lover of sparkles of the heart ✨ ✨✨ I am a sub. I feel beautiful when I submit to a Woman and am watched as my  breathing, my sweat and eyes are given to You. The release i feel when She allows me to let Her take over. I want someone who willingly takes “control” in the most vulnerable of situations because it meets both of our needs. I do not want to feel abused that i offer control of me. I value and respect it. True submission requires trust, honesty, communication and patience. Do I want to ALWAYS give up control? No, I don’t. I am interested in an ongoing relationship with ONE person. I am not intimate with people I am not in a committed relationship with. I am however curious about developing a relationship that is Female led. I know that what I want is definitely out of the norm, but I seek someone I can connect on an emotional, psychological and physical level. There is nothing more erotic in my opinion than being with someone who I care about deeply and vice versa. I want to be kinky with my significant other in the bedroom. But I want MORE. I want to watch movies with Her and talk to her about life. I want to cook together, snuggle and have tea in the morning. I want to go on trips and have a relationship. I am a kind hearted person who genuinely cares about people. I often invest myself too quickly in someone, thinking that the feelings are mutual. I am looking for a real LTR, monogamy, love in all its forms. Ultimately I want to get married and have children.

Read a profile tonight.  The dumbnant said that he is looking for someone he can tell "what a piece of shit she is even in front of others even her family".What ever happened to "don't scare the nillas"?Vanilla people didn't consent to be a part of your dynamic. Even other kinksters didn't consent.Who are you to do what we do in front of non-consenting people, especially if it can have consequences for your partner outside of bdsm circles?That just screams to me of someone who is an abuser, not a dom.Prove me wrong. For some reason, won't let me spell d-u-m-b-i-n-a-n-t right ..

My mind wanders   and where I am in my head in a given moment may not be in a particular space or focused on a particular thought. A lot of the time I'm just absorbing being, breathing and living in those few seconds of being alive. Other times I'm visually and physically absorbing being in Daddy's presence so that if the day comes that his circle of life has completed and my time hasn't yet come to join him, my mind will relive these magical years, months, days, hours and minutes of our priceless endless love. The power and strength of our individual selves is potential and possibilities that may or may not be realized. The roles we assume as Dom/Master/sub/slave without one another is conceptual fantasy and unrequited desire. Together we are fortified and the conceptual, fantasy and desire are lived and experienced. Our personal chemistry has been altered. More than a high from the natural dopamine we create for one another. We're in eachothers blood, in the air we breathe, and all that sustains us to be alive. There is nothing worth experiencing if I'm not sharing it with my Master. Loving and living to serve my Master/King/Life partner.

So, many years ago I met someone on here, who absolutely blew my mind.  I'd never experienced control before and it was an amazing journey. From the very beginning, the controlling of my time, as in what I did with my free time, updates of where I would be at certain times in the day so they always knew where I was. Having to be available at specific times. Not a minute before or a minute after. Controlling how and when I touched myself if I could have an orgasm. Even my clothing having to replace my underwear with women's underwear. Sitting to go to the toilet. All these things which I was told was leading up to a very hard limit of feminizing. Which was a total mind fuck. Because with each step that I was pushed and you eventually that that limit would be pushed as well and if both scared and excited me at the same time.  Now I never knew as we never got to it if that would have happened, whether I would have been feminized or whether because it was a very hard limit of mine, it was simply used as a mind fuck. Either way it's certainly did the trick. The less freedom I had and the more control she took made me feel so submissive and so desperate to continue to please.

I have been getting a lot of emails asking to hear from my husband M. He sometimes signs on here and speaks with those who write me. So, I asked him to write a little report about something meaningful that happened to him lately. This is what he produced.    This afternoon, I happened to be in my room (dressed in regular clothes minus pants) when K came in unexpectedly, wearing a sexy, silky, blue push-up bra, red ruffled panties, and her strappy white 5" heels. It was just prior to the 4th of July and this was supposed to be her holiday-appropriate outfit for her boyfriend.  Seeing that she had gotten dressed up for her boyfriend, I knew what was coming; in this house, when K gets dressed up in something sexy, I know I will be getting dressed up in the printed ABDL diapers instead of my typical white ones. Sure enough, after rummaging through my closet, she picked out a white and baby blue trimmed t-shirt that she then put over head after telling me to raise my arms. "Isn't that cute," she remarked with a pleasant but rather condescending tone. She really likes this shirt because it stops and my waist.  This was followed by telling me to lay down for a change from my usual plain white diapers to my thick printed diapers. It was a quick change, all business, she ignored my caged penis as usual other than dusting it with powder. As she stood me up and checked the tapes, I caught my reflection in the full length mirror that hangs on the back of my door. I felt so humiliated, the smell of pee-soaked diapers coming from the diaper pail in the corner mixed with the constant aroma of baby powder filling my nose as she dressed me like a toddler, knowing she was about to have wild sex in the other room--something I would be excluded from, as usual. "You look amazing, K. I can't believe what that bra does to your boobs." I complimented her. "Thanks baby, too bad they're not for you," she told me, cupping her big breasts in her hands to emphasize her point  with a little giggle and I felt my little penis straining in my chastity device. "But I could try again if you'd let me," I said, trying not to sound too desperate. "M, how long are you going to continue asking?", she said dismissing me, "I don't even understand why you ask at all. We already came to an understanding a long time ago now didn't we? Has anything changed? will it ever change?" I blushed at the memory and meekly replied, "No." She was right of course. When I think about the conversation we had the night she told me we'd never have sex again, I know that I accepted our new arrangement. It's just that I guess I haven't got out of the habit of trying.  Turning me around, she gave me a firm pat on my diapered bottom and strode out of the room. Looking in the mirror on the back of my door again as she closed it, I again blushed with shame. About a half hour later, I heard the knock and K answering the door. I stayed in my room, working on the computer listening to them chatting at first but then walking down the hall past my bedroom into hers. They had been in there with the door closed for about 20 minutes when I heard... "M, come in here." I walked in with a little waddle and an audible crinkle, to see her bent over her boyfriend who was lying on top of the master bed. She was deepthroating his big cock and I stared in mesmerized silence, watching the thick, slippery shaft disappear into her wet, eager mouth and throat.Some secret part of me wondered less how it would feel to have that done to me and more how it would feel in my own mouth. Swallowing hard, I instinctively put a hand on the front of my soft, cushiony diapers. I just stood there watching for what seemed like eternity ignored by both K and John, but in reality was probably no more than 5 minutes. Finally, with a wave of her hand, she dismissed me, sending me back to my room, or anywhere really, just not with them. Before long, the sounds of their enthusiastic lovemaking filled the house and I listened with rapt attention. Looking at my humiliating reflection in the mirror, I blushed with shame at my pathetic image. Both of them saw me as nothing but a complete submissive, that would never change. My cheeks flushed with humiliation at the thought and I rubbed the front of my diapers all the more frantically as I took in my reflection. The short shirt, the print on the diaper that was starting to fade from the wetness after two accidents, the outline of my cage on the plastic shell. I was in frantic need of an orgasm, but because of the cage, there was little effect. Feeling sexually frustrated and wanting more, I went to my dresser and grabbed my favorite jelly buttplug--the big clear one, which I rubbed down with the baby oil K sometimes uses during diaper changes. Pulling the back of my diapers down, I could hear K moaning in the other room and her boyfriend's subtle grunting as I began pushing the fat buttplug into my eager hole. I can barely handle the width of this plug, especially at first, and I moaned with a mixture of discomfort and angst. I couldn't get it in standing and dropped to all fours. At last, it slipped inside me and I exhaled in relief. Nevertheless, as I pulled my diapers back up and sat down in front of the mirror and soon began to savor the feeling of rubbery fullness filling my back passage. M was getting what she needed and I was getting as best I could.  I don't even know how long I had been sitting there grinding, which so far had only resulted in further desire when M staggered back into my room and right up in front of where I sat. I sat there frozen as she lightly guided her fingers between her legs then told me to stick out my tongue. I crawled to her, inhaling her amazing scent, caressed her legs as I plunged my face between her legs and she let her boyfriend's creamy cum drip onto my outstretched tongue. "I'm dripping baby boy, clean me up please" she said with a smug grin and stood now with her feet shoulder width apart.I couldn't help but hurriedly press my face into her body. I could smell the result of their lovemaking as another man's sperm completely coated my tongue while I cleaned her with my mouth. Some even dribbled down to land on the chest of my infantile t-shirt. Suddenly, to my surprise, she stood me up and pulled me with the waistband of my diaper to the chair in the corner of my room where she took a seat and I stood in front of her. She abruptly pulled my diapers down. I whimpered with fear as she bent me over her lap, selecting the wooden paddle on my dresser. Feeling the cool air on damp bare bottom, I squirmed knowing I wasn't going to like what was about to happen. "You will not ask for sex again", she quipped as she brought the paddle down across both my soft, tender cheeks pushing the plug into me. "I'm so sorry" I managed to get out between the 3rd and 4th smack. I cried miserably, occasionally glancing over at my humiliating reflection in the mirror. There could be no doubt who sat at the bottom of the social ladder in this house--that was for sure! At last she finished, and after setting the paddle down, she left closing the door. Leaving me to pull my diapers back up for myself.   Sigh...just another day's activities at my house...

