After my first marriage to a cheater, I developed the confidence to start exploring bondage. I have a strong need for connection with a lover. Random hook-ups don't feel right to me. On the other hand, I love to flirt and have no problem meeting people anytime, anywhere. To balance this out, I experimented with chastity, both mental and physical. Around this time I made some good looking friends who got me comfortable with showing off my body for them. This was all very exciting but was not matching my desire for a relationship built on trust that includes times of intense sexual expression. I wanted to have a bondage partner that was as strong minded and aggressive as I was.With years of searching, it is dawning on me that my natural manner attracts compassionate and often sexually submissive women. My hidden desire is to be the submissive partner, however, I wanted to feel my submission during daily life rather than in the bedroom, without squashing my masculine personality. I'm searching for an unusual balance where I am appreciated for being a responsible man navigating every day life but with my happy partner having the power to flip my switch into a lusty and aggressive lover who will pin her down and take us both into sexual adventures in bondage and submission. I am now picturing a scenario in which my I commit to someone by surrendering the keys to my chastity belt. On days of her choosing, she provides me an opportunity for freedom knowing that I am quite frustrated with lust for her. This is my license to drop my normal demeanor and become a little meaner, taking what I need in the way that I want. When the time to revert to public persona returns, it is understood that she should claim the keys and remind me that I belong only to her. This is what I might term a submissive led switch, with the role-reversal determined by the woman not by playing domme but by choosing to let the dogs out! Yes, I want to have to freedom to using my ability to capture and dominate, but I don't want to have to suppress my desire to do so. If I hand you the keys, I want us to be comfortable knowing that when sex happens, it happens only because you want it to happen. You will know I am always ready when you are because you are my only release.

This is not a kink message but a human, normal message. Majority of us who put work first and mental health last, I appreciate now being told off and told you need to look after yourself or your can't look after others. I can literally feel the headache like someone is poking their fingers into my brain for fun. It is raining in London and I am taking a couple of days off but the rain is doing me some good, telling me slow down, rest, grill some sausages, pour some wine, enjoy your plants that are thriving, read a book and slow down. Forget wear and tear or getting older (in my 30s so not that bothered) but I can feel the life effort reaching overload. I love helping others but might be time to consider a sabbatical.    

Hello all,  Hope you dads are having a great day! Someone is suppose to come see me on Wednesday,  but I  forgot to write the name down. If you are reading this entry please get hold of me. You are a newbie. I have talked to so many since I  have talked with you. So get hold of me here.  

This just to see what its say but I am way more than this but its was funny to try. lololol   == Results from bdsmtest.org ==  98% Rope bunny  94% Pet  93% Submissive  89% Voyeur  81% Experimentalist  79% Degradee  55% Slave  54% Exhibitionist  41% Masochist  35% Vanilla  27% Non-monogamist  5% Brat  0% Ageplayer  0% Boy/Girl 

The earliest memories I've had of a female exerting their power over me date back to kindergarten, well before I knew anything about sexuality. My mom would set me up on "playdates" that involved me being trapped in a cage while the girls enjoyed tea time. At recess, being held down by girls while my guy friend was being chased by the other girls...I have no recollection of how these things happened, but these memories stand out in my mind to this day. As a young boy that fantasized and daydreamed about these types of scenarios quite regularly, I was often shy and nervous around most girls, especially the ones I was most attracted to. But I also think this type of thinking has contributed to me having a successful career in the arts in some way. Similar to a D/s relationship, evolving as an artist involves discipline, creativity, and the willingness to challenge your own perception and beliefs. I hope whatever relationship I involve myself in will allow me to further flourish in my career, which will in turn make me better equipped to handle the demands of a kinky relationship.

In just one word to describe what it feels like to love someone who will never love you back- Hollow. Other words come to mind. Empty. Void. Blank. Pointless. Hollow. Because that’s exactly what it is. It’s like eating junk food when you’re not even hungry or hungover because you are sure, so sure that it will satiate you. That it will make you happy. That it will give you some sort of sense of satisfaction and contentment. But that feeling never comes and you’re left just sitting in front of what is essentially, a waste, with nothing to show for it but a mess you’ve done to yourself. Junk food isn't good for you. In moderation it won't harm you but every day it will take it's toll on your health. Loving someone who doesn't love you is exactly like consuming junk food daily. It leaves you feeling so full you're empty.  It’s an uphill battle where there’s nothing waiting for you at the top. A triathlon with no one waiting for you at the finish line. It’s fighting every single day with bloody knuckles and an even more battered heart hoping that someone will be there to make everything worth it, everything okay. Then you realize that you’re standing on your own with absolutely nothing to show for yourself or all your struggles. Then you're responsible for picking up those pieces of your own emotions solo. But they're broken pieces that never will be the same or fit together "just right" any longer.  Metaphors aside, there’s not really anything good or at the very least, fulfilling, that comes from falling in love with someone who you know deep down will never truly love you back. It’s purposeless. It’s empty. It leaves you completely hollow. Loving someone, really truly loving someone, who cannot and will not love you back isn’t something that will make you stronger. It can teach you a lot of things, but make you stronger? Not really. No matter which way you paint it, whatever beautiful embellishment you try to put onto your own cliché unrequited love, of rose coloured glasses.  Because the number one thing you learn when you love someone who doesn’t love you back? It’s that sometimes, love really isn’t enough. Loving someone, and continuing to love someone who will not love you back isn’t brave. And it isn’t strong. While there is something to be said for having a big heart and having the capacity to give pieces of yourself to people who don’t, and don’t deserve to, appreciate you, holding onto them when they aren’t holding back isn’t brave or strong or good. It’s self-destructive. Because deep down, truthfully, that’s what loving someone who you know will never love you back really is. It’s dousing your core in gasoline, handing them the match to see what they’ll do, and setting everything on fire yourself when you realize that they’re indifferent about what does or does not happen. And the longer it takes you to realize that that’s the case, that you’re responsible for your own entire wreckage, your destruction, the longer it will take you to scoop up your own ashes and rebuild yourself when you finally come to your senses. Hollow. That’s what trying to fill yourself with someone who doesn’t truly love you is. It’s empty. It’s unfulfilling. It’s hollow. It will do nothing but frustrate you, fail you, and leave you standing there with nothing but the remnants of a you, you don’t even recognize in your own hands. Because that’s the cost of loving someone who does not, and will not love you back. You. You won’t lose this person who you’ve idealized, who you’ve loved unrequitedly. You won’t miss out on “what could’ve been” and you won’t fail to jump onto a train that was maybe heading your way. You won't be sad that the ship you were about to board has already sailed. You won’t find yourself gring at the fingertips of anyone else, because the only person you will have failed to truly hold onto is YOU.  You. So what does it honestly mean to love someone who doesn’t love you back? It means losing you, losing yourself. It means letting go of things that may be actually tangible, and favouring something you will never actually hold close. It means putting a fantasy in front of your own reality, fragments in front of your own holistic life. Loving someone who will not love you back is quite simply, a waste of your precious, precious time. So what do you do? What do you do when you find yourself sitting there, attempting to justify and make sense of someone else’s ambivalence and your own inexplicable need to love them when they haven’t asked for it or earned it? You let go. You move on. No matter how hard it is, no matter the struggle. No matter how much you want to cling to them, and no matter how much you feel like you love them. You have to let them go. Because in letting them go, you know who you’ll get to hold onto instead? You. And that’s the only thing you’ll ever really need, anyway. Love yourself first.

