16 years I've been on this site, almost to the day.  Probably longer than that because I'm not sure this was my first profile.  And before that, I was on other similar sites all the way back to the beginning of the internet, and the old bulletin boards.  And before the internet, yes, I am that old, the bdsm magazines and underground classifieds.  I search, sometimes for years because I have very high standards and there are a lot of haystacks and very few needles in the bdsm world, until I find someone, then I go away.  Unfortunately none of those relationships have been forever, though they were each wonderful in their own way, and I guess I am blessed that each ended on good terms.  My last relationship ended 3 years ago.  I am here, on FL, a few other web sites, and on a bunch of the dating apps.  I have a lot to offer, both bdsm and vanilla.  No, I'm not a sugar daddy.  I'm happy to share.  Supporting a lazy deadbeat isn't in the cards.  If you don't have enough pride to contribute to your own lifestyle, you don't have enough pride to be with me.  I'm seeking a woman who is highly intelligent, who possesses and values integrity, is trustworthy and able to trust when her trust has been earned.  And of course, who desires a long term, real life, 24 7 relationship built around a core of bdsm.  Also should be at least a bit of a geek to insure we have vanilla interests in common. Everything else is negotiable.  You have my permission to contact me first if you think we might be compatible. Please be willing to video chat immediately for both of our safety.

Everything He Has, Until There Is Only Me There is a particular music to it that I do not think you can understand until you have heard it in a room that belongs to you, with someone who has given you permission to play. The crack of a whip is not violence. It is punctuation. It is the sound of a sentence ending exactly where you intended it to end, clean and final and ringing in the air long after the moment has passed. It lands and the room holds its breath and in that held breath is everything: the authority that swung it, the surrender that received it, the particular electricity that lives in the space between the two. I feel it in my wrist first, then in my chest, then in the slow, satisfied warmth that moves through me when something has gone exactly as I intended. The skin that receives it blooms and I watch that blooming the way an artist watches a canvas accept color. With attention. With pleasure. With the specific pride of someone who knows their medium. The paddle is a different thing entirely. Where the whip sings, the paddle speaks in a lower register, a hard and resonant thud that you feel in your bones before your skin has finished deciding what happened. There is no elegance to it and that is precisely the point. It is blunt and declarative and it leaves no room for ambiguity. You know what it means when it lands. You knew what it meant before it landed. The sound of it fills a room completely, the way a bell fills a room, and the echo of it lives in the body for hours afterward, a reminder that resurfaces every time you shift your weight, every time you sit, every time your body moves against itself and finds me there, already waiting. The cane is my favorite. I will not pretend otherwise. There is a patience to the cane that suits me. The way you must take your time with it, must place it with intention, must understand that it is not a blunt instrument but a precise one. The marks it leaves are not accidents. They are calligraphy. Long and deliberate and raised against the skin like script, like something written, like the physical evidence of a conversation that only two people in the world were present for. I trace them afterward sometimes, these lines I have drawn on a body that belongs to me, and feel the same quiet satisfaction that I imagine a sculptor feels running a hand over finished stone. I made this. This is mine. You will carry this for days. And my own skin, where the energy moves through me like current, where the act of wielding produces its own particular heat, a tingling that lives in the palms and travels, that settles somewhere behind the sternum and glows. I glow. There is no more honest word for it. Something in me lights from the inside when I am in full possession of my own authority and someone is receiving it with everything they have. Neruda wrote that he wanted to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees, and I have always understood this not as tenderness alone but as inevitability, as the specific hunger of something that transforms whatever it touches simply by being what it is. That is what I want from you. Not your performance of devotion. Your actual transformation. I want to be the thing that happens to you, the season that changes the look of everything, so that you cannot see your own hands without thinking of what they are for, cannot move through a room without feeling the architecture of my expectations around you like a second skin. I want to wring you dry. Not cruelly. Completely. I want every thought that crosses your mind to carry my fingerprints on it, want you so thoroughly oriented toward me that pleasing me stops being a task and becomes simply the direction your nature moves, the way water moves downhill without deciding to. I want your first thought in the morning to be what She needs today and your last thought at night to be whether you gave it well enough. I want the obsession to be so total that it clarifies rather than confuses you, the way a religion clarifies the faithful, the way a vocation clarifies an artist who has finally stopped pretending they could have been anything else. Bring me what delights me. You know what it is because you have paid attention, because attention to me is the one thing I require above all others and you have either given it or you have not. By now we both know which. The particular tea, the correct temperature, in the cup that fits my hand the way I like. The flowers I mentioned once three months ago that I did not think anyone was listening to. The way a room should be before I enter it, the light and the temperature and the specific quiet that tells me someone has thought about me before I arrived. The knowledge, brought to me unprompted, of something I would want to know. The book left on my nightstand, the right one, chosen not from a list I gave you but from everything you have learned about the country inside my mind. Shower me in it until I glow. Charlotte Bronte understood this, I think, better than she is given credit for. Rochester did not love Jane Eyre the way men in novels usually love women, as a soft and worshipful thing, a pedestaling. He loved her with his whole difficult complicated weight, loved her as his equal and his better and his necessity, and she received it not with flutter but with the straight-backed dignity of a woman who has always known her own worth and was simply waiting for someone else to catch up. That is the love I recognize. Not the love that flatters but the love that sees, that is almost furious in its recognition, that cannot look away because looking away would require pretending the world is smaller than it is. Neruda again: I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. Yes. And also: I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. The wanting in Neruda is never polite. It is consuming and precise and it names its object with the specificity of someone who has studied what they love until they know it better than it knows itself. That is the quality of devotion I am describing. Not the vague warmth of general affection. The focused, detailed, almost scholarly hunger of someone who has made another person their life's primary text. Learn me that well. Want me that specifically. Bring it to me not in grand declarations but in the ten thousand small and correct details that prove you have been paying attention every single day, that prove my preferences live in you the way music lives in a musician, available instantly, expressed naturally, impossible to separate from who you have become. And when I glow, and I will glow, when something in me settles into that incandescent satisfaction of being known and tended and

To be a good master in BDSM, consider the following key qualities: byanthonyp16562M Dom To be a good master in BDSM, consider the following key qualities: Respect and Trust: True dominance is built on respect and trust, earned through authenticity and understanding. Responsibility: A good master takes responsibility for their submissive's happiness and satisfaction, putting their needs before their own. Communication: Effective communication is essential; a good master listens to their submissive and guides them into a space where they feel their control and authority. Empathy: Understanding and empathizing with the submissive's needs is crucial for a health

* ISO of a decent, naturally submissive gentleman to grow old with in a committed LTR relationship * NOT interested in horndogs, freak shows, married and cheating, online anything, pay to plays, or anything else subpar  * just want a great guy who is submissive by nature, who knows his place in a FLR with whom to share My life * NO drama, excuses, or BS * am seeking a quality submissive man ready to settle down and enjoy life with a truly Dominant Woman in a D/s relationship * not willing to settle for less

I met a Dom on Fet Life who has been keeping me in line the last few weeks. He is not a nice person. I don't really like Him, but as a Dom and potential Master, He is exactly what I need. I've been processing this phenomenon, putting much thought into why I respond to Him so well as a Dom, even though I wouldn't choose to spend time with Him otherwise (and I'm sure it's mutual). I cannot count the number of Doms, Masters, Gods, Slave Owners, etc. that I've met both online and in person who seem unwilling or incapable of issuing an order or command. I tend to follow orders. If I don't receive any, I assume the Dom is uninterested and I move on. Aftter all, it is my job to follow orders, not to issue them. The Man that I am currently serving does not have this problem. I obey all His orders without question, even those I don't want to. It's not my job to choose which orders to follow. If you identify as a slave and you're having trouble attracting potential Masters, maybe you should take a look at your profile and count how many times "me" or "I" appear in your text. Then skim your profile for anything that would tell a potential Master what you could do for Him. Learn much?