LongTerm Chastity The waves of denial come and go.There are days when i forget that i am locked up, then a wave of reality hits and the feeling of helplessness and inferiority pound on my psyche.The need to be teased, aroused and denied as others enjoy their sexual freedoms intensifies..i started this journey out of curiosity and now i am overwhelmed with the need to be locked.i have gone back to my original device. It is open and i can keep myself clean without removing it.i am wondering if i should forgo any shaving, thus eliminating any reason for the occasional unlocking.Thoughts of making this permanent and irreversible have entered my mind. It would be easy enough to do: Hex button Stainless Steel screw, a tap, Locktite 266. (Don't forget to round out the Hex hole with a f=drill bit after it is tightly in place, to render the Hex key useless.) .Yes, the thought has crossed my mind..........a few times..

My Future Mistress I sometimes daydream about you. It is amazing how someone can become so part of your blood. I realize that you will naturally have such a deep power over me. My slave heart would easily recognize you by your demeanor. A mere gaze from you would steal my will like losing my breath, I would be captured. I would involuntarily tremble with an intense excitement and vulnerability, knowing that you own me so naturally. Furthermore, I would feel myself beginning to kneel at your feet hopelessly enamored, as if your presence alone had instructed me to do so. As if my soul was specially synced and celebrated with yours as its only primary user. My soul would be glued to yours, anticipating whatever your will was for me, and then obeying you with such zeal, that there wouldn't ever be a question of whether I'd comply. Your life would become my life. I would not have a life of my own anymore, but my purpose would be something you own. Your world would be my world, and your goals would become my goals to help you achieve. There is so much generic role playing in this lifestyle, driven primarily by sexual kinks. But what I would be feeling at this moment, is not what I could do for myself, but what I could do for my Queen. It would be the epitome of subspace. My eyes would search yours, hoping you truly see that I am genuinely connected and at your disposal. My heart would only be quenched by receiving your approval and acceptance. A person can not truly own anyone unless they first own their soul.  

Feeling the need to update the profile a bit   Seeking an alpha-type mentor who prefers encouragement over rigid discipline. I love "protector" energy, but I require a partner who knows how to listen—to my body, my energy, and my limits. The Essentials: Patience: I don't rush into sex or scenes just because the vibe is right. Privacy: My home is my sanctuary. I only host once we are in a committed relationship. Respect for Titles: I do not use the term "Master" outside of a committed collar. To me, that title is sacred and signifies a total giving of myself that must be built over time. Dominance vs. Ego: I’m looking for a leader, not an ego-trip. If you’re domineering instead of dominant, we won't be a match.  And dont get me started on my post below where i described 'the dominate male" Geesh...educateyourselfs already...the Google is a powerful tool! Let’s see if our rhythms match before we ever talk about power.

The stick shift was prominent and imposing. He knew what to do and eased it into gear. She sat turned towards him. With her left hand she softly gripped the back of his neck. With her right hand she started to unbutton his shirt.   Her attitude and demeanor softened as she directed him to drive off into the night. Not given an address, turns we’re made on her instructions. Right here, left there at the next light.   After what seemed like an eternity he was instructed to pull up a ramp to a townhouse garage and as if by magic the garage door opened and closed behind them. Mindful of carbon monoxide, he shut off the motor. The two sat for a moment in the dark both the garage door light and the interior dome lights having timed out.   Her left hand now gripped the back of his neck firmly with authority and she made her demands.   She told him he had a choice. He had to decide immediately. Get out and leave. Walk away and forget tonight ever happened, or go around and open her door with the understanding that he was surrendering his will and body to her.   He stuttered, fumbled his words and choked out an acceptance of her demands. The door opened, he helped her to her feet and she produced a latch key. From a cabinet hung on the garage wall she retrieved a black leather hood. She ordered him to put it over his head. Once in place, he realized it eye holes were covered and a rubber mouth piece similar to a scuba diving hose was forced into his mouth. She laced it tightly and he heard  a lock click around his neck. Swiftly she slid off both his jacket and shirt together. Bare chested he felt the chill of the room as she pulled his wrists behind his back and heard the handcuffs ratchet closed. She put her hands around him from behind and fondled his breasts and pinched his nipples. A low grunt escaped through the mouth piece. He could breathe freely by nose and mouth through openings designed for that purpose.

I got a very interesting question awhile ago: have you ever tamed  a gifted str8 man? The short answers is yes. Allow me to explain, being well gifted doesn't make you a dom, a top, or a bull; it means that you’ve been blessed with size. However, your interest even if the guy is str8, my favorites, and has all kind of women; the moment he meets a true male, one with the commanding attitude and the capacity to overpower their ego, everything crumbles. The point is, that ipso facto he is not able to sustain eye contact, he knows deep inside that the man in front of him can best him and he is moved and wants to be bested. For some reason his physical  reaction goes to his “gift” but it is just his way of covering the reality that the man in front of him is a man he wants and wouldn't mind serving and giving him all of his being. The one thing I noticed many times is that they remain aroused through the whole event as if showing his newly found bliss through his manhood. They reach for it and tries to wrap it in his hands as if protecting something they already lost. The can go back to their girlfriend and wives but in the back of their minds is the reminder of that one time when they lost their senses and allowed a man, a better man to possess them, to own them, and even when they deny it; they want more and they will get more aggressive  to the surprise of their women but is is because the want to be under that man that for the first time made them feel conquered, complete, realized, and full of life. Yes, I had my fair share of those so called alpha males as they  moan  while I’m entering them; but they will deny it but eventually the call come asking me for a coffee and to talk. 

  A touch A kiss I didn’t know such passion could exist   A faint glow A little light A fire is now blazing in the night   A growl A grip A forward thrust of the hip   A whimper A moan A screaming of your name   A touch A kiss I didn’t know such passion could exist  

Having spoken to you for a few weeks now, we understand each other. Our face to face meeting is at hand. I know what motivates your need to serve and please your man. In the vanilla world, you have confidence - or at least a veneer of confidence you maintain - but internally you feel yourself unsure, uncertain and that sometimes you just want to run away. I pick you up, dust you down with warm encouraging words, embracing you as you feel the strength of me and know I give you care and comfort. I know you. I know your thoughts, I know your experiences and I know what you need from me. I know your hard limits and the agreed safe signals.  We share a strong connection already. We have an emotional bond and an excitement between us as we plan to become a unity, planning our homelife and talking about our values of partnership and family together. I value your intelligence, your feminine elegance and your utter submission to me, only me. Your devotion, loyalty and eagerness to please whilst still maintaining your vanilla pride and confidence - I respect that and appreciate those qualities. You enjoy the guidance I give you, my mentoring, the boundaries that I give you and my affection.  Soon, you will arrive. We have discussed this many times. We know what to expect of each other, and yet, there is still that excitement. I hear footsteps approach my front door ... 

My goodness....     A severe health emergency took me away along with the vanilla job. but it gave me a chance to figure out what I need and want in my dom/master/lover...whatever you wish to fill that blank with. I can't wait to explore this site further and answer some messages so so so so many messages! please be patient as I go through them all. A little about me further       I have a special needs child more on that in private messages it is my intent to be the best parent I can be you will not see a photo of him or meet him until I feel comfortable with you and we are in the "Serious" zone of this I am taking this lifestyle seriously as we have a void that needs filling beyond sex with me.     I am submissive seeking a dom or master perhaps a couple to join as a family? The best way I can describe my needs and what I expect out of this life is a "1950s housewife" if I mess up I fully expect to be disciplined as a woman would have been back then. if I please you then I expect to be rewarded as a woman would have been back then. Not much else to add in this note except see you in the threads! 

