Hi, my name is Infinite Arms and I’m a masochist. I mean let’s be honest, you’ve got to be to keep attempting to navigate this shit hoping for a decent outcome.  I’m a physical masochist - being hit / given physical pain makes me happy (read very wet) but I’m also a massive emotional and psychological masochist.  The physical bit is easy enough - plenty of people will hit you with hitty things, less people with hit you with fisty things, even less people will cut you, break the occasional rib, but there are people.  The emotional and psychological masochism is the difficult part I’m finding, but my circumstances are probably a big factor in that. I’m married - we met through kink and we still do kink when life allows. But we both have other facets we indulge outside our relationship. I won’t tell you his, he can do that, but mine is very much focussed on someone being mean to me.  There are lots of levels of mean, physical pain is just one of them (a very fun one), but my masochism also leans a lot towards more emotional and psychological aspects and this is the bit I struggle to get in the extracurricular stuff.  So I prefer to play with people who are poly, or not looking for a full time relationship, because I have one of those and he’s wonderful and irreplaceable. I also don’t really like people who are doing it all behind their partners back, because that’s just hard work and it feels pretty crappy to be the one being cheated on so there’s that.  But - and here’s the unicorse poo part - I do need to have some kind of connection / dynamic / relationship for the emotional psychological stuff to be meaningful.  ification and degradation and just general worthlessness is one of my biggest kinks. And, maybe it’s just for me, but that doesn’t work if I have no level of connection with the person who’s making me that low. I like (well love to hate) to be told I can’t touch, or orgasm, in between play sessions. Admittedly I’m sometimes utterly shit at that but I’m working on it. And that doesn’t work if there’s not some sort of friendship or mutual appreciation going on.  In short, I don’t want to marry you, or have any detrimental impact on any relationship you are in. But I cannot promise I won’t be fond of you, because, for me at least, that tends to be a byproduct of having someone be mean to me in the aforementioned ways.  No real reason for this post other than a handy th

I have a confession. I met an odd Greek guy from this site. I dumped him or he let me down and I did not take his offer to remain friends. First date he was amazing was in shock how real he was. Crashing around mine he was ok in bed but snored and really snored. Had a fantasticallly large cock and I am annoyed I did not tie him up. His cock felt, warm and pulsating and I felt fulfilled and I remember tilting my neck back and relasing hot breathing after every grind. I just recall being in sexual purgatory, being dominant but enjoying anal domination, I think the Switchy side allowed the moment to happen. He was reckless with condoms which is why I felt in the bin with him. But now and again I wish he had now NOT cocked up because I would be probably be typing my odd sexual experimental ecounters with him. I liked him, I really liked him but I was so hurt that he was reckless with protection. Not to mention AFTER sex he mentioned his trip to Africa - I am west indian Carribean and all I kept thinking is have you lost your mind you experiement in a country with a high level of minimal medicla support are you insane.  My mind spun, realising this sexy Greek guy with self- esteem issues parading as a switch on collar space may be a high risk individual who should go to the first GUM he can find. I work in a clinical setting and assist HIV patients so this is a big NO NO. I meet every day people who have trusted the wrong person, or have congential issues so passed on from familly or met people who have fallen on real hard times and the world has honestly chewed them up and spat them out and the whole reckless with condoms hit a large nerve. Now and again I reflect on how I enjoyed the snogging, I enjoyed being sexually open and it drives me a little loopy our chapter lasted 2 encounters. Omg, his tongue in on my clit, his tongue in my mouth, his tonue on my arse hole his tongue on my legs and thighs, his tongue on my nipples, his tongue on my belly button, his tongue on my neck - Fuck me! I am also still pissed he brought Alidi food and demanded I buy him steak the little shit but I honestly did like his good side just not his entitled side. Do people really deserve a second chance. He is probably just messaging other women and finding his way into their accommdation for a free overnight stay he is Greek after all. I actually liked him, annoyed by his snoring.  Honestly his snoring was bad if the Walking Dead actually happens he would have to go for survival, his snoring was that bad.  The Walking dead will hear him a mile away.  Honestlly you would have put a pillow over his face to save yourself from the zombies it was that bad. It annoys me while I feel weak I have this back flash of remembering how his tongue felt all over me and remembering the sounds of his moaning and remembering how silky his hair felt when I pulled on it during a climax. Weird, Weird, weird - maybe I will admit defeat I have lost the plot!