strength is gone I am so done being strong im breaking and shattering like a broken mirror i cant stand this feeling im breaking down and i am so annoyed with myself but taking it out on everyone around me as i lay here tonight theres not much more i can take the tears are shedding and my self confidence is non existing just what i fucking need im still breathing so i guess thats an upside but fuck it all im so done pretending that im okay and if you cant accept me the way i am than whats the point of being my friend im just so over it

Minoan culture celebrated the potential of the woman, and their schools were designed to identify, encourage and refine that potential. Most of the girls who went into one of the training schools came from either trading, such as via markets or auctions, or from nominations by families wishing to see their daughters learn what were considered highly desirable and profitable skills. Families paid hefty fees if their daughter was accepted by a school as at the completion of training the girl would almost always return home. This is why at each induction of girls, nominated girls were much outnumbered by those who came through trade. It is a mistake to believe that Minoan training schools were in competition with other as there is telling evidence that they acted more as a collective, each specialising in certain areas that other schools either only touched lightly upon or avoided altogether. However, each school did possess their own unique means of attaining girls, be it through deals with ship owners who plied between specific regions, or army leaders who could give access to spoils of conflict, and even those who ran work houses, orphanages or debt collections. Sources were many and varied, and every school had their own means of attaining stock. Thus, there are frescoes and murals depicting what can be mistaked for typical slave auctions or the like. More likely, these were gatherings of representatives from each school, all looking for the best candidates for their yearly inductions. Think of it as a modern day draft between teams looking to fill certain roles and discover certain talents. Many qualities, from physical appearance to spoken languages, from prior education and learned skills to physical and mental health. The two roles within a given school were roughly equivalent to workers such as cooks, cleaners etc through to the students themselves.  The name given to a student is roughly equivalent to candidate.   Questions?

My profile text as of 15 yerars ago. It was much too long.   I am a submissive TV with small bones for a male, a slim waist line and slender, fine features - very full brown hair down to shoulder length (as you can see) - very passable and used to living in female clothes - quite fit and great endurance, but below average brute-strength abilities for genetic male. I am generally submissive to those I admire, respect and/or fear, and eager to please them - have also been told repeatedly throughout life that I am abnormally humble and gentle for a genetic male. I'm quite adept at various stereotypically feminine pursuits such as cooking, sewing, house cleaning, laundry, ironing, clothes maintenance and gardening. I have some experience (though not abundant) serving life-style/non-pro Dommes and Dom/me couples, though not for longer than a week at a time. Acknowledging that the specific individuals are more important than the particular concept, I could see myself as open to and being happy in a number of possibilities, depending upon the details:   - a more mild monogamous long-term relationship with a dominant woman. It would probably be best, if You leaned toward the sensual domme end of the spectrum.- full-time enslavement to a Domme or lesbian dominant couple: Although I would hopefully provide You with the basic emotional and domestic support that You seek in a long-term TPE relationship, I recognize that You may have cravings for a manly man (or men!), and would try my best not to show the jealousy I would no doubt feel to some extent, should You decide to satisfy these cravings.   Regardless of the particular concept, it would be desirable, if You were enthusiastic about strict feminization and enforced chastity of the trans submissive.A situation involving old-school domesticity and self-sufficiency will be a distinct plus, and, in this case, I will be quite happy to carry the domestic bulk of that burden in the relationship; I just don't want to serve someone who'll insist that I buy processed packaged foods only, for instance.     Thank You for Your time!  

)Everybody is entitled to do what they like. However, if they are attention seekers, that's their choice. I'm personally addressing the attention seekers who seek reputation and credit through their actions. I won't reply to any specific comments as it's not my point. I'm doing my own thing, and it's not anyone else's business. It seems like I'm being targeted by others to gain attention for many different reasons, some of which are unknown to me. However, it seems that the main reason why many do so is to seek attention. You can make your own conclusions about it."

I got some feed back on my last journal entry and thouht I should try to clear up some points.The topic of "collar of consideration or under consideration collars" is one that has been discussed among Masters and slaves.Our houser believes that the Master who has placed a slave under consideration is either having trouble deciding whether they want the slave to be a part of their house, or they want the pleasure of controlling and using the slave without committing to the responsibility of ownership.Both actions are fundamentally wrong. If the Master is unsure if the slave is worthy of wearing their collar, they should communicate with the slave and discuss any concerns they may have.Collaring a slave is a serious commitment that should not be taken lightly. A Master should reveal to the slave what is expected of them if they wear the Master's collar and what their boundaries and duties will be. The slave has a simple, yet complex duty, to please the desires and will of the Master. In reality, it is the slave who should offer themselves to the Master for enslavement and collaring, not the other way around.The goal of the Master is to help the slave become the best slave it can be and to guide them to that end. My house has never personally offered a collar to a slave, but has learned from more experienced couples in the lifestyle to wait until it is asked for. MasterG

6/5/2024 6:33:05 PM All set with game players and time wasters and dream killers.     I don't lie, cheat or steal.   I am looking for the right slave.  Correction, I am looking for a right connection and a decent human being who knows how to treat a woman, and wants to explore together.  A right male is MORE THAN ENOUGH to be by My side and in reasonable good time.  I am looking for a live in relationship, not email, phone or text. I'm dominant and that isn't going to change.  I feel no threat from a man who knows his mind and has the ability to speak up for himself and be a team player.  Welcome.  We can co-rule our own little world together.   My mother lives with Me and has Alzheimer's.  You serve Me, you serve She.  You are with Me, you are with her.   Be real and ready to communicate effectively and get to know one another in the flesh.     Be terrific in your own right.  I require a man who is strong enough to champion Me and I offer nothing less in return.    DON'T WASTE  MY  TIME.

Getting the most from messagingThis site isn't like social media. Nor is it like whatsapp. It's something different. I noticed this when I had my pervious profile and want to make a couple of things clear. For me, you'll get the best results from a long form message. Something more like email or a letter. Its a bit like Tinder or Grinder. You get the best results when you have something more to say than 'hello'. If you're interested, say that. If you're looking for something long term say that too. Most of us get deluged with messages from all sides that are simply a single line of text. I delete those unread.Why?Simple: because no relationship or true D/s dynamic is going to develop from a string of one line messages. The D/s dynamic requires high levels of trust and openness. Such trust and openness cannot develop from single lines. At some point more information needs to be givem.But what if I am better at talking than writing? Well that's an easy one - speech to text apps exist. They're accurate and easy to use. Seriously, I once had a correspondent who tried this on my suggestion and it was the best conversation I'd had on my old profile up to that point. He thanked me afterwards because he was getting more replies.I don't have time for long messages. This will sound harsh, but you don't then have time for BDSM or a D/s dynamic either. For dominants, the level of attention a submissive needs is usually quite high at first. Sure they'll eventually require less attention to maximise the relationship from, but early on you'll need to invest time. As I said earlier, trust doesn't form from nowhere. If I'm going to let you tie me up and spank me, if I'm going to willingly place myself in a position so vulnerable I need to trust you.Of coruse, all of what I say here are observations of mine. Not every sub will feel the same, nor will every Dom(me). This is just my two penny worth. I do seriously recommend to everyone though, a longer message is better than a short one. In a sea of one-line messages it makes you stand out too!For me who works shift patterns sometimes I can only get to checking the site once a day, but when I do I'll respond to the most interesting messages, or the people with whom a connection has developed first. Tara xox

