I am a 41 year old male who due to a physical disability caused at birth I am a wheelchair user, I have tried to live a normal life but due to discrimination that is almost impossible, got no friends, no social life and no even had a date in over 20 years. When it comes to ABDL I am quite open to what happens as long as it includes Bondage, I have seen a few professional dominants in the past with little luck but when I did meet they always feminised me so most of my ABDL stuff is female or sissy in nature. Not had much luck however some health issues in the past year have made me wear diapers. I have mixed neurogenic bladder disorder which means one minute I have Incontinence the next retention so have a catheter fitted so absolutely no control of my bladder, I had 3 haemoroids removed and 3 days later was passing rectual bleeding and blood clots so been prescribed laxatives.  

This is just a quick PSA, I have filled out and returned my ballot, so you can stop all the TV ads and yard signs and news coverage now. Thank you.

This is a somewhat tongue-in-cheek, somewhat serious exploration of how to get to know someone via collarspace.com. Or, I guess to put it honestly, how to get to know me. Step 1. Read the fucking profile. My profile is not short, but it’s not War and Peace. It has important content in it that will help you know whether we are compatible or not and save your time AND mine. When you see a photo of someone you are attracted to, a compliment is a lovely thing. But if you honestly want to start a relationship or dynamic of some sort with them, read their profile before writing. It’s a form of respect, both self-respect (keep yourself from writing to people who are wildly incompatible with you) and respect for the other. Step 2. Don’t call me Mistress. I don’t like unearned titles, and if you MUST address me by a title, Ms. is enough. Don’t call me Miss, don’t call me Goddess, don’t use one of a hundred other unearned titles. If the time comes when addressing me by a title is appropriate to our relationship, you will know and we will discuss the appropriate title at that time. Until then, you may call me Elorin or Ms. Elorin. Step 3. Three sentence minimum. This is my 95% rule for responding to a letter on collarspace. A rare exception comes in where I respond to an initial email with fewer than three sentences, but for the most part, that’s the rule. If you feel like writing three sentences is too much to ask from someone with no relationship with you so far, that’s fine. You can choose not to write or you can write less and I’ll just delete your message when I read it. And if you send a long, run-on sentence with no punctuation and capitalization, I’ll treat it as one sentence and delete, even if it should have been three sentences. This is a personal value of mine, and it’s important to me that my partners are literate and able to write and express themselves. I realize that some people don’t do well with writing, or expressing themselves online, and I have made an exception in the past to meet people in person and give them a chance to express themselves in person, but that is rare and again, 95% of the time, if you can’t write and sustain emails with me for a short amount of time, you won’t be compatible with me in person. Step 4. Don’t immediately ask to go to another media. I’m on Collarspace, you’re on Collarspace, write to me on Collarspace. If things go well, there will be time to provide my FetLife ID, or my Telegram ID. For the record, I don’t have an Instagram, Kik, or Twitter account, I don’t use Skype anymore, and I have no idea how to use TikTok to chat. If you want to talk on instant messenger, I use Telegram. And I won’t move to an instant messenger program until I’ve talked with you long enough to feel like it’s worth my time. Step 5. Volunteer information. Look at my profile. Look at your profile. If your profile is essentially empty, or is turned off, and basically provides zero information for me to learn about you before replying to your first message, provide some information about yourself when you write. Please note: a first email should be one or two moderately long paragraphs. If you write me a book in your first email, I may or may not read it but I won’t respond to it until I have time to dedicate to it, whereas a shorter email may get a response sooner. However, still, three sentence minimum. A good first message starts with a little bit about yourself, what you liked about my profile, and what you’re looking for – getting to know me, playing with me, becoming my full time submissive, something else entirely. Step 6. Ask questions. While my profile is long, there is plenty of information I did not provide. Ask me a question about something you’d like to know more about me. However, if you read the first two paragraphs of my profile and ask me something that you would know if you’d read the whole thing, I’ll probably delete your email. Fair warning. Step 7. Share your answer Either when you are initially asking the question or after I have replied