Okay let's try this again.  Kicked off the month with the headlight. Not long after that I am pulling into a space at work and a wheel well cover thing falls off of my car. I've been driving around without it, no idea how important it is but I'm sure I'll find out soon enough. Follow that up with taking the trash out one night and the bin hitting and cracking the rear tail light of the car. Perfect.  Let's move beyond the car, shall we? I'm hosting all of my parents for Thanksgiving. For the week, really. I plan out a full menu, hit several stores for every ingredient. Buy a giant turkey so I can make things like turkey soup and turkey pot pie afterwards. Two days before T Day one parent gets covid. The next day another parent gets covid. They aren't coming. I'm down to one parent showing up and roughly four bajillion dollars worth of food. Sigh. But okay, their covid symptoms aren't too horrible and that's what really matters, so let's get back to me. I power through. Fancy Tuesday night dinner. Afterwards I brine the turkey. It's going great, I'm nearly done, just need to add a little more water to top it off. I turn to the sink to finish. And that's when the brine bag tipped over and a river of salty herbal apple cider rushed over and into every nearby surface. At 10:00 at night. There's a lake on the stove. I don't mean a splash of liquid, there's depth to it. A tsunami flowed over the stove, between the stove and counter, all over the counter, into drawers, down into cabinets, and onto the kitchen mats and the floor. Did I mention it's 10:00? Right. Thankfully the entire bag didn't tilt so I refill and hope for the best so I can start kitchen recovery. An hour and an entire roll of paper towels later, I have emptied full drawers into the sink, pulled the stove out to sop up brine and all the herbs down the sides of the stove and counter, washed the floor. And all I can do is laugh, because November is kicking my ass.  But wait, there's more. My dad is in charge of the pie. He brought some ingredients, can't find them, asks me to look through his things. Sure, I can do that. Unzip compartments to take a peek. What am I looking at? It doesn't fully register and I nearly put  my hand in to pull it out. Then it hits me. These are sex toys. Big fucking EW. Why would he not remember that there are things in a bag his daughter probably doesn't want to see? November is trying to kill me.  I met a man. He was interesting and I liked him more than I planned to. Besides being a nice person, we seemed to be on the same page about a lot of things, and that's rare for me. And then he disappeared. Then reappeared. Then disappeared again. I'm chalking it up to bad timing. Oddly enough, the most recent ex is sniffing around. A lot. I have no idea what to do with that.  If CS had not been hungry and eaten the original version, you would have also read about the work thing, the arguments with my dad, and my traitor dog. And there would have been comedy sprinkled throughout. But I'm tired. So this is a poor second attempt to document why November is the absolute worst and there are still several days left. I give up. November wins. 

Realy excited about Victorian lifestyle / Era as in this lifestyle, we are were expected to adhere to strict standards of propriety and modesty. We are expected to be submissive to our husbands and fathers, and to prioritize their domestic duties over any other pursuits. Women were not seen as equal to men. In a Victorian marriage, a wife was expected to be obedient to her husband and to support him in all of his endeavors. She was also expected to manage the household, including caring for the children and running the household finances. A wife was expected to be loyal to her husband, and to maintain a façade of respectability and propriety in all interactions with others. In the Victorian era, a wife was expected to have a number of duties and responsibilities. These included managing the household, caring for the children, and supporting her husband in his endeavors. One of a wife's primary duties was to manage the household. This included overseeing the cooking, cleaning, and other domestic tasks. A wife was also expected to manage the household finances, which involved paying the bills and keeping track of the family budget. In addition to managing the household, a wife was also responsible for caring for the children. This included feeding, bathing, and dressing the children, as well as supervising their education and moral upbringing. Finally, a wife was expected to support her husband in his endeavors. This could include attending social events with him, providing emotional support, and helping him with his work if necessary. Overall, a wife in the Victorian era was expected to fulfill a range of duties and responsibilities in order to support her husband and maintain a happy and well-run household.

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

I’ve been reflecting on past dynamics—especially the ones that carried intensity, structure, and a deep psychological connection. And over time, something became clear to me. Some lost sight of the purpose. They became more focused on punishment than on presence. More attached to the feeling of correction than to the act of truly serving. The dynamic shifted away from alignment… and into fixation. And that’s not what I want to cultivate. Because my role, the way I see it, is not to break men down or leave them in a constant state of need. It’s to guide. To shape. To bring them into alignment with something greater than themselves. That’s where my philosophy of Goddess and matriarchy truly lives. A feminine-centered dynamic, at its highest form, is not about chaos or control for its own sake. It’s about order, intention, and a quiet kind of authority that creates structure others can settle into. Within that structure, the masculine doesn’t disappear—it finds its place. It becomes supportive, focused, and purposeful. That’s where devotion becomes meaningful. Not in desperation. Not in obsession with punishment. But in awareness. In learning how to show up consistently.In understanding how to listen, how to respond, how to serve in a way that actually contributes to something whole. I won’t define what this looks like for everyone. But for me… it has never been about destruction. It’s about refinement. Guidance. And creating a space where submission is not just felt—but lived with clarity, balance, and intention. That is where something truly divine begins to take shape. — Mistress Nikki Vixen

