FFS people! READ profiles before contacting someone! Yes, my profile lists me as a switch, but that does not mean I want to do anything and everything with everyone. I am looking for a male dominant, and a female slave. I am NOT looking for a male sub for anything other than maybe domestic, manual labour. I am NOT interested in a sissy, CD/TV (unless they fit the aforementioned manual labour bill), FLR, or any form of meaningful "relationship" with a submissive male. As noted in my profile here, my blog profile lists EVERYTHING I am seeking in great detail. READ IT!

On Realistic Expectations and the Woman You Are Serving   Let me be plain with you, because plainness here is a kindness and I have never been interested in the alternative. I attended a funeral last weekend. Alone.  I want to sit with that for a moment before I say anything else, because it is the most precise illustration I could offer of everything this journal is about. There is a specific and particular indignity in navigating grief in public without someone beside you. Not because I cannot do it, I can do anything alone, I have proven this repeatedly and without fanfare. But because a woman like me should not have to. Because the presence of a devoted and capable partner at your side during the hardest moments of ordinary life is not a luxury. It is what partnership is for. It is, in fact, one of the most fundamental things a serious dynamic should provide: someone who stands beside you in the moments that cost you something, who carries the social weight of difficult occasions, who is simply and solidly there so that you can grieve or endure or simply get through the day without also having to do it visibly alone. I disdain it. I will not dress that up. I disdain walking into rooms full of people as a woman unaccompanied, not because my worth requires a witness, but because I have built enough of a life to deserve someone who shows up for it completely, including the parts that are not beautiful or exciting or charged with the particular electricity of our dynamic. The funeral is not glamorous. It is not a candlelit dinner or a weekend in Greece. It is a Saturday in grief clothes standing in a room full of loss, and I will do it with my back straight and my composure intact because that is who I am, and I will come home to an empty house afterward, and I will feel the absence of what should be there with the specific sharpness of something that is missing rather than something that never existed. This is what I mean when I talk about realistic expectations cutting in both directions. I am a mother first. This is not a disclaimer. It is not an apology. It is the organizing fact of my life around which everything else, including you, arranges itself. I have two children in their preteen years, which anyone who has raised children knows is one of the most demanding and most critical seasons of a young person's life. They require my presence, my attention, my emotional availability, my time, and my energy in quantities that do not leave a remainder to be distributed according to your preferences. If you have arrived here expecting a Goddess with unlimited hours and frictionless availability, you have arrived at the wrong door. This weekend, I had my children.  My time was spent on them, because it is exactly where that time should be spent.  I am also finishing my education, because I am a woman who does not stop building herself simply because life has become complex. I work. I manage a household. I carry the particular and invisible weight that women carry, the planning and the anticipating and the holding of a thousand threads simultaneously, the mental labor that has no clock-out time and no weekend. What this means for you practically is something I need you to hear completely before you decide whether this life is what you actually want or simply what you have romanticized from a comfortable distance. My time is not abundant. It is finite and it is precious and it is allocated with the precision of someone who cannot afford to waste it. There will be days, entire stretches of days, where the children need me and school demands me and work requires me and what is left over is not nothing but it is quiet and it is mine and I will spend it restoring myself rather than managing your need for attention. This is not neglect. This is the reality of serving a woman with a full and serious life, and if you cannot hold yourself with dignity and purpose during those stretches then you are not the caliber of person this dynamic requires. A serious long term FLR TPE with a woman like me is not a constant performance of dominance and submission playing out in real time every hour of every day. It is a structure. It is an understanding so deeply embedded in the way we live that it does not require constant activation. It runs underneath everything, informing how the household operates, how decisions are made, how resources are allocated, how your time and energy are directed even when I am at a school pickup or a study session or simply in a bath with the door closed and my phone face down. Your place in this dynamic is to raise me. Not in the sense that I require raising. In the sense that your devotion, your service, your resources and your effort should be oriented toward elevating my life, reducing my load, creating space around me so that I can be the mother, the student, the professional, and the Goddess that I am without the additional friction of a partner who has become another item on my list of things to manage. You are not here to add to my weight. You are here to carry some of it. That means the household runs because you run it. It means my children's lives are easier because our home is stable and managed and full of the kind of calm that only exists when someone competent is handling the infrastructure of daily life with care. It means you have found your purpose and your structure in the service itself, not in the moments of explicit dynamic play, because those moments are real but they are not the whole of what this is. The whole of what this is lives in the Tuesday afternoon when I have a deadline and a tired child and you have already handled dinner and the house is quiet and I can do what I need to do because you have made space for it. It lives in the Saturday morning of a funeral when I do not have to walk in alone. That is the submission I am describing. Not the aesthetic of it. The actual weight-bearing practice of it, daily, in the ordinary moments that make up most of a life. The grief clothes and the school pickups and the late study nights and the hard weekends. The presence that does not require the occasion to be significant in order to show up for it completely. If you can find your satisfaction there, in the real and unglamorous work of elevating another person's existence, then you understand something essential about what I am offering and what I require. The collar and the candlelight exist. They are real and they are extraordinary. But they rest on a foundation of consistent, intelligent, humble service that asks nothing of me except that I receive it well. I receive it very well. But you have to bring it first, and bring it correctly, and bring it to the funeral as readily as you bring it to the beautiful moments, because the funeral is where it counts the most and the beautiful moments are easy. I am worth the patience. I am worth the long view. I am worth showing up for on the hard Saturdays. The question is whether you are the person who actually does.

