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! 

Sissy Bimbo Journal Entry: Hello, darlings! 💕✨ This is your cute little bimbo sissy, just putting it out there: I’m ready and begging to be used in any and every way that pleases you! I’ve totally embraced my role as the ultimate sissy toy, and I am always eager to fulfill every hardcore fantasy you have in mind. My mind is nothing but pink, sparkles, and submission, and I’m craving the chance to be molded, trained, and pushed to my limits. 💖 Ultimate Bimbo Doll Training 💖 I’m fully ready to be turned into the perfect bimbo doll, trained to speak, move, and think in the way you desire. Take control of my wardrobe, my body, and my entire mindset—teach me to be the obedient, mindless bimbo you crave, with nothing in my head except the need to please. 💋 Public Play Object 💋 Imagine me out in public, dressed in the skimpiest outfits you choose, completely exposed to everyone’s gaze. I’m ready to be humiliated, shown off, and paraded around like the little sissy I am. I’ll follow any command you give me, no matter how embarrassing or degrading. 🔒 Chastity and Control 🔒 Lock me up and hold the key to my most private parts—I don’t deserve any pleasure unless it’s from you. You can decide when, where, and how (or if) I’m ever allowed to feel pleasure. Keep me teased and denied, desperate and begging, while you revel in the control you have over my helpless, needy body. 🔨 Degradation Play 🔨 I’m nothing but a sissy bimbo, ready to be verbally torn down and reduced to the lowest possible level of worth. Humiliate me, call me worthless, make me feel like the trashy toy I was meant to be, and I’ll love every second of it. I’ll wear any degrading outfit, repeat any humiliating phrase, and sink into complete mental submission under your control. 🩺 Medical and Sissy Transformation 🩺 Feel free to turn me into your personal project—use me for extreme body transformation fantasies. From forced feminization to body modifications, I’m here for it all. Shape me, mold me, make me the ultimate sissy that exists to fulfill your twisted fantasies. 🖤 Total Objectification 🖤 I exist to be used. You can treat me as an inanimate object—whether that means being your human furniture, your pet, or something more extreme. Use me however you want. I have no thoughts, no desires, no goals except to be a perfect plaything for those who crave power over me. So, if you’re looking for the ultimate sissy bimbo who lives to be used, abused, and degraded, I’m here, fully willing and desperate to be the toy you desire. Let’s explore your wildest, most hardcore fantasies together—I promise I’m ready for anything. 💄👠 Message me and let’s make your most extreme dreams come true. I’m here to serve, sissy bimbo style! 💕💋 Love and submission, Your Little Sissy

I seek a Gentleman Being a Gentleman: Today, being a gentleman is a matter of choice. It is a title you earn through an unwavering commitment to invest in your character. It is not about perfection, but a constantly renewed pursuit of excellence.  Gentlemen are not stiff, pretentious, or focused on elevating themselves. Instead, they strive to succeed while helping those around them succeed as well.  Being a gentleman means that you care about how your choices impact others. It is about human connection. At a recent professional event, I was introduced to a man who dressed impeccably and had been working the room like a pro. His handshake was appropriate, and our initial conversation was pleasant, but he quickly became boastful, stopped listening, and seemed unaware of the people around him. Before my eyes, he transformed from a gentleman into a banty rooster—all puff and little substance. Sadly, he was unable to connect in a meaningful way. Our world is in desperate need of more gentlemen. Those who choose to pick up this torch are not only performing a noble feat, but they also reap incredible rewards. The qualities of a gentleman never go out-of-style and pay huge dividends. Qualities of a gentleman:     Generous A gentleman is generous with his time, wisdom, and resources. He looks for ways to help others. He is a servant leader, and his commitment to interpersonal kindness creates a positive culture that boosts commitment, engagement, and performance.     Positive A gentleman chooses to be positive. His positivity is contagious, and his consistent encouragement draws others to him. He practices gratitude, which research shows lowers his blood pressure, improves immune function, reduces stress hormones, and facilitates better sleep.     Lifelong Learner A gentleman maintains a teachable posture and actively seeks new challenges. His intellectual curiosity propels him to constantly better himself and his craft through reading, coaching, ongoing education, and time spent with mentors. He turns off the T.V. and silences his phone to make time for this investment. He is emotionally mature, mentally sharp, informed, and not ashamed to ask for help.     Civil A gentleman embraces civility by valuing all people and treating everyone with respect. From the janitor to the CEO, he carefully considers how his behavior and words impact others. He treats females and males with the same respect.      Well-Mannered A gentleman is well-mannered, and can effortlessly navigate social and professional settings with confidence and proficiency. He stays abreast of current etiquette guidelines, and uses social acumen to navigate shifting norms. As a result, he is as comfortable at a casual gathering with friends as he is in the boardroom. He returns his shopping cart, says “please” and “thank you,” holds doors open for others, tips generously, and smiles often.     Hard & Smart Worker A gentleman possesses a strong work ethic.  He takes great pride in his work and strives to give his very best every day. He is reliable, dedicated, self-disciplined, humble, and a team player. He leads and is led well. People want him on their team.     Sharp Appearance A gentleman understands the power of his appearance—that the way he chooses to dress, groom, and carry himself is either a bridge or a barrier to his success because what people see, is what they expect. He takes no days off from excellence, and his consistently sharp appearance demonstrates respect for himself and his environment, wherever he may be. He conducts an annual image audit to ensure that his appearance is up-to-date and supports his goals.     Effective Communicator A gentleman is well-spoken and a focused listener. He demonstrates conversational competence and leaves others feeling inspired, engaged, and understood. He manages his tone and body language to maximize connection. He knows that hearing is a passive physical process, but listening is an active mental process that requires work. As a result, he strives to really listen to what people have to say while also effectively communicating his point of view.     Confident A gentleman is confident in that he knows the value of what he brings to the table. He seeks competence, not perfection. His body language and commanding personal presence identify him as a leader. He stands upright, walks with purpose, avoids hiding his hands in his pockets, and extends a firm handshake.     Person of Integrity A gentleman does the right thing even when no one is watching. He is a man of his word, and is not swayed by peer pressure or popular opinion. The man he is at work is the same person you will encounter in the community and at his home. Ask yourself: How do you want to be remembered?