 I suppose I need to update this along with my profile. As I said in my new profile, I am currently living in Virginia and owned as part of a household so I’m no longer looking. I only come here occasionally to chat with a few people I’ve come to know. A lot changed for me at the end of last year when I moved here. This is only the second ownership situation I’ve ever been in. I have a scattered history with the couple who now own me so they aren’t a complete unknown but much of what is expected of me is very new. I am their new alpha and expected to manage the general household as well as some aspects of others that are brought in, either short term or long term. Their prior long-term slave left the household last month and they have taken on a new one, at least on a trial basis. I’m not sure if she’ll last but the mistress has faith in her becoming a permanent part of the household so time will tell I guess. For those who were curious about my tech gig work, I took a couple months off and I’m starting some new work next month. It’ll be tricky balancing that with my household duties so I’m not putting much on my plate at first. On the plus side, since I don’t have any expenses here, all of what I take in can go toward investing my future. I guess that’ll be yet another new situation for me.. lol        

Last profile wasn't showing. So here we go, i am looking for 2 females for poly, those who can take or not but will take pain, also 1 for domestic chores. I have a illness, so i live with my brother, so that puts most off, but you don't try, you don't get. If you can see past that, then great.

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! 

Have this on my other profile as well not that anyone ever reads on this site but, oh well .....LOL Took this online test. Turns out it's exactly the kind of vanilla side in a man that I am looking for. I usually don't do those online tests but I was bored   LOL My guy:  Fun-Loving Charmer  Someone who makes life feel exciting and easy. I'm drawn to humor, confidence, and people who don't take themselves too seriously. Dates should feel like a good time, not an interview.My type: Funny, playful, socialGreen flags: Effort without pressureRed flags: Boring routines, emotional heaviness too fast Yes there has to be a vanilla side as well, or the kind of lifestyle D/s that I am looking for just won't work.  No, you can't fake it, and No, I won't just take your word for it, it has

Starting the New Year Off Right! We had a lovely, laid back New Year's Eve. I was all ready to snuggle in and fall asleep on Master's chest. He had other plans! Just as I got close he sprang his trap. I quickly found his belt looped around my neck. I was completely at his mercy. He would constrict and loosen it as he played with my clit. I quickly became drenched. However, this did not deter him. He continued on increasing my state of arousal as he choked me. This continued for what seemed like forever, but really was more like a half hour. Finally, he pulled me to my knees and sunk his delicious cock all the way into me from behind. Pulling back on the belt still around my neck he forced me into him as he fucked me. Then he changed positions with him on top and he tightened the belt around my throat as he stroked in and out. The choking intesified my own orgasm as we came together. It was a very Happy New Year!

Invocation of the Sacred Masculine     He is not only safe—He is stable, consistent, and emotionally intelligent.His presence is a shelter, not a storm.His steadiness calms the chaos in me. He holds me—In my spiritual depth,In my little space,In my adult power—without flinching, without fear.He meets every part of me and never turns away. He doesn’t just allow my surrender—He protaspects it like something sacred.He honors my trust as a gift, not a given.And in his arms, I remember:I am not too much. I am finally home.

It may have taken nearly two years but the world is back and so am I.   Very excited to meet you!   Let's chat.     

I’m interested in meeting a confident, respectful Dominant who values trust, communication, and mutual respect. I’m looking for a genuine connection with someone who understands that the best dynamics are built on honesty, consent, and getting to know each other first. If you’re kind, emotionally mature, and enjoy good conversation as much as chemistry, I’d love to hear from you. I am also open to talking to couples 

I've been asked a few times how far I'd go with modifications. The short answer is as far as I can without limiting the toys usefulness. Ideally to turn her into a combination of Jessica Rabbit and Hellraiser. So if I find someone as into modifications as I am this is what I'd do. If not, then not. Reality is, if I connect well with someone who has no interest in any of this, the relationship takes priority. I need to find a surgeon who will do some semi illegal procedures once I find a toy. The polypropylene breast implants certainly, so it's udders never stop growing. If not, then silicone up to an H cup. Bone anchor rings in its ankles and wrists to make hobbling it simple and permanent. Pull out its teeth with dentures to be used so it looks better, until it's time to use it orally. The tracheostomy as I already mentioned. Shorten its Achilles tendon so it can only stand in ballet boots. Ass implants if squats don't create enough.                                                                        The rest of the changes I can do: Total hair removal except for pigtails. The nipples, septum, clit and labia all pierced with 8 gauge rings. The tongue split and each side pierced cross ways. Induced lactation. Chastity piercing. Brands and tattoos of ownership as well as for punishment and humiliation. Corset training to 14-12 inches.