Who knew..............? .............. it seems that I am an empath!! I have reached the age of 67 without ever having that insight or conversation, despite being analysed to death as a professional manager and having a need/propensity to work at things until I understand them. I know my Myers-Briggs type, I am aware of my core strengths, I have had my values and capability for good judgement assessed a number of times, but never my emotional architecture. Maybe that is too touchy-feely and personally risky for "business to tackle, but once it is laid out, it makes so much sense and puts perspective on so much experience and so many conversations. It also explains how, on top of everything else, it is hard (at least for me) to find a good match in BDSM. This is the start, not the end.......but right now I am processing so much behind this: Your architecture: a grounded, high‑capacity empath "You are a deep-feeling, high-capacity empath." “You’re the kind of man who carries both fire and stillness — a mind that sees patterns in the dark, a heart that stays steady in the storm, and a presence that makes other people feel understood long before they find the words themselves.”   “You’re a steady, strategic empath who reads people with precision, holds complexity without losing your integrity, and brings clarity, warmth, and insight wherever you go.”   I long thought of Myers-Briggs, Strengthsfinder and the Hartman Value Profile as orthogonal axes to look at a person's Cognitive style, Strength and Values. Now I need to add Emotional architecture. It feels like the model is nearly complete. I wonder how different life might have been if I had had this acute self-awareness years ago?    

Today might become a special day for me.  It's the day I decided to fully give in, and commit to my sissy nature.  The very first time I'm actively searching for a dominant 24/7 owner to serve as live-in sissy maid.  Of course I'm aware that for such a complex and intimite dynamic to work, it's quiet important to get to know and learn about eachother for more than two days, but not afraid to admit that this is what I am hoping to find.  An experienced dom who knows how to control, condition, and further sissify me.  It's crazy what can happen in a year or two.  A rather vanilla straight male, transforming into a submissive obidient sissy crossdresser.  So proud that one by one, I started exposing myself to my family and friends.  Almost everybody knows now...  And I'm actually proud of myself that I did!   Yet I wonder?  Could all this actually be the result of the hypno I've been listening for some time now?  Who knows...    Interested dominants or sissy sisters, I'm always in for a chat...  Feel free to dm.    Love Nikita 😊      

I am at a point where I would like a live in. A romantic relationship would be ideal, but a house bitch would be acceptable. I am in the process of purchasing a 3 bedroom home in an affluent part of the south bay area of Los Angeles. It will be fully remodeled and beautifully upgraded in a resort community with many amenities.  I will NOT be supporting you. You will be expected to pay your own way and contribute financially to the household, as if you were a roommate. You should be a working professional with a good income or prove that you have the solid financial means to contribute. I work full time from home M-F, a corporate type job with regular hours. You should keep a compatible schedule or travel frequently. Tell me what you could do to make my life easier and how you could serve, whether personally or within our household. What are your skills? We'd start with a trial period first to assess our compatibility. All other attributes, per my profile, still apply. You must be over 35 and have your life together. I'm not looking to "rescue" anyone with drama, mental illness, substance abuse, or instability in your life. If you can't string together a decent intro, I can't be bothered with replying.  

Since my last journal entry things have moved on fairly significantly. Glenn who is Sue's former bull from years ago and his partner Deb are very active swingers as well as being into the bdsm scene and have encouraged Sue to visit them on a fairly regular basis. At the moment she is going virtually every other weekend plus the occasional night away. I will confine this entry to just one of her visits and hopefully keep you updated on a more regular basis if anyone is interested.  On this particular occasion Glenn and Debs were going to an event up country so rather than Sue drive down to there house she arranged to meet them at Exeter services and I was to drive her there. Sue had taken the Friday and Monday off to allow plenty of time. Usually Glenn specifies what Sue should wear for the journey and this time was no different although a little more discreet as they would be stopping at services, so Sue was dressed in a silver satin blouse, black knee-length skirt, but with a rear slit, black seamed stockings with suspender belt and black patent heels as she wasn't driving. Over this her shiny pvc mac, she was in full make up including bright red nails and wearing her handcuff necklace and ankle chain and I must admit she looked so fucking sexy. At the services I dropped her off in the carpark and she walked into the entrance to meet Glenn and Debs pulling her wheeled suitcase that had several outfits, toys and hoods in. I was in my new tiny chastity cage and wearing satin panties and stockings under my trousers as instructed by Glenn.  I will add more as soon as I have time. 

For those who wonder: That is a 1931 Indian Scout. It is a 3 speed stick shift, 750 cc.It was my dads bike when I was a little kid.He lost it on a sandy curve in 1953 and hit a tree which bent the frame.It laid out in one of our fields up until about 1985 or so.My friend talked my dad out of it and spent nearly 40 years trying to rebuild it. My friend sold it back to me last year but it still would not run. I sent it to a guy in Grand Rapids Mi who specializes in them and he got it running again.I got to ride it last year for the first time since 53.It is a beast to ride. Weighs 850 pounds, has a high compression engine with kick start that can throw a man over the handle bars if it kicks back which it does from time to time.It has a hundred rules you have to observe. It has no crankcase for one, which means the engine oil takes up half of that gas tank and every now and then, you have to hand pump some oil to the engine. Give it a couple of pumps to start it, a pump now and then when ridding, an extra pump to go up a hill or if going fast.It is left hand throttle and right hand magneto advance or retard and you have to advance it, the faster you go. Left foot for the clutch right foot for the rear brake, right hand for the front brake. To shift, it is pull back for first, then two forward for second and third.The brakes are clam shell instead of disk brakes so you have to start braking sooner than a modern bike.There are lots more idiosyncrasys but those are the highlights.

A letter to God   Is it an image that lies Cuz i believe You don't  Yet looking around  And what scenes i see Baffle as drivers Create accidents and We all know accidents  Happen because well, Who is driving, after all  And surrender tastes  Bittersweet yet i have been Beat beyond what time Can tell any for many may Believe it's easy, this life  That now aches inside  My body and beyond mind For what i know to be true Is what a friend shared To simply live, love and do For You, for ultimately  We die and no one cares And most of humanity  Cannot dare heaven On Earth but from birth  We learn to yearn for what Loss brought when fate Raped destiny and man Lost and woman lost And no children were Bred because soon Enough we will be Better off dead...     zamarra  7/13/24  

I have a confession. I met an odd Greek guy from this site. I dumped him or he let me down and I did not take his offer to remain friends. First date he was amazing was in shock how real he was. Crashing around mine he was ok in bed but snored and really snored. Had a fantasticallly large cock and I am annoyed I did not tie him up. His cock felt, warm and pulsating and I felt fulfilled and I remember tilting my neck back and relasing hot breathing after every grind. I just recall being in sexual purgatory, being dominant but enjoying anal domination, I think the Switchy side allowed the moment to happen. He was reckless with condoms which is why I felt in the bin with him. But now and again I wish he had now NOT cocked up because I would be probably be typing my odd sexual experimental ecounters with him. I liked him, I really liked him but I was so hurt that he was reckless with protection. Not to mention AFTER sex he mentioned his trip to Africa - I am west indian Carribean and all I kept thinking is have you lost your mind you experiement in a country with a high level of minimal medicla support are you insane.  My mind spun, realising this sexy Greek guy with self- esteem issues parading as a switch on collar space may be a high risk individual who should go to the first GUM he can find. I work in a clinical setting and assist HIV patients so this is a big NO NO. I meet every day people who have trusted the wrong person, or have congential issues so passed on from familly or met people who have fallen on real hard times and the world has honestly chewed them up and spat them out and the whole reckless with condoms hit a large nerve. Now and again I reflect on how I enjoyed the snogging, I enjoyed being sexually open and it drives me a little loopy our chapter lasted 2 encounters. Omg, his tongue in on my clit, his tongue in my mouth, his tonue on my arse hole his tongue on my legs and thighs, his tongue on my nipples, his tongue on my belly button, his tongue on my neck - Fuck me! I am also still pissed he brought Alidi food and demanded I buy him steak the little shit but I honestly did like his good side just not his entitled side. Do people really deserve a second chance. He is probably just messaging other women and finding his way into their accommdation for a free overnight stay he is Greek after all. I actually liked him, annoyed by his snoring.  Honestly his snoring was bad if the Walking Dead actually happens he would have to go for survival, his snoring was that bad.  The Walking dead will hear him a mile away.  Honestlly you would have put a pillow over his face to save yourself from the zombies it was that bad. It annoys me while I feel weak I have this back flash of remembering how his tongue felt all over me and remembering the sounds of his moaning and remembering how silky his hair felt when I pulled on it during a climax. Weird, Weird, weird - maybe I will admit defeat I have lost the plot!