I've been on and off this site for a long time, and last time I tried, getting a profile write-up changed - was impossible.  Rather than go through that process, I'm writing a Journal Entry.  I've attempted a couple of relationships the past five years and I have to say that I'm exhausted by emotionally unavailable Doms who only want to play on the internet.  If that's all you want, I'm not interested.   Yes, I can relocate.  That part of my life has changed.No, I'm not going to redo my entire profile write-up.  If you want to know about me, ask.  I need someone in my life who is a good communicator and this is a great place to let me know you are willing to fill that need. As of 2026-03-13 I am 65 years old.  I'm in pretty good shape for my age and I have some arthritis issues that can be worked around.That's what I have for today.  Who are you? J  

Mixed emotions today. Lastnight was the first real munch we have had since COVID where everyone in our bdsm community was present. Not a real BDSM play event as usualy. Mostly friends catching up, conversation and casual sex.I was laughing with Goddess Tabitha when Master William put his arm around me and started to fondel me. I got tense and Goddess reninded me to know my place. He took me to the couch and he used my body for his pleasure. I don't know what is troubling me most, the fact that another man used me without Master James looking on or the fact that I really enjpoyed him using me. My orgasm was shattering both physically and emotionally. Master James stroke took him from us months ago, but I still feel unfaithful even though he and Goddess Tabitha have always aloowed the men in our group to use me for their pleasure. Just when you think your heart has healed.....

Do you like that?/ I keep his throat in my pocket/ He tries to bite back/ I'm sleeping deep in his lungs/ He wants to deny that/ He's on the edge of his seat/ And he's trying not to break, but I give it 'bout a week/ I'm made of linen and salt, my blood is made up of feathers/ He runs on language and laughter, he's made of leather and pepper/ Our limbs walk over to each other, the bodies are shoving/ And I grab him by the tie and, oh god,I think he's blushing/ And the tactics, accents, rip my seam/ He's a hopeless, focused, fucked up dream/ And he's trying not to crawl, 'cause he won't say he needed me/ And he's trying not to sleep, 'cause all he does is dream of me/ His family's scared of me 'cause the concept of sex is stronger than the concept of god/ And when he's missing on Sunday, they know who's at fault/ And I'll return him home, sick with a fever/ 'Cause his still on the ground, on his knees, in a theatre/ 'Cause I'm the backyard heathen/ The girl he's dreamin'/ I'll bend him over backwards, give him something to believe in/ No end, no completion/ He says stop teasing/ We'll play the game, both go insane, and then we'll call it even/ 'Cause his chest is heaving/ His knees got weakened/ All strong and rough and tough, but I ruined that in an evening/ I sunk my teeth in/ And by next weekend/ You're admitting I'm the only god that you'll ever believe in/

As M and I take our search for a bull more serious I would like to give you a little background on me. The following is my very abbreviated true life story and an explanation of how M and I ended up here.    As a young girl, I was always fascinated with sex and the power of what I knew was different from what others were into. I grew up in the middle of New Hampshire on a small farm and knew nothing of pop culture. My mom cut my hair, and her own willow switches. Both felt like their own brand of punishment. I was often bullied in school. Always by the boys. The girls tended to ignore me as I was bookish and weird. I will never forget the very first time when, backed into a corner, I finally kicked my aggressor in the balls. I felt a rush of power. Instantly I went from simply wishing they would leave me alone to read my book in peace, to looking forward with anticipation to the daily assault I would give them. Looking back now, I realize that some of them enjoyed the power exchange. By high school, I was a sexual demon. I didn’t know there were names for the roles I enjoyed. I just knew that sex was power, and I needed to feel that rush as often as possible. During my last year in college, I finally found a name for those roles. I started working at a fetish and fantasy house in Manhattan in 1998. I started there as a switch, and enjoyed it as a learning experience, but I quickly found myself drawn to playing the role of the Dominant Sadistic Goddess. Always with a wicked sense of humor. This was a great place to explore my kinky sexuality and fostered a lifelong love of the kink and BDSM community. But soon enough – I outgrew that space. I moved to San Francisco and spent the next 8 years as an independent professional Dominatrix. It was the way for me to explore myself and the world. I traveled all over the world to visit devotees. I put myself through law school, which became my “real career”. Turns out, I could not stay away and returned to my love of being a professional Dominatrix and BDSM educator in my limited free time.  In 2012, while visiting the East Coast, at a scene night in a Manhattan club, I saw a young man standing alone in rather vanilla clothing. He looked so helpless; it was clearly his first event. I saw not only a potential client, but someone I knew needed help. This young man turned out to be M who would later become my husband. We spent years building a relationship through sessions and dates that would follow. It was a slow process but we started involving each other more and more in our separate lives. Eventually my work outside BDSM brought me back to the East Coast. My relationship with M blossomed even more at that point, he was no longer a client. We were getting very close and were no longer exploring his interests, we were exploring mine. I decide to stop seeing clients and we moved close to each other. I turned my free time attentions to coaching women in BDSM and kink. After so many years of catering to the fantasies of men, I was captivated by women’s sexual journeys and helping them name and realize their own deepest desires. My experiences learning from other women confirmed what I had always suspected – that toxic masculinity is bad for EVERYONE’S sex life and I bring that ethos to my marriage and my life. M and I were married in a private ceremony in SF in 2016. I have stopped teaching in my free time and have focused all my kink energy in creating the exact lifestyle marriage I have always dreamed of.  Potential bulls, f you have questions and would like me to elaborate please don't hesitate to ask.  K

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

There is a mystical moment when two men meet and sex is in the air. They both know what they want but one is a bottom he may or may not know it. Then there is a moment of hesitation when after looking the object of his desire the hand extends to feel what his body is craving. Still if there is a little presumption of an ill understood machismo that hand moves slowly for what feels like an eternity. After contact caressing the phallus is not sufficient, but how to surrender? Finally, the top takes over, and firmly guides him to acknowledge his place, kneeling; and having the object of his desires close to the parting lips... Sheer poetry, bliss, sweet hesitation, and the ultimate surrender to open his mouth and forgetting the world around devotes his energy to please the object of his desire, his top, who allows the bottom to taste him deep and completely. They are not strangers anymore, the bottom has found his niche in the order of things, kneeling and giving up any pretense of control. From now on his domination is in the hands of his top.  

Looks like they have reopened the option to add a journal note.  So just a quick update. I have not had much luck on this site. Most everyone is either not in my area and has no intention to come to my location (unless I pay for it which not gonna happen), the person is a fake or scammer, someone who gets their rocks off by getting you to answer questions and jump through hoops just to find out that was all they were doing, the person is too childish to say I don't think you are what I am looking for so they ghost and block you, or in a lot of local cases you don't even get a response  That and the massive number of profiles that have not been active on over 10 years. I get a similar response experience from Fet but at least there I have actually had a few conversations and met some cool people though that is few and far between.    So with that said, my fet info is listed in my profile. I will be logging off of here for now and can be reached there  

Who am I? When I was in kindergarten, I got my very first parent-teacher meeting because I convinced a nice little boy (Timmy, Tommy, something like that) to climb into the toy cabinet. He complied (what joy!), and I then proceeded to tie the door handles together with a shoelace. Silly me, I didn't know basic rope safety back then. I didn't have safety shears, and when I could not untie my knots, little Timmy/Tommy got rather upset. It was then that a teacher had to come rescue him, and the poor Catholic School teachers realized that they'd better get on the horn to Mom and Dad, pronto. Looking at me, they must have thought "this kid was going to be A Problem." True enough, I read ahead of the class, ignored instructions in favor off more efficient methodologies, and continued to be large and in charge over the years. I'd say it's been all downhill from there, but I've rather enjoyed the ride!