with my answer, share your answer to the questions you ask! This prevents me from having to say “I like XYZ, what do you like?” and makes the getting to know you process go much faster. Step 8. Volunteer more information Whether answering a question of my own, or as in step 7, providing your answer to a question you asked me, volunteer information. There ARE yes or no questions, but there are very few questions where you can’t provide at least a little context with your answer. When you reply to questions with one word answers, you force me to try to ask follow up questions to figure out what the context is. This translates in my mind to how you would be during negotiations in BDSM. I spent years in my first marriage “pulling teeth” from a compulsive liar and control freak, trying to find out what the actual situation was and learn what was going on in our life. I refuse to do it again, and if I find myself having to “pull teeth” to get information from you because you are giving one word answers, I’ll just write you off and move on to someone who is more interested in actively getting to know me. Step 9. Do NOT send me unsolicited fantasies. It’s one thing (and an ok thing) to say, “I’ve always wanted to have a crop scene.” It’s another thing to write 5 long paragraphs about your ideal crop scene when I haven’t indicated any kind of interest or desire in knowing. Unsolicited fantasies are an automatic block. Step 10. Do NOT ask me “If I were there what would you do to me/what would we do/what would it be like” questions. I’ll shut you down and refuse to answer, and possibly block you. These are basically a request for free fap fodder and I’m not in the business of providing it, even if the honest answer would most likely not be enough to masturbate to. NOTE: If we’ve been writing for a while and you are planning to visit me/meet me and you ask me what to expect, that’s different and won’t get you blocked. I don’t expect anyone to read this entire thing, but if you do, mention the instant messenger program I use with the word snowflake and you’ll get bonus points in our exchanges. Ms. Elorin

An evening, recalled by the lady, written by me.It was late afternoon and it had been a tough day at the Commission. His kiss when he met me at the station was warm and affectionate; we chatted on the way to the hotel and as we checked in. When we arrived in the room I dumped my stuff on the bed and went out onto the veranda to look out over the lake. A few minutes later I heard him say ‘come here please’. I turned to see him with an impassive look on his face and standing in the middle of the room pointing at the floor just in front of his feet. He took hold of me around my waist and as he kissed me deeply, his hands travelled from my waist down my hips and across my bottom. Then up my back to my neck and then he felt my hair. He murmured ‘give me your tongue’ and I slipped it between his teeth. He nipped it and held it between his upper teeth and tongue. It was uncomfortable but not painful, he had done it often before and I had grown to like it. His hands resumed their journey around my upper body. They were firm, confident and moved without any hesitation. I could not have ed even if I had wanted too and the welcome feeling of melting inside began. He then released my tongue, kissed my lips then he turned me around and bent me over so my elbows were on the bed. He lifted my skirt and folded it over my back. His hands then roved freely over my bottom and between my thighs. He felt my mons, traced the line of my slit and ran his fingertips between down the crease between my buttocks, pausing to press on my anus. He then held me firmly against his thigh and began to spank me- this had recently become a regular beginning to our time together. One spank per cheek, then two, then three, they landed on my upper thighs and the curve of my bottom. He stopped at six and spent a few minutes gently rubbing my bottom, occasionally slipping his hand between my thighs. At ten per cheek it was stinging a lot. By twelve I was having difficulty keeping still. It was the knowledge that if I moved he would start again that kept me in position. The spanking was not unexpected and it had the desired effect. I felt myself starting to melt inside even more as he rubbed my stinging bottom and thighs once again. He stopped and made me stand. Then looked me in the eye, and then said ‘I have a few issues to resolve with you’. My stomach took a lurch, I’d been here before, he had shown no sign of real annoyance with me recently but then he never really did. He took me by the chin, looked into my eyes and said ‘strip and kneel’. He then turned and went to the veranda. It only took a minute to remove all my clothes and jewellery. I knelt, apprehensive about his return, embarrassed it had been a warm day; I had been wearing tights and had not had the time to wash and prepare myself for him. My make up had gone and I knew I did not look my best. He returned and pushed me forward to my knees and elbows. Pulling back my hair he