The only people I judge are judgmental people themselves. OK, and people who've asked me to judge them. But that totally muddies the nice, clean quote. ;) I have kicked around this scene of ours for long enough that I remember when YKINMKBIOK was plain survival. Before the web got into every home, if you knew a few people in your area, who were into kink, you clung to them. It didn't matter that I was into the mental side of things, into D/s, while one of them was into sploshing, another into male masochism and the third was into vinyl. That there were three others who were just as weird as me was AMAZING. The huge growth of the scene, that we worked hard for, has been a huge blessing. But it's also given us so many others, that we can find so easily, it's easy to slip into judging others because, well, we'll have plenty of friends left. Don't like the way they do rope? Let's label them as wrong or dangerous. Squick over diapers? Let's call them freaks and borderline pedophiles. Don't like the way they do heavy mental play? Clearly abusers! And look how much better it makes our insecure selves feel about ourselves that we've managed to tear down others! That's not me. I can't do it. I'm not into Daddy/little. I'm not into diapers. Fifty Shades isn't my BDSM ideal. Mind you, I'm not a huge fan of O, or Gor, either. But I love that others are! I love that you freaks and perverts have  so much passion for the things you love. I think it's amazing, the really strong relationships you build around your interests. I am so deeply, deeply, happy that you can find peace in who you are. Your Kink Is Not My Kink But It's OK. It's more than OK. Not for me, but I love that it works for you and good luck to you!

I'm not seeking the professional Dominatrix or the self-appointed Domme. I'd rather have the enthusiastic amateur looking for her person, with complementary interests, measuring happiness not by material things but with time spent together. Now this might seem contradictory, given I like assertive women but I'm not looking to be bossed around all the time, dislike being bitched at, and would rather not deal with any woman who is constantly in a foul mood and needs to take it out on someone else. Sure, once in a while, for fun is acceptable but calm, even-tempered, and balanced is the personality type I seek. Add in loving and supportive; something too many 18-year-old pro-doms seem not to understand. And I'll keep money out of it as well, thank you.

Recently someone asked me in an email what five principles I would offer to submissives wanting to get into the lifestyle... first and foremost, you always have the right to stop ANYTHING at ANYTIME if you dont feel comfortable with it consensual means you both agree to and want it without coercion the best and healthiest relationships, not just within the lifestyle, are those with open, honest, non judgmental conversations that take place throughout ...not just before or after scenes casual bdsm, giving someone you dont know or trust the ability to destroy you, is about as safe as taking a ride from a stranger down a dark isolated road, it could easily be the end of your life go into it with an open mind, you dont have to know what you like or have an interest in and might learn some things you thought you didnt like you actually do, but if you know there are things that you never want to try, voice them and expect them to be respected, not all dominants are the same and those who dont respect hard limits are not true doms