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

I've recently had the chance to think about TPE more, and I decided that there are ultimately four types, three of which I consider acceptable. In order of intensity, there is first the type, which is simply pushing past where a sub/slave would normall safeword, but not pushing so far that the subconcious is actually forced to acknowledge that they are not in control. This is a stage where a slave is usually begging or angry. The second is the type that I practice currently. Pushing past where people think their limit is, past the second limit where their subconscious gives and realizes that it can only endure, but not going past the last one. The one that makes the mind retreat and can cause trauma. I just brush up against it. The third is when someone deliberately breaks through that last barrier, repeatedly doing so in order to shape the slave into what they desire, using that shaping to subsume other desires and wants, to change who they are at the core level. This is acceptable when a Master has the time, will, and facilities to manage fully breaking a slave, and a slave has agreed beforehand. The last is just the territory of psychopaths, just breaking for the sake of breaking, to do as much damage as possible, and only for their own amusement.

tonight i miss you   19 years and counting. i still don't know your name. i still don't know your face. but you have to be out there.   i miss you every day. but nights like tonight are harder.   things are rough right now....big jess is worn and little jess is despondent. just for tonight if only i could see you, if only i could hear you, smell you feel you.   maybe if you could hold me and tell me somehow this will all work out i could keep going better. but i can't.   tonight i hit another wall another moment where the adult me has to push and the little me hides more and more, it's not safe to be out.   daddy i don't know why you've been gone for so long but i really wish you could hold me right now and talk to me and just for one night we could go to sleep together. even if it was just a moment and the stars and spirit took you away from me again...just one moment would fill my juice cup so big.   someone told me it sounds like a good country song, "19 years of looking and he's still not here". every day i feel your absence. but tonight is one of those impossible nights.   tonight i miss you.

I really do need to find a man to take me in for retraining. Since my last LTR ended I have been unable to find anybody of the calibre needed to properly dominate me. And properly dominated I need to be. If you are the sort of man who would grab me by my blonde hair and unceremoniously put me over your knees, push my skirt up off my bum, pull my panties down as I squealed and kicked around and give me a thrashing for nothing more than pouting my disapproval at you when you told me to do something. If you are the sort of man who is comfortable enough in your ownership of me to publically humiliate me and/or lend me out to one of your mates occasionally. If you are the sort of man who would keep a variety of implements in the wardrobe solely to punish me with and used them on me regularly whether I misbehaved or not just to keep me in my place and because you enjoyed doing it. If you are the sort of man who would make sure that I always had fresh welts and whip marks on me to demonstrate your complete ownership and domination of me. If you are the sort of man who would lock me in the garage, shed or spare room for hours on end to give me plenty of time to reflect on my shortcomings before coming in to administer a good thrashing to me. If you are the sort of man who would take great pleasure in seeing me hog tied and gagged, struggling on the floor. If you are the sort of man who would give me a good slap across the side of my face hard enough to send me sprawling if I back chatted you. If you are the sort of man who would expect a girl to know her place, do all your housework, do it to your expectations and do it with a smile on her face or else. If you are the sort of man who, while watching the footy on TV and I was doing a big pile of ironing in the laundry, would shout out to me for a beer and expect me to immediately fetch it from the fridge, open it and put it into a beer cooler before hurrying to hand it to you with a smile on my face. If you are the sort of man who would not allow me to leave the house or do anything without your permission and who dictates to me what I should be wearing. If you are the sort of man who would take great pleasure from watching me squirm and squeal on the floor as your belt leaves bright red welts on my bum, thighs and back. If you are the sort of man whom I would be a little bit frightened of. If you are the sort of man who expaspects me to be dressed like a girl should be dressed to please a man, in miniskirts, short dresses, sexy panties, heels and stockings. If you are the sort of man who would occasionally reward me by treating me like a lady even though we both know that I’m nothing but your slut. If you are the sort of man who is intelligent, articulate, financially stable and is prepared to put in the work on me to give me the life that I deserve. If you are even some of those things you are a real man and a rare man. Where are you? I NEED YOU!

There sure is a lot of hetero men checking me out that don't have seeking transgender on their profile list of preferences. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or if there just aren't many cis women to choose from?  I do prefer straight alpha males but I am hesitant to respond to their messages if they aren't seeking a transwoman.  I just find that a bit strange and I'm looking for men that are secure with their own sexuality..  Also I find it to be annoying getting messages with just a few words about my looks, no proper introduction etc.  I'd like to remind those men that if they want to impress a lady then they should put in a little effort and use some common courtesy and respect. Remember that just because I am submissive doesn't equate to I am YOUR submissive. I never will be if You can't treat me with the same respect you would give to a real lady...  Thank you for your attention to this matter. ;) - Toni 

  Hello long time no see.  For those of us who have lived the lifestyle and have lived this way of life for a long time we've endured trials and tribulations and it seems more than our share of failures as well as some success.  For those coming into the lifestyle,  some things are new, most things are not  BDSM is the natural order of life.  There will always be dominant, submissive, property, owner, slave, submissive, bottom, top, all these are just words used to describe that order. There's no going back, No utopia to the human condition Someone will always lead, someone will always follow, some will always use, some will always take, some always give, some always do nothing except sit there and not move forward for a lack of fear for lack of decisiveness for lack of just Not wanting to take that chance. Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, Masochism  are the tools of the lifestyle, the sex all that pretty much remains the same. The only difference is who's doing it,who's using it,who's living it. Humans are a short lived species better to have lived life then to wait until end to experience it at death's door.      

Feeding on the crumbs and starving She embraces different experiences with different people in different situations trying to quench the thirst that keeps building inside her. She wants to be in a collar on her knees .... she longs to feel her submission again, to turn over the reins that strangle her and hold her in top space. She understands her value in top space but it doesn’t feed her soul. She has been looking for years for the situation to change ..... thinking it will happen when its suppose to happen until then trying to feed her hidden side from the crumbs left about in these different situations. A little submission here, a little consensual non consensual there, just small almost minuscule crumbs. There are days where she decides it just isn’t a part of her anymore and she pushes away the feeling refusing to let it in and sometimes she succeeds for a while but the void continues to grow, the walls fall in on her and its the only thought in her mind. That is when it consumes her cruelty reminding her of her needs, her feelings, and her memories. Like a movie you cant turn off...... she can see herself so vividly, she can feel the feelings she once felt, she can taste the release in her obedience, she remembers being engulfed in him and in that moment she worried only for his want in her. She is coming back out slowly, kind of scared and kinda lurking. What drives her, what pushes her is the fire that burns, the thoughts she cant get out of her head, the feelings that linger like a drug to an addict ..... she is close to self domination for the first time in her life which is a very confusing thought for her ... she holds on gring at straws and living in her dreams...she doesn’t know how to approach people, she doesn’t know how to get close to people and she cant automatically trust .... these things will leave her with herself, her memories, her dreams