Bridget Choses Enslavement   Bridget’s emotions were running wild.  The ride up to Master’s gave her ample time to reflect on this special occasion.  Bridget was to be enslaved today.  Master had often told her that all women secretly wanted to be possessed and owned by a dominant master.  Collared.  Be an enslaved slut.  Bridget had embraced her inner slave and wanted the delicious certainty of being a strong Master’s owned property.  What a glorious feeling to have no need to carry on with the soul killing charade of denying her sexuality, her submission, her needs and desires. Bridget was so sure.  She couldn’t wait for their special ritual.  The ritual was ordered by her Master but she had made adjustments and additions that had delighted Master.  She knew Master treasured her and all of her. He often remarked on her intelligence and how it drove her kink and also drove his passion to be her owner.  Master always said women with a desire for the collar, for enslavement were usually the very intelligent ones.   Before she left home Bridget paid attention in the shower.  Her shaving was meticulous. Her legs, arms, and pussy were smooth as possible. She thrilled at the thought of the way Master would cup her smooth, oiled pussy and run his hand back and forth as she squirmed and moaned. She knew Master loved to lick and kiss her clit.  He also like to use his Hitachi and a soft makeup brush on her.  He’d alternate the vibrator and brush on her clit.  Sometimes he’d just stop and listen to her breathing.  Bridget loved it when he chained her wrists and ankles in his bed and made her come over and over until she screamed.  He’d gag and blindfold her and make her come some more. Master had learned early in their play to put a towel under her.  The wet spot was something to see. Bridget’s enslavement ritual outfit was all white and had been her idea.  Master had suggested adding long white gloves and she agreed with relish.  Once out of the shower, at Master’s direction, she installed two Ben Wa balls in her pussy.  They went in nicely.  When she walked around she could feel them as she moved.  She wondered if walking in heels would accentuate the sensation.  Oh well, she’d find out soon.  Bridget loved Master’s toy collection.  He had a veritable fleet of vibrators including a very useful remote controlled beauty.  Master said he was shopping for an internet controlled vibrator for some long distance fun.  He also had a selection of nipple clamps, some fun and some she feared.  There was a lot more and she was sure the list was growing After carefully pulling on her white stockings and attaching them to her sexy garter she slipped on her skimpy white panties.  A curvy white push up bra completed her underwear.  She had a nice white blouse with a plunging neckline that accentuated her cleavage. Her brief white skirt would expose her slim legs and white stockings.  Finally she slipped on her white high heels with thosecute sexy little ankle straps.  Naturally she added accessories like a string of pearls and a bright red lipstick.  She decided she’d add her fragrance and put on the white gloves when she arrived at Masters. The miles rolled by.  Her heart sang.  She had made her decision.  It felt so right.  All the things she wanted to experience would be hers in a safe and protected place.  Master would help to explore all the dark kinky places she dreamed about.   The highway intersection appeared on her GPS. She had to turn north.   It was time to call Master.  She heard the phone ring.  Her emotions ping ponged.  Master answered with a pleased voice.  She was close.  He could almost sense her.  They both reveled in the joy of anticipation.     Master remarked that he was looking forward to draping her with his new 1/8” stainless steel chain.  Perhaps chaining her breasts with a nice halter.  When he mentioned that he’d like to chain her in Sirik Bridget’s was incredibly turned on.  The thought of the chain running from her collar to the chained wrist manacles and finally ending on the ankle manacles.  Sirik chain bondage allowed movement but served to remind her that she was owned, protected property.  Master loved everything Gorean and spent a lot of time finding ways to practically adapt the mores of Gor to earth.  A significant Gorean notion is that bondage enhances a woman’s beauty.  Bridget agreed but also concluded bondage made her horny as hell. The rural setting, the trees, the quiet appealed to her.  Here’s the driveway.  Turning right and pulling up the long driveway she found herself next to Master’s car and she knew, the beginning of her life changing event was close at hand.  She put her car in park and applied the parkingbreak.  She felt that she also applied a break on her normal, vanilla life.  She would enter the BDSM Sea.  Enter it as one of the more exotic and nuanced denizens.  She would be a slave girl, specifically a Kajira, a Gorean slave.  Bridget and Master had discussed many aspects of enslavement, slave protocols, sexual ownership, and what they each wanted.  She agreed with Master that after all, it was at its heart, an exotic adult game.  They both knew few could play the game, few could accept their role, and few could adhere to the rules and enjoy them with intense satisfaction.  Bridget loved her role and while their private play was so satisfying, she looked forward to their forays into various forms of public play.  Public Play involved exposing part of her BDSM life to the vanilla world.  Bridget always found it surprising.  She couldn’t believe the naughty sense of excitement she felt when she was exposed.  Was it humiliation, she wasn’t sure but it was very kinky indeed. She applied the bright red lipstick.  She loved the color and loved that her Master had told her he loved bright paint on her lips.  He said she was so attractive and luscious and he wanted her lips prominently displayed for him.  Next her fragrance, chosen because it was both understated and exotic.  At last she pulled on the long white gloves that came up to her elbows. Bridget and Master had discussed how she’d wear the long white gloves and he’d hogtie her and use his ball gag.  The picture in her mind of the helpless position always made her wet and horny.  Master had done this before.  Usually he rubbed a rabbit fur all over her body before he pulled her hair and squeezed her tit while he told her how he felt, what he wanted, and what he’d do with her next. As she turned toward the house she found the garage door open and as she had been instructed, she entered the garage and went to the back door leading into Master’s Rec room.  The lighting was subdued but she saw two large shapes draped in thin cloth.  She knew these were their BDSM toys.  Master had built a large cage for her amusement and a sturdy St Andrews cross that would fulfill her desire to be suspended and held helpless. Master had promised to cuff and chain her to the cross.  She knew she’d be naked and looked forward to the way master slipped a gag into her mouth before he applied something to her ass. Usually he forced a silicone bit gag into her mouth before he used his snake whip on her.  She could bite down on the bit and scream at the same time for the serious relief she craved.  Master had assured her she’d receive a serious whipping and perhaps caning that would leave some minor marks.  She wanted the marks.  She wanted to feel his touch afterward.  She wanted all of the things that ownership demanded. She knew Master had plans for an interesting combination Stocks and Spanking Bench.  Bridget had told Master she’d love to be placed in stocks and have her ass molested, pinched, bit, and butt plugged. She wondered if he’d make good on his promise to administer an enema while in the stocks.  Master had a lot of toys and equipment.  He had showed her the enema paraphernalia and it included an interesting flow meter that Master said was important to ensure reasonable flow and comfort.    Climbing the stairs she heard Master’s voice and it made her heart skip a beat.  She loved the way he spoke to her.  He didn’t speak at her rather he spoke with her, sharing his thoughts and sometimes emotions.  Master was sitting in a large black leather chair.  He was wearing his black suit with a black mandarin shirt and a nice red pocket square.  He leaned forward and motioned for her to come up.  He wondered about her trip and if the Ben Wa balls were still in place and how she liked them.  She told him about her journey and, yes, the Ben Wa twins were still in place and had directed her attention at the oddest of times, like stepping on the brakes. He asked her if she was ready, if she wanted to go through with their plans.  Did she really want all the things they had planned for, had discussed.  She knew what he was asking, giving her a graceful out.  Her mind was made up but his trust and care made her even more convinced that she wanted enslavement, wanted slavery, wanted to be an owned woman, Master’s property.  All of their discussions had led to this decision.  They both saw a Master/slave relationship as the purest and incidentally most fun form of a BDSM power exchange.  Both of their roles had been defined in term that made sense to both Bridget answered him by unbuckling her shoe clasps and removing her heels.  Pulling the ribbon from her hair she let it fall loose about her shoulders.  Bridget smiled at her Master and began removing all her clothing.  Finally she stood before her Master totally naked.  Master seemed very pleased. He rose and ran his fingers gently all over Bridget.  Master believed that a Gorean Master took great pride in his Kajira, his slave and should be familiar with every inch of her. Bridget knew that her actually collaring demanded that she be naked. She knelt gracefully before him, raised her arms over her head and crossed her wrists.  Bridget had assumed the Kolar or collar position of a Kajira, a Gorean slave.  She knew the message she was sending was that she was ready to be bound and collared.  Naturally she looked down and waited for Master.  The decision was not only made but by showing her acceptance of their planned bond to her Master she knew it was done.  How happy, how fulfilled.  She almost wanted to cry the emotions were so strong. Her life as a Kajira, a Gorean slave was about to begin.  See accepted that she must always be pleasing and offer perfect obedience. Master formally asked her why she was before him and what were her deepest desires for enslavement.  She continued to look down and at first her voice was a whisper but as she gained confidence she became secure and spoke with a clear steady voice.  She asked to be enslaved.  She pledged to serve Master in all ways.  She would be pleasing at all times with perfect obedience.  She would be the owned possession of Master, subject to his commands, dressing as he directed.  She spoke the words of enslavement, “bind me master”. She spoke the timeless pledge saying she wished to be enslaved and then crossing her wrists in front of her asked that Master bind her.  She felt the ceremonial tying of her wrists with the traditional Gorean yellow bindings.  Master then said he would complete the ceremony, their enslavement ritual, by collaring her.  She felt the collar begin to encircle her throat.  She gasped as he pulled her hair back so he could buckle the collar.  Her formal slave collar was polished metal and had a screw driven locking mechanism.  It would be difficult or next to impossible to remove, not that Bridget would ever think about removing the symbol that encircled her throat.  Master completed fastening her collar.  He took her chin in his hand and remarked on her beauty and suitability to be his Kajira. Master removed the bindings from her wrists and ordered her to stand and had her turn around slowly to display herself. She looked at herself and saw the beautiful collar.  All she could say was “La Kajira, La Kajira”, Gorean for I am a slave. Bridget now understood in a most intimate way that her master treasured her and wanted to enjoy his treasure.  Master had two more things to complete the ritual and the first had Bridget very nervous.  Bridget knew she was to be branded.  Thankfully the branding didn’t call for a real white hot branding iron.  Bridget received a henna dye print representation of the Gorean Kef, a very delicate elaborately beautiful “K”, leaving a sharp red image high on her left thigh.  Next Master spoke her new slave name. When Bridget and Master were together in their new roles, she would be “Sefa”.  Master explained that her new slave name was pronounced SEHF-ah and meant pleasure.  He said she was named that way to remind her how she must always be his pleasure slave.  She didn’t think that would ever be a problem. It was done. Bridget had been collared, branded, and named.   Master said he accepted her as his Kajira.  Master directed her to put on her garter, stockings, panties, and heels.  He snapped a leash onto her collar ring and said “bracelets”.  Bridget immediately put her wrists behind her back, slightly bowed her head, and turned around to receive Master’s manacles. Using the leash and her bound wrists he moved her forward.  Master led her around a bit and then out around the deck. Master often told her that bondage made a woman more beautiful and that served to make her move in a sensuous, elegant manner.  Bridget agreed and could think of nothing better than to be on her knees with her Master’s cock in her mouth. He took her over to a chair by the deck table.  He motioned for her to kneel.  He unclipped the leash and attached a short piece of chain to her collar.  The chain was connected to a d-ring embedded in one of the large deck posts.  Bridget was chained to a post with her wrists bound.  Never before had she felt so at peace.  She was owned.  She had been confined on her Master’s deck.  She felt the chain on her chest.  Bridget’s excitement was mixed with embarrassment and humiliation.  She was on her knees dressed like a tarty slut, out in the open for all the world to see.  She realized that Master was exhibiting her as his prize possession.  Of course she thought, it’s highly unlikely we’ll be disturbed.  We’re out in the woods on a secluded property with foliage all around.  Master laughed and said UPS or FEDEX might show up. Bridget’s life as a slave had begun.  She wished and waited for what was next.  Master said she was to be caged in his slave pen after they had discussed their enslavement ritual.  Master took a plate of fruit and picked up a small piece of melon.  He held it out for her to nibble. She daintily nibbled the fruit.  She was being fed by Master’s hand.  She felt a deep bond and happiness.  Next Master poured some of his cool drink into a small bowel.  He placed it before her and motioned for her to drink.  He was watering his slave, caring for his prize possession.  She knelt before the bowel and lapped at the drink. She felt so humiliated to be made to drink in this fashion but it also was so deliciously kinky.   Her journey had begun.  Life would never be the same.  A calmness, a fullness, a richness had descended on her soul.  Master caressed her cheek and breasts and then checked the manacles.  He also adjusted her collar.  Bridget knew master would always make sure she looked her best.  She was his prize possession. Master leaned back and took a small velvet sack from the side table.  “Nadu” Master commanded and Bridget went into the slave position that had her kneeling with her wrists behind her back. Bridget was fascinated  She knelt with her thighs spread wide, back arched, wrists crossed behind her back.  Master produced a bright red ball gag and told her to open her mouth. Bridget felt the ball pressed tightly into her mouth as Master firmly buckled the gag in place.  She found her hands bound behind her back, and the ball gag reduced her to small whimpers to communicate.  She knew she was vulnerable and totally in the control of her master.  It was delicious.  It made her wet just to think of all the things he would do with her.  The bracelets were gleaming metal and had a short length of chain between them so they were relatively comfortable. Master helped Bridget to stand.  He pulled her panties down to her ankles and helped her bend over. He guided her to lay across his lap and began to stroke and kneed her ass cheeks.  Master remarked that she had a pleasingly plump ass that just begged to be spanked.  Bridget felt her Master applying some kind of oil on her ass cheeks.  She wiggled across his lap into a more comfortable position. It made her feel exposed, controlled, at her Master’s mercy.  Bridget couldn’t believe how excited she felt, how she wanted more, more attention, more control. Master told Bridget that he wanted to assert his ownership, make sure she knew she was his property.  Bridget whimpered her assent. She wanted to be his,begged her master to have her, to make her his own, anyway he wanted.  Just do it now. Master began a slow rhythmic paddling of Bridget’s ass.  Slowly at first but soon faster and harder.  Bridget moaned and gasped. Master paused and asked Bridget if she was his, his property. Bridget thought “yes, yes, yes, have me, have all of me.  I am your Kajira and want to be nothing else”.  Master held up one finger which was the signal for silence Bridget was surprised that Master had shut her up, to be quiet.  She understood that he wanted to be in control.  He told her he felt so completed by their rituals.   Master loved the idea that they had built their own kinky world and Bridget loved the way he ruled it. He could silence her with a command or perhaps a gag.  She loved the delicious excitement when he placed a nice red silicone ball gag in her mouth.  Naturally Master could silence her by imposing speech restrictions and she always complied but the ball gag was so hot. Master reached behind her to the small table by his large leather chair.  Bridget felt his movement and turned her head.  “Oh my” she thought as Master’s hand held the red ball gag, a shiny bright metal butt plug, and a tube of lubrication.  Her heart beat faster as she realized she was in for another anal training session.  

