I want flowers. I want to whip you. I want to stroke your cheek and smile into your eyes. I want respect and awe and understanding and love. I want foot rubs and leg rubs and back rubs and anywhere rubs. I want you to know when to reach out to touch and when to kneel and wait. I want you to want me fiercely, desire me utterly. I want kisses. Little ones, fast ones, fierce ones, thigh-clenching-good kisses. I want you to touch me like you’re trying to memorize the texture and shape of me. I want affection and cuddling. I want you to drop your eyes when I demand and meet my eyes when we talk. I want you to miss me terribly when we’re apart. I want you to know what you mean to me, how I cherish you. I want humor and debate and dialog. I want you to kiss the side of my neck while your hands grip my hips, my back. I want to see you crawl – just for me. I want to look at you in that special way and see you breathe deeply with desire and anticipation of what you know is to come. I want to fuck you, penetrate you, tease you, deny you, please you, torture you. I want You.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

Random (consensual) bondage fantasy:   The room is dark and quiet, lit only with some kind of blacklight, and maybe some creepy ambient bass-heavy background music is playing. The room is full of mirrors, which allows me to see both my perfectly done makeup and the bonds restricting my movements I'm bound by heavy rubber inflatable inner tubes from my chest (right below my bra) all the way down to my ankles, my arms pinned tightly to my sides and each ring fitting its respective section of my body snugly enough that I can't move an inch. They're also so thick once fully pumped up that my feet don't touch the ground. I'm left on the floor face down, unable to do anything except attempt to rock side to side or look in the mirror to see my pouty red lips wrapped firmly around my ball gag.  This whole time I can also feel the stretch of the buttplug that was put in me before I was put in the constricting grip of my inflatable bonds. My dom eventually enters the room, clad from head to toe in a heavy rubber catsuit and a latex hood that completely hides his face, saying little beyond asking if I'm ready for the load he's been saving all week, to which I affirmatively moan around the ball gag. He casually rolls me over so I'm lying face up, taking the ball gag out of my mouth before he unzips his crotch, pulls out his cock and kneels down and straddles my face.  He proceeds to slowly thrust into my mouth while I wrap my lips as tight as I can around his shaft, unable to do much more in my distended bonds, his movements gradually increasing in pace until he blows a huge load directly in my mouth, spurting one shot after another into the back of my throat while I do my best to hold it all in my mouth. He then pulls his cock from my mouth with a loud pop and tells me to open my mouth and show him the cum.  I open my mouth and show him the copious pool of semen in my mouth, playing with it until he tells me to swallow it all.  He then tells me he'll be back for more before he exits the room, leaving me still bound and unable to clean off any cum that may have spilled out of my mouth. He then comes back half an hour later, already ready to use my mouth again, but this time he props me sitting up against the wall so that he can get a better angle, and then proceeds to fuck my face again until he blows another load. He then leaves again, leaving me sitting slumped and bound against the wall. He eventually comes back one more time, brining me back to the floor turning me over so that I'm face down again and removing the inner tubes trapping my lower body in order to have access to my ass.  He slowly pulls down the back of my panties, takes out the buttplug and begins to finger me with a gloved hand, edging me with his fingers alone as he intermittently and quietly asks me questions about sucking his cock and about whether I want to cum, with me moaning and answering in the affirmative as he uses his edging to make me subtly beg.  He then pulls out his cock (and puts on a condom and plenty of lube) and proceeds to fuck me, using the inner tubes still binding my upper body as a makeshift cushion as his cock gets even harder and eventually swells and pulsates inside of me until I cum all over myself inside the front of my panties while he fills up the condom, finally spent once and for all. He helps me out of my bondage, never removing his mask or catsuit until I'm gone, going only by the pseudonym he gave me and the calling card he left for the next time I want to help him relieve some stress.

By believing that submission must be pursued, to any degree, is to reframe dominance and submission as a typical relationship and its not. Dominance doesnt pursue. Submission doesnt need to be pursued. Submission comes to dominance in this dynamic. It has to. Submission is given, won over even, but the same goes for dominance. As much as she must be convinced by his dominance, he must believe her submission meets his needs or can be molded to do so. What remains is the initial approach, and it is simply ego on the part of the submissive to believe what she offers is more important, more valuable and harder to come by, than what he offers. Consider how many suitors a submissive no doubt has flood her inbox here, how many obvious frauds, bullshit artists, misogynists, egotists etc that she has cast a dismissive eye over. What happens if/when you find one that calls to you? Will you wait in the hope or expectation he will approach, or will you decide to present to him? Of course, this probably explains why the place by my side is empty and I have to fetch my own pipe and slippers. Such is life.

