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

On Self-Mastery Before Mastery Over Others A Master who seeks to command another must first command himself. Authority without discipline is nothing but noise—loud, fleeting, and without weight. True mastery begins within: the mind must be sharpened, the emotions steadied, and the will made unshakable. Only then can the Master stand above his slave with confidence and clarity. A Master who has not mastered himself becomes ruled by impulse. Anger dictates his words, jealousy clouds his vision, and fear drives his actions. Such a man cannot lead, for he is a servant to his own weakness. A slave will sense this instability, and with it, respect will erode. Without respect, obedience becomes hollow, and the dynamic crumbles. To achieve self-mastery, the Master must practice three disciplines: Discipline of the Mind – The Master must think clearly, without being swayed by fear, envy, or pride. Reflection, study, and intentional learning strengthen the intellect and refine judgment. Discipline of the Body – The Master must hold himself with presence and authority. Care of health, posture, and bearing are not vanity—they are symbols of control and power that the slave must see and feel. Discipline of the Spirit – The Master must know his own values, beliefs, and purpose. He must act from principle, not reaction, and embody consistency in every command. When the Master governs himself, his commands are unquestionable. His slave will feel the certainty of his hand, the steadiness of his rule, and the clarity of his authority. Self-mastery is the root of all mastery; without it, the title of Master is an empty shell.   Let it be remembered: before a Master can claim ownership of another, he must first prove ownership of himself.

I've had some interesting conversations of late.   The one who spoke of how much her curiosity drove people away and then spoke about how her mental disorders stopped her being curious and that drove people away.    The one who who admitted all manner of deviant desires but then admitted me knowing those things made her uncomfortable in my company, so she ghosted me.   The one who believed slaves should have no rights, but that she could never be a slave because of that, but that being just a submissive was beneath her.   The one who masturbated openly to thoughts of degradation and humiliation, but was afraid her future owner would expose her to anything degrading or humiliating.   The one who wanted to serve anyone just to practise her skills, but admitted she couldn't serve at all because she just couldn't take D/s seriously.   The theme? Internal conflict. Its a very odd thing to see so many here pulled in such clearly opposing directions. Now, people of all persuasions have regularly dreamed of writing cheques it turned out they couldn't cash; that's par for the course and expected - our reach often exceeds our grasp, after all. But this almost 50/50 spolit been desire and reality, between who we think we are and who we turn out to be, and who we present as and who we then admit to being, is something new. I was away a while, but I did not expect to come back to this. I think it's just fear, something of which there seems to be so much of, more than I ever remember. People are afraid of speaking openly, afraid of seeming dumb, afraid of saying or asking the wrong thing, afraid of learning about themselves, and on and on and on. What I think people are afraid of is being seen for who they really are because so many don't seem to know that basic fact about themselves, and they don't want to put the time, effort and work into finding out, or be vulnerable and humble enough to listen and learn if they do.   It's a dispiriting experience.      

Getting back on track - had a terrible cough for a few days. Having ginger, honey and lemons and rest lots of rest. During my delerium (due to a possible flu) during some unrestful nights I had thoose dreams again. Me with two sain, sound and working professional men. The dream starts off pretty normal, a meet up in a coffee shop to understand what all parties want and don't want. Me over keen. I must admit my dream fast forwards a little bit which means in reality there will be some challenges, but somehow my mind it forwards to me in bed with two sound men and this clarifys, I would want them to enjoy being with me but if they felt flexible with each other I would clearly be happy to know the relationship as no limits. I honestly recall my dream there were a few positions and a few rotations of who does what where but I recall being very happy. Then I woke up and had to make some more ginger and lemon tea but at least I know my immune system is kicking in :)