locked my leather collar around my neck. It felt strange after the long break since I last wore it. The wrist cuffs were fitted next before he clipped them behind my back pinioning my wrists. He pulled my collar by its short leash to make me kneel up and then buckled a gag around my neck and pushed the red ball behind my teeth before tightening   it. He turned me so my back was to the mirror and placed a low backed chair in front of me. He could now see both the back and front of me. Sitting on the chair he told me to part my thighs wide and to emphasise the point his foot nudged my knees wide apart. I hoped he wasn’t going to touch me between my thighs as he so loved too, I so regretted not taking a shower immediately we arrived in the room. From his pocket he took some butterfly style nipple clips. I hate them and he knows it, he threaded their chain into the ring at the front of my collar and after pinching my nipples between his thumb and forefinger to make them fully erect he clipped one to each nipple. The discomfort was almost unbearable, I instinctively closed my thighs, and he ed and gently tugged the chain, sending sharp jolts through me. I did as I was told and spread my thighs wide, pushing my mons forward as far as I could. The gag muffling my weak protests. He spoke slowly, jerking the chain on saying each word. ‘Three weeks ago you forgot your make up, two weeks ago your stockings, last week your high shoes. You have arrived in my company wearing tights for the last 4 weeks, hence the immediate spankings. You have not kissed or greeted me properly on meeting for the same length of time. You make up today is poor, your hair isn’t brushed and you have not left your pubic hair as I instructed. In short young lady you are marring your beauty. You are fully aware how beautiful I think you are and you are distracting from it by being sloppy and that disappoints me. I will not accept you detracting from the pleasure I take in having such a desirable woman as my lover. Do you understand?’ I nodded, my eyes starting to water from the discomfort in my nipples and the realisation of how I had disappointed him. There was also the knowledge that I had been here before and if it followed a similar pattern then this was the case against me. By nodding I admitted my guilt. So I was about to punished for being a sloppy and inattentive submissive who had disappointed her Dominant.  He helped me to my feet by lifting me by the collar on my ring; it also had the effect of tugging on my nipples. He reversed his chair and tugged the chain as he removed each nipple clip. It stung as the blood filled each nipple, my knees almost buckled each time, the gag muffling the g. He then connected my wrists cuffs in front of me, and bent me over the back of his chair so my weight rested on my elbows. ‘Part your legs’ he said, I complied and hoped he would decide to have me, not cane me. I was to be disappointed, though recently spanked I accepted I had earned this too. He fetched a cane from his bag as I waited anxiously. Holding the back of my collar he rested the cane against my bottom, drew it back and struck me. ‘One‘ he said. All I did was hear the sound then the harsh sting reached my brain! He was using the flat cane.  A piece of flexible wood two feet long, an inch wide and a quarter of an inch thick. It didn’t leave tram lines or scars; I knew its stinging would last for ages and leave a square red mark on each buttock, but it would not bruise very much. Not that it seemed important at that moment. Though I find the cane painful, the thonged whip he occasionally uses is worse. Its thick strands inflict weal’s and their tips can get into the most intimate parts of my body. I’ve also known him use it on my breasts and belly. Each cane stroke went slightly lower until the last 3 all struck where the tops of my thighs and my bottom met. My legs kicked out from the stinging, by now I had dribbled spittle around the gag, my eyes were streaming and my nose had started to run. He let go the back of my collar and returned the cane to his bag. Returning he pulled me upright by my collar and turned me to face him. I refused to look him in the eye; I must have looked a real mess. He took my chin again forcing me to look into his eyes. I felt so ashamed of my appearance. He had told me I was beautiful so very often and it made me feel so proud when he said it. Now I had let him down by being too complacent. He unclipped the wrist cuffs, reattaching then in front. He said ‘Do you understand what I have told you?’ I nodded. ‘Then get down on your belly on the floor and spread your legs, I haven’t finished with you yet.’ My mind raced, would it be the whip now, on my bottom? I knelt and lay on the floor, my bottom was really stinging and the carpet was rough against my sore nipples, my belly and mons. I spread my thighs wide, dipped my spine and waited. I heard the pop of a tube of lubricant being opened. It wasn’t the whip!! The lube felt cold against my anus as he applied just enough. He undressed, I could feel him looking at my prone body, the line of my sex and the rose of my anus. I was fully exposed because it was how he wanted me to be. He knelt between my thighs and pumped his cock to make the head larger. He spread my bottom cheeks with one hand and pressed his cock against my anus with the other. The tip entered me, it was so uncomfortable. I had forgotten how tight a caning made the cheeks of my bottom clench. He pushed into me, stretching me. I struggled and tried to object; he held me and reminded me of the presence of the whip. Once he was past the muscular ring I relaxed as the discomfort subsided somewhat; I felt the cool of his skin against my hot bottom. He reached and took hold of my hair and collar, pulling them back. At the first slow thrust he said ‘one’. The thrusts were slow and firm, they made my bottom sting though my anus soon adapted to the presence of his cock. He told me to squeeze my buttocks together as he withdrew his cock, and relax as he thrust in. I tried to do so; each time I failed he added two extra thrusts. He was punishing me and reminding me of his dominance by not taking pleasure from the stimulation my anus could give him. It was a reminder that sexual pleasure could not be an excuse for a lack of submission. It was a relief when he reached 100 and stopped counting and thrusting. I was glad he was no longer forcing my nipples against the rough carpet, and his tummy was no longer making my sore bottom sting more. But I immediately missed the closeness and intimacy of the man I so wanted yet had disappointed. He pulled me to my feet by my collar, removed the ball gag and lifted my chin. I must have looked a real mess as I worked my jaw to stop it aching, I certainly felt a mess and I promised him and myself not to let my appearance or behaviour slip again. He kissed me and said he loved me; I’m not sure if it made me feel any better- or if it was supposed to! He led me by the arm into the bathroom and told me to wash his cock and balls. I took a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked horrendous! Mascara running, the marks of the gag around my mouth, spittle around my chin and collar and my nose running! I looked away ashamed as he wet a towel to clean the lube from between my buttocks. He turned me around so my back was to the mirror and rubbed the wet towel firmly between my buttocks, it stung where it touched the red marks.  I heard him say, ‘You have 30 minutes until dinner. Be ready on time.’ I knew that I would make him the proudest man alive when he let me take his arm to dinner. 30 minutes wasn’t long. But I so wanted to see that look of desire in his eyes that I would ensure I was just as he wanted me to be. I knew just how good he would make me feel in return. He went to the veranda to watch the sun set. I set to work, though I did sneak a look at the red marks on my bottom. They made me feel strangely proud because they were his marks and I had submitted to him. He had put them there and there was nothing I could have done about it even if I wanted to. Now I didn’t know what he was going to do with me later, but after being disciplined he always had something special planned for me! 

I feel like the majority of people on this site are clinging to an unachievable fantasy. There. I said it. Don't get me wrong... Kink, total power exchange, all of that stuff is GREAT, and I wouldn't be here if I didn't want that in my relationship. But so many people here seem to blow those things up into EXTREMES. We are all here ultimately seeking some form of relationship. Even if you want your relationship to entirely revolve around sex and kink and that is all you care about, it's still a relationship. Especially if you're seeking to be a live-in slave, how do you expect to fill the void when you're NOT in the middle of sex stuff? The emotional connection is SO IMPORTANT. Yes, it's important to me that my boy be cute and his looks match what I want, but I would get bored of him SO quickly if he had the personality of a potato. I know some of you want to be totally o b j e c t ified and locked away when you're not in use, which DOES sound hot and appealing, but I also feel that would get SO boring, lonely, and miserable after like... a week, if not a day. The kink and power exchange should definitely be present, but to me there is no satisfaction in owning someone without a soul. We are social creatures, and you should be giving more than just your body to me. The TOTAL o b j e c t ification stuff can be a fun activity we do sometimes and turn on and off as I please, but I just don't see the reality in centering a whole lifestyle around it. (Though the total power exchange element WOULD always be present. You are still my human after all!) If you plan to approach me, PLEASE be ready to talk about more than just sexual stuff. Be your authentic self, let your personality shine through, give me a sense of who you are and what you're all about! I promise it will make me want to own you all the more. My favorite people are the ones with lots of personality.

