No idea what happened to my jeans on my long drive yesterday! 🫣

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Happy #TaskTuesday. Five tasks will be assigned privately. If you’re hoping to receive them, make sure you’re ready to follow every word without complaint.

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Yes, there’s a uniform. No, you don’t get a say. It will feel degrading at first, then it will start to feel normal. Then it will feel like safety. French Finishing School does that. Are you ready?

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On my feet in these beauties all day in clinic - they’re rather fragrant!

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Sissies, take note: I don’t offer praise, I offer structure. You’ll be given drills, corrections, and a reason to hold your shoulders back. Posture. Language. Manners. All taught properly. The rest is up to you.

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The uniform isn’t for fun. It’s not about fantasy, it’s a symbol of your submission, and your inability to dress yourself properly without instruction.

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Stop collecting collars you haven’t earned. Stop calling yourself “trained” when no one’s taught you a thing. You want to be refined? You show up. In uniform. On time. French Finishing School for Sissies will correct you properly.

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There’s been a lot of interest in French Finishing School for Sissies - which I expected. Uniform is provided, and no, you don’t get a say in it. If you’re serious, step forward.

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French Finishing School is now open. This is formal training, under my supervision. You will be corrected. You will be refined. And you will not be coddled. If you are looking for soft praise or playful indulgence, this is not for you. This is structured obedience, delivered with elegance and enforced without apology. You will be working through the following modules: – Posture and Presence: You will learn to hold yourself correctly, without question or complaint. – Basic French for Embarrassment: You will speak as you are taught, and only when permitted. – Manners and Mistakes: You will correct the habits that make you common. – Dressing and Decorum: You will be instructed on what to wear, how to wear it, and why you no longer get to choose. – Written Humiliation: You will write what I tell you to write, and you will learn who you truly are in the process. – Your New Station: You will understand your place. And you will remain in it. I will set your tasks. I will oversee your progress. I will decide when you are ready to advance. If you wish to be trained, present yourself accordingly.

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Only the bravest amongst you are ready for the Scorecard of Truth 💪🤏

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There’s a hard, sharp patch on my foot that refuses to shift. I tried the manual file, which has only touched the surface. But in the process, the foot dust accidentally formed the shape of a tiny little man🧍‍♂️ with one arm and one leg much longer than the other 😂 Now he’s living in a little pot, ready to be sold. The electric grinder is coming out tomorrow - let’s see what else I can create. 🎨

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Your mate said it was big. Your ex said it was cute. Your mum said you were special. We say — get your size checked. The Duval–Saphyra Scorecard is open. Twelve points. One truth.

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These silver satin heels were meant for my wedding, but after stepping in a muddy puddle and collecting mud on both heels, I swapped them for boots and carried on. One shoe carries a faint water line, both heels still show dried mud. I haven’t cleaned them, they are exactly as they were left. Listing coming soon!

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Bored of basic dick ratings? So are we. Enter the Scorecard of Truth, where myself and Empress Saphyra break down your submission with clinical precision and zero mercy. We don’t just rate. We assess. We dissect. We judge. 😈😈 ✔️ Texture, tension, tone, testicles - nothing is safe. ✔️ You’ll get a full breakdown, a final score, and the cold sting of honesty. Apply if you dare. Or stay safe in the inbox of someone kinder.

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It’s been so long, I’m starting to think they’ve gone extinct. 🦤 Haven’t seen one in person. Haven’t seen one online. Haven’t even had the misfortune of an unsolicited one. 🍆 At this point, I’d almost welcome a poorly lit disaster… 🧐 If you’re ready to break the drought, message me. For now, sweet dreams 💋

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Who wants to see my filthy feet after I’ve been on them all day, massaging heads (not those kind, you insatiable creatures) at a Summer Solstice fair - in the blazing sun? They’re mucky. They’re swollen. They’ve got sexy stripes from my sandal straps. Fancy a close-up of the aftermath? 😍

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