Something about the Hood You Live In.   In any good relationship involving a slave girl and her owners, there is the need to train her to recognize her place - where she is allowed, what she is allowed, who she is allowed, and to what extent she is removed from society and becomes owned as an , a thing in the hands of her owner, to be controlled and trained.   Long ago, in creatures only distantly related to the slave girl, very specialize brain cells pushed out of the head to gain a view of the world, a view in dimension, in color, in shape, in beauty or in horror, to find food or prey, and to avoid becoming such, to find a fellow, or to avoid such.   In time, as with humans, the eyes, the vision on the world, provided up to 90% of all information a slave girl needs to get by in the world, sometimes even more.   Being a slave, she must recognize the fact that, all that vision, all that information gathering, is at the pleasure of her owners, and can be denied at an instant, and for extended periods of time.   That denial can be done in any number of ways, but the most readily used - the hood, has the most impact on her from the instant it is placed over her head.     In general, hoods are made of leather or vinyl or rubber or latex, sometimes of material such as blue jean or cotton or spandex.    It may have eye holes that can be covered or closed, a mouth hole that also can be covered or better, plugged.   And at least one small nose vent to breath though, sometimes more.  Less than one has an obvious disadvantage.     Many are laced down the back, much as a good leather boot, pulled tight to make the material conform to the slave girls face.  Some have zippers for that purpose, and a few have both.   When put on, and when being tightened, it is incumbent on the slave girl to maneuver her nose to keep the nose vents aligned with her nostrils, otherwise...   Most good hoods have a switched on leather collar, that locks tightly around the neck, and can have chains attached for any purpose the owner may desire.     For the slave girl locked inside, it is a mixture of feelings and emotions, thoughts and dreams, hopes and fears, and total resignation.   A hood can not be gotten off easily, specially when bound tight.   It is dark inside, and will remain so.   You may feel totally helpless   You may feel totally alone   You may feel total terror   You may feel total bliss   You may feel total safety and comfort.    

The pacifier falls from his mouth and even before I hear it hit the floor he says, louder than I expected, "I will never fuck you again, Kristen." And almost before he even gets the words out he immediately grunts and convulses. I know he's orgasming before I see the spurts of cum escape out the waistband of his white and baby blue diaper. He has been humping his diaper for less than two minutes, and his inability to last any longer drives me crazy inside. I can’t wait to find my hitachi. His mouth is open and he's breathing heavily. Now that he's cum, I want to drive this new reality. "Now, tell me again M, 'I will never fuck you again.'" He catches his breath, looks at me spent, like a puppy, a sad, broken puppy. Quietly he says, "I will never fuck you again Kristen." I'm not convinced and say, "up on your knees, and say it louder." It is taking all of my strength not to plunge my fingers under my dress and into my underwear as I watch him struggle from sitting to his knees, but I know that immediately post orgasm he needs to be made to understand. "Now, look me in the face and tell me you agree and accept that you will never have sex with me again." I see it now, conviction in his eyes, he has accepted it and the moment hits me like a ton of bricks. This feels more significant than when he said, "I do" years ago. He goes a step beyond...I am again so proud of him. So proud where I have been able to direct us.  M looks me in the face, crosses his arms behind his back grabbing his forearms, straightens himself...   "K, I willingly agree and whole heartedly accept that we will never again have sex. I fully accept that we have crossed a line and cannot go back. I am yours. I love you, I want this for you, I want this for us."  I can't stand it...I am torn by the most arousal I have ever felt between my legs and the bursting emotion inside my chest. I tear up, get on my knees with him and wrap my arms around him, we hug for a long time. When we let go we both have tears on our cheeks. "I love you" I say. "I love you" he says. 

