Mysterium 

PLEASE READ CAREFULLY DO NOT SEND DICK PICS OR NUDES NOT INTERESTED IN SEXTING I DO NOT WANT A SUGAR DADDY I DO NOT HAVE AN ONLYFANS ACCOUNT NOR DO I WANT ONE I'M NOT LOOKING TO MAKE CONTENT WITH ANYONE I DON'T WANT YOUR MONEY I'M NOT HERE TO TRADE PICS OR VIDEOS I AM NOT LOOKING FOR FWB NOT LOOKING FOR OR WANTING HOOKUPS. DO NOT CONTACT ME REGARDING HOOKUPS PERIOD. I DO NOT SUB OR PLAY OVER THE INTERNET. I'M NOT HERE FOR SEXTING I'M NOT INTERESTED IN BEING PART OF A COUPLE/POLY RELATIONSHIP MY HARD LIMITS AND BOUNDARIES ARE ANYTHING ILLEGAL, ANAL, ANIMALS, DRUGS OF ANY SORT, ANYTHING TO DO WITH HUMAN OR ANIMAL WASTE. DO NOT PUSH MY LIMITS/ BOUNDARIES OR YOU WILL BE REPORTED AND BLOCKED. ADDITIONAL HARD LIMITS/ BOUNDARIES FACE FUCKING, GAGGING, HUMILIATION,VOMIT, THIS WILL BE UPDATED WHEN AND IF I FIND MORE LIMITS AND BOUNDARIES.

Why language matters. Or, Darmok and Jalad. angeldmort 57F Domme I had a reminder this week, (not that this week is that unusual, but some cases are more extreme than others) at how important it is to have a common language in any interaction we have with others. Most of our lives, the average American at least walks around hearing English, speaking English, reading English, and assuming they understand what other people are saying. And vice versa - they assume they are understood. And yet, so much of our attempts to communicate end in misfires.   Often, it's because we don't really care enough about the interaction, and we glide along on autopilot, comfortable in the status quo quality of our interactions. We are usually getting enough of what we need out of it that we often don't even question it. Often, if there's a problem, we make a scene to make it clear that no, that's NOT what we meant, or that isn't what was said to us, etc but unless we feel slighted, or it leads to the loss of something we DO value - a comment made here that loses us a promotion, or a question not answered loses someone's interest, or a tone of voice makes us concerned for a possible loss of status- unless it's serious, it's just anger and fuss and it's over. THEN, it may become a real issue, worth some thought, but by then, it's really too late. The miscommunication has happened, the thought process it started it under way, and a feeling has been had, etc.   Stick with me here.   At it's most basic level, language is how we express a thought. It's pretty common to believe that most of the time, other people from a similar area have similar thoughts to our own about a general variety of things. We expect that they want the same basic things, because we are all human, and most of the people we deal with were raised similarly, and had similar experiences. And that they will use the same words as we do to describe them. That's where the screeching halt comes in.   "Most adult native test-takers range from 20,000–35,000 words." That's a decent vocabulary. It should mean that most of us that speak English will have plenty of words in common to have a discussion and be understood with enough clarity to make it through most common joint activities.   That said, most people don't tend to think too deeply about words themselves. Which means when you start to want more than just "enough to get by" conversation, things can get a bit complicated. And in cases where you need to negotiate something VERY specific, in depth, such as the fine details of kink or what our limits are... suddenly, your vocabulary will not only need to grow, but become very precise.   I'm not seeing that as often as I would expect from the letters I receive. In fact, the majority of people that write me seem frustrated by the need for words at all, and irritated by the requirement that we spend some time talking about anything that isn't a description of a sex act. Which baffles me... if you are wanting someone to tie you up, do ... THINGS ... to you, while you are helpless, etc, wouldn't you REALLY REALLY want to make sure that the things they want to DO are the same things you want DONE? Wouldn't you be DEEPLY interested in making sure they are the kind of person that honors your Safe Word, or who shares your definition of "honest," or who won't just walk off with your wallet and DVD player while you are tied down, or who won't turn out to be straight up batshit nuts?   I've had another rash of "own me" messages. Interspersed of course with the regular "total sub" offers.   The topic at hand isn't the "I'm a TOTAL sub!" who responds to "ok, go read this for me and tell me what you think" with "What? That's not what I want! I'm a SEXUAL submissive!" Or even the "i want to be ur slave" that can't obey enough to respond to an email on time.   This topic is about the problem that causes that problem in the first place.   I received one this week from a very pretty dick pic with an empty profile that did read enough to call me Domina, but obviously nothing else, so I sent a link to the "First Impressions" thread, and followed with "Consider Your Target Audience." You can guess how it went. Before he got to "Bye, Bitchhhhhh!" he told me he wanted me to "own" him. And he referred to himself as "very kinky like to be watched ! Masterbaiting live turns me on" (Yes, that's how he spelled it.) Meh. No great loss.   Later, sissy under consideration asked if I was at all interested by Dick Pic Guy. Aside from the obvious stunted mentality of thinking his naked dick somehow mattered, he was a good tool to explain the problem of common language/vocabulary.   While being turned on by being watched is very common, and whatever floats your boat, etc that he described himself as very kinky based on that was a VERY clear indicator that we weren't even speaking the same language in regards to kink. Much like the majority of the people that write me, he had an interest in something, and had set out to pursue that, and as it wasn't mainstream, they thought it must mean they were REALLY out there crazy kinky. (Hell, ex-husband number two thought anal was the height of twisted and kinky.) Now, obviously, there was no actual interest in submission, or desire to actually be owned, so there was no point in even considering trying to have a conversation.   However, if there actually HAD been interest, if he had just been a newbie and without clue, there would have been this huge gap of vocabulary to fill in before we could have ever tried to talk about anyth