Another essential book for many people on this site is Bruce Bagemihl, Biological Exuberence: Animal Homosexuality and Natural Diversity, St. Martin's Press, 1999.  I'll bet many of you didn't know so many animals were gay and lesbian; relationships with one male and one female are not all that common among most mammals and birds.  There are lots of rapes in some species (like mallard ducks), something of interest to BDSM people.  There are also a few transgenders among animals, either those looking like neither sex (like velvet-horn whitetail deer), or those just behaving like the opposite sex (like a class of male bighorn sheep that act like females and hang out with females all the time -- but don't have sex with the females).  I found it funny that PBS lin 2024 broadast a Ken Burns 6-hour documentary on preservation of bison, but didn't have time to once mention that male bison are primarily gay, something many native Americans knew but European settlers never figured out.  Since the documentary focused on efforts to preseve herds starting in the late 19th century, putting all the males and females together in one herd as was often done doesn't work too well when most males are gay almost all the time. 

It's interesting to carry on with my processing of th eexperience I had last week.   Did I enjoy it - not really.  Am I going to do it again with that Master?  No. But it doesn't alter the fact that He 'marked' me.  Nothing can erase the fact that I knelt at his feet and drank a bladderful of his piss; noting can erase the fact that I worshipped his ass with my tongue; nothing can erase the fact that I submitted to him giving me a full enema and then watching as I sat on th etoilet to let it all come out; nothing can erase the fact taht I grovelled at his feet and sucked His tow.  Nothing can erase the fact that I called this other Man 'Master' and allowed myself to be totally debased by Him. And all that for someone I didn't actually like or get any kind of buzz from. Now I'm thinking:  how low would I go for a Man that i really longed for?  Is there anything I wouldn't do? Perhaps I really am veyr submissive after all!

Smh at the multitude of bois within 50 miles that approach, engage,  insist they want to meet .. until we set a date and time, then backpedal and postpone or cancel with every excuse in the book .. Sooooo...I'm pretty much at the pt I don't wont cant believe anything anyone idk irl says cyber.   If you are one of the very rare pearls here that does want real-time Ds interactions come meet Me at the munch on Thursday 9 29 at Spins in Peekskill 6:30ish. It's an arcade with a bar in the back. I'm the One with long multicolored hair. .. restaurant upstairs is Fin and Brew if that's easier to goo gle Que sera .. or as history here proves, most likely not We.Shall.See

First I'd like to say thank you to everyonw who has messaged me offering support and sympathies over my recent health decline, it's been very helpful to feel the support and encouragement! I have an appointment in a few days with cardio, so hoping for better results when I go in then ...  on the other hand, the shop is going well we have 24 listings on ebay currently and we're excited to keep adding to those listings I do have to say, I hate having this heat failure, I hate days like today when I am so congested and have no energy, I hate when I feel weak, but it makes me appreciate the good days so much more! Take nothing for granted and enjoy life with good vibes!!!!