Journal Entry: Why Some Women Choose Slavery I have often reflected on why some women willingly choose to live as slaves in a Master/slave household. To outsiders, it may appear confusing—why would anyone want to surrender control of their own life? But when viewed through the lens of trust, devotion, and purpose, the answers reveal themselves clearly. For many women, there is a deep longing to be free from the constant burden of decision-making and responsibility that the modern world demands. In slavery, there is clarity. A slave’s role is defined, her place is secure, and her purpose is to serve. This surrender of control is not weakness—it is a relief. In letting go, she discovers freedom from doubt and hesitation, and in service, she finds strength and fulfillment. There is also the matter of intimacy. When a woman gives herself fully, she allows herself to be seen in her most vulnerable and honest state. No masks. No pretenses. In that surrender, bonds are formed that are deeper than most will ever know. To be owned is to be cherished, and for many women, the knowledge that their Master claims them as His gives them a sense of belonging they have always sought. Growth comes, too, from the challenges of slavery. The training, the discipline, the demands of service—all of these shape her into something stronger. She learns to endure, to obey, to strive for excellence. In pleasing her Master, she also proves something to herself: that she is capable of devotion, of transformation, of becoming more than she thought she could be. And perhaps the greatest reward is devotion itself. To give one’s life, heart, and soul to another, without reservation, brings a sense of completeness. Some women long to dedicate themselves fully, and in slavery they find the purest expression of loyalty and love. Their submission is not a loss—it is the path that brings them peace. This is why some women choose slavery in a consensual M/s environment. Not because they are weak, but because they are strong enough to surrender. Not because they lack value, but because they find value in being claimed, used, and cherished. And in that, they are fulfilled.

She had spent the previous hour obeying his commands, staying in her allocated space, removing clothing when told, displaying herself when ordered, her shoulders ached from being held back to display her breasts, then from being held between two pillars, her thighs ached from being spread as she struggled to hold position. Now all she was wearing was a white G string, wrist and ankle cuffs, which he had used to spread eagle her between two pillars as he applied the flogger, concentrating on her back, bottom, thighs and stomach, but no part of her had escaped its attention. Once again he felt her roughly between her thighs, examining the scrap of material to see how wet she had made it, only eventually announcing she was wet enough. He released her, and immediately clipped her hands together and ordered her to her knees and elbows and to dip her spine, removing the tie sided string he then forced it into her mouth and then positioned himself behind her. His instructions were short and to the point, the first time he would enjoy her from behind, she would receive less stimulation that way so letting her concentrate on using her internal muscles to pleasure him. The crop would serve to remind her if she transgressed. He took a handful of her hair, pulling her head back he slowly entered her, ordering her when to tense her muscles as he also enjoyed the heat from her sore buttocks against his stomach.  He took his time, often she transgressed and paid the price of the crop, until she felt him slowly release.

Farewell to Autumn - Witkiewicz He penetrated more and more violently the mouth, which now only gave way little by little to the pressure of his lips, his teeth and his tongue. It opened completely, transforming itself into a wet swamp and burning with incredible sensuality, it took gigantic dimensions, it was the only thing really existing. Hela's tongue slipped like a flame out of that slimy, mollucoid mass, touched her lips and tongue, and began to suck, irritating her mouth madly... The pleasure, which flowed through her whole body, seemed already peaking, and despite that it intensified more and more, becoming of an intolerable force, which bordered on pain. The contact of this tongue which seemed conscious of his actions, he felt it everywhere in the spine, in the kidneys, and there, where billions of beings conceived in him rushed towards life, without paying the least attention nor to his great love, neither to the meaning of his existence, nor to any metaphysics. In the darkness of the body, in the swollen glands, at the complicated crossroads of the nervous pathways, everything pressed with elementary force towards a single goal: the only reward of the duped mind was an inhuman pleasure which destroyed it, giving it loneliness. unconsciousness of the moment.