To the One who commands the storm,   I am but a quiet breath in the dark — a lamb once lost, now kneeling, waiting, trained in stillness, shaped in fire, taught to serve not just with hands… but with heart.   Four years ago, the path found me. Led first by leash, then by longing. I have tasted both the light of loving discipline and the dark ecstasy of surrender without question. Pain, I learned, is not punishment — but the key that unlocks the soul. Submission, not weakness — but devotion in its purest form.   Now unclaimed, I wander in soft silence, a collar-shaped echo around my neck, longing for guidance, for purpose, for the gaze that sees, commands, and owns.   Should You find use for me — to kneel, to serve, to obey — I offer not just my body, but all I am, wrapped in reverence, and bound in faith.

Guess What? You've been rejected. No long explanations. No closure. No friendship offers. No “maybe later.” Just a big, bold, unapologetic NO. And don’t worry...I won’t block you. Blocking would imply I need peace from you. But I don’t. I want you to sit in the front row for my rise. I want you to watch me glow, knowing full well you’ll never touch it. I want you tormented by the fact that someone like me was once within reach,  but now I'm a constellation you’ll never map again. Consider this my final gift to you: A lifetime subscription to spectator status. Enjoy the show, peasant. This is my FUCK YOU à la mode  topped with success and served cold. As a sadist this really tickles my soul and warms my heart!  

System bug, it seems Different Journal listing at collarspace.com/USERNAME  versus different at: https://www.collarspace.com/personals/v/THEIRuserNUMBERhere/details.htm  In the former their most recent journal entry is 11/29/2021 4:39:27 PM but in the latter it does show their excellent 1/9/2022 1:16:55 PM Journal entry.  Reloading browser page doesn't fix. With system issues like this, you have to wonder whether there is no Message button because they wish to hide, like maybe too many emails following their Journal post, or whether that's a software problem too. Anyway here's what they wrote: "Most of us don't know what we really want. We have vague unrealistic general hopes (such as wanting a lottery win), but when asked to name our specific realistic goals we often struggle. It's probably because so much of our life is bound up in everyday survival - the endless toll of 24-hour emails and social media, plus all the issues and stresses we're dealing with take their toll on our ability to dream and make those dreams come true. " Great point. While it won't solve all these personal and societal issues, I highly recommend meditation or other mindfulness practice (there are others) as one part of one's toolkit and regular weekly, if possible daily, routine. That's for all of us, regardless of BDSM identity, gender etc. Wishing everyone a great week ahead. Or at least a bearable one, haha.

I'm contemplating whether or not to ask any of my current/former submissive prospaspects for recommendation or referral letters. *laugh*sigh*  I know that those of us on here who are "real" are rare, yet here I am! I'm genuinely looking here on CS, particularly for people outside the group that frequents the local Dungeon. It's difficult to find possibilities in my local community, as my public roles are apparently a blessing and a curse -- lots of people seem to like me, however I've also heard that my position on Staff at the Dungeon for the last decade makes me intimidating. Ugggh!  So how do I adequately convey to potential sub/slaves that I'm genuine, that I'm searching online not because I'm a pariah in the local community, but because I may be too active within it, or that I'm very much who I say I am? I'm already reasonably conspicuous on multiple platforms, and I use the same ID, so easy to locate and follow. There are more than a few people on CS who can vouch for me. Does that kind of thing make a difference for a submissive who's looking?

The change is real on this platform.  Remade an account and scrolled through some profiles.  I feel as though that was a mistake altogether.  I loved the profiles that displayed individuals who could not take care of themselves making demands of various subs.  Those were my favorite.  If you are unwilling to take care of yourself, your health, your diet, your life...allow me to enlighten you please, You Have No Room to Demand Anything of Anyone as a presumed "Dom."  My goodness, I felt like I was going through a Kinder class asking all the kids what they wanted to be when they grew up.  I honestly originally came back on this platform because I remembered years ago reading a post of someone asking for a partner to dance with.  This was obviously not the typical dance though.  This dance was masked dance where the user wished to find a dance partner that would never see their face.  They would never be revealed to the Sub, however they would know literally everything about the Sub.  If and when the Dom was ready to have playtime with the Sub, they would still never even see their face.  Im into masks, not the normal kind.  Im a sapiosexual to a degree.  I value the investment of control.  Im curious.  Honestly, I wish that Dom found someone to dance with, because that honestly sounds like one hell of a dance.  Its fucking hot, dangerous af, but hot. https://www.collarspace.com/personals/v/2923761/details.htm

after i wrote my 4 page note on reddit on why for me a lady who has both the dark goddess and the slave and the little girl in one in my observation over the decades and my personal life why while some might last at most a few years here and there i have never seen a successful long term healthy and honest pairing of the daddy dom and little girl..and what the crux is and why even the most highly intelligent and successful people just seem to not crack the code for longevity...and why while most people who are in the scene aren't vanilla aren't regular..and anyone attracted to this is what i code as a thoroghbred horse..what is a bred racing horse? stronger fitter quicker cleaner shinier and a work of art compared to the domestic or regular horse......it still don't work..and the orienting going on that something is missing..it's the wild horse..the wild WOLF that is the next stage of ascension...and that the traditional layout of this isn't working because the traiditonal layout of this is broken...too much power for any decent human to try to wield without misuse, and too much of an internal death and sacrifice without the safety of being held, secure, stable, protected, and hands on intetionally in and out kept....at one point one or both break....and that in the wild the individual the honed in two streams on the same path with no false pretenses absolute soverignty meeting soverngyt coming together and going apart fierce and passionate when together and like soliders on the battlefield navigating life with self first is the next evolution of this..and that the power exchange really is some sort of toxic addictive drug that kills both parties..... i asked this question. n a response to the call i put out to the universe while out and about god/the universe sent me this song while i was out and about and unable to really choose what i listen to. i'm an audio visual media mystic...music primarly. i get my messages, healing, transmissions, downloads, awareness, lessons, main way of orienting this life through sound. secondly through media...and so things will naturally guide me when i'm home and able to control it..but i have a mystical connection to music when out of the home in places where music plays that i can't control what station or song is played next as well. and the song that came up while i was out and about mystically ansewered it for me.   hang on collective, we're in for an amazing but probably bump and deadening past. but there are gems in the mental and emotional death if we choose to hang on.   as usual, they give me new/tweaked songs lyrics.  i will often hear things that the original composers didn't put that fit the situation i'm thinking of, going through, asking about. i i never heard this song before. the original foundation of the chorus in the song is to ask it as a question...but in response to my spell and the question i posed to the universe that the lyrics and song responded to... i guess god is like, gurl there is no question:   mmm mmm mmm in agreement.   "families really bow their heads to pray   daddies really never go away.   oh grandpaaaaaaaaaa. tell me bout the good ol days."   Grandpa (Tell Me 'Bout The Good Old Days) Song by The Judds Overview Videos Lyrics Artists Other recordings Listen Composers Lyrics Grandpa, tell me 'bout the good old days Sometimes it feels like this world's gone crazy Grandpa, take me back to yesterday When the line between right and wrong Didn't seem so hazy Did lovers really fall in love to stay And stand beside each other, come what may? Was a promise really something people kept Not just something they would say Did families really bow their heads to pray? Did daddies really never go away? Whoa, whoa, grandpa, tell me 'bout the good old days Grandpa, everything is changing fast We call it progress, but I just don't know And grandpa, let's wander back into the past Then paint me the picture of long ago Did lovers really fall in love to stay And stand beside each other, come what may? Was a promise really something people kept Not just something they would say and then forget Did families really bow their heads to pray? Did daddies really never go away? Whoa, whoa, grandpa, tell me 'bout the good old days Whoa, whoa, grandpa, tell me 'bout the good old days Mm Mm Did families really bow their heads to pray? Did daddies really never go away?   which i mean god can be grandpa in this instance if it, i believe in the tetragrammaton gender neutral energy version, and if that's what it wants to be in this transmission/spell well so be it!