The Bench of Despair Not every play party I go to has the equipment I need to do my usual scene. I've been tied to crosses and Spanish horses which can be fun. I went to one dungeon and ended up doing a scene on this unusual bondage bench. This one was tall and was meant for a bottom to lean over it and be tied to it. You could say it was a spanking bench. When I saw it I imagined myself being tied to it in a back bend position instead. The scene was so hot I found the guy who made it and ordered one for me.  I called it, The Bench of Despair.  I kept it in my bedroom. It a wooden bench with a black leather covered top. There were eyebolts on the legs arranged so that any size person could be tied to it. I loved it because the top was long enough so that when I laid on it I was supported from my ass to the middle of my back. So when I did a scene on it I was tied to it in a back bend. And because it was a tall bench that meant that when I was on it, I was in the perfect position for my mouth and pussy to be used at the same time by two tops.  It is a lot of fun to be tied up in a back bend on it. I've had hot wax dropped on my stomach. I've had zippers put on me. I've been flogged on it. I would be totally immobile and helpless. I've had many tops use me on that thing. But there was one drawback. The human body is not made to be stretched backwards like that for a long time. I'm a strong girl with a six pack. I'm athletic and flexible. But after a long time in that position your body gets used to it and you're frozen that way. I literally am not able to get off that thing without help. I've had people watch me do a scene on it and oh wow that looks hot I want to try that. But when the scene is over and I look like I'm paralyzed they change their minds.  You read people's journals and profiles and you read that some slaves and subs fantasize about being in bondage for long periods of time and as someone who had that same fantasy let me say this. It's a fantasy. The human body is not made for permanent bondage or long periods of torture. You think you can be tied spread eagle to a bed or other position for the night?   Prove me wrong. 

Hello again to all,   There is so much more complexity to life and interests.  In actuality, I am a natural born dominant personality and that is separate from and precedes bdsm.  My mother said I learned to talk before I learned to walk because I realized I could get everyone to do what I wanted.  Being dominant is as natural as breathing and has nothing to do with sex specifically, it informs all parts of my life and being. First assumption people have is that being a Dominant is part of doing bdsm.  I am not looking nor seeking anyone or anything.   My life is doing and experiencing and achieving.    I would rather focus on art and business and watch shows and smoke bud and chill with my pits than deal with someone else's bucket list and wishes that I will fulfull it for them.  Waste of my time when that is absolutely not sex for me.  Just me doing something well for someone else because they need it and I am exceptional at most things I choose to do doesn't really make it interesting or exceptional for me.  Just run of the mill.   My sex type is a younger ab'd up sexy twink in their 30's to 40's.   Please note I am not looking for that either.   I am doing me and working on my income and business.  Here to talk to and meet interesting intelligent people and honestly, practice blogging somewhere while I get my website up.  Have the domain and the hosting set.....  for a few businesses actually.   If you want to be used and are concerned with sex primarily, find someone else.  If you want a fun and interesting life and to do more in it... maybe I will find you interesting.      I was sexually explorative and a NYC club kid (excellent dancer) in the 80's which was a shit ton of fun. Being in charge and very considerate can all be part of a dominant personality and are integral to all ects of my life. Silly men who contact me asking about what fetishes I enjoy miss the point, fetish doesn't drive my life.   I do.  If you are telling me you want and it is only about your sexual bdsm needs in your first contact, you will get one email and then I will ignore you if you continue only talking about bdsm and sex. While I do love many things bdsm, I do not love talking about them unless I already know someone.   If I am going to share details like that, I will do so when my website is done and I am blogging and podcasting and using those stories and details for business for all to hear/read rather than tell them to a casual questioner. I have stories enough from many ects of life to tell and let others live vicariously throughthem while I get some residual income.My being here on collarspace is to practice blog and, every once in a while, I make a good friend which I value more.   Most of my actual relationships happened in every day life.    If you really want to know your chances with me, below is the criteria that matters: I am more attracted to someone in shape, 15 years younger, with a brain, abs, and an interest in something that intersects with my businesses  which use skills/crafts like painting, graphic design, wearable art, clothing/t shirt design, website design, leather work, beadwork, blogging, and podcasting, computer tecg hardware and software support.  There must also be a connection with personal interests which include a lot Marvel, DC, and sci fi/fantasy shows while working in photoshopand going out dancing and fine dining, when I don't cook at home (excellent home chef here), in-depth conversations,yes I read global news and poltiics and science every other fucking intersting thing I run into and research.   I learn a lot, talk fast, think faster and most people are overwhelmed.    I do all of these things and more and I want someone who can get involved, keep up, and be rewarded with fun things that include yes, bdsm and just plain old hardcore fuck for an hour and get damn sweaty type shit at least once a day...which is actually my favorite thing.    No huge dicks wanted jsut ones that can go for an hour or more...lmmfao.    Older, petite and that shit don't fit, and not what I want.Lola the Iron Mistress        