Things i wounder, Are there any real people left on here ? is Fetlife the place to really connect?  AFF and collace seem full of Wanna be's and people looking for KINK of every sortf  ( not a bad thing ) Just real folks seem hard to find. Read plenty of profiles every week, I find more and more that people are full of doodooo ! I read im a submissive im a slave.. But dont say this to me or i dont do this or ill block you if you say this or are a republican lol . I have been in this lifestyle for over 30 years and it sure has changed ! Maybe I should just go back to normal life. This lifestyle has gone to a new low level and people who post are 80% nieve and dont know what a slave or submissive is ! They know KINK for sure but not how to act or speak as they claim they are !  KINK is about sex and fettishes lifestyle is much more then that ! if your a KINKSTER great !  but please dont caim to me a Slave of Submissive lol say what you want and dont . Politics , Religon much like in bars has no place here ! Just be happy ! 

If you are Mine, I want to touch you but not just your flesh, not simply the surface of you. I want to touch you at a deapth you may have never known. I want to jump off the cliff and swim with you in the deep waters of life because I know the shallow enis is simply that, shallow, and that will never take us to where we need to go. I do not fear the leap into the deep unknown. I do not want the facades. I do not want to pretend at life or love. Fiction has no value to me in our reality. Give me the mess, the struggle, the fear, the truth beyond the mask that we give the world to be able to traverse it. No, we will swin in the deep end because its in the deep where the truth of who we are will be seen and all that has chiseled our shape. I want to touch your mind, your soul, your hidden self and the one you share with the world. I want to inspire you to find and follow your passions and not subvert or hide them. To find your purpose, embrace it and claim your birthright. I want to ignite passionate conversations and talk all night about any topic that touched your heart or sparked your mind. I want to teach you, guide you and be inspired by you. I want to encourage you to understand different perspectives, different realities, a new kind of truth. I want to challenge you to love your truth and find freedom in your authenticity. I want to show you that you can be loved for the dark, hidden corners that hou have spent a lifetime hoping people will not notice and not despite them. I want to show that being who you are is valid, acceptable, beautiful and nobel. And I want you to have the courage to challenge me if you see some other side of the prism of life, one I might have missed, one that I might love. I want to grow. I want us to evolve individually and together. I want to light the fire within us and be warmed by its flam and embers. To speak our truth and fall in love with it. I want to motivate your to go inward and reflect. Find your core and see the beauty of it through my eyes and your own. I want to discover your sense of humor. Your sarcasm. Your wit. Your intelligence. Because I want to laugh hard with you. I want you to read to me from your favorite books, share your favorite movies, fuel my understanding of you. I want to read to you from my favorite books and share what has touched my heart through its stories and artistry. I want to timulate your mind. I want you to be curious. About life. About me. About the universand how you fit in the tapestry of the Universe. I want to touch every crevice of your mind, your body, your soul. I want you to touch all of me too. I want to show you what the word safe really means and prove to you that you are safe in my hands. I want you to to never doubt why I chose to own you. I want you to feel the pride of being owned. I want us to never wish for more than our cherished reality. Sustainably. I want to prove that I am worth and so are you, no matter what that might look like to any outsider..   