Everything He Has, Until There Is Only Me There is a particular music to it that I do not think you can understand until you have heard it in a room that belongs to you, with someone who has given you permission to play. The crack of a whip is not violence. It is punctuation. It is the sound of a sentence ending exactly where you intended it to end, clean and final and ringing in the air long after the moment has passed. It lands and the room holds its breath and in that held breath is everything: the authority that swung it, the surrender that received it, the particular electricity that lives in the space between the two. I feel it in my wrist first, then in my chest, then in the slow, satisfied warmth that moves through me when something has gone exactly as I intended. The skin that receives it blooms and I watch that blooming the way an artist watches a canvas accept color. With attention. With pleasure. With the specific pride of someone who knows their medium. The paddle is a different thing entirely. Where the whip sings, the paddle speaks in a lower register, a hard and resonant thud that you feel in your bones before your skin has finished deciding what happened. There is no elegance to it and that is precisely the point. It is blunt and declarative and it leaves no room for ambiguity. You know what it means when it lands. You knew what it meant before it landed. The sound of it fills a room completely, the way a bell fills a room, and the echo of it lives in the body for hours afterward, a reminder that resurfaces every time you shift your weight, every time you sit, every time your body moves against itself and finds me there, already waiting. The cane is my favorite. I will not pretend otherwise. There is a patience to the cane that suits me. The way you must take your time with it, must place it with intention, must understand that it is not a blunt instrument but a precise one. The marks it leaves are not accidents. They are calligraphy. Long and deliberate and raised against the skin like script, like something written, like the physical evidence of a conversation that only two people in the world were present for. I trace them afterward sometimes, these lines I have drawn on a body that belongs to me, and feel the same quiet satisfaction that I imagine a sculptor feels running a hand over finished stone. I made this. This is mine. You will carry this for days. And my own skin, where the energy moves through me like current, where the act of wielding produces its own particular heat, a tingling that lives in the palms and travels, that settles somewhere behind the sternum and glows. I glow. There is no more honest word for it. Something in me lights from the inside when I am in full possession of my own authority and someone is receiving it with everything they have. Neruda wrote that he wanted to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees, and I have always understood this not as tenderness alone but as inevitability, as the specific hunger of something that transforms whatever it touches simply by being what it is. That is what I want from you. Not your performance of devotion. Your actual transformation. I want to be the thing that happens to you, the season that changes the look of everything, so that you cannot see your own hands without thinking of what they are for, cannot move through a room without feeling the architecture of my expectations around you like a second skin. I want to wring you dry. Not cruelly. Completely. I want every thought that crosses your mind to carry my fingerprints on it, want you so thoroughly oriented toward me that pleasing me stops being a task and becomes simply the direction your nature moves, the way water moves downhill without deciding to. I want your first thought in the morning to be what She needs today and your last thought at night to be whether you gave it well enough. I want the obsession to be so total that it clarifies rather than confuses you, the way a religion clarifies the faithful, the way a vocation clarifies an artist who has finally stopped pretending they could have been anything else. Bring me what delights me. You know what it is because you have paid attention, because attention to me is the one thing I require above all others and you have either given it or you have not. By now we both know which. The particular tea, the correct temperature, in the cup that fits my hand the way I like. The flowers I mentioned once three months ago that I did not think anyone was listening to. The way a room should be before I enter it, the light and the temperature and the specific quiet that tells me someone has thought about me before I arrived. The knowledge, brought to me unprompted, of something I would want to know. The book left on my nightstand, the right one, chosen not from a list I gave you but from everything you have learned about the country inside my mind. Shower me in it until I glow. Charlotte Bronte understood this, I think, better than she is given credit for. Rochester did not love Jane Eyre the way men in novels usually love women, as a soft and worshipful thing, a pedestaling. He loved her with his whole difficult complicated weight, loved her as his equal and his better and his necessity, and she received it not with flutter but with the straight-backed dignity of a woman who has always known her own worth and was simply waiting for someone else to catch up. That is the love I recognize. Not the love that flatters but the love that sees, that is almost furious in its recognition, that cannot look away because looking away would require pretending the world is smaller than it is. Neruda again: I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. Yes. And also: I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. The wanting in Neruda is never polite. It is consuming and precise and it names its object with the specificity of someone who has studied what they love until they know it better than it knows itself. That is the quality of devotion I am describing. Not the vague warmth of general affection. The focused, detailed, almost scholarly hunger of someone who has made another person their life's primary text. Learn me that well. Want me that specifically. Bring it to me not in grand declarations but in the ten thousand small and correct details that prove you have been paying attention every single day, that prove my preferences live in you the way music lives in a musician, available instantly, expressed naturally, impossible to separate from who you have become. And when I glow, and I will glow, when something in me settles into that incandescent satisfaction of being known and tended and

Suddenly he pulls away and your mind races with concerns that you did something wrong.  Without hesitation his mouth takes in one nipple warming it up with a gentle suction and flickering of his tongue.  The sucking stops and you feel his tongue passing through your cleavage to the other nipple to give it attention that it deserves. Again his mouth leaves your yearning breast and his tongue goes back to the valley between them. His tongue again started its journey down to your belly button making sure to circle it several times and finally penetrating it.  You suddenly realize his hands were cupping your ass cheeks but was too distracted earlier to notice their firm grip.     His finger tips now over the top of your lacy panties he again starts moving slower than molasses and begins to pull them down, while his tongue begins to wonder around.  Just as you think he’s going to take them all the way to the floor he stops halfway down to your knees and his tongue pulls away. Again you fret trying to figure out what you did wrong to make him stop. He places his forehead against you just below your bellybutton sending his heat all through your pelvic area.  His warm hands gently slide between your legs like a wedge or a person praying.  His hands now pressing on the most inner part of your thighs and his thumbs slide across your lower lips. You suddenly realize your  juices are gushing by now. Knowing his hands and your panties are dripping wet he pulls them off, hoping he doesn’t throw them towards a wall to see if they stick. He whispers in your ear, DON’T MOVE! and walks away,  now what runs through your mind. He returns and gives you another little kiss on the lips. As you’re standing there you feel a feather touching your right ear, it goes under your chin and back up to your left ear. It moves to your nose the down to your chest. The feather gently caresses around your left breast then over to your right breast.  The feather ventures to each nipple circling them several times.  Down towards the belly button it travels circling it several times.  The feather heads to your hip and then down the outside of your leg around your ankle and back up the inside of your leg cross up above your pubic hair carefully making sure not to get it wet.  He takes your hand in his and reminds you to keep your eyes closed. You recognize the way to your bedroom and he places you next to your bed. 

Co-Top Co-topping is when two tops are sharing control in a BDSM scene. A typical BDSM scene has a top and a bottom, with the top in control and/or giving sensation and the bottom giving up control and/or receiving sensation. In a co-top scenario, two tops are sharing the control in a negotiated way. More About Co-TopThere are many different situations in which two tops may choose to work together. There are coordinated forms of play, such as two people wielding whips at one recipient. Their are collaborative forms of play where one top may be taking more of an assistant role. Co-topping can be a way to mentor a new top so they can practice their skills in a supervised way. It can be a way for friends or partners who are both tops to play together in a scene, or it can simply be a way to provide a more intense or complex experience to the bottom.