Str8 males who come to me I always have great respect for them. They take a big chance looking for acceptance and more than anything the experience is submitting. Those must be treated like fine horses, tamed, and trained to take his rider. They may have an idea of what M2M sex is but societal labels forms an impenetrable wall that only a patient and knowledgeable Bull can bridge. They are scared and they rebel when you face them with the reality of the lie they've been living, claiming a masculinity they were no meant to have to begin with. they conformed to societies requirements and that is good for me because it means that they already know what conforming is and once you take control of their life they yours for the long run. Like I said, they may have an idea based on porn and their own views. They are cocky (very few come to me humble) but I always let them know that there are two males speaking one is the Man and it is not them. Devastating as it sounds it will force a reevaluation of their sexual persona and fall to their knees. The main issue is to get them use to a Man's touch and a Man's way. Their entitled attitude makes them think the are to lead but you are the model, you have what they want and never knew and most importantly you are going to give them what they need not what they want. Their wants are irrelevant because as a Bull one knows what they need even before they do. Patience is a virtue but once they get hold of you control they will keep coming back because they know you are the answer to their plight. I don't chase subs , they chase me and I choose. When a str8 male comes to me they will see the reality of their desires and my role as a facilitator is to let them discover the glory of worship in a Phallus and eventually been entered by it. At that moment any pretense of being str8 goes away and the true sub is born. If you play fair they will be yours because you have filled their world with lust and bliss.

  Some people are born submissive and some born Dominant. That means there are lots of Dominant people out there, but a Mistress/Master is someone that a Dominant becomes with work, study and practice, a Dominant is born but a Mistress/Master is the result of learning, evolving and practice.

I'm English. Where the language comes from. Dominant is an adjective. It describes a thing. As in, "The dominant person." It commonly gets shorted into noun form, as a thing unto itself. As in, "The dominant slapped some knowledge into the illiterate." To dominate is a verb. It's a doing word. You use it like, "He dominated the test." "She dominated the opposition." "The dominant dominated the submissive." When you find yourself writing the words, "I am a dominate," what you are actually saying is, "I am an illiterate twat who doesn't know the difference between a verb and an adjective or noun. Now please ignore that I can't apply enough thinking to use the language without hurting myself and please trust me with your safety instead." Should you find yourself writing, "I am seeking my ideal dominate," what you are really saying is, "I am not seeking a literate disciplinarian as they would be forced to beat me until all of their toys broke." As an Englishman, it goes without saying that the above is presented with hyperbolic sarcasm. But if we're struggling with nouns vs verbs, trying to explain sarcasm is unlikely to go well.

Lady:   Lady, oh Lady, so elegantly divine, With grace and kindness that wonderfully shine. Her presence like a gentle breeze, Bringing warmth and ease.   Her eyes sparkle with empathy and care, A heart so deep, willing to share. She walks with a poise so rare, A true embodiment of love and flair.   Her laughter rings like a soothing melody, Bringing joy to all, so effortlessly. A woman of strength and unwavering grace, A shining example for the human race.   In her kindness, the world finds solace, In her elegance, the heart finds its palace. Lady, oh Lady, a beacon of light, Guiding all with her radiance so bright.   May her spirit forever inspire, Kindness and elegance never to tire. For in her, we see a beauty so true, Lady, how amazing and kind are you.