I'm a loving caring Domme seeking her sub for ltr.   You: available, devoted, educated, professional, well-off, well-rounded, Caucasian, attractive, publicly alpha, privately submissive, faithful, non-sissy, cuckold (non-negotiable). Need cuckoldress to pamper, obey, serve, worship, support, suffer for emotionally and physically. Ideal Situation: long-term relationship leading to marriage in TPE/Cuckold situation where cuckold is subjected to long-term sexual denial and chastity, reduced to slave-husband status in permanent service to me. You have to earn the status of husband before being a slave. I am not a slave master. Me: Petite 5'3" 120 lb sexy curves, African American Dom, the boss, business owner, attractive, caring considerate person but to my cuckold husband, I will keep always wanting more and begging to please me. Must be good looking, in shape and health conscious. I am all 3 of those so you must be too. I'm self employed and the boss. I live in New Jersey and I'm not looking nor will entertain long distance relationships. Must be in the NJ, Philly, or DE .  I'm willing to do some variations of the above in the way of physical appearance.  Although if you're extremely over weight or unhealthy, I'm not interested.  I dedicate a lot of time to keeping myself in shape and eating healthy foods.     I really want a person that I care about who needs to be dominated more than I need someone to treat cruelly just for the sake of being mean.  I prefer you be over 40, mature, health conscious, as I really want someone in great shape but at least be healthy and HWP.  The more successful you are, the more I want to dominate you. When you respond let me know about you, your past experiences or anything that's significant.  Messages with pics will be answered first, if I choose to answer at all.  One liners or "how may I serve you" will be erased.  hotwife, domme, poly, cuckold, cuckoldress, hot wife, domination

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

It is different...I know a number of widows, who are remarried to widowers... I kind of thought it a little odd until I became a widow myself. I wondered, are grief groups like the only place to meet someone once you are a widow? Are grief groups like speed dating after a while, you start going through the people there until you settle down with one because, well, at that age that is what is left? But like I said, then I became a widow... I "joined the club" no one would ever wish for anyone to ever have to join... and I get it now. It is a club. We get each other in ways others don't. It wasn't a divorce, it was a death. We will always love them. We will always speak fondly of them. Our eyes will always water at their memory. Their birthday, our anniversary, the anniversary of their death... will always be hard days. There might be children in our lives that will always will need to be comforted, and allowed space to honor their memories and love for the person. However, there is still a need for companionship again at some point. Room for love again. Desire for tactile touch of another human being on our starved bodies... It is hard to explain to someone outside the club that just because we speak fondly, cry occasionally, tell funny stories about... doesn't mean we somehow care less about our current relationship. We aren't comparing them, we aren't seeing which one is better. We are in the present with them now, and we are happy to be there... We just came with baggage, and it isn't bad baggage, we just need to be allowed to have it...

Miss May's Confessional is now open...   "Do not forgive me Miss May, for I've been a bad boy and I plan to do it again..."   This is a call to all my pervy pals to come forward and entertain me with whatever naughty diversions you've been having, real or imagined. Brag about your recent sexual escapades or confess your impure thoughts (especially regarding me <3 ).  If you're lucky I might be into it too and want to join in on your fun... Seriously, I'm as depraved as you are and your fantasies delight me! And don't worry, my sweets, your kinky confessions are confidential.   On a related note, some of you are mistaken about what the free version of femdom offers. You're here for my entertainment, not the other way around, and you'll get from me what you put in. Be interesting, be open, be willing to figure out how to stroke my ego, and then I'll play with you. I'm not going to coax it out of you either, and expect to have your persistence tested. Don't be too proud to double message me if you think your last message got overlooked. I do make an effort to respond but life does happen.    And finally, thank you to you lovely gentlemen who admire me, check in on me, and wish me well. Your compliments and attention are much appreciated <3   -MM 

So journals are back! Giggity! I remain frustrated in seeking out anyone who can discipline me, use me in whatever way they wish and break down my barriers by simply forcing me to confront them. Where would I like to be tonight? I would love to be between the legs of a dominant, serving them...servicing them, swallowing what they want me to swallow, sucking what they would have me suck, licking what they tell me to lick. All night... And when they were sated, satisfied and had used me in exactly the way they wanted, they could reward me...or they could choose not to. They could give me release...or they could refuse. They could drive me right to the edge, or they could put me away with nothing until they were ready to have me again. They would be completely in control. Their satisfaction would be my goal and my reward their choice. It could be a woman...it could be a man (a man would be a new experience and another barrier broken down. I do not care...it's not mine to care, only to lick, suck, swallow and bend over.