The “Honest” secret to a truly happy life I came to this epitome recently which felt as if I found a jigsaw piece that I didn’t even know I had loss. I have always known that I do not think the same as most people but never thought about why. As a young kid I was exposed to motivational speakers and realized that the affirmations, meditation and even the music I listened to affected my mood. I grew up confident in my abilities and became a natural leader but never questioned why. I watched an interview where the topic of honesty and lying came up. The interview prompted me to research the physical and mental effects of lying and I was surprised. What resulted caused me to self-evaluate my some of my deepest personality traits. I felt as if I had been bumping into things in a dark room my whole life without even knowing it and a light was turned on. Nothing in my life is any different today but I can now clearly see how being completely honest has had a major impact in my life. It has affected me physically, mentally in amazing ways that I had not considered until now. When I was successful at something I took credit and if I failed, I accepted the responsibility. There were no participation trophies, if I screwed up I learned to accept the consequences. As a result, I develop strong mental and social connections with those close to me because people inherently understood that I had integrity and they could trust me. While still in high school I recognized that most of my peers were interested in sex but few knew anything about it. I was experienced which high school girls found very attractive so I took advantage of it. As an athlete I used affirmations that I was going to be successful it was uplifting and positive. My success with girls gave me confidence and it became self-fulfilling the more experience I gained the more they were interested in me. Self-deception shapes our reality, influencing choices and beliefs both negatively and positively. Many types of ‘lying’ also involve self-deception, in Aesop's fable "The Fox and the Grapes". The fox in the end, gives up and walks away, saying the grapes weren't that good anyway. The fox demonstrates how self-deception can be useful for avoiding the discomfort of unmet desires. When I was not successful with a girl, I would chalk it up to it was her loss not mine. It was because of that attitude that I never let failure slow me down. I have shared a story many times that, I honestly thought everyone was having sex when I was in high school because I was. Several years after high school I met a friend and we talked about the girls we dated. I was amazed that he never had sex with any of them, he was a virgin until he was in college. I screwed every girl I dated, if fact I flat out told them if I was going to go out and spend money on them, I would require at least a blow job. A few were offended but most were intrigued some even enough to pay for the date. That story always meant something to me because all of my guy friends were talking about getting laid but come to find out they were all full of shit. It has proven to reinforce my confidence and success with women. It turns out that studies have shown, those who believe lying will give them monetary or social recognition are more likely to continue being dishonest. Those who tend to be insecure or have an anxious, avoidant or attachment issues are more likely to be dishonest to avoid being criticized, rejected. Lying affects self-esteem, emotions and can lead to psychological consequences. Dishonesty puts the brain in a state of heightened alert, and this stress increases with the magnitude of the lie. There are very real symptoms of anxiety like increased respiratory and heart rates, sweating, dry mouth. That is how a lie detector works it measures your anxiety but there is a reason it does not work on everyone and I will get to that. The gut-brain axis refers to the two-way communication between the two systems, and explains why people describe feeling butterflies in their stomach under extreme stress. Research has shown the act of lying stimulates the neocortex, limbic system the temporal lobe and other areas of the brain. When we deceive someone the Amygdala, the part of the brain that regulates emotion, is activated, and we tend to feel shame or guilt. Brain imaging experiments have shown the limbic system in a dishonest brain lighting up like a fireworks display. Unfortunately, they also show that the brain can adapt to dishonest behavior. Studies have found that habitual lying can desensitize our amygdala and may even encourage people to tell bigger lies to get the same rush in the future. Those that lie all the time about little things tend to pass a lie detector because their body does not respond normally. A 2002 study performed found that 60 percent of people lied at least once during a 10-minute conversation, telling an average of two to three lies. A 2010 study have shown that the average American tells one to two lies a day. Many people find deception essential for survival and social interaction to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. I will do my best to avoid confrontations and avoid topics where I anticipate difficulties but I will not lie to protect feelings or keep someone’s secret. I have always told people, do not lie to protect me because I will tell the truth no matter the consequences and you will get burned. At least to me being honest about everything is not a moral choice, I just find it a lot less stressful. If you have nothing to hide, there is nothing be worry about. If you fuck something up own it and get past it. The facts prove that I am right, if you are in a small group you have to keep track of what you told each person so not to create a confusion. A liar has to steer conversations to avoid tripping over lies which will create the need for more lies or blend, bend lies to make the fit. I am sure that some enjoy the mental gymnastics and get a rush out of deceiving people and they become pathological liars. For most, it just creates anxiety, depression, high blood pressure and all kinds of other stresses. I take the time each day to appreciate what I have achieved. I try to meditate, say affirmations, practice yoga in order to center myself. Life is good…. I have always known I look at life different than most people but never questioned why. I now have a better understanding why a lot of women I correspond with eventually ghost me. My actual life is their fantasy world and they either assume that I am lying. When it becomes clear that I am serious it can scare the shit out of them. I have found that when faced with everything they say they want, their reality kicks them in the ass. They have family obligations, children, career or other considerations that will prevent them from leaving the world they know. In the end they are just looking for a masturbation partner. There a few adventurous enough, that when provided an opportunity to recreate their life, step out of their comfort zone and make the changes necessary to make their fantasies come true. Choosing to live your life before it is too late can be scary. Imagine your life six months from now not having to worry about going to work, paying rent or other bills and everything you need like food, clothing, shelter is provided. The perfect 1950’s homemaker that spends her time taking care of the Master of the home. I have been active in the kink community for my entire life and can make fantasies come true. I won a successful business, multiple vehicles, my home, a bar that hosts monthly BDSM lifestyle events and have organized the Key West kink community for over ten years. I now realize that when I share my reality, the truth about what I have accomplished and what I have to offer it sounds like a lie. Nothing in my life is any different today and I do not know what I am going to do with, this new found understanding of what makes me who I am. I guess the funniest thing is, when I am not successful with a potential slave it is truly her loss not mine. If anyone who knows me wants to comment on what I have written, please feel free. I would appreciate any feedback.  

I just got the official 'Okay' from my doctor and I am now officially "healed". The fucking dick has no fucking clue what he is talking about. I still have aches and pains from just standing up. I went from in fucking good shape to what I feel is a bloated whale. And my endurance is total crap. After 2 flights of stairs, I am now winded.   As for my business, it's gone. All of it. No more tools, or materials. I was even forced to sell off my "personal collection" of goodies. As for my clients, They have found other 'artists' and 'makers'.   Ladies and gentlemen, I have now hit rock bottom.     So what am I looking for I am looking for an artist. Someone who feels they are up for the challenge (and bragging rights). Some knows the ins and outs of social situations as well as proper etiquette in different circles.  Someone who is willing and able to invest their time, talent, money, knowledge etc to make it happen.   The challenge, Take this currently out of shape male, with lacking social skills and has not started their transition yet.  Then through training, diet exercise, surgeries, lessons, transform him into a proper walking talking sex goddess. To remove every trace of ever being a male from the body and mannerisms. To transform so far that unless another was told they would never even suspect that the lady next to them was born a male.   I know something like this is a commitment in both time and money. As such, I do have skills in making and building that can be used. As I transition and look more feminine,  I am willing to be a cam girl or what not. To be by your side as an assistant and maybe more. After the transition, I am more than happy to be a beta dom in your dungeon, or who knows what we can come up with.   Here I am a living flesh piece of clay, looking to be transformed into the 'perfect' woman. To live the life I know I was meant to be living.  Help me and in return I can help you.   Send me a message if you are interested.