Message to Another user when Questioned about deepthroating You just have to start slow and if it isn't working just relax your tongue & angle slightly different until it's a smooth motion into your throat. Then relax & let it go in & out. Then (if you did Swim team) do quick breaths of air in between some of the facefucking. If you have a long term guy to train you and get you used to it and the whole process it's not too hard. Unless your mouth is too small or under/overbite then .. Sucks for you. Or if the guy has a right angle member then.. That's pretty hard lol In terms of my oral health I'm 100% clean. Tested and STD Free & HIV Negative. I have health insurance/Dental too and even Vision (Wears contacts) I have all white teeth, no cavities or crowns, and I enjoy brushing them throughout the day. A clean mouth is a good mouth. Fresh breath. Marketing Major Caregiver/BarBack Have a nice Car Good place (can't host) Good head not emotionally wrecked or anything just enjoy being used and having fun.

Don't give up my first journal. Hi I'm mistress muse and I am dominant to my wolf.  If there is one thing that being on the scene has taught me, it would be to never give up. I spent so long in fruitless vanilla relationships that although, true, filled with love and all the nice things that people claim to experience in these things it also carried with it a weight. It was like a brick in my chest, a wrong feeling, an alone feeling, a dark hopeless feeling, a sinking if you will. Which in a way was true I was drowning I was drowning in self doubt I was drowning in a sea of misunderstandings and depravity. The love I craved seemed so taboo it almost seemed impossible to obtain. I may have been looking in the wrong places but even kinky people I've known for years on the scene would often look baffled if I piped up some of my perversions. I then met someone I had known in a completely vanilla setting... So vanilla in fact even he hadn't really noticed me before... a friend who knew of his kinks thought we would be quite suited. Looking back now I find it amusing that both him and I scoffed at the idea but Kinky curiosity got the better of us. There was this feeling everytime we spoke... A feeling of understanding... A good feeling... A weightless feeling soon combined with a feeling of want. I wanted this man... I was fucking getting him. On the scene for years he has been known as z3ro (zero) but ladies gents and pets let me tell you this he is anything but a zero so from the very beginning I have refused to use this name for him. He became my Wølf, my alpha bitch, my sub, my friend, my mirror and my PARTNER. I have used this term quite freely in the past but with him it's different. He is my partner in crime he is my play partner he is my intellectual chewing gum. He turns my head and the way my brain works. I never thought it was possible to find someone to just get me and be able to match my sadistic evil streak. To find someone on the same interlectual level as me. For me to find someone just as twisted as me. For this I am grateful and this is why my wisdom(me) for the day is this.... JUST DON'T GIVE UP

What being a prey means for me Finding someone who will grow with me and pursue me always. Someone who enjoys the chase. Someone who will look for ways to outsmart me and capture me. Someone who will put in the effort to get me. Someone who craves me! Play wrestling, biting randomly and many other aspaspects appeal to me in many ways even though it's much newer than the other parts of me it is still there.