You come to my apartment with flowers, a bouquet of roses, baby's breath, snapdragons, alstroemeria. I invite you in, and make no apologies for what will happen to you. You are already trembling, skin warm but the sensation like a cool breeze as I circle you, eyeing you up and down.    I give you a glass of water, I ask, "Ready?"   And you answer, "Yes Goddess."   I nod.   I come home.   You are punished. Daily. Thoroughly. A lash for every sin against me or the others. I watch you bleed. I clean your back, smiling at every wince.   Your family doesn't understand, and I rub their noses in it. I punish them, too, for their part in your deceit. They made you monstrous and in need of training from a firm hand. They will never again poison the well. No one will. You are MINE. My influence is the only thing of consequence.    I will lead my horse to drink, and you will swallow every bitter drop.   I want to come home, to let my sludge of a soul slide down your throat, to watch you choke, to watch you squirm.   I want my curse to leave my fingertips, and travel inches instead of miles.   You will suffer and I will seethe and it will be beautiful, because that's all the hope I have left.   You will crawl on your knees, and learn your place on collared lead, you will feel every second of the earth's contact on your broken vessel.   You dare to defy, and I dare to ask you back for recompense.   I spit in your eye, while you pray for more.   Have you forgotten that it was you who made my altar, and it is your blood that I crave - it is you who created this mess.   It was you, it is you, always you.   My throne awaits, and calls for me.  

He picks his head up, opens his eyes, it’s like a light has switched, I can see true submission in those eyes, he nods. I am so proud of my husband, I'm so proud of MYSELF. The thought enters my mind that I have molded him to exactly what I want and exactly what he never knew he wanted. I move to kneel in front of him, take his face in my hands and kiss him deeply. He moans and returns the kiss, our tongues tangling. I understand the gravity of telling a man (even a submissive) that he will never have sex again, it washes over me and I feel immediate love, gratitude, and power. I feel so deeply in love with this man who has given himself completely to me. It's time to seal this moment.    I get off my knees and squat in front of him. I feel my dress comes up over my knees. I know that on his level he can see up and get a glimpse of my underwear and that it will drive him crazy. I explain that he is to straighten out his legs, place his palms on the floor and keep them there. I tell him that I am going to untape his diaper and remove his cage then tape him back up for the rest of our conversation and that when I am finished he would be allowed to hump his diaper to orgasm. I know that the tease of a free penis will help him come to terms. The sensations will be too much for him to ever say no. I tell him to nod that he understood. He nods and I untape his diaper. I tell him how good he smells when I pull the front of his nursery print diaper away from his body. The baby powder mixed with pee...I love this smell. It is sweet and depraved, exactly how I like to be described. Our house typically smells like incense, except for the room which we made into his bedroom two years ago in March 2020. He has slept in bed with me only maybe five times since. We could easily dispose of his wet diapers right in the kitchen bin and take it out every day with the rest of the trash, but I love the smell so much that we keep an adult diaper pail in his room and empty it once a week. His locked up bits are twitching up and down as I grab the key off the table, twist it and pull out the locking mechanism. His custom Lori device has a wet sheen to it and feels slick as I pull the tube off his penis and set it on the floor. His penis grows immediately. He's not large by any means, but not tiny. If I used a vibrator while we had sex (when we did) I could actually get off, but that time is past and my power over him is far more of a turn on now than his penis ever was. I tell him to lay back as I marvel at his silent obedience, still sucking away on his pacifier, looking at me with extreme desperation and I kneel between his splayed legs. He's fully erect, with the ring of his chastity device still in place when I bring the heavy front of his wet diaper back up between his legs and tape him in. "Ok, sit up boy and I will explain our new arrangement." He sits, his hands still planted firmly on the floor and I can see the outline of his erection in the front of his nursery print diaper, it spurs me on. 