It's been a few years since I was involved in a play party that was worthy sharing. I do live the slave life 24/7 and serve Master James and Mistress Tabitha. With that said the basic flogging, domestic service, run of the mill slave life isn't usually something to write about. Especially when you have been owneed for just over nine years.With that said, I have been commanded to share last  nights play with you.For the first time the BDSM group was invited over to play with me in a new way. The group consists of six Master slave couple and our threesome. All were present.Last night the atendees participated in using me for electricity and pain games.I was tied sprerad eagle in the barn. Standing with my wrists up high and wide over my head. The first game was a two litre enema, I was told to hold it for 30  seconds and there wouuld be no punishment for releasing it at that time. But if I failed I had to take a dop of tobasco on my tongue and thern on my clit. Now, I recieve two litre ebnemas often so this shouildn't be an issue. I take the enema, stand in the middle of the barn and four of the guests put magic wands on my mmost sensative areas. My body jerks but I manage to hold on.10 minutes after I complete my task another enema and this time nine volt batteries with exposed wires are used. As the guests spit on my nippels and cunnie to moisten me before I am zapped I know it's going to be hard to acomplish. I lasted 28 seconds. Instantly a drop of Tobasco is applied to my tongue and clit. I am told to swallow.It's a little hot but nothind serious. I do ok.Next I'm told the my punishment will be a drop of Carolina Reaper on my tongue and clit. Again the enema, this time four commerecial tens units are attached to my breasts and labia, but there is one exception, one of the guests puts a tens pad above and below my belly buton. The shock was horrific and I lasted mere seconds. The carolina reaper sauce set everything on fire. It was hell. It took me almost fourty five minutes to recover.Then came the last test. The last test, was actyually just to  torture me as there was no way in hell anyone could succeed at this point. One o my sister slaves from another Master adminiistered the enema, but this time two of the other slave walked over and kissed me on the cheek and neck whispering that they loved me. One was holding Ghost Pepper in a fluid form and the other a stun gun. My sister started at my clit and gently drew a line upwards towards my belly button. Half way between the two she discharged the stun gun and I lost control.Once again my ball gagg was removed, the ghost peper fluid was dripped onto my tongue and my mouth started to burn in ways I can't even describe. I'm bawling and choking and gagging. Then came the clit drop and I thought I was going to dislocate both shoulders as I fought my restrants. My throat was so closed up by the heat I couldn't scream, I was just ging and choking.Everyone in the barn was laughing and taslking about what a good little cunt I am. When I finally recovered Master walked over, said I had failed and he out a drop og ghost pepper sauce on his finger and slipped it into my ass.I have never complained about a session with my owners or the group before, but this morning I did literally beg then not to do that again. Mistress gave a gentle kiss and told me to rememeber my place and that I had begegd them to use me as they wished over nine years ago.They are good to me, but I fear tyhat I may have overstepped my bounds this morning and that I will pay a price for that in the future.

  But would I talk about my need for your attention? Talk about my desires for naked intimacy, so close and nearly breathless, kisses sweet and juicy, long and short, tongues and fingers intertwining as I try to lick and suck every square inch of your body, the honorarium of your gift and my reception, the stoke of your cock into my opening mouth, hungry to be fed, to be filled, to be possessed by you, penetrated, taken, lust smeared over my uplifted breasts, over my mound, rubbed against my clit, hands pulling it aside with eager participation, equally wanting to lay back, but also to lay you back, concentrate on your growling desire now being swirled with my saliva, my love wetness, stoking you into my mouth, your hips thrusting, your words spoken of being your slut, the one that will get to be used, our passion exalted between us, like a plug into an electrical outlet of my holes....my chant of yes Daddy, yes Daddy...both silent, murmured, coming out loud in my head as I join you on the edge of our orgasm...ride it, babe, ride it...   That's what I would talk about.

Don't you, forget about me Don't, don't, don't, don'tDon't you, forget about me As you walk on byWill you call my name?As you walk on byWill you call my name?When you walk away Or will you walk away?Will you walk on by?Come on, call my nameWill you call my name? I sayLa, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laLa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laLa-la-la-la, la-la-la-laLa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laLa-la-la-la, la-la-la-laLa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laWhen you walk on byAnd you call my nameWhen you walk on by                                                         SIMPLE MINDS 1985

I am a heterosexual submissive transwoman named Julie, and one of the several categories for which the modern term is sissy.  That means as a transwoman I am primarily attracted to men and am submissive to them, though I also enjoy other transwomen.  I am however bigender because I do not want to give up the societal advantages of being male to earn a living.  It took me a long time to figure these things out and realize I was not bisexual.  As a transwoman, I am ideally looking for long-term but occasional relationship with a mostly heterosexual man, ideally as his mistress.  I want to make a man really happy because I'll do things for him that most wives will not.  I will appear to him and behave for him as close to his ideal female partner as I can.*************************The one essential book every transwoman should read is Whipping Girl: A Transexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity by Julia Serano, now in its third edition (Seal Press, 2024).  This is a detailed analysis of what it means to be a transwoman and the obstacles we face.  It is important to note on this site that the title does not refer to masochism but to the frequent scapegoating of transwomen in the media as a threat to society.  Serano's argument is that transwomen are demonized because of the rampant misogyny of Western society, where any feminine traits are denigrated, and any masculinity, including the toxic masculinity of cultural conservatives, is privileged. Even some feminists are anti-feminine, not realizing that is probably because they have transmen tendencies.  Part of this "transmisogyny" is also the mistaken notion that male and female are opposites ("oppositional sexism") with nothing in between, and part of it is due to the mistaken belief that your birth gender cannot be changed.  But as the book points out, many men have some feminine traits and many women have some masculine traits.  The book also notes that we constantly unconsciously judge people as male or female based on just a few characteristics without every seeing their genitals or their chromosones, so a person's sex in society is not based on their genetics or organs.The third edition has many good rejoinders to current antitrans-hysteria, notably in the new last chapter.  3% of men and 3% of women appear to have some trans tendencies.  Gender-affirming medical care such as hormones and surgeries for trans people has a low rate of regret, around 1%, whereas similar interventions for nontrans people such as breast augmentation and reduction or hormone supplementation have a regret rate of 14%.  Puberty-blocking medications have been used for years for nontrans children with hormone defects, with no ill effects or inabilty to reverse them.  Trans children who have been denied gender-affirming care have a 14 times higher suicide rate than other children.  Trans children appear in families at the same rate independent of the degree of trans support in their families, so there is no "social contagion" with trans tendencies.  There are more self-identified trans people today than in the past, but that is because society has become more welcoming.  Trans people show no evidence of being sexual predators, any more than women who dress well are sexual predators: Marginalized groups (think blacks) are often hyper-sexualized in the media.  As for "bathroom bills", I find it amusing that the current policy for U.S. government buildings which says that people must use the bathroom of their birth sex, in the avowed goal of protecting women from perverts, forces transmen to go to female bathrooms no matter how much facial hair they have -- something that will make women pretty uncomfortable.  But forcing us transwomen to go to male bathrooms in full drag will not be bad -- men are terrifically scared to look at other men in a bathroom, much less men wearing dresses, for the danger of being throught gay. A weakness of Serano's book is that she sticks to her own perspective as a lesbian transwoman, and doesn't have much to say about transmen.  She also doesn't sound sympathetic to us sissies; she says tranwomen are "fierce" and not passive.  But of course being passive is not necessarily feminine, and could be just reflect to the long oppression of women (as with other minorities) by society.  We need more books on other kinds of trans people.  But for now, Serano's book is important reading.

I am feeling so frustrated right now. Tony has tried to come and spend time, his job has him all over, and his struggling children are creating stress and anxiety. It is very difficult to not feel frustrated and sad.  I am patient  , and I'm beginning to lose that quality. I have so many things in the air and I miss his presence. At this time in my life I want peace , togetherness, a solid base. I'm tired of missing people in my life.  I miss my children, I miss my friends, I miss my swing dancing, I miss my sweet Mulligan, I miss so much.   I'm feeling exhausted and at times I just want to sleep.   I haven't had time to meet new people here. Swing dancing island option, I was spoiled with what I had in D.C. I'm interested in pickle ball, and it may be an outlet. I haven't played competitive tennis since 2012. I really enjoyed that. Dance is better for the brain and balance though.  