Feeling my arms getting locked tightly behind my back with leather straps. Wrists first, then my elbows. Bit by bit loosing more and more freedom.. I revel in the feeling of slowly having my freedom stripped away. That moment when realization strikes that I'm truly caught and defenseless. Completely at the mercy of another... Just thinking about it is enough to make my heart go BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!  

I want to be a sissy house wife, something like a 1950's household but maybe the clothes might be updated, but the dresses are really cute, or domestic discipline, 24/7 TPE I believe in a male dominant house, a gurl should be a slave/servant to her man/master/daddy. Her mind should be on how to please him and care for his needs, her pleasure coming from being in his service. I want to serve a man domesticly, it is the job of a sissy housewife to keep the house how her master/daddy wants it. I also believe a gurl is a slave to her man/daddy/master. He should pick out her clothes for the day, give her a list of chores he wants completed, and train her on how he wants her to be, rewarding her for good behavior and punishment for bad behavior. A gurl should wake up somewhat earlier than her daddy/man/master. She should shower, shave and clean here before making him coffee/breakfast. She should be completely naked accept for her collar and cuffs, and wake him up with a blowjob. After swallowing his gift, she needs to prepare to be his urinal and swallow his pee. After this, she should help him shower if he wants, or wait in the bedroom on her knees for him to get done. Once done, he will pick out what she wears and she will put it on before serving him breakfast, blowing him if he wants it. She will see him off as he leaves the house and then complete the housework. She should then greet him on her knees as he comes home, at that time she should perform any tasks he commands before he inspaspects the house and punishes for anything not done or not done properly. Dinner should be prepared for him and served to him. At night, she should perform all tasks he gives her before bed. Her body and mind is her gift to him and she gladly gives it to him, this means he uses and trains her as he wants. Pain or pleasure, a good sissy housewife accepts both eagerly and enjoyment. I hope I find my man someday.

Helpful hints: I am poly. This means I may have other subs or lovers. Or none. According to my desires.You don't have to be poly but I will not change who I am to be with anyone. I enjoy men and women and the full spectrum in between. My interests aren't about what's between your legs so much as what is in your mind, heart and soul. I do enjoy naughty bits but I prefer to get to know you first. See if we are a good match. I host local kink events. I have a busy and fulfilling life. In order to get my attentions you will have to be interesting and should put your best foot forward. I enjoy intelligent people, no matter if they are verbose or quiet. If you're too verbose, I do have a ball gag. :) I live in Alaska. Yes it's cold here. Yes it's dark here. Yes I see the aurora's outside my house. Yes it's full of wildlife and quite amazing. Yes it's a bucket list destination. I'm happy to talk about it but if that's all you want to know then watch the discovery channel. Good luck.  

I want a truly submissive, Female Supremacist who is acquiescent to their core and craves pampering a Beautiful and Dominant Goddess. I am bored of being approached by porn sick sex focused faux-subs who want to use Women to fulfill their kinks and "domestic shlubs". Cleaning My toilet is not an act of submission. Worshipping any sexual parts of my body is not an act of submission. Understanding your role as a male and sub in the order of My World is an act of submission. Begging to know how you can be of use, cater to Me and relieve Me of stress or woes is an act of submisoon. I am a dream Woman by all standards. I expect any sub who even attempts to approach Me to have a "how can i tangibly make Your day better, Goddess" attitude. Enough with the sex and domestic crazed bs. It's lazy, patronizing and patriarchal. The only sub I'll accept is one who hired a cleaning service to work while I'm enjoying a spa day that they arranged for Me. Afterward, they will prepare a delicious meal for Me, then I let out My pent up stress on them in a corporal manner, or have My feet massaged and kisssed...whatever mood stirs Me.