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.  

Right now I have a bruise on my thigh.  I am not even sure how it happened… I think I was in a rush doing something and walked into a low table or counter or something.  I vaguely remember cussing in my head as I caught my leg on something one day, but I can’t for the life of me remember what or where.  I was looking at the bruise last night amused.  I don’t mark easily, and I don’t mark often.  It actually takes a lot to leave a mark on me, which is part of what amused me about this bruise on my leg last night.  How do I not remember how it happened?  It also made me think back to when I did look at porn, and some of the pictures I have seen on this site on peoples profiles that are simply unavoidable… The horrendous marks on people… That will never be me.  My mind left my bruise and headed more into this life, and my desperate desire for something I really don’t want at all… The absolute quandary of the actual ache in my back side for correction, and my complete and total hate for pain.  Like, I don’t secretly like pain.  I don’t like it a little.  I don’t like it in a house, I don’t like It with a mouse.  I, ladies and gentlemen, do not like pain.  Yet I fantasize about it… So, I pondered this, trying to reconcile this stupidity in my brain… Why? Why do I want it so bad it feels like a need as real as air some days?  I think the pain is simply a by-product of the rest of what I want(need).  Without it, the rest of it doesn’t work.  What do I mean by this?  Well, as anyone who has chatted with me or anyone who knows me, knows, I have a rather strong and dominate personality by nature.  My submission is totally a choice I make because it is relaxing to me.  My submission is a gift to someone special, and only to that person.  When I used to be active in public forums and known as a sub there many dominate men often believed that meant I should act submissive all the time to all dominate people there… bwahahaha!  I had come with a date I was being submissive to, not the whole crowd!   I annoyed a few people.  That’s okay, they annoyed me too.  When I give this gift of submission to someone, it is because they are giving me a gift too.  They honor me by taking care of me, keeping me safe, looking out for my best interest.  My submission to them tells them I trust them to keep this true.  If they intend to bring me my much-hated pain, then I know their intention is to better me as a person, and for this I am grateful.  So there it is, it is about the mind, not the pain.  It goes beyond this simple statement though.  The entire process, start to finish, is about what goes on in the mind.  From the game of how far can I push things, to the change in tone, body language, and eye contact from my man as he goes from my man to my Dom when I am skating the edge with my behaviors.  The unspoken communication that tells me we have that connection.  That shoots thrill through me.  Then, the mental push within me, to I stop, or push it further?  If I push, the soft to stern spoken warnings, and finally, when the last straw is broken, the declaration of punishment to come… Then the absolute torture and agony of waiting for the punishment, preparing to be punished, all up in my head.  The mental ects of it all.  That is what I crave so badly… The moment any legit pain begins, it all ends for me.  I swear, whatever I did, I am sorry, and it won’t happen again any time soon, because I seriously can’t handle the pain!  This girl is not a pain slut by any stretch of the imagination!  If you have legit fallen in love with me and you aren’t a deep sadist, my reaction to sever pain may hurt you more than it does me.  But not likely. And even after deep contemplation of all of this… I sit here aching for it all… still.  smh

Accuse me of having no manners. If you do, OI laugh at you. I have responded to many profiles out here over the many years and 9 out of 10 don't get a reply.  I basically say hi, mention a little about me, sometimes I mention they should read my profile, I ask questions. The other 1 out of 10 that do repley, usually seem to continue a back and forth in exchanging messages but whemn I bring up maybe meeting sometime or doing a chat online or something more interactive than sending the equivalent of email messages, people go silent. FRAUDS! That what this place chuck full of. I doubt anybody meets anyone anymore from this site in person. It is all fun and games and killing time and not being serious about meeting anyone. .

Here is the prolouge for the new book -  let me know if you want to see the full thing, I might look for a place to publish it. The full mansucriot is about 65500 words   Normal 0 false false false false EN-GB X-NONE X-NONE