The Weight of Three Minutes: Continued I do not move quickly. I have never needed to. I circle him the way I circled him earlier, when the tea was still cooling on the obsidian table and the correction had not yet taken its shape. He tracks me without turning his head, feeling my presence move around him the way you feel a change in light, knowing without seeing. This too I have built in him. This particular sensitivity to where I am in a room, to the quality of my attention when it lands on him, to the difference between my stillness that is simply stillness and my stillness that is preparation. I stop behind him. I let the silence hold for a moment, long enough to feel it settle into his shoulders, into the careful architecture of his maintained posture. His breathing is controlled. He is working for that control and I can hear the effort underneath it, the slight and deliberate evenness of someone who has decided composure is the one thing left available to him and is holding it with both hands. "You ruined my moment of peace," I told him, and I made sure he heard every word, felt the shape of my disappointment. "So now, you will provide the entertainment." I released his chin and sat back, beginning to unbutton my blouse with deliberate, unhurried movements. The pearl buttons slipped free one by one, the fabric parting to reveal what I wore beneath - sheer black lace that left nothing truly hidden, everything offered and yet withheld at my discretion. I shrugged the blouse from my shoulders and let it fall behind me, uncaring where it landed. "Expose them," I ordered, and I watched the conflict play across his features. The desire to touch warring with the knowledge that he had not been granted permission, only command. His hands rose, trembling slightly as they found the edges of my bra. He pushed the lace down with careful, reverent movements, revealing my breasts to the cool air of the room. I felt the immediate response of my nipples tightening, the subtle shift in my own arousal at being displayed, at being seen so completely while he remained bound by my rules. I leaned back slightly, presenting myself to him with deliberate cruelty, close enough that he could smell my perfume, feel the warmth radiating from my skin, see every detail of my arousal. But not close enough to touch. Not without permission he had not yet earned. "Warm them," I instructed, my voice dropping to something softer, more dangerous. "With your breath. Only your breath. Hands behind your back." He obeyed with the desperate precision of someone who knew the cost of failure. His hands found each other behind him, clasping tight as though the restraint were physical rather than commanded. He leaned forward, close enough now that I could feel the ghost of his exhalation against my skin, the careful warmth of each controlled breath directed across my nipples. I watched him struggle, the way his jaw tightened with the effort of restraint, the way his eyes kept darting between my face and my breasts, searching for any sign that he might be permitted more. His arousal was unmistakable now, visible in the strain of his posture, the hunger in his gaze that he could not fully disguise. I let him continue until I could feel my own wetness gathering, until the tease had sharpened into something that required resolution. Then I shifted forward abruptly, closing the distance he had been forbidden to cross, pressing my breast against his parted lips with deliberate force. He made a sound, something between surprise and desperate relief, but I denied him even this small satisfaction. I held him there, my nipple resting against his closed lips, using his mouth as nothing more than a cushion, a warm surface for my own pleasure. He tried to part his lips, to taste, to suck, and I pulled back just enough to deny him, then pressed forward again with the same cruel restraint. "You made the tea too strong," I reminded him, my voice steady despite the arousal coiling tighter in my belly. "So you can be my cup holder. Nothing more." I shifted my grip to the back of his head, my fingers threading through his hair with controlled pressure, and pulled his face forward into the valley of my breasts. I held him there, my skin pressed against his mouth and nose, feeling the desperate rhythm of his breath hot and trapped against my cleavage. He struggled slightly, instinctive panic at the restriction, the need to breathe and I tightened my grip just enough to remind him that even this was at my discretion. "Stay," I commanded, and felt him still, surrendering to the constriction, accepting that his comfort was irrelevant to my pleasure. I held him there longer than necessary, feeling the subtle shifts in his body, the tension in his shoulders, the controlled shallowness of his breaths, the desperate patience of someone who knew that any complaint would only extend his punishment. The power of it thrilled through me, sharpening my arousal to something almost painful, a heavy heat between my thighs that demanded attention. I released him finally, letting him gasp against my skin, feeling the desperate gratitude in the way his hands clenched behind his back, still obedient, still restrained. I leaned back enough to meet his eyes, watching the dazed hunger there, the submission that had settled deeper than before. "Unzip my skirt," I ordered, my voice rougher now, the command firm. "Slowly." (TBC)  

Who are You? Ladies,   Do not be afraid to call it out:  Manipulation-- Had a conversation with another dominant.  We're both romantic and,sapiosexual.  In the morning he wishedme "good morning." The next thing I knew, he wrote ,"if thats all it meant to you"   Yeah, that totally manipulative.  We had a conversation.  You didn't cross the Mason Dixon and save me from slavery.  Fantasy conversation: Homeboy starting talking about his cruise and staying a few day to spend time with me.   Who are you and what are you talking about about? Drive Thru Order: I want a woman to peg me.  (Has no clue who you are,but thinks you're a menu item.) There are a few ways to respond.  1) This isn't a drive thru.  Otherwise, you'd be  paying for your Happy Meal at window 2.  2) People in Hell want ice water.  Are you volunteering?. Home delivery:  Dude asked if I traveled to Vegas. "Yes, I travel, but I don't deliver.  I'm not pizza.  Call Uber Eats for front door delivery.      

IF YOU can't send a pic ....PLEASE DON’T WASTE my TIME. No shade nor judgement, but I prefer to interact with open, confident, sincere energy and the fact you see me and I see nothing but your dick or no pic doesn’t sit well with me at all. COME CORRECT IN MY PMs-"hey sexy", "how are you", "hi", "what/how are you doing?" and anything similiar as your initial message will be ignored.  let's be honest, you really don't care about my response, it's just your basic way of getting the convo started. It's a waste of my time .So please do yourself a favor and come correct, or just don't. Unsolicited dick pics will be ignored and you'll be blocked. If I wanna see your dick, I'll go to your page. If they're not available, and I still wanna see, I'll ask.  I DO NOT CARE IF YOU WANNA TASTE ME, TOUCH ME, want to get strapped...used as a toilet...forced bi aspect..WANT ME TO SIT ON YOUR FACE, The answer is no!!  If you simply want to be a Good sub and serve I might have use for you 

6/15 Mum is doing okay, not terrific.  Sleep therapy is going so so and My nights are interrupted, though the Dr. seems pleased.  After a day of good sleep, Mum seems more alert, mindful and able to complete more simple tasks.  I'm convinced that she has had sleep apnea for the better part of 30 years.  For the past 20 years, I've discovered a severe lack of follow through by her medical team and I would love to find an attorney who wants to spend the next 10 years on a medical suit.  I've got the proof of medical negligence and am following the proper steps to making legal changes to law regarding diagnosis.  Sleep tests should be standard exams given every 5 years for NO reason at all except to make sure we dont' have a bunch of zombies walking around after 65. Dementia is on the rise and much has to do with sleep deprivation and a lack of restorative sleep.  Note:  If you are not sleeping 6 hours or more, better get a sleep test cause you may not feel it now, but later on you will feel nothing but CONFUSION.  Also,  looks like gingivitis is another contriubuting factor which can come into play for Alzheimer's disease. We, Mum and I, are navigating as usual.  I'm very stressed, and tired, and learning how to manage through different therapies and self care.  She is lovely as usual, most times.  Life has a way of moving forward and together we strive. * On the sub/slave front -  we have had successes and oh so many hearty disappontments, so much dropped communication.  For some reason, most men seem to have a hard time realizing if they are not here, I have little time to spend in communication with them over the phone.  Oh well.  The ones who stay the course, WIN - We win. Again, I've tightened up the reigns on My searches: Phone chat through Microsoft Teams or Google Chat, at night, pre-arranged day/weeks in advance. I'm seeking those who wish to be part of a ds family, permanently with a woman who is HEAD OF HOUSEHOLD.  We start at ground zero and build from there, regardless of where you are starting from.     I'm not abusive or a fantasist.  I am also not going to force you into doing anything for Me and Mine. Anyone serving Me is doing so because they want what I have and what I offer.  This means you OFFER yourself up to Me and beg to be of service and to be utilized as I see fit.   As for what I am looking for:  people who carry health insurance.  lol  No locking you away on My property indefinately unless I get security clearance and immunity from a higher authority.  I mean it.  Don't come to Me looking for prison.  You stay because you know I have what you need and you help to PROTECT ME.  Period. Slavery is not legal here and My livlihood is on the line.  All these fantasists who claim, "I'm a real slave or want to be, eating from a bowl on the floor, naked, shackled, beaten for the slightest offense". BE GONE!  I don't have time or desire for your bullshit.  We might have a night or two of , let's play doggy, but the rest of the time, I want PEOPLE, who want to be of REAL VALUE TO ME. Be real, be genuine, be sincere and be looking for a life time of service where each of us continues to explore and develop our respective roles and responsibilities. As a dominant woman, I am always on the lookout for like minds to share this journey.  I appreciate honesty to a fault, manners, and kindness.   Hello to all and best wishes.