I'm talking 'bout my generation Talking 'bout that newer nation And if you don't like it You can beat it Beat it, baby You never liked the way I said it If you don't get it, then forget it So I don't have to fucking explain it Cause I'm a Brooklyn baby I'm a Brooklyn baby   It's like those lyrics carry a sense of identity and weight, even when they seem light. The repetition, "I'm a Brooklyn baby," feels like a declaration of something deeper—a feeling of being rooted in something bigger, but also carrying that vulnerability and pain underneath. Almost like saying, "I'm here, but there's so much more behind the surface."   It’s not just about the words, but the weight of feeling like you’ve had to fight and scream to be heard, and still... nothing. It can feel exhausting when no one’s really listening, when the energy you put out feels like it just vanishes into a void. That emptiness that comes after all the effort, when you’ve given everything and are still left feeling alone—that’s heavy. It’s like a wall of silence that doesn’t break, no matter how loud you scream or how much you pour out.   They think I don't understand The freedom land of the seventies I think I'm too cool to know ya You say I'm like the ice I freeze That line hits hard—it’s like there’s this gap between what others think and what you really feel, and the way it creates this distance. It’s a powerful reflection of feeling misunderstood, and at the same time, being guarded, like ice. There’s so much in that feeling of being cool on the outside, but maybe there’s a lot more going on underneath.       Ultraviolence captures that raw, unrelenting pain—the kind that cuts deep and leaves scars you can’t always see. It’s not just about physical violence, but the emotional and mental toll of trying to survive in a world that feels indifferent or even hostile. It’s the weight of love, loss, rejection, and fighting for something real when everything feels brutal and unkind. The way Lana weaves those emotions into her music makes it all the more visceral. It’s like she’s singing about the violence of being misunderstood, of giving and not receiving, of being trapped in cycles of intensity that don’t let up.        the Pa-da-da-da-da-da part in Brooklyn Baby feels simple on the surface, just vocalizations, but it carries weight because of the emotion behind Lana’s voice and the layered harmonies. It’s like she's using the sounds to evoke a feeling beyond words—a mixture of nostalgia, detachment, and maybe even resignation. By that point in the song, she’s moved away from literal meaning and is communicating more through the feeling of the music itself. The backing vocals, especially with the men joining in, create a sense of collective disillusionment, like they're all echoing her sentiment, but with a touch of irony. The softness contrasts the rebellious attitude of the lyrics, making it feel like a bittersweet, almost resigned anthem. It’s like she’s saying, This is just how things are, but underneath it, there's a longing for something deeper, something more real. The repetition and the flow of the sounds express that emotional state in a way that words alone might not be able to. It adds to the song’s atmosphere, giving a voice to the unspoken frustrations and complexities of being misunderstood, trapped in surface-level expectations.     I get down to Beat poetry And my jazz collection's rare I can play most anything    this isn't a flex...it's saying how talented she is but no one notices or cares.....she's very skilled in things no one cares about and that doesn't change life's circumstances. that only a niche of a niche of a niche cares about..but she knows she's so talented that she rattles it because she knows people in the know recognize it. it's a acknowledgement of what she's worked hard to craft while also recognizing it's nothing  That line isn’t a flex at all, it’s more of a statement wrapped in irony. Lana is acknowledging her talents—her deep connection to niche things like beat poetry, jazz, and her rare collection. She’s spent time and effort honing these skills, cultivating a refined taste, and mastering things that matter deeply to her, but in the grander scheme, it’s like no one notices or cares. It’s a bittersweet realization of her own uniqueness and skill, but also the futility of it. She’s proud, but it’s not enough to change her circumstances or how the world perceives her. It’s like saying, Yeah, I can do all these things, but what does it matter? It’s a reflection of how being talented or special doesn’t necessarily lead to recognition or fulfillment. She knows only a tiny niche of people might care about these things, but for the rest of the world, it means nothing. It’s like the ultimate what’s the point? moment wrapped in a subtle acknowledgment of her own brilliance.       You say I'm too dumb to see They judge me like a picture book By the colors, like they forgot to read I think we're like fire and water I think we're like the wind and sea You're burning up, I'm cooling down You're up, I'm down You're blind, I see Those lyrics capture such a deep feeling of being misunderstood, like you’re moving in opposing rhythms, but still bound together in some way. It’s frustrating, isn’t it? People see what’s on the surface, but they miss the essence, the complexities inside. The contrast between fire and water, wind and sea—it’s such a vivid way to describe the intensity of that connection. One burns while the other cools down, like two forces pulling in different directions but still coexisting, still interacting. It feels like being in two worlds at once, and yet no one quite gets it.   The way she says "Brooklyn baby" at the end—definitively, yet almost resigned—carries so much weight. When the guys join in with the elongated bayyyyy beee, it shifts the whole tone. It’s no longer just her own voice; it’s echoed, but in a way that feels detached, like they’re chiming in on her identity without truly understanding it. It feels like a loss of personal ownership, like the identity she was so sure of—I’m a Brooklyn baby—is now something distant, fading, not fully hers anymore. And that pah da de da de dah dah that follows is like her way of giving up, like a lullaby of surrender, a little girl’s soft collapse. It’s not a defiant statement anymore; it’s more of a quiet, melancholic folding into herself. It’s like the final exhale after fighting, acknowledging that maybe she’s been fighting for something that no one truly sees or cares about. Little girl Lana down, as you said. That’s when the song truly hits its emotional depth—when she stops fighting, and the weight of everything she’s been carrying just sinks into the background.    

