Welcome, Mistress Babsi. We are absolutely honored and thank you very much for agreeing to this exclusive interview. We make no secret of it: it was extremely difficult to persuade you at all. Our editorial team had to beg for weeks, kept asking again and again, and simply wouldn't let up just to get you to the microphone today.

Let's not kid ourselves, darling: 'difficult' doesn't even begin to cover it! Normally, I completely ignore such requests. But I really must admit: your unbelievable persistence flattered me immensely. You really didn't let up for weeks and practically begged to get me here today. It just amuses me wonderfully when men absolutely won't give up and go to so much trouble just to get a tiny little bit of my attention. I liked that so much that in the end, I simply had to say yes. Consider it a very special privilege that your sweet endurance is being rewarded today. So, let's begin – ask your questions, I'm all ears!

Babsi, you grew up in the shadow of Miss Bianka's studio. Do you remember the exact moment you realized that the screams of the slaves didn't scare you, but rather turned you on extremely?

Oh, darling, other little girls played with Barbies – I learned early on that women like my mother are the real, living Barbies you can break at will. There was no sudden 'aha' moment. It was a creeping poison. As a teenager, I crouched in the dark outside the dungeon door, listening to the smack of leather on bare skin, my mother's desperate begging... and instead of running away crying, I felt my hand drift between my legs like it was remote-controlled. Those screams were pure power. And I knew right then: I will never be the one whimpering on the floor. I am the goddess holding the fucking club.

How did this brutal BDSM environment shape your current view of love, sex, and dominance?

'Love' is a construct for the weak who are afraid to take control. For me, sex and my looks are absolute weapons. When I walk into a room, I know exactly what happens. Men stop breathing. They stare at my tits, at my wasp waist, and their brains completely shut down. They would do anything just to get me to look at them. And that is exactly what I exploit. To me, a man is primarily a resource – an open wallet and a tool for my satisfaction. When I snap my fingers, they jump. Miss Bianka taught me how to break a man's mind, and I do it in my own glamorous way. They worship me, and I bleed them completely dry.

You proudly call yourself a "Bimbo". When did you make the decision to visually transform yourself in this extreme, artificial direction?

I used to be this shy, insecure girl. But I quickly realized: 'sweet' and 'natural' gets you nowhere except overlooked. The turning point was the night I wore 6-inch stilettos, a hot pink micro-skirt, and lip gloss for the first time. I walked into this club and the whole dynamic of the room shifted. Every eye was glued to me. It felt like armor made of pure plastic and glitter. That night, 'Babsi the Party Bimbo' was born. I am artificial, I am flashy, and I am incredibly expensive. Obey the plastic. Anyone who looks at me should immediately know they can't afford me – unless I allow it.

Corset training down to 52 cm, 510ml E-cups, piercings all over your body – will your transformation ever be complete, or is there no limit to your plastic fetish?

Limits are for boring, natural women who settle for average. I am a fucking work of art. My beloved stepfather funded my E-cups for my 19th birthday, and believe me, that was just the beginning. When I lace my corset down to 20 inches until I literally can't breathe, it's not torture, it's the absolute proof of my superiority. Every inch of plastic, every piercing in my labia elevates me to something higher. There is no finish line. I want to be the most extreme, exaggerated, and sexually aggressive version of myself until men go blind just looking at me.

Your stepfather gave you your own mother as an official sex slave for your 22nd birthday. Was that the moment of your ultimate takeover of power?

Ultimate? It was the day the fucking laws of nature were suspended for me! Other daughters get cars or jewelry – I got the absolute, physical and psychological control over the woman who gave birth to me. The moment my beloved Master M. handed me the papers and Celeste crawled whimpering in the dirt at my feet to kiss my high heels... that was the most intense high of my life. I officially take his place when he's not around. She has no rights anymore. She belongs to me with every breath, with every drop of sweat, and with every single one of her disgustingly exploited holes.

You regularly refer to her as "meat", "slut", and "trash". Is there still any spark of a maternal bond deep inside you, or is Celeste just a pure, dead object to you now?

Maternal bond? Don't make me laugh! At least not in the moments when she is wearing that fucking collar. A mother is someone you look up to. When I look down at Celeste in my boots, all I see is a kneeling cum-dump crawling bleeding on the floor. In these extreme sessions, she is no longer human to me, but a walking money machine, a living sex toy, and a public toilet for paying clients. Don't get me wrong – there are also these other, normal days where she gets to be my loving mother again. But as soon as the game begins, every spark of respect is completely fucked right out of her. Then I feel absolutely nothing for her – except the horny satisfaction of seeing how much profit her useless holes generate for my next shopping weekend.