DRAMA FREE ZONE! About Me BDSM ROCKS Music: Rock- classic/hard/metal, country, rockabilly, blues and jazz etc. Movies: I like movies that make me laugh or keep me on edge. TV: Game of Thrones. Dexter. The Vikings. I HATE reality shows. Handmaids Tale. Keeping up Appearances. MOM. The Goldbergs. Call the Midwife. Vikings Valhalla. Sports: OHIO STATE! Interests: Harleys, Music, Bands, Spring/Fall and Winter, I dislike summer. Hate to sweat (menopause is a bitch), Budweiser Beer, Mountains, History, Earth, Space, Camping, auctions, flea markets, technology, coasters and tattoos. BDSM and Poly Dreams: I dream of a relaxed, exciting, smart, silly, not too shy, not toooo friendly, honest, affectionate, reality-based, eager to learn, eager to teach, kinda cute, kinda funny but not funny looking explorer to share days, nights, weekends, adventures, conversations, dinners, breakfasts, kisses, good food and dreams of things to come. Bad boys with tattoos! Dominates! Best Features: My brain and the person I am. I have a killer personality. About Me: "Some guys don't like girls like me, Awwww but some guys do". I am a God-fearing woman. I am eclectic, eccentric, and scatter-brained with a touch of ADHD. I love to ride. Though I do not personally own a bike, I ride every chance I get with friends. I think the government hides more from us than we can imagine. I drink and sometimes am tooo honest and say things I should not. I was raised an only girl with 3 brothers, I am the oldest but to them, I am always gonna be " Baby Sis". I can be a best friend or partner in crime. I'll help you move. Hell, I'll even help you move a body. I expect help when I move though. I keep my circle of friends small but close. My friends don't all know each other but all have the same mindset. I'd like to one day be traveling in one of those RV's. Or live in a castle complete with a dungeon. Where to find me: Where can I find You? Things that SUCK: Perverts, rapists, child molesters, Sharia Law, terrorists, Full page comments, Chain letter comments, Auto-play - Nuff said, 20 year old girls from Malaysia contacting 47 year old guys from USA., Happy clowns, spiders, racist scum, Political correctness, Being alone, Men who don't love me, Mushrooms (unless they are trippy) and onions, Heavy Rap, Hoppy Beers, Junkies, Narrow minded assholes, Dishonesty, Seeds, Having the wrong lottery numbers, Rent payments, Car payments, Wars over Bullshit, Summer, Celibacy, Traffic, CEO's, LEO's , Getting old, Laundry, Serial killers, Random killers, Killers, Taxes, Reality shows, Politics, Rush Limbaugh, Bill O'Rieley, Extremists of all sorts, high shipping prices, stalkers. Jail. More things that suck: Summer, Stems, Mean drunks, Parking tickets, Viruses on porn sites, losing at anything, The heroin dealing assholes of everywhere!, Jaeger bombs, Nazis, Not getting flirty tags, 9/11/2001, Lost loved ones, Katrina, Calling a spade a club, Packing and moving, animal abusers, Thinking everything sucks Things that rock: Friends and family who love me, Blue purple, green and black, Free tv and movies, Fine agriculture, Being in the mountains, Chinese food, Being cool, My woman cave, Me, My friends, Being in love, Sex, Life, My Family, Rock & roll, Humor, Good vodka and pineapple rum, Little Beers, winning a game, Smiling people, Tattoos, All of my friends which are far and in between due to people being jackasses. Finding my REAL dominant to train me properly.