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

I've had the song Imagine in My head for the past several days.  I was going to try and come up with a little diddy to incorporate My thoughts to the melody - it didn't work.  So instead I will just spell it out. Imagine.... Imagine if I had the Epstein Files... Imagine if I had the Epstein Files and was the leader of the free world... Imagine if I had the Epstein Files and was the leader of the free world and I was in the Epstein files... Imagine if I had the Epstein Files and was the leader of the free world and I was in the Epstein files and I had rubbed elbows with My neighbor and with leaders the world over, along their children, relatives, associates, movie stars, heads of corporations.... Now imagine how to go about resloving conflicts globally... Did you say BLACKMAIL?  How i n t e r e s t i n g.   How does a shyster resolve conflicts?  Your guess is as good as Mine, but I can tell you, as a non shyster I use whatever is at My disposal when trying to resolve issues.  So it would make sense that as the President, I would use much within My power to FIX PROBLEMS.  Also, if I were to ALREADY HAVE COMMITED unethical, immoral, illegal acts, and was facing exposure, you can bet your bippy that I am going to LET EVERYONE KNOW THEY ARE COMING DOWN WITH THIS SHIP IF I GO DOWN. So here it is folks, the difference between US AND THEM lay within MORALS, ETHICS AND LEGALITIES. Even if the leader of the free world were working the system to effect positive changes, is BLACKMAIL how you want these things to occur?  Is that okay with YOU?  If you say yes, you are the problem in My book.  If you said no, then VOTE damnit.  Vote for integrity.  Vote for justice.  Vote for morals.  Vote for ethics.  Vote for an example to your children and grandchildren.  Stop idolizing $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Do you have morals and ethics, emotional intelligence?  Does the present leader of the free world represent the morals, ethics and emotional intelligence of you or how you wish your child was, your neighbor, your politician? While on the subject of MORALS/ETHICS/LEGALITITES - lets no forget the subject of ABORTION.   ABORTION IS NOT THE SUBJECT. WOMENS RIGHTS ARE THE SUBJECT. GOD GAVE WOMEN THE HOME AND THE BIOLOGICAL INSTINCT TO NURTURE OURSELVES AND OUR BODIES. THE RIGHT OF ANOTHER LIFE TO GROW WITHIN ME IS NO ONES RIGHT OTHER THAN MINE! NO ONE ELSE GETS TO CHOOSE WHAT HAPPENS INSIDE MY BODY. NO ONE ELSE GETS TO CHOOSE WHAT HAPPENS TO THINGS GROWING INSIDE MY BODY. If a man walks into My house and leaves his luggage.  Possession is 9/10's of the law - I OWN IT! No one gets to DEPOSIT in My home and claim some kind of ownership!!!!  That is f*cking cray cray talking now!  Ya'll must be entirely off your rocker! You come into My body and leave something there, when you go, what remains is MINE.  If you have a problem with that, get in line to talk to GOD about all your issues.  What you cannot do is try and change the laws governing My HUMAN RIGHTS - SOVEREIGNTY OVER MY BODY.  Medicine is coming along way and there are ways for you to reproduce your seed without declaring eminant domain over one of your multiple ejaculations. This subject is such a no brainer. If you have rights over your body shit, then when you give Me herpes, chicken pox, or a cold, I ought to be able to collect on My pain and suffering, time lost from work, etc. This is an easy fix - PRESEX NUPTIALS.  Of course, most men cannot control their selves long enough to engage in rational thought before ejaculation, but... NOT MY PROBLEM. NOT A WOMANS PROBLEM. Just like My emotional roller coaster (monthly) is not your problem, just like My bleeding is not your problem, just like My tampons and sanitary napkins, My motrin, My fibroid tumors, My breast cancer or anything else is NOT YOUR PROBLEM...EITHER IS MY PREGNANCY. Get the fuck over yourself, get your own damn life and get the fuck out of MY BODY.  Yall are control freaks and you will meet your match with women today.  Keep it up.  Keep thinking you have the upper hand.    The only thing you are is a VIOLATOR if you believe you have any place inside MY CUNT.   

Be local!oh for fuck's sake people.  If you tell me you are interested, that you are LOCAL, and I agree to meet and tell it to  you to arrange it.....friggin' arrange a meeting. It's not rocket science.   Do it in a TIMELY manner. I am not waiting any longer than a week to see you face to face.  Delay tells me you are in this for the fantasy only and I am not here to cater to your little wank fantasies. Don't waste my time. So get off the gawddamn pot and decide when and where.geezus

The Throne Room Our friends were meeting us at the dungeon.  We tried this scene at home and we ended up pulling out the ceiling chains from the rafters.  The set up was for suspension not stretching.  So we planned on doing this stretching scene in the throne room at the dungeon. That was the plan.  The set up was simple.  I was going to be in the middle and our friends were going to be on each side of me.  My wrists were attached to chains that went to the ceiling and the excess chain hanged down on each side of me so that our friends could pull them.   The dominant watched from the throne placed in n front of me.  She would give the order and the chains would be pulled and I would be lifted onto the air with my arms pulled wide.  That was the plan.   For this scene I didn't have much to do.  All I had to do was strip down to my string bikini bottoms and attach chains to my suspension cuffs.  My arms were spread wide as I waited for the order.   "Stretch her!"  The husband and wife on either side of me started pulling the chains.  But they struggled.  By flexing my biceps I was able to fight the chains.  Two more friends who were watching joined in.  Now there were two people on each side of me pulling the chains.  By flexing my biceps I was still able to fight the chains.   Two more people joined in.  I now had six people trying to pull me apart.  I was now on my tiptoes as my arms were being pulled wide and I was being stretched.  Two more people joined in.  I now had eight people, four on each side, pulling the chains that were now stretching me.   I was now lifted off the floor with my arms tightly stretched by the chains.  I let out a long moan of pain as I was being pulled apart.  My torturers looked up at my torture stretched body and waited for the order  "Enough!" They let go of the chains and I dropped to the floor.  Spent.  