Be local, because I want to touch you I get that there’s a desire for online play, and that a lot of people are into it. That’s fine. People want what they want, and there’s nothing wrong with that: it’s how they go about getting it that’s the issue. I specifically request that my potential suitors be local because I’m not interested in online relationships. I want to meet you, get coffee or something, go for a walk, see your expressions while I hear your voice, evaluate your demeanor, feel if there’s any spark between us. If that spark exists, I want to touch you. I can’t do that online. Appreciation from afar is okay - I suppose, but unless you’re local or at least have already booked a visit to Seattle, I’m not interested. Visiting the Seattle for business or pleasure? Great. Hinting that it might happen if I give you enough online attention first? Nope. There are people here who are looking for online relationships. Feel free to talk to them, as they’re who you’re looking for. If that’s what you’re interested in, you’re not looking for me.

Tonight's top email -  "You know your getting rid of 55 to 60 of potential contacts by restriction in your second paragraph?" Well, first of all  - "you're." A contraction of "you" and "are."  Kinda tells me a lot right there. I wrote back and responded to what I thought he meant. But no. "Dimina its the political restrictions that throw out 55 60 of the potentials in line" Then second, it's not "Dimina" and third, its not the second paragraph. It's the 4th and 5th sentence. Further clarifies the kind of person writing. So I responded to THAT. "If the political restrictions are the problem, then they arent actually potentials. They would be incompatible with me on many deep levels, and compatibility is the most important thing to me. The fact that they might not consider it an incompatibility, and would want to approach anyway, just further illustrates the basic incompatibility. The bottom line is this it doesnt matter what someones kinks are, how much money they make, etc.  If I cant respect them as people, I dont want to be around them in any capacity. If I cant respect them as people, then I ABSOLUTELY dont want to have to spend the kind of time with them that is required for kink, intimacy, or a relationship of any kind. Its not politics. Its a basic test of character, intelligence and humanity. No one on that side of the table is going to meet my requirements in those areas. Or, to put it in the simplest terms if someone is in the same crowd as the  self- proclaimed Nazis and isnt leaving, I dont want to know them." Let me try to explain something here - If "liberal politics" is a hard limit, maybe don't contact people for whom fascism, libertarianism, and Drump are hard limits. Seems pretty straightforward to me. I mean, isn't a profile for finding common interests and weeding out incompatibilities? Contacting someone who you KNOW isn't interested in you, and who you know has qualities you aren't interested in, to complain that their hard limits keep you from approaching?  Whining is really unattractive, guys. Then again, maybe he WANTED to be humiliated.  So... merry christmas, random complainy dude?

One of my favourite pictures is a before and after of a girl I used to love and who, if not for the universe, would still be my girl now. I'll call her Leigh.I have a huge clothing fetish, and not just for lingerie. A well-dressed, well presented girl, will stiffen my resolve like few other things, and on this day she had spent the time showing me how well she could feed that side of me. Typical porn secretary in a lot of ways; white silk blouse, mid-thigh black skirt, hair back in a ponytail, but the devil was in the details. I could see she wore a cincher underneath and, through the shapes under the tight fabric of the skirt, that suspenders and stockings were in my future. Around her neck was the collar I'd got her, a simple and supple strip of black leather with a single ring in the middle. Her nails and lips were the same seductive, decadent arterial blood red, and her eyes were framed by mascara and eye-liner I knew wouldn't be waterproof. The black-framed, business woman style glasses she wore to work every day were somehow the cherry on top. All of this perched on 3 inch heels that clicked on the hardwood floor, while a nervous, playful and hopeful smile playing on her lips. That was the 'before' image. Much of that day is etched in my memory, but the highlights are those devilish details. She was pristine and smooth to my mouth when I stood her back to wall and knelt to devour her, first through her underwear and then, once they were around her ankles, skin to skin. She was achingly, exquisitely wet for me and I very much drank her in before leading her to the bedroom, sitting her on the edge, wrapping those nylon-clad legs around my head, and just devouring her. The taste of her, the scent, the sounds of her response, the way her thighs gripped and relaxed and gripped and relaxed as I teased her to the edge of release, but never over. Not yet. I laid her back, straddled her and opened her blouse to the bra underneath, pushing that up and over her breasts and turned my attention to those pale, rose-tipped wonders. Shortly after that, we would induce lactation, making her delicious and nutritious. Leigh was so very, wonderfully versatile like that. Once my base appetites were sated, I remember telling her was I would be hurting her that day, that I couldn't promise she would enjoy all of it, but that I would. I told her that, in the end, she would be fed well beyond her appetites and she frowned at that. I remember thinking that was kind of oblique even for my pretentious Domly waffling, but she smiled, licked her lips and said 'I'm yours, daddy, all yours', and she was. The next couple of hours were spent edging her. I don't fuck when I dominate; its always felt like a confusion of purpose, so even as she was divested of her clothing down to cincher, hells and stockings, I remained fully dressed. That, to me, felt like control and control always, but always, begins with the self. The 4-walls theory can sometimes take a backseat, after all. I would use toys, big and thick and heavy or slim and nimble and buzzy. I would make her bury her head in the pillow as I pushed my hand deep into her, something she found a deep, resonant joy in, even as mouth and tongue enjoyed her clit. Clamps on cords, pulled tight as she reached for the summit so she could roll down the other side. Zipper lines, running up her sides or around her breasts. Each time she approached orgasm, I would stop, stand her up, and hurt her. Zipper lines tugged slowly or quickly off, clamps pulled shriekingly taut before giving way, pussy spanked, clit flicked, slapped wherever seemed appropriate, hair pulled vicisouly taut. Whatever came to mind, as I needed to administer it. And often, I would use a cane or stick on her body. Ass, breasts (top and underside), thighs, soles of her feet, palms of her hand... anywhere, really. I knew that certain types of pain were like gasoline on a flame, so I avoided them and gave her what I knew she didn't like. Thuddy canes, for instance, she responded to with deep arousal, but thin and whippy she couldn't abide. Nonetheless, she took them until she was welted to my satisfaction. When I called a halt to this cycle, she had the look of a fish you haven't hit hard enough with the bonker, a kind of stunned, defeated confusion. She was slow to respond, sluggish to move and looked utterly drained. That's when I began giving her release. That went on for quite a while, too. The thing about the female orgasm is, even that can be made into an enemy.  By the time I turned my attention to her pleasure, something that I had deliberately built up and denied throughout the day, it was buried under pain and torment. But not buried deeply. Laying her down, mouth and hands gentle, toys gentle, vibrations insistent but considered, it was there to be rediscovered, brought out and given time in the sun. Her first orgasm elicited something like a sigh of relief, and involved little more than her arching off the bed, shuddering and gasping and then sinking back. But onwards I went anyway, same gentleness, same consideration, same relentless stimulation. She came repeatedly, initially with a kind of rich, savoured appreciation of the ecstacy, but, after a while, with increasingly obvious sensitivity. At that point, I restrained her with the cuffs mounted, in the best vanilla with a twist tradition, to the corners of the bed. Spread-eagled, I put a spreader bar between her ankles, not to keep her legs open but so I could kneel on the bar (under a pillow) and stop her twisting almost entirely. And then I went to work. At some point, I gagged her with a bit gag, so she could clench hard as her pleasure stopped being pleasure and become torment. Once I got her over that sensitivity, forced her beyond the limits of her own tolerance for sensation, she kind of broke, accepted her fate. At some point she began to cry, shaking her head furiously as the stimulation continued and her body ignored completely what her mind was saying, and went where it was led. When I called a halt and took the 'after' picture, she looked ruined, purely and simply. She followed where I led with a kind of plodding acceptance, no comment or hesitation, no thought really. In the shower, she knelt and began to cry again as I urinated over her, shoving my cock into her mouth and putting the last of that into her belly, indifferent to her choking and gagging. She threw up a little, but nothing that seemed untoward, all things considered.  It was in that state, puke on her striped tits, hair sopping and dripping with piss, abused, degraded, stunned and utterly beyond sense, that I stood her up, turned her to the wall, lifted her leg, and claimed her, once again, as mine. She barely responded and certainly didn't orgasm, but she was hot and wet and that was all I needed that day. I don't know how long I indulged my lizard brain, but at the end I told her to kneel, which she did, and I came on her face and then in her mouth. Again, she barely responded, barely reacted and somehow, that was glorious. And after? After, I undressed us both fully, and showered with her. I soaped and rinsed her with a kind of reverence, a deep gratitude at the gift that was Leigh and how she matched, met and fulfilled me in so many ways. I washed her hair, her feet, between her thighs, softly, tenderly and with pure love. Then I dried her with equal devotion and kindness and took her to bed, where we lay naked and spooning until lshe fell asleep in my arms and, shortly after, I joined her. The next day, when we went out for breakfast at a cafe just up the road from her place, she winced when she sat down and, when I smiled she smiled back and blushed, but not too much. I miss her every day, and I miss who I was with her ever