Love degrading, deeply separatingMy distances of dark pride. DaringThis daggered being to a death ofIdentity. Damn me. May the dawnDraw dyed lines of words upon myDunes. May You, God of my dragons,Declare me as Your dirty darling.Where decadence decades theseDaymares of independenceWhere You define my worth, for thisDance of ours deepens our freedomDay and night, dusk into dust. DivineDreams. - We finally begin to exist. dirtydarling

I'm an open book! Ask me anything! It seems on the surface to be a very friendly declaration. Maybe you think "Wow, anything!? How brave!" And perhaps they are being brave and truly would answer any question put to them. But my experience is different. When someone says "ask me anything," their contribution to getting to know each other frequently stops there except for answering direct questions asked of them. There is frequently no sharing of "more" or stories of "Oh, when that happened to me..." Instead the only things I learn are the things I ask directly. Which shifts the emotional burden of getting to know each other from "US" to "ME." And later on, if I didnt know something, the blame shifts to me for not having the forethought to ask, rather than it being on them for not volunteering relevant information, or better yet shared blame for not getting to know each other better before XYZ. My first marriage was to a man that I believe was and still is a compulsive liar. And one thing he did that was excruciating to me was NEVER volunteer information. It was a method of CYA (Cover Your Ass) so that if he had to cover something up, the less that was known the fewer things he had to cover or sweep under the rug. Trying to get information out of him was like pulling teeth. So I admit, when I see "I'm an open book!" I have a knee jerk reaction, but it is not solely based on the experience with my ex-husband. I have dealt with more than a handful of people with that mantra both online and off over the years and for the most part, they have similar traits. No volunteering information, only answer if asked, no sharing about experiences spontaneously, and only share as much information as necessary to cover the question. My advice (unsolicited, worth what you pay for it) if you use one of these phrases and you are sincerely trying to be open and brave, is this: 1.) Find another way to word it. Saying you are an open book triggers a knee jerk reaction in more people than just me. 2.) Take the time to realize what you would like to know about a potential partner in early getting to know each other stages 3.) Be prepared to offer the same information about yourself without waiting to be asked each specific piece of information before you share it. What this may look like: Hi I'm Elorin. "Hi, I'm Jim. Can you tell me a little about yourself?" Well, you found me on FetLife so you know I'm kinky. I've been into kink for over 20 years, I consider myself a Dominant Sadistic leaning switch and I like canes. You don't have to tell everything at one question. But you don't have to make them dig for pieces of information, either. I didn't volunteer information about my relationship status, the number of pets I have, or my sexual orientation. You can give that information as it comes up. But don't be of the mindset that you need to hoard your information anymore than that each question needs a two page info dump. Pace yourself, be open, and share equal and similar information to what someone shares with you. My $0.02 ~Me

Upon His Knees   He kneels upon the plush carpet, time etched in silver at his temples, A devoted servant to her throne of silk and shadow. Her hands, adorned with crimson, guide him gently down, To where her essence calls like honeyed nectar.   With reverence, he parts the petals of her bloom, Tongue tracing ancient patterns of worship and surrender. Each lap a prayer, each flick a testament to his devotion, As she arches above him, goddess of his universe.   Her fingers tangle in his graying hair, a crown of submission, While waves of pleasure ripple through her sovereign form. He drinks eagerly from her chalice, deep and sweet, Lost in the sacred ceremony of flesh and power.   Her thighs, strong and commanding, frame his weathered face, A throne room where his service finds its highest purpose. Her moans are royal decrees that echo through his soul, As he worships at the altar of her divinity.

Having spoken to you for a few weeks now, we understand each other. Our face to face meeting is at hand. I know what motivates your need to serve and please your man. In the vanilla world, you have confidence - or at least a veneer of confidence you maintain - but internally you feel yourself unsure, uncertain and that sometimes you just want to run away. I pick you up, dust you down with warm encouraging words, embracing you as you feel the strength of me and know I give you care and comfort. I know you. I know your thoughts, I know your experiences and I know what you need from me. I know your hard limits and the agreed safe signals.  We share a strong connection already. We have an emotional bond and an excitement between us as we plan to become a unity, planning our homelife and talking about our values of partnership and family together. I value your intelligence, your feminine elegance and your utter submission to me, only me. Your devotion, loyalty and eagerness to please whilst still maintaining your vanilla pride and confidence - I respect that and appreciate those qualities. You enjoy the guidance I give you, my mentoring, the boundaries that I give you and my affection.  Soon, you will arrive. We have discussed this many times. We know what to expect of each other, and yet, there is still that excitement. I hear footsteps approach my front door ... 

Things I require - because I'm human 1. Be dependable- this means to come if you say you are coming... this means to contact me if you are late... this means to let me know if you can’t come. This is important whether dominant or submissive. It is common courtesy. 2. Be honest. If you can’t make it, tell me. If you don’t want to, say you don’t. If you aren't honest in everyday things, how can I trust you enough to be with you in a relationship dynamic? 3. Communicate - I’m not needy or clingy. But a little “hey how’s your day” every now and then, or just some time to talk when you aren't red hot horny, will go a long way. How else do you get to know each other well enough to do the things we do? 4. Be public. I don’t care if you are shy. I don’t care if you are private. (in regards to going to a public event) Refusing to be seen SOMEwhere with me is a red flag.  5. Be willing to do some vanilla things. Get together for dinner. Go to a movie. Stay in for a movie. Take a walk in the park, with no promise of anything kink related or sexual. It doesn't have to cost you anything but time. There has to be a connection other than lifestyle. 6. Have SOMETHING in common with me outside of fetishes. Like the same documentaries. Enjoy the same music. Have something to talk about in our down time, because we can’t always be up. 7. Listen to me. Hear what I say. If I say it, believe it. 8. Stay in contact, and reply in a timely manner. It is a waste of time and effort if you are only going to reply once ever other week or three. Life is too short to leaving people hanging.9. Don't just ghost people. If you lose interest, or are are not interested in a first message, just say so. I will not be angry, and I will trouble you no more.   10. Expect all these things from me. Because these things are not Dominant things... nor submissive things... These are HUMAN BEING things.

I've been on and off this site for a long time, and last time I tried, getting a profile write-up changed - was impossible.  Rather than go through that process, I'm writing a Journal Entry.  I've attempted a couple of relationships the past five years and I have to say that I'm exhausted by emotionally unavailable Doms who only want to play on the internet.  If that's all you want, I'm not interested.   Yes, I can relocate.  That part of my life has changed.No, I'm not going to redo my entire profile write-up.  If you want to know about me, ask.  I need someone in my life who is a good communicator and this is a great place to let me know you are willing to fill that need. As of 2026-03-13 I am 65 years old.  I'm in pretty good shape for my age and I have some arthritis issues that can be worked around.That's what I have for today.  Who are you? J  

I have not been writing much in this journal but hoping it might just perk someone's interest. I just moved back from Texas and now living in Northwest Indiana. About 20 minutes from downtown chicago and live in Schererville just across the Illinois border. I have been on this site for many years unsuccessfully and still hold out hope to finally achieve my goal of serving a strong, Dominant Woman. I can assure You am for real and today the first of Decmember once again spending another birthday allone. I am not evil, and have met some off the site which has not amounted to anything . I am on Fetlife under subndyer and started to branch to other  sites. I still hold out hope on this site. Am a single submissive which can be molded into a slave who has been off and on in the lifestyle for about 20 years. I have no children , no wife , girlfriend, hell dont even have a dog. But can assure You my loyality, respect, obedience, and You happiness is first priority. If I perk Your interest please drop me a line would not disappoint

Atlantic Sleep Token    Call me when they bury bodies underwaterIt's blue light over murder for meCrumble like a temple built from future daughtersTo wasteland when the oceans recede Marry in the morning, earn your bitter fatherIt's easier to try not to eatSo flood me like Atlantic, bandage up the trenchesAnything to get me to sleep I woke up surrounded, eyes like frozen planetsJust orbiting the vacuum I amThey talk me through the damage, consequenceAnd how it's a pain they know they don't understand Sobbing as they turn to statues at the bedsideI'm trying not to crush into sandSo flood me like Atlantic, weather me to nothingWash away the blood on my hands Call me when they bury bodies underwaterIt's blue light over murder for meCrumble like a temple built from future daughtersTo wasteland when the oceans recede Don't wake meDon't wake meDon't wake me upDon't you wake (don't wake me) me upDon't wake meOh (don't wake me up)  

I long to have both the ownership the passion of giving the freedom of use and the security of safety with the man that I belong to and trust implicitly. Someone I can be devoted to, grow with, walk alongside, sleep next to, but always put him first, serve and give my love to. Forever.  But ha! I also know that's a tall order, a huge idea.  But a girl can dream, eh?  Long for is probably too mild of a word...but crave isn't the right word either, as my need isn't craven or out of control, it's measured, desired, planned, developed.  I'm at heart a kitten, a babygirl, searching for her Daddy. Not an age play Daddy tho, and I have hard limits about age play, diapers, too much little play, etc. But if you are a strong, thoughtful, intelligent, kind and caring Dominant who is looking for a devoted intelligent sexy funny healthy kitten to serve take care of and love you, then you've found me!  Do I have faults? Do you? Of course we do. But we work on them and grow, we always talk, we don't mind fuck each other, we have emotional and psychological intelligence to go along with our strength of character. But you lead, and I follow.  I've never had this, not even close. I've had many Doms of course. But I've always been the one who ends up leading, who knows, who does the right thing, who laughs, who isn't afraid to fail, the one to cry and forgive. The one to stand and walk away.  Will you let me be me, your girl, your slut, your kitten? Will you be my number 1? My Dominant? My man? My love?  Here's looking at you, Sir. 