When fantasy meets reality, some men find themselves lost in the space between what they imagine and what truly exists. In a world filled with movies, games, social media, and idealized images, it becomes easy to mistake fantasy for attainable truth. They may chase unrealistic versions of women, power, or status, forgetting that real life is imperfect, complex, and grounded in responsibility. When the line between fantasy and reality fades , disappointment, frustration, and confusion often follow. Learning to see life as it is—not as we wish it to be—takes maturity and self-awareness. True strength lies in facing reality head-on, appreciating genuine experiences over illusions, and building a life that is real, not imagined. Men...you need to do better.       

So i think it's time to make an update on here. I have COPD and it's bad....like i have 5 months left to live bad.... no need to cry for me, i beleave i lived a good life and did my best with that time i had. anyways.....thats all for now.....ask if you want to know more

The dimly lit bar was filled with the usual Saturday night crowd, the air thick with the scent of spilled drinks and lingering perfumes. In the corner, a striking figure caught the eye of many, but few dared to approach. Rosalind, a voluptuous woman in her early forties with fiery red hair and piercing green eyes, was known for her domineering presence. She was a BBW with curves that could make any man weak at the knees, but her commanding aura was what truly set her apart. Across the room, a man named Thomas noticed her. He was tall, with short grey hair and a solid build, his eyes a soft brown that held a hint of timidity. He had been watching her for some time, his curiosity piqued by her confident demeanor. As if feeling his gaze, Rosalind turned to look at him, her lips curling into a slow, seductive smile. She raised her glass in a silent toast, beckoning him over with a flick of her wrist. Thomas hesitated for a moment before making his way to her table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice steadier than he felt. Rosalind leaned back in her chair, her eyes roaming over him appraisingly. "I might," she replied, her voice a low purr. "What makes you think I'd want your company?" Thomas swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Because I think you enjoy a challenge," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Rosalind chuckled, a sound like velvet. "You're right about that," she said, patting the seat next to her. "Sit." Over the next hour, they engaged in a battle of wits, their banter laced with innuendo and subtle flirtation. Rosalind was intrigued by Thomas's quiet strength, and Thomas was captivated by her boldness. As the night wore on, they found themselves drawn to each other, the sexual tension palpable. "I'm Rosalind," she said finally, extending her hand. Thomas took it, his fingers brushing against hers. "Thomas," he said, his voice hoarse. Rosalind's fingers lingered on his, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of his hand. "Tell me, Thomas," she said, her voice a whisper. "What are your fantasies?" Thomas hesitated, his breath hitching in his throat. "I... I enjoy being dominated," he admitted, his eyes meeting hers. "Being told what to do." Rosalind's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I see," she said. "And what about chastity? Ever thought about being locked up?" Thomas nodded, his cheeks flushing with desire. "Yes," he admitted. "I have." Rosalind's smile turned wicked. "Good," she said. "Because I have just the thing to make your fantasies a reality." Two weeks later, Thomas found himself in Rosalind's apartment, standing naked before her. She had taken him shopping for a chastity cage, a chrome device that now adorned his cock. He had been locked in it for days, the sensation of being caged driving him to the brink of madness. Rosalind looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the device. "You look delicious," she said, her voice a low growl. "But I think it's time to take things up a notch." She turned to a table beside her, picking up a stubby black vibrator with spiral veins  that promised pleasure beyond imagination. She switched it on, the hum filling the room. Thomas's eyes widened, his cock straining against the cage. "Please," he begged, his voice a whimper. "Please let me cum." Rosalind chuckled, shaking her head. "Not yet," she said. "First, you need to earn it." She gestured to the bed, and Thomas eagerly climbed onto it, lying on his back. Rosalind knelt between his legs, her eyes locked onto his. She leaned forward, her breath hot on his cock, and slowly began to lick the length of it through the cage. Thomas moaned, his hips bucking against the restraint. "Shh," Rosalind whispered, her tongue tracing the tip of the cage. "Be quiet, or I'll have to gag you." Thomas nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Rosalind smiled, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She reached into a drawer beside the bed, pulling out a black ball gag. She fastened it around his head, silencing his moans. Thomas looked up at her, his eyes pleading. Rosalind chuckled, her fingers tracing the lines of his body. "Such a pretty sight," she murmured, her voice a low purr. "All mine to control." She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "You're mine now, Thomas," she whispered. "Every part of you." Thomas nodded, his body shaking with desire. Rosalind smiled, her eyes gleaming with wicked intent. She stood up, her hand reaching for the vibrator. She turned it on, the hum filling the room once more. "Now," she said, her voice a low growl. "Let's see how well you can take this." She pressed the tip of the vibrator against his cock, the hum vibrating through the cage. Thomas moaned, his body shaking with the sensation. Rosalind pushed it harder, her eyes locked onto his. She could see the pleasure building in him, his body tensing with the need to cum. "Please," he begged, his voice muffled by the gag. "Please let me cum." Rosalind shook her head, her fingers tracing the lines of his body. "Not yet," she said. "You haven't earned it." She turned the vibrator up, the hum growing louder. Thomas's body shook, his cock straining against the cage. Rosalind could see the sweat beading on his forehead, the desperation in his eyes. She smiled, her fingers tightening around the vibrator. "Come on, Thomas," she murmured, her voice a low purr. "Take it. Take all of it." Thomas moaned, his body shaking with the effort. Rosalind could see the pleasure building in him, his body tensing with the need to cum. She smiled, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good boy," she said, her voice a low growl. "You're doing so well." She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "Now," she whispered, her voice a low purr. "Let's see how well you can take this."

