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EVILNICK
Hetero Male Dominant, 46, Cochise County, Arizona 

I tend to keep odd working hours and I'm subject to travel with my professon. That being said I struggle with meeting women.  I would like to find something in a longterm situation. I'm a big fan of anal sex and would like to raise a Hucow some day. I think it would be nice to have a girl or two living with me. 



Why does someone join a dating site and decide not to meet?  Its odd, when they say they want you to help instruct them, voice chat with them for a few sessions and then they disappear on you.   I have my suspicions as to why, but I'd rather not say.  I just moved to a new state and 3 promising slaves I was speaking to all became ghosts. 



I am currently in Oklahoma City for the weekend.  I am in town to meet Slavebae111, since she thought we should meet in person.  I hope this turns out to be an enjoyable meet up.

What's up with all the fake profiles  auto responding  to email them at sexymegs(insert number here)@hotmail.com?



I am not here for online relationships or to play games.  I am here for something real.  Please don't waste my time.

 


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Dominant Male, 39
 Fort worth, Texas
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  Profile update with a journal entry vibe.    I have been hesitant to give a profile update because I don't know. I am still figuring it out. I'm not new, but things change. I still have a lot of the cravings, both for lifestyle and the kink, but I have changed, and so have my cravings. I'm sure, with the right partner, they will continue to change into something different than what they are now. I don't think vanilla will ever be something for me to return to, but the things I value in a BDSM relationship are changing.  I don't really care for the "alpha" chest puffing in the 24/7. Kink, though, that's a different story. I'm also not a slave. I am attracted to wisdom and knowledge, and not the kind that is faked by pretending to know everything, the kind that also isn't afraid to admit he might occasionally be able to learn from his sub, especially if he has found the right match. I want a connection where even if everything else fades, the kink, romance, there are two people who vibe well enough, that at the core of it, there is still a connection and bond of friendship. I still crave a power exchange, don't get me wrong, but I am looking for more of a mentor type relationship dynamic than a master type. I think the closest category that fits might be DDLG, but I admit, I also don't feel quite like little fits.  As I write this, I am coming up on a year of being single. A relationship that started with lifestyle, but no kink, faded into something more like a vanilla friendship, and had a bit of a rocky ending. My point in sharing this, though, is that although I am not new, I spent years in a relationship lacking of kink. My tolerance, both in kink and in 24/7 is low again. My cravings may grow as strong as they once were, one day, but I also feel like I have done a lot of growing up over the years, and I have developed some vanilla cravings. It's no longer healthy for me to give all of myself until it's gone, as one example. These are the things I am still trying to sort out. How the remaining kink and lifestyle cravings fit in with what I no longer want. I am hoping to find someone who aligns with what I am craving at the moment, who wouldn't be afraid to do a little growing, both as a person and as an exploration of kink, but this person is going to need to be someone who is comfortable with boundaries and limits while I figure this out.  For now, this is where I am.  Edit to add 1-1-2026   I am not willing to relocate outside of traveling distance. I am not a person who does well with big changes, so this one is a big boundary. I am not close minded to something long distance, but it would reqire a lot of negotiating and trust. I am past the age where I want to start a family, living with a partner isnt that important, but other things are. So distance isnt a disqualifier, it just takes a lot of communication and some extra work. But I won't relocate. 
What I like about being a Bull Sometimes I am asked what I like about being a Bull with a cuckold couple. That is not an easy question to answer, but I’ll try. I’m a dominant person, and always have been. I like being the one in charge. So I naturally tend to find myself at the top of the food chain in every situation. When I’m with a couple there are several elements that appeal to me, which make the relationship more appealing than the traditional boyfriend & girlfriend. First, a married woman is in it for the sex. Her motivations are not unlike ours (men). She is not looking for a relationship (she has one). She is not looking for drama (she wants none). She will not hound you or stalk you or pester you like many single women. With a married woman it’s all about the sex. When you meet with her (or them) there will be little small talk, socializing or wasting time. Sex is on her mind, and it’s everyone's goal. Once her and your sexual cravings are satisfied she will go back home, with or to her husband. It’s perfect for someone like me who enjoys frequent, explosive sex with someone who is only too willing to provide it. So, my first answer is sex, sex and more sex. But there are other sides to it, too. Believe it or not I like helping other couples spice things up. I know Bulls are often painted as selfish, cock-wielding studs that are interested only in themselves, but that’s not usually the case. I, and others like me, enjoy interacting with couples and helping them reignite their flame in the bedroom. Like I mentioned, I am dominant and I enjoy the domination theme. It’s empowering to have a woman offer herself to me, especially when it’s a beautiful married woman who would normally be off-limits to anyone except her husband. Say what you want, but there is something edgy about hitting a pussy that was promised to someone else, especially when the wife is a stone cold fox, and someone you would NEVER suspect of being a submissive slut for another man behind closed doors. Last, I love being dominant over a couple in the husband's presence. There’s something deeply satisfying when I see a husband silently watch me ravage his wife in their marital bed, knowing that he’s getting off on the whole show. Most husbands I know are not submissive. However they do become extremely passive when I assert myself in their presence. Not only does this appeal to me, but I enjoy the wife’s reaction as well. The more passive the husband is the more sexually responsive the wife becomes, and that leads to even better sex. Once you have taken the time to build a good cuckold relationship with the right couple the encounters can become intense, fulfilling and practically addictive. What man would not want that?
Slavery Truth   Many ask if slaves truly exist. In the way a dictionary and history define slavery, no they do not exist in most modern countries. (Though there is some contention that slavery rings do still exist in secret) Most people in civilized countries generally agree that the legal ownership of another human being is immoral and thus make it illegal. However, in the world of BDSM, one will find that some of the people involved call themselves by many different terms; one of these is the term "slave". Of course, this often raises the question of how is a slave different from a submissive. This question often is met with outright hostility, disbelief in the existence of slaves and the thought that the words slave and submissive (as nouns) are interchangeable terms within the context of BDSM. Many will not agree with any of those thoughts, and I am one of them. I have spent a great deal of time talking with slaves in the honest attempt to better understand them, their lifestyle choices, and judge for myself whether or not this is a healthy variation to the BDSM lifestyle.       To the question of whether or not slaves exist inside of BDSM I say that yes they do. They may not be the largest group, but there are quite a few. Do slaves differ from submissives? Again, my answer is yes they do. Slaves tend to differ from submissives by the way they think, act, submit and their expectations.       A slave tends to think more along the lines of black and white. They have very little room for leeway or shades of gray in their lifestyle choices. They do not seem to expect much leeway in the reaction of their dominant either. By this I mean, if a slave is feeling ill and thus doesn't complete all their usual daily tasks, they will expect the dominant to react with the usual punishment. A submissive may be more inclined to expect leniency from the dominant because they were ill. A slave thinks in terms of being owned, not in terms of submitting. To them, being in a collared relationship means they are owned, and often this translates into the statement that they do not have the "right" "choice" or "option" to walk out if the relationship goes bad. This does not mean a slave will accept an abusive relationship, though their tolerance limits for what is abusive and what is not seem to be higher than those of a submissive. This belief in ownership stems from a strong commitment on both an emotional and mental level to the dominant. There is a level of acceptance of the dominant's behavior that can be more intense and widespread than many submissives would allow. For example, a dominant wants to bring in a third to the relationship. A submissive may demand certain criteria be met before they allow ( yes, allow) such to occur, whereas a slave may say "It is not up to me, if this is what Master wants, so be it" and quietly accept this new change. To some this kind of thought process is considered wrong or somehow brought out by abuse, but this is not necessarily true. A slave thrives on the absolute fact, that they literally have no control over the relationship or what will occur within it, whereas a submissive often retains some level of control in the relationship. The thought process focuses solely on what would make the master/mistress happiest and how the slave can be most pleasing to them. Subs tend to think of themselves and their own pleasure in addition to that of their dominant. Slaves work very hard to put themselves second in all the things and their owners first. To them, this is what comes with being a slave and submitting completely. Slaves put forth a lot of effort in achieving an inner peace with their chosen position. With this peace comes acceptance of themselves, and a quiet sense of contentment. They view pride, arrogance and other such emotions as negative and unbecoming in a slave.       A slave's behavior is different from a submissive as well. If you listen to slaves talk about their behavior (or watch them), they often speak of being quietly accepting, in control of themselves at all times, formal, and other such things. There seems to be more focus on how the slave behaves at any given moment, with less leeway. In many slave relationships, the slave is required to use an honorific at all times, and couldn't conceive of calling their master/mistress by any other name. Most slaves find yelling, tantrums, fits, or any other out of control behavior on the part of a slave to be reprehensible and deserving of severe punishment. Slaves put a lot of emphasis on their behavior and how they react to their dominant. They hold themselves to a high level of self-control. They require of themselves to have a pleasing demeanor as much as possible. They see no room for bratting behavior, any form of topping from the bottom, or any other form of manipulating the dominant. They see bratting as topping from the bottom, whining, cajoling or making requests after the initial denial as manipulative behavior that focuses on the slave's needs/desires instead of the dominant's and thus not proper. They look down on any behavior that is perceived as designed to force the dominant to meet a need of the slave, rather than the slave focusing on the dom's needs. A slave will strive for perfection within themselves in completing all the tasks their master/mistress gives to them, while still keeping an eye out for things that they were not specifically told to do, but think would please their owner if they did them. A slave is required to be very self sufficient and capable because they often have a lot of responsibility placed on them. Slaves often feel that a slave should not need to be micro managed by their dominant because this is not pleasing, unless of course the dominant likes to micro manage. A slave will behave with the utmost of respect in a formal situation, and with as much respect as any situation warrants. (For example, quiet time at home may not require as strict a protocol as a formal party would) None of this emphasis on behavior means that a slave can't or does not crack jokes, goof off, or engage in verbal banter. Many slaves do indeed do these things. They do so however, with a great attention to the dominant's reaction and are careful not to be hurtful or overly sarcastic. Unless of course the dominant does not like this kind of behavior, then a slave will do their best to curtail it. (Which can be quite difficult, and in my opinion unhealthy, for someone who has a very playful sense of humor as an inherent part of their personality) So please do not take this article to say that slaves are not playful, have no sense of humor or anything like that because it just is not true. Slaves have the same array of personalities that everyone else does, and they enjoy them just like anyone else does. Slaves just tend to be a lot more aware of the dominant's limits to such activities than some submissives are. They also do not use their playful senses of humor (if they have one) to br
How long does it take to inspect a piece of meat? I will start this little entry to My Journal with a quote from My writing about the first meeting with a prospective slave property, “Inspection may take just a few minutes. How long does it take to inspect a piece of meat?” This sentence was intended to address what I hope to find in a slave’s mentality. I want a slave to approach its possible future life as a piece of property as though it were on the auction block. When it is on the block, what ever trauma it experienced in the process of ending up naked on display available to the highest bidder, is not on evidence. Such trauma, or in the case of My inspection, is irrelevant to the ongoing process of slave acquisition. What I care about is the slave’s sacrifice to be exposed to My inspection with hope, but, maybe without expectation that it will become My property. Much like the slave on the auction block, to be viewed and passed by, rejected, by many and bid on by few up to gaining residence with a previously unknown Owner. A word about rejection. (Forgive My digression.) Many slaves that are into humiliation as an element fueling their need to become ‘less than’ have discovered rejection as an incredibly powerful humiliation and, therefore, a delicious element in the humiliation paradigm they inhabit. Others fear even the thought of rejection as the ultimate sanction from a Superior. Rejection bights deep and hurts in a long lasting fashion for many slaves. Some slaves think rejection is the worst form of punishment. The thing is, when I wrote the ‘piece of meat’ comment I did not expect that I would reject a prospective property at one look. The comment was more allegorical of the feeling a slave may have of being exposed on auction than actually running the risk of being immediately rejected. And then it, the piece of meat inspection and rejection, happened. I have inspected many slaves. I have delved into their mouths for teeth and brain for thinking. I use exhaustive questioning at times, but, always with the idea that this particular ‘meat’ would be what I am looking for. But the most recent inspection was different. My first look at the prospect caused Me to utter, “it is an ugly fucker, isn’t it?” Brutal and ‘unfair,’ might be the assessment of a casual observer. However, it was a truth spoken by Me to engender a response from the slave that would tell Me much about its attitude. The response it gave, “yes, Master,” was encouraging to Me. Nevertheless, My desire to own this particular piece of chattel went down hill from that instant on. I had picked it up at the airport. Driving to a restaurant for the initial part of the inspection, I always do the first face to face to face in a public place, I kept glancing at it. Each glance made Me feel more ill at ease. Until, I gave up on the restaurant idea and pulled to the side of the road. Looking it squarely in its eyes, I told it there was no way I want it and that I was taking it back to the airport. Yes, something happened inside of Me. I am not able to describe it other than it was the opposite of ‘love at first sight.’ Yes, it did not take that long to look at a piece of meat and reject it. Yes, I am a sadist. However, I am not sadistic without bounds. I am not attracted to killing or snuff fantasies. Nor, I am interested in severing limbs or causing bodily injury that might require anything but most minimal medical attention. With this ‘piece of meat’ experience I have found a new limit to My sadism. I did not enjoy rejecting it. Actually, I felt a slight tinge of remorse later when thinking about what My behavior. So, it turns out I have psychological bounds as well as physical to My sadism. Any thoughts, even negative, the reader may have on My little incident would be appreciated.    
The Brightest Mark of Ruin   She had warned him. Not with raised voice or trembling lip. The way a storm warns you: a change in pressure, a stillness that precedes something absolute. She had looked at him with those eyes that always saw further into him than was comfortable and said, quietly, with the patience of someone who has never needed to repeat Herself: "Your body is mine. Your word is mine. Everything you signed your name to belongs to me now. Cross me unforgivably and I will not punish you. I won't need to. You will lose everything we have built, and it will be like poison in your veins." He had meant it the way weak men mean everything: completely, warmly, right up until the moment it cost him something. There was a contract. A real document, negotiated with Her characteristic precision, each clause a brick in something She was genuinely building. He had signed it with both hands steady and the particular glow of a man who has just been given more than he deserves. The ink was barely dry before he started deciding which parts applied to him. The protocols She had built as architecture, the daily rituals that kept him tethered and honest, he let them erode with the indifference of someone who has confused being trusted with being unsupervised. Then he put his hands on someone else. Not a stumble. A decision, made repeatedly, to take what belonged to their bond and spend it somewhere cheaper. He came home from it and looked Her in the eye and said nothing, and that silence was its own act of violence. When She found out, She came to him without hysteria, without tears, with complete and devastating composure. She asked him once for the truth. What he did next cannot be softened. He became physical, used his body the way cowards do, and drove Her from the home and safety that had been Hers. She left not because She was weak but because She has never once in Her life tolerated the intolerable. She did not come back. She didn't need to. The community moved the way water moves around a stone. No tribunal, no dramatic exile. People simply became unavailable. Conversations ended when he entered them. The doors didn't slam. They simply stopped opening. And She had not campaigned, had not made calls, because women of genuine authority do not need to destroy you manually. They tell the truth once, to the people who matter, and the truth does the rest. He still tries. He appears at the edges of gatherings with the careful posture of someone who has rehearsed his normalcy, performing the shape of a man who has grown and arrived humbly at the gates of a second chance. Every experienced Domme in the room clocks it within minutes. The hollowness. The grasping. The unmistakable vibration of a man whose submission is a strategy rather than a truth. They decline, one after another, sometimes without a word, sometimes with a look that says they know exactly what they are looking at. This is Her work, and She isn't even trying. The contract still exists. She has it. Every line he failed, every clause he desecrated, every promise subsequently dismantled brick by brick. It is not a document anymore. It is an accounting, and it will follow him into every room he tries to enter, every connection he tries to build, every carefully managed first impression, until he has repaid what he owes in full. Everything must be returned to Her as was originally decreed for the poison to ebb. To the world he dirtied by what he did to Her, to the fidelity he shattered, the safety he violated, the home he poisoned : These things do not expire. They accrue interest. She is woven into the world he still wants access to. Her judgment lives in it. He cannot go anywhere She has not already been, cannot reach anyone She does not already know. She is not a chapter; She is the book, and he is a footnote in a hand everyone can see was shaking. She is not thinking of him. That is precisely the point. He is living inside the shape of Her absence, and it fits him like the life sentence it is.
what is sophia in a song? version 1 there are a lot of songs that encapsulate the original sophia source/soul/codes what have you. but today i'm just going to focus on one.   book of love is pretty much boomer grimoire and required reading for anyone on the journey for sure. every song, lyric, aesthetic, title..the whole thing was definately translated from source. shout out to them for paving the way for sure.   if you know the vibe, you know the vibe. if you know the time, you know the time. if you were there, you were there. it was quite the party energetically if you can unpeel what the message is in this visual. it's another chris brown how are you mad when you can't get into the party vibe.   pretty boys and pretty girls is such a great foundational song. it talks about the ability to love and connect with all genders and the joy of spreading light into the world. and how life is full of intense feelings including joy and pleasure and delight. it's a big go big or go home sort of vibe song.   When I'm alone and you're away I just close my eyes and I drift away your warm body is what I'm without I just close my eyes and I dream aboutPretty boys and pretty girls pretty boys and pretty girls (when I'm without) pretty boys (I dream about) pretty girlsStranges in the night exchanging glances but sex is dangerous I don't take my chances the boys I meet say I look lonely but I just walk on my because they're onlyPretty boys and pretty girls pretty boys and pretty girls (when I'm without) pretty boys (I dream about) pretty girlsIn this day and age in a city full of fear with you by my side together we can show we careSpreading joy to the world to every boy and every girlPretty boys and pretty girls pretty boys and pretty girls (what will we show?) spreading joy (where will it go?) to the world   interesting note that album name and the band for this song are entitled:   "Artist: Book of Love   Album: Lullaby   Released: 1988"   what was 1998? broken down to 9. the year of completion.   book of love..lullaby?   because that's the d/s daddy dominant/little girl stuff going on between archangel michael and sophia divine again.   once the signs are there it just lights up everywhere.   spreading j-o-y!   to the world!   the mission right in front of the ears and eyes. 
