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Doctor seeks creative female sub or slave for a blissful love-connection in Cincinnati
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I'm a very curious and thoughtful person living in a secluded apartment surrounded by woods in Cincinnati, OH 45244.

I desire a playful and innovative woman that would live out some creative fantasies within the BDSM lifestyle . . . that would be mutually rewarding and result in recovering a deep and blissful love-connection.
I have the sleek muscular build of a swimmer. So do you. I have a lively intelligence and playful imagination. You do too. For me there is no greater turn on than intelligence and resourcefulness and submissiveness in a woman. . . . I live in a remote hilltop on the outskirts of Cincinnati 45244 where cell phone signals never reach. . . .

Let me speak to you frankly. I am ready to take on a domestic slave, part time or full time. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am a writer, a poet, a dancer, and a skilled Master.

Just finished reading how a female Slave often needs a Master to face her fears:

My Owner understands my need to feel that I am safe, and He accepts that I have fears. He knows He can help me feel there is a way past the fear and He is there to help me move to that safe place. When I am not reacting to my behavior and when I look deeper inside myself He holds me safe in His Dominance. He does not let me feed my fear. Re-directing my thoughts He teaches me to see my reality as His responsibility.

I have learned I can trust His choices for us and I no longer have to struggle with or hide my slave heart. Each time I see Him strong when I am feeling fear. And, each time that I hear the love His voice as He corrects my thoughts, and as He reaches for me and I can sit at His feet resting my head on his thigh. Each time He brings me next to him. With all of this I feel freedom. Freedom, the freedom to be the submissive women I have always been, the woman who is the matching piece to Him, the property/slave who belongs to Him.

HERE IS THE FREEDOM THAT I OFFER YOU.

urLuvDoctor



Here is the poem that grips my imagination and fills me with delight. I’m reinventing myself and this poem is my guide for living:
It doesn't interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if have been opened
by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human. Is there anything here that fires your imagination? If so, please share it. Even a slave deserves bliss in her life. . . and I am the master of bliss. . . . who knows the benefits of selective pain.
ur Luvdoctor
6/6/2016 10:46:11 PM
When and how are you coming to Cincinnati?

Paris daily log:
 
Every day the news shows villages under water.  Fifty seniors are rescued two by two [as in the loading of Noah's Arc] from a retirement home without electricity for two days.  The video cameras show how each one is carefully lifted down when tied to a stretcher and passed to strong men in a rowboat. You can read the terror in their eyes, but, being French, these people remember the suffering of German occupation and keep a tight upper lip. . . .
 
The Siene now rushes through the city of Paris guided by stiff stone walls on both sides.  The roadways built on both sides of the Seine are now under water and this quick route in and out of the city is now cut off.  Rush hour now begins a half-hour early and ends an hour later than normal. . . .
 
Parents are getting less sleep at night, and their children are cranky as well.  The play I went to was badly managed.  At 3:45, another play ended and the lobby was stuffed with a hundred people exiting the auditorium while another hundred were anxious to be seated since the performance was scheduled to begin at 4:00.  
 
"It's all a result of the rising water in the Seine," I tell a woman in line next to me.  
 
"I've seen the rising anxiety in the eyes of those peering into the rushing waters of the Seine.  Their anxiety rises as the water rises.  Normally the only ones looking into the Seine are children and lovers.  But, today, even the lovers cannot stand to see the terror in the eyes of their beloved.  So they have gone elsewhere to hold hands and to kiss."
 
On the left bank of the "Petit Pont" ["Little Bridge"], a woman is hawking padlocks. Here is the place were a chainlink fence is covered with 8432 padlocks.  Each lock has its double set of initials: the initials of the two lovers swearing eternal love as they close their lock on the fence and together throw their key into the Seine. I am told by an elderly Frenchman that this "ritual is better suited to maintain fideity among the young than the church weddings that did this in my day." But the hawker says to me, "Haven't sold a single lock all week.  It must be the rising waters."
 
Underground parking garages are being closed down.  Where these cars go, no one knows. . . .
 
Metro stations are being closed.  The first to be closed is "Chateau d'Eau" ["Water Castle"]--the name tells it all.  At the metro station "La Cite," I can see water squirting from between the cracks in the floor tiles.  I can only imagine that, at just the right moment, floor tiles will come flying out of the floor and the guysers of water will quickly be released and flood the entire station.
 
One side of the station has already been closed off entirely.  A Metro crew dressed in yellow vests is pushing the water back with squeegies toward a sewer cover.  Little good that does.  I notice that the water is seeping out of the sewer itself.  This whole scene is complicated by Japanese tourists taking hundreds of pictures.  They will get home and make picture books of their shots and tell their spell-bound visitors, "I was  there when Paris was slowly sinking below the waters of the Seine."
 
ur devoted LuvDoctor/LuvMaster
 
 
liliana
 
 Age: 29
 Any where, New York