When I say I want local people to serve, I mean it. If you write to Me and don't meet My requirements, I do not OWE you a response. My profile clearly states what I want, and ANYTHING other than that goes in the trash can. I get stood up, and I do not expect a WHY. I get ghosted, and rather than be some stalker, I never write them again. It is easy to move on if YOU want to move on!  

Edit     So the looser of our little game is now in the position of being constantly aroused at the thought of so many folk seeing one of her pictures, and as she has no control over further posts. Its hard to tell which is arousing her more, the loss of control or folk seeing her pictures. So today we have a fresh picture to review, feedback welcome.

 I am at a point in my life where I have no interest in games. I’m searching for something real, something that can grow and prosper into a long-term, real-life Female-Led Relationship (FLR). I’m not looking for online fantasies or time-wasters. I am looking for a man whose passion for submission and surrender matches my passion for Dominance and control. I am a beautiful, bossy woman — confident, and unashamedly powerful. I know what I want, and I expect a man who knows how to follow direction and take pleasure in service. A man who can worship a woman’s power, not just admire it from afar. Fitness, discipline, and intellect are important to me. I keep myself in shape and expect a man who values his health as much as I do. I enjoy travel, fine dining, exploring cultures, and curating experiences that delight all the senses. I live a life of freedom and choice, and I am willing to share that with the right submissive man who earns his place by my side (and at my feet). The man I’m looking for should be respectful, self-aware, and able to balance strength with surrender. Emotional support, companionship, and intelligent conversation are just as valuable to me as physical service. You should be well-mannered, attentive, and serious about building something real. My tastes in kink are wide-ranging — Bondage, CFNM, tease and denial, chastity, worship, CBT, strap-on play, humiliation, and more — but my greatest pleasure comes from a submissive man who focuses on my enjoyment first and finds fulfillment in pleasing me. If you’re truly serious,  and understand the difference between fantasy and reality, then send me a message. Be prepared to introduce yourself properly and explain how you intend to serve and grow under my direction. Only quality men who crave a real FLR need apply.

                                     Slut Handler Most online kink exchanges are really anonymous. How else could a submissive woman cow a pack of amply testosteroned dominant males of dubious intelligence? My proven procedure for the education of said submissive is fulfilling and, at least for the female, informative.  I avoid any pregame chit chat and immediately put the worried slut on her knees with her wrists behind her back.  A collar serves a couple of functions and I like to lecture that it provides a symbol of complete submission. Importantly it also informs her who’s fuck toy she’s become. The collar needs to be firmly buckled and a short leash is appropriate for direction and control. Now things should become crystal clear but if there is any question, cuffing the soon to be sex slave’s wrists should render that question moot. I favor a short 4” chain.  Controlling an aroused woman requires more then guile. A finishing touch includes the firm placement of a ball gag. Make sure her hair is out of the way and the ball goes behind the teeth.    There you have it. She’s on her knees, collared, leashed, cuffed, and gagged.  And if she’s not hot and wet I’d be surprised  But wait, there’s more   All this preparation serves the ultimate goal.    <p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant-emoji: normal; font-feature-settings: normal;

STRANGE FRUIT 2026 A PIECE I WROTE ABOUT ALL THE BULLSHIT GOING ON THIS COUNTRY STILL.   SEEMS LIKE WE ARE STILL HUNGRY FOR MORE STRANGE FRUIT . EVEN IN 2026 THE VULTURES HUNGER FOR THE SWEET FLESH SLOW HANGING ON THE VINE . AS THE BIRDS GATHER AND FIGHT FOR THE TASTE OF THE FIRST MORSEL . BUT THIS FRUIT IS NOT AS SWEET AS IT SEEMS BECAUSE UNLIKE TRUE FRUIT THIS DOESNT HAVE THAT SWEET TASTE THEY NORMALLY CRAVE. THIS FRUIT HAS ALWAYS HAS BEEN POISONED FROM THE ROOT TO SOUL I MEAN SOIL , IT GROWS FROM.THE GROUND SOAKED WITH CENTURIES OF BLOOD, PAIN,AND HATE. A BREEDING GROUND WHERE NOTHING THAT IS MEANT TO THRIVE GROWS DESPITE ALL THE BIRDS AND ANIMALS MEANT TO CUT ITS LIFE SHORT AND STUNT ITS GROWTH .THIS FRUIT THAT HAS BEEN BRED THROUGH YEARS, DECADES AND CENTURIES OF BLOOD , HATE, AND DEATH. BUT THIS FRUIT RESILIENT . GROWN UNDER THE PRESSURE OF OPPRESSION AND BEATENED DOWN. EVERYTIME THIS FRUIT BEGINS TO FLOURISH AND STARTS TO GROW TOWARDS THE SUN. THE CROWS START TO GATHER AND THE MOUTHS START TO WET, AS THEY STARE IN RAVENOUS HUNGER AT THE DELICIOUS FRUIT, WITH ITS SWEET NECTAR SLOWLY DRIPPING TO THE GROUND. THIS FRUIT THAT ALL THE CROWS AND CROWDS OBSESSED OVER, DID ANY EVERYTHING TO GET THEIR CLAWS ON. THE MOMENT THEY OBTAINED THIS FORBIDDEN FRUIT THEY CELEBRATED BY RIPPING APART THE FLESH . GOBBLING UP ITS SWEET BUT BITTER FLESH RELISHING IN THE EXCTASY . THIS RARE DELICACY THAT HAS BEEN GROWN AND PICKED FOR HUNDREDS OF YEARS. EVEN THROUGH THE ROUGHEST OF CONDITIONS FROM EXTREME DROUGHT TO DROWING IN THE JUICES OF THE OTHER FRUIT THAT WAS LEFT HANGING ON THE VINE .YOU CAN FIND THIS FRUIT YEAR ROUND .THIS RARE FRUIT ON THE VINE EVEN IN THE HARSHEST WINTER. STILL HANGS AND SWINGS IN THE BREEZE. THIS BEAUTIFUL RARE FRUIT THAT THEY ALL CRAVE. COMES IN SEVERAL VARIETIES. PICKED AT DIFFERENT STAGES SOME PICKED BEFORE THEY WERE MATURE OTHERS LATER IN THEIR GROWTH CYCLE.THIS FRUIT THAT COMES IN MANY VARIETIES. LIKE A YOUNG 21 YEAR I MEAN DAYS OLD VARIETY CALLED KYLE, OR A 31 AGED VARIETY CALLED DAPHY. FOR THOSE WITH MORE MATURE TASTES THEY ALSO HAD A VARIETY CALLED NURUL. BUT IF THOSE VARIETIES DONT INTEREST YOU I'M SURE If WE TURN OUR HEADS AND WAIT. A BRAND NEW YOUNG FRUIT WILL APPEAR. FRESH ON THE LINE I MEAN VINE. YOU WILL KNOW ITS THIS SPECIAL FRUIT. BY THE GATHERING OF THE CROWS. LISTEN YOU CAN HEAR THEM HUNGRILY CALLING. CAU CAW!

Friendship and Love:    In the heart of a loyal friend, a storm brews deep, As his best friend and ex-lover begin to keep Company in a way that cuts like a knife, Leaving him wrestling with anguish and strife.   The dog, his companion through thick and through thin, Now seems to conspire in this tangled spin, For the one he once loved, who was his trusted guide, Now walks hand in hand with his loyal friend by her side.   Betrayal stings sharp, like a treacherous dart, As the bond of camaraderie tears apart, His confidant, once faithful, now seems so untrue, Leaving him lost in a world askew.   Yet through the pain, a silver lining gleams, For in the depths, friendship's resilience teems, As time soothes wounds and tempers the ache, He finds solace in the bond they all forsake.   For a man's best friend and his ex in their tether, Cannot shake the bond that they share together, But in forgiveness and grace, he'll find his own mend, For in the end, true loyalty will transcend.