Vacation!  It's finally here. A time I can relax and enjoy ... And process my future. I'm so damn old and I'm trying to figure out if I should settle. Just call everything off or hell continue just talking the talk but never walking the walk. This is a sufficient approach but every few weeks to months I'm gonna crash out and spiral downward... Ok so maybe not... The alternative is to find at my old, big back age the lifestyle I thought I was gonna live. Actually, the more I think about it my bf was supposed to be that and it gradually grew into this platonic vanilla relationship we have now. But I get to play as much videogames as I like and smoke. So maybe it's a good trade off. 2 activities I refuse to give up. They're my precious hobbies. I dunno. I gave myself 2 weeks to really figure out my life because I feel like I'm at a crossroads: stay or seriously go. I don't mind being alone. Loneliness sucks but that's not a factor for me. .. Ok maybe a very small one. It's not like my bf and I are fucking. That's another reason why to go but also sex isn't... It is... It's very very important but I want bdsm much more than just fucking. I didn't mean porn and I don't mean sessions...I mean lifestyle. I call it sex because it's what my master and I do. But it was more than just sex. It was control, mastery, manipulation, force, molding, and so much more. I can find one night stands and I'm left needing more. So maybe I should settle? Gah! I just don't fucking know.
Most any store you go into now asks you to take a survey when you leave so they know how they can improve. A lot of websites, social media groups, blogs etc, will belittle someone leaving who dares to give feedback about just why. "It's not an airport, you don't have to announce your departure".Those kinds of snarky remarks and the childish attitudes of the users,  are often the main reason someone will decide to cease participating in any particular group. Apparently, those managing these sites don't really care why people stop coming back.I myself don't announce my leaving or the reasons for it, I just go. Sometimes I'll check back in a year or two to see if that bunch of people still exists online and often it is gratifying to see that my judgment was correct and the group is dead or almost so.Now, I'm not planning on leaving CS, but I would like to give some feedback if the owners ever read these journal entries. This site is nearly stagnant and I think the long wait to approve a new profile or change an existing one has a lot to do with it. It's a huge turn-off and block to new members, many of whom will leave if they're not able to participate quickly and will probably forget they even created a profile here after a couple of weeks.So, it's the same people here every time. Nothing against any of them, but if they weren't interested in me the last 25 times I was online, I don't think they are gonna leap to to get to know me anytime soon. We need new blood here to keep things moving or CS risks becoming another uninteresting, moribund website.Okay, it took a long time for me to get there but it's been said. Back to surfing.    
After years of being in D/s relationships, I've come to realize that I am just not capable of equality in 'vanilla relationship'. I gave it a shot but discovered how unfulfilled, frustrated and dispirted I became when engaged in a relationship with a partner as 'equals'. Dispite attempting to gravitate away from any D/s aspect within a relationship, my natural instincts and habitual tendencies always found a way to emerge subconsciously without my realization. My inner desire would have me doing things that used to be commonplace as a domestic slave but were highly discouraged during my attempts with 'vanilla relationships'. My therapist believed I subconsciously believe I am not worthy of love, but I disagree entirely. My love for submission, service and dedicating my every waking moment in pursuit of another individual's happiness is love on a different scale. She says that's just obsession and addiction, I told her she didn't know what happiness and life is about. I explained how in my relationships in D/s, happiness is a product of my devotion, loyalty and making my owner's life simpler, less stressful and more fulfilling in all aspaspects, which directly impacts my happiness. Because of this mantra, I compared serveral situations within a D/s relationship compared to a vanilla relationship. I discussed the difference in communication, expectations, and how shared responsibilities can foster underlying resentment. Then as a final point I looked to civilization's history and explained how up until the 1960's, culturally women were expected to be submissive to their men, remain in the home, be seen but not heard, cook, clean, provide sexual pleasure rather than receive it all while putting on a smile and looking good. I explained that in a nutshell, those general principles are some of the basic things I crave in any relationship. I genuinely receive pleasure from making othera happy in any capacity. I then asked her if her husband evokes even a percent of those qualitie.......I told her no response IS a response, thanked her for out final session and exited the room.  So to sum things up, I'm back here again in hope to find someone with similar values, aspirations and ambitions in life. It's always darkest before the light.
Haven't written anything in a while, and I had a quiet minute between tasks, so I thought I would write about a recent experience I had out in the wild. I had done a pop in at a Dollar Tree. I hadn't done anything special that day - no makeup, no sexy clothes, just my vibrant magenta hair and my bright orange mirror sunglasses. Maybe my hand bleached mandala design tank top was cool. So when a very bald guy walking my way kind of leaned toward me and told me really liked my hair, I said thank you, and casually commented that I also had some hair loss and the bold color helps hide that. He apparently took that as an opening, and asked if I was married, and I said I have a partner, and that we are "complicated." He asked what that meant, and I asked if he knew what polyamory was. He gave a noncommital sound like he wanted to seem like he did, and I followed it with saying that we are always open to new playmates if they are compatible. So he asked me about going for coffee sometime. I said I was open to discussing it and offered him my business card. Now, I designed my own cards, for goth costuming and art and such. They are mostly black and purple and lacy with gothic lettering.  And they have QR codes on the back to my Etsy and Instagram and email, etc. No numbers. He looked at it, turning it over and back, like he had no idea what I'd handed him.  He said "Let's skip all that and you give me your phone number." I said no, I don't really do phone calls.  So he hands me back my card and says "So you aren't really interested. Good luck with all that" and walked away with this smirk like he'd caught me trying to trick him.  At this point in my life, I can look at the whole thing and laugh. This is so common in my expeirence, but its still amusing to watch happen.  I was pretty positive this wasn't going anywhere when he first asked, but I was willing to listen to his pitch. But interested? No, I was not "interested." This guy did not look like Jason Momoa. He didn't talk like a heavy intellectual. Nor did he dress like anything more than your average rando - tshirt, long shorts, etc. He hadn't said anything, either, other than asking for my attention. He didn't ooze seduction or ... anything other than averageness, honestly. He walked up to a total stranger, made the barest effort, divulged nothing of use or value in the 2-3 minutes we spoke, but expected... something more from me. Then when I didn't make up the difference for him, he bailed and wanted to act like I'd led him on somehow with my simple failure to be rude, and basic honesty.  He was *INTERESTED.*  He was not in any way *interestING* on the surface. So there was nothing to be interested IN at that point.   But he wanted to be butthurt that I wasn't equally interested in him. I wasn't even snarky about the phone. Just not insecure about saying no. And he tried to turn it into something personal. Weak men are everywhere. Here, at work, in daily life, etc. Men who want something, and sometimes will profess great interest in getting it, but at the slightest bump, they flail and pout and throw up their hands and play helpless. Well, except when they decide to get violent about it. Which is why I carry pepper spray on my keys and a stun gun in my purse.  There's a tictok video where a woman expresses her frustration with men who want to complain that women all want '6 foot, 6 figure, 6 pack' and all we REALLY want is for you to be nice to us and feed us tacos. She's not wrong.  And I have a whole profile outlining what I want, and what I don't want, as well as countless journal entries laying out how to avoid pissing off me, and every Domme I know. And yet... It doesn't have to be this hard, guys.  Just don't expect us to make all the effort for you. 
People may choose to participate in a consensual slave and Master/slave (M/s) household for a variety of reasons. Some may find power exchange and BDSM practices to be sexually and emotionally fulfilling. They may enjoy the feeling of submission and the pleasure that comes from serving and pleasing their partner. For some people, the BDSM lifestyle may be a way to explore their own desires and boundaries, and to express their individuality in a way that feels authentic to them. Others may enjoy the structure and discipline of a M/s dynamic. They may find that this lifestyle allows them to feel more organized, productive and focus. It could also provide a sense of security, knowing that they have a strong leader who guides them and makes decisions for them. Additionally, some people may find the roles and dynamics of a M/s household to be a way to explore and express their individuality. They may find that the lifestyle allows them to break free from societal norms and expectations, and to create a unique and fulfilling life for themselves. It is important to note that M/s households are different from abusive relationships and coercion. The foundation of all is based on mutual consent, trust, and communication. In a M/s household, both parties must be aware of and agree to the terms of the dynamic and all activities must be consensual. Ultimately, the motivations for participating in this type of lifestyle can be personal and unique to each individual. It is important to remember that everyone's experience and desires are different, and that there is no right or wrong way to participate in BDSM or a M/s lifestyle.
52M Dom/Daddy london uk, Seeks *relocatable* live-in 18-25 any cis girl must willing to Anal Training i am Master/DD would say that I am not a loser, or dying for pussy (maybe for a real sub and her Back door=butt=asshole=Anal Training for younger female),I am not crazy or dangerous etc, but a person, pleasant, appearance, polite (more or less)and I like to dominate, I am willing to Anal Training for younger= one cis girl willing to be mine anal slut, must not be committed (with other cocks=which mean if you think you are naughty you are probably ...), who wants to discover and cultivate with me(no others) the pleasure her submission and live as a proper 1950s girl.all with honesty and pleasure for both, keeping in mind that is not a game)she must into a beautiful and intense time ..of course after care and use of the safeword is paramount in a long term relationship (even short but again 'no take away') ,if interested could write me on telegram analmandingo or PM ,NO 4 SEX CHAT OR if u want MONEY find a pig NOT ME!.I am only interested in sub/slave want to be own by me only for monogamous LTR ( or is full of wanna be dom and domme if you are looking for sex go to them as probably you rubbish like them so shite go with shite ). U must be in London uk 🇬🇧 , no cyber no fake ! Basic tasks for the girl what to be my slave 1_ you must be naked or basic dressed you will be touched regularly by me I love to have my hands all over you 2) you must suck a minimum of 2hrs per day my cock .3. you will get spanked or whips minimum 30 shots per day as to remind you, you are mine .4. you will be rape play daily as ATM mouth fuck .5. you must rim me regularly after u cum it relax me .6, you need to wear a plug Or plug tail Or the hook posture ,7.piss whore you will get my golden rain in or on your face ,8, you must wear a collar as show of respect to me.and you will be training to wear a plug daily t! .9. do what I said or get punish the way i want or like . listen to what I need and make sure I get it from you 10. You will sign a contract to show me you understand Snapchat DomPadrone telegram analmandingo not for sex chat i do not fit in. never did.never wanted to , I do not mix with sh*t.