THE NIGHT I MET BRIAN, part 1   Towering over most people at 6'8" (in boots), he was hard to miss. Every time I looked at him, he was already staring at me. Due to circumstances at the time that I'd rather not get into, we'd nod an acknowledgement to one another, but never spoke. Tall, skinny, a bit on the younger side, he bordered on awkward, yet simultaneously confident. Our first real conversation happened online, on a BDSM board called Recon. I didn't realize I was chatting with him at first, though the height in his description made me wonder. He was polite when he contacted me. He used complete sentences and asked thoughtful questions. Once we traded photos, we both had a kind of "wow, it's you" moment. Then the conversation turned to what we were there for. Are you interested in doing a scene? What kind of scene? He told me he'd already had fantasies about tying me up and making me worship his (size 14!) boots. He certainly knew how to talk to me and keep my attention. He'd observed me several times observing his boots, a very astute observation for a 25yo. (Even moreso for someone his real age.) We discussed what we wanted in a scene, what we didn't want, as well as sexual fantasies, past experiences, things we'd like to try eventually, etc. We agreed on a scene that would involve bondage, humiliation and boot worship, but not sex. Although we were not averse to sex (and were very much sexually attracted to one another), we agreed that focusing on our mutual interests in S&M would be more than enough to satisfy us both. After some discussion and negotiation, I was ordered to show up at a designated address (later in the week, following more nodding and flirting and anticipation), wearing head to toe leather. Once admitted inside, I was to kneel submissively before him and let him take it from there. As when I saw him before, he was dressed in military fatigues and combat boots, which I would come to learn was his everyday look. He started off by admonishing me for being late. I wasn't late, but I also wasn't inclined to start off the scene arguing with him. He reached down and with a single finger, pulled the collar of my leather shirt away from my body, not-so-subtly surveying what would be his for the next few hours. He asked me a few innocuous questions while cuffing my hands behind my back. He made the cuffs tight enough to be unforgiving, but not so tight as to lose circulation. He picked up my backpack and asked if I'd brought everything we'd discussed. He dumped the contents on the floor and picked up the leather slave collar he told me to bring. He held it up to my neck and said, "I like it." He made the collar as tight as the cuffs, but not so tight that I couldn't breathe. He definitely knew what he was doing. Next came the blindfold, something we hadn't discussed. After a momentary freak-out, I decided not to protest. Aside from being against the rules, I really wanted to see (ha ha) where this was heading. He had given me a vague idea of what was in store, but left the details to my imagination. I'd entered his house through the back door, which was closer to the basement. Bound and blindfolded, I was led carefully down the 4 stairs to the awaiting basement where I'd spend the next few hours under his control. He sat me in a chair and proceeded to bind me, fully leathered, in layers of rope. Rope around my chest, around my legs just above the knees, rope around my ankles. Tight, restrictive and unforgiving. He knew how to tie a good knot, later revealing that he honed this skill during his time as a boy scout. ("Yes, I did learn something useful in the scouts!") What he did next was unnerving. He pulled up a chair and sat right in front of me, staring in silence. For the longest time, I could feel his eyes burning into me, but he said nothing. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Now that he had me all tied up and helpless, was he reconsidering? Time seemed to stretch on forever. Just how long had we been sitting there? I couldn't stand it, and finally spoke up."Sir?""SPEAK!""Sir? What can I do to please you, Sir?""YOU CAN SIT THERE AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!"Now, I've known since birth that I'm different. But I cannot describe how turned-on I was by being told so forcefully to shut up. I briefly considered apologizing for my transgression, but that wouldn't have been shutting the fuck up, now, would it?He continued to stare at me silently, then abruptly stood up and said, "I am very disappointed with what rung my doorbell. I'm going to let you sit here and think about that." I could hear him walk slowly up the stairs, turn off the basement light and slam the door shut, leaving me, leathered and bound and blindfolded, alone in the darkness. Left alone for what seemed like an hour (it was actually 20 minutes), my imagination ran wild. I could hear him walking back and forth upstairs, possibly to taunt me? At one point, I started to wonder if he'd forgotten about me. But then I could hear the distinctive sound of his boots hitting each step as he re-entered the basement. Each step made me hornier with anticipation than the last."Miss me?" he asked as he rubbed my leather-clad crotch, running his strong hands firmly up my chest, and then through my hair. He asked me a personal question, which I attempted to evade, until he grabbed my hair and jerked my head back. "Michael, when I ask you a question, you answer it, promptly and honestly. Do you understand?" "Yes, Sir!" Surprised to learn that despite all the rope, I wasn't actually tied to the chair, he lifted me out of the chair and gently set me face down, still blindfolded, on the concrete floor. After a brief pause, he ordered me to lick his boots. My cock lurched in my leather pants at the command, but no sooner than I laid my tongue on his boot, he pulled it away and walked to the other side of the room. "I'm over here, Michael," he taunted. Still fully-leathered and tightly-bound, I started to wriggle my body across the hard, unforgiving concrete floor, thankful for my leather padding, toward the sound of his voice. Moving was laborious and exhausting, but I eventually arrived at this awaiting boot. He moved a second time. I hesitated. "MY BOOTS AREN'T GOING TO LICK THEMSELVES, MICHAEL!" Right. So, I once again wriggled across the concrete floor in the general direction of his voice.He didn't move when I arrived at his boot for the third time. Humiliated and horny, I ran my tongue along his size 14 with greedy hunger, coating it in a thin layer of my saliva, only able to imagine the shine I hoped it left behind. I switched boots when he commanded, and having coated the foot portion in my saliva, was running my tongue up the boot shaft when I noticed that he'd started breathing heavily. Was he jacking off?  Had he abandoned our "no sex" agreement? As if reading my mind, he said in a clipped and mildly breathless manner, "I want to fuck you.""OK," I responded. "Do you want me to fuck you, Michael?""Yes. Yes, I do." I could feel my precum slickening the thong I wore under my leather pants.He pressed his size 14 between my shoulder blades. "You mean, 'Yes, Sir, I do.'""Yes, Sir, I do." I was about to fucking burst!"I need you to say, 'Yes, Sir, I want you to fuck me.'"I knew he was asking for consent. Although I would've enjoyed it either way, I was relieved that he asked for consent. This meant that he was not a psychopath."Yes, Sir, I want you to fuck me." Things hadn't gone exactly as planned, but flexibility is a crucial life skill.   continued