A Raven and a Wolf   He sat, kneeling really, slowly panting, under a soft leather hood. It was laced tightly, almost preventing his every breath. And in the darkness, under the hood, he strained his ears to hear whether she was near, or far. He inhaled, trying to find her scent, but could only smell the leather of the hood. He tried to feel if he could sense her presence closer, but nothing. The air was still. His mouth, dry from nerves, with lips slightly agape, didn't utter a sound.   So he waited, arms bound, shoulder back, chest forward and exposed. Uncomfortably upright.    She sat before him, watching him lazily, like how a cat does with a weakened mouse, very still. A hunter and their prey. She was breathing evenly to hide the excitement pooling inside of her. Hands encased in buttery soft lamb skin gloves, the color of his hood, the color of her whip, the color of blood. The color of her lips. A red so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled at the idea of it coming from his body. Beautiful and broken. She could sense he was searching for her; a slight turn of the head, listening, perhap? Leaning forward gently; trying to smell? Like a dog, she thought, just like a dog. And she sat there far longer than even she desired to see how far this "dog" would go.    "Bark, dog" she commanded in a low voice  And he barked immediately, no hesitation. She pulled back her hand and slapped him, his head jerked, body lurched, chest rising and falling rapidly. A noticeable difference between his legs. There it was again, a hunger to bite into him. Taste his blood. Consume him. But only silence. No whimper, no moan, not a sound escaped him. She wondered if he were bleeding from his cute little mouth. Again she slapped him. Softer than the first, a loving caress, bits of his hair peeked through the laces of the hood and she wanted to grip them and tear them away. Would he let her? Perhaps.    The next slap, and the one after, opposite hand, and he fell forward just enough that his face touched her thighs only separated by the hood and her own stockings. The rule was he wasn't allowed to touch her unless she said. This was a broken rule, however accidental. She stood and let him slump forward in a stupor, supported only by the tension of the rope tied to the foot of the bed.   Bark, dog. Dog. He barked.  Up, dog, and he returned to his previous place, exposed and upright. She stepped forward, the toe of her shoe pressing down on the sensitive flesh of the head of his dick. She crushed it gently until he sat even straighter. She held his head in her left hand, caressed it gently, leather on leather. The smell intoxicating her. Raising her right hand she slapped him again, over and over until her hand grew hot even under the glove. Was he bleeding? She hoped so. She hoped to kiss him and bite his lips and taste his blood. She wished she could see his eyes, dazed, glassy, far away. She caressed his head. And whispered, "you may touch me" and he pressed his face into her hands, her thighs. Still no sound, he was so silent.   "Bark, my handsome boy" and he barked, hoarse and painful as she encircled his neck with her hands. This was his idea, he had inspired in her a lust for choking him until he was nothing and drifting away in the ether. She squeezed, her hands perhaps too small, until he gurgled. She wondered if his eyes were open or if they were dimmed. The hood obscured so much. She squeezed until he seemed to go limp. And she let him. Shoulders yanked uncomfortably under his weight.    He awoke. Arms aching, face hot but no longer enclosed by the hood. He could see her though his vision lacked acuity. She was standing over him, wrapped in pink except for gloves. He yearned for them then. Yearned for them to be around his neck, feeling the bones of her fingers threatening his very life. He wanted to ask for it, for her to choke him, strangle him, but knew it was to her whim that he obeyed. Obeisance was her pleasure. He looked at her, eyes soft, left cheek swollen, lips split ever so slightly and she leaned down and kissed him, sliding her tongue over the drying blood. He kissed her back, gentle, but hungry.    Her kiss was soft but grew more passionate until she bit him and suckled his mouth. Did he love this part of her? The softness before the sting.  She broke the kiss. Her lipstick perfect but her mouth and chin stained crimson with what must have been his blood. "Open your mouth, I'd like to try" she said softly. A shy whisper. So unlike the command to "Bark".  He angled himself upright, head back, lips parting painfully like a little bird. She leaned forward and let her own saliva pool in her mouth and slowly let it fall into his. He shuddered. His excitement excited her and she kissed him again before he could even swallow but this time it was wild and wet. Her saliva all over his mouth, chin, cheeks.    "I have to whip you now, are you ready?" She asked and he nodded. A question was not a command to speak. Dogs do not speak unless commanded to speak. She untied him and his body fell forward. Not used to its old range of motion. His limbs buzzed from having sat in one position for too long. He wondered about how much time had passed. Funny thing, time. Why did it matter now when he was in the moment with her.   Without the hood he realized he could smell her. A warm sweet scent, perhaps arousal. And he thought then about being forced to please her like they talked about in passing, forced until exhausted and even beyond. After play. Her, in her pink, looked like candy and he wanted to lick her. She must be sweet.      She looked down at him and his face was peculiar, his mind was somewhere else and he looked rather cute. But she was jealous at the idea that his mind wasn't on her and she kicked him in the stomach to bring him back to her. He coughed and curled up as she walked to retrieve her whip, preparing for the next step in her courtship.  "Up" she commanded and he got to his feet, winded, bruised. Arms still behind his back. She released them to tie them around the post of the bed. The bed post being the whipping post, isn't it somehow romantic, she thought.    "If you need me to stop, tell me, I won't be gentle otherwise" she said to him, her mouth on his ear. His hair was slicked down with sweat and he smelled musky. She liked his smell. She bit his earlobe and stepped back a couple of feet and threw the whip. Lash after lash until he tried moving away. Pulling at the post until it creaked. She wanted him to cry but he only moaned and groaned, no tears. Just a brow drenched in sweat as his back went from fine pink lines to slowly oozing wounds. If he didn't give her tears then she would have blood.  He pulled desperately as if trying to escape her and she threw the whip furiously, lashing whatever she could reach, his ass, thighs, calves, neck, even the back of his head. The post groaned as if it would break under the strength of him trying to flee.   "Do you want to get away from me?" She asked. His breathing heavy, labored, his body wobbled as blood poured from him, he shook his head no, weakly, and looked over his weeping shoulders with hazy eyes. Finally he spoke, a clear and clean "No, ma'am" from his lips now dry from mouth breathing, swollen from having been bitten and slapped.   The no rang through her body and she leapt at him and kissed and licked his mouth, his shoulders, his back. Barely containing her arousal, her hips moving in slow circles. She was so hungry.&n