This is my fantasy. I’m not sure I’d want it to come true. I’d love to see your response. I serve my Daddy and his equally dominant girlfriend as a live-in domestic maid. I also am required to take care of their sexual needs as well. Both are quite strict and require that all of my duties be performed with utmost attention to detail and to be done promptly and cheerfully.Any deviation results in punishment. Spankings with hairbrushes, wooden paddles and the awesomely effective bathbrush are the most utilized corrections and dark red bullseyes on my bottom can often be seen thru my sheer panties or thongs for days afterwards.This is a description of the punishment that is reserved for the most grievous errors on my part.Once the sentence has been pronounced I am ordered to report to the “punishment theater”, a room equipped with various devices that prop up and restrain the supplicant for punishment. There are two dozen theater style padded seats placed in a semicircle around a central stage for guests to witness. I am to bend over a heavy straight back chair placed in the middle of the stage with my hands gripping the seat and feet spread four feet apart. There I wait, sometimes for nearly an hour for the proceedings to begin. For the most grievous offenses my Daddy and Domme often invite friends to witness the event. I count three, four then five, six seven and eight witnesses trickle in and be seated. Soon my Daddy and Domme enter and announce my transgressions and the sentence of the Full Measure. I am the ordered to stand up while my Domme seats herself on the chair. I am then bent over her lap still with my sheer panties on. “Are you comfortable my dear?” She asks. “Yes Ma’am.” I reply. “Well enjoy it because you won’t be very soon!” There are snickers from the crowd as Daddy hands her a heavy red oak hairbrush. SMACK! SMACK! Two very hard swats to each cheek start my spanking. “Are you ready?” “No Ma’am, I mean yes Ma’am!” I reply and then she begins a very hard and furious series of swats two or three per second strike my cheeks. Sometimes she alternates left to right. Sometimes she concentrates on one cheek or the other. It goes on and on and on. I am kicking, screaming, crying. Finally after perhaps a hundred swats. I am ordered off her lap and to stand bent over in front of the chair. I am told to rub my “clitty” through my panties while my Daddy and Domme converse with their guests. Furiously rubbing my pantie crotch momentarily eases the fire in my bottom and my clitty responds with a minor erection and an oozing of pre cum. “Ok playtime is over boi! Lower your panties and bend over my lap,” announces Daddy. I instantly do as I am told. “Let’s see if my bathbrush can alter your behavior!” I begin whimpering at his words as my bare bottom is well acquainted with the power of the bathbrush. He locks my legs with his right leg in the well known position for delivering a real bare bottom blistering. “Hold on to the chair legs tight boi! Your’re going for one helluva ride!” And then it begins. Swat after swat of that evil wooden bathbrush. And while the swats are not delivered full force the effectiveness of that instrument makes an incredibly painful impression on my bare bottom. He concentrates the blows on the summit of my cheeks that have already been made sensitive by the prior hairbrush treatment and then he begins an assault a bit lower on the underside of my bottom nearly to the junction with my thighs. I try to keep count (sometimes after a spanking I am asked how my swats I received) but I lost count after five dozen or so. Finally the bathbrush assault ends with a round of applause and cheers from the assembled audience. I am once more ordered to bend over with hands gring the seat of the solid spanking chair. My bare bottom is so clearly and embarrassingly on display as I weep. After five minutes or so my Domme orders, “Pull your panties up and begin rubbing your clitty again. You have twenty minutes to cum in your panties while we discuss your further punishment. You may use the vibrator if you wish but your panties better be sticky when the time is up!” Even though I know the vibrator isn’t necessary for me to cum as I have lots of experience in tweaking my clitty I take her warning about filling my panties seriously and set about using the vibe. Sure enough in just three minutes I begin to spasm and a load of cum wets my panties. “Good boi! Look he’s cumming! That’s quite a load!” Are some of the comments I hear from the guests. “Time is up boi!” announces my Domme. “You’ve had enough fun with the vibrator. Now carefully remove your sticky panties and hand them to me.” I do as I’m told and she inspaspects the results that the vibrator has had. “Hmmm that’s a good load. One of your better efforts. Now be a good boi and open your mouth.” Again I comply and she carefully eases the cum soaked crotch of my panties into my mouth making sure the goo coats my tongue. “Now we have discussed the third part of your spanking and have decided it will be three dozen full force swats with “The Persuader”. (Those of you who have read my other story may know of it). The Persuader is an eighteen inch long by three inch wide three eighths inch thick maple wooden Spencer paddle with holes that insure little round blisters will be left as souvenirs on the recipient’s bottom. I begin whimpering even though my gooey panties try to stifle my cries. This time I’m led to a spanking bench where I am restrained bent well over with my arms, waist knees and ankles firmly fastened. In short order The Persuader is put to work. These swats are hard. Very hard, but they are measured and delivered at thirty to sixty second intervals so that I can feel the burn of every stroke. And it does! Deeply, excruciatingly so, eliciting screams from my pantie gagged mouth. This last part of the punishment lasts nearly an hour and at the end the assembled guest are most appreciative. Before leaving thy are invited to the stage to inspect and fondle the marks and blisters on my bare bottom. From their comments I know that the “souvenirs “ will be lasting for at least a couple of weeks. They will be a reminder to be on my very best behavior. view profile ›
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
The Weight of Three Minutes: Continued I do not move quickly. I have never needed to. I circle him the way I circled him earlier, when the tea was still cooling on the obsidian table and the correction had not yet taken its shape. He tracks me without turning his head, feeling my presence move around him the way you feel a change in light, knowing without seeing. This too I have built in him. This particular sensitivity to where I am in a room, to the quality of my attention when it lands on him, to the difference between my stillness that is simply stillness and my stillness that is preparation. I stop behind him. I let the silence hold for a moment, long enough to feel it settle into his shoulders, into the careful architecture of his maintained posture. His breathing is controlled. He is working for that control and I can hear the effort underneath it, the slight and deliberate evenness of someone who has decided composure is the one thing left available to him and is holding it with both hands. "You ruined my moment of peace," I told him, and I made sure he heard every word, felt the shape of my disappointment. "So now, you will provide the entertainment." I released his chin and sat back, beginning to unbutton my blouse with deliberate, unhurried movements. The pearl buttons slipped free one by one, the fabric parting to reveal what I wore beneath - sheer black lace that left nothing truly hidden, everything offered and yet withheld at my discretion. I shrugged the blouse from my shoulders and let it fall behind me, uncaring where it landed. "Expose them," I ordered, and I watched the conflict play across his features. The desire to touch warring with the knowledge that he had not been granted permission, only command. His hands rose, trembling slightly as they found the edges of my bra. He pushed the lace down with careful, reverent movements, revealing my breasts to the cool air of the room. I felt the immediate response of my nipples tightening, the subtle shift in my own arousal at being displayed, at being seen so completely while he remained bound by my rules. I leaned back slightly, presenting myself to him with deliberate cruelty, close enough that he could smell my perfume, feel the warmth radiating from my skin, see every detail of my arousal. But not close enough to touch. Not without permission he had not yet earned. "Warm them," I instructed, my voice dropping to something softer, more dangerous. "With your breath. Only your breath. Hands behind your back." He obeyed with the desperate precision of someone who knew the cost of failure. His hands found each other behind him, clasping tight as though the restraint were physical rather than commanded. He leaned forward, close enough now that I could feel the ghost of his exhalation against my skin, the careful warmth of each controlled breath directed across my nipples. I watched him struggle, the way his jaw tightened with the effort of restraint, the way his eyes kept darting between my face and my breasts, searching for any sign that he might be permitted more. His arousal was unmistakable now, visible in the strain of his posture, the hunger in his gaze that he could not fully disguise. I let him continue until I could feel my own wetness gathering, until the tease had sharpened into something that required resolution. Then I shifted forward abruptly, closing the distance he had been forbidden to cross, pressing my breast against his parted lips with deliberate force. He made a sound, something between surprise and desperate relief, but I denied him even this small satisfaction. I held him there, my nipple resting against his closed lips, using his mouth as nothing more than a cushion, a warm surface for my own pleasure. He tried to part his lips, to taste, to suck, and I pulled back just enough to deny him, then pressed forward again with the same cruel restraint. "You made the tea too strong," I reminded him, my voice steady despite the arousal coiling tighter in my belly. "So you can be my cup holder. Nothing more." I shifted my grip to the back of his head, my fingers threading through his hair with controlled pressure, and pulled his face forward into the valley of my breasts. I held him there, my skin pressed against his mouth and nose, feeling the desperate rhythm of his breath hot and trapped against my cleavage. He struggled slightly, instinctive panic at the restriction, the need to breathe and I tightened my grip just enough to remind him that even this was at my discretion. "Stay," I commanded, and felt him still, surrendering to the constriction, accepting that his comfort was irrelevant to my pleasure. I held him there longer than necessary, feeling the subtle shifts in his body, the tension in his shoulders, the controlled shallowness of his breaths, the desperate patience of someone who knew that any complaint would only extend his punishment. The power of it thrilled through me, sharpening my arousal to something almost painful, a heavy heat between my thighs that demanded attention. I released him finally, letting him gasp against my skin, feeling the desperate gratitude in the way his hands clenched behind his back, still obedient, still restrained. I leaned back enough to meet his eyes, watching the dazed hunger there, the submission that had settled deeper than before. "Unzip my skirt," I ordered, my voice rougher now, the command firm. "Slowly." (TBC)  
I’m realizing that my heart is learning faster than my words can keep up. I’ve been exploring what it means for me to want attention, connection, and intentional dynamics in my relationship. I love flirting—not because it’s shallow, but because it makes me feel seen. I love being noticed, chosen, and appreciated. There is something deeply affirming in that for me, and I’m done pretending it’s something to feel guilty about. At the same time, I’m learning that I don’t want to be reduced to a role or a fantasy. I can’t live as an idea. Real life exists—laundry, stress, tired days, responsibilities—and I exist fully inside of that reality. Submission, for me, isn’t about performing constantly. It’s about choosing to show up with softness, trust, and intention even when life is ordinary. I crave the quieter moments most. The way I listen more closely. The way I offer support without being asked. The way I slow down, check in, and make space. The way I surrender control in small, meaningful ways—through care, consistency, and presence. Those moments feel more powerful to me than anything dramatic. They feel real. What I’m struggling with now is how to explain this to my husband in a way that doesn’t sound confusing or contradictory. How do I say that I love attention and playfulness, but that I also need grounding and depth? How do I explain that I don’t want to be put on display, but rather held with intention? That my submission isn’t something I turn on and off—it’s something I live through daily choices, not constant expectation.

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**The Bear’s Den**   The air in his apartment was thick with the scent of leather and cedar, a primal musk that clung to my skin as I knelt on the cold hardwood floor. My wrists were bound behind me, the rope biting just enough to remind me of my place. At six foot two, I was no small man, but in his presence, I felt like a fragile thing, a hundred pounds of trembling need locked in a cage of my own submission. The chastity device around my cock was a cruel reminder of his control, its metal teeth grazing my skin with every futile twitch of arousal. I was his, utterly, and the weight of that truth made my chest tighten.   He loomed over me, a mountain of muscle and menace, his broad frame blocking the dim light from the single lamp in the corner. His name was Viktor, a bear of a man with a barrel chest, arms like oak trunks, and a beard that scratched my skin raw when he’d kissed me earlier, claiming my mouth with a hunger that felt like a storm. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held a sadistic glint that made my stomach churn with fear and desire. Yet, beneath that cruelty, there was a flicker of something softer—something that made me trust him, even as my heart raced with dread.   “You’re mine tonight,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. His massive hand gripped my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his. “My little cock sock. You ready to be used?”   I nodded, my throat too dry to speak, the chastity cage tightening as my body betrayed me. His lips curled into a smirk, sinister and knowing, as he released my chin and stepped back, his boots heavy against the floor. He unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the clink of metal echoing in the silence. My eyes followed the movement, hypnotized, as he freed himself, his cock thick and heavy, already glistening with intent.   “Open,” he commanded, and I obeyed, my lips parting as he stepped closer. The first thrust was brutal, filling my mouth until I gagged, my eyes watering as he held my head in place. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice softening for a moment, a strange tenderness in his tone. “Take it like a good boy.” His fingers stroked my hair, a fleeting gesture of care that made my chest ache, even as he fucked my throat with ruthless precision.   The chastity cage was torture, my cock straining uselessly against its confines as he used me. He teased me with words, his voice a dark melody. “Look at you, so desperate, so denied. You’ll get nothing until I say so.” His laughter was low, cruel, but his thumb brushed a tear from my cheek, and I leaned into the touch, craving the warmth behind his dominance.   He pulled out abruptly, leaving me gasping, my lips swollen and slick. “Up,” he ordered, yanking me to my feet by the rope binding my wrists. My legs trembled as he led me to the bed, a massive iron-framed thing draped in black sheets. He pushed me face-down, my chest pressed into the mattress, my ass exposed and vulnerable. The air was cool against my skin, but his hands were fire, spreading me open with a possessiveness that made my pulse race.   “You’re gonna feel me,” he said, his voice dripping with dark promise. I heard the snap of a lube bottle, the slick sound of him preparing himself, and then the blunt pressure of his cock against my hole. I whimpered, the stretch immediate and overwhelming, my body resisting even as I craved it. “Relax,” he growled, but there was a gentleness in his grip, his fingers kneading my hips as he eased inside, inch by agonizing inch. The pain was exquisite, a burning fullness that made me feel alive, claimed, his.   He fucked me with a rhythm that was both punishing and deliberate, each thrust driving me deeper into submission. The chastity cage rattled with every movement, a constant reminder of my denial, my cock throbbing uselessly as he used me. “My perfect little sock,” he taunted, his voice tight with lust. “Made for this, weren’t you?” I could only moan, my mind fogged with sensation, the world narrowing to the heat of him inside me.   Then, without warning, he slowed, his thrusts shallow, teasing. I felt a new warmth, a strange pressure, and realized with a jolt what was happening. He was pissing inside me, claiming me in a way that felt filthy and intimate, a violation that made my caged cock ache with need. “Take it,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Every part of you is mine.” The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of shame and surrender, and I whimpered, my body trembling under his weight.   He pulled out slowly, leaving me empty and aching, only to grab me by the hair and pull me to my knees again. “Open,” he said again, and I did, my mouth ready for him. The taste of him was sharp and bitter as he released another stream, his piss flooding my throat as I struggled to swallow, to please him. His hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing my jaw, and I saw that flicker of care again, a silent promise that he’d never push me past what I could handle.   When he was done, he knelt beside me, his massive frame enveloping me as he untied my wrists. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice a balm against the raw edges of my submission. He kissed my forehead, his lips soft where they’d been cruel, and pulled me into his arms. The chastity cage remained, a final act of denial, but his warmth, his strength, made it bearable. I was his—used, claimed, and cherished in the dark, mysterious dance of our desires.
November 2, 2025 - Soccer Coach came by for a visit after a game     SUPER SHORT STORY this time...     Coach came by for a visit tonight.   Oh my God, it was quick but fun. He was only here for about 40 minutes. He wanted water sports, both drinking my piss and pissing on him. So throughtout the afternoon, I drank plenty of water and a beer. Drinking lots of water and especially a beer helps clear my bladder so it's clear piss with no scent. And I drank tons of water.   I was expecting him at 9:00pm and had been drinking water extra heavily for the past hour. At 8:45, I thought my bladder was going to explode.   He messaged and said that he was about 10 minutes away and I said "that's good because my bladder is going to explode. When you get here get naked and we're getting in the shower for piss play first thing. Be prepared for a lot of piss." And that's exactly what happened.   He's a soccer coach and had warned me that he had four games today, and that he was coming directly from his last game. He warned me that he was not going to be freshly showered like normal. That's why I said we'd start in the shower. First for piss play, then so he could clean up from his day of strenious activity.   When he arrived, I was wearing nothing but a bathrobe. He immediately stripped his clothing off and with very little chit chat, we headed for the bathroom. We got in the shower, he dropped to his knees, took my cock in his mouth. I relaxed and my bladder started to empty into his mouth. I pissed and pissed and pissed some more. And then I pissed even more. I can't believe how much piss my bladder had been holding. I could hear him swallowing, Gulp, Gulp, Gulp, Gulp. I fucking flooded my mouth with my hot piss.   He was catching and swallowing most of it with very little escaping from his lips. Finally I said, "you don't have to drink every drop." He pulled his head back a bit and my cock out popped out of his mouth and my piss sprayed all over him. Like holding a garden hose he directed the stream of piss all over his face, and then through his hair. Eventually I stopped pissing, but only to start again a moment or two later. Eventually I completely drained my bladder.     I rinsed off and then left him in the shower telling him a fresh towel would be hanging on the doorknob. When he got out of the bathroom, we went upstairs, I didn't even tie him to the bed like I had planned. I just told him to lay on his back in the bed and I climbed up on top of his chest with a knee in each of his armpits. I leaned forward putting my semi limp cock to his lips. He sucked my cock into his mouth and started sucking on it. I actually thought I might be able to piss a bit more, but we were in the bed that I sleep in, so I didn't want to risk it. After a moment or two of sucking, my cock started getting hard, so I started to throat fucked the hell out of him.   A few times he would gag when my cock hit that magic spot in the back of his throat. At other times he would stick his tongue out and lick my balls while my cock was still in his mouth. I barked a few commands to "suck daddy's cock." After unloading all that piss, and since I had been playing with myself and watching porn before he arrived, I was getting too excited, too quickly. It didn't take long until I dropped my load into his mouth. I pulled almost completely out of his mouth so I squirted my spunk onto his tongue, and then I heard him gulp like he was doing with my piss in the shower.   Then he continued to suck getting every last drop out.   It was a quick visit, but it was absolutely wonderful. I don't think I've pissed in anyone's mouth for almost a year, and although I thought my bladder felt like it was going to burst for a few minutes before his arrival, when I finally got to empty my bladder into his mouthand stomach, it was fantastic. It's been way too long since he's been here for a visit, which is my mistake because of my busy schedule. But I can guarantee, it's not going to be that long before I see him again.   Definitely had a great time.   Read more stories at https://www.SirKel.top    
I've been asked many times over the years, what is the difference between a submissive and a slave? One could say, by common definition, that is submissive, gives up control, but only within the constraints of the bedroom. The submissive can set limits, boundaries and more. So, it's not truly giving up control, but they giving up of limited control within certain areas, usually limited to strictly sexual. The slave, on the other hand, gives up all control at all times, both within and outside the bedroom. Her limits may be observed by her or his master or mistress. But, they don't have to be. Furthermore, giving up of control usually applies to all areas of life, not just strictly sexual. Still, that can be seen as a rather limited definition. if one truly wants to defined the difference between the two, it boils down to this. A submissive will give up control within the parameters of still satisfying her needs, wants and desires. A slave is able to sublimate her own needs, in order to put the needs of someone else before her own at all times. That's the big difference. A submissive may give up control, even total control, but only within the duration of a scene, or a particular situation. A slave not only gives up control, but puts the needs of her master before her own at all times. A submissive can always say, "Not tonight. I'm not feeling up to it." A slave has no such options. Her place and purpose is to put the needs and wants of her Master ahead of her own, and if Master decides that he wants to use his slave, it's her place as a slave to meet and even exceed his expectations. The problem is, with so many, having been raised with this being either fantasy or online role-play, combined with the Tinder culture expectation of "If this doesn't amuse me, I can just ghost him." It's becoming increasingly difficult to find those that truly have a slave mentality. So, those of you who are putting yourself out there as slaves, make sure that you understand the difference between submissives and slaves. Not only for your own benefit, but for the benefit of others as well. That way, no one's time is wasted, not expectations dashed and you'll be more successful at finding what it is you're truly looking for.