Alright, feral creatures. Drag your claws in a circle and listen.   If your master plan is to speed run your BDSM bucket list with strangers like you’re farming achievements, you are not practicing power exchange. You are running a fantasy drive thru.   Hi yes, I’ll take one degradation scene, extra intensity, no emotional labor.   That’s not dominance.   That’s not submission.   That’s transactional self gratification wearing a harness.   Power exchange is not a vending machine. It is not a same night shipping option for your curiosity. It is a relational structure built on trust, communication, and actual human care.   You cannot ethically hold power over someone you do not care about. Period.   Now let’s talk about pick up play before someone starts twitching.   Picking up someone you’ve seen in the community? Someone you’ve observed at events? You’ve watched how they negotiate. How they respond to a safeword. How they treat people after scenes. How they handle NO. You’ve seen them interact when they’re not performing.   That’s informed risk.   Scooping up a total stranger with zero shared community, zero references, zero behavioral observation, and hoping adrenaline carries you through?   That’s rolling dice with someone’s nervous system.   Vibes are not vetting.   And while we’re here get involved in the community.   Go to munches.   Go to vettings.   Go to classes/workshops.   Go sit at a table and actually talk to people without trying to collect them.   Observe.   Watch how people interact. Notice who listens. Notice who interrupts. Notice who respaspects space. Notice who name drops. Notice who checks in after someone looks overwhelmed. Notice who vanishes when cleanup starts.   Munches are not play parties. Vettings are not auditions for your bucket list.   They are spaces to build familiarity. To understand hosts and their rules. To learn the culture of a specific dungeon or group. These events take time, money, and energy to plan. Hosts coordinate venues. They set safety protocols. They build community frameworks.   Treat that with respect.   Don’t roll in like it’s a pregame for your fantasy scavenger hunt.   Power exchange requires infrastructure:   Clear negotiation   Explicit limits   Aftercare planning   Emotional accountability   Community awareness   If you don’t have the patience to build that foundation, you don’t want BDSM. You want intensity without responsibility.   And here’s the gremlin truth: when you treat people like checklist items, you erode the very ecosystem that keeps kink safer.   Community exists so we can:   Share information   Protect each other   Vet behavior   Build trust over time   You want to dominate? Learn how to communicate without posturing.   You want to submit? Learn how to advocate for yourself without shrinking.   You want to explore? Learn how to build relationships that can hold intensity safely.   Slow down.   Show up consistently.   Respect the hosts.   Respect the spaces.   Respect the humans.   Otherwise you’re not practicing power exchange.   You’re just chasing adrenaline for an orgasm and hoping nobody gets hurt when the crash hits.   And that’s not edgy.   That’s just reckless with better lighting.

Vanilla Life In my vanilla life:   Lost in the pages of spiritual gems like the Master Key System, Secret, and the wisdom-filled "The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari." I'm also captivated by the magic found in books like "The Magic of Thinking Big," "The Power of Letting Go," and the timeless "The Power of Now." On a different note, I love getting lost in the realms of romantic fiction.   Yoga and jogging are my go-to activities for staying active and centered. I've delved into the realm of Reiki, even gaining practical experience, and I've honed my massage skills from the knowledge I've gathered.   My love for adventure extends to frequent trips and hiking. I'm intrigued by hypnosis, fascinated by the idea of my mind being guided by a partner's influence.   In moments of relaxation, I'm an avid reader and practitioner of deep breathing techniques. Idle moments used to be a challenge, but I'm making strides in embracing them.   Gaming was once a significant part of my life, with a PS4 that hosts titles like Red Dead Redemption 2, GTA V, Call of Duty (Aw, MW), Wolfenstein, Hitman (from Code name 47 to Blood Money), NFS (up until Payback), Max Payne, and the list goes on.

The Binder: On Wanting Things Unapologetically I have been thinking about want lately. The specific texture of it, the way it sits differently when you stop apologizing for the size of it and simply let it exist at full scale. I was raised, as most women are, to want carefully. To want reasonably. To frame ambition as gratitude and desire as practicality and to generally keep the whole operation small enough that no one feels threatened by the outline of it. I am done with that. The Binder exists because I am a woman who plans, and planning requires honesty about the destination. So here it is, plainly, without qualification: I want my dream home. Not a reasonable approximation of it, not a compromise that checks most of the boxes. The actual one, with the particular light in the particular rooms and the space that finally matches the interior life I have been carrying around in a series of spaces too small to hold it properly. A home that looks like me. That is the entire requirement and it is not a small one and I refuse to shrink it. I want work that deserves me. I have spent enough time being competent inside structures that were not built for someone like me, doing it gracefully, doing it well, doing it without making anyone uncomfortable with how much more I was capable of. The next chapter looks different. I am finishing my degree with the same intention I bring to everything: completely, on my own terms, and as the foundation for whatever comes next rather than a box I am checking for someone else's benefit. I want Japan and I want Zanzibar and I want the specific feeling of being a woman who moves through the world with enough ease and enough resources that distance stops being a reason and becomes simply a coordinate. I want to stand somewhere I have never stood and feel the particular expansion that travel produces in a person who pays attention. I want more of that, regularly, starting now and not eventually. And I want to be married again. To someone who understands, in their bones and not just in theory, what it means to belong to a woman like me. Not a partner who tolerates my nature or finds it interesting from a safe distance. Someone who meets me in public as my equal, carries himself with the kind of presence that makes other people straighten up slightly, and comes home and kneels. Who wears my marks the way some men wear medals: privately, permanently, with the specific pride of someone who earned something real. Who worships not as performance but as orientation, the way a compass points north not because it is trying to but because that is simply what it does. I want all of it at once. I want it unapologetically and in full. I want the dream home and the passport stamps and the letters after my name and the man who undoes me at the end of a long day by completely undoing himself first. The Binder is where I keep the map. This is me, reminding myself that the destination is real, that wanting it loudly is not arrogance but clarity, and that a woman who knows precisely what she is building is already most of the way there.   The rest is just time.

I crouch in the dim light, low to the ground, my muscles coiled with anticipation. My heart beats with the thrill of the chase, yet no footsteps follow, no predator’s growl answers my call. I’m a kitten playing in the shadows, batting at a love that slips through my claws. You, so distant, so untouchable, are the prey I’ll never catch—the storm I’ll never tame. The air is thick with the scent of longing. I arch my back, purring softly, an offering of submission, a plea for connection. But the silence stretches between us, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade grazing skin. I reach for you in my primal way, a growl in my throat, a playful swat, a desperate leap. You stand still, unyielding, unseeing. I ache for your touch, even if it stings. I crave the thrill of being hunted, the satisfaction of surrendering to you, the sharpness of your love cutting through me. Instead, I am left to prowl alone, circling a void that offers nothing in return. Every glance you give that doesn’t linger, every word spoken without weight, slices through me deeper than any knife. In my dreams, you are the hunter. You snarl, you chase, you pin me to the earth. Your teeth graze my neck, and I surrender willingly, body and soul. But reality is a different kind of pain, one that gnaws at me in quiet moments. You don’t see the way I tremble for you, the way I offer myself with every arch of my back, every purr in my throat, every unspoken word. The shadows are my companions now. I curl into them, licking wounds that refuse to heal. I am the kitten you’ll never chase, the prey you’ll never capture. Still, I remain here, waiting, aching, caught in this endless edge between desire and despair, loving you in the dark where you’ll never look

    The Guest House This being human is a guest house.Every morning a new arrival.   A joy, a depression, a meanness,some momentary awareness comesas an unexpected visitor.   Welcome and entertain them all!Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,who violently sweep your houseempty of its furniture,still, treat each guest honorably.He may be clearing you outfor some new delight.   The dark thought, the shame, the malice,meet them at the door laughing,and invite them in.   Be grateful for whoever comes,because each has been sent by a guide above. 

DISAPPOINTED-  There is a difference between presence and performance. When we meet in public, energy speaks louder than words, and truth has a way of revealing itself without effort. I pay attention to alignment — between actions and intentions, between spoken language and written expression, between who you present yourself to be and who you actually are. Lately, something feels off. The version of you I encounter in person does not fully match the one you portray through your writing. Words can be crafted, polished, and arranged to create an impression — but authenticity cannot be manufactured. It either exists, or it does not. Our recent meeting here in Folsom raised clear red flags for me. What I observed in person did not align with the image presented through your words. When behavior, tone, and presence do not match the story being told, it signals inconsistency — and inconsistency erodes trust. We live in a culture saturated with illusion — curated images, rehearsed personas, half-truths, and quiet deception both online and off. Masks have become normal. Pretending has become easier than being real. But I am not interested in illusions, performances, or carefully edited versions of truth. Transparency matters to me. Consistency matters. I value what is real, even when it is imperfect, over what is carefully constructed to appear a certain way. Facades are exhausting to maintain, and eventually they crack. When they do, truth stands on its own — calm, clear, and undeniable. I am direct, observant, and grounded in what is genuine. What you see is what you get. I do not perform, and I do not pretend. In a world full of filters and deception, I remain authentic — as real as you will find. Be real. I can see through what is not.