 When I wrote my profile, I had no idea what this site was like, but now that I've been here for a little while, I have a few things to add:I'm not interested in slaves, domestic servants or switches. This should go without saying, but I'm also not interested in men who aren't single. Long distance relationships don't work. If you don't currently live in (or near enough to conveniently drive to) the state of Florida, we will not be a match.My inbox has been flooded with messages from nameless, faceless guys who want to chat, but I'm not on this site looking for anonymous penpals. I'm sorry.I'm not interested in talking to submissives without photos. You've seen my face. If you feel uncomfortable showing me yours, that's totally fine, but if you're just words on a screen, I'm not going to be able to take you seriously. I am monogamous, and I have absolutely no interest in cuckolding. If that sort of thing interests you, you are not a candidate for the kind of relationship I'm looking for, so please don't waste my time or yours.  

"Switch"? ~ What it Means Pertaining to Me  I am not "a Domme" or "a sub", and definitely not a slave. I am a free woman with a generally dominant personality, who lives by Gorean principles and philosophies in real life, and also engages in BDSM activities. I tend to be "toppy" toward those on the more submissive end of the continuum, though I do usually at least defer to free men, and will conditionally submit to those I deem worthy of such. Apparently, the "switch" moniker is very confusing to some people, so I will go into detail here about what it does - and doesn't - mean, in my case. We'll start with the "doesn'ts", since those seem to be the most oft misunderstood. "Switch" does NOT mean:   I go back and forth from free to slave. It's a BDSM activity preference - not an indication of status. I am free. Period. Submitting to certain men or enjoying bottoming for some activities does not make me "a sub". It just means I enjoy a variety of activities, and that I am a woman who embraces natural order, so tend to show submissive traits in the presence of strong, dominant, free men, despite my mostly dominant personality. I will do/be/play whatever role you are seeking I'm not a fetish dispenser! Do not treat me like one. my role within any specific D/s dynamic is flexible It isn't. The boss is the boss, and stays the boss. The FC/sub/beta/slave/whatever s-type obeys. I "switch" between being/identifying as dominant or  submissive depending on my mood, the day, the phase of the moon, or any other whims.  I do not.  I am simply who and what I am. I relate to others depending on their place on the spectrum of dominance and submission as compared to mine, and, as appropriate, their status or rank as compared to mine. "Switch DOES mean (for me)  I enjoy both "topping" and "bottoming" in BDSM activities/scenes, regardless of D/s involvement (or lack thereof) at various times and with different people.  I respond in different ways to different people or types of people - Some people trip the dominant trigger, some trip the submission trigger, and some people do neither. That's just the way I'm wired. Telling me what I "should" do, or trying to demand, cajole, whine, bitch, or otherwise manipulate me into relating to you in your desired manner will backfire. Badly!  For a more in-depth look at the topic... The word, "switch", for me, is only a label for convenience. It doesn't encapsulate who or what I AM. I am a strong woman with a dominant personality and submissive tendencies. I believe in the natural order of things (more on that in a future post), and that D/s is not a clear cut, either/or sort of thing. Rather, dominance and submission are character traits on a continuum, which vary from person to person, with every person falling somewhere on the scale, creating somewhat of a hierarchy.  That means that a single person may be submissive or subordinate to some, whilst outranking or being dominant to others, at the same time.   It was recently compared by someone in a discussion to that of a wolf pack. I tend to agree with that allegory.  