Adding to the House of M - Our search for a slaveThe House of M is looking for a slave.We’re going to be picky, very picky. We will take out time in this search to find the right one at the right time for us. And because of that, we recognize this search will take some time.Our House and more specifically, our dynamic is built on communication, trust, honesty, intelligence, friendship and deep respect for each other. Those who are a part of it, are individuals that recognize that connection and relationship must exist in both the lifestyle as well as in the vanilla world to develop the kind of bonds that are required to create the richness we desire. We want one who will care a deeply about us as we will about them and share our values. We place a high value on intelligence, the mental aspaspaspects of the lifestyle, caring about each other, loyalty, seriousness in and about ones roles, as well as the ability to have fun and be let loose when the time is right.We seek a bi M masochistic slave (under 45), smooth with at least a slightly feminine appearance who is height weight-proportional. One who craves to serve and derives fulfillment from the act of giving themself to us. A slave who knows that their proper place is at a Master's feet, serving whenever, however, and whatever Master requires. Our vision is that my babygirl and I will both Dominate this slave equally as their Master. Not live-in, but possible in the future as part of this long-term dynamic. While there should be NO expectation for sexual use from either of us, they should be ready and eager to serve both of us in any way we choose. Our current needs include domestic, sexual and masochistic service, but know that as we intend for this to be a long time ownership, these needs will evolve and grow. We hope to find one who craves degradation, humiliation, objectification, and belonging, with limits that align with our own (see our profiles).For those who wish to explore becoming part of our House, write us and we can begin a conversation about it, but be patient, be respectful, come ready to show us who you truly are and most of all be patient. Take this time to get to know us as we get to know you.We are worth it - I promise you
Something that might be useful to consider - When you write someone, especially a femme presenting person on here who is probably drowning in crap emails,  and you say any variation of "love your profile" or "I read your profile" - we can look at Who's Viewing Me? with just a simple click of the mouse, to SEE if you actually read that profile. If your name isn't there, then we know without any further effort that you are  1) a liar who will say whatever they think will get their dick wet and 2) lazy. You couldn't even put in the 3 to 5 minute effort to read and find out who we are before lying. Add in that most of us put something in the profile to sort out the time wasters, like a code word or request. That way we can see at a glance, often without even opening the email and just hovering our mouse over it, if the email has that code word or request honored. Which means only people (guys) that actually make that effort will get read or responded to. Because I can tell you after nearly 20 years on this site that the guys who don't read your profile NEVER show up. At all. They almost to a man write minimal responses to any reply they get, always about what they want done to them, and they are usualy just wanting free phone sex at most. They are a waste of time and effort, because they aren't here for actual BDSM or any variation thereof. No one wants to cater to that. Which is why we usually just delete the email without reading further.  If you actually DO want to find a BDSM partner, you need to make that effort, READ that full profile, and figure out if the person behind that pretty picture is actualy compatible with your interests, then write a REAL email to that human being much like if you walked up to them on the street, mentioning whatever code words or requests are in it, and what it was that you offer that they are wanting.  I know its slow and frustrating and a lot of work, but the alternative is being the spammer that everyone deletes automatically.
Tonight I took my wife to her Master's house. We often stay overnight and weekends at his home as he lives alone. My lovely wife as occasionally stayed with him on her own. Tonight we had arranged that she would spend the night with him on her own. I find this so erotic and I have a hard on pretty much the whole time she is away. Tonight he had arranged a special treat for us. He wanted her to stay over night and told me that he had a special friend who would be also staying with them. He knew that I would be extremely excited as we had spoken about this previously. When we arrived his friend was already there. He introduced him over a glass of wine although I chose coffee because I had to drive home.  After a some banter and laughs her Master decided to get the proceedings going and ordered my wife to take her clothes off. She was told to give each item of clothing to me and I had the job of folding her clothes up and putting them into a bag. It was very horny watching her undress in front of two men. I knew Master had seen my wife naked many times but watching his friend stareing at her was a real turn on for me as I'm sure it was for him too. As she  stood there looking gorgeous in just her bra and knickers I almost cum as Master told her to remove everything to the delight of his friend who had not said a word up till now. He watched with a smile on his face as she obeyed her Master an unhooked her bra handing it to me before removing her panties. He told her to put her hands on her head and stand directly in front of his friend. "What do think of her"? he asked him "Beautiful" he replied, "absolutely beautiful and very compliant" "I told you" said Master. "You have my permission to touch her" he said knowing that him giving another man permission to touch my wife would humiliate me further.. Don't worry about her husband" he saoid, I am her Master and she answers only to me, she is my submissive slave" he explained. Deliberately humiliating me he told me it was time for me to leave. He told me to take the bag with all her clothes in it with me as she wont be needing them. He said he would call me to return with them once they had finished with her. I don't know how I managed to drive home. All I could think about was my wife alone and vulnerable and stark naked with two men.
Time to clarify a few things, I guess. I wrote something to help clarify an age bracket I am interested in and why… but I guess on a sit like this I need to narrow it down a little further.   IF you were born with two X chromosomes, i.e. what the human race once called female… I have zero interest in dating you. If you live your life proud of those two X chromosomes we can be good friends!   IF you were born with one X and one Y chromosome, i.e. what the human race once called male… AND you live your life proudly as a fully blooded man, AND you are local, AND you are not married, OR living with someone, OR have a LTR significant other, AND you are gainfully employed (or independently wealthy and thus not needing employment) AND you have a residence (your mothers basement and brothers-in-laws garage do not count) AND you have transportation (Public electric scooters do not count) AND you like to chant Let’s Go BRANDON!… THEN, you have made it through the initial screening process and we can start chatting…   IF you have rainbows for anything other than the promise of God on your profile… you should probably not contact me. IF you like to wag your hand when you talk for reasons other than being Italian, you should probably not contact me. IF you have to practice speaking in high pitches, you should probably not contact me. IF you have to decide between apples and socks in your bra, you should probably not contact me (Unless the cause is cancer related) IF you need a tuck it bathing suit, you should probably not contact me. IF you have two XX chromosomes and look like a cancer patient for no reason, you should probably not contact me. IF you have a Y Chromosome and wear makeup and are not an actor or news anchor, you should probably not contact me. IF you are a bottom, realize you can contact me, but it will be friends only. (Same for most switches) IF you are far away, it is pretty pointless to contact me. I can keep going but I am getting bored and if this doesn’t get the point across I don’t’ know what will.   Oh and if you want to friend me… I am flattered… but maybe try speaking to me? I am not a check mark to tally up on your friends list, actually make a friend of me. Like a box pops up and asks you, do you know this person, are they a friend, and you click yes, and you haven’t read my profile, or spoken to me… and I am supposed to agree, and say, oh yeah, that imbecile is my buddy! Yeah, nope. I only bite if you like it…
Ok I tried. I really really tried to go full on vanilla. I turned off everything. I deleted it all. I was serious. As soon as I was done the very next day I sank so far into depression. I really do hate my life. Why do I need this? Why can't I turn it off and be normal? Right now crying because there's not some man telling you what to do? Pathetic. Weak. How can I call myself a strong black woman? I'm pitiful and I can't even look at myself any more.  So why are you back then?  Like I said I'm pitiful. An ex-potential Master reached out that same next day. After 4 or 5 years ...he was like i missed you, still had your number blah blah blah and I bounced back. I do not think he is a Master but a very dark aggressive dominant vanilla man. He knows nothing of limits, protocols, needs and he blows past my limits all the time hence why I didn't submit to him before. I know I know I'm desperate. My kinks is force and control so though I know what he's doing is detrimental I also get off on my wants, and kinks being ignored for his pleasure.. OMG just the thought is making me wet and driving that insane need that's in me... Gawd I hate that feeling... No I love it, crave it but I hate that I have it ... That need that feeling ...if that makes sense. Gawd, I wish I was normal.  So I'm kinda back. The ex-potential and I will meet this Saturday so at least for a week I'm semi normal until I realize he can't be my Master and then I'll sink back into depression and wanting to end... Anyways I really do hate me. I wish there was a way to stop it. To go back to vanilla to be normal to... To... Anything is better than this   I rather seriously just end it all then continue having this need that can't be fulfilled .... I hate that my mental health is based off ownership... I hate that I went from crying and being in the dark to just happy because some guy said he MIGHT own me .. I hate how pathetic I am... I hate how weak I am .. I hate how my mind has all this taboo, gross, dark stuff... I hate me. I hate my life. If there was an easy non painful way for me to end it all I would have done that years ago.    I hate this feeling.  I hate this need.  I hate this craving.  I hate me. 
Breast play Breast play is a common and consensual activity within BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission, Sadism, Masochism) that focuses on the stimulation and sometimes restraint of the breasts for erotic pleasure. It's important to note that all activities within BDSM should be safe, sane, and consensual, with clear communication and boundaries between all parties involved. Breast play can take various forms, and the intensity of the activity depends on the preferences and comfort levels of those participating. Here are some aspects of breast play in BDSM:  1. Sensation Play: This involves using various s or techniques to create different sensations on the breasts. It can include using feathers, ice, or even hot wax (with precautions) to stimulate the skin. 2. Bondage: Breast bondage involves the use of restraints, such as ropes, cuffs, or other materials, to restrict the movement of the breasts. This can add an element of submission and vulnerability to the experience. 3. Nipple Play: Nipple stimulation is a common aspect of breast play. It can involve using hands, mouths, or specially designed nipple clamps or suction devices to increase sensitivity and pleasure. 4. Role-Play: Some BDSM scenes involve role-play scenarios where one person takes on a dominant role while the other assumes a submissive role. This can include scenarios like a nurse-patient dynamic or a master-slave dynamic, depending on the participants' desires. 5. Safety and Communication: As with any BDSM activity, communication is key. Partners should discuss their desires, boundaries, and safe words to ensure that the experience is enjoyable and safe for everyone involved. Consent is paramount in all BDSM activities. 6. Aftercare: Aftercare is a crucial part of BDSM play. It involves providing emotional and physical support to each other after the scene. This can include cuddling, reassurance, and checking for any physical or emotional discomfort. Remember that BDSM activities should always be consensual, and participants should have a clear understanding of their limits and boundaries. It's also a good practice to continually check in with your partner during the activity to ensure their comfort and well-being. Opinion: It's important to prioritize safety and communication in any BDSM activity. Always establish clear boundaries and consent with your partner, and don't hesitate to stop if anyone feels uncomfortable. Mutual respect and trust are essential for a positive BDSM experience.
The parcel She didn’t often get the house to herself this early in the day.  The kids had been collected by their father at 3pm and her Friday evening and the weekend stretched before her.  Pub with friends tomorrow night, she thought. But this afternoon she had planned to masturbate herself stupid.  She ignored the usual, quieter, stick vibe in her bedside drawer.  Instead she slid the innocuous-looking brown box from under her bed.  It was covered in dust but, inside, her large black mains wand was pristine.  She stripped off, put some lube onto the large head and lay on her bed; legs spread wide. Something was waking her up.  She had brought herself to orgasm 3 times before having to stop because her clit was too sensitive for her to make herself hold the wand there any longer, and she must have dozed off.  The light through her curtains had dimmed considerably and she guessed it was about 6pm.  What the hell had woken her?  Then she heard the knocking at her front door and realized that someone was outside.  Shit!  The new set of butt plugs she had ordered.  She didn’t want to miss the delivery; not when she had the whole weekend in front of her to try them out.  Worried about how long the delivery person had already been stood on her front doorstep, she threw on the closest thing to hand - an oversize jumper - and started down the stairs. As she approached her front door she shrugged irritably at the jumper, which was far too large and kept slipping off one shoulder.  She paused for a moment when she saw the large shape through the frosted pane of glass in her door.  Whoever was out there was enormous and she was wearing nothing but a jumper.  Quickly she reminded herself that she lived on a main road, surrounded by neighbours, and that she really wanted those butt plugs.  She opened the door. He had been about to push a card through the letterbox and go back to his van, kind of annoyed that the last delivery of the day was out and he would have to return the parcel to the depot, when the door suddenly opened.  His eyes widened in surprise and he lowered the parcel to waist level when he saw what stood in the doorway.  The woman’s long blonde hair looked delightfully tousled, like she had just got out of bed and her green eyes looked very dark.  Her exact shape was difficult to see in the shapeless jumper she wore but, as it stopped high on her thighs, he could guess that she was plump and curvy in all the right places underneath it. One of her shoulders was bare and he could see that the last of her summer tan hadn’t quite faded from it.  The woman quickly folded her arms.  He thought she looked a little embarrassed to be standing there in just a jumper.  Didn’t she realize that folding her arms pushed her very large breasts together and increased the amount of cleavage he could see?  “Lovehoney delivery for you,” he said, instantly realising that he had let slip the fact that he knew what was inside the ‘discreet’ brown box he carried.  The sight of her had obviously driven that knowledge to the forefront of his mind. Her mouth opened and she felt her cheeks turn crimson when she heard the words from the tall stranger.  Her arms unfolded and fell to her sides and, for a moment, an image of this hazel-eyed stranger pushing one of her new butt plugs into her arse as she held it open for him flashed across her mind.  She blinked and the image was gone, but she wondered how long she had stood there, staring, before stepping forwards and saying, “Yes, that’s right.” As she stepped forward he noticed that she hadn’t corrected him about the origin of the parcel.  He also noticed that she was still not quite as tall as he was, even though he was stood on a step below the level of her hallway. God she looked attractive, he thought, like she’d just finished having sex but wanted more.  She probably had her husband upstairs waiting, although he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.  “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” he said, handing the parcel to her.  He watched her flush again and say, “No, no, I’m all alone.”  As she took the parcel he found himself staring straight into her eyes.  They were dark green and seemed to be asking for something that she hadn’t articulated yet.  He couldn’t believe the next words out of his mouth, “Look, I hope you don’t mind, it’s been a really long shift, please could I use your toilet?” She made a small step back into her hallway and stared at the man in front of her.  Medium build but very tall, he was wearing work boots and jeans; a casual shirt was tucked loosely into the jeans and she could see a t-shirt underneath.  Her eyes lingered on a well-worn, brown leather belt, then they travelled to his face.  His eyes were twinkling mischievously but he also looked a little nervous, like he was about to change his mind about something.  He looked strong and gentle at the same time and she felt her belly warm as she looked at him.  “Of course, the cloakroom’s just behind me.” He stepped over the threshold and pushed the door closed behind him before saying, “Thank you.”  The hallway was very small and she had stepped back into another doorway, to the left, that looked like it led to the living room.  There was a door in front of him so he took off his muddy boots and stepped through it.  The cloakroom was small; fitted under the staircase.  He suddenly wondered how he was going to urinate when his cock was semi hard.  He would have to wait for a moment to let it go down. She put the parcel on the kitchen table before returning to the living room and perching on the arm of one of the sofas.  She tried to collect her thoughts.  There was a large, strange man in her house, and she was naked apart from a loose jumper.  She quickly came to the realization that she didn’t care one bit.  In fact, she recognised that she was aroused.  Maybe because she had fallen asleep masturbating, but she suspected it was more to do with the man in her cloakroom.  If someone had stolen knowledge of the physical attributes of her ideal man, they would have created the person in her downstairs cloakroom.  She heard the flush and water running and then realized he was stood in the doorway looking at her again.  Making a decision, she straightened her back and shoulders and confidently asked, “Would you like a nice hot coffee before you head off?” He had been about to thank her again and say his goodbyes, when the woman with the just fucked hair and bedroom eyes thrust her tits out and invited him to stay for a coffee.  He agreed but, as she asked him to follow her into the kitchen, he realized he was playing with fire here.  He told himself, and by that he meant his cock, to wait for a very clear signal before committing himself to making a move.  After all, perhaps all the 40-something women in this suburb invited delivery men into their homes for coffee, whilst strolling around in next to nothing, just to tease and give themselves something to talk about at the school gates the next morning. She flicked the kettle on and took milk out of her fridge, noticing that he had leant himself on the back of one of her kitchen chairs.  Watching her.  She could see the parcel containing the butt plugs on the table behind him and her cheeks blushed again.  He had folded his arms across his chest and crossed
Recently I decided to start looking for a Dominant/partner(s). I am Ethically Non-Monogamous and happily so. I am sure, with that hitch, that finding the Dominant I am looking for will be challenging. This July, after getting therapy for 2 1/2 years, I woke up one morning wondering if I had gotten it "wrong." This wasn't for the lack of trying. I've attempted a power dynamic four different times. What if I was attempting to fit myself into a container created by stereotypical spiel of what a submissive is? The spiel is that you must have a 24/7 relationship to be happy. And there was a sure way to do power dynamics and a specific way not to do power dynamics. During my time of hiatus in relationships, I've explored a lot. I've developed a sweet co-parenting kinky caregiver arrangement with two individuals, a sadomasochism connection with a good friend, and an exploration of what makes me happy. This week while I have been lying in bed thinking about missing having someone hold me accountable for reading and writing book reports. I was part of this dynamic a while ago in a recent relationship. I came to love the expectation and being expected to do this, but the connection was riddled with potholes and unhealthy manipulation. The slave practice of this is what a friend describes as an Academic Power Slave. I'm going to need to unpack this more. I have already had someone reach out and ask me what I am looking for right now. I can say that I am not looking to "hook up" with someone to get a perceived need met and fulfilled quickly. What I am looking for, what I do know, is that I am looking for four things. I am looking for someone(s) who wants to have a committed relationship with me.  Who is looking for non-traditional services, like a concierge and specialized services. Who has their mental health and ducks in a row and puts continuous work on themselves. Who is comfortable and affirming non-monogamy.