Well I have been asked why my Profile says Dominant. I think most all CD Gurls have both Dom and Sub persoanlities. Sometimes a CD Gurl just needs to be able to stand up for herself and yet other times when feeling very fem, likes to flirt and enjoys being sexually chased. Been many times very frustrated dealing with the Dom personality and has considered to become a Switch and taken by a Slave Master. Again, this poses some special issues. Nobody I know wants to impose a death sentence on themselves but to be taken, broken and retrained for servitude as a slave seems very appealing and might solve issues of needing to be always making the decisions. Being a slave means you most likely become an "IT" as owned property and you no longer get to choose anything. Everything is chosen for it by the Owner/Master that it is bound to. As a CD, Domestic Servitude seems very attractive while flitting to and from it's chores, dressed in something fem and cute and of course Sexual Servitude is without saying, a very real life situation as a slave. CD Gurls do not fear this because most all are Bisexual   and retrained as a Gay Slave is only a slight change. One of the main changes is a sexual slave provides sexual satisfaction to it's Master without expecting any of it's own, except the learning to be satisfied that Master is satisfied. A slave might never experience another orgasm for the rest of it's life as a slave? A slave will need to learn Master's protocols for everything and expect punishments when it does not perform to Master's standards. A Master may want to brand His slave. He may want to have slave pierced in many areas of it's body. Many Gay Masters want the slave to wear a permanent metal collar so can never be removed by slave. They also want slave to be nude, rather than clothed. This would be a hurdle a "former CD gurl" would need to overcome or be constanly thinking of fem clothing and how it felt to be wearing these girlie girl garments and enjoying the fabrics and texture of fabrics and array of colors and prints in fem clothing.   And this most likely would cause it's Master distain and cause Master to punish slave more frequently and harshly with whippings, rather than just spankings. From messaging with slaves and former slaves, it finds out it would need to learn to appreciate punishments from Master and thank Master for his guidance. All of these things are perplexing and need to be considered before taking that "One Step Beyond" into a new life style and forever leaving the past behind. Once it enters Master's Dungeon there is no going back or returning home. Some Masters require male slaves to be castrated to make them more mellow and permanently change them so they are even more, less likely to think of escaping in those beginning months of training and breaking slave down to a blank canvas for it's life of servitude. Simply stated, a Submissive is someone who "chooses" how to give pleasure and enjoy receiving pleasure with a more Dominant person. A Slave has NO choices. A Slave does what Master says and goes where Master takes it.  

I've been back and forth, since before Thanksgiving , with the contract I have on a cabin In WV. Unfortunately the agent was a flake. Over the years , I've bought and sold homes. This agent was a hot mess. Finally had to get the broker involved, and replace the her.   The present one is on the ball. D and I drove to the cabin and he checked it top to bottom. There were concerns from the home inspection, and he calmed my mind. He said the place had great bones, the windows were all in good shape, the hot water heater was two years old , gas furnace will out live me, metal roof is fairly new... There is a cottage on the property, off the back set back from the cabin.  Its about eight hundred sq. feet , plus a screened in front porch! Perfect for my father, and he can't fall off. It has a kitchen, dining room, living room, bedroom and full bath. It too has a new metal roof.   Added an addendum  for a few things, we'll see if they accept or counter. Saying a little prayer and crossing my fingers.   M.