Goddess's Adoring slut The luckiest man who has ever lived is this horny little painslut. He is lucky because he serves the most wonderful Goddess there is. She is the most beautiful Goddess, the most caring Goddess, the smartest Goddess, the kindest Goddess, the most loving Goddess, the sexiest Goddess, the naughtiest Goddess, the raunchiest Goddess, the horniest Goddess, the harshest Goddess, the most fearful Goddess, the Goddess who cums the most explosively and often, and the Goddess who extracts from this trampy little skank his most delicious cries and whimpers and his most convulsive trembles and shivers and squirms. This little painslut knows his Goddess is the brightest star in the Heavens, and that he is the stinkiest turd in the cesspool. he knows that he is entirely unworthy of Her. he knows he doesn't deserve to be the lucky little tart who gets to to be Her footstool and Her washcloth and Her bondage whore and Her strap-on snuggie and Her ball gag cozy and Her clamp organizer and Her flogger fuckhole and Her riding crop cunt and Her whip wimp and Her paintoy and Her whimperbitch. He knows that he is luckiest when he is bound and gagged and helpless and vulnerable and She is extracting the most ecstatic screams and cries and whimpers from him because he displeased Her, or because there is nothing good on TV. He knows he is not worthy of being her little whimperbitch. He is not worthy of serving her, of being owned by Her, of being protected by Her, of being trained by Her, of being cared for by Her, of being harshly used by Her, of being called a good slut by Her, of seeing Her joyful smile, of being allowed to make Her cum explosively and often, and of being the lucky scratching post She so often sharpens Her claws upon.When she is at Her harshest and cruelest and most vindictive, when Her heart is hard and Her eyes are stern and Her commands are full of venom, when his screams and blubbers and whimpers are full of agony, when his cries of mercy are drenched with anguish, when he can do no right and Goddess will tolerate no wrong, those are the times that he adores Her the most. That's how She allows him to give Her the most. That's when She reaches inside him, rips out his beating heart, and consumes it whole as he watches with glee. Goddess will plant in him the seed of a new heart. Her painslut knows this from experience. As it grows, She will tend to it and nurture it and train it and punish it fiercely and grind it to dust and call it back to life and shower it with rage, and then hold it and comfort it while its agonies collect on its cheeks and evaporate into tomorrow's tender rains. This squirming little bit of nothing knows he doesn't deserve Her. He is not worthy of living in the same universe Her. But She allows it, and He adores Her for it.  

 recently met a vanilla guy that had been a drug addict for more than half of his life. He has been clean for 5 years. This is information that was shared with a perfect stranger within the first 5 minutes of conversation. (I appreciate the upfront honesty, but damn.) From what I learned about him, he was easily swayed by previous lovers and enjoyed being a "doormat." Without knowing My kinky hobbies, he disclosed his desires to be owned by a Dominant Woman.qIuestioned his ability to be involved in a kinky lifestyle relationship without it being totally draining on the Domme. Although I wasnt even going there with this guy, the last thing I want is a overly needy person in my life.Has anyone else run screaming from someone that just oozes insecurity and extreme neediness?How long would someone with an addictive personality actually be able to make it in a kinky relationship with YOU?

Dinning Out with slave I expect My slave was excited. At least I was hoping it would generate expectations in its little brain. it had not been fed solid food in the last ten days. it was being treated to My lose weight regime. Yes, it had lost a little, but, far from the goal I had determined for it. Outside its cage I had enjoyed leaving pizza fresh from the oven in order that it might enjoy its denial. Actually, I doubt it was ‘enjoying’ smelling the pizza while slowly starving. What it enjoys is not an issue of My particular concern. Needless to say, I enjoyed its discomfort. In its journal it was recording dreams of gorging itself on delicious pizza. So, I offered a torture by way of tantalus for My pleasure. In any case I watched its face closely as I announced it would be accompanying Me out to dinner. it had just finished its required ten miles on the tread mill and was sweating profusely. I let it catch its breath and cool down to the point of an onset of chill. I took a bight of a large corn-beef sandwich while its eyes devoured the sight of My pleasure. I slowly chewed the sandwich while My slave involuntarily chewed nothing but saliva. When it seemed to be at the point of crying with the frustration of dental and hunger, I swallowed to clear My mouth and, negligently dropping the half eaten sandwich on the floor, I began to speak. “Slave, tonight it will accompany Me to dinner out. I will allow it to wear ladies panties, the tight little boy shorts and a T-shirt. it will play chauffeur to the restaurant. it will sit on its hands and not speak without a nod of approval from Me. Before I go out to eat, I will beat it in order that it might keep its servile position in life firmly in its mind. I grant it the opportunity ask a question now about tonight’s adventure. Remember, any answer including punishment for any impertinence I perceive must elicit profound gratitude from it. Ask now, slave.” Poor thing, it could not resist the crying need it felt for, at a minimum, the prospect of receiving food. “Master will it be fed tonight?” To which I responded with a series of face slaps. At each it did as it had been trained and forced its face up to face slapping position with its eyes firmly fixed on mine. No matter how hard I struck its impertinent cheeks it thanked Me profusely for a number of things. The ‘things’ included that it was receiving attention from a Better, it had the opportunity to serve, that it was learning etc.  Later that day, still wondering if it would be fed, the slave although in advanced years of age was dressed much like a little boy included Buster Brown shoes was kneeling by the front door waiting to drive Me to My repast.  As I approached the door ready to leave My residence, I thought I heard My slave properties stomach growl its protest at the lack of something to digest. Darn if I thought I heard the same little growl as I passed it through the door it held open to the interior of My car. I gave it the destination from My comfortable seat. I suspect the slave was pleased to be driving rather than locked in the trunk of the car as it usually was.   It did a competent job of driving, holding the door for me at the entrance of the restaurant and then parking the car. I enjoyed the sight of it running back to me to open the door of the eating establishment. When I announced My name we were conducted to a both. My slave used a handkerchief it carried for just such occasions to wipe down the seat I was about to occupy. As I sat, it waited at the ready should I require anything else in the moment. When I was comfortable, I took a moment to survey the table. The linen tablecloth was spotless and was not overly starched. The flatware was sterling, the plates were all porcelain and the glass all crystal. It pleased Me to see such an elegant setting before me. All the while My slave property maintained a standing posture ramrod straight with eyes focused on My face waiting for instructions. I casually looked at My adoring chattel and nodded slightly. At this indication from Me it took its seat on its hands. The reader may skip the following digression. Sitting on one’s hands sounds simple enough. However, hand sitting is far from comfortable. The reader might like to try a little experiment and spend some time sitting on hands for a while. The longe one sits in that fashion the less comfort afforded. Further, there is the question of palms up or down. Up or down question in My realm depends on the surface the ass is to rest on. A hard surface with palms up leaves discomfort to mount slowly to the ass while the back of the hands almost immediately suffer from the weight of the sitter and the hard surface the knuckles and back of hand are pressed into. A soft cushion, such as the current eatery provided would receive the back of the hand with grace and ease. However, if the hands are palm down, the soft surface causes the hands to bend backward and over time gain certain agony to the sitter. Guess which way My slave property had been trained to orient its palms? Water was in each of the crystal water glasses provided. There was a carafe of H2O on the table as well. I sipped My water while I perused the menu. My slave property kept its eyes on My face should I require anything, even as its thirst remained unquenched. I discarded the wine list. My drinking days are long past. However, I was aware My slave was a drinker (the reader should note the past tense.) The waitress arrived to collect the order. She enquired about drink preference. Noting My decline and nothing by way of speech from My companion, went on to the food question. My order was rather simple, a crab cocktail, followed by a caesar salad, main course of prime rib.  “And for the gentleman?” enquired the wait person after turning to face it.  I watched as My slave’s face reddened ever so slightly. I looked forward to reading its journal entry regarding this whole dinner, especially, its reaction to the “for the gentleman” inquiry. I sadistically savored its quandary of imperative sustenance need and secure knowledge it was to have only what I allowed. “You may bring one dry piece of toasted white bread, please.” With a very well, Sir, she turned to place the order with the cook. “it may have a sip of water, slave.” Of course My slave property could not resist taking more than a sip. It even allowed some liquid to dribble down its chin as it downed half a glass. “Remind Me, slave, to beat it severally for taking more than a sip and for removing hands from under its ass without permission.”

 MorghanXX