This is a 45 acre farm. I grew up on it, traveled the world, and came home again.When both parents had passed, I bought out my sisters shares. I stopped all row crops in 2014 and began turning the place into a safe zone for nature.It features a man made lake, spring fed and well stocked with fish. There are 22 acres of tillable land, some woods and rolling hills as well as several rock and flower gardens and roughly 6 or 7 acres of lawn.In 2014, I began to plant trees and flowers in the fields in my attempt to give nature a safe place to be. We have a nesting pair of Bald Eagles, roughly 75 wild turkeys, about 30 head of white tail deer. We more small animals than you could hope to count. The lake is well stocked with fish, large and small mouth bass, crappies, blue gills and sunfish as well as a decent supply of turtles.There are two family homes on this farm and I am selling one of them to my long term renter. There are also two large aluminum pole barns, 60 x 40. In one, I built a large indoor grow with full temperature, light and humidity control and that was a marijuana rental grow from 2014 to this spring. It currently stands empty but I will put it to growing vegetables or mushrooms fairly soon. The other 60 x 40 is being built out as a machine shop.I would really love to find two slaves to work here, (for pay), but in a lifestyle setting. A male/female cuck couple, two females, or a single female to start and help me find another. I feel that two would be the correct number but three is a possibility.I have been  a dominant since birth. I married a submissive in 71 and we are still together. I became  heavily involved in this lifestyle in 96. Now that I am living back on the farm again, I want my 1 or 2 or 3 slaves to come and work this project with me in an ongoing lifestyle arrangement.
Fun keywords to try typing into Craiyon website for AI generated.. I was going to upload to profile just for fun but sadly there is less and less that one is allowed to include there, it seems, even though AI is not a copyright-owning person. I've been G rated in my efforts in the past but just tried:   kinky spanking party   Got some amusing, low resolution but cute, rooms of  what looks like bodies in lingerie..Not bad. I suspect something v explicit like words for sex acts like f*cking would be disallowed but this three word prompt worked. Let's see if    kinky party spanking gets something very different.Hmm not bad. Try posting your own if there's a way to post here on CS You can add terms like "illustration", "photorealistic", "high definition" in Craiyon. Well Erotic Spanking High Resolution is more comical like the other fails of this rather small AI model.. Try Illustration instead of High Definition Higher Res text to image AI models, which I haven't tried are Midjourney, and Stable Diffusion (just found article online called Top Image Generators to Try Apart from DALL-E and Midjourney that lists others I haven't even heart of) These are much higher resolution than the sort of toy model that is at the Craiyon website, which is DALL-E Mini as opposed to the full DALL-E, or these other fancy ones that need registration I think most of them do at least By 2030, watch out, maybe indistinguishable from Adult Film pics or vids. Strange but interesting times ahead
My size 16 shoes are worn out and quite filthy. I am retiring the shoes shown in My profile picture. The size 16 shoes are worn out and quite filthy. I figure them to be 'tongue ready.' At least ready for some slave that desires such. I was just going to dump them in the garbage. After the first natural impulse to discard the foot wear, I thought maybe some freak would want them. I have never done anything like this with past worn out shoes. So, this is the first time. Here goes; I will give them away under the following circumstances. The most interesting requester will receive the shoes. It will cost Me nothing to make the 'gift.' I will leave the offer open for 30 days from May 24, 2023. Applicants for the shoes must send me a message telling Me why they want them. Applicants must tell Me how they might use them. Applicants must offer to cover any expense and make the transaction no bother to Me. Since this is My first time with this, the above conditions are subject to change as I may see fit. One of the options for the shoes is to let the rare online connection with a slave prospect have them to use while practicing the 'permission to speak' ritual. So, I may decide to use them in that fashion rather than give them to some freak. So, no applicant freak may get the shoes. Unfair? it might think. There is nothing fair about being a slave or freak for that matter. I am interested to see what happens. Master James ps I am starting to look for walking shoes and boots. The only problem is I wear size 16 and styles I like are almost aways out of the size.
About me: Well I can tell you that in the vanilla everyday world I present like a cisgendered male. I am definitely not a passive person, nor am I overly aggressive either. I'm more of a thinker and definitely analyze situations first before just reacting. With that being said I consider myself a high functioning individual. I own my own home, vehicles, and have raised a child to a functioning adult as well. I work in the white collar business world in a career that demands excellent communication, planning, organization, and implementation. Those communication skills also transfer into my private life. I am fortunate that I had Parents that are very open-minded and were able to provide a wide variety of experiences. That open-mindedness has transferred into my life as well. I have traveled overseas for work and pleasure and probably have been to most of the lower 48 states. As a result I have a very wide area of interests including the Arts, classical music, academics, and spirituality. I'm not obsessed with Fitness but I consider myself to lead a healthy lifestyle and I'm very active. __________________ During my sexual development I noticed that I never ever made the first move and always let the woman lead. I thought that was just the natural way that things were. After the first move is made, all bets are off I am not a passive or Lazy Lover. I just became to recognize that my need is for a woman to take charge. During my development from puberty to adolescence I was attracted to women who were intelligent, older, and the Femme Fatale type. The cheerleader or schoolgirl type never did it for me. Like many of us I started to explore my sexuality and relationships more deeply after my divorce more than 15 years ago.  I was drawn to my local alternative community which provided a safe space for exploration. However I am not active as the idea of public play or competitive BDSM games are not something that suits my values. Female lead relationships, or taken in hand relationships spoke to my inner soul in a way that is difficult to explain. To use an analogy, i view the relationship like a knight and her Queen. The Knight is still a strong capable being who happily and lovingly relinquishes control and Authority to the Queen.  I do also like the Goddess analogy as I think there is a spiritual component to this for me. I have had vanilla relationships where the woman was in control and led the way in terms of vacations, day to day life, and even being sexually in charge.  However, I have not had a formal female lead relationship like you would read in a book.  I am searching for a woman to develop and work on this with me in terms of rules, limits, and how we would live our lives together. For the past 10 years I've been at a point in my life where I know this is what I want and need. However, we as human beings cannot give up our personal values for relationship. Those values have to do with other areas of compatibility with a potential lifelong partner. More to come     
I have long been fascinated by the basic concept of "How". How do I develop actual power over a sub. How do I instill a true mindset of submission or devotion. How do I get and keep control/power over a whole person. How do I actually mold someone, train them. How do I create an environment where I can unleash myself. How do I get the results that I desire. One thing I've learned is that people develop a core let's say picture of themselves. They develop this idea of who they are in their head, how does she talk, walk, dress, think, her desires, priorities, perceptions, etc etc. Once we have this image in our head this definition of who we are, our minds will do mental backflips to rationalize anything that might challenge this. There is an incredible inertia against any form of challenge or change. Even if you want to change, even if you want to be someone else, it's climbing a mountain. I have met all too many submissive women who on the face of things are willing to do an endless litany of gross, dirty, rough things. Their minds then go through this incredible process of rationalization and narrative building to square that in a way that doesn't challenge their inner self. They will then balk at something incredibly simple that invades their non submissive compartmentalization. One of the core pillars in my philosophy of dominance is to challenge her conception of herself. If I can subjugate your idea of who you are, I can move the real you in so many possible directions. Real power and dominance is not about how hard I can hit you or making you do the grossest things I can think of, it is about owning the idea of you. Once that is done the possibilities are endless.
Master expaspects me to kneel by the door when he comes back to greet him and wait on him. Usually, I will stop my unfinished chores are rushed to the door about 5 mins before to wait on him until he arrives.  After all, there is only slave waiting for the master, and no master should wait for the slave..    Today, master comes back as normal, with me by the door kneeling and waiting for him. I did the usual greetings.    Then he proceed to his dining table for the prepared meals. Thereafter. he went to wash up. Before going to his crouch to watch TV. All these with me trailing, and waiting on him.    When he is watching TV, I will be kneeling by his side body towards him waiting on him and for any instructions.    This is usually the time where he will make me self-confess the unfinished chores for the day. Which is a definite that I cannot complete.    So as usual, I will list down the incomplete tasks, of course in the prescribed way of talking befitting a girly slave. Today, I did not finish about 30% of the daily task. After hearing, master then decides on the punishments and its severity for the chores unfinished, which are usually administered on the spot. Today, master decided to 'award' 30 strokes of cane on each of my palm for the incompetency of my works.    He stretched his hand out for the cane near his crouch while presented both palms for master's caning. Pain is definite despite how often I have it.. Though by now I am able to endure better, it is still pain afterall. This is especially so from the very first stroke that hit the palm.. Ouch!! AND SHOCKING PAIN... Master proceed to administer the punishment accordingly until he completes it.. And as usually, I had to thanked him in a his prescribed manner. Then he continued watching his TV.    Seems like administering such punishments are already so daily norm for master that it is nothing significant to him. But as slave, bearing the receiving end, the pain is still felt, which embedded more lesson-learned in my head to improve and behave better. Pain is indeed is useful tools to the master to constantly train and conditioned me to be more of his slave. And to keep me reminded of my position with him.    Being a typical weekday, after watching tv, master decided to go to bed. And as usual, I kneeled by his bedside waiting on him, until he falls soundly asleep...    https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGH1Qbag4D9PNQG7TSvSMgPM55A4HwKp5fKqH5sAkpir3hXC3KLRINb2aW8ufHKof06mvzwL1mgJsLAvqq4pxk7caIJpmquiwPzCIziUAld7RiHyKBdknH2fphdk6I8B3WpH1F1WzrK0auzBmYqrXWDL9ElDWB-XAkNSbkJ_e7emZZ_MbygPsw7wOkG9g" alt="" width="160" height="240" data-original-height="1248" data-original-width=
The following I did not write, but came across in here and it very much resonates with me.I think you are more suited to being kept as a submissive fetish sissy. When most people talk about a shemale they mean a girl who has a cock a girl who uses her cock... A frilly fetish sissy is something else entirely. A fetish sissy is not even allowed to have a cock we call it her clitty and we treat it like a clitty keeping it in locked chastity. The more needy horny a fetish sissy gets, the more she becomes controlled by her clitty and quite quickly she finds herself doing utterly humiliating things to please her superiors without so much as a whimper in fact, she often begs for more of the same. She is overwelmed with the desire to suck cocks or be bent over to be doggie bitch butt fucked to obtain her erotic pleasure. To become a submisive creature that wants men to subjugate her and use her to satisfy all their sexual desires and perversions. Using her and ifying her as a sexual toy for their pleasure and orgasmic release. Her oral and anal slut holes just cock receptacles to be filled with hot cum. A sissy sexslave as it were, obediently doing everything she is told no matter how humiliating it might be. Her desire for utter and total submission and humiliation compels her to obey without question.If you google shemale, youll be directed to sites of TS girls fucking males. If you google sissy, youll find frilly little creatures, often dressed in extremely fetish feminine attire getting fucked by a strapon cock or a real mans cock. Often the sissy is on her knees submissively sucking a mans cock like a good sissy cumslut. I think you are the later. I think you are a submissive fetish sissyslut.I think what you need is to have every trace of male left in you removed until you are hopelessly feminine in the most exaggerated ways possible. Totally transformed into a hot sexy slave bitch, then dressed, displayed and used as one.Willing even to submit to large breast implants. Your clitty needs to be locked away and the only way you would be allowed to find orgasmic relief is by being penetrated with stiff hungry cock or a dildo. Your libido and lust turned inward, your slutty desires only satisfied by phallic anal insertion or a mouth full of hard cock. Soon you will find your hips wantonly grinding up to meet your penetrator to attain your orgasmic femme sissy relief. Soon you will crave the company of dominate horny males seeking to use you as a cock slut for their pleasure and perversions.Now picture yourself like that deliriously horny tightly corsetted, locked in a chastity belt with large butt plug stretching your rosebud and filling your bottom, dressed in frills, garters, nylons, panties, petticoats, short revealing skirts, fetish leather or rubber, open ass hobble skirts, locked in the steepest stiletto high heels or ballet boots, ribbons, satin, latex and lace, often humiliated even in public. Often kept in some of restrictive bondage, your will or choice to resist your male suitors completely removed. Forced to submit to horny men orally and anally on a regular basis, transformed into a willing and wanton cocksucking cumslut sissy and bend over pussy butt bitch... Does that sound like you? Yes it most certainly does. You are a fetish sissyslut.