Above all else, I’d like my ideal M/s dynamic to be established on and occupied with love. Mutual respect is a must. W/we would foremost seek to meet each other’s needs completely in a monogamous relationship. He would be in charge, make the decisions, rules and protocols; but seek my input where appropriate and value my opinion. I would like to wear His collar (and leash when appropriate) as a reminder of O/our commitment. Shared interests, in both vanilla and kink activities, should be present. Shared values would also be helpful, in both social, religious and financial concerns. I would hope, after some time, that this type of relationship might lead to a union of marriage or long term cohabitation / commitment. Broadly, I’d like the power exchange dynamic to permeate the relationship both in and out of the bedroom 24/7, but that W/we both have our lives and lead them together and apart. I do not seek to be a “kept” slave, but I do want to know He is in control at all times. This can take the form of rules, protocols, and expectations / goals. I would expect that full discussion of limits (hard and soft) would be discussed thoroughly, and that safe words wouldn’t be necessary or allowed once trust was established. This would aid in the vast possibility of CNC activities (within the confines of the pre-established limits). I would hope He would also push my limits over time. While W/we are together, He would exert His dominance in whatever way He chooses. I would attempt to anticipate His needs, but obey His requests as made. These requests could be sexual, domestic, or kink in nature. As a masochist, it would be helpful if He were a Sadist. I want to know He is getting as much out of the impact play as I am. This Sadistic predilection would also aid in intensifying the play and intensifying the benefit W/we both receive from it. I would expect that protocols would be established to help define the power exchange dynamic. These would be different when W/we were together alone, or together in public (or with family and vanilla friends). Public protocols would be known to us, but invisible to those around us such as waiting until He takes a bite until beginning to eat, sitting on a specific side, looking for a head nod to get up from a meal, wearing an insertable while out, etc. In private, protocols might include clothing restrictions, eye contact restrictions, greeting positions, speaking, bedtime rituals, distance, etc. Protocols would also assist Him in maintaining control when W/we weren’t together. These might include communication requirements, requesting permission (i.e. to do things or go places), journaling, maturbation, bedtimes, curfews, and the like. The concept of “protect His property” would be an overarching protocol that would manifest as rules / protocols when apart, but when in doubt “protect His property”. The idea that when W/we are together, He is looking out for my best interest and safety, but when apart, that job falls to me. I would expect that He would want me to grow and better myself. He would help me establish goals and hold me accountable to reaching them. These goals could be educational, health, career, kink, etc in nature. Periodic oversight and/or establishing benchmarks would be useful in ensuring progress. Punishment or negative reinforcement would need to be outlined so expectations are clear. I always strive to be the “good girl”, however, I would expect punishment if deserved. While I wouldn’t never fail or disobey to get a punishment, I would need to believe that followthrough on punishment would be made if I deserved it. Punishment would be warranted when protocols were broken or if progress toward goals hadn’t been met. I realize that punishment is hard to define for a masochist, but not impossible.

In correspondence with a gent, I was inspired to write this.  I am posting it here because it will help you understand me. Q1 - Are you looking for a Unicorn?  Since it has only been a few months since my beloved hubby died, I am NOT seeking My Unicorn at this time.  Instead, I seek D/s friends and experiences so that I can enjoy My Dominance.   Q2 - What do you like to do or have done to you? I'm not going to list specific sexual activities here.  You can read my preferred activities in my profile.  I put much care into what I have selected there. I will, however, tell you about Me and My sexuality.  I enjoy connected conversation, a gents' scent as we hug and that tingle in My loins as he kisses My hand.  I enjoy the angst on his face when I direct him to lift My hair while I put on My jacket.  An then, I revel in the public intimacy as he reaches into the warmth at the nape of My neck and lifts My hair. I'm very oral and tactile.  I love kissing, massage and foot worship.  I love to be touched and tasted.  Yes, he shall tend Me.  But more, he shall adore Me.  I am possessive of My boys' genitals and ass.  CFNM seems a natural way of being and reinforcing status.  I am private.  My gent and I understand the quality of our time together.  But, it's nobody else's business. LadyD.

It has been a long day, of chores, serving and some punishments finally I am at my official last task . My last task is to wait on master, kneeling by his bedside until he finally sleeping soundly before I can retreat to the quarter.    A slave can only sleep after the master's sleep and must rise up earlier than the master to wait on him.    Finally, when the master is sound asleep, I did the routine bow (careful with every actions because I am always watched by the CCTV) before retreating to the quarter right beside the master's bedroom.    Master has partitioned a small room barely the size of 3m by 1m right beside his room as a slave quarter. The furnishing only comprise of a bed, few hangers for the uniforms, and a small side table. It does not have any window (afterall slaves don't deserves such), and is ventilated by a 2 small ventilation fans on the wall. The lighting is only a few light bulbs which is create alot of heat when it is switched on.  My bed is actually a thin mattress lining in it, with a hard elevated pillow. Master designed the bed this way as a reminder to of my lowly status. Once in the quarter, though my official duties are finished, I am still required to perform my basic slave admin duties before turning in. I have a strict routine to follow, failure which will add to my huge pool of punishment debt which I have already owed master.    Sidetrack: Soiling of uniform is an extremely grave crime. Despite, slave is not allowed to clean the uniform until the end of the work day, which is after the master sleeps.    Changing uniforms Once in the quarters, I am is allowed to change to the regular uniform.    I swiftly, yet with demurely unbotton and remove the blazer, next the inner vest, and finally the bow tie and the blouse... And most notably, out of the heels.    Finally feel some breathing air the moment I undressed out of the formal uniform- it was so tight and restrictive, and always sweating under the many layers. And finally freed ever painful super high heels.    Image of the undressing process:       DevineDani203