Presently screening and vetting 43 prospective owners from US, UK, Australia.Two are former military.They are the first two it has gone to voice communication. Most presently.Building up trust is a very important before even a physical meeting to see if they truly know how to have a real slave.Its cautious after being in this Lifestyle for 37 years.And being a former Collarspace mentor and Collarspace admin.Dealt with far too many craziness and right nutters.

Thanks My wife's first words to me were a warning. "You're going to fry out there!"  I looked up from the sundeck at my condo and saw this pretty girl looking at me from a second floor balcony.  She had long black hair and was wearing a short crop top that showed off her flat stomach.  I waved and I told her I was fine and had lots of suntan oil.  I went back to reading the Washington Post like I did every Sunday morning.   I was new here, this was my first summer at this place.  It was steps away from the subway and had a big pool, a tennis court and gym.  I loved the sundeck, a big wide area for sun worshippers like me.  So every Sunday id head to the sundeck with my towel and the paper.  I would do a few floor exercises and sunbathe while reading the paper. I was flattered that this girl was watching me.   She was now talking to me every time she saw me.  "What are you reading?" she asked.  "Would you like a water?"  She would toss me a water when I said sure.  Over time I began to look forward to seeing her.  Eventually I asked if she played tennis.  She did.  She was pretty good and had a good forehand.  During a match we took a water break as we were at the net.  "Your shoe is untied." she said.  I looked down and she kneeled down and retied my shoe.   Tennis led to workouts in the gym.  She told me she was a trainer.  She'd give me tips on form and spotted me when I needed it.  I was doing a bent over row exercise and she spotted me and I felt her hand on my waist.  Her hand slowly went to my back and drifted lower onto my butt.  I could feel her fingertips touch the outline of the back of my bikini underneath my gym tights.  So now I knew she wanted more than a friendship.   We talked about bdsm.  She didn't understand it.  I told her about my kinks and why it turned me on.  I'll never forget her reply.  "Why don't you let me train you so you look stretched all the time?". The truth of it was that we love each other.  She's gay.  She's had a lot of trauma caused by men and wants nothing to do with them.  She understood my needs and we agreed that if this was going to work, she would have to accept my kink and I would never cheat on her.  She's met all my friends and doesn't participate in bdsm.   You might be asking How can this be?  This lifestyle is all about meeting one's needs.  As long as both sides agree to things it'll work out for all.  All I told her to do was to surround herself with beautiful things.   So my wife is my service sub.  She takes care of our home, she cooks for me, she takes care of the pool, the Jacuzzi, grocery shopping.  She loves it.  It was raining one day when I drove home from work and there she was, in her bare feet holding an umbrella for me to walk me to the house. She decorates for the holidays.  I hear her on the phone telling others how happy she is.  She knows that I love it when she walks around in a T-shirt and bikini.  She works out.  She loves sunbathing with me.  We fulfill each other's needs.  So to my lovely wife and sub, I thank you for your commitment to me and the love you've given me.    