A pack will have an alpha male and, generally, an alpha female. The alpha female is the boss bitch, and she is dominant over the rest of the pack, but, she is still submissive to the alpha male, with whom the buck stops. She is still very much free to do as she wishes, and no one had best mess with her unless they are ready and willing to attempt to fight her, and potentially her mate, but she yields to him, because it is how they are biologically wired. The same is true, I believe, with humans. Another comparison is that to serving in the Armed Forces. A Drill Instructor is God to the recruits in their platoon, but if an Officer is on deck, that same Sgt. (or whatever) damn well better snap to attention and salute along with those recruits, and the C.O. (Commanding Officer) merits same from all of the aforementioned, going on up the chain of command right up to the Commandant, and then the Commander in Chief himself.  In neither of those comparisons, does an individual bounce between two or more separate "roles". They occupy their given role, and interact with others and the rest of the world accordingly, depending on those others' respective roles. They don't have to transition from one "mindset" to another, because they know their place in the larger scheme of things, and everything just flows naturally from there.  It is simply a fact that there are more than two "ranks" in life, and in nature. I will not separate out my dominant and submissive traits into separate "personas". They are not. I am me. I am a whole, integrated, complete person, with many different facets. I choose to embrace that. Neither will I "dumb down", pretend to be less than, submit, or pretend to submit to anyone, simply by virtue of their gender, status, or because they claim a certain title or position. I will start out being respectful to others, and will defer, to a degree, and maintain a submissive attitude with free men as long as they don't give me reason to do otherwise. From there, they will either earn my respect, and the added deference that may accompany it, or they will earn... something less, and I will do my best to at least remain civil, so long as they can avoid pushing me too far. Do not mistake a respectful demeanor, good manners, polite deference, or knowing my place in the natural order of things for outright submission. There is a distinct difference, and making assumptions is an unwise idea.

Damn it. What is the magic elixir of who can Dominate me? Whether or not it's mental or sexual, it's like a freaking black hole for me! I think some of it must be a drop of humilation, control, power exchange (but it's much more then that, cause if a Dom tried that on me and it's not a good fit, I'll just laugh) as much as I resist that thought, it's apparent to me these days that some part of being out on a limb mentally, so to speak, is very exciting to me, and if done right, gets me very wet very quickly, and into a deep sexual submissive space. But really, it's not about orders, calling me certain names, it's about the mental game! But what *exactly* is that? Power, control, authority, desire, masculinity.  I would love to have a smart and savvy Dom talk to me about this!  Recently I meet a Dominant on here that, in all honesty, had me at a hot panty drop within a week! I mean, seriously, he unleashed my libido. It was HOTTTT. It was sexy! Why was he so different?  And he wasn't the first; I've met many Doms that could get me to undress with a look, I so craved their attention and needed their desire. But that was it. It was so obvious that other than sex we had virtually nothnig to talk about, no realy mutual connection of any intellect, no lead up, aftercare. So frustrating! So I fucked and masturbated like a frenetic sex doll for as long as it lasted, crying into my pillow for a Dom that would also engage me mentally on a subject other than his hard cock. I mean that's wonderful, great, but I need more. I want to travel, to deeply engage and talk, to explore the bigger life, to get out and make fantastic adventures, make a home.  Can I have both? Is it possible to find both? Can we find both?  I'm trying so hard to share and give the keys to this kitten to someone worthy! I'm tired of the dichotomy. Fuck my brain, my heart, my pussy. I know you're out there! 