[Just a little piece of erotic fiction (FICTION) I’ve got rambling around in my head] "What Daddy wants, Daddy gets: Our daily “on display” routine"," I’m not a “little”, and my Dom who I live with is not into age play BUT loves the nickname Daddy.  We live together in his fairly large ranch house that has a large 10 foot wide 7 feet tall picture window in the family room that faces our back yard.  We have a private fence, but surrounding houses have a 2nd floor so it’s visible to many anyway. Our morning routine is one of my favorites - I wake up 1/2 hour before daddy does to make some coffee and attend to a few things before he wakes up.  It’s my responsibility to prep my pussy to be really and willing to accept whatever he decides to stick in there form the minute he wakes up. When it IS time for him to wake up I’m his human alarm clock and so make waking very very pleasant!  Coffee made the way he wants, appropriate clothes laid out and prepared for his day (work or home on the weekends), and me naked kneeling beside the bed at about the middle of his torso.  I get to be creative with how i awaken him, which is a delight for me as I love to be creative!! This morning I chose to give soft kitten-kisses on his arm that’s closest to the edge, and it gently wakes him up after a few minutes.  “Good morning, Kitten,” he says softly in almost a whisper.  “Good morning, Daddy.” is my standard reply.   “And how are my Kitten’s nipples feeling after their treatment yesterday?” he asks with a knowing grin.  “They are throbbing from yesterdays suck-fest, goodness they are tender, almost raw from your gnawing on them for so long!  I love it, thank you Daddy.” As he sits up to roll out of bed, I have slippers ready where his feet will land.  He swings his legs out, I guide them into each slipper, and he spreads his legs wide displaying his dominance over me with his gorgeous cock and lovely man-bush at it’s base.  He stands and I hold open his robe to slip on. Before we even begin to move into the kitchen For breakfast, he runs his hand over my hard nipples, flicking them to make them harder - of course today it’s 10 times more intense because of yesterday’s activities.  I gasp and all that does is make him pinch and rub harder, dammit!  He knows he has my attention, and then slides his hand down to my pussy to ensure it’s wet and ready, which it always is but I love that his fat fingers probes me “just to be sure.” After a quiet breakfast comes my second-favorite routine and that is the daily display of Daddy’s living fuck toy.  I follow him into our family room that has no window coverings and assume my assigned position.  “On your back legs wide on the fucking bench,  Kitten.” And I dutifully do as told.  My head is nearest the window, my pussy the other direction and he begins to fuck me and twist my nipples harder than yesterday - I begin to simultaneously cry and howl as I’m getting wetter from his invasion of my slit. I tilt my head back to look out the window (upside down view) and I see 2 neighbors peeking out of their  houses’ 2nd story's that face our family room window to watch with backs face the back of our house.  Earl and Stephen have their pants down or off, and I see them both stroking their wieners in response to todays live-action. It’s this morning ritual that makes me blush when I see them in the neighborhood or in the grocery store...none of their wives know, or at least aren’t saying they know, and it feels like a dirty secret (which it is!!).  After Daddy has filled me with a huge load, he texts Ralph and Stephen to come on over, I’m wet and juicy and ready for them. Stephen is busy and has to run, but Earl - who is retired - replies he’s coming over.  Earl arrives in short order, chats with Daddy in the family room as I’m spread eagle and dripping, making a pool of my juice and Daddy’s jiz.  Daddy retreats to the bedroom to get dressed, and leaves Earl free to do as Daddy did and cum in my pussy.  (The rule with neighbors is they may come over and do to me what Daddy did, which means they had to pay attention and also keeps them in check with my body-boundaries Daddy has in place. Earl retired “young” at only 58, but his cock works just as well as a 26 year old’s.  He immediately enters my nasty wet pussy and shoves his dick HARD in me, so hard he jolts the table and I slide a little further away which amuses Daddy who peeked out from the bedroom.  Earl takes his damn time, fucks me hard for 15 straight minutes, then pulls out and spews his jiz all over my bottom and floor which I’ll have to clean up later. Left to clean up from the festivities, I hop to it before it dries.   I wish Earl a good day, and Daddy is ready to leave and I wish him the same. Wonder what tomorrow’s activity will be?

Why is it that some people who put dom on their profile think they can  automatically send rude and disrespectful messages to a submissive person? Do they honestly think submissive type person equals to no brain?  I'm submissive not a doormat to every tom, dick and harry LOL. My Master has earned my Trust, Loyality and Respect!!! and has my total submission!!!  I treat others respectfully however, I do NOT submit to others unless of course my Master wishes it so. With that said IF anyone decides to message me please keep it polite.  I have no wish to see your photo's and neither do I want to be spoken down to. I'm somewhat intelligent and can hold a decent conversation.  I'm just a normal everyday type of person who just happens to naturally have a need to submit to my Master whom I am extremely happy to belong to!!! Thanks for reading and have a lovely day!

Finally re-dyed my hair for the first time in six months.  Made a mess of it, all over me, but the colors are better than i could have hoped for.   Unfortunately it did not help my mental state at all, which was what i was most hoping for.  But at least now i can get my new driver's license and have pretty colored hairs in my picture. Daddy has been so patienct with my mental state, or lack thereof, and i need to find a way to make it up to Him.  How he deals with me i will never know, but i am beyond thankful. This week also started our doctor appointments...hopefully we are able to start the disability process for Him quickly so that we have a dual income again.  And i know He hates not being able to contribute financially due to His health.  The doctor told Him that although He is only 41, He has to consider Himself 75 physically, and that is a tough pill to swallow.   For me i'm sure they will try and give me medications again, and i'll accept it for my blood pressue as it is beyonf sky-high but other than that i prefer not to take anything....i would rather allow my body to heal itself....even if it is really bad at doing so...

I’ve been thinking a lot about control lately… not just in the bedroom, but in life. There’s something electric about a dynamic where boundaries are clear, obedience is chosen, and trust runs deeper than words. I keep asking myself: when does submission become empowerment? When does being controlled feel freer than being free? I’d love to hear from you—Dommes, subs, tops, bottoms—what’s the most surprising lesson your dynamic has taught you about yourself? Was it liberation, discipline, lust… or something you didn’t expect at all?

I used to love whoring and slutting around. There wasn’t anything quite as fun as finding a new cock to play with – I was always thrilled at how fast I could get a guy hard and how hard I could make him cum with my mouth or my cunt. Fucking was the only time I felt genuinely confident in my 20’s. A lot of that came down to Kevin. I belonged to Kevin (on and off) for over a decade. He was my first D/s relationship, and his primary focus and kink was whoring me out. He loved having me be an absolute filthy fucking slut for him, and the confidence and power I felt in that role over time was incredible. Through him, I learned how much power a woman could have in herself by submitting to her own sexual desires. It wasn’t just that Kevin loved having me be a whore (as much as I wanted to think that was my sole purpose at the time), I fucking loved sex and I loved the attention and desire I felt from men in those moments. I loved the strength and confidence I gained from their desire; it was a strength that lasted a lot longer than the encounter did, that’s for damn sure. I didn’t need their reassurance or their attention after. I didn’t need them after, period. I got my reassurance from Kevin. His praise and enthusiasm for my behavior reinforced the strength that I gained and reinforced my confidence in my skills. I didn’t have shit for confidence walking down the street or walking into a party to be around strangers, but the second I was presented with a hard cock, it was Game. Fucking. On. THAT I knew I could handle with perfect confidence, grace and skill. And I fucking relished every moan, groan, sigh, gasp, and trembling muscle from the man I was with. In my 20’s, I was somewhere around 340-375lbs. I didn’t really get on a scale very often, so I honestly don’t know how much I actually weighed. What I do know, is that it was Kevin who taught me that my size didn’t preclude me from being desirable. When I moved to “the big city”, I had the opportunity for basically unlimited male attention, which was a first for me, having grown up in the middle of nowhere Nebraska. Kevin encouraged this exploration, but also gave me very distinct rules and boundaries (he’d more than learned by that time that I had no idea how to establish, let alone maintain, my own boundaries). He made me go to Planned Parenthood to get my birth control shot. He “gave me permission” to tell guys to fuck off if they didn’t want to use protection for sex; I could ‘blame my Owner’ if they were at all hesitant. Having all this attention from all these different guys, never having to go more than a few days without sex if I didn’t want to, god – it was fucking incredible! And in the background, was Kevin, telling me what a fantastic little whore I was. When it came to being with Kevin, it was an even bigger reassurance. He told me once, during a moment of extreme insecurity, “I don’t give a shit what you look like, Lisa. What I care about is control.” I knew I could give him that better than anyone, the question was, did he actually mean it? The short answer is, abso-fucking-lutely. When my stunning beauty of a roommate (who’d played with Kevin over the phone and online multiple times) joined us one night, I figured it was going to be game over for us. She was a knock-out compared to me and way better at everything sexual than I could ever dream of being. He was choking her with his dick and she freaked because he wouldn’t let her control the pace or how far down her throat his cock went. She jumped up and took off out of the room to go smoke a bowl and calm down and he called me over. Despite her naked self standing mere feet from him, perky ass and tits on full display, he was totally soft. The second I put his dick in my mouth and let him choke me to his hearts content, he was rock hard and having the time of his life. She eventually came back to the kitchen table where he was sitting while I sucked him off, and I remember feeling an unbelievable surge of pride as he praised me, telling me what a good girl I was, how much he loved choking me and making me cry, how pretty my tears were. And when he finally came in my mouth, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that for some men…it really is all about control. And I was officially hooked. That was all I wanted from that moment on, and to a large extent, it’s still all I want. Especially when it comes to any type of D/s dynamic. I don’t fucking care about the sex, whips or chains…I want the man who gets rock hard simply because I love to obey, to give up as much control as possible. I want the guy who gets off leaving me a list of chores to do in the morning and is way more turned on by me having completed the whole list plus some, then having to “punish me” because I failed to do those tasks. I want the guy who’s dick goes soft because a girl tells him ‘no’ (and he would never dream of pushing her beyond that ‘no’), but he gets hard as steel, instantly, because where someone else says ‘no’, I say ‘yes please and thank you’. I don’t need gymnastics and props…they can’t do anything nearly as good as a hand in my hair and a deep voice whispering in my ear.