The meal The table was laid.  It was an important dinner party, but the table wasn’t overly fussy.  It was going to be a simple meal: the steak already in place on warm plates at either end of the six-seater table, wine in the goblets and terrines of buttered vegetables in the middle.  One plate was set between the other two chairs.  Chairs which stood, side by side, along one of the longer sides of the oblong table.  Next to the plate were two glasses of water, a plate of small cubes of fresh bread and crudites and a dish of oily, dark balsamic dressing.  The lighting came mainly from the open door to the kitchen and the two tall candles on the table. Two women stood, close but not touching, each behind one of the chairs.  They were dressed the same: black heels, black stockings, black suspender belt, but they looked different.  One was significantly taller than the other, and much curvier.  The curvier sub had dark blonde hair which fell in a straight curtain down her back, the other had shiny brown hair which fell in soft curls just past her shoulders.  The brown-haired sub had pubic hair, neatly trimmed very short.  The blonde-haired sub was completely bare.  Both wore a narrow black leather collar around their necks with a metal ring centre front.  And both wore leather cuffs with a similar metal ring around their wrists. Two men entered the room and both women stiffened.  Each one cling their elbows tighter behind their back pulling their shoulders back and pushing their breasts out; nipples already erect from anticipation and from being exposed.  The older man walked towards the blonde haired sub and turned her collar so that the ring was at the back.  He threaded a chain through the ring and attached it to her cuffs; holding her wrists in place behind her waist.  Each man pulled out a chair and motioned for the women to sit. Suctioned to the bare wood of each chair seat was a dildo, glistening with a thin coating of lube.  It wasn’t very long, maybe only 4” but it was a little thicker than a standard dildo.  Both subs placed themselves over the dildos and slowly eased themselves into their chairs.  The blonde sub could feel it slowly stretching and invading her cunt and she felt heat spread up her belly.  She turned to the older man and gave a barely noticeable smile.  The older Dom said “You are not to speak unless spoken to.”  “Yes sir,” replied his sub recognising the smile in his eyes behind his stern words. When both women were seated the two men took a moment to check the state of their sub.  The older Dom placed his hands on his sub’s shoulders.  He gently ran his fingernail down her back.  He heard the intake of breath, saw her breasts rise and felt her rock slightly forward – dildo inside her and clit bumping onto the hard surface of the wooden chair.  He let his hands glide down the swell of her breasts, pinching each nipple between his fingers and using them to lift her heavy breasts; feeling their weight and seeing his sub rock forwards on the seat again.  He gave each nipple a playful, sharp flick and the second Dom said to his sub, “Feed her first.”  Both men sat down and began eating as the brown-haired sub, with her hands still free, turned to the blonde-haired sub and smiled. The meal continued.  The men and women talked normally to each other.  The shorter sub fed the blonde sub bread and vegetables, dipped into the balsamic dressing.  Whenever a small drop fell onto the lip, chin or breast of the blonde sub, she kissed or licked it off.  After a while the blonde sub began to squirm noticeably in her seat. When the next drop fell onto the top of her breast the brown-haired sub leaned forward and grazed her tongue over her nipple before catching the drip.  The blonde sub squirmed again and moaned aloud, the dildo deep in her cunt, her clit swollen from constant bumping and squirming on the seat.  “I told you not to speak sub.  Are you such a slut that you can’t eat a meal at the table without moaning?”  the older Dom spoke sharply but quietly.  “Over the table now.” The blonde sub eased herself off the dildo, ging again as it left her cunt.  She walked, wrists still bound, to the empty edge of the table, opposite the other sub, and leaned her body over it, feet shoulder width apart.  Her Dom could see her slightly gaping, wet cunt.  Without warning he stuck two fingers into it and everyone at the table heard how wet it was.  Removing his fingers, he rubbed her juices over her swollen clit and gave a quiet chuckle at the low moans his sub made.  “I think she needs more tonight,” he said to the younger Dom.  From out of his pocket he took a metal butt plug with a flared base.  The blonde sub could see that it was her medium sized one; the one she had been wearing recently for periods of time outside the house.  Her Dom applied a little lube and then she felt it pushing gently but insistently against her arsehole.  As she felt her arse open and suck the metal bulb in, her Dom grabbed her hair, turned her face towards the other Dom and delivered six sharp smacks to her arse.  She felt the heavy metal plug jolt inside her and she closed her eyes and moaned with arousal and embarrassment.  After the sixth smack he pulled her upright by her hair and delivered another six slaps to her breasts, three on each.  She felt them bounce and her hard nipples screamed in pain, making her g and cry out.  “Sit back down and finish your meal,” her Dom said. On wobbly legs, she returned to her seat.  As she lowered herself back onto the dildo she felt an exquisite fullness as the dildo rubbed past the plug in her arse.  The brown-haired sub had been eating but, at a motion from her Dom, she began to lick and suck the blonde-haired sub’s sore, engorged nipples.  The sensation was arousing and soothing but, desperate to make no sound, the blonde-haired sub closed her eyes and tilted her head back.  Focused on allowing the soothing attention.  She didn’t notice that she was already rocking her clit against the wooden chair seat again, but the two men did… Mar 28, 2020
damn got it all wrapped up....this is talking about the imagery and also the real life of us that are dark goddess priestess vibes...those who either have their warrior/men of action dark dudes or who are holding out for theirs to come to them...and then girlies like me who are naga the serpent who ejected themselves from the entire equation.   this talksssss about mature topics of power dynamics, what the issues are on both sides, why opposition both in real life and in media keeps us seperate, what happens when/if one of us comes together..and the wildness of ladies like me who are on the roam by ourselves. sooooo warning placed.haha.   for this deep dive we are going back to the classics of anime. especially a classic that was brought to american back in the 00s.   gundam wing(i could've added gundam 08th ms team for that jungle vibe because the main couple is a similar vibe but i didnt)   and slayers   from there we are going to specifically look at three romantic couples that despite enough evidence or direct source material that shows these couples are romantic based the entire fandom tends to question if they are 'legit' or not.   we are talking about:   1.xellos and filla   2. zelgadis and amelia(this one grinds my gears to the end of time that the fandom continuously rejaspects them and falls for the okie dokie bait and switch that zelgadis deserves to be with the good easy docile girl??? we'll talk about that more..this is literally cannon...it's literally in the original work, this isn't fanfiction???)   3. heero and the queen herself relena    talk about a whole ass power couple of infinite strength and finesse that so much of the fandom just can't handle.   the finale person that is not in a couple that i'll be talking about is the one and only naga the serpent. as a young lady who matured physically very early seeing women with big breasts that were often sexualized, tried  to be shamed for how their body is, their innocent and playful and wild nature being taken advantage of, and their loud boisterous ways...and yet they always stand on top..they were confident, they leaned into the sexuality that naturally forms from a body like that and make it look good for them. they wielded the sexuality that was given to them in a way that the men and women around them couldn't stand. and only the bad bitch pack could handle it...the archetype of naga tended to never have a man..but if they did the man was a wild one that let her be free and didn't try to cage her and was the supportive ground to her wild nature.     OH HO HO.   and you know a bitch practiced that daily as annoying young otakus do and perfected it.    and you know a bitch practiced that daily as annoying young otakus do and perfected it.   now that the scene is set, we are going to discuss a few topics.....how ameila and filla are literally high priestesses and while they are the light, the are fiery spunky and have a dark goddess vibe.....they have a side of them that the love and light people are often shocked, embarrassed, and disgusted by. and naga is the straight up dark goddess.   we have the men zelgadis, heero. and xellos the man of action. the warrior men, the dark brooding dark gods on display. the men in the fuckin trenches who aren't sweet, who aren't tender but are highly emotional and empathetic due to how life has shaped them.   and then we have the whole juxtaposition.   all of these people are not average people..they are cosmic beasts. powerful, agile, stronger, and more competent than the average person in their world. and the men and women tend to be engaging in their flirting, push and pull, dynamic, and attraction in a subversive power play due to the intense immensity of them.   vanilla people cite that heero trying to kill relena is a reason they can't be a couple. every either part time, fantasy, or someone like me who is a innate lifestyler where it's apart of my natural personality knows that when relena looked at heero with that face they were simply flirting and we knew it was over for her. it was the combo of the thrill the intrigue and the emotional oh hey there good lookin. i'd say if anything besides the fact that vanilla people were looking at it in a normal romance context the clunk was that they were so young. give it time for heero to cook and he'll get that devious dangerous flirt more refined.   u/littletwinstarspeace - the power of 3 will set you free? 3 priestesses and 3 warriors get together..or do they? how does their union which can totally be romantic, but often doesn't, transform the world? how does this work out in real life? and what about the dark goddess who ejaspects herself from… u/littletwinstarspeace - the power of 3 will set you free? 3 priestesses and 3 warriors get together..or do they? how does their union which can totally be romantic, but often doesn't, transform the world? how does this work out in real life? and what about the dark goddess who ejaspects herself from… u/littletwinstarspeace - the power of 3 will set you free? 3 priestesses and 3 warriors get together..or do they? how does their union which can totally be romantic, but often doesn't, transform the world? how does this work out in real life? and what about the dark goddess who ejaspects herself from… and well naga being so powerful and without a dude is she realllllllllly running into those dangerous gangs of men where she usually gets some sort of kidnapped or tied up just for shit and giggles?   u/littletwinstarspeace - the power of 3 will set you free? 3 priestesses and 3 warriors get together..or do they? how does their union which can totally be romantic, but often doesn't, transform the world? how does this work out in real life? and what about the dark goddess who ejaspects herself from… so we'll be talking about their relationships as the man on the ground the dark goddess priestess, their power dynamic-y ways....why so many especially traditional people don't see these people as actual romantic husband/wife, boyfriend/girlfriend, lovers, partners, what keeps them separate, why even when they are clearly the pair they tend to be tempted by women who aren't on their level such as lena or distracted by the young lady in kingdom waltz, why it seems in spite of the obvious synergy between these that these men tend to end up with the more docile mismatched woman that they have sexual and fleeting passion for, what the challenge is for the woman, what the challenge is for the man, what happens when these power couples never get together and why in writing and story they do everything in their power including insert some mismatched woman that they usually end up with instead to keep them away, when someone like naga says fuck the system i'm ejecting myself from all this storyline and paving my own way   AND HOW THIS TRANSLATES TO REAL LIFE.   because for some of us bdsm and power dynamics are real.   magic is real.   esotericism is real.   there are real dark goddess vibes, high priestesses, knights, men of action, warriors, and though we don't see it as visual as the media we have our own magic that we wield. and these pairings and the entire thing is a very real real world issue. or situation.   my answer is riding with naga to all this conundrum, peace out and jump off the plane with no safety net or par
The Most Dangerous Woman in the Room Intelligence is non-negotiable for me. Not as a preference, not as a nice-to-have. As oxygen. The dynamic I crave lives and dies on the quality of mind across from me, and frankly, a dull submissive is the least interesting thing I can imagine. What would be the point of the subversion without something worth subverting? Because that is what this is, at its core. Subversion. And it is my favorite thing about my own dominance. There is a particular kind of woman the world has decided it understands. Beautiful, polished, old money in her bones and silver screen glamor in the way she moves. The kind of woman who makes a room recalibrate when she enters it, not loudly, but inevitably. The world looks at her and thinks it knows the story: the accomplished man beside her, the elegant life, the complementary pair. Matched. Balanced. Conventional, underneath the gorgeous surface. The world is wrong, and I find that endlessly delightful. He is, to every outside eye, exactly what he appears: successful, intelligent, the kind of man other men respect without quite knowing why. He carries himself well. He speaks well. He is, in every social context that matters to anyone watching, her equal, if not more. The couple that makes people feel vaguely inspired just by existing in the same room. And then the door closes. And he kneels. That gap, between the world's assumption and the private truth, is where the magic lives for me. It is cinematic in the way that only real things can be cinematic, because no one scripted it, no one performs it for an audience, no one gets to see it but us. It is entirely, privately ours. A secret folded inside the most publicly acceptable packaging imaginable. There is something about a genuinely powerful man choosing, with full understanding of what he is doing, to place himself at the mercy of a woman who will use that power exactly as she sees fit, that feels like the most honest thing two people can construct together. Not despite his strength. Because of it. Submission means nothing from someone who had nothing to surrender. The kneeling matters because of who is doing the kneeling. And I will not pretend the aesthetics are irrelevant, because they are not. The cut of a well-made dress. The particular quality of composure that reads as warmth to strangers and means something else entirely to him. The way the room sees two people and I know, with complete and unhurried certainty, exactly what is happening under the surface of every pleasant exchange. That knowledge is its own kind of power, and I wear it the way I wear everything: beautifully, and without explaining myself to anyone. The Trad wife trope exists as a container for a certain kind of woman. Lovely, accomplished on the correct terms, a complement to the man she stands beside. I find that container useful primarily for how satisfying it is to blow the bottom out of it, privately, completely, in ways the people who built it will never see coming and never get to witness.   That, to me, is what real magic looks like.
Our second date. You call to make sure your demands are to be met. She is freshly showered with the smell of perfume, sensual lingeriie covering her laser shaven pussy. Nails painted, hair done and her glistening anal pluginserted. No other clothes are allowed for this meeting. He has had his orders, shorts but no shirt, no socks, and hairless from the waist down with a touch of aftershave. His cock strainingnagainst the cool steel of his cage. both of them are giddy with excitement, nervous too about the meeting and what may happen. On our first meeting you were strict and controlling, your inspection of us humiliating, your cane was thin and hard and sometimes overpowering. in the pub where we met you had told her to remove the g string and put it on the table, another older man next to our table had seen this and he couldn't keep his gaze away, desperately wanting to be in on it. He could overhear your questions to us, our shame in telling you we needed you and the damage and enhancement to our lives you could bring. As we left the pub on our own you followed a few minutes later, your new friend in tow. We pointed to our car and you sat in the back of the car with the wife and this man, quickly she became naked hands on her body and I watching from the front. Her breathes became shallower unti she orgasmed fingers in her pussy. her hands full of cock, only after your balls were drained did he leave us and you followed our car home. Our first test com0lete you said
Let’s contemplate the issue of energy when it come to sex among equals. As a rule nature is perceived as male and female, positive and negative, dry and wet, light and dark, cold hot; you get the idea. However if we add to these categories the fact that there are many ways in which these elements can manifest it becomes apparent that in nature these concepts are very fluid. There are many ways in which gender is conceptualize by cultures and more varied indeed is the manner in which gender roles are characterized. When it comes to love among equal genders these categories manifest but from the standpoint of strength which is the value of the male realm. Passive, submissive, or any other adjectives given to the bottom are but description of how the male strength choses to emerge in a male/male relationship; the same way when we use other adjectives to characterize tops. Any word and denomination is constraining and the truth is that there are many ways to be a bottom and many ways to be a top and the fluidity of these energies are always in a state of flux.  As a rule the male strength is always present regardless of the role we play in an intimate relationship. The strength and force of a male grip either using the hand, the mouth the anus, or the phallus is still a manifestation of that universal force that permeates all of us as we engage each other’s energy within the chosen role. That is a point of departure; there can not be a top without a bottom or vice versa. It is as I said before the natural order of things. No one can denny the fact that we are relating our energies in a sexual encounter as a male to male proposition but in a different degree of intensity which makes the encounter fulfilling and meaningful. The organs involved speak to the degree of energy engaged and no one can forget the fact that there is a male exchange of energies which is mutually fulfilling when done right.
what a typical day would be like as My slave.   I work from home during the week in a typical 8 am to 5 pm online system. you would wake slightly before Me and rise from your sleeping that should be a pallet or cot next to My bed. you will then prepare My coffee and have it ready for when I wake. you will Serve it to Me on one knee. there is more to the Ritual than that but I am keeping to basics for now.   Once I have taken the coffee, you kiss each of My feet and then My cock, affirming to Me that you are My slave. When I get up, you will ask if I need to piss and how I wish to do so. That can be in your mouth to swallow or on you to wear for a brief time or longer as I wish.   I will start My work and you will fix My breakfast and your own. Again you will Serve Me and wait for Me to give you permission to eat yours.   Then will come inspection of slave to see if there is anything that needs to be addressed such as shaving and such. slave will then shower and clean himself accordingly and report back for Tasks of the Day.   Most days will have Tasks already assigned, such as Monday, the bedding is changed and washed. Every day has the Task of properly dressing the bed and dusting various shelves and stuff.   All Tasks should be finished by lunch time. slave reports back to Me to have Tasks evaluated. Failures to meet standards will warrant punishments later that day.   Lunch time has the slave preparing and serving lunch. Usually something simple and easy. Follows the same Ritual as breakfast.   After lunch, slave will have an hour to do his own personal hobbies and such. After that, the slave will do his workout program to increase his fitness.    After that, slave preps dinner. Not all dinners will be cooked by the slave as I do like to do some cooking. Dinner Ritual is the same as other meals. slave will likely sit on the floor near Me while eating.    The evening is when I relax with My hobbies and fun. slave will be near and quiet possibly with a few minor Tasks.   At the end of the day, any punishments that the slave has earned are reviewed and applied.   Bed time.    A note is that the slave is always available to Me should I want to piss on or in him, as well as to suck My cock, kiss My feet, lick My pits and ass, and of course being ass up for when I want to fuck.
From time to time I am asked what I'm looking for. I haven't specified in my profile, and from what I'm told my description doesn't really fit in around here. Nor does my writing. I'm going to talk about the collective you, not specifically you, dear reader. Clearly you are the exception. I have been here long enough to see that most people fit into boxes. The fantasy life they won't ever live because they are afraid or established or stuck. The fantasy life they won't ever live because they aren't successful with relationships in their real lives so they look for extremes here to counter that. The exploiting for sex and excitement. The genuine living this life out in the world and here to meet like minded people. The watchers.  Here's the unpopular part, remember that you like me. I think we're all messed up to some degree and that's why we're here instead of talking to someone face to face. This isn't the place for emotionally healthy people. This is that dive bar on the shady side of town you hope no one sees you walk into that's full of regret but it makes you forget for a while. And I'm in here, too. I'm not looking for someone to take me home. I just want to swap stories and laughter. I don't think what I'm really looking for is here, but in the moment I'm all for the entertainment when an interesting conversation heads my way. Everything good starts with a conversation, even if it doesn't turn out the way you hoped. I'm happy to be pleasantly surprised, but I fully expect to walk out of this bar alone. 