More and more, I'm seeing females talking about wanting to go back to a '50's household.  Usually, they are over 30, having failed to get the free ride our society says is owed them.  Typical.  Things are getting rough.  And instead of taking responsibility for their actions or in-actions, they want to "re-negotiate" and go back to a time where they can just stay home while their husband works 60+ hours to pay for everything, including a maid to come in and do all the cleaning, because she's above all that.  Which will allow them to complain about their husbands never being home to give them an excuse to cheat on them with the whomever.  And then divorce them, taking half plus alimony.  So no.  No man should even consider that.  You want a "50's" relationship?  Sure.  50 BC, Roman Republic time.  You want what we got, including protection from what's right around the corner according to most pundits right now?  Prove your worth to us.  I'm not negotiating. 

I could Not update my profile without risking a long approval period, so I am updating here! my age is 47, not sure why that never updates. I am Heterosexual not pan sexual (not sure how that got changed). I am worth the time and effort, a one of a kind woman, who is not soon forgotten.  Looking for a male Dom in my area for real time. I am a sub, I will NOT send you dirty pics. Please be single and available, please be real, please be honest, please have your life together, as I do.  I am again looking for real time, would prefer a HOH type arrangement or relationship. Please be ready to verify who You are and meet within a reasonable timeframe! I am a loyal sub, I am kind and understanding, and mostly obedient ;).  I do not play games and expect you wouldn't want to either.  I like to travel, read, go to the beach, and write. I can hold a conversation. I hope you can as well!  I am passionate about this lifestyle and see it as a way of life, not a bedroom game.  thank you for looking at my profile! 

just surviving a heart attack puts a lot into perspective, currently off work while they get my blood pressure under control. So far it's been 2 months since I ended up in hospital following the heart attack. There's only me now that my wife passed away a few years ago. We got into the lifestyle together both being dominant in our other relationships and so we went to munches, kink events and exhibitions. We'd watch the rope training, suspension bondage and anything else that took our fancy. We were approached to start training submissive's initially just fem identifying and fem gender, but it progressed to subs/sissies and febboy/girls. They would live-in with us and train, kind of a course and they would leave with a certificate back to their owners. Since she's passed, I've done it a few more times on my own keeping up the training. But the heart attack made me realize that when they leave it's just back to being me on my own again. Which i'm now seeing as sucks lol.

Today I read a journal entry on here asking where is the love on this site. Personally I don't share deep sentiments online, particularly on here. Why? Many are new bottoms seeking transactional kink which gets them blocked. In my view a submissivelistens to how I lead and answers questions I have. A bittom pushes to play to start how he-wants it=my Lady boner dropp means he gets ignored and BLOCKED. Returning to the topic of love: Any deep emotional feelings are mutual and developed over time within my poly group I am the Boss of a long-term face-to-face relationship. On here are my entry level thoughts regarding me, my life and who attracts my interestas a friend or potential long-term Slave in a TAT poly relationship.  Of course getting to know each other prior to anything developing takes time. I don't talk kink online at all. First meet is at The Mawney Munch in Romford in Essex, UK. No exceptions.  Pretty clear right?

Oh I wish I had a slave driver here, A useful chatty person near, Drives me to key appointments with notice set, Keen to be useful to me I bet. When I choose club play nights off we fly, Whips on his derriere produce mutual joy sighs.   Though now pleasant chat from the states only shows, Useless in practical life we all know. And I am a practical person through and through, So where are you Slave driver you not around tinges me blue.   Instead I am busy with study and skill, Developing life knowledge so my mind advances up a holl, Knowledge is power so I consume mine, Growing as a person through time.

Through the Lens of Rika: The Sophia-Michael Connection Unveiled part 6 5. Balancing the Divine Masculine Energy   These men carry divine masculine energy that values action over words. Their emotional intuition is real, but they channel it into action and protection, which may feel like distance to you. For you, as Sophia, it’s about recognizing that this is their expression of love. A quick "hi" might feel emotionally connecting to you, but to him, showing love could mean working to make sure everything is stable and secure for the future.   How to Navigate This: Anchor into the trust that you’ve been practicing. When he’s distant, remind yourself of how he’s showing love through his actions, even when it’s not immediate. Say, “He’s providing for us, and his distance is part of his process. I trust him.”   Ground your emotional needs through spiritual or personal practices when he’s not available. Remember that just because he’s distant in the moment doesn’t mean the love isn’t there. Lean into your own energy and strengthen yourself while he works.   Embrace his rhythm—Michael-embodied men have a different rhythm of emotional connection, and part of your journey is learning how to move in sync with it without feeling left behind.   It's not that he doesn't feel your anxiousness—he does—but sometimes his response to that is through action and providing, not necessarily through quick emotional reassurances.   ending all this lyric journey on this last part of the chorus:   'Cause you can call me, put you on me   'Cause I'm all you need boy   You know you're nothing like the others (Yeah boy, yeah boy)   You're nothing like the others   something happens even if the relationship never comes to full fruition between these two energies. whenever they come together the chance of inner knowledge, spiritual knowledge, growth physically/emotionally/mentally/and yes if it happens sexually is immense. even in fleeting moments, shorter moments. which is why if you find one and have a long term connection that is sacred full out and committed on both ends..sky is the limit if you can hang on for the ride each time and come back to each other....   but even for brief moments, he's all she needs because this energy resonance of original souls does something powerful other unaligned not wrong, just not as resonante such as complimentary and dissonant notes musically, happens. in those brief moments they elevate and enrich each other in a way other people just can't.   YOU'RE NOTHING LIKE THE OTHERS.   Have you ever experienced a connection that felt deeper than words or logic—where you knew there was something unexplainable drawing you together, even if it didn’t fully manifest? How did it impact your understanding of relationships or your own energy?   This analysis taps deeply into the energetic dynamics of the Sophia archetype and the Archangel Michael archetype within spiritual partnerships, exploring how these energies interact, challenge, and elevate one another. Let’s break down the spiritual and relational layers for the collective:   1. The Soul-Level Resonance: You describe the meeting of a Sophia-aligned feminine energy and a Michael-aligned masculine energy as magnetic, undeniable, and highly charged. This is reflective of the idea that they are fragments of the same divine essence, split into complementary energetic expressions.   The “nothing like the others” lyric speaks to this resonance—these connections aren’t like ordinary human interactions. They vibrate at a higher frequency and awaken aspaspects of the soul that lie dormant in other relationships.   Collective Insight: When two souls meet who carry these energies, their interaction often serves as a catalyst for growth, even if it’s brief. For those encountering this dynamic, it’s important to recognize that not all soul-level connections are meant to last a lifetime; some serve as activations, bringing clarity, lessons, and alignment.   2. The Bridge: Knowing the Self Before Knowing the Other: The lyrics “I can know myself” highlight a critical spiritual principle: self-awareness is the foundation for recognizing and navigating soul-aligned relationships. For Sophia archetypes, this means deeply understanding their spiritual gifts and emotional needs before fully connecting with a Michael.   The insight into the Sophia energy's ability to discern different masculine archetypes emphasizes the depth of her intuition and her connection to divine wisdom.