Attitude matters! I will be clear here. If I choose you and you are not fit, healthy and eat healthy per My desires.  I will put you on a strict diet and exercise program.  I don't care what you weighed in high school or your younger years.  That is not what you look like today.  Who you are today,  what you look like today is all I will see, and matters to Me! Strip naked,  take a long look in the mirror from every angle,  take photos of yourself.  Are you proud of your appearance? Or do you need to put in the work? I am on a journey to better fitness and appearance.  If you are not, or have no ambition to, we will not match up. you don't have to be perfect right now, although that is desirable.   What you do need is to be putting in the work and working on the goal of better health,  healthy eating/diet, and becoming physically fit.  Eliminating substances from your consumption that is not healthy.  Watch 'Biggest Looser', maybe it will inspire you. Its free to watch on freevee app  

I read it but.... * I didn't really read the words I just looked at the pics * I didn't think when you said I had to be in the same country that you meant physically had to be * I didn't think when you said no one under 50 that you would not make an exception for me as I am very mature * I didn't think when you did not say to send the pic, I have of myself to you when I ask that you really didn't want to see the pic of myself.  * I didn't think you meant you would not give me a chance, after all, how can you resist me Well, I filled out my profile and made it as simple as I can so please don't think you can get me to play a game so you get what you want. Read my profile and respect it. I am happy to chat nothing more if you don't fit the bill. 

Let us play the Let's Pretend game.  (I love the Let's Pretend game!)   Let's pretend that the people typing these profiles and journals and adding pictures and stuff are REAL PEOPLE.  Yup, that might be a bigger ask than is possible.  But let's pretend that is the truth.  It certainly must be for some of us, yes?   Let's further pretend that those who can be defined as real people have been on this site or the predecessor for a while.  Some might have met someone and then UNmet that someone and are back.  Some of those are people who come here lurking but never connecting.  Let's even pretend that some people here are downright serious about all of this but are just having problems connecting with someone they feel is truly compatible.   At the end of the day, however, there is something that we cannot pretend about.  Those of us who are, are real people, with real feelings, and real ambition to eventually find what we want so we don't have to be here any more.  Please take some time to consider others.  Show some respect.  Don't make assumptions about who we are or why we are here.  It can be hard enough without the background noise.   None of us are perfect, and we all have one or two or dozens of flaws.  There is no pretending in the world that can make that not true.  We also have preferences.  Those preferences might very well exclude some these same people who are trying so hard to be right for SOMEONE.  I cannot ask anyone to turn their back on their beliefs or their flaws or their preferences, but what I CAN ask is that we show some kindness, some human dignity.  If anything from the past few years should have taught us is that not only are there trolls online, but many of them started being trolls in real life as well.  People have learned how not to be their best selves.   Be kind.  Be friendly.  MAYBE pretend to think outside the box a little bit.  MAYBE be a little more inclusive, or forgiving those flaws in others that seemed intolerable to you yesterday.  Make someone happy.   I don't want to be the last one here.  Do you?

  New Year After a brief discussion this morning we have agreed on a few things to try and get the most out of 2023. wearing my daily collar more often (as permitted by job, etc) more butt plugs less underwear more outfits with access when home more use of the belt more opportunities for us to explore with others Happy New Year!

Christmas '23, and what is it like ? I've mostly healed up. Added 4 yards of topsoil in front of my recently aquired home in Lacey. Planted a lot of bulbs. Mix of native wildflowers. And blueberries, raspberries, strawberries and grapes. My compost heap is better than yours, professionally managed by the songbirds lured there by the cleverly placed feeder. Cleared the path from the back gate to the bike trail. Blackberries are tough in this area, so that is a project to finish later, when I hope to add some cedar trees back there, and a lot of wildflowers. But it's mostly blackberry, now, and vines don't vanish when you cut them, that's just the start of the job. It's good to have a hobby. The neighbors have signed off on the new mailbox thing I want to make. Half whisky barrels, 2x2 cedar arbor, Wisteria or grapevines, undergrass irrigation, and a pair of big mailboxes.  My '80 Triumph convertable made it as far as the garage. Needs a lot of work. Old gasoline and 45 year old rubber, everywhere. It's cute, though, even if it bites my fingers every time I get a tool anywhere near it. 20 year old Ford spent 10 days at the dealer. Alternator, battery, the cable in between. Came back with belt squeek-eek-eek-eek. Which is really annoying because it's the loudest thing on the truck. Wonder if I can fix it. The tool shed has gone all electric, so the gasoline is now 'something I have to get rid of' where before it was an essential hazard to life & property that smells bad. The mower made me do it. It ran about half speed last time, and is too rusty to work on. An important part of the next dump run. And romance? Sadly, no. I blame the pandemic... Perhaps the new year in my new place doing my new thing will bring some relief. Perhaps my new, noticably smaller, trowser collection will help some. But what I really need to do is get out more. So, call me.

What I seek, what I need, is for someone to take me and absolutely crush me...break me down completely, physically, mentally, sexually...push my boundaries. Bend me over, take my ass...fuck me hard. Talk to me, tell me how you're owning me, tell me what you're going to do to me. Call me names. So often I see BDSM porn where the "slave/sub" is completely into the "torture"..."oh yes, more master/mistress! More!" and that is so far off-base from what I seek. I shouldn't want it. Ideally, you've broken me to the point where I'm doing it to avoid worse punishment. "If you don't do _____, then _____ will happen." I should be dreading it...crying, begging, pleading for my master/mistress to stop. Begging a master not to cum in me or in my mouth. Begging a mistress to stop before I bleed. The earth shattering orgasm should belong to THEM, not ME.I get messages on here from so many straight masters...who tell me that they're going to branch out and that they're into what I seek. Then they quietly fade away. And the search goes on.

I am slowly starting to handle some things slowly, when everything comes at me in a great mass, I shut down and that isn't the real me. I used to handle everything straight on. I have found a way to push things back more into organization so I can handle it slowly on my terms. I still drive ppl nuts because I am dominant and it my home and here it is my way or they know the outcome. Shit will hitting the an in a day or two, as the person they gave permission to store a bear skin in one of my freezers that I thought was empty and shut off hasn't made attempt to come get it. I pay to keep the damn thing in deep freeze, and no one gets why I am pissed. I want it gone so the freezer can be cleaned and sold. Yes I am trying to down size makes me laugh they think I want to leave my belongings for them to use. I get a good momentum going and then someone pulls a shitstorm and I have to deal with it, because they are all attached at the hip. Oh well life is grand if you know when to duck.

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