ALWAYS MANOR: THE LEGACY The lawyer’s office smelled faintly of old leather and strong coffee. Tessa sat stiff-backed in a chair too soft for her liking, her paramedic’s jacket folded neatly over her lap. She had come straight from a night shift, still carrying the phantom weight of sirens and the metallic tang of blood in her nose. Sitting here, among mahogany shelves and polished brass, felt wrong. April should have been the one in this room, laughing that velvet laugh of hers, teasing Tessa for looking so out of place. But April wasn’t here. And that truth was a splinter lodged too deep to pull. The lawyer cleared his throat, a small man in a larger suit. “As per the wishes of the late Ms. April Laurent…” He began reading, his voice even and practiced, but every word was a pin dragged across raw skin. Bequests went first to charities April supported: a scholarship for young nurses, a donation to an animal rescue. April always gave more of herself than anyone knew. Then came the pause. The lawyer adjusted his glasses, eyes flicking to Tessa. “To my dearest friend, Tessa Holt…”             Her stomach tightened. “…I leave my estate, including the residence on Brookhaven Street, its contents, the club—The Haven—and…” another pause, as though uncertain how to phrase the next words, “…my submissive, Daniel. It is my wish that he remains under your care, guidance, and protection.” The words hung in the air like a struck bell.             Tessa blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”             The lawyer coughed into his hand. “It’s quite explicit in her will. She names you as custodian and—ah—successor.” A chair creaked across the table. Daniel lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed but steady. He had been silent through everything, hands folded, shoulders bowed. Now he whispered, with a reverence that sent a chill down Tessa’s spine: “Yes, Mistress.” The title wasn’t hers. Not yet. But the weight of it pressed down, heavy as any body she’d ever tried to save. Heat crawled up the back of her neck. “No,” she said, sharper than she intended. “That can’t be right. April wouldn’t—she wouldn’t leave me a person.” The lawyer raised his palms defensively. “I assure you, Ms. Holt, the will is legally sound. The… phrasing is unusual, but the intent is clear. Mr. Daniel Shaw is, in every practical sense, part of the estate and your responsibility.” Tessa’s gaze snapped to Daniel. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. He just watched her with quiet, steady eyes that seemed too calm, too accepting. “This isn’t…” She exhaled hard, fingers knotting the fabric of her jacket. “This isn’t how it works. I save lives. I don’t… own them.” Daniel lowered his gaze, voice low but firm. “You don’t own me, yet, Mistress. April entrusted me to you. There’s a difference.” The word landed again—Mistress. A mantle she had only worn once, with disastrous results. April had been the natural one, the woman others orbited. Tessa had only stood at her side, not in her place. Her throat tightened. “I’m not April.” “No,” Daniel agreed softly. “But she chose you.” The lawyer shuffled papers, clearly eager to move on, but the room felt smaller, denser. Tessa sat frozen, torn between disbelief and the creeping awareness that her best friend had just handed her a world she didn’t know if she could carry. “To clarify, Ms. Holt,” the lawyer said, “your late friend was very thorough. The property and assets are yours outright. As for Mr. Shaw—” his gaze flicked to Daniel, then back to Tessa, “—April did not mean ownership in the literal, legal sense. She established a trust. The house, and a portion of her funds, are designated for his upkeep. You have been named custodian of that trust.”  Phalanx86 

I have long been fascinated by the basic concept of "How". How do I develop actual power over a sub. How do I instill a true mindset of submission or devotion. How do I get and keep control/power over a whole person. How do I actually mold someone, train them. How do I create an environment where I can unleash myself. How do I get the results that I desire. One thing I've learned is that people develop a core let's say picture of themselves. They develop this idea of who they are in their head, how does she talk, walk, dress, think, her desires, priorities, perceptions, etc etc. Once we have this image in our head this definition of who we are, our minds will do mental backflips to rationalize anything that might challenge this. There is an incredible inertia against any form of challenge or change. Even if you want to change, even if you want to be someone else, it's climbing a mountain. I have met all too many submissive women who on the face of things are willing to do an endless litany of gross, dirty, rough things. Their minds then go through this incredible process of rationalization and narrative building to square that in a way that doesn't challenge their inner self. They will then balk at something incredibly simple that invades their non submissive compartmentalization. One of the core pillars in my philosophy of dominance is to challenge her conception of herself. If I can subjugate your idea of who you are, I can move the real you in so many possible directions. Real power and dominance is not about how hard I can hit you or making you do the grossest things I can think of, it is about owning the idea of you. Once that is done the possibilities are endless.