The Lighthouse Within: Illuminating Love and Power in Dynamic Union I never knew a lo-, lo-, lo-, love like this Gotta be special for me to write this i tweaked this song with a higher pitch and a faster beat to really get into a deeper and more fulfilling emotional space than the song was. however, i am moving most of my platforms to something more professional ish and don't want to deal with the copyright. just know if you pitch it up and move it to a faster speed it's a different experience that is. beyonce's voice sounds more childish, impish, and little girl ish. a emotional and mental state i can resonate with more fully as an adult and little girl. the jayz voice sounds more of a stronger timber and more of a high hit on the drum sound....something more direct and focused and intentional and intense. the sounds in the background that are celebratory sound grander. the piano sounds angelic and full of joy, uplifting, something literally awesome. awe·some /ˈôsəm/ adjective extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear. something other wordly, something in the clouds, something more expansive than earth ever can be. Uh, uh, uh This (uh, uh) is (uh, uh), ouu! Cash, hit deposit, 24-carat faucets Louis V and Goyard trunks all in the closet Ain't shit change, the streets is still watching And my little baby Blue is like, "Who gon' stop us, huh?" Ain't no way to stop this love, ain't no space if everything is love Representing for my hustlers all across the world (still) Still dippin' in my low-lows, girl! (still) I put it down for the 713 and we still got love for the streets (ow!) We played it cool at the pool of the Cancun, VMA Confidence you exude make the fools stay away Me, I played the room, let the fools have they say Fate had me sitting next to you on the plane And I knew straight away, uh The next time we would speak was like two years away You had a man, you shut it down until you two had a break I bet that dude rued the day You kept me up on the phone while you were away You came back, I let you set the date, Nobu on the plate I brought my dude to play it cool, my first foolish mistake Cash, hit deposit, 24-carat faucets Louis V and Goyard trunks all in the closet Ain't shit change, the streets is still watching And my little baby Blue is like "Who gon' stop us, huh?" Ain't no way to stop this love, ain't no space if everything is love I'm representing for my hustlers all across the world (still) Still dippin' in my low-lows, girl! (still), I put it down for the 713 And we still got love for the streets (ow!) I never knew a lo-, lo-, lo-, love like this Gotta be special for me to write this Queen, I ain't mean no disrespect But the way I network, it's hard for me to connect My first time in the ocean went exactly as you'd expect Meanwhile, you going hard, jumping off the top deck A leap of faith, I knew I was up next I never told you, but I told a few people we wed Me, I'm off to Rome, you going back home instead My first time in my life a live nigga felt dead You came back, I had to act like it was cool in my head Thoughts of jumping the broom, a player never been swept Cash, hit deposit, 24-carat faucets Louis V and Goyard trunks all in the closet Ain't shit change, the streets is still watching And my little baby Blue is like "Who gon' stop us, huh?" I'm representing for my hustlers all across the world (still) Still dippin' in my low-lows, girl! (still), I put it down for the 713 And we still got love for the streets (ow!) To all the good girls that love hustlers To the mothers that put up with us To all the babies that suffered cause us We only know love because of ya this song talks about still being from where you are from. the 713. this song doesn't need to be decoded as deep as others. it's a tale of two bodacious bombastic people. i see it in the daddy dominant and little girl personality and identities. strong, powerful, like greek gods in sculptures running the world. pushing the line between safe and da
i really cooked with this one. kitty gang kitty gang kitty gang ah.     being a mystic of the scriber variety i have learned when i am going through something of a personal nature that is just for me to figure out on my own and hold deep in my heart. but there are often things that i'm going through that the collective is going through. either as fellow femmes be it afab woman gay men with a feminine essence non gendered third gendered with a feminine vibe..all in between...or even a human experience...there are times where i'm going through something.i was going through something..something is coming for me to come through that is a MESSAGE. this is one i know that i'm not alone in..i see it on social media all the time. this is a collective thing for femmes. i hear it when i do leave the house....but this one is more raw for me because i haven't mastered it yet. and it's something i actively work on, prayer, meditation magic to the self, therapy, inner work, inner dialogue, dialoguing with coaches, working with my sisters..practicing carrying wood, chopping water..under the cold as ice water meditating.....running up the stairs rocky style trying to master.....i am better at this now..but the deep raw wound..the deep raw wild unbridled intense all consuming pull..it's still very real for me...and whenever i've been in a romantic relationship or trying to get one that never launches because dating a dark goddess with intuition and a deep psychic awareness of others emotions is a heavy task to sign up for...haha there is no hiding with someone like me and most men can't hang. and even those that want the challenge will often be met past their personal limits and ragequit out quietly or loudly.  this one is harder for me to share because i'm still in the belly of the beast with this. i haven't mastered this yet. i'm much better than i was in my 20s...and each time before i ejected myself from the sauce i got better and better..but there's still so much for me to master..and these feelings..they are so primal it's hard to wrangle or even admit is a thing. but this is definately a collective message i am individually still working on figuring out the solution too that i'm being called to be bold, brave, and as a mystic scriber connect myself to.   the vulnerability has to this point earned me zero dollars, so no bacon yet....but the bacon is in the spiritual emotional mental decorations i have as a solider of love. ai no message with a puffed chest not fake but due to everything i have and will go through that many will never recover from or begin to touch. a puff my chest for knowing the depths of what i have and will face. an earned prowess.   being vulnerable about what’s hard for you and acknowledging the discomfort as part of the mystic path. It’s that raw honesty, mixed with the courage to embrace being “a lot,” that resonates deeply. Mystics often have to sit with their shadows and discomfort, and turning that into glory is part of what makes the journey so transformative. Writing about this, even when it’s difficult, is where the real magic happens. You’re not just owning your strength but also showing others the deep, spiritual work behind it. It’s a brave, warrior-like approach to the mystic path, facing the discomfort head-on to find glory on the other side.   let me call in my sophia encoded soul sister doja cat here. when you play at this level people confuse the outward expression with being troubled and alone...we usually only get this way becauseeeeeeeee we have the outside support including therapy..we only GET to unearth this rawness because we AREN'T alone..don't confuse the heavy topics and unraveling with aimless direction.   "I read it, all the comments sayin', "D, I'm really shooketh" "D, you need to see a therapist, is you lookin'?" Yes, the one I got, they really are the best Now I feel like I can see you bitches is depressed I am not afraid to finally say shit with my chest   Look at me, look at me, I'm naked Vulnerability earned me a lot of bacon I put a thong all in my ass and taught you how to shake it I paid all my respect to those who taught me how to make it And now I reap the benefits with no confrontation Y'all fall into beef but that's another conversation I'm sorry, but we all find it really entertaining 'Cause we all wanna see them slip and fall right on their faces And we all wanna be the one to see the devastation Not be in it, but ain't the bad press good? The disrespect's real, how this Patek look? Pull out the checkbook, now why your neck crooked? I never learn to superstar from a textbook Talkin' 'bout, "She fallin' off, why she get booked?" Man, I been humble, I'm tired of all the deprecation Just let me flex, bruh, just let me pop shit "Why she think she Nicki M? She think she hot shit," hmm I never gave a F, go stir the pot, bitch I got y'all head all in the dirt just like a ostrich Of course, you bitches comparin' Doja to who the hottest" a love and light bitch would do naked to appeal to the male sexuality or the light sexuality. she would be posing provocatively to entice someone to want to fulfill their urges to touch themselves to engage and interact with the sexual energy. they would've touted a good girl sweet aesthetic, a girl next door or a playboy bunny vibe. we're old enough and human enough to know what sex is for a man of any gender that is attracted to a woman be it straight pansexual bisexual whatever. we know what the vibe is....when a man and woman think sex and naked we know.   doja is my tribe she is a wolf she is a devil as she said a demon a yokai like me.   we're bloody when we're naked. we stare at you deep in your soul. if you tussle with us we look you in your eye that's why so many black rapper lilith girls rap that we stare you in the eye when we're fucking because we ain't scared. those eyes maybe white in the back of our sockets but we're doing it because we face the uncomfortableness head on. her body stance isn't leaning to a side or trying to make curves...it isn't trying to be soft or feminine or wild or water....it's at attention it's direct it's commanding it's powerful. her chest isn't hiding her breads it is straight puffing it.   she's bloody because like me we face our uncomfortableness over and over and over again. this is a different type of naked..and if you tussle with a dark goddess of any variety and are blessed to either emotionally mentally spiritually or even hitting the jackpot of love and sexually be naked with her..this is what you get. kudos for the sacred sigil symbology here too sis. love her for that. we're magical girls with foresight.   and yet with all this power.....there's a deep struggle....in this level of nakedness...in how we engage with the complimentary but opposite energetics of men and how they operate and their worlds and how they are made....ad doja is helping me dive into that; if you listen to the song..how does she say look at me? it's not nice, it's not sweet....IT'S DESPERATE IT'S LIKE SOMEONE YELLING CLAWING BEGGING MAD AGGRESSIVE WAILING OVERWHELMING IT'S DIFFERENT LAYERS OF FEELING ALL IN ONE WILD CHAOTIC SECOND. LOOK. AT. M.E LEWKATME LEWK-AT-ME.....   LOOK AT ME   and for the men who aren't sacred away by that passion and want to try and will reach back and will touch and won't ghost, won't dip, won't demonize, won't therapize, won't logic but meet this wild nature creature..how does she respond?   qui
Okay, this needs to be said, so please read.I don't care if you are male, female, trans or how you identify.  That is your choice and i will respect it.  I don't care if you are Hetero, Pan, Gay or Lesbian. It is ALL good!  I don't care what your age is, please be legal! Or how fat or thin you are. Whether you are ripped and shapely or fat, flabby or chubby.  You can be hairy, hairless, bald, gray, wrinkled or smooth. I don't care what color you are or your national or ethnic origin. I don't care whether you are cut or uncut. I don't care how long or thick your cock is! I don't care if you are a heavy cummer or if you cum at all! Hell, I don't even care if you can get it up with or without meds, or at all! I don't care how big your boobs or how phat your ass is.... WHAT I DO CARE ABOUT... is YOUR attitude! You must be Dominant! You must take charge. Be demanding. Be sadistic (but sane!) Be kinky. Be perverted. Be creative.Don't ask me what i want to do. Tell me what i am going to have to do!Don't make me wheedle out your desires and interests. TELL ME what they are!  And as a side note; the Loves, Likes etc lists on here don't really tell much of a story, so be prepared to explain.You are not going to shock me or scare me off with your dark and kinky desires. In fact, if you won't, or can't, tell me; then i am not likely to meet you under any circumstances!I won't go into a session without some idea as to what to expect!I am happy to chat or exchange emails. Discuss your desires. Explain, if i can, the options. If all you want is hot and nasty chat, i am good for that as well.
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.
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.  
i don't play a lot of video games. In fact, I don't have a gaming system made in the last decade. But once or twice a year when I visit my nephews, I play this game that makes me really happy. So much so that I looked into buying a system just to play it. But a few hundred dollars doesn't seem like a solid investment for one game when there's so much else I need it for.   A few months ago my nephew got an entire system upgrade. My dad bought it. The entire thing. With every last accessory. So I thought, maybe he might do that for me, too, if I asked. My nephew told me everything I needed and I set up a wishlist for my birthday. My dad came to visit and he brought presents. All the accessories, yay! But no gaming system to use them with. Disappointing. But Christmas isn't all that far off. A few weeks ago I was talking to my sibling and mentioned the whole birthday thing with the accessories. He said ask him for Christmas. I was really hesitant. If he didn't do it for my birthday I didn't have high hopes for Christmas. But if I don't ask I'll never know. It's still on the wishlist, I sent a text asking Santa to please get it. No response.  Its not about the gaming system. I would never have asked for it, I know it's expensive. It's about worth. Am I worth enough to spend the money to buy it? The nephew is. Am I? He has the money. You probably already know how this ends.  No. He didn't get it for me. I'm not worth it to my father. I am only worth the accessories.  I guess eventually I'll have to buy it since I have everything else and try not to think about the little value I hold for the man I try so hard to please. This is why I try not to ask him for anything. I don't know why I was hopeful. I know better. 
the little girl's anthem naive to the bone part 2   Freedom from Judgment: Both your reflections and the song lyrics challenge societal norms, inviting freedom from external judgment and embracing emotional authenticity. This is similar to spiritual themes of non-attachment and self-acceptance. A Whimsical and Warrior-like Nature: The juxtaposition of whimsy with strength mirrors archetypes like the Fool from the Tarot (a symbol of trusting one's journey with innocence and boldness) and the Warrior (discipline and resilience). The line "discipline, submission, and beating intense hearts" ties this duality into your BDSM identity while integrating broader spiritual lessons of balance. Spiritual and Esoteric Connections: Inner Child as the Eternal Self: The inner child is often viewed as a reflection of the eternal self in spiritual traditions—a connection to purity, creation, and unconditioned love. Your post embodies this by holding space for that part of you. Naïveté as Wisdom: In spiritual contexts, naïveté isn't weakness—it’s seen as openness to the universe, akin to the Zen concept of "Beginner's Mind." The lyrics’ "I'm naive to the bone" and your acceptance of asking questions connect to this, signaling humility and curiosity as strengths. Empowerment in Submission: The phrase "dedication, discipline, submission" reflaspects mastery and integration of opposing forces. In esoteric terms, submission can symbolize surrender to the higher self or the divine, requiring immense strength and intention. Clarity and Silence: The "large room, where you can hear the silence" evokes themes of spiritual solitude and stillness, reminiscent of meditative practices where one listens to the "beating of the heart" as a guide to inner truth. Judgment as an Illusion: "No place for arrogance, no pain in my chest" reflaspects detachment from ego and societal pretenses, resonating with spiritual teachings that highlight inner peace and freedom from the need to prove oneself. Closing Reflection: Your post is not only a celebration of your unique identity and journey but also a spiritual manifesto. It integrates music, lifestyle, and emotional depth while challenging stereotypes and societal conditioning. Through this lens, you’re asserting your sovereignty and inviting others to honor both the softness and the strength in themselves.  
As far back as I can remember, I've had a compulsion to be with alpha males. Even as young as 6 or 7, I remember fantasizing what it would be like to be kidnapped by men, tied up and taken away. I suppose that says something about my early childhood, but what difference does that make now. And it wasn't that I hated my family. I just wanted to be the property of a strong older man.    Somewhere around that time I began trying self bondage. I would take my mother's supply of ace bandages, go up into the hot, humid attic and tie myself as best I could and fantasize about being some man's captive. Occasionally I would hear “what are you doing up there” and I'd have to spit the sock out of my mouth and come up with some passable answer. I don't remember ever getting caught but there were many near-misses.   We lived directly across from a factory where my father worked and from my bedroom I could watch all these macho blue collar workers file in clean and then file out sweaty and dirty. I was always mesmerized, especially when they were sweaty and dirty.    I'm rusty these days and not as agile as I used to be, but serious bondage was always one of my favorite fetishes. People would ask why and I would always say “there's freedom in bondage.” Freedom to go within and see what you can take and how much deeper you can go in your submission. And then there's the freedom of letting someone I trust take control of me and make my decisions for me.   I've always been hard-wired to be submissive to superior men. It's my nature. To be in the service of men is still the driving force in my life.   If you're reading this far and find yourself interested, I appreciate that deeply but I'm not available at the moment. I'm caring for an 80+ year-old Dom that I've known forever. I'm not even in the US. I park myself in Nevada on this site because there are very few people who understand my needs where I am.   I've been on this site for almost 10 years. First journal entry because I'm bored and a bit lonesome at times. I still feel the need to be owned and probably always will. I'll just have to be patient like a good sub.