I read over my profile, again, today, as I have many times since I created it anew. I've tried very hard over the years to make my profile on FL be realistic, vulnerable, intelligent, reflective of who and what I am at my core, and just as importantly, to have it reflect what I want to have in my life.  To let it give someone who doesn't know me, either well or even at all, a solid idea of myself, my body, my mind, my soul.  The more I looked over it these last few months, the more I often changed it, inserting more intellectual references and suave self assured witticisms, but still I saw what it lacked.  The more I saw and felt the only true and right and beloved deion it could and should contain was...love.  The joy of caring, the elation of sexual union, deep and abiding compassion, the sensual act of touch, the smell and taste and sounds of affection, the respect of intimate and unflagging positive human regard, the vision of altruism, the singular romance of knowing you are and you can and you do and you need and you give that one precious wonderful thing that we all need in our lives; love.  It often seems to me in our kinky little corner of the universe there isn't much talk  of that kind of love in profiles anymore, even though it also can take many shapes and forms; love of rope, love of play, love of sexual adventures. I hope we all will list more love and loves in our profiles. It's never too late. I'm not going to change my profile again though, please don't worry.   Let this note stand from this day forward as my more than official confirmation of my own proclamation to need want desire make spread create admire demonstrate dream bring deliver give ask understand and embrace more... LOVE.   

Surviving Dead by Daylight:   In the shadows, I roam, chased by dread, In "Dead by Daylight," where hope hangs by a thread. Heart racing, I evade, my breath but a sigh, Survivor in this twisted game, never ready to die.   Through the fog and the fear, I must find my way, Trapped in this nightmare, where I cannot stray. With every heartbeat, a killer draws near, But I must persevere, conquer my fear.   Pallets crash, windows shatter, as I make my stand, Against the darkness closing in, in this cursed land. Alone or with others, we fight side by side, In this deadly game where survival is our pride.   Generators hum, a beacon of hope in the night, Guiding me towards dawn, towards the light. Though hunted and haunted, I refuse to yield, In "Dead by Daylight," my fate is sealed.   So I'll run, I'll hide, I'll do what I must, To escape this fate, to rise from the dust. A survivor, a warrior, in this never-ending fight, In "Dead by Daylight," I'll cling to the light.

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

Today, I’m open to something a bit more direct. A few of you may have the opportunity to speak with me on the phone. Understand this clearly, this is not casual conversation, and it’s not open access. If you approach, you do so with intention. The rules: You request—never assume.You ask for the opportunity. You don’t demand it, hint at it, or try to casually slide into it. You introduce yourself properly.Name, location, and what you’re seeking clearly and without filler. You respect my time.Be available, be prepared, and be concise. I’m not here for rambling or nervous energy. You maintain composure.No over-talking. No interrupting. You listen as much as you speak. You understand this is a privilege, not a right.Not everyone will be chosen. Most won’t. This is about presence. How you approach me before the call tells me everything I need to know about how you’ll carry yourself during it. Choose your words carefully. — Mistress Nikki Vixen