On Being Tended To There is a particular kind of vulnerability in being sick that I have never made peace with easily. I am not a woman who softens gracefully under inconvenience. I do not do helpless well. A migraine, specifically, is an affront, the kind of physical mutiny that my body stages without my permission and that I resent with the focused irritation of someone who had other plans for the day and does not appreciate the interruption. What I have made peace with is this: being cared for well, by someone trained to my specific requirements, is its own kind of power. It is not weakness to lie in a darkened room and receive exactly what you need. It is, in fact, the point. I wake with it already behind my left eye, that specific pressure that announces itself before I am fully conscious, before I have had a chance to negotiate or refuse. The light from the curtain gap is already too much. I do not have to say anything. You are already moving. This is what attention produces, real attention, the kind that is trained and deliberate and treats learning me as the serious undertaking it is: you read the quality of my stillness the way a sailor reads weather. You know before I speak. The curtains are drawn the rest of the way before I ask. The room drops into the particular darkness that a migraine demands, not full black but the soft gray of a room that has been told to be quiet. You move through it without turning on lights. I notice this. It matters. The water arrives cold, with the specific glass I prefer, on the nightstand without a sound. My medication beside it, already sorted, already the right ones in the right order without my having to inventory my own suffering aloud. You have learned my protocols the way you learn everything about me: carefully, completely, understanding that the details are not optional and that getting them right is the baseline expectation rather than a performance deserving praise. You adjust the pillow without being asked. I note this too. The house goes silent. Not the silence of absence but the managed silence of someone who has taken on the task of keeping the world at a specific volume so that I do not have to. Inside there is nothing: no television, no movement that is not careful, no presence that asks anything of me. You understand, or you will understand, that tending to me when I am unwell is not about hovering. It is about calibrated invisibility. Being precisely available and precisely absent in exactly the right proportions, which requires more intelligence than most people give it credit for. I am not interested in someone who needs to be seen caring for me. I am interested in someone who simply does it, correctly, without making their effort my problem. You bring a cool cloth without being asked and place it over my eyes with hands that are exactly the right temperature and exactly the right pressure. Not tentative. Tentative is more irritating than bold when I am in pain. You do the thing or you do not. You do not do it halfway and then hover at the edge of the bed waiting to be told you got it right. You already know whether you got it right. If you do not know, you are not ready for this. I sleep for a while. When I surface you are in the chair, not at the bedside, not making your presence into a demand I have to respond to. Simply there, available the way a room is available: quietly, without agenda. The water has been refreshed at some point without my noticing. This pleases me more than you will ever hear me say. By afternoon the worst has passed into the dull aftermath, that wrung-out flatness that follows a bad migraine like a gray tide going out. You bring food without asking whether I want it, because you know that I will refuse food when I should eat and that part of your function is to override my worse instincts with gentle, firm consistency. It is exactly what you know I can manage: nothing that requires effort, nothing with a smell that will undo the fragile progress of the afternoon, presented without ceremony or the implicit pressure of someone waiting to be thanked. I eat. I do not thank you. You do not require it. Later, in the thin early evening light, you sit at the foot of the bed and work your hands over my feet with the focused attention you bring to anything you do for my body, slow and deliberate, the kind of pressure that does not ask anything back. I lie with one arm over my eyes and the understanding that I want from you in these moments is not sympathy and it is not performance. It is competence. It is presence without weight. It is the specific quality of someone who considers this a privilege rather than an inconvenience, who moves through my discomfort with the steadiness of someone who has made my comfort their entire purpose for the day and requires nothing in return. You do not ask how I am feeling every twenty minutes. You do not make small sounds of concern that require me to reassure you. You do not treat my pain as an opportunity to demonstrate how caring you are. You simply handle it, quietly and correctly, and you let me be unwell without making my illness into a performance we are both starring in. This is what I require. Not grand gestures. Not visible sacrifice. The quiet, intelligent, sustained attention of someone who has studied me carefully enough to know what I need before I need to say it, and who finds their satisfaction not in being acknowledged but in the simple fact of having gotten it right. If you can do this, on the days when I am at my least, when there is nothing glamorous or cinematic about what is being asked of you, when the task is simply to be useful and invisible and exactly correct, then you understand something essential about what this life actually is beneath the surface of it. It is not always the collar and the candlelight. Sometimes it is the cool cloth, the right glass, the chair in the corner, the silence held like something precious.   Get that right, and you will have understood something that most never do.