Is there actually such a thing as a normal family life between you and Celeste, apart from all the extreme pain, exploitation, and total dominance?

Yes, of course! There are days when we completely strip off the leather and the hard roles and are just mother and daughter. We do nice things together then, go shopping, sit over coffee, and laugh an incredible amount with each other. On these days, I treat her with all the love and tenderness my dear mother deserves – because despite everything, that is still what she is to me. We are like a completely normal, harmonious family then. I enjoy this affectionate, warm time from the bottom of my heart, and I know exactly that my mother desperately needs these moments of security too. It is a balance that keeps us both alive.

You openly train Celeste for your dog and let him mount her. Do you ever feel any qualms about this, or is it the absolute crowning glory of your sadistic dominance?

Qualms? I beg you! My fucking dog ranks way higher in the hierarchy of this house than she does! A dog obeys out of instinct and loyalty – Celeste obeys because she is weak and completely broken. It is pure perfection to see her eating on all fours right next to him. When I command her to play the bitch for my animal, she has to lie down immediately and take it. She gets mounted, knotted, and treated like a mangy beast. The fact that the woman I crawled out of is now the personal fuck-sleeve for a mutt... that gives me a power rush you couldn't imagine in your wildest dreams.

When Celeste is completely physically exhausted during an extreme session, crying or whining and begging you for mercy – what goes through your mind in that moment?

I laugh coldly right in her face. When this slut cries, I only see liquid weakness. Tears don't fill my bank account, and her whining doesn't pay for any of my new Prada bags! When she whimpers and begs, it only signals one thing to me: the machine is running at its absolute limit, and that is exactly where I want her! Her pain is my entertainment. It spurs me on to make the beatings even harder or to give the clients the order to destroy her completely without any consideration. There is no mercy in my world. She has to suffer until the fucking cash register rings!

You earn a massive amount from the brutal physical and psychological destruction of your mother. Do you actually see yourself as her pimp?

Pimp? What an ordinary, dirty little word. I call it 'Asset Management'. Celeste isn't a human being with rights; she's my personal inventory. A pimp has to care about the protection of her girls – I, on the other hand, sell the exact opposite! I offer the wankers out there absolute, sanction-free destruction. I am the CEO of her downfall. When she bleeds, my profit margin goes up. When she screams, I double the price. I manage a meat product whose only value lies in how much pain it can endure before it drops dead.

We have learned that as a slave, your mother no longer owns any property of her own and that all income flows to you or your stepfather. How does her everyday life work? Does she get everything only on a strict allowance, or how should we imagine it?

That's right, a slave has absolutely no right to own property, that's just the law with us. But don't make the mistake of believing that she has to live like a poor beggar here. She gets everything she needs, and she also gets money. She has a card and can buy what she wants. Only for larger purchases does she need explicit permission beforehand. It is definitely not the case that she should live poorly. On the contrary, she should have a good, carefree life. But the crucial point is: I decide that. I have absolute power over the money, and I can take it away from her at any time. Besides, she is my property – which means she also has to match my status. She might not be swimming in pure luxury right now, but she definitely doesn't have to save money or buy cheap things. A few months ago, for example, she received a very expensive, new car as a gift from us together because her old one was broken. She really lives damn well, darling... even if on paper she doesn't even own the shoes she's standing in. And the most important thing of all: I will always take care of her. Always. Even if she is literally my property and takes orders – deep inside me, she still remains my mother. That will never change in this lifetime. I protect what belongs to me.

By what criteria do you select the johns and gangbang clients for Celeste? Is it just about maximum profit, or do you also specifically play for maximum humiliation?

One doesn't exclude the other, darling! The sicker and more humiliating the clients' demands are, the more astronomical the bill I present to them becomes. If a guy just wants in and out, he pays the standard rate. But if a wanker writes to me that he wants to use her as a living toilet for hours and force her to lick the filth off the floor... oh, then he gets VIP status! I select the clients who want to unleash their darkest, most perverse instincts on her. Her ruin is my source of income. It's a win-win situation: the clients get to live out their most disgusting fantasies, and I get to go shopping with bulging pockets afterwards.

What is the secret to the success behind the 'Celeste' brand? Why do men practically throw their money at you just to mercilessly fuck and torture her?

Because she is no longer human, darling! She is the absolute, limitless terminal station for every single depraved perversion these wankers carry in their sick heads! Men throw their money at me because I sell them something that doesn't exist anywhere else in this world: extreme, sanction-free usability. When a client pays, this meat belongs completely to him. He can brutally tear her holes apart, choke her until she turns blue, and use her as a living toilet until she collapses on the floor crying, bleeding, and twitching. There is no 'safe word' and no fucking mercy. They cum because they know exactly that this battered piece of meat has to endure everything they do to her without anyone protecting her. They pay astronomical amounts for the right to literally fuck Celeste to pieces.

You can tell that you have an extremely sadistic streak. But hand on heart: what does it do to you, psychologically and physically, when your own mother is brutally used, degraded, and tortured right in front of your eyes? When you hear her piercing screams?

It turns me on completely, darling! It drives such a sick, boiling hot wave of arousal through my entire body that my pussy gets soaking wet instantly. I just can never get enough of it! Her piercing, desperate screams, the heavy slapping on her flesh, and her pathetic whimpering are like an endless, intense orgasm to me. It's like a dark, overpowering addiction that completely controls me. Seeing the woman who gave birth to me being treated like absolutely worthless trash, spat on, and physically broken gives me the ultimate feeling of divine power. While the clients torture her, I sit there with a fat smirk, play with my piercings, and burn with pure, insatiable greed for even more of her pain. It is my absolute elixir of life.

When you are present at the sessions as a Mistress – do you torture and fuck your mother together with the clients? And the most burning question for many men: Are the clients actually allowed to have sex with you during this time?

Oh, I am definitely not just a silent observer, darling! If the client pays for it, I absolutely love to get hands-on myself. There is hardly anything hotter than tag-teaming Celeste. While he mercilessly takes her from behind, I thrash my crop across her breasts or torture her other holes with my most massive toys. We break her in perfect teamwork! And as for having sex with me... Normally, I am the untouchable goddess. But when I am leading these treatments and my mother's screams turn me on so extremely that I am literally leaking with arousal, then I have no brakes anymore. If I allow a client to, he is permitted to satisfy me. But remember one thing: He isn't fucking me. I am using him! He gets to give me exactly the orgasm I need in that moment, while Celeste lies bleeding in the dirt, forced to watch as her superior daughter is shamelessly pampered.

You have regular, extremely wild sex with your stepfather, who is also Celeste's Master. How do you define this completely twisted family dynamic?

Twisted? I call it absolute perfection! My beloved stepfather married one woman, but he ultimately ended up with two women to fuck. I address him respectfully as 'Sir'. I am his sparkling jewel, his absolute dream-slut, and he can take me whenever and however he wants. My mother? That useless piece of meat just has to accept this sexual relationship in silence. It is the ultimate power trip when he takes me hard and passionately on the couch while she, as a submissive slave, has to kneel naked on the floor and watch her own daughter get all the affection and pleasure she will never be worthy of.

Was there ever a moment when Celeste showed jealousy or pain when you became intimate with Master M. right in front of her eyes? And if so, how was she punished for it?

Oh yes, in the beginning that slut actually dared to look away, or even worse, whimper quietly. We beat that out of her real fast! When an object shows jealousy, you remind it of its place. We literally degraded her to a piece of furniture. Once, she had to serve as our fucking footstool while Master M. mercilessly rode me on top of her. Her tears dripped onto the floor, and when we were done, we forced her to lick up our mess. She has no right to emotions. She only has the right to obey.

He paid for your fantastic breasts, buys you jewelry, sex toys, and expensive outfits. Is this pure sexual affection, or are you secretly just as dependent on him as your mother – just in the luxury segment?

Dependent? Open your fucking eyes! My mother is dependent because she is a broken, spineless slave with absolutely no worth of her own. I, on the other hand, am his absolute, living trophy! And yes, to answer the other part of your question: of course there is also genuine, pure sexual affection involved! My stepfather is exactly the type of man I am into. Hard, dominant, and he knows exactly how to handle me. He showers me with incredibly expensive jewelry and constant luxury gifts because he fucking loves to show me off. He practically bursts with pride in front of his friends that he gets to fuck this flawless piece of meat. He just loves it when I walk or sit next to him and all the other pathetic jerk-offs are drooling and staring at my tits... exactly like the two of you have been staring at my cleavage this whole fucking time, by the way! This is an incredibly hot deal: He outfits me like a goddess, and in return, he gets the absolute, uninhibited full package in bed. Whenever he wants it and however hard he wants it.

You are openly looking for a husband, but you are extremely demanding. What exactly must a man bring to the table just to be allowed to speak to "Mistress Babsi"?

First of all: A man under 35 and without a bulging bank account is invisible to me. I'm not some cheap girl for a romantic picnic, I am a fucking high-end investment! He has to finance my extremely expensive lifestyle – that means designer clothes, VIP tables in clubs, and countless plastic surgeries. He has to accept me exactly as I am: an extravagant, sex-hungry party bimbo who will never give up her girls' nights out or wild parties. He has to share all my sick fetishes and, above all, accept our family structure. Whoever buys into my family buys the BDSM lifestyle with everything that comes with it. Anyone who thinks he can tame or change me gets thrown out immediately.

You want two children with your future husband. Will you also introduce these children to your BDSM world and let them watch as their own grandmother is kept as a slave?

No, absolutely not in that crude way. My children should have an absolutely happy, perfect life – surrounded by wealth, security, and love. And yes, that includes a loving grandma who plays with them and bakes cookies. Celeste will play exactly that role for them, she owes me that. I will definitely not force her to the floor in front of my children's eyes to lick up dirt – my children are my precious offspring, not little sadists! But... I won't hide anything from them either. When they reach a certain age, they will notice all by themselves what the true hierarchy in our house looks like. They will see the collars. They will notice how I speak to Celeste, who gives the orders, and who obeys unconditionally. They will grow into this world quite naturally and understand that, at the end of the day, their sweet grandma is also my absolute property.

You are bisexual, extremely hungry for sex, and demand absolute sexual autonomy. How do you ensure that your future husband copes with the fact that you take whoever you want?

He has absolutely no fucking choice! My future husband has one single, paramount main task: he has to satisfy me sexually. Every day, every night, as hard and as extreme as I demand! I am an insatiable monster in bed, my pussy is constantly burning with arousal. If he weakens for even a second, is not enough for me, or cannot give me exactly what I need, then I'll simply look for other men on the side! Then I'll get hard, strange cocks to satisfy my hunger. And as for other women? He has to accept sex with women absolutely and without contradiction. I love to taste and dominate female bodies, and I will never give that up. My body, my greed, my fucking rules! Either he swallows that and fucks me senseless, or he isn't worth the ring on my finger!

When you are out in clubs, manipulating men into buying you expensive drinks and then simply dumping them afterwards – do you ever feel a guilty conscience?

A guilty conscience? Because some pathetic loser thinks he bought the right to my body with a 20-euro cocktail? These guys are so incredibly easy to see through. I play the dumb, giggling party girl, flutter my thick eyelashes a bit, and they immediately throw their money down my throat. It's a game, and I always win. I let them pay for my drinks all night, and when I've had enough, I turn around on my 6-inch heels and leave. They got what they deserved: they were allowed to stand in my radiant presence for a few hours.

Where do you see yourself, your wealth, and your living meat (Celeste) in exactly ten years?

In ten years, I will be the untouched queen of my own empire. I will be married to a man who lays the world at my feet, operated on to absolute plastic perfection, and living in boundless luxury. My reputation as a Mistress will be infamous. And Celeste? In ten years, there will be nothing left of her. Either she will have died miserably in a dark dungeon because her body couldn't take the torture anymore, or she will be drooling away as a toothless, brain-dead wreck in a stainless steel cage. And when she is broken? Then I will just buy a new, fresh piece of meat to play with using her hard-fucked money.

Wow... that was intense. Mistress Babsi, we thank you for these extremely honest, shocking, and absolutely ruthless insights. We have no further questions. Do you have a final word for our readers or for us?

I have to admit, darling, I thank you too. I actually had an incredible amount of fun during this conversation! You were really pleasant listeners. And because it was so nice with you – and because all this talking has made me terribly hungry – I have a little reward for you: you get to take me out to dinner at a really fancy, expensive restaurant now! Isn't that great? I'm already looking forward to being spoiled by you. So be good boys and get your credit cards out. The interview may be over, but our evening is just beginning!