Adding a journal entry because updating my profile takes forever. I might add or update these as I go. Also, I hate the formatting here.  I get a lot of messages from potential submissives, so I thought I'd make a little FAQ to help all of us out. Please read before messaging.  Can I be your sub? If that's your first message, no. I'm looking for local or nearish subs for real time interactions. I'm also looking for a specific arrangement. Most importantly, I'm looking for subs I can have a vanilla connection with. If me being human is a turn off for you, then I'm not the Dominant you should be talking to. Do you have a screening process?  I do. I can provide more information if you're interested. If you're not willing to screen, don't message me.  Why haven't you answered my message? There are many reasons I won't answer a message. Your profile has no picture and your bio is empty. Your message is a request of some sort. Your message is just "hello". You've said something I find offensive.  But my message was a compliment! Why won't you answer that? Very likely because you've sent something like "you're beautiful" or "I love your feet". And that's it. It's what I call a bait message, where you throw out a one liner statement and I'm meant to respond either with a compliment or by starting the conversation. If you can't be bothered to write a thoughtful message, I can't be bothered to respond.  I'm not on here much, can we talk elsewhere and get to know each other better? I will not give out any information about my socials or other profiles until I feel like there is a connection and I'm interested in getting to know you better. Until then, yes, you will have to log in here to talk to me. If that's too much to ask for, well.  *shrug*

VOTED YESTERDAY!  Wow it feels good to know it is done. I've always marveled at the lost opportunity and lackadaisicle approach to citizenship by those who choose not to vote.  Indeed, they often are the ones with the most protests.  Chit or get off the pot I say!   Too many think it is their right to be born, right to have rights, right to complain without productivity.  Of course I agree, we do have the right to not participate, but that IS participation in and of itself though I tend to believe it is almost passive aggressive in nature and not courageous or dare I say honoring the priveledge we receive in this country and many others. I'm more of the mindset that it is our duty as Global Citizens, to do our part to contribute to the human condition positively and proactively.  I know, I've heard all the arguements and it still doesn't pass muster with Me.  Take Jehovah Wintnesses - they dont' participate in ANY voting as they believe mans laws have no place under God's laws.  Imagine that!  A whole section of society that profess not to partake in any governing over their lives.  While I can intellectualize their choices and appreciate their contributions as they are - it BLOWS My mind they remain silent so to speak. The examples go one and on.  At the end of the day - "IF YOU WANT TO MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE, TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELF AND MAKE A CHANGE". Get out and VOTE!  Better still, go get yourself an absentee ballot and VOTE TODAY!

I dont' mind telling you, fetish world, kink people, that I am frustrated. I am frustrated by the surge of Omicron after we finally seemed to be turning a corner on the original COVID, then Delta, etc.  I am frustrated that this is slowing down my ability to pursue my interests, as I don't consdider it wise to go hang out in a bar right now or get coffee with an interesting individual.  It is making me take my time even more than usual in my seeking of the right person, and I think in some discussions I've had, it is slowing down others' will or desire to take those risks as well. And that's ok because I'd rather spend my time with someone who shares my risk appetite than someone throwing caution to the wind. I've also seen a really disturbing trend of interesting people just deleting their profiles here mid conversation. I strongly suspect that the ambient stress of pandemic life and the demands of what should be Normal Life are creating unsustainable levels of internal conflict for folks, who eventually just hit the panic button and run from places like this.  I don't have a cure, that's for sure. The scientists keep working on it though. There's a new pill based treatment getting Emergency Use Authorization as of late December 2021. The vaccines work, boosters are available, and the whole testing thing, while it needs work, is somewhat available.  So do me a favor folks. Especially those of you possibly interested in a Domme like me, because I want my social life back. Get your damned shot. Get your booster. Get your friends and family vaxxed.  There's really no reason to help the virus find victims, it's good enough at that on its own.  

For those of you who do not already know.. i have a medical condition called lymphedema, it affaspects my legs. The condition caused large ulcers to form on the backs of my legs six years ago!! my left leg healed up within the first or second year, however the ulcers on my right leg are still there. At one point it was one large wound, about the size of a dinner plate!! They are much smaller but still a significant size and depth. Anyway, my wound dressings are soooo painful!! i am currently using preion pain meds, extra strength fake Tylenol, concentrated cannabis, and cannabis gummies.. NOT all at the same time. Today i ate a large pineapple flavored cannabis gummy. i was told it was equal to 3 servings!! i was STILL in severe pain for more than an hour and a half!! Full on bawling my head off and big fat non stop tears. Should ANYONE have a suggestion.. please leave the information in my mail. Any help is GREATLY appreciated. Thank you all, so very much.