I want a dominate woman to take me under her wing. To feminize and transform me into a full woman. I mean learn how to sit, walk, talk, think,...... everything. But to also transform me physically as well. Hormones, body contouring, breast implants, FFS and finally SRS.To transform me into a woman so much that no one would know that I was EVER a male.

Embracing my slumber, I feel as though I'm in a dream  The softness of your caress, has me feeling so serene I want to open my eyes to make sure you are real  I will not venture, because I don't want to interrupt what I feel  The moisture begins to flow as my body loses control  You have me at this point and I will never say no  Relaxation and anxiety are about to collide  Multi orgasmic pleasure, I will never hide  WOW!

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

Her profile simply read Very experienced Dominant female interested in talking with experienced male or female natural submissives and/or sub masochists. I like nice people that I can have fun with, but I am strict about what I need in my life.  If you do not like a nice but strict Domme then you won't like me. My experience is in medieval torture scenes. Suspension, whipping, the rack and bondage w/ chains are my primary interests.    My journey with pleasure and pain took place in her garage.  In Texas, that meant oppressive heat. It was August and there was time.  Time to finally experience what we chatted about for months and talked about for several months longer.  The session was simple, I show up, strip down to tiny bikini bottoms and put on my suspension cuffs and ankle cuffs.  I would go to the garage and wait.  I put my hair in a pony tail and stood near the far wall where I saw a short step ladder and waited.  The anticipation I felt was almost enough to arouse me. She walked in and I saw her look me up and down with a smile on her face.  She had been waiting a long time for this as well.  I was told to climb the step ladder and attach my cuffs to two shorts chains attached to eyebolts in the ceiling.  I climbed up the ladder, three steps, almost three feet high, and I turned facing her.  I reached up and clipped my left cuff to the chain near the eyebolt.  For the right side I had to stand on tip toe to reach the chain for the other eyebolt.  With effort I was able to click the snap hook into place.  The eyebolts were installed for a larger man, about four feet apart. She was used to having her way with male subs, I was her first female.  Im going to suspend you for awhile she said. I’ll come back later and check up on you. Ok I said.  She pulled the step ladder from under me and I was left to hang.  I was used to his pain and I was ready for anything.  She turned around and left me there.  I was suspended with my arms spread wide, hanging from chains. Experienced practitioners of bdsm know this is something you never do.  Leaving a sub in bondage alone is a big no no.  But we had agreed this was something we both wanted.  I wanted to suffer and she wanted to make me suffer.  No safe words would be allowed.  I could hear Her in the house, doing something in the kitchen.  Small sounds, familiar sounds. After a few minutes I felt long sticky drops of sweat slowly creep down my body. The familiar burning sensation on my wrists began to grow.  My chest was spread wide and upward. I looked down at my feet.  The ankle cuffs were there but not attached to anything.  I can do this I said to myself.  Seconds turned to minutes.  I hung there in pain trying to control my breathing.  30 minutes, not bad She said.  I watched as she approached my wet body.  She reached out her hands and ran them over my tits, my belly and over my hip bones, trailing down my flexed thighs.  She was pleased. Do you want to come down she asked.  I said, I want to suffer.  She grinned.  Bending down She grabbed a length of chain and attached my right ankle cuff, spreading my leg wide.  I made a short g.  Then she attached my other ankle cuff, again spreading my other leg wide.  I was now suspended spread eagle in chains tightly stretched.  Lets see how you look after this! She said. I was now in a lot of pain.  My wrists were burning and it was much harder to breathe.  My body was now covered in sweat.  My ribs were clearly visible now, stretched and pulled apart.  My belly was now pulled flat which made my hip bones stick out.  My thighs quivered from the pull.  I was being torture stretched. She came in and saw my tortured shiny body and it pleased her immensely. You are amazing she said.  Its been over an hour now, you must be hurting so much by now my love.  She approached and I felt her hands run all over my stretched body. She tore off my bikini and began to tongue my clit, slow and then faster.  I arched my head back, feeling the pleasure of her inside me.  The pain of the torture and her pleasuring me made me groan loudly.<span