Christmas '23, and what is it like ? I've mostly healed up. Added 4 yards of topsoil in front of my recently aquired home in Lacey. Planted a lot of bulbs. Mix of native wildflowers. And blueberries, raspberries, strawberries and grapes. My compost heap is better than yours, professionally managed by the songbirds lured there by the cleverly placed feeder. Cleared the path from the back gate to the bike trail. Blackberries are tough in this area, so that is a project to finish later, when I hope to add some cedar trees back there, and a lot of wildflowers. But it's mostly blackberry, now, and vines don't vanish when you cut them, that's just the start of the job. It's good to have a hobby. The neighbors have signed off on the new mailbox thing I want to make. Half whisky barrels, 2x2 cedar arbor, Wisteria or grapevines, undergrass irrigation, and a pair of big mailboxes.  My '80 Triumph convertable made it as far as the garage. Needs a lot of work. Old gasoline and 45 year old rubber, everywhere. It's cute, though, even if it bites my fingers every time I get a tool anywhere near it. 20 year old Ford spent 10 days at the dealer. Alternator, battery, the cable in between. Came back with belt squeek-eek-eek-eek. Which is really annoying because it's the loudest thing on the truck. Wonder if I can fix it. The tool shed has gone all electric, so the gasoline is now 'something I have to get rid of' where before it was an essential hazard to life & property that smells bad. The mower made me do it. It ran about half speed last time, and is too rusty to work on. An important part of the next dump run. And romance? Sadly, no. I blame the pandemic... Perhaps the new year in my new place doing my new thing will bring some relief. Perhaps my new, noticably smaller, trowser collection will help some. But what I really need to do is get out more. So, call me.

LET ME MAKE THIS VERY CLEAR I have tried to make my profile very clear but seems men still do not get it. So Ill put it here so we do not waste each others time. I have had cancer, I am clear now.  You wont catch it from me. Due to treatment PIV is very painful and uncomfortable.  Oral on me is also very uncomfortable  So sex is not on the table which does not mean  there cant be sexual things for a sub but, sex is not the focus.  BDSM does not have to be all about sexual play. So if what you want is not a FLR or submissive but really want to have kinky play focusing on you getting to focus on sexual pleasure then please move along.  I am over hearing I would be perfect for you and how you would happily travel to spend time with me and then when you learn that you are not going to be screwing me  you vanish. 

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?

 longtermSissy