one potential ending    Now, My darkest desires proceeded to being fulfilled.  SLAVE start the slow process of getting all the things needed.  You hear clanks, scrapes, thuds, grunts and painful cries.  What to make of all this, starts to run through you mind.  Locked up in bounds on the bed, pinned down, spread eagle, arms like a cross… completely vulnerable. The blind fold is placed back on, and you put up a little bit of a fight. But to no avail you loss, but then again you expected that. But just not as quickly, for there were a second set of hands that were helping with the blind fold.   The cbt is still on, and the pain is becoming more intense for you.  But I’m in no mood to give in to your whimpers.  I say, ladies next please.  Now you start to realize the fear that has begun to grow within you.  You hear the rustling of the girls; giggles and loud noise all of what is now making you try to free yourself from the bounds that hold you dear.   Now back on the bed, SLAVE lays down beside you, caressing you body, up and down, making you slip into a state or relaxedness.   Then while the moment of peace lasts, you hear a soft click and a rush of cold air; gliding up the length of your shaft for the cbt has been lifted off.  With a sigh of relief, like you just had the biggest orgasm you have ever had… little did you know what was coming your way next.  With that first sigh, that escaped from your lips, was the last time you were going to experience that feeling.     You hear some more giggling and some sharp sounds.  Then there is a light smell of something you could not place.  As your mind ponders what that smell may be, for its something you’ve smelt before.  Again, your mind wonder and ponders away but is quickly brought back to the present by the sucking sound you hear.   As your mind slips back to the moment, you feel this wet softness along your inner thigh. Kiss, nibble, licks, nibbles, and a bite, the sharp piercing pain shoot’s right up your body. You let out a yelp, sounding like a puppy, with a loud and crisp.  “Well, well, well, we can’t be having that now, can we?” I said.  With a load voice, almost chill defining.  SLAVE gets up and went into the back room and came back with a large ball gag.  Since you were blindfolded still, you had no idea what was going your way.  SLAVE lay down on the bed and began to caress your body.  Soft, slowly and methodically, she worked over your body piece by piece. Till she reached your face, then the touched changed, but still were soft and caring.  She caressed your lips with her fingers, carefully taking her time, centimeter but centimeter she glided her fingers over your bottom lip.  Lost in the moment, you begin to moan and lost sight of everything, time, space, reality, everything what was happening right in front of your body and soul.   Still confused by the feeling of SLAVEs fingers, which were warm, supple, loving caressing touch lingered in your mind.  Your moans and body language started to change.  Your heart was racing, breathless to speak or move. No words could be found or describe what you were feeling.   Next you fell something cool, wet, and soft. With you mind slowly drifting back to reality; you try to assess what the feeling maybe.  And with a blink of an eye it was over. The soft, luscious, lips of SLAVEs touched yours and it was a little taste of heaven in an instant.   Then in another flash there was shock, for now you felt the large ball of the ball gag graze your lips.  You instinctively opened your mouth, knowing full well that you shouldn’t.  Then the ball gag slipped in and the light smell of SLAVEs body sent could be smelled to your nose, carried lightly on a breath of wind. You fill your senses with that scent, as the gag is being fastened to you. The ball is almost too big for your mouth, but it what “I” want. I don’t want to have the world hear you moan, for what is coming next, so I state.  WitchyVibesDoeEyes 

Well, yeah, I spit blood when I wake upSink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and make-upJust two days since the mainframe went down and I'm still messed upRoom feels like a meat freezer, I dangle in like cold cutsMissed calls, answer phones from people I just don't trustMirror talk, fake love, but I'll take a pound of your fleshBefore you take a piece of my pay stubWhite roses, black doves, Godmother, rise upI need you to see me for what I have become My, my, those eyes like fireI'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyreCome now, bite through these wiresI'm a waking hell and the gods grow tiredReset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higherGrow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire I guess it goes to show, does it not?That we've no idea what we've gotUntil we lose itAnd no amount of love will keep it aroundIf we don't choose it And I don't know what's got its teeth in meBut I'm about to bite back in angerNo amount of self-sought furyWill bring back the glory of innocence My, my, those eyes like fireI'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyreCome now, bite through these wiresI'm a waking hell and the gods grow tiredReset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higherGrow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire