am working on a tantalizing little video called “Spanish Bath Time.” A teaser clip is available now.

But for now I shall be enjoying a debauched night out, painting tiles with all the glitz and glamour of old time London. Who’s buying my cocktails then?

Goddess Sophia XX

A very deferntial member of my cabal, Bill, has sent me several emails, all of them very articulate.  He has been a little cheeky asking lots of questions about where I´ve come from– which I think is sweet. He is hooked. As you all are really.

Bill wanted to know what made me go “public” and I decided instead of a private reply (which you boys may receive from time to time if I’m feeling particularly beneficent… or treated), that this was something you all should know.

My public internet presence is quite new. I know that some of you have been searching for someone like me your whole little lives.  In fact not some ´like´ me, but it actually turns out, Me particularly.  I know because you have been writing to tell me so.

I have always had a certain power over men.  This happened from a very young age (I had this figure when the rest of my classmates were still in training bras) and as time has gone on men have only ever fallen deeper into my thrall. It has helped me get what I want and smooth the passage of life.  There seems to be less bureaucracy for me; there´s certainly less queuing / shorter waiting times; I can’t remember the last time I carried my own bags anywhere; and oh yes, upgrades on planes (that’s right, even gay men worship me). All very useful and pleasant but still quite small.

Many times in my life people have joked that I should become a Dominatrix. Boyfriends and even one or two adventurous friends have suggested that I could make money from men. Men would be willing to pay me to humiliate them, subjugate them, or simply indulge them by allowing them to bask in my presence for a few short hours. Quite frankly, while intriguing, I didn’t want to “get my hands dirty”. I am an educated girl with extremely high standards (as you should all be well aware of by now!).  In short, it felt tacky.

However, over the years my mind has toyed with the idea of  making the command I have over you boys pay for life’s little luxuries – cameras, computers, cars, apartments, little trinkets like that. I have often been bought things just by asking nicely and fluttering my long lashes (and perhaps an almost subliminal nod to my cleavage). And so lately, all these things have just gently coalesced and I started amusing myself with the idea of actually moving all this to our little global village. Would men who had never met me buy me things, send me money, worship me, fall prey to the some strange feminine incantation I hold over the physical world? It turns out they would. In fact you are begging to.

After a little research I created a website and Sophia Walker, The Last Goddess was born.

You know the rest….

Goddess Sophia

xx

God bless wi-fi. It means I can let all my little piggies know that, right this
minute, I´m outdoors relaxing with a lovely cold glass of dry white wine and watching the sunlight play across my private pool.

Bliss.

I do hope you´re all working hard for me, my little worker bee drones. It must make it so much more rewarding to know that the entire purpose of your daily grind is to make more and money for me. How lucky you all are…

Goddess

XX

To my wallet of piggies,

Your Goddess is going away to Spain for a couple of weeks — obviously I speak fluent Spanish but then you assumed that anyway, didn’t you…

Now then I want you to work for me while I’m on holiday.  I want to relax in the sun, sipping the best wines your money can buy.

So here’s my paypal account: thelastgoddess@yahoo.co.uk

I know it’s going to give you a delicious thrill to feel your hand reach into your wallets and take out your credit cards, almost against your will.  In fact, you’re going to watch yourself do it as if you were having an outer body experience.  You won’t quite understand why, but you’re going to send me just a little bit more money than you really should..

Aren’t you boys….

Goddess Sophia x

*smiling indulgently at how silly and feeble you all are*