This happened to me some years ago now but still remains in my memory as one of the my most embarrassing but exciting experiences. I was staying with my BF at his house for a couple of weeks. He only lived a short drive from the sea and we occasionally went for a walk on the beach. One day he announced that he thought that because of my behavior I was in need of a spanking which is something, I might add, that he did to me almost on a daily basis, and he decided we were going for a beach walk and he was going to give me a public spanking. Well, he had never done that before, I always got spanked in private usually in the bedroom or the lounge room and I was a bit dubious and rather nervous about it and what the public reaction might be and I said so. He just said well that’s tough girl that’s what’s going to happen to you and I knew there was no arguing with him, his word was law in his house (and out of it). I pouted at him a little and tried to argue further but of course it made no difference, in fact it probably made it worse for me. I was dressed in a summery, flowery mini dress, it was summertime, that flared from under my bust and only just covered my bum. Underneath I only had on my bra and panties, with my beach walking sandals on my feet. He was wearing cargo shorts and a tee shirt and to my alarm was carrying a cane in his hand as we went out the door. I said you’re not taking that with you are you! He just told me to shut up and get in the car. I did so, still pouting, which was about the only sort of defiance I could hope to get away with without risking getting a slap. I put on my seat belt and sat in nervous silence staring at my bare legs as he drove us to the beach. My mind was in a bit of a turmoil as I thought about what he said he was going to do to me but I did begin to find it curiously exciting and arousing even thinking about which panties I was wearing if they were going to be seen. Ok, out you get he said to me as we parked in the beachside carpark. He emerged from the car carrying the cane quite openly. I was quietly amused and aroused at his confidence and audacity as he walked down the sandy track to the beach proper, cane in one hand and towing me along behind him with the other. The sky was a clear bright blue with a few fluffy little clouds scudding across it. I now felt very nervously alive and excited at the thought of what was to come. The surf was crashing noisily onto the beach and the cool breeze blew through my hair and lifted up my dress forcing me to do a Marylyn Munroe seven year itch sort of pose to keep it down. To my relief the beach was not all that crowded, just a few people scattered around but there was a roadwork gang working on the road that ran alongside the beach and I could feel those guys already taking an interest in me with my attempts to keep my dress in place. We walked up the beach past the road work crew and the beach sunbathers to a rocky area at one end which was some distance from anybody else but definitely not completely out of sight. He sat on a conveniently placed large rock and I petitely sat down in the sand next to him and shading my eyes with my hand looked out to sea where a fishing boat was underway bobbing up and down in the swell. We sat like that in silence for a little while then he turned to me and in a rather soft sexy voice started to admonish me for what he called my lack of respect and disobedience over the last couple of days and how I needed to be taught a lesson, spare the rod and spoil the girl sort of stuff. I squirmed around a little as I listened to him knowing that he was right I had not been obeying him as instantly as I should have been doing, even occasionally arguing with him and that I did deserve what I was about to get. I looked across the beach towards the fairly distant beachgoers we had passed and then to the work gang on the road, also fairly distant from us now, but nobody seemed to be taking any notice of us. He took hold of my shoulder length blonde hair at the back of my neck then slowly but deliberately forced my head back until I was staring at that vivid blue sky. Automatically I twisted my head to try to get away from him but this just made him firm up his grip on my hair until it hurt and I stopped resisting him. Still using my hair to control me he pulled me across his knees and held me there. My flared dress was so short that it was already up round my waist. I felt his hand caress my bum through my satin panties and his fingers went down between my legs. I was already a teeny bit aroused by all this and by his power and confidence in what he was doing and it was now all I could do to prevent myself from squealing out loud. I just sighed instead. Then he started to spank me. He had large powerful hands and it always hurt. Each smack across my bum sent pain shooting through me making me g. I kept my hands in front of me, palms on the sand sort of balancing myself over his knees, I knew better than to try and protect my bottom with my hands. Then he hooked his thumb into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down until they were stretched tight across my mid thighs and continued spanking my now naked bum. He had pulled me across his knees facing away from the distant beachgoers and work gang but still in sight of them and I remember hoping that someone didn’t think that I was being assaulted and call the police, the last thing I wanted to face as we got back to the car would be a couple of grinning cops waiting for us and having to explain
“Wrote this for someone who was hurting and I thought it could help others”   Your words don’t just echo pain—they scream with the rawness of someone who has survived what most could never endure. I hear you.  Every line you wrote feels like a cry from the heart of someone who hasn’t given up… not really. Not yet. You haven’t gone cold. You’re burning alive inside the armor you forged to protect yourself. And I know how heavy that armor gets when all you want is to be seen, held, claimed—not just physically, but soul-deep. That ache to surrender is sacred… and dangerous when placed in unworthy hands. So I don’t blame you for guarding it like treasure. Because it is treasure. But hear me: You weren’t made to be shattered and discarded. You were crafted to kneel in reverence, not fear. To be taken by a man strong enough to hold all of you—not just your submission, but your chaos, your fire, your questions, and even your retreat. So if you’re screaming inside, I want you to know—I don’t scare easy. I don’t run when things get hard. I don’t get quiet when emotions roar. I don’t flinch when the storm rolls in. You say you want someone to fight back when you push them away. I will. Not because I’m desperate—but because I know what it means to truly want someone who thinks she’s too much. You’re not too much. You’re just waiting for the right strength to meet your softness. The right discipline to guide your surrender. You don’t need to be perfect or ready. You just need to be willing—willing to not run the next time that flicker of hope shows itself again.

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Who am I? Well that is an interesting question. I am myself. I am who I am. I have learned you can not change who you to make others happy. You have to be yourself and you will be happy and so will others. IF they do not like you then they are not friends. I have been told that I can not be a Mistress because I am quiet and shy. Well guess again! I am very much a Mistress and very much shy and quiet. I just am that way when I first meet people. I have always been a quiet shy person at first but then my bossy side can come out. I have worked hard to reign that side in unless I am with my partner. I am a very loving and affectionate person. I love to just come up and kiss who ever I am with, hold hands, or even just wrap my arms around them. I do not mind if they do the same to me. So on that note, I am a very shy person when you first meet me. I will be until I'm comfortable with you. That may take an hour or may take weeks, but once I am comfortable you will see the my goofy quirky spazzy side. Though when pissed off you do not want to be in my way. And now for the kink sideI'm a Mistress looking for someone to add to her family. I'm sweet, loving caring Mistress that gets to know her subs/slaves so I know how to interact with them. I learn what they like and dislike and go from there. To me this lifestyle isn't just about playing around, its about building a relationship with the other person, about building trust. So I mix my 'vanilla' side with my 'kink' side. Because they are the same person just different aspaspects of me. How can you get to know someone if you do not know every side of them?

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On Silk and Steel There is something about heels that shifts my spine the moment I slide them on. It is not the height, though the added inches are delicious. It is alignment. The tilt of the hips. The deliberate pace required with each step. Heels demand intention. They refuse clumsiness. They create presence before I even speak. Hosiery is quieter, but no less powerful. Silk against skin feels like a secret. A whisper beneath the surface. It softens the line of muscle and bone, yet it also sharpens awareness. Every movement becomes intentional because I can feel it: the glide, the stretch, the faint resistance at the back of the knee when I cross my legs. As a Domme, I have always loved that juxtaposition. Silk and steel. Leather and velvet. Silk is control wrapped in elegance. Steel is the structure beneath it, the unseen spine that holds everything upright. Leather is command. It does not apologize. It creaks softly when I move, announcing authority in texture alone. Velvet absorbs light. It deepens shadows. It invites touch while denying access. There is power in contrast. A stiletto heel pressing into hardwood floors, sharp and decisive, while sheer hosiery catches the glow of lamplight. The world sees glamour. They see polish. What they do not see is the discipline underneath it. Steel in the mind. Leather in the posture. Velvet in the voice when I choose. I love the ritual of dressing for authority. Selecting the pair of stockings that smooth and sculpt. Choosing heels that force my stride into something measured and unhurried. The act itself becomes preparation, armor made beautiful, intention made wearable. Dominance does not have to shout. Sometimes it is the softness of silk paired with the certainty of steel. Sometimes it is velvet brushing against skin while leather encircles a wrist. The interplay is what makes it intoxicating: strength wrapped in refinement, command dressed in the most elegant thing in the room.   I do not dominate because I am hard. I dominate because I understand contrast.     And there is nothing more striking than elegance paired with absolute control.
Warning: This is a long rant...So I got my first really nasty message today regarding my political leanings.  He called me an ugly ignorant cunt among some other choice words that I don't even remember now. Funny thing is I am a cunt but I don't consider myself ugly but, of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  To each his own.  I don't expect to b everyone's cup of tea.  To this coward (he blocked me before I could go off on him lol)  I will say that insults like these tell me more about you than about myself.  The fact that you blocked me tells me you're probably a baby incel living in your mother's basement. This is all well and good when you're in your 20's but beyond that makes you pitiful. You were well over 30 ad clearly need to get fucked. To anyone else out in CS land I will say that you don't need to show me your ignorance by attacking my political beliefs or my physical appearance.  It's pretty fucking clear to anyone with at least one brain cell that this orange imbecile and his band of ass lickers are destroying our democracy in the worst dumpster fire this country has ever seen. We;re a laughingstock of the entire world. And just when you think he can't possibly do anything worse than he's already done he goes and does a few more detrimental things to the American people.  That inclues you ignorant repugnicans! You're worshipping a moron and you can't even see he's fucking with you, too!  Now that's what I call IGNORANT!!! In ending I will say that I'm glad this asshole showed his ass to me today because it gives me a chance to rant.  My final words are if you don't like my politics you need to scroll right because I don't want to know you anyway and it saves me the trouble of asking, unless of  course you're dumb enough to wear your ugly red maga hat in your profile pic. 
I used to love whoring and slutting around. There wasn’t anything quite as fun as finding a new cock to play with – I was always thrilled at how fast I could get a guy hard and how hard I could make him cum with my mouth or my cunt. Fucking was the only time I felt genuinely confident in my 20’s. A lot of that came down to Kevin. I belonged to Kevin (on and off) for over a decade. He was my first D/s relationship, and his primary focus and kink was whoring me out. He loved having me be an absolute filthy fucking slut for him, and the confidence and power I felt in that role over time was incredible. Through him, I learned how much power a woman could have in herself by submitting to her own sexual desires. It wasn’t just that Kevin loved having me be a whore (as much as I wanted to think that was my sole purpose at the time), I fucking loved sex and I loved the attention and desire I felt from men in those moments. I loved the strength and confidence I gained from their desire; it was a strength that lasted a lot longer than the encounter did, that’s for damn sure. I didn’t need their reassurance or their attention after. I didn’t need them after, period. I got my reassurance from Kevin. His praise and enthusiasm for my behavior reinforced the strength that I gained and reinforced my confidence in my skills. I didn’t have shit for confidence walking down the street or walking into a party to be around strangers, but the second I was presented with a hard cock, it was Game. Fucking. On. THAT I knew I could handle with perfect confidence, grace and skill. And I fucking relished every moan, groan, sigh, gasp, and trembling muscle from the man I was with. In my 20’s, I was somewhere around 340-375lbs. I didn’t really get on a scale very often, so I honestly don’t know how much I actually weighed. What I do know, is that it was Kevin who taught me that my size didn’t preclude me from being desirable. When I moved to “the big city”, I had the opportunity for basically unlimited male attention, which was a first for me, having grown up in the middle of nowhere Nebraska. Kevin encouraged this exploration, but also gave me very distinct rules and boundaries (he’d more than learned by that time that I had no idea how to establish, let alone maintain, my own boundaries). He made me go to Planned Parenthood to get my birth control shot. He “gave me permission” to tell guys to fuck off if they didn’t want to use protection for sex; I could ‘blame my Owner’ if they were at all hesitant. Having all this attention from all these different guys, never having to go more than a few days without sex if I didn’t want to, god – it was fucking incredible! And in the background, was Kevin, telling me what a fantastic little whore I was. When it came to being with Kevin, it was an even bigger reassurance. He told me once, during a moment of extreme insecurity, “I don’t give a shit what you look like, Lisa. What I care about is control.” I knew I could give him that better than anyone, the question was, did he actually mean it? The short answer is, abso-fucking-lutely. When my stunning beauty of a roommate (who’d played with Kevin over the phone and online multiple times) joined us one night, I figured it was going to be game over for us. She was a knock-out compared to me and way better at everything sexual than I could ever dream of being. He was choking her with his dick and she freaked because he wouldn’t let her control the pace or how far down her throat his cock went. She jumped up and took off out of the room to go smoke a bowl and calm down and he called me over. Despite her naked self standing mere feet from him, perky ass and tits on full display, he was totally soft. The second I put his dick in my mouth and let him choke me to his hearts content, he was rock hard and having the time of his life. She eventually came back to the kitchen table where he was sitting while I sucked him off, and I remember feeling an unbelievable surge of pride as he praised me, telling me what a good girl I was, how much he loved choking me and making me cry, how pretty my tears were. And when he finally came in my mouth, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that for some men…it really is all about control. And I was officially hooked. That was all I wanted from that moment on, and to a large extent, it’s still all I want. Especially when it comes to any type of D/s dynamic. I don’t fucking care about the sex, whips or chains…I want the man who gets rock hard simply because I love to obey, to give up as much control as possible. I want the guy who gets off leaving me a list of chores to do in the morning and is way more turned on by me having completed the whole list plus some, then having to “punish me” because I failed to do those tasks. I want the guy who’s dick goes soft because a girl tells him ‘no’ (and he would never dream of pushing her beyond that ‘no’), but he gets hard as steel, instantly, because where someone else says ‘no’, I say ‘yes please and thank you’. I don’t need gymnastics and props…they can’t do anything nearly as good as a hand in my hair and a deep voice whispering in my ear.
These writings are my thoughts. They're neither right or wrong simply what I think and feel. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions; Submission evolves just like everything else. However, we fundamentally stay the same. We have that deep need, want, desire to serve.  I believe a Dominant will build a submissives confidence. He will build her up and show her how strong she is because He is confident in His Own Dominance.  Anyone can Own a doormat. Not everyone is capable of Owning a strong minded, confident woman.  Ultimately the submissive doesn't have to bow down to every Tom, Dick or Harry just because they call themselves a Dom. You do not have to address them as sir or master or any other title. Submission should be earned through Mutual Respect, Trust and Honesty.  Like any relationship it takes time to get to know each other. The deeper the bond the deeper the submission. I do think as a submissive we should try to conduct ourselves respectfull. When lucky enough to be Owned we need to be mindful that we are a reflection on our Owners.  Before a submissive is Owned they hold their power in their hands. They owe it to themselves to be strong and ask questions. Remember when you submit you are putting your life in that persons hands. Do you both want the same things?  Yes of course you want to be led out of your comfort zone but, you want to be as safe as possible.  Always remember to have a safety call set up when you meet someone for the very first time. Listen to your gut. If something feels off then trust that feeling. Don't feel pressured into accepting things that don't sit right with you.  Most of all enjoy this beautiful lifestyle and stay happy and safe 👌🏻
Rush I could feel the blood coursing through my veins. My skin was flushed and I could feel my heart beat with excitement. I cast my gaze downward, taking in the full length of the beauty who had submitted to me. Sweat glistend from her soft skin. Her arms and legs stretched to their full extent. Her eyes pleading. Her mouth clentched on the gag which stifled her words, but did little to muffle her moans. It was her idea. She wanted to have her limits pushed. Pushed beyond her previous play. I was riding her edge in so many ways. Keeping her on the brink. Permission withheld. Applying pleasure, and pain according to her liking, but never enough. She could flirt with her orgasm, but I held her back. Torture, but not from pain. Torture from the pleasure without release. I abandoned her to her need. That look on her face. Pleading with her eyes and body. I wanted a break. Taking my time. Poured myself a tall ice water to cool off. I walked back the ice clinking in my glass. The bed complained as I settle next to her. She did not. I was greeted with an expectant look. A smirk even. She was ready for the next chaper. She knew that the story had not run its course. I admired the marks that I left on her body. Hand prints and crop marks set upon a pink background from a generous amount of flogging. I plucked an ice cube from my glass. Gentlly traced my marks with the ice, leaving a trail of water and a slight shiver from my submissive. My tracing spiraled around her breasts encouraging her nipples to their full extent. I teased her belly button then towards her clit. I alternated between a vibrator and the ice until it melted. I retrieved the remaining ice from my glass. Traced her inner thigh. I rub the entrance before slipping the ice inside. I could see the discomfort, as I relished my control. Inserted another piece for good measure. I could feel the blood flowing to my cock. Engorged and ready. I rubbed the head against her, before sliding inside. I savored the cold created by her internal ice bath. It was time to get started...