Phallic Masturbation (Solo) Much of Phallic worship in the West begins with mansturbation  and the misunderstanding  of it at best. Males are made to view their phallus as a source of pride and also shame. Males are made to hide under the pretense of modesty that which nature adorned him with to be the glory of the world. Excitement by itself has been viewed with contempt, disgust, and rejection albeit in public. Nature is full of the glory of phallus and it is the male prerogative to show it in all species except Homo Sapiens. Western societies cannot find a clear cut  (no puede n intended) view of the phallus since it admires it and fears it at the same time. However, those of us who had the fortune of being initiated at an early age in the mysteries of maleness and how to achieve and give pleasure know better. The phallus gives pleasure indistinct of gender, but there is always a dominant preference. The giving and receiving of pleasure through and by the phallus is the aim of these thoughts. When the phallus and the worshiper are giving ritual pleasure is a different scenario to when one is alone. With another male in this case the center is the phallus, its glory, its power to penetrate, expand, and pulsate with life inside the one receiving it. However what happens when we are alone? Are we lost since there is no one to direct our power and mystic union? Not at all. Ritual mansturbation is a beautiful event in and on itself.  The aim is not to ejaculate but to allow the phallus to grow and expand in your hands as you caress and anoints it with appropriate oils and substances that show you devotion. I prefer honey, sweet almond oil, and myrrh. Begin with the testicles, and feel their presence and see them as the repository of power and maleness. Feel each one as you use the oils to enhance the experience. Warming the oils make a more profound effect by allowing the aroma of the oils and your own male scent to rise to your nose. Intoxicate yourself with the aroma and know that it is the same aroma inhaled by those who worship your phallus. Own it, you are as distinct as any other male. As you enjoy your testes move to the shaft and do the same, let the oil, precum, your sweat and your scent intoxicate you. This is not the time for stroking is the time for touching and feeling as my dad taught me. Feel the veins, the skin (if you are uncut, do not retract yet) the shape and feel the unity of the testes and the phallus. Caress as you anoint, smell as you reach the tip and taste your hands; that is your scent signature. That signature is the one anyone who had you keeps in his brain and soul own and know that. Stop, rest, allow you phallus to relax and now begin to stroke with you least dominant hand (right if you are left,left if you are right.) Stroke the shaft, not the head or under it. Let you phallus grow to its full potential and now slowly if you choose you can ejaculate and get the full signature aroma of your phallus. You have reach your solo blis. How can this be wrong?

Supress Woman - Cosmic Supress woman, keep them down. We can't afford to have them sniffing round. We shant afford them educated to who we are. We darnt feel we can live up to their par. Work all day, buy expensive toys. Who cares if we do 'play' with the boys? No judgements here cause girls are too critical. Can't have the exacting or the cynical. Thank God for porn, it is our right. Otherwise we would fight fight fight.   Too bad they don't know that power makes us strong, giving way to our libido over long. Keep us in societal shackles. Cause ya'll to fearful of the woman's cackle. What submissive man has learned, is sex by Woman is to be earned. We have it all, yet much is waste. That most man is scared and cannot embrace. What's to lose, which is not already lost? Might as well be the coin toss, as many of you mother fuckers just picked an unconscionable boss.    

Submissive men are sexy. Period.   It’s a damn shame how many don’t realize it—thanks to a society (and yes, even parts of the kink scene) that tells them they’re not desirable. Newsflash: I don’t Dominate because I hate men—I Dominate because I desire them. Deeply. I crave their surrender, their effort, their devotion. A good submissive man? Baby, that’s my kink.   What turns me off? Entitled dudes who slap on the “submissive” label just to demand kink services like I’m some drive-thru McDomme. Sorry, but barking orders while calling yourself a “sub” just makes you a bratty top with boundary issues. Gross.   And let’s talk about the trope that Dominant women have to look like leather-clad porn bots but aren’t allowed to actually enjoy sex—especially not with submissive men. Um, what? I like sex. I like desire. And I like submissive men who know how to bring both respectfully.   So here’s the tea: I’m not here to play out broken porn stereotypes. I want real, respectful power exchange—where male submission is honored, not humiliated. If you think submission means weakness, you’re not ready for a woman like me.   And female supremacy? Cute in porn. But in real life? Power is about character, not genitals. Respect is sexy. Submission is